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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6299-0.txt b/6299-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8a19e4a --- /dev/null +++ b/6299-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8002 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Carnac’s Folly, Complete, by Gilbert Parker + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Carnac’s Folly, Complete + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Release Date: October 18, 2006 [EBook #6299] +Last Updated: August 27, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CARNAC’S FOLLY, COMPLETE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +CARNAC’S FOLLY + +By Gilbert Parker + + + + +CONTENTS: + + BOOK I + I. IN THE DAYS OF CHILDHOOD + II. ELEVEN YEARS PASS + III. CARNAC’S RETURN + IV. THE HOUSE ON THE HILL + V. CARNAC AS MANAGER + VI. LUKE TARBOE HAS AN OFFER + VII. “AT OUR PRICE” + VIII. JOHN GRIER MAKES ANOTHER OFFER + IX. THE PUZZLE + X. DENZIL TELLS HIS STORY + XI. CARNAC’S TALK WITH HIS MOTHER + XII. CARNAC SAYS GOOD-BYE + + BOOK II + XIII. CARNAC’S RETURN + XIV. THE HOUSE OF THE THREE TREES + XV. CARNAC AND JUNTA + XVI. JOHN GRIER MAKES A JOURNEY + XVII. THE READING OF THE WILL + + BOOK III + XVIII. A GREAT DECISION + XIX. CARNAC BECOMES A CANDIDATE + XX. JUNIA AND TARBOE HEAR THE NEWS + XXI. THE SECRET MEETING + XXII. POINT TO POINT + XXIII. THE MAN WHO WOULD NOT + XXIV. THE BLUE PAPER + XXV. DENZIL TAKES A HAND IN THE GAME + XXVI. THE CHALLENGE + XXVII. EXIT + XXVIII. A WOMAN WRITES A LETTER + XXIX. CARNAC AND HIS MOTHER + XXX. TARBOE HAS A DREAM + XXXI. THIS WAY HOME + XXXII. ‘HALVES, PARDNER, HALVES’ + + + + + +CHAPTER I. IN THE DAYS OF CHILDHOOD + +“Carnac! Carnac! Come and catch me, Carnac!” It was a day of perfect +summer and hope and happiness in the sweet, wild world behind the near +woods and the far circle of sky and pine and hemlock. The voice that +called was young and vibrant, and had in it the simple, true soul of +things. It had the clearness of a bugle-call-ample and full of life and +all life’s possibilities. It laughed; it challenged; it decoyed. + +Carnac heard the summons and did his best to catch the girl in the wood +by the tumbling stream, where he had for many an hour emptied out his +wayward heart; where he had seen his father’s logs and timbers caught +in jams, hunched up on rocky ledges, held by the prong of a rock, where +man’s purpose could, apparently, avail so little. Then he had watched +the black-bearded river-drivers with their pike-poles and their levers +loose the key-logs of the bunch, and the tumbling citizens of the woods +and streams toss away down the current to the wider waters below. He was +only a lad of fourteen, and the girl was only eight, but she--Junia--was +as spry and graceful a being as ever woke the echoes of a forest. + +He was only fourteen, but already he had visions and dreamed dreams. His +father--John Grier--was the great lumber-king of Canada, and Junia was +the child of a lawyer who had done little with his life, but had had +great joy of his two daughters, who were dear to him beyond telling. + +Carnac was one of Nature’s freaks or accidents. He was physically +strong and daring, but, as a boy, mentally he lacked concentration and +decision, though very clever. He was led from thing to thing like a ray +of errant light, and he did not put a hand on himself, as old Denzil, +the partly deformed servant of Junia’s home, said of him on occasion; +and Denzil was a man of parts. + +Denzil was not far from the two when Junia made her appeal and +challenge. He loved the girl exceedingly, and he loved Carnac little +less, though in a different way. Denzil was French of the French, with +habit of mind and character wholly his own. + +Denzil’s head was squat upon his shoulders, and his long, handsome body +was also squat, because his legs were as short, proportionately, as his +mind was long. His face was covered by a well-cared-for beard of dark +brown, streaked with grey; his features were rugged and fine; and his +eyes were like two coals burning under a gnarled headland; for his +forehead, ample and full, had lines which were not lines of age, but of +concentration. In his motions he was quiet and free, yet always there +was a kind of stealthiness in his movements, which made him seem less +frank than he really was. + +For a time, with salient sympathy in his eyes, he watched the two +children playing. The whisking of their forms among the trees and over +the rocks was fine, gracious, and full of life-life without alarm. At +length he saw the girl falter slightly, then make a swift deceptive +movement to avoid the boy who pursued her. The movement did not delude +the boy. He had quickness of anticipation. An instant later the girl was +in his arms. + +As Denzil gazed, it seemed she was in his arms too long, and a sudden +anxiety took hold of him. That anxiety was deepened when he saw the boy +kiss the girl on the cheek. This act seemed to discompose the girl, but +not enough to make drama out of an innocent, yet sensuous thing. The boy +had meant nothing more than he had shown, and Denzil traced the act to +a native sense of luxury in his nature. Knowing the boy’s father +and mother as he did, it seemed strange that Carnac should have such +demonstration in his character. Of all the women he knew, Carnac’s +mother was the most exact and careful, though now and again he thought +of her as being shrouded, or apart; while the boy’s father, the great +lumber-king, cantankerous, passionate, perspicuous, seemed to have but +one passion, and that was his business. + +It was strange to Denzil that the lumber-king, short, thin, careless +in his clothes but singularly clean in his person, should have a son so +little like himself, and also so little like his mother. He, Denzil, was +a Catholic, and he could not understand a man like John Grier who, +being a member of the Episcopal Church, so seldom went to service and so +defied rules of conduct suitable to his place in the world. + +As for the girl, to him she was the seventh wonder of the earth. +Wantonly alive, dexterously alert to all that came her way, sportive, +indifferent, joyous, she had all the boy’s sprightliness, but none of +his weaknesses. She was a born tease; she loved bright and beautiful +things; she was a keen judge of human nature, and she had buoyant +spirits, which, however, were counterbalanced by moments of extreme +timidity, or, rather, reserve and shyness. On a day like this, when +everything in life was singing, she must sing too. Not a mile away was +a hut by the river where her father had brought his family for the +summer’s fishing; not a half-mile away was a tent which Carnac Grier’s +father had set up as he passed northward on his tour of inspection. This +particular river, and this particular part of the river, were trying to +the river-man and his clans. It needed a dam, and the great lumber-king +was planning to make one not three hundred yards from where they were. + +The boy and the girl resting idly upon a great warm rock had their +own business to consider. The boy kept looking at his boots with the +brass-tipped toes. He hated them. The girl was quick to understand. “Why +don’t you like your boots?” she asked. + +A whimsical, exasperated look came into his face. “I don’t know why they +brass a boy’s toes like that, but when I marry I won’t wear them--that’s +all,” he replied. + +“Why do you wear them now?” she asked, smiling. + +“You don’t know my father.” + +“He’s got plenty of money, hasn’t he?” she urged. “Plenty; and +that’s what I can’t understand about him! There’s a lot of waste in +river-driving, timber-making, out in the shanties and on the river, but +he don’t seem to mind that. He’s got fads, though, about how we are +to live, and this is one of them.” He looked at the brass-tipped boots +carefully. A sudden resolve came into his face. He turned to the girl +and flushed as he spoke. “Look here,” he added, “this is the last day +I’m going to wear these boots. He’s got to buy me a pair without any +brass clips on them, or I’ll kick.” + +“No, it isn’t the last day you’re going to wear them, Carnac.” + +“It is. I wonder if all boys feel towards their father as I do to mine. +He don’t treat me right. He--” + +“Oh, look,” interrupted Junia. “Look-Carnac!” She pointed in dismay. + +Carnac saw a portion of the bank of the river disappear with Denzil. He +ran over to the bank and looked down. In another moment he had made his +way to a descending path which led him swiftly to the river’s edge. The +girl remained at the top. The boy had said to her: “You stay there. I’ll +tell you what to do.” + +“Is-is he killed?” she called with emotion. + +“Killed! No. He’s all right,” he called back to her. “I can see him +move. Don’t be frightened. He’s not in the water. It was only about +a thirty-foot fall. You stay there, and I’ll tell you what to do,” he +added. + +A few moments later, the boy called up: “He’s all right, but his leg +is broken. You go to my father’s camp--it’s near. People are sure to be +there, and maybe father too. You bring them along.” + +In an instant the girl was gone. The boy, left behind, busied himself in +relieving the deformed broken-legged habitant. He brought some water in +his straw hat to refresh him. He removed the rocks and dirt, and dragged +the little man out. + +“It was a close call--bien sur,” said Denzil, breathing hard. “I always +said that place wasn’t safe, but I went on it myself. That’s the way in +life. We do what we forbid ourselves to do; we suffer the shames we damn +in others--but yes.” + +There was a pause, then he added: “That’s what you’ll do in your life, +M’sieu’ Carnac. That’s what you’ll do.” + +“Always?” + +“Well, you never can tell--but no.” + +“But you always can tell,” remarked the boy. “The thing is, do what you +feel you’ve got to do, and never mind what happens.” + +“I wish I could walk,” remarked the little man, “but this leg of mine is +broke--ah, bah, it is!” + +“Yes, you mustn’t try to walk. Be still,” answered the boy. “They’ll be +here soon.” Slowly and carefully he took off the boot and sock from +the broken leg, and, with his penknife, opened the seam of the corduroy +trouser. “I believe I could set that leg myself,” he added. + +“I think you could--bagosh,” answered Denzil heavily. “They’ll bring a +rope to haul me up?” + +“Junia has a lot of sense, she won’t forget anything.” + +“And if your father’s there, he’ll not forget anything,” remarked +Denzil. + +“He’ll forget to make me wear these boots tomorrow,” said the boy +stubbornly, his chin in his hands, his eyes fixed gloomily on the +brass-headed toes. + +There was a long silence. At last from the stricken Denzil came the +words: “You’ll have your own way about the boots.” + +Carnac murmured, and presently said: + +“Lucky you fell where you did. Otherwise, you’d have been in the water, +and then I couldn’t have been of any use.” + +“I hear them coming--holy, yes!” + +Carnac strained his ears. “Yes, you’re right. I hear them too.” + +A few moments later, Carnac’s father came sliding down the bank, a rope +in his hands, some workmen remaining above. + +“What’s the matter here?” he asked. “A fall, eh! Dang little fool--now, +you are a dang little fool, and you know it, Denzil.” + +He nodded to his boy, then he raised the wounded man’s head and +shoulders, and slipped the noose over until it caught under his arms. + +The old lumber-king’s movements were swift, sure and exact. A moment +later he lifted Denzil in his arms, and carried him over to the steep +path up which he was presently dragged. + +At the top, Denzil turned to Carnac’s father. “M’sieu’, Carnac hates +wearing those brass-toed boots,” he said boldly. + +The lumber-king looked at his boy acutely. He blew his nose hard, with a +bandana handkerchief. Then he nodded towards the boy. + +“He can suit himself about that,” he said. + +With accomplished deftness, with some sacking and two poles, a hasty +but comfortable ambulance was made under the skilful direction of the +river-master. He had the gift of outdoor life. He did not speak as he +worked, but kept humming to himself. + +“That’s all right,” he said, as he saw Denzil on the stretcher. “We’ll +get on home now.” + +“Home?” asked his son. + +“Yes, Montreal--to-night,” replied his father. “The leg has to be set.” + +“Why don’t you set it?” asked the boy. + +The river-master gazed at him attentively. “Well, I might, with your +help,” he said. “Come along.” + + + + +CHAPTER II. ELEVEN YEARS PASS + +Eleven years had passed since Denzil’s fall, and in that time much +history had been made. Carnac Grier, true to his nature, had travelled +from incident to incident, from capacity to capacity, apparently without +system, yet actually with the keenest desire to fulfil himself; with an +honesty as inveterate as his looks were good and his character filled +with dark recesses. In vain had his father endeavoured to induce him to +enter the lumber business; to him it seemed too conventional and fixed. + +Yet, in his way, he knew the business well. By instinct, over the +twenty-five years of his life, he had observed and become familiar with +the main features of the work. He had once or twice even buried himself +in the shanties of the backwoods, there to inhale and repulse the fetid +air, to endure the untoward, half-savage life, the clean, strong food, +the bitter animosities and the savage friendships. It was a land where +sunshine travelled, and in the sun the bright, tuneful birds made lively +the responsive world. Sometimes an eagle swooped down the stream; again +and again, hawks, and flocks of pigeons which frequented the lonely +groves on the river-side, made vocal the world of air; flocks of wild +ducks, or geese, went whirring down the long spaces of water between the +trees on either bank; and some one with a fiddle or a concertina made +musical the evening, while the singing voices of rough habitants rang +through the air. + +It was all spirited; it smelt good; it felt good; but it was not for +Carnac. When he had a revolt against anything in life, the grim storm +scenes of winter in the shanties under the trees and the snow-swept +hills came to his mind’s eye. The summer life of the river, and what +is called “running the river,” had for him great charms. The smell of +hundreds of thousands of logs in the river, the crushed bark, the slimy +ooze were all suggestive of life in the making. But the savage seclusion +of the wild life in winter repelled his senses. Besides, the lumber +business meant endless figures and measurements in stuffy offices and he +retreated from it all. + +He had an artistic bent. From a small child he had had it, and it grew +with his years. He wanted to paint, and he painted; he wanted to sculp +in clay, and he sculped in clay; but all the time he was conscious it +was the things he had seen and the life he had lived which made his +painting and his sculpture worth while. It was absurd that a man of his +great outdoor capacity should be the slave of a temperamental quality, +and yet it was so. It was no good for his father to condemn, or his +mother to mourn, he went his own way. + +He had seen much of Junia Shale in these years and had grown fond of +her, but she was away much with an aunt in the West, and she was sent +to boarding-school, and they saw each other only at intervals. She liked +him and showed it, but he was not ready to go farther. As yet his +art was everything to him, and he did not think of marriage. He was +care-free. He had a little money of his own, left by an uncle of his +mother, and he had also an allowance from his mother--none from his +father--and he was satisfied with life. + +His brother, Fabian, being the elder, by five years, had gone into his +father’s business as a partner, and had remained there. Fabian had at +last married an elder sister of Junia Shale and settled down in a house +on the hill, and the lumber-king, John Grier, went on building up his +splendid business. + +At last, Carnac, feeling he was making small headway with his painting, +determined to go again to New York and Paris. He had already spent +a year in each place and it had benefited him greatly. So, with that +sudden decision which marked his life, he started for New York. It was +immediately after the New Year and the ground was covered with snow. He +looked out of the window of the train, and there was only the long line +of white country broken by the leafless trees and rail-fences and the +mansard-roofs and low cottages with their stoops, built up with earth +to keep them warm; and the sheds full of cattle; and here and there a +sawmill going hard, and factories pounding away and men in fur coats +driving the small Indian ponies; and the sharp calls of the men with the +sleigh bringing wood, or meat, or vegetables to market. He was by nature +a queer compound of Radical and Conservative, a victim of vision and +temperament. He was full of pride, yet fuller of humility of a real +kind. As he left Montreal he thought of Junia Shale, and he recalled the +day eleven years before when he had worn brass-toed boots, and he +had caught Junia in his arms and kissed her, and Denzil had had his +accident. Denzil had got unreasonably old since then; but Junia remained +as she was the joyous day when boyhood took on the first dreams of +manhood. + +Life was a queer thing, and he had not yet got his bearings in it. He +had a desire to reform the world and he wanted to be a great painter or +sculptor, or both; and he entered New York with a new sense developed. +He was keen to see, to do, and to feel. He wanted to make the world ring +with his name and fame, yet he wanted to do the world good also, if he +could. It was a curious state of mind for the English boy, who talked +French like a native and loved French literature and the French people, +and was angry with those English-Canadians who were so selfish they +would never learn French. + +Arrived in New York he took lodgings near old Washington Square, where +there were a few studios near the Bohemian restaurants and a life as +nearly continental as was possible in a new country. He got in touch +with a few artists and began to paint, doing little scenes in the Bowery +and of the night-life of New York, and visiting the Hudson River and +Long Island for landscape and seascape sketches. + +One day he was going down Broadway, and near Union Square he saved a +girl from being killed by a street-car. She had slipped and fallen on +the track and a car was coming. It was impossible for her to get away +in time, and Carnac had sprung to her and got her free. She staggered to +her feet, and he saw she was beautiful and foreign. He spoke to her in +French and her eyes lighted, for she was French. She told him at once +that her name was Luzanne Larue. He offered to get a cab and take her +home, but she said no, she was fit to walk, so he went with her slowly +to her home in one of the poor streets on the East side. They talked as +they went, and Carnac saw she was of the lower middle-class, with more +refinement than was common in that class, and more charm. She was a +fascinating girl with fine black eyes, black hair, a complexion of +cream, and a gift of the tongue. Carnac could not see that she was very +subtle. She seemed a marvel of guilelessness. She had a wonderful head +and neck, and as he was planning a picture of an early female martyr, he +decided to ask her to sit to him. + +Arrived at her humble home, he was asked to enter, and there he met her +father, Isel Larue, a French monarchist who had been exiled from Paris +for plotting against the Government. He was handsome with snapping black +eyes, a cruel mouth and a droll and humorous tongue. He was grateful +to Carnac for saving his daughter’s life. Coffee and cigarettes +were produced, and they chatted and smoked while Carnac took in the +surroundings. Everything was plain, but spotlessly clean, and he learned +that Larue made his living by doing odd jobs in an electric firm. He +was just home from his work. Luzanne was employed every afternoon in a +milliner’s shop, but her evenings were free after the housework was done +at nine o’clock. Carnac in a burst of enthusiasm asked if she would sit +to him as a model in the mornings. Her father instantly said, of course +she would. + +This she did for many days, and sat with her hair down and bared neck, +as handsome and modest as a female martyr should. Carnac painted her +with skill. Sometimes he would walk with her to lunch and make her eat +something sustaining, and they talked freely then, though little +was said while he was painting her. At last one day the painting was +finished, and she looked up at him wistfully when he told her he would +not need another sitting. Carnac, overcome by her sadness, put his arms +round her and kissed her mouth, her eyes, her neck ravenously. She made +only a slight show of resistance. When he stopped she said: “Is that +the way you keep your word to my father? I am here alone and you embrace +me--is that fair?” + +“No, it isn’t, and I promise I won’t do it again, Luzanne. I am sorry. I +wanted our friendship to benefit us both, and now I’ve spoiled it all.” + +“No, you haven’t spoiled it all,” said Luzanne with a sigh, and she +buttoned up the neck of her blouse, flushing slightly as she did so. +Her breast heaved and suddenly she burst into tears. It was evident she +wanted Carnac to comfort her, perhaps to kiss her again, but he did +not do so. He only stood over her, murmuring penance and asking her to +forget it. + +“I can’t forget it--I can’t. No man but my father has ever kissed me +before. It makes me, oh! so miserable!” but she smiled through her +tears. Suddenly she dried her eyes. “Once a man tried to kiss me--and +something more. He was rich and he’d put money into Madame Margot’s +millinery business. He was brilliant, and married, but he had no rules +for his morals--all he wanted was money and pleasures which he bought. +I was attracted by him, but one day he tried to kiss me. I slapped his +face, and then I hated him. So, when you kissed me to-day, I thought of +that, and it made me unhappy--but yes.” + +“You did not slap my face, Luzanne?” + +She blushed and hung her head. “No, I did not; you are not a bad man. +He would have spoiled my life. He made it clear I could have all +the luxuries money could buy--all except marriage!” She shrugged her +shoulders. + +Carnac was of an impressionable nature, but brought to face the +possibility of marriage with Luzanne, he shrank. If ever he married it +would be a girl like Junia Shale, beautiful, modest, clever and well +educated. No, Luzanne could never be for him. So he forbore doing more +than ask her to forgive him, and he would take her to lunch-the last +lunch of the picture-if she would. With features in chagrin, she put on +her hat, yet when she turned to him, she was smiling. + +He visited her home occasionally, and Luzanne’s father had a friend, +Ingot by name, who was sometimes present. This man made himself almost +unbearable at first; but Luzanne pulled Ingot up acridly, and he +presently behaved well. Ingot disliked all men in better positions than +himself, and was a revolutionary of the worst sort--a revolutionary and +monarchist. He was only a monarchist because he loved conspiracy and +hated the Republican rulers who had imprisoned him--“those bombastics,” + he called them. It was a constitutional quarrel with the world. However, +he became tractable, and then he and Larue formed a plot to make Carnac +marry Luzanne. It was hatched by Ingot, approved by Larue, and at length +consented to by the girl, for so far as she could love anyone, she loved +Carnac; and she made up her mind that if he married her, no matter how, +she would make him so happy he would forgive all. + +About four months after the incident in the studio, a picnic was +arranged for the Hudson River. Only the four went. Carnac had just sold +a picture at a good price--his Christian Martyr picture--and he was in +high spirits. They arrived at the spot arranged for the picnic in time +for lunch, and Luzanne prepared it. When the lunch was ready, they sat +down. There was much gay talk, compliments to Carnac came from both +Larue and Ingot, and Carnac was excited and buoyant. He drank much +wine and beer, and told amusing stories of the French-Canadians which +delighted them all. He had a gift of mimicry and he let himself go. + +“You got a pretty fine tongue in your head--but of the best,” said Ingot +with a burst of applause. “You’d make a good actor, a holy good actor. +You got a way with you. Coquelin, Salvini, Bernhardt! Voila, you’re just +as good! Bagosh, I’d like to see you on the stage.” + +“So would I,” said Larue. “I think you could play a house full in +no time and make much cash--I think you could. Don’t you think so, +Luzanne?” + +Luzanne laughed. “He can act very first-class, I’m sure,” she said, +and she turned and looked Carnac in the eyes. She was excited, she was +handsome, she was slim and graceful, and Carnac felt towards her as he +did the day at the studio, as though he’d like to kiss her. He knew it +was not real, but it was the man in him and the sex in her. + +For an hour and a half the lunch went on, all growing gayer, and then +at last Ingot said: “Well, I’m going to have a play now here, and Carnac +Grier shall act, and we all shall act. We’re going to have a wedding +ceremony between M’sieu’ Grier and Luzanne--but, hush, why not!” he +added, when Luzanne shook her finger at him, and said she’d do nothing +of the kind, having, however, agreed to it beforehand. “Why not! There’s +nothing in it. They’ll both be married some day and it will be good +practice for them. They can learn now how to do it. It’s got to be +done--but yes. I’ll find a Judge in the village. Come now, hands up, +those that will do it.” + +With a loud laugh Larue held up his hand, Carnac, who was half-drunk, +did the same, and after a little hesitation Luzanne also. + +“Good--a gay little comedy, that’s what it is. I’m off for the Judge,” + and away went Ingot hard afoot, having already engaged a Judge, called +Grimshaw, in the village near to perform the ceremony. When he had +gone, Larue went off to smoke and Luzanne and Carnac cleared up the +lunch-things and put all away in the baskets. When it was finished, +Carnac and Luzanne sat down under a tree and talked cheerfully, and +Luzanne was never so effective as she was that day. They laughed over +the mock ceremony to be performed. + +“I’m a Catholic, you know,” said Luzanne, “and it isn’t legal in my +church with no dispensation to be married to a Protestant like you. But +as it is, what does it matter!” + +“Well, that’s true,” said Carnac. “I suppose I ought to be acting the +lover now; I ought to be kissing you, oughtn’t I?” + +“As an actor, yes, but as a man, better not unless others are present. +Wait till the others come. Wait for witnesses, so that it can look like +the real thing. + +“See, there they come now.” She pointed, and in the near distance Ingot +could be seen approaching with a short, clean-shaven, roly-poly sort of +man who did not look legal, but was a real magistrate. He came waddling +along in good spirits and rather pompously. At that moment Larue +appeared. Presently Ingot presented the Judge to the would--be bride +and bridegroom. “You wish to be married-you are Mr. Grier?” said Judge +Grimshaw. + +“That’s me and I’m ready,” said Carnac. “Get on with the show. What’s +the first thing?” + +“Well, the regular thing is to sign some forms, stating age, residence, +etc., and here they are all ready. Brought ‘em along with me. Most +unusual form of ceremony, but it’ll do. It’s all right. Here are the +papers to sign.” + +Carnac hastily scratched in the needed information, and Luzanne doing +the same, the magistrate pocketed the papers. + +“Now we can perform the ceremony,” said the Judge. “Mr. Larue, you go +down there with the young lady and bring her up in form, and Mr. Carnac +Grier waits here.” + +Larue went away with Luzanne, and presently turned, and she, with her +arm in his, came forward. Carnac stood waiting with a smile on his face, +for it seemed good acting. When Luzanne came, her father handed her +over, and the marriage ceremony proceeded. Presently it concluded, and +Grimshaw, who had had more drink than was good for him, wound up the +ceremony with the words: “And may the Lord have mercy on you!” + +Every one laughed, Carnac kissed the bride, and the Judge handed her the +marriage certificate duly signed. It was now Carnac’s duty to pay in +the usual way for the ceremony, and he handed the Judge ten dollars; and +Grimshaw rolled away towards the village, Ingot having also given him +ten. + +“That’s as good a piece of acting as I’ve ever seen,” said Larue with a +grin. “It beats Coquelin and Henry Irving.” + +“I didn’t think there was much in it,” said Carnac, laughing, “though +it was real enough to cost me ten dollars. One has to pay for one’s fun. +But I got a wife cheap at the price, and I didn’t pay for the wedding +ring.” + +“No, the ring was mine,” said Larue. “I had it a long time. It was my +engagement ring, and I want it back now.” + +Luzanne took it off her finger--it was much too large--and gave it to +him. “It’s easy enough to get another,” she said in a queer voice. + +“You did the thing in style, young man,” said Ingot to Carnac with a +nod. + +“I’ll do it better when it’s the real thing,” said Carnac. “I’ve had my +rehearsal now, and it seemed almost real.” + +“It was almost real,” said Ingot, with his head turned away from Carnac, +but he winked at Larue and caught a furtive look from Luzanne’s eye. + +“I think we’d better have another hour hereabouts, then get back to New +York,” said Larue. “There’s a circus in the village--let us go to that.” + +At the village, they did the circus, called out praise to the clown, +gave the elephant some buns, and at five o’clock started back to New +York. Arrived at New York, they went to a hotel off Broadway for dinner, +and Carnac signed names in the hotel register as “Mr. and Mrs. Carnac +Grier.” When he did it, he saw a furtive glance pass from Luzanne’s eyes +to her father. It was disconcerting to him. Presently the two adjourned +to the sitting-room, and there he saw that the table was only laid for +two. That opened his eyes. The men had disappeared and he and Luzanne +were alone. She was sitting on a sofa near the table, showing to good +advantage. She was composed, while Carnac was embarrassed. Carnac began +to take a grip on himself. + +The waiter entered. “When shall I serve dinner, sir?” he said. + +Carnac realized that the dinner had been ordered by the two men, and +he said quietly: “Don’t serve it for a half-hour yet--not till I ring, +please. Make it ready then. There’s no hurry. It’s early.” + +The waiter bowed and withdrew with a smile, and Carnac turned to +Luzanne. She smiled, got up, came over, laid a hand on his arm, and +said: “It’s quiet and nice here, Carnac dear,” and she looked up +ravishingly in his face. + +“It’s too quiet and it’s not at all nice,” he suddenly replied. “Your +father and Ingot have gone. They’ve left us alone on purpose. This is a +dirty game and I’m not going to play it any longer. I’ve had enough of +it. I’ve had my fill. I’m going now. Come, let’s go together.” + +She looked a bit smashed and overdone. “The dinner!” she said in +confusion. + +“I’ll pay for that. We won’t wait any longer. Come on at once, please.” + +She put on her things coolly, and he noticed a savage stealthiness as +she pushed the long pins through her hat and hair. He left the room. +Outside the hotel, Carnac held out his hand. + +“Good night and good-bye, Luzanne,” he said huskily. “You can get home +alone, can’t you?” + +She laughed a little, then she said: “I guess so. I’ve lived in New York +some years. But you and I are married, Carnac, and you ought to take me +to your home.” + +There was something devilish in her smile now. Then the whole truth +burst upon Carnac. “Married--married! When did I marry you? Good God!” + +“You married me this afternoon after lunch at Shipton. I have the +certificate and I mean to hold you to it.” + +“You mean to hold me to it--a real marriage to-day at Shipton! You and +your father and Ingot tricked me into this.” + +“He was a real Judge, and it was a real marriage.” + +“It is a fraud, and I’ll unmask it,” Carnac declared in anger. + +“It would be difficult to prove. You signed our names in the hotel +register as Mr. and Mrs. Carnac Grier. I mean to stick to that +name--Mrs. Carnac Grier. I’ll make you a good wife, Carnac--do believe +it. + +“I’ll believe nothing but the worst of you ever. I’ll fight the thing +out, by God!” + +She shook her head and smiled. “I meant you to marry me, when you saved +my life from the streetcar. I never saw but one man I wanted to marry, +and you are that man, Carnac. You wouldn’t ask me, so I made you marry +me. You could go farther and fare worse. Come, take me home--take me +home, my love. I want you to love me.” + +“You little devil!” Carnac declared. “I’d rather cut my own throat. I’m +going to have a divorce. I’m going to teach you and the others a lesson +you won’t forget.” + +“There isn’t a jury in the United States you could convince after what +you’ve done. You’ve made it impossible. Go to Judge Grimshaw and see +what he will say. Go and ask the hotel people and see what they will +say. You’re my husband, and I mean you shall live with me, and I’ll love +you better than any woman on earth can love you.... Won’t you?” She held +out her hand. + +With an angry exclamation, Carnac refused it, and then she suddenly +turned on her heel, slipped round a corner and was gone. + +Carnac was dumbfounded. He did not know what to do. He went dazedly +home, and slept little that night. The next day he went out to Shipton +and saw Judge Grimshaw and told him the whole tale. The Judge shook his +head. + +“It’s too tall a story. Why, you went through the ceremony as if it was +the real thing, signed the papers, paid my fee, and kissed the bride. +You could not get a divorce on such evidence. I’m sorry for you, if you +don’t want the girl. She’s very nice, and ‘d make a good wife. What does +she mean to do?” + +“I don’t know. She left me in the street and went back to her home. I +won’t live with her.” + +“I can’t help you anyhow. She has the certificate. You are validly +married. If I were you, I’d let the matter stand.” + +So they parted, and Carnac sullenly went back to his apartments. The +next day he went to see a lawyer, however. The lawyer opened his eyes at +the story. He had never heard anything like it. + +“It doesn’t sound as if you were sober when you did it. Were you, sir? +It was a mad prank, anyhow!” + +“I had been drinking, but I wasn’t drunk. I’d been telling them stories +and they used them as a means of tempting me to act in the absurd +marriage ceremony. Like a fool I consented. Like a fool--but I wasn’t +drunk.” + +“No, but when you were in your right mind and sober you signed your +names as Mr. and Mrs. Carnac Grier in the register of a hotel. I will +try to win your case for you, but it won’t be easy work. You see the +Judge himself told you the same thing. But it would be a triumph to +expose a thing of that kind, and I’d like to do it. It wouldn’t be +cheap, though. You’d have to foot the bill. Are you rich?” + +“No, but my people are,” said Carnac. “I could manage the cash, but +suppose I lost!” + +“Well, you’d have to support the woman. She could sue you for cruelty +and desertion, and the damages would be heavy.” + +Carnac shook his head, paid his fee and left the office. + +He did not go near Luzanne. After a month he went to Paris for eight +months, and then back to Montreal. + + + + +CHAPTER III. CARNAC’S RETURN + +Arrived in Montreal, there were attempts by Carnac to settle down to +ordinary life of quiet work at his art, but it was not effective, nor +had it been in Paris, though the excitement of working in the great +centre had stimulated him. He ever kept saying to himself, “Carnac, you +are a married man--a married man, by the tricks of rogues!” In Paris, he +could more easily obscure it, but in Montreal, a few hundred miles from +the place of his tragedy, pessimism seized him. He now repented he did +not fight it out at once. It would have been courageous and perhaps +successful. But whether successful or not, he would have put himself +right with his own conscience. That was the chief thing. He was +straightforward, and back again in Canada, Carnac flung reproaches at +himself. + +He knew himself now to be in love with Junia Shale, and because he was +married he could not approach her. It galled him. He was not fond of +Fabian, for they had little in common, and he had no intimate friends. +Only his mother was always sympathetic to him, and he loved her. He saw +much of her, but little of anyone else. He belonged to no clubs, and +there were few artists in Montreal. So he lived his own life, and when +he met Junia he cavilled at himself for his madness with Luzanne. The +curious thing was he had not had a word from her since the day of the +mock marriage. Perhaps she had decided to abandon the thing! But that +could do no good, for there was the marriage recorded in the registers +of New York State. + +Meanwhile, things were not going well with others. There befell a +day when matters came to a crisis in the Grier family. Since Fabian’s +marriage with Junia Shale’s sister, Sybil, he had become discontented +with his position in his father’s firm. There was little love between +him and his father, and that was chiefly the father’s fault. One day, +the old man stormed at Fabian because of a mistake in the management, +and was foolish enough to say that Fabian had lost his grip since his +marriage. + +Fabian, enraged, demanded freedom from the partnership, and offered to +sell his share. In a fit of anger, the old man offered him what was at +least ten per cent more than the value of Fabian’s share. The sombre +Fabian had the offer transferred to paper at once, and it was signed by +his father--not without compunction, because difficult as Fabian was +he might go further and fare worse. As for Fabian’s dark-haired, +brown-faced, brown-eyed wife, to John Grier’s mind, it seemed a good +thing to be rid of her. + +When Fabian left the father alone in his office, however, the stark +temper of the old man broke down. He had had enough. He muttered to +himself. Presently he was roused by a little knock at the door. It +was Junia, brilliant, buoyant, yellow haired, with bright brown eyes, +tingling cheeks, and white laughing teeth that showed against her red +lips. She held up a finger at him. + +“I know what you’ve done, and it’s no good at all. You can’t live +without us, and you mustn’t,” she said. The old man glowered still, but +a reflective smile crawled to his lips. “No, it’s finished,” he replied. + +“It had to come, and it’s done. It can’t be changed. Fabian wouldn’t +alter it, and I shan’t.” + +His face was stern and dour. He tangled his short fingers in the hair on +top of his head. + +“I wouldn’t say that, if I were you,” she responded cheerily. “Fabian +showed me the sum you offered for his share. It’s ridiculous. The +business isn’t worth it.” + +“What do you know about the business?” remarked the other. + +“Well, whatever it was worth an hour ago, it’s worth less now,” she +answered with suggestion. “It’s worth much less now,” she added. + +“What do you mean by that?” he asked sharply, sitting upright, his hands +clasping his knees almost violently, his clean-shaven face showing lines +of trouble. + +“I mean he’s going to join the enemy,” she answered quickly. + +“Join the enemy!” broke from the old man’s lips with a startled accent. + +“Yes, the firm of Belloc.” + +The old man did not speak, but a curious whiteness stole over his face. +“What makes you say that!” he exclaimed, anger in his eyes. + +“Well, Fabian has to put money into something,” she answered, “and the +only business he knows is lumber business. Don’t you think it’s natural +he should go to Belloc?” + +“Did he ever say so?” asked the old man with savage sullenness. “Tell +me. Did he ever say so?” + +The girl shook back her brave head with a laugh. “Of course he never +said so, but I know the way he’ll go.” + +The old man shook his head. “I don’t believe it. He’s got no love for +Belloc.” + +The girl felt like saying, “He’s got no love for you,” but she +refrained. She knew that Fabian had love for his father, but he had +inherited a love for business, and that would overwhelm all other +feelings. She therefore said: “Why don’t you get Carnac to come in? He’s +got more sense than Fabian--and he isn’t married!” + +She spoke boldly, for she knew the character of the man. She was only +nineteen. She had always come in and gone out of Grier’s house and +office freely and much more since her sister had married Fabian. + +A storm gathered between the old man’s eyes; his brow knitted. “Carnac’s +got brains enough, but he goes monkeying about with pictures and statues +till he’s worth naught in the business of life.” + +“I don’t think you understand him,” the girl replied. “I’ve been trying +to understand him for twenty-five years,” the other said malevolently. +“He might have been a big man. He might have bossed this business when +I’m gone. It’s in him, but he’s a fly-away--he’s got no sense. The ideas +he’s got make me sick. He talks like a damn fool sometimes.” + +“But if he’s a ‘damn fool’--is it strange?” She gaily tossed a kiss at +the king of the lumber world. “The difference between you and him is +this: he doesn’t care about the things of this world, and you do; but +he’s one of the ablest men in Canada. If Fabian won’t come back, why not +Carnac?” + +“We’ve never hit it off.” + +Suddenly he stood up, his face flushed, his hands outthrust themselves +in rage, his fingers opened and shut in abandonment of temper. + +“Why have I two such sons!” he exclaimed. “I’ve not been bad. I’ve +squeezed a few; I’ve struck here and there; I’ve mauled my enemies, but +I’ve been good to my own. Why can’t I run square with my own family?” He +was purple to the roots of his hair. + +Savagery possessed him. Life was testing him to the nth degree. “I’ve +been a good father, and a good husband! Why am I treated like this?” + +She watched him silently. Presently, however, the storm seemed to pass. +He appeared to gain control of himself. + +“You want me to have in Carnac?” he asked, with a little fleck of foam +at the corners of his mouth. + +“If you could have Fabian back,” she remarked, “but you can’t! It’s been +coming for a long time. He’s got your I.O.U. and he won’t return; but +Carnac’s got plenty of stuff in him. He never was afraid of anything or +anybody, and if he took a notion, he could do this business as well +as yourself by and by. It’s all a chance, but if he comes in he’ll put +everything else aside.” + +“Where is he?” the old man asked. “He’s with his mother at your home.” + +The old man took his hat from the window-sill. At that moment a clerk +appeared with some papers. “What have you got there?” asked Grier +sharply. “The Belloc account for the trouble on the river,” answered the +clerk. + +“Give it me,” Grier said, and he waved the clerk away. Then he glanced +at the account, and a grim smile passed over his face. “They can’t have +all they want, and they won’t get it. Are you coming with me?” he asked +of the girl, with a set look in his eyes. “No. I’m going back to my +sister,” she answered. + +“If he leaves me--if he joins Belloc!” the old man muttered, and again +his face flushed. + +A few moments afterwards the girl watched him till he disappeared up the +hill. + +“I don’t believe Carnac will do it,” she said to herself. “He’s got the +sense, the brains, and the energy; but he won’t do it.” + +She heard a voice behind her, and turned. It was the deformed but potent +Denzil. He was greyer now. His head, a little to one side, seemed sunk +in his square shoulders, but his eyes were bright. + +“It’s all a bad scrape--that about Fabian Grier,” he said. “You can’t +ever tell about such things, how they’ll go--but no, bagosh!” + + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE HOUSE ON THE HILL + +John Grier’s house had a porch with Corinthian pillars. Its elevation +was noble, but it was rather crudely built, and it needed its grove of +maples to make it pleasant to the eye. It was large but not too ample, +and it had certain rooms with distinct character. + +Inside the house, John Grier paused a moment before the door of the +sitting-room where his wife usually sat. All was silent. He opened the +door. A woman rose to meet him. She was dressed in black. Her dark hair, +slightly streaked with grey, gave her distinction. Her eyes had soft +understanding; her lips had a reflective smile. There was, however, +uneasiness in her face; her fingers slightly trembled on the linen she +was holding. + +“You’re home early, John,” she said in a gentle, reserved voice. + +He twisted a shoulder. “Yes, I’m home early,” he snapped. “Your boy +Fabian has left the business, and I’ve bought his share.” He named the +sum. “Ghastly, ain’t it? But he’s gone, and there’s no more about it. +It’s a bad thing to marry a woman that can’t play fair.” + +He noted the excessive paleness of his wife’s face; the bright eyes +stared and stared, and the lips trembled. “Fabian--Fabian gone!” she +said brokenly. + +“Yes, and he ain’t coming back.” + +“What’s he going to do?” she asked in a bitter voice. + +“Join Belloc--fight his own father--try to do me in the race,” growled +the old man. + +“Who told you that?” + +“Junia, she told me.” + +“What does she know about it? Who told her that?” asked the woman with +faded lips. + +“She always had sense, that child. I wish she was a man.” + +He suddenly ground his heel, and there was distemper in face and voice; +his shoulders hunched; his hands were thrust down in his pockets. He +wheeled on her. “Where’s your other boy? Where’s Carnac?” + +The woman pointed to the lawn. “He’s catching a bit of the city from the +hill just beyond the pear-tree.” + +“Painting, eh? I heard he was here. I want to talk to him.” + +“I don’t think it will do any good,” was the sad reply. “He doesn’t +think as you do.” + +“You believe he’s a genius,” snarled the other. + +“You know he is.” + +“I’ll go and find him.” + +She nodded. “I wish you luck,” she said, but there was no conviction in +her tone. Truth was, she did not wish him luck in this. She watched +him leave by the French window and stride across the lawn. A strange, +troubled expression was in her face. + +“They can’t pull it off together,” she said to herself, and Carnac is +too full of independence. He wants nothing from anybody. He needs no +one; he follows no one--except me. Yes, he follows--he loves me. + +She watched her husband till he almost viciously thrust aside the bushes +staying his progress, and broke into the space by the pear-tree where +Carnac sat with palette and brush, gazing at the distant roofs on which +the sun was leaving its last kiss. + +Carnac got to his feet with a smile, and with a courage in his eye equal +to that which had ever been in his father’s face--in the face of John +Grier. It was strange that the other’s presence troubled him, that even +as a small child, to be in the same room for any length of time vexed +him. Much of that had passed away. The independence of the life he +lived, the freedom from resting upon the financial will of the lumber +king had given him light, air and confidence. He loved his mother. What +he felt for John Grier was respect and admiration. He knew he was not +spoken to now with any indolent purpose. + +They had seen little of each other of late years. His mother had given +him the money to go to New York and Paris, which helped out his own +limited income. He wondered what should bring his father to him +now. There was interested reflection in his eye. With his habit of +visualization, he saw behind John Grier, as he came on now, the long +procession of logs and timbers which had made his fortune, stretch back +on the broad St. Lawrence, from the Mattawan to the Madawaska, from the +Richelieu to the Marmora. Yet, what was it John Grier had done? In a +narrow field he had organized his life perfectly, had developed his +opportunities, had safeguarded his every move. The smiling inquiry in +his face was answered by the old man saying abruptly: + +“Fabian’s gone. He’s deserted the ship.” + +The young man had the wish to say in reply, “At last, eh!” but he +avoided it. + +“Where has he gone?” + +“I bought him out to-day, and I hear he’s going to join Belloc.” + +“Belloc! Belloc! Who told you that?” asked the young man. + +“Junia Shale--she told me.” + +Carnac laughed. “She knows a lot, but how did she know that?” + +“Sheer instinct, and I believe she’s right.” + +“Right--right--to fight you, his own father!” was the inflammable reply. + +“Why, that would be a lowdown business!” + +“Would it be lower down than your not helping your father, when you +can?” + +Somehow he yearned over his wayward, fantastic son. The wilful, splendid +character of the youth overcame the insistence in the other’s nature. + +“You seem to be getting on all right,” remarked Carnac with the faint +brown moustache, the fine, showy teeth, the clean-shaven cheeks, and +auburn hair hanging loosely down. + +“You’re wrong. Things aren’t doing as well with me as they might. Belloc +and the others make difficult going. I’ve got too much to do myself. I +want help.” + +“You had it in Fabian,” remarked Carnac dryly. “Well, I’ve lost it, and +it never was enough. He hadn’t vision, sense and decision.” + +“And so you come to me, eh? I always thought you despised me,” said +Carnac. + +A half-tender, half-repellent expression came into the old man’s face. +He spoke bluntly. “I always thought you had three times the brains +of your brother. You’re not like me, and you’re not like your mother; +there’s something in you that means vision, and seeing things, and doing +them. If fifteen thousand dollars a year and a share in the business is +any good to you--” + +For an instant there had been pleasure and wonder in the young man’s +eyes, but at the sound of the money and the share in the business he +shrank back. + +“I don’t think so, father. I’m happy enough. I’ve got all I want.” + +“What the devil are you talking about!” the other burst out. “You’ve got +all you want! You’ve no home; you’ve no wife; you’ve no children; you’ve +no place. You paint, and you sculp, and what’s the good of it all? Have +you ever thought of that? What’s there in it for you or anyone else? +Have you no blood and bones, no sting of life in you? Look what I’ve +done. I started with little, and I’ve built up a business that, if it +goes all right, will be worth millions. I say, if it goes all right, +because I’ve got to carry more than I ought.” + +Carnac shook his head. “I couldn’t be any help to you. I’m not a man +of action. I think, I devise, but I don’t act. I’d be no good in your +business no, honestly, I’d be no good. I don’t think money is the end +of life. I don’t think success is compensation for all you’ve done and +still must do. I want to stand out of it. You’ve had your life; you’ve +lived it where you wanted to live it. I haven’t, and I’m trying to find +out where my duty and my labour lies. It is Art; no doubt. I don’t know +for sure.” + +“Good God!” broke in the old man. “You don’t know for sure--you’re +twenty-five years old, and you don’t know where you’re going!” + +“Yes, I know where I’m going--to Heaven by and by!” This was his +satirical reply. + +“Oh, fasten down; get hold of something that matters. Now, listen to me. +I want you to do one thing--the thing I ought to do and can’t. I must +stay here now that Fabian’s gone. I want you to go to the Madawaska +River.” + +“No, I won’t go to the Madawaska,” replied Carnac after a long pause, +“but”--with sudden resolution--“if it’s any good to you, I’ll stay here +in the business, and you can go to the Madawaska. Show me what to do +here; tell me how to do it, and I’ll try to help you out for a while--if +it can be done,” he added hastily. “You go, but I’ll stay. Let’s talk it +over at supper.” + +He sighed, and turned and gazed warmly at the sunset on the roofs of the +city; then turned to his father’s face, but it was not the same look in +his eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER V. CARNAC AS MANAGER + +Carnac was installed in the office, and John Grier went to the +Madawaska. Before he left, however, he was with Carnac for near a week, +showing the procedure and the main questions that might arise to be +solved. + +“It’s like this,” said Grier in their last talk, “you’ve got to keep +a stiff hand over the foremen and overseers, and have strict watch of +Belloc & Co. Perhaps there will be trouble when I’ve gone, but, if it +does, keep a stiff upper lip, and don’t let the gang do you. You’ve got +a quick mind and you know how to act sudden. Act at once, and damn the +consequences! Remember, John Grier’s firm has a reputation, and deal +justly, but firmly, with opposition. The way it’s organized, the +business almost runs itself. But that’s only when the man at the head +keeps his finger on the piston-rod. You savvy, don’t you?” + +“I savvy all right. If the Belloc firm cuts up rusty, I’ll think of what +you’d do and try to do it in the same way.” + +The old man smiled. He liked the spirit in Carnac. It was the right kind +for his business. “I predict this: if you have one fight with the Belloc +lot, you’ll hate them too. Keep the flag flying. Don’t get rattled. It’s +a big job, and it’s worth doing in a big way. + +“Yes, it’s a big job,” said Carnac. “I hope I’ll pull it off.” + +“You’ll pull it off, if you bend your mind to it. But there won’t be any +time for your little pictures and statues. You’ll have to deal with +the real men, and they’ll lose their glamour. That’s the thing about +business--it’s death to sentimentality.” + +Carnac flushed with indignation. “So you think Titian and Velasquez and +Goyot and El Greco and Watteau and Van Dyck and Rembrandt and all the +rest were sentimentalists, do you? The biggest men in the world worship +them. You aren’t just to the greatest intellects. I suppose Shakespeare +was a sentimentalist!” + +The old man laughed and tapped his son on the shoulder. + +“Don’t get excited, Carnac. I’d rather you ran my business well, than +be Titian or Rembrandt, whoever they were. If you do this job well, I’ll +think there’s a good chance of our working together.” + +Carnac nodded, but the thought that he could not paint or sculp when he +was on this work vexed him, and he only set his teeth to see it through. +“All right, we’ll see,” he said, and his father went away. + +Then Carnac’s time of work and trial began. He was familiar with the +routine of the business, he had adaptability, he was a quick worker, and +for a fortnight things went swimmingly. There was elation in doing work +not his regular job, and he knew the eyes of the commercial and river +world were on him. He did his best and it was an effective best. Junia +had been in the City of Quebec, but she came back at the end of a +fortnight, and went to his office to get a subscription for a local +charity. She had a gift in this kind of work. + +It was a sunny day in the month of June, and as she entered the office a +new spirit seemed to enter with her. + +The place became distinguished. She stood in the doorway for a moment, +radiant, smiling, half embarrassed, then she said: “Please may I for a +moment, Carnac?” + +Carnac was delighted. “For many moments, Junia.” + +“I’m not as busy as usual. I’m glad as glad to see you.” + +She said with restraint: “Not for many moments. I’m here on business. +It’s important. I wanted to get a subscription from John Grier for the +Sailors’ Hospital which is in a bad way. Will you give something for +him?” + +Carnac looked at the subscription list. “I see you’ve been to Belloc +first and they’ve given a hundred dollars. Was that wise-going to them +first? You know how my father feels about Belloc. And we’re the older +firm.” + +The girl laughed. “Oh, that’s silly! Belloc’s money is as good as John +Grier’s, and it only happened he was asked first because Fabian was +present when I took the list, and it’s Fabian’s writing on the paper +there.” + +Carnac nodded. “That’s all right with me, for I’m no foe to Belloc, but +my father wouldn’t have liked it. He wouldn’t have given anything in the +circumstances.” + +“Oh, yes, he would! He’s got sense with all his prejudices. I’ll tell +you what he’d have done: he’d have given a bigger subscription than +Belloc.” + +Carnac laughed. “Well, perhaps you’re right; it was clever planning it +so.” + +“I didn’t plan it. It was accident, but I had to consider everything +and I saw how to turn it to account. So, if you are going to give a +subscription for John Grier you must do as he would do.” + +Carnac smiled, put the paper on his desk, and took the pen. + +“Make it measure the hate John Grier has to the Belloc firm,” she said +ironically. + +Carnac chuckled and wrote. “Will that do?” He handed her the paper. + +“One hundred and fifty dollars--oh, quite, quite good!” she said. “But +it’s only a half hatred after all. I’d have made it a whole one.” + +“You’d have expected John Grier to give two hundred, eh? But that would +have been too plain. It looks all right now, and it must go at that.” + +She smiled. “Well, it’ll go at that. You’re a good business man. I see +you’ve given up your painting and sculping to do this! It will please +your father, but are you satisfied?” + +“Satisfied--of course, I’m not; and you know it. I’m not a +money-grabber. I’m an artist if I’m anything, and I’m not doing this +permanently. I’m only helping my father while he’s in a hole.” + +The girl suddenly grew serious. “You mean you’re not going to stick to +the business, and take Fabian’s place in it? He’s been for a week with +Belloc and he’s never coming back here. You have the brains for it; and +you could make your father happy and inherit his fortune--all of it.” + +Carnac flushed indignantly. “I suppose I could, but it isn’t big enough +for me. I’d rather do one picture that the Luxembourg or the London +National Gallery would buy than own this whole business. That’s the turn +of my mind.” + +“Yes, but if you didn’t sell a picture to the Luxembourg or the National +Gallery. What then?” + +“I’d have a good try for it, that’s all. Do you want me to give up Art +and take to commerce? Is that your view?” + +“I suggested to John Grier the day that Fabian sold his share that you +might take his place; and I still think it a good thing, though, of +course, I like your painting. But I felt sorry for your father with none +of his own family to help him; and I thought you might stay with him for +your family’s sake.” + +“You thought I’d be a martyr for love of John Grier--and cold cash, did +you? That isn’t the way the blood runs in my veins. I think John Grier +might get out of the business now, if he’s tired, and sell it and let +some one else run it. John Grier is not in want. If he were, I’d give +up everything to help him, and I’d not think I was a martyr. But I’ve a +right to make my own career. It’s making the career one likes which +gets one in the marrow. I’d take my chances of success as he did. He has +enough to live on, he’s had success; let him get down and out, if he’s +tired.” + +The girl held herself firmly. “Remember John Grier has made a great +name for himself--as great in his way as Andrew Carnegie or Pierpont +Morgan--and he’s got pride in his name. He wants his son to carry it on, +and in a way he’s right.” + +“That’s good argument,” said Carnac, “but if his name isn’t strong +enough to carry itself, his son can’t carry it for him. That’s the +way of life. How many sons have ever added to their father’s fame? The +instances are very few. In the modern world, I can only think of the +Pitts in England. There’s no one else.” + +The girl now smiled again. The best part in her was stirred. She saw. +Her mind changed. After a moment she said: “I think you’re altogether +right about it. Carnac, you have your own career to make, so make it +as it best suits yourself. I’m sorry I spoke to your father as I did. +I pitied him, and I thought you’d find scope for your talents in the +business. It’s a big game, but I see now it isn’t yours, Carnac.” + +He nodded, smiling. “That’s it; that’s it, I hate the whole thing.” + +She shook hands. As his hand enclosed her long slim fingers, he felt he +wished never to let them go, they were so thrilling; but he did, for the +thought of Luzanne came to his mind. + +“Good-bye, Junia, and don’t forget that John Grier’s firm is the foe of +the Belloc business,” he said satirically. + +She laughed, and went down the hill quickly, and as she went Carnac +thought he had never seen so graceful a figure. + +“What an evil Fate sent Luzanne my way!” he said. + +Two days later there came an ugly incident on the river. There was a +collision between a gang of John Grier’s and Belloc’s men and one of +Grier’s men was killed. At the inquest, it was found that the man met +his death by his own fault, having first attacked a Belloc man and +injured him. The Belloc man showed the injury to the jury, and he was +acquitted. Carnac watched the case closely, and instructed his lawyer +to contend that the general attack was first made by Belloc’s men, which +was true; but the jury decided that this did not affect the individual +case, and that the John Grier man met his death by his own fault. + +“A shocking verdict!” he said aloud in the Court when it was given. + +“Sir,” said the Coroner, “it is the verdict of men who use their +judgment after hearing the evidence, and your remark is offensive and +criminal.” + +“If it is criminal, I apologize,” said Carnac. + +“You must apologize for its offensiveness, or you will be arrested, +sir.” + +This nettled Carnac. “I will not apologize for its offensiveness,” he +said firmly. + +“Constable, arrest this man,” said the Coroner, and the constable did +so. + +“May I be released on bail?” asked Carnac with a smile. + +“I am a magistrate. Yes, you may be released on bail,” said the Coroner. + +Carnac bowed, and at once a neighbour became security for three thousand +dollars. Then Carnac bowed again and left the Court with--it was +plain--the goodwill of most people present. + +Carnac returned to his office with angry feelings at his heart. The +Belloc man ought to have been arrested for manslaughter, he thought. In +any case, he had upheld the honour of John Grier’s firm by his protest, +and the newspapers spoke not unfavourably of him in their reports. They +said he was a man of courage to say what he did, though it was improper, +from a legal standpoint. But human nature was human nature! + +The trial took place in five days, and Carnac was fined twenty-five +cents, which was in effect a verdict of not guilty; and so the +newspapers said. It was decided that the offence was only legally +improper, and it was natural that Carnac expressed himself strongly. + +Junia was present at the trial. After it was over, she saw Carnac for a +moment. “I think your firm can just pay the price and exist!” she said. +“It’s a terrible sum, and it shows how great a criminal you are!” + +“Not a ‘thirty-cent’ criminal, anyhow,” said Carnac. “It is a moral +victory, and tell Fabian so. He’s a bit huffy because I got into the +trouble, I suppose.” + +“No, he loathed it all. He’s sorry it occurred.” + +There was no further talk between them, for a subordinate of Carnac’s +came hurriedly to him and said something which Junia did not hear. +Carnac raised his hat to her, and hurried away. + +“Well, it’s not so easy as painting pictures,” she said. “He gets fussed +over these things.” + +It was later announced by the manager of the main mill that there was +to be a meeting of workers to agitate for a strike for higher pay. +A French-Canadian who had worked in the mills of Maine and who was a +red-hot socialist was the cause of it. He had only been in the mills for +about three months and had spent his spare time inciting well-satisfied +workmen to strike. His name was Luc Baste--a shock-haired criminal with +a huge chest and a big voice, and a born filibuster. The meeting was +held and a deputation was appointed to wait on Carnac at his office. +Word was sent to Carnac, and he said he would see them after the +work was done for the day. So in the evening about seven o’clock the +deputation of six men came, headed by Luc Baste. + +“Well, what is it?” Carnac asked calmly. + +Luc Baste began, not a statement of facts, but an oration on the rights +of workers, their downtrodden condition and their beggarly wages. He +said they had not enough to keep body and soul together, and that right +well did their employers know it. He said there should be an increase of +a half-dollar a day, or there would be a strike. + +Carnac dealt with the matter quickly and quietly. He said Luc Baste had +not been among them a long time and evidently did not know what was the +cost of living in Montreal. He said the men got good wages, and in any +case it was not for him to settle a thing of such importance. This was +for the head of the firm, John Grier, when he returned. The wages had +been raised two years before, and he doubted that John Grier would +consent to a further rise. All other men on the river seemed satisfied +and he doubted these ought to have a cent more a day. They were getting +the full value of the work. He begged all present to think twice before +they brought about catastrophe. It would be a catastrophe if John +Grier’s mills should stop working and Belloc’s mills should go on as +before. It was not like Grier’s men to do this sort of thing. + +The men seemed impressed, and, presently, after one of them thanking +him, the deputation withdrew, Luc Baste talking excitedly as they went. +The manager of the main mill, with grave face, said: + +“No, Mr. Grier, I don’t think they’ll be satisfied. You said all that +could be said, but I think they’ll strike after all.” + +“Well, I hope it won’t occur before John Grier gets back,” said Carnac. + +That night a strike was declared. + +Fortunately, only about two-thirds of the men came out, and it could not +be called a complete success. The Belloc people were delighted, but they +lived in daily fear of a strike in their own yards, for agitators were +busy amongst their workmen. But the workers waited to see what would +happen to Grier’s men. + +Carnac declined to reconsider. The wages were sufficient and the strike +unwarranted! He kept cool, even good-natured, and with only one-third +of his men at work, he kept things going, and the business went on with +regularity, if with smaller output. The Press unanimously supported him, +for it was felt the strike had its origin in foreign influence, and as +French Canada had no love for the United States there was journalistic +opposition to the strike. Carnac had telegraphed to his father when the +strike started, but did not urge him to come back. He knew that Grier +could do nothing more than he himself was doing, and he dreaded new +influence over the strikers. Grier happened to be in the backwoods and +did not get word for nearly a week; then he wired asking Carnac what +the present situation was. Carnac replied he was standing firm, that +he would not yield a cent increase in wages, and that, so far, all was +quiet. + +It happened, however, that on the day he wired, the strikers tried to +prevent the non-strikers from going to work and there was a collision. +The police and a local company of volunteers intervened and then the +Press condemned unsparingly the whole affair. This outbreak did good, +and Luc Baste was arrested for provoking disorder. No one else was +arrested, and this was a good thing, for, on the whole, even the men +that followed Luc did not trust him. His arrest cleared the air and +the strike broke. The next day, all the strikers returned, but Carnac +refused their wages for the time they were on strike, and he had +triumphed. + +On that very day John Grier started back to Montreal. He arrived in +about four days, and when he came, found everything in order. He went +straight from his home to the mill and there found Carnac in control. + +“Had trouble, eh, Carnac?” he asked with a grin, after a moment of +greeting. Carnac shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing. + +“It’s the first strike I ever had in my mills, and I hope it will be the +last. I don’t believe in knuckling down to labour tyranny, and I’m glad +you kept your hand steady. There’ll be no more strikes in my mills--I’ll +see to that!” + +“They’ve only just begun, and they’ll go on, father. It’s the influence +of Canucs who have gone to the factories of Maine. They get bitten there +with the socialistic craze, and they come back and make trouble. This +strike was started by Luc Baste, a French-Canadian, who had been in +Maine. You can’t stop these things by saying so. There was no strike +among Belloc’s men!” + +“No, but did you have no trouble with Belloc’s men?” + +Carnac told him of the death of the Grier man after the collision, of +his own arrest and fine of twenty-five cents and of the attitude of the +public and the Press. The old man was jubilant. “Say, you did the thing +in style. It was the only way to do it. You landed ‘em with the protest +fair and easy. You’re going to be a success in the business, I can see +that.” + +Carnac for a moment looked at his father meditatively. Then, seeing +the surprise in John Grier’s face, he said: “No, I’m not going to be +a success in it, for I’m not going on with it. I’ve had enough. I’m +through.” + +“You’ve had enough--you’re through--just when you’ve proved you can do +things as well as I can do them! You ain’t going on! Great Jehoshaphat!” + +“I mean it; I’m not going on. I’m going to quit in another month. +I can’t stick it. It galls me. It ain’t my job. I do it, but it’s +artificial, it ain’t the real thing. My heart isn’t in it as yours is, +and I’d go mad if I had to do this all my life. It’s full of excitement +at times, it’s hard work, it’s stimulating when you’re fighting, but +other times it’s deadly dull and bores me stiff. I feel as though I were +pulling a train of cars.” + +Slowly the old man’s face reddened with anger. “It bores you stiff, eh? +It’s deadly dull at times! There’s only interest in it when there’s a +fight on, eh? You’re right; you’re not fit for the job, never was and +never will be while your mind is what it is. Don’t take a month to go, +don’t take a week, or a day, go this morning after I’ve got your report +on what’s been done. It ain’t the real thing, eh? No, it ain’t. It’s +no place for you. Tell me all there is to tell, and get out; I’ve had +enough too, I’ve had my fill. ‘It bores me stiff’!” + +John Grier was in a rage, and he would listen to no explanation. “Come +now, out with your report.” + +Carnac was not upset. He kept cool. “No need to be so crusty,” he said. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. LUKE TARBOE HAS AN OFFER + +Many a man behind his horses’ tails on the countryside has watched the +wild reckless life of the water with wonder and admiration. He sees +a cluster of logs gather and climb, and still gather and climb, and +between him and that cluster is a rolling waste of timber, round and +square. + +Suddenly, a being with a red shirt, with loose prairie kind of hat, +knee-boots, having metal clamps, strikes out from the shore, running on +the tops of the moving logs till he reaches the jam. Then the pike-pole, +or the lever, reaches the heart of the difficulty, and presently the +jam breaks, and the logs go tumbling into the main, while the +vicious-looking berserker of the water runs back to the shore over the +logs, safe and sound. It is a marvel to the spectator, that men should +manipulate the river so. To him it is a life apart; not belonging to the +life he lives-a passing show. + +It was a stark surprise of the river which makes this story possible. +There was a strike at Bunder’s Boom--as it was called--between Bunder +and Grier’s men. Some foreman of Grier’s gang had been needlessly +offensive. Bunder had been stupidly resentful. When Grier’s men had +tried to force his hand also, he had resisted. It chanced that, when an +impasse seemed possible to be broken only by force, a telegram came to +John Grier at Montreal telling him of the difficulty. He lost no time in +making his way northwards. + +But some one else had come upon the scene. It was Luke Tarboe. He had +arrived at a moment when the Belloc river crowd had almost wrecked +Bunder’s Boom, and when a collision between the two gangs seemed +inevitable. What he did remained a river legend. By good temper and +adroitness, he reconciled the leaders of the two gangs; he bought the +freedom of the river by a present to Bunder’s daughter; he won Bunder +by four bottles of “Three Star” brandy. When the police from a town a +hundred miles away arrived at the same time as John Grier, it was to +find the Grier and Belloc gangs peacefully prodding side by side. + +When the police had gone, John Grier looked Tarboe up and down. The +brown face, the clear, strong brown eyes and the brown hatless head rose +up eighteen inches above his own, making a gallant summit to a robust +stalk. + +“Well, you’ve done easier things than that in your time, eh?” John Grier +asked. + +Tarboe nodded. “It was touch and go. I guess it was the hardest thing I +ever tried since I’ve been working for you, but it’s come off all right, +hasn’t it?” He waved a hand to the workmen on the river, to the tumbling +rushes of logs and timber. Then he looked far up the stream, with hand +shading his brown eyes to where a crib-or raft-was following the eager +stream of logs. “It’s easy going now,” he added, and his face had a look +of pleasure. + +“What’s your position, and what’s your name?” asked John Grier. + +“I’m head-foreman of the Skunk Nest’s gang--that’s this lot, and I got +here--just in time! I don’t believe you could have done it, Mr. Grier. +No master is popular in the real sense with his men. I think they’d have +turned you down. So it was lucky I came.” + +A faint smile hovered at his lips, and his eyes brooded upon the busy +gangs of men. “Yes, I’ve had a lot of luck this time. There’s nothing +like keeping your head cool and your belly free from drink.” Now he +laughed broadly. “By gosh, it’s all good! Do you know, Mr. Grier, I came +out here a wreck eight years ago. I left Montreal then with a spot in +my lungs, that would kill me, they said. I’ve never seen Montreal +since, but I’ve had a good time out in the woods, in the shanties in the +winters; on the rivers in the summer. I’ve only been as far East as this +in eight years.” + +“What do you do in the winter, then?” + +“Shanties-shanties all the time. In the summer this; in the Fall taking +the men back to the shanties. Bossing the lot; doing it from love of the +life that’s been given back to me. Yes, this is the life that makes you +take things easy. You don’t get fussed out here. The job I had took a +bit of doing, but it was done, and I’m lucky to have my boss see the end +of it.” + +He smiled benignly upon John Grier. He knew he was valuable to the Grier +organization; he knew that Grier had heard of him under another name. +Now Grier had seen him, and he felt he would like to tell John Grier +some things about the river he ought to know. He waved a hand declining +the cigar offered him by his great chief. + +“Thanks, I don’t smoke, and I don’t drink, and I don’t chew; but +I eat--by gosh, I eat! Nothing’s so good as good food, except good +reading.” + +“Good reading!” exclaimed John Grier. “Good reading--on the river!” + +“Well, it’s worked all right, and I read a lot. I get books from +Montreal, from the old library at the University.” + +“At what University?” struck in the lumber-king. “Oh, Laval! I wouldn’t +go to McGill. I wanted to know French, so I went to Laval. There I came +to know Father Labasse. He was a great man, Father Labasse. He helped +me. I was there three years, and then was told I was going to die. It +was Labasse who gave me this tip. He said, ‘Go into the woods; put your +teeth into the trees; eat the wild herbs, and don’t come back till you +feel well.’ Well, I haven’t gone back, and I’m not going back.” + +“What do you do with your wages?” asked the lumber-king. + +“I bought land. I’ve got a farm of four hundred acres twenty miles from +here. I’ve got a man on it working it.” + +“Does it pay?” + +“Of course. Do you suppose I’d keep a farm that didn’t pay?” + +“Who runs it?” + +“A man that broke his leg on the river. One of Belloc’s men. He knows +all about farming. He brought his wife and three children up, and there +he is--making money, and making the land good. I’ve made him a partner +at last. When it’s good enough by and by, I’ll probably go and live +there myself. Anybody ought to make farming a success, if there’s water +and proper wood and such things,” he added. + +There was silence for a few moments. Then John Grier looked Tarboe up +and down sharply again, noting the splendid physique, the quizzical, +mirth-provoking eye, and said: “I can give you a better job if you’ll +come to Montreal.” + +Tarboe shook his head. “Haven’t had a sick day for eight years; I’m as +hard as nails; I’m as strong as steel. I love this wild world of the +woods and fields and--” + +“And the shebangs and grog-shops and the dirty, drunken villages?” + interrupted the old man. + +“No, they don’t count. I take them in, but they don’t count.” + +“Didn’t you have hard times when you first came?” asked John Grier. “Did +you get right with the men from the start?” + +“A little bit of care is a good thing in any life. I told them good +stories, and they liked that. I used to make the stories up, and they +liked that also. When I added some swear words they liked them all the +better. I learned how to do it.” + +“Yes, I’ve heard of you, but not as Tarboe.” + +“You heard of me as Renton, eh?” + +“Yes, as Renton. I wonder I never came across you till to-day.” + +“I kept out of your way; that was the reason. When you came north, I got +farther into the backwoods.” + +“Are you absolutely straight, Tarboe?” asked John Grier eagerly. “Do you +do these things in the Garden of Eden way, or can you run a bit crooked +when it’s worth while?” + +“If I’d ever seen it worth while, I’d say so. I could run a bit crooked +if I was fighting among the big ones, or if we were at war with--Belloc, +eh!” A cloud came into the eyes of Tarboe. “If I was fighting Belloc, +and he used a weapon to flay me from behind, I’d never turn my back on +him!” + +A grim smile came into Tarboe’s face. His jaw set almost viciously, his +eyes hardened. “You people don’t play your game very well, Mr. Grier. +I’ve seen a lot that wants changing.” + +“Why don’t you change it, then?” + +Tarboe laughed. “If I was boss like you, I’d change it, but I’m not, and +I stick to my own job.” + +The old man came close to him, and steadily explored his face and eyes. +“I’ve never met anybody like you before. You’re the man can do things +and won’t do them.” + +“I didn’t say that. I said what I meant--that good health is better than +everything else in the world, and when you’ve got it, you should keep +it, if you can. I’m going to keep mine.” + +“Well, keep it in Montreal,” said John Grier. “There’s a lot doing there +worth while. Is fighting worth anything to one that’s got aught in him? +There’s war for the big things. I believe in war.” He waved a hand. +“What’s the difference between the kind of thing you’ve done to-day, and +doing it with the Belloc gang--with the Folson gang--with the Longville +gang--and all the rest? It’s the same thing. I was like you when I was +young. I could do things you’ve done to-day while I laid the base of +what I’ve got. How old are you?” + +“I’m thirty--almost thirty-one.” + +“You’ll be just as well in Montreal to-morrow as you are here to-day, +and you’d be twice as clever,” said John Grier. His eyes seemed to +pierce those of the younger man. “I like you,” he continued, suddenly +catching Tarboe’s arm. “You’re all right, and you wouldn’t run straight +simply because it was the straight thing to do.” + +Tarboe threw back his head and laughed and nodded. The old man’s eyes +twinkled. “By gracious, we’re well met! I never was in a bigger hole in +my life. One of my sons has left me. I bought him out, and he’s joined +my enemy Belloc.” + +“Yes, I know,” remarked Tarboe. + +“My other son, he’s no good. He’s as strong as a horse--but he’s no +good. He paints, he sculps. He doesn’t care whether I give him money or +not. He earns his living as he wants to earn it. When Fabian left me, I +tried Carnac. I offered to take him in permanently. He tried it, but he +wouldn’t go on. He got out. He’s twenty-six. The papers are beginning to +talk about him. He doesn’t care for that, except that it brings in cash +for his statues and pictures. What’s the good of painting and statuary, +if you can’t do the big things?” + +“So you think the things you do are as big as the things that +Shakespeare, or Tennyson, or Titian, or Van Dyck, or Watt, or Rodin +do--or did?” + +“Bigger-much bigger,” was the reply. + +The younger man smiled. “Well, that’s the way to look at it, I suppose. +Think the thing you do is better than what anybody else does, and you’re +well started.” + +“Come and do it too. You’re the only man I’ve cottoned to in years. Come +with me, and I’ll give you twelve thousand dollars a year; and I’ll +take you into my business.--I’ll give you the best chance you ever had. +You’ve found your health; come back and keep it. Don’t you long for the +fight, for your finger at somebody’s neck? That’s what I felt when I was +your age, and I did it, and I’m doing it, but I can’t do it as I used +to. My veins are leaking somewhere.” A strange, sad, faded look came +into his eyes. “I don’t want my business to be broken by Belloc,” he +added. “Come and help me save it.” + +“By gosh, I will!” said the young man after a moment, with a sudden +thirst in his throat and bite to his teeth. “By gum, yes, I’ll go with +you.” + + + + +CHAPTER VII. “AT OUR PRICE?” + +West of the city of Montreal were the works and the offices of John +Grier. Here it was that a thing was done without which there might have +been no real story to tell. It was a night which marked the close of the +financial year of the firm. + +Upon John Grier had come Carnac. He had brought with him a small statue +of a riverman with flannel shirt, scarf about the waist, thick defiant +trousers and well-weaponed boots. It was a real figure of the river, +buoyant, daring, almost vicious. The head was bare; there were plain +gold rings in the ears; and the stark, half-malevolent eyes looked out, +as though searching for a jam of logs or some peril of the river. In the +horny right hand was a defiant pike-pole, its handle thrust forward, its +steel spike stabbing the ground. + +At first glance, Carnac saw that John Grier was getting worn and old. +The eyes were not so flashing as they once were; the lips were curled +in a half-cynical mood. The old look of activity was fading; something +vital had struck soul and body. He had had a great year. He had fought +Belloc and his son Fabian successfully; he had laid new plans and +strengthened his position. + +Tarboe coming into the business had made all the difference to him. +Tarboe had imagination, skill and decision, he seldom lost his temper; +he kept a strong hand upon himself. His control of men was marvellous; +his knowledge of finance was instinctive; his capacity for organization +was rare, and he had health unbounded and serene. It was hard to tell +what were the principles controlling Tarboe--there was always an element +of suspicion in his brown and brilliant eyes. Yet he loved work. The +wind of energy seemed to blow through his careless hair. His hands were +like iron and steel; his lips were quick and friendly, or ruthless, +as seemed needed. To John Grier’s eyes he was the epitome of +civilization--the warrior without a soul. + +When Carnac came in now with the statue tucked under his arm, smiling +and self-contained, it seemed as though something had been done by Fate +to flaunt John Grier. + +With a nod, Carnac put the statue on the table in front of the old +man, and said: “It’s all right, isn’t it? I’ve lifted that out of the +river-life. That’s one of the best men you ever had, and he’s only one +of a thousand. He doesn’t belong anywhere. He’s a rover, an adventurer, +a wanton of the waters. Look at him. He’s all right, isn’t he?” He asked +this again. + +The timber-man waved the statue aside, and looked at the youth with +critical eyes. “I’ve just been making up the accounts for the year,” he +said. “It’s been the best year I’ve had in seven. I’ve taken the starch +out of Belloc and Fabian. I’ve broken the back of their opposition--I’ve +got it like a twig in iron teeth.” + +“Yes, Tarboe’s been some use, hasn’t he?” was the suggestive response. + +John Grier’s eyes hardened. “You might have done it. You had it in you. +The staff of life--courage and daring--were yours, and you wouldn’t take +it on. What’s the result? I’ve got a man who’s worth two of Fabian and +Belloc. And you”--he held up a piece of paper--“see that,” he broke off. +“See that. It’s my record. That’s what I’m worth. That’s what you might +have handled!” He took a cigar from his pocket, cut off the blunt end, +and continued: “You threw your chance aside.” He tapped the paper with +the point of the cigar. “That’s what Tarboe has helped do. What have you +got to show?” He pointed to the statue. “I won’t say it ain’t good. It’s +a live man from the river. But what do I want with that, when I can have +the original man himself! My boy, the great game of life is to fight +hard, and never to give in. If you keep your eyes open, things’ll happen +that’ll bring what you want.” + +He stood up, striking a match to light his cigar. It was dusk, and the +light of the match gave a curious, fantastic glimmer to his powerful, +weird, haggard face. He was like some remnant of a great life, loose in +a careless world. + +“I tell you,” he said, the smoke leaking from his mouth like a drift of +snow, “the only thing worth doing is making the things that matter in +the commerce and politics of the world.” + +“I didn’t know you were a politician,” said Carnac. “Of course I’m +a politician,” was the inflammable reply. “What’s commerce without +politics? It’s politics that makes the commerce possible. There’s +that fellow Barouche--Barode Barouche--he’s got no money, but he’s a +Minister, and he can make you rich or poor by planning legislation at +Ottawa that’ll benefit or hamper you. That’s the kind of business that’s +worth doing--seeing into the future, fashioning laws that make good men +happy and bad men afraid. Don’t I know! I’m a master-man in my business; +nothing defeats me. To me, a forest of wild wood is the future palace of +a Prime Minister. A great river is a pathway to the palace, and all the +thousands of men that work the river are the adventurers that bring the +booty home--” + +“That bring ‘the palace to Paris,’ eh!” interrupted Carnac, laughing. + +“Paris be damned--that bring the forest to Quebec. How long did it take +you to make that?” he added with a nod towards the statue. + +“Oh, I did it in a day--six hours, I think; and he stood like that for +three hours out of the six. He was great, but he’d no more sense of +civilization than I have of Heaven.” + +“You don’t need to have a sense of Heaven, you need to have a sense of +Hell. That prevents you from spoiling your own show. You’re playing with +life’s vital things.” + +“I wonder how much you’ve got out of it all, father,” Carnac remarked +with a smile. He lit a cigarette. “You do your job in style. It’s been a +great career, yours. You’ve made your big business out of nothing.” + +“I had something to start with. Your grandfather had a business worth +not much, but it was a business, and the fundamental thing is to have +machinery to work with when you start life. I had that. My father was +narrow, contracted and a blunderer, but he made good in a small way.” + +“And you in a big way,” said Carnac, with admiration and criticism in +his eyes. + +He realized that John Grier had summed him up fairly when he said he was +playing with life’s vital things. Somehow, he saw the other had a grip +upon essentials lacking in himself; he had his tooth in the orange, as +it were, and was sucking the juice of good profit from his labours. Yet +he knew how much trickery and vital evasion and harsh aggression there +were in his father’s business life. + +As yet he had never seen Tarboe--he had been away in the country +the whole year nearly--but he imagined a man of strength, abilities, +penetration and deep power. He knew that only a man with savage +instincts could work successfully with John Grier; he knew that Grier +was without mercy in his business, and that his best year’s work had +been marked by a mandatory power which only a malevolent policy could +produce. Yet, somehow, he had a feeling that Tarboe had a steadying +influence on John Grier. The old man was not so uncontrolled as in +bygone days. + +“I’d like to see Tarboe,” Carnac said suddenly. “He ain’t the same +as you,” snapped John Grier. “He’s bigger, broader, and buskier.” A +malicious smile crossed over his face. “He’s a bandit--that’s what he +is. He’s got a chest like a horse and lungs like the ocean. When he’s +got a thing, he’s got it like a nail in a branch of young elm. He’s a +dandy, that fellow.” Suddenly passion came to his eyes. “You might have +done it, you’ve got the brains, and the sense, but you ain’t got the +ambition. You keep feeling for a thousand things instead of keeping +your grip on one. The man that succeeds fastens hard on what he wants to +do--the one big thing, and he does it, thinking of naught else.” + +“Well, that’s good preaching,” remarked Carnac coolly. “But it doesn’t +mean that a man should stick to one thing, if he finds out he’s been +wrong about it? We all make mistakes. Perhaps some day I’ll wish I’d +gone with you.” + +Grimness came into the old man’s face. Something came into his eyes that +was strange and revealing. + +“Well, I hope you will. But you had your chance with me, and you threw +it down like a piece of rotten leather.” + +“I don’t cost you anything,” returned Carnac. “I’ve paid my own way a +long time--with mother’s help.” + +“And you’re twenty-six years old, and what have you got? Enough to give +you bread from day to day-no more. I was worth seventy thousand dollars +when I was your age. I’m worth enough to make a prince rich, and if I’d +been treated right by those I brought into the world I’d be worth twice +as much. Fabian was good as far as he went, but he was a coward. You”--a +look of fury entered the dark eyes--“you were no coward, but you didn’t +care a damn. You wanted to paddle about with muck of imagination--” he +pointed to the statue on the table. + +“Why, your business has been great because of your imagination,” was the +retort. “You saw things ahead with the artist’s eye. You planned +with the artist’s mind; and brought forth what’s to your honour and +credit--and the piling up of your bank balance. The only thing that +could have induced me to work in your business is the looking ahead and +planning, seeing the one thing to be played off against the other, the +fighting of strong men, the politics, all the forces which go to make or +break your business. Well, I didn’t do it, and I’m not sorry. I have a +gift which, by training and development, will give me a place among the +men who do things, if I have good luck--good luck!” + +He dwelt upon these last words with an intensity which dreaded +something. There was retrospection in his eyes. A cloud seemed to cross +his face. + +A strong step crunching the path stopped the conversation, and presently +there appeared the figure of Tarboe. Certainly the new life had not +changed Tarboe, had not altered his sturdy, strenuous nature. His +brown eyes under the rough thatch of his eyebrow took in the room +with lightning glance, and he nodded respectfully, yet with great +friendliness, at John Grier. He seemed to have news, and he glanced with +doubt at Carnac. + +John Grier understood. “Go ahead. What’s happened?” + +“Nothing that can’t wait till I’m introduced to your son,” rejoined +Tarboe. + +With a friendly look, free from all furtiveness, Carnac reached out a +hand, small, graceful, firm. As Tarboe grasped it in his own big paw, he +was conscious of a strength in the grip which told him that the physical +capacity of the “painter-fellow,” as he afterwards called Carnac, had +points worthy of respect. On the instant, there was admiration on the +part of each--admiration and dislike. Carnac liked the new-comer for +his healthy bearing, for the iron hardness of his head, and for the +intelligence of his dark eyes. He disliked him, however, for something +that made him critical of his father, something covert and devilishly +alert. Both John Grier and Tarboe were like two old backwoodsmen, eager +to reach their goal, and somewhat indifferent to the paths by which they +travelled to it. + +Tarboe, on the other hand, admired the frank, pleasant face of the +young man, which carried still the irresponsibility of youth, but which +conveyed to the watchful eye a brave independence, a fervid, and perhaps +futile, challenge to all the world. Tarboe understood that this young +man had a frankness dangerous to the business of life, yet which, +properly applied, might bring great results. He disliked Carnac for his +uncalculating candour; but he realized that, behind all, was something +disturbing to his life. + +“It’s a woman,” Tarboe said to himself, “it’s a woman. He’s made a fool +of himself.” + +Tarboe was right. He had done what no one else had done--he had pierced +the cloud surrounding Carnac: it was a woman. + +“I hear you’re pulling things off here,” remarked Carnac civilly. “He +says”--pointing to John Grier--“that you’re making the enemy squirm.” + +Tarboe nodded, and a half-stealthy smile crept across his face. “I don’t +think we’ve lost anything coming our way,” he replied. “We’ve had good +luck--” + +“And our eyes were open,” intervened John Grier. “You push the brush and +use the chisel, don’t you?” asked Tarboe in spite of himself with slight +scorn in his tone. + +“I push the chisel and use the brush,” answered Carnac, smilingly +correcting him. + +“That’s a good thing. Is it yours?” asked Tarboe, nodding and pointing +to the statue of the riverman. Carnac nodded. “Yes, I did that one day. +I’d like to do you, if you’d let me.” + +The young giant waved a brawny hand and laughed. He looked down at his +knee-boots, with their muddied soles, and then at the statue again on +the table. “I don’t mind you’re doing me. Turn about is fair play. + +“I’ve done you out of your job.” Then he added to the old man: “It’s +good news I’ve got. I’ve made the contract with the French firm at our +price.” + +“At our price!” remarked the other with a grim smile. “For the lot?” + +“Yes, for the lot, and I’ve made the contracts with the ships to carry +it.” + +“At our price?” again asked the old man. Tarboe nodded. “Just a little +better.” + +“I wouldn’t have believed those two things could have been done in the +time.” Grier rubbed his hands cheerfully. “That’s a good day’s work. +It’s the best you’ve done since you’ve come.” + +Carnac watched the scene with interest. No envy moved him, his soul was +free from malice. Evidently Tarboe was a man of power. Ruthless he might +be, ruthless and unsparing, but a man of power. + +At that instant a clerk entered with a letter in his hand. “Mrs. Grier +said to give you this,” he remarked to Carnac, handing it to him. + +Carnac took it and the clerk departed. The letter had an American +postmark, and the handwriting on the letter brought trouble to his eyes. +He composed himself, however, and tore off the end of the envelope, +taking out the letter. + +It was brief. It contained only a few lines, but as Carnac read them the +colour left his face. “Good God!” he said to himself. Then he put the +paper in his pocket, and, with a forced smile and nod to his father and +Tarboe, left the office. + +“That’s queer. The letter seemed to get him in the vitals,” said John +Grier with surprise. + +Tarboe nodded, and said to himself: “It’s a woman all right.” He smiled +to himself also. He had wondered why Carnac and Junia Shale had not come +to an understanding. The letter which had turned Carnac pale was the +interpretation. + +“Say, sit down, Tarboe,” said John Grier. “I want to talk with you.” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. JOHN GRIER MAKES ANOTHER OFFER + +“I’ve been keeping my eye on you, Tarboe,” John Grier said presently, +his right hand clutching unconsciously the statue which his boy had left +with him. + +“I didn’t suppose you’d forget me when I was making or breaking you.” + +“You’re a winner, Tarboe. You’ve got sense and judgment, and you ain’t +afraid to get your own way by any route.” + +He paused, and gripped the statue closely in his hands. + +Tarboe nodded. In the backwoods he had been without ambition save to be +master of what he was doing and of the men who were part of his world of +responsibility. Then John Grier had pulled him back into industry and +he had since desired to ascend, to “make good.” Also, he had seen Junia +often, and for her an aspiration had sprung up in him like a fire in a +wild place. + +When he first saw her, she was standing in the doorway through which +Carnac had just passed. The brightness of her face, the wonder of her +eyes, the glow of her cheek, had made his pulses throb as they had never +throbbed before. He had put the thought of her away from him, but it had +come back constantly until he had found himself looking for her in the +street, and on the hill that led to John Grier’s house. + +Tarboe realized that the girl was drawn towards Carnac, and that Carnac +was drawn towards the girl, but that some dark depths lay between. The +letter Carnac had just received seemed to him the plumbline of that +abyss. Carnac and the girl were suited to each other--that was clear; +and the girl was enticing, provoking and bewildering--that was the +modelling fact. He had satisfaction that he had displaced Carnac in this +great business, and there was growing in him a desire to take away the +chances of the girl from Carnac also. With his nature it was inevitable. +Life to him was now a puzzle towards the solution of which he moved with +conquering conviction. + +From John Grier’s face now, he realized that something was to be said +affecting his whole career. It would, he was sure, alter his foot-steps +in the future. He had a profound respect for the little wiry man, with +the firm body and shrivelled face. + +Tarboe watched the revealing expression of the old man’s face and the +motions of his body. He noticed that the tight grip of the hand on the +little statue of the riverman had made the fingers pale. He realized how +absorbed was the lumber-king, who had given him more confidence than +he had given to anyone else in the world. As near as he could come to +anyone, he had come to John Grier. There had been differences between +them, but he, Tarboe, fought for his own idea, and, in nine cases out +of ten, had conquered. John Grier had even treated Tarboe’s solutions +as though they were his own. He had a weird faith in the young giant. He +saw now Tarboe’s eyes fixed on his fingers, and he released his grip. + +“That’s the thing between him and me, Tarboe,” he said, nodding towards +the virile bronze. “Think of my son doing that when he could do all +this!” He swept his arm in a great circle which included the horizon +beyond the doors and the windows. “It beats me, and because it beats me, +and because he defies me, I’ve made up my mind what to do.” + +“Don’t do anything you’d be sorry for, boss. He ain’t a fool because +he’s not what you are.” He nodded towards the statue. “You think that’s +pottering. I think it’s good stuff. It will last, perhaps, when what you +and I do is forgotten.” + +There was something big and moving in Tarboe. He was a contradiction. A +lover of life, he was also reckless in how he got what he wanted. If it +could not be got by the straight means, then it must be by the crooked, +and that was where he and Grier lay down together, as it were. Yet +he had some knowledge that was denied to John Grier. The soul of the +greater things was in him. + +“Give the boy a chance to work out his life in his own way,” he said +manfully. “You gave him a chance to do it in your way, and you were +turned down. Have faith in him. He’ll probably come out all right in the +end. + +“You mean he’ll come my way?” asked the old man almost rabidly. “You +mean he’ll do the things I want him to do here, as you’ve done?” + +“I guess so,” answered Tarboe, but without conviction in his tone. “I’m +not sure whether it will be like that or not, but I know you’ve got a +son as honest as the stars, and the honest man gets his own in the end.” + +There was silence for some time, then the old man began walking up and +down the room, softly, noiselessly. + +“You talk sense,” he said. “I care for that boy, but I care for my +life’s work more. Day in, day out, night in, night out, I’ve slaved for +it, prayed for it, believed in it, and tried to make my wife and my +boys feel as I do about it, and none of them cares as I care. Look at +Fabian--over with the enemy, fighting his own father; look at Carnac, +out in the open, taking his own way.” He paused. + +“And your wife?” asked Tarboe almost furtively, because it seemed to him +that the old man was most unhappy in that particular field. + +“She’s been a good wife, but she don’t care as I do for success and +money.” + +“Perhaps you never taught her,” remarked Tarboe with silky irony. + +“Taught her! What was there to teach? She saw me working; she knew +the life I had to live; she was lifted up with me. I was giving her +everything in me to give.” + +“You mean money and a big house and servants and comfort,” said Tarboe +sardonically. + +“Well, ain’t that right?” snapped the other. + +“Yes, it’s all right, but it don’t always bring you what you want. It’s +right, but it’s wrong too. Women want more than that, boss. Women want +to be loved--sky high.” + +All at once Grier felt himself as far removed from Tarboe as he had ever +been from Carnac, or his wife. Why was it? Suddenly Tarboe understood +that between him and John Grier there must always be a flood. He +realized that there was in Grier some touch of the insane thing; +something apart, remote and terrible. He was convinced of it, when he +saw Grier suddenly spring up, and pace the room again like a tortured +animal. + +“You’ve got great influence with me,” he said. “I was just going to tell +you something that’d give you pleasure, but what you’ve said about my +boy coming back has made me change what I was going to do. I don’t need +to say I like you. We were born in the same nest almost. We’ve got the +same ideas.” + +“Almost,” intervened Tarboe. “Not quite, but almost.” + +“Well, this is what I’ve got to say. You’ve got youth, courage, and good +sense, and business ability, and what more does a man want in life, I +ask you that?” Tarboe nodded, but made no reply. + +“Well, I don’t feel as strong as I used to do. I’ve been breaking +up this last year, just when we’ve been knitting the cracks in the +building. What was in my mind is this--to leave you when I die the whole +of my business to keep it a success, and get in the way of Belloc, and +pay my wife so much a year to live on.” + +“That wouldn’t be fair to your wife or your sons.” + +“As for Carnac, if I left him the business it’d be dead in two years. +Nothing could save it. He’d spoil it, because he don’t care for it. I +bought Fabian out. As for my wife, she couldn’t run it, and--” + +“You could sell it,” interrupted Tarboe. + +“Sell it! Sell it!” said Grier wildly. “Sell it to whom?” + +“To Belloc,” was the malicious reply. The demon of anger seized the old +man. + +“You say that to me--you--that I should sell to Belloc! By hell, I’d +rather burn every stick and board and tree I’ve got--sweep it out of +existence, and die a beggar than sell it to Belloc!” Froth gathered at +the corners of his mouth, there was tumult in his eyes. “Belloc! Knuckle +down to him! Sell out to him!” + +“Well, if you got a profit of twenty per cent. above what it’s worth it +might be well. That’d be a triumph, not a defeat.” + +“I see what you mean,” said John Grier, the passion slowly going from +his eyes. “I see what you mean, but that ain’t my way. I want this +business to live. I want Grier’s business to live long after John Grier +has gone. That’s why I was going to say to you that in my will I’m +going to leave you this business, you to pay my wife every year twenty +thousand dollars.” + +“And your son, Carnac?” + +“Not a sou-not a sou--not a sou--nothing--that’s what I meant at first. +But I’ve changed my mind now. I’m going to leave you the business, if +you’ll make a bargain with me. I want you to run it for three years, +and take for yourself all the profits over the twenty thousand dollars +a year that goes to my wife. There’s a lot of money in it, the way you’d +work it.” + +“I don’t understand about the three years,” said Tarboe, with rising +colour. + +“No, because I haven’t told you, but you’ll take it in now. I’m going to +leave you the business as though you were going to have it for ever, +but I’ll make another will dated a week later, in which I leave it to +Carnac. Something you said makes me think he might come right, and it +will be playing fair to him to let him run himself alone, maybe with +help from his mother, for three years. That’s long enough, and perhaps +the thought of what he might have had will work its way with him. If it +don’t--well, it won’t; that’s all; but I want you to have the business +long enough to baulk Belloc and Fabian the deserter. I want you for +three years to fight this fight after I’m gone. In that second secret +will, I’ll leave you two hundred thousand dollars. Are you game for it? +Is it worthwhile?” + +The old man paused, his head bent forward, his eyes alert and searching, +both hands gripping the table. There was a long silence, in which the +ticking of the clock upon the wall seemed unduly loud and in which the +buzz of cross-cut saws came sounding through the evening air. Yet Tarboe +did not reply. + +“Have you nothing to say?” asked Grier at last. “Won’t you do it--eh?” + +“I’m studying the thing out,” answered Tarboe quietly. “I don’t quite +see about these two wills. Why shouldn’t the second will be found +first?” + +“Because you and I will be the only ones that’ll know of it. That shows +how much I trust you, Tarboe. I’ll put it away where nobody can get it +except you or me.” + +“But if anything should happen to me?” + +“Well, I’d leave a letter with my bank, not to be opened for three +years, or unless you died, and it would say that the will existed, where +it was, and what its terms were.” + +“That sounds all right,” but there was a cloud on Tarboe’s face. + +“It’s a great business,” said Grier, seeing Tarboe’s doubt. “It’s the +biggest thing a man can do--and I’m breaking up.” + +The old man had said the right thing--“It’s a great business!” It was +the greatness of the thing that had absorbed Tarboe. It was the bigness +made him feel life could be worth living, if the huge machinery were +always in his fingers. Yet he had never expected it, and life was a +problem. Who could tell? Perhaps--perhaps, the business would always be +his in spite of the second will! Perhaps, he would have his chance to +make good. He got to his feet; he held out his hand. + +“I’ll do it.” + +“Ain’t it worth any thanks?” + +“Not between us,” declared Tarboe. + +“When are you going to do it?” + +“To-night--now.” He drew out some paper and sat down with a pen in his +hand. + +“Now,” John Grier repeated. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE PUZZLE + +On his way home, with Luzanne’s disturbing letter in his pocket, Carnac +met Junia. She was supremely Anglo-Saxon; fresh, fervid and buoyant +with an actual buoyancy of the early spring. She had tact and ability, +otherwise she could never have preserved peace between the contending +factions, Belloc and Fabian, old John Grier, the mother and Carnac. She +was as though she sought for nothing, wished nothing but the life in +which she lived. Yet her wonderful pliability, her joyful boyishness, +had behind all a delicate anxiety which only showed in flashes now and +then, fully understood by no one except Carnac’s mother and old Denzil. +These two having suffered strangely in life had realized that the girl +was always waiting for a curtain to rise which did not rise, for a voice +to speak which gave no sound. + +Yet since Carnac’s coming back there had appeared a slight change in +her, a bountiful, eager alertness, a sense of wonder and experiment, +adding new interest to her personality. Carnac was conscious of this +increased vitality, was impressed and even provoked by it. Somehow he +felt--for he had the telepathic mind--that the girl admired and liked +Tarboe. He did not stop to question how or why she should like two +people so different as Tarboe and himself. + +The faint colour of the crimsoning maples was now in her cheek; the +light of the autumn evening was in her eyes; the soft vitality of +September was in her motions. She was attractively alive. Her hair waved +back from her forehead with natural grace; her small feet, with +perfect ankles, made her foothold secure and sedately joyous. Her +brown hand--yet not so brown after all--held her hat lightly, and was, +somehow, like a signal out of a world in which his hopes were lost for +the present. + +She was dearer to him than all the rest of the world; and he had in his +hand what kept them apart--a sentence of death, unless he escaped from +the wanton calling him to fulfil duties into which he had been tricked. +Luzanne Larue had a terrible hold over him. He gripped the letter in +his pocket as a Hopi Indian does the body of a poisonous snake. The rosy +sunset gave the girl’s face a reflected spiritual glamour; it made her, +suddenly, a bewildering figure. Somehow, she seemed a great distance +from him--as one detached and unfamiliar. + +He suddenly felt she knew more than it was possible she should know. As +she flashed an inquiry into his eyes, it was as though she said: “Why +don’t you tell me everything, and I will help you?” Or, was it: “Why +don’t you tell me everything and end it all?” He longed to press her +to his breast, as he had once done in the woods when Denzil had been +injured, but that was not possible. The thought of that far-off day made +him say to her, rather futilely: + +“How is Denzil? How is Denzil?” + +There was swift surprise in her face. She seemed dumbfounded, and then +she said: + +“Denzil! He’s all right, but he does not like your Mr. Tarboe.” + +“My Mr. Tarboe! Where do I come in?” + +“Well, he’s got what you ought to have had,” was the reply. “What you +would have had, weren’t you a foolish fellow.” + +“I still don’t understand how he is my Mr. Tarboe.” + +“Well, he wouldn’t have been in your father’s life if it weren’t for +you; if you had done what your father wished you to do, had--” + +“Had sold myself for gold--my freedom, my health, everything to help my +father’s business! I don’t see why he should expect that what he’s doing +some one else should do--” + +“That Belloc would do, that Belloc and Fabian would do,” said the girl. + +“Yes, that’s it--what they two would do. There’s no genius in it, though +my father comes as near being a genius as any man alive. But there’s a +screw loose somewhere.... It wasn’t good enough for me. It didn’t give +me a chance--in things that are of the mind, the spirit--my particular +gifts, whatever they are. They would have chafed against that life.” + +“In other words, you’re a genius, which your father isn’t,” the girl +said almost sarcastically. + +A disturbed look came into Carnac’s eyes. “I’d have liked my father to +be a genius. Then we’d have hit it off together. I don’t ever feel the +things he does are the things I want to do; or the things he says are +those I’d like to say. He’s a strange man. He lives alone. He never +was really near Fabian or me. We were his sons, but though Fabian is a +little bit like him in appearance, I’m not, and never was. I always feel +that--” He paused, and she took up the tale: + +“That he wasn’t the father you’d have made for yourself, eh!” + +“I suppose that’s it. Conceit, ain’t it? Perhaps the facts are, I’m one +of the most useless people that ever wore a coat. Perhaps the things I +do aren’t going to live beyond me.” + +“It seems as though your father’s business is going to live after him, +doesn’t it?” the girl asked mockingly. “Where are you going now?” she +added. + +“Well, I’m going to take you home,” he said, as he turned and walked by +her side down the hill. + +“Denzil will be glad to see you. He almost thinks I’m a curse.” + +Carnac smiled. “All genius is at once a blessing or a curse. And what +does Denzil think of me?” + +“Oh--a blessing and a curse!” she said whimsically. + +“I don’t honestly think I’m a blessing to anybody in this world. There’s +no one belonging to me who believes in me.” + +“There’s Denzil,” she said. “He believes in you.” + +“He doesn’t belong to me; he isn’t my family.” + +“Who are your family? Is it only those who are bone of your bone and +flesh of your flesh? Your family is much wider, because you’re a genius. +It’s worldwide--of all kinds. Denzil belongs to you, because you helped +to save him years ago; the Catholic Archbishop belongs to you, because +he’s got brains and a love of literature and art; Barode Barouche +belongs to you, because he’s almost a genius too.” + +“Barouche is a politician,” said Carnac with slight derision. + +“That’s no reason why he shouldn’t be a genius.” + +“He’s a Frenchman.” + +“Haven’t Frenchmen genius?” asked the girl. + +Carnac laughed. “Why, of course. Barode Barouche--yes, he’s a great one: +he can think, he can write, and he can talk; and the talking’s the +best that he does--though I’ve not heard him speak, but I’ve read his +speeches.” + +“Doesn’t he make good laws at Ottawa?” + +“He makes laws at Ottawa--whether they’re good or not is another +question. I shouldn’t be a follower of his, if I had my chance though.” + +“That’s because you’re not French.” + +“Oh yes, I’m as French as can be! I felt at home with the French when +I was in France. I was all Gallic. When I’m here I’m more Gallic than +Saxon. + +“I don’t understand it. Here am I, with all my blood for generations +Saxon, and yet I feel French. If I’d been born in the old country, it +would have been in Limerick or Tralee. I’d have been Celtic there.” + +“Yet Barode Barouche is a great man. He gets drunk sometimes, but he’s +great. He gets hold of men like Denzil.” + +“Denzil has queer tastes.” + +“Yes--he worships you.” + +“That’s not queer, it’s abnormal,” said Carnac with gusto. + +“Then I’m abnormal,” she said with a mocking laugh, and swung her hat on +her fingers like a wheel. Something stormy and strange swam in Carnac’s +eyes. All his trouble rushed back on him; the hand in his pocket crushed +the venomous letter he had received, but he said: + +“No, you don’t worship me!” + +“Who was it said all true intelligence is the slave of genius?” she +questioned, a little paler than usual, her eye on the last gleam of the +sun. + +“I don’t know who said it, but if that’s why you worship me, I know how +hollow it all is,” he declared sullenly, for she was pouring carbolic +acid into a sore. + +He wanted to drag the letter from his pocket and hand it her to read; +to tell her the whole distressful story: but he dared not. He longed for +her, and yet he dared not tell her so. He half drew the letter from his +pocket, but thrust it back again. Tell this innocent girl the whole ugly +story? It could not be done. There was but one thing to do--to go away, +to put this world of French Canada behind him, and leave her free to +follow her fancy, or some one else’s fancy. + +Or some one else’s fancy? There was Tarboe. Tarboe had taken from him +the place in the business which should be his; he had displaced him in +his father’s affections... and now Junia! + +He held out a hand to the girl. “I must go and see my mother.” + +His eyes abashed her. She realized there was trouble in the face of +the man who all her life had been strangely near and dear to her. With +impulsiveness, she said “You’re in trouble, Carnac. Let me help you.” + +For one swift instant he almost yielded. Then he gripped her hand and +said: “No-no-no. It can’t be done--not yet.” + +“Then let Denzil help you. Here he is,” she remarked, and she glanced +affectionately at the greyish, tousled head of the habitant who was +working in the garden of her father’s house. + +Carnac was master of himself again. “Not a bad idea,” he said. “Denzil! +Denzil!” he called. + +The little man looked up. An instant later the figure of the girl +fluttered through the doorway of her home, and Carnac stopped beside +Denzil in the garden. + + + + +CHAPTER X. DENZIL TELLS HIS STORY + +“You keep going, Denzil,” remarked Carnac as he lighted his pipe and +came close to the old servant. + +The face of the toiler lighted, the eyes gazed kindly, at Carnac. “What +else is there to do? We must go on. There’s no standing still in the +world. We must go on--surelee.” + +“Even when it’s hard going, eh?” asked Carnac, not to get an answer so +much as to express his own feelings. “Yes, that’s right, m’sieu’; that’s +how it is. We can’t stand still even when it’s hard going--but, no, +bagosh!” + +He realized that around Carnac there was a shadow which took its toll +of light and life. He had the sound instinct of primitive man. Strangely +enough in his own eyes was the look in those of Carnac, a past, hovering +on the brink of revelation. His appearance was that of one who had +suffered; his knotted hands, dark with warm blood, had in them a story +of life’s sorrows; his broad shoulders were stooped with the inertia of +long regret; his feet clung to the ground as though there was a great +weight above them. But a smile shimmered at his mouth, giving to his +careworn face something almost beautiful, lifting the darkness from his +powerful, shaggy forehead. Many men knew Denzil by sight, few knew +him in actual being. There was a legend that once he was about to be +married, but the girl had suddenly gone mad and drowned herself in the +river. No one thought it strange that a month later the eldest son of +the Tarboe family had been found dead in the woods with a gun in his +hand and a bullet through his heart. No one had ever linked the death of +Denzil’s loved one with that of Almeric Tarboe. + +It was unusual for a Frenchman to give up his life to an English family, +but that is what he had done, and of late he had watched Junia with new +eager solicitude. The day she first saw Tarboe had marked an exciting +phase in her life. + +Denzil had studied her, and he knew vaguely that a fresh interest, +disturbing, electrifying, had entered into her. Because it was Tarboe, +the fifteen years younger brother of that Almeric Tarboe who had died +a month after his own girl had left this world, his soul was +fighting--fighting. + +As the smoke of Carnac’s pipe came curling into the air, Denzil put on +his coat, and laid the hoe and rake on his shoulder. + +“Yes, even when it’s hard going we still have to march on--name of God, +yes!” he repeated, and he looked at Carnac quizzically. + +“Where are you going? Don’t you want to talk to me?” + +“I’m going home, m’sieu’. If you’ll come with me I’ll give you a drink +of hard cider, the best was ever made.” + +“I’ll come. Denzil, I’ve never been in your little house. That’s +strange, when I’ve known you so many years.” + +“It’s not too late to mend, m’sieu’. There ain’t much in it, but it’s +all I need.” + +Carnac stepped with Denzil towards the little house, just in front of +three pine-trees on the hill, and behind Junia’s home. + +“I always lock my door--always,” said Denzil as he turned a key and +opened the door. + +They entered into the cool shade of a living-room. There was little +furniture, yet against the wall was a kind of bunk, comfortable and +roomy, on which was stretched the skin of a brown bear. On the wall +above it was a crucifix, and on the opposite wall was the photograph of +a girl, good-looking, refined, with large, imaginative eyes, and a face +that might have been a fortune. + +Carnac gazed at it for a moment, absorbed. “That was your girl, Denzil, +wasn’t it?” he asked. + +Denzil nodded. “The best the world ever had, m’sieu’,” he replied, “the +very best, but she went queer and drowned herself--ah, but yes!” + +“She just went queer, eh!” Carnac said, looking Denzil straight in the +eyes. “Was there insane blood in her family?” + +“She wasn’t insane,” answered Denzil firmly. “She’d been bad +used--terrible.” + +“That didn’t come out at the inquest, did it?” + +“Not likely. She wrote it me. I’m telling you what I’ve never told +anyone.” He shut the door, as though to make a confessional. “She wrote +it me, and I wasn’t telling anyone-but no. She’d been away down at +Quebec City, and there a man got hold of her. Almeric Tarboe it was--the +older brother of Luke Tarboe at John Grier’s.” Suddenly the face of the +little man went mad with emotion. “I--I--” he paused. + +Carnac held up his hand. “No-no-no, don’t tell me. Tarboe--I understand, +the Unwritten Law. You haven’t told me, but I understand. I remember: he +was found in the woods with his gun in his hand-dead. I read it all by +accident long ago; and that was the story, eh!” + +“Yes. She was young, full of imagination. She loved me, but he was +clever, and he was high up, and she was low down. He talked her blind, +and then in the woods it was, in the woods where he died, that he--” + +Suddenly the little man wrung his fingers like one robbed of reason. “He +was a strongman,” he went on, “and she was a girl, weak, but not wanton +... and so she died, telling me, loving me--so she died, and so he died, +too, in the woods with his gun in his hand. Yes, ‘twas done with his own +gun--by accident--by accident! He stumbled, and the gun went off. That +was the story at the inquest. No one knew I was there. I was never seen +with him and I’ve never been sorry. He got what he deserved--sacre, +yes!” + +There was something overwhelming in the face of the little resolute, +powerful man. His eyes were aflame. He was telling for the first time +the story of his lifelong agony and shame. + +“It had to be done. She was young, so sweet, so good, aye, she was +good-in her soul she was good, ah, surelee. That’s why she died in the +pond. No one knew. The inquest did not bring out anything, but that’s +why he died; and ever since I’ve been mourning; life has no rest for +me. I’m not sorry for what I did. I’ve told it you because you saved me +years ago when I fell down the bank. You were only fourteen then, but +I’ve never forgotten. And she, that sweet young lady, she--she was there +too; and now when I look at this Tarboe, the brother of that man, and +see her and know what I know--sacre!” He waved a hand. “No-no-no, don’t +think there’s anything except what’s in the soul. That man has touched +ma’m’selle--I don’t know why, but he has touched her heart. Perhaps by +his great bulk, his cleverness, his brains, his way of doing things. In +one sense she’s his slave, because she doesn’t want to think of him, and +she does. She wants to think of you--and she does--ah, bagosh, yes!” + +“Yes, I understand,” remarked Carnac morosely. “I understand.” + +“Then why do you let her be under Tarboe’s influence? Why don’t--” + +Carnac thrust out a hand that said silence. “Denzil, I’ll never forget +what you’ve told me about yourself. Some day you’ll have to tell it to +the priest, and then--” + +“I’ll never tell it till I’m on my death-bed. Then I’ll tell it, sacre +bapteme, yes!” + +“You’re a bad Catholic, Denzil,” remarked Carnac with emotion, but a +smile upon his face. + +“I may be a bad Catholic, but the man deserved to die, and he died. +What’s the difference, so far’s the world’s concerned, whether he died +by accident, or died--as he died. It’s me that feels the fury of the +damned, and want my girl back every hour: and she can’t come. But some +day I’ll go to M’sieu’ Luke Tarboe, and tell him the truth, as I’ve told +it you--bagosh, yes!” + +“I think he’d try and kill you, if you did. That’s the kind of man he +is.” + +“You think if he knew the truth he’d try and kill me--he!” + +Carnac paused. He did not like to say everything in his mind. “Do you +think he’d say much and do little?” + +“I dunno, I dunno, but I’ll tell him the truth and take my chance.” + Suddenly he swung round and stretched out appealing hands. “Haven’t you +got any sense, m’sieu’? Don’t you see what you should do? Ma’m’selle +Junia cares for you. I know it--I’ve seen it in her eyes often--often.” + +With sudden vehemence Carnac caught the wrists of the other. “It can’t +be, Denzil. I can’t tell you why yet. I’m going away. If Tarboe wants +her--good--good; I must give her a chance.” + +Denzil shrank. “There’s something wrong, m’sieu’,” he said. Then his +eyes fastened on Carnac’s. Suddenly, with a strange, shining light in +them, he added “It will all come right for you and her. I’ll live for +that. If you go away, I’ll take good care of her.” + +“Even if--” Carnac paused. + +“Yes, even if he makes love to her. He’ll want to marry her, surelee.” + +“Well, that’s not strange,” remarked Carnac. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. CARNAC’S TALK WITH HIS MOTHER + +Carnac went slowly towards his father’s house on the hill. Fixed, as his +mind was, upon all that had just happened, his eye took fondly from +the gathering dusk pictures which the artist’s mind cherishes--the long +roadway, with the maples and pines, the stump fences; behind which lay +the garnered fields, where the plough had made ready the way for the +Fall wheat; the robins twittering in the scattered trees; the cooing of +the wood-pigeon; over all, the sky in its perfect purpling blue, and far +down the horizon the evening-star slowly climbing. He noted the lizards +slipping through the stones; he saw where the wheel of a wagon had +crushed some wild flower-growth; he heard the far call of a milkmaid to +the cattle; he caught the sweet breath of decaying verdure, and through +all, the fresh, biting air of the new-land autumn, pleasantly stinging +his face. + +Something kept saying to his mind: “It’s all good. It’s life and light, +and all good.” But his nerves were being tried; his whole nature was +stirred. + +He took the letter from his pocket again, and read it in the fading +light. It was native, naive, brutal, and unconsciously clever--and the +girl who had written it was beautiful. It had only a few lines. It +asked him why he had deserted her, his wife. It said that he would find +American law protected the deluded stranger. It asked if he had so soon +forgotten the kisses he had given her, and did he not realize they +were married? He felt that, with her, beneath all, there was more than +malice; there was a passion which would run risks to secure its end. + +A few moments later he was in the room where his mother, with her +strong, fine, lonely face, sat sewing by the window. The door opened +squarely on her, and he saw how refined and sad, yet self-contained, was +the woman who had given him birth. The look in her eyes warmly welcomed +him. Her own sorrows made her sensitive to those of others, and as +Carnac entered she saw something was vexing him. + +“Dear lad!” she said. + +He was beside her now, and he kissed her cheek. “Best of all the world,” + he said; and he did not see that she shrank a little. + +“Are you in trouble?” she asked, and her hand touched his shoulder. + +The wrong she had done him long ago vexed her. It was not possible this +boy could fit in with a life where, in one sense, he did not belong. +It was not part of her sorrow that he had given himself to painting and +sculpture. In her soul she believed this might be best for him in the +end. She had a surreptitious, an almost anguished, joy in the thought +that he and John Grier could not hit it off. It seemed natural that both +men, ignorant of their own tragedy, believing themselves to be +father and son, should feel for each other the torture of distance, a +misunderstanding, which only she and one other human being understood. + +John Grier was not the boy’s father. Carnac was the son of Barode +Barouche. + +After a moment he said: “Mother, I know why I’ve come to you. It’s +because I feel when I’m in trouble, I get helped by being with you.” + +“How do I help, my boy?” she asked with a sad smile, for he had said the +thing dearest to her heart. + +“When I’m with you, I seem to get a hold on myself. I’ve always had a +strange feeling about you. I felt when I was a child that you’re two +people; one that lives on some distant, lonely prairie, silent, shadowy +and terribly loving; and the other, a vocal person, affectionate, alert, +good and generous.” + +He paused, but she only shook her head. After a moment he continued: “I +know you aren’t happy, mother, but maybe you once were--at the start.” + +She got to her feet, and drew herself up. + +“I’m happy in your love, but all the rest--is all the rest. It isn’t +your father’s fault wholly. He was busy; he forgot me. Dear, dear boy, +never give up your soul to things only, keep it for people.” + +She was naturally straight and composed; yet as she stood there, she +had a certain lonely splendour like some soft metal burning. Among her +fellow-citizens she had place and position, but she took no lead; she +was always an isolated attachment of local enterprises. It was in her +own house where her skill and adaptability had success. She had brought +into her soul misery and martyrdom, and all martyrs are lonely and +apart. + +Sharp visions of what she was really flashed through Carnac’s mind, and +he said: + +“Mother, there must be something wrong with you and me. You were +naturally a great woman, and sometimes I have a feeling I might be a +great man, but I don’t get started for it. I suppose, you once had an +idea you’d play a big part in the world?” + +“Girls have dreams,” she answered with moist eyes, “and at times I +thought great things might come to me; but I married and got lost.” + +“You got lost?” asked Carnac anxiously, for there was a curious note in +her voice. + +She tried to change the effect of her words. + +“Yes, I lost myself in somebody else’s ambitions I lost myself in the +storm.” + +Carnac laughed. “Father was always a blizzard, wasn’t he? Now here, now +there, he rushed about making money, humping up his business, and yet +why shouldn’t you have ranged beside him. I don’t understand.” + +“No, that’s the bane of life,” she replied. “We don’t understand each +other. I can’t understand why you don’t marry Junia. You love her. You +don’t understand why I couldn’t play as big a part as your father--I +couldn’t. He was always odd--masterful and odd, and I never could do +just as he liked.” + +There was yearning sadness in her eyes. “Dear Carnac, John Grier is a +whirlwind, but he’s also a still pool in which currents are secretly +twisting, turning. His imagination, his power is enormous; but he’s +Oriental, a barbarian.” + +“You mean he might have had twenty wives?” + +“He might have had twenty, and he’d have been the same to all of them, +because they play no part, except to make his home a place where his +body can live. That’s the kind of thing, when a wife finds it out, that +either kills her slowly, or drives her mad.” + +“It didn’t kill you, mother,” remarked Carnac with a little laugh. + +“No, it didn’t kill me.” + +“And it didn’t drive you mad,” he continued. + +She looked at him with burning intensity. “Oh, yes, it did--but I became +sane again.” She gazed out of the window, down the hillside. “Your +father will soon be home. Is there anything you want to say before +that?” + +Carnac wanted to tell his tragic story, but it was difficult. He caught +his mother’s hand. + +“What’s the matter, Carnac? You are in trouble. I can see it in your +eyes--I feel it. Is it money?” she asked. She knew it was not, yet she +could not help but ask. He shook his head in negation. + +“Is it business?” + +She knew his answer, yet she must make these steps before she said to +him: “Is it a woman?” + +He nodded now. She caught his eyes and held them with her own. All the +silence and sorrow, all the remorse and regret of the past twenty-six +years gathered in her face. + +“Yes and no,” he answered with emotion. “You’ve quarrelled with Junia?” + +“No,” he replied. + +“Why don’t you marry her?” she urged. “We all would like it, even your +father.” + +“I can’t.” + +“Why?” She leant forward with a slight burning of the cheek. “Why, +Carnac?” + +He had determined to keep his own secret, to hide the thing which had +vexed his life, but a sudden feeling overcame his purpose. With impulse +he drew out the letter he had received in John Grier’s office and handed +it to her. + +“Read that, and then I’ll tell you all about it--all I can.” + +With whitening face, she took the letter and read its few lines. It was +written in French, with savage little flourishes and twists, and the +name signed at the end was “Luzanne.” At last she handed it back, her +fingers trembling. + +“Who is Luzanne, and what does it mean?” What she had read was +startling. + +He slowly seated himself beside her. “I will tell you.” + +When Carnac had ended his painful story, she said to him: “It’s +terrible--oh, terrible. But there was divorce.” + +“Yes, but they told me I couldn’t get a divorce. Yet I wish now I’d +tried for it. I’ve never heard a word from the girl till I got that +letter. It isn’t strange she hasn’t moved in the thing till now. It was +I that should have acted; and she knew that. She means business, that’s +clear, and it’ll be hard to prove I didn’t marry her with eyes wide +open. It gets between me and my work and my plans for the future; +between--” + +“Between you and Junia,” she said mournfully. “Don’t you think you ought +to get a divorce for Junia’s sake, if nothing else?” + +“Yes, of course. But I’m not sure I could get a divorce--evidence is +so strong against me, and it was a year ago! If I can see Luzanne again +perhaps I can get her to tear up the marriage-lines--that’s what I want. +She isn’t all bad. I must go again to New York; and Junia can wait. I’m +not much, I know--not worth waiting for, maybe, but I’m in earnest where +Junia’s concerned. I could make a little home for her at once, and a +better one as time went on, if she would marry me.” + +After a moment of silence, Carnac added: “I’m going to New York. Don’t +you think I ought to go?” + +The gaunt, handsome face of the woman darkened, and then she answered: +“Yes.” + +There was silence again for a moment, deep and painful, and then Carnac +spoke. + +“Mother, I don’t think father is well. I see a great change in him. He +hasn’t long to travel, and some day you’ll have everything. He might +make you run the business, with Tarboe as manager.” + +She shuddered slightly. “With Tarboe--I never thought of that--with +Tarboe!... Are you going to wait for--your father? He’ll be here +presently.” + +“No, I’m off. I’ll go down the garden, through the bushes,” he said.... +“Mother, I’ve got nearer you to-night than in all the rest of my life.” + +She kissed him fondly. “You’re going away, but I hope you’ll come back +in time.” + +He knew she meant Junia. + +“Yes, I hope I’ll come back in time.” + +A moment later he was gone, out of the sidedoor, through the bushes, and +down the hill, running like a boy. He had for the first time talked to +his mother about the life of their home; the facts she told him stripped +away the curtain that hid the secret things of life from his eyes. + +John Grier almost burst upon his wife. He opened and shut the door +noisily; he stamped into the dusky room. + +“Isn’t it time for a light?” he said with a quizzical nod towards her. + +The short visit of Carnac had straightened her back. “I like the +twilight. I don’t light up until it’s dark, but if you wish--” + +“You like the twilight; you don’t light up until it’s dark, but if I +wish--ah, that’s it! Have your own way.... I’m the breadwinner; I’m the +breadwinner; I’m the fighter; I’m the man that makes the machine go; +but I don’t like the twilight, and I don’t like to wait until it’s dark +before I light up. So there it is!” + +She said nothing at once, but struck a match, and lit the gas. + +“It’s easy to give you what you want,” she answered after a little. “I’m +used to it now.” + +There was something animal-like in the thrust forward of his neck, in +the anger that mounted to his eyes. When she had drawn down the blinds, +he said to her: “Who’s been here?” + +For an instant she hesitated. Then she said: “Carnac’s been here, but +that has naught to do with what I said. I’ve lived with you for over +thirty years, and I haven’t spoken my mind often, but I’m speaking it +now.” + +“Never too late to mend, eh!” he gruffly interposed. “So Carnac’s been +here! Putting up his independent clack, eh? He leaves his old father +to struggle as best he may, and doesn’t care a damn. That’s your son +Carnac.” + +How she longed to say to him, “That’s not your son Carnac!” but she +could not. A greyness crossed over her face. + +“Is Carnac staying here?” + +She shook her head in negation. + +“Well, now I’ll tell you about Carnac,” he said viciously. “I’m shutting +him out of the business of my life. You understand?” + +“You mean--” She paused. + +“He’s taken his course, let him stick to it. I’m taking my course, and +I’ll stick to it.” + +She came close and reached out a faltering hand. “John, don’t do what +you’ll be sorry for.” + +“I never have.” + +“When Fabian was born, you remember what you said? You said: ‘Life’s +worth living now.’” + +“Yes, but what did I say when Carnac was born?” + +“I didn’t hear, John,” she answered, her face turning white. + +“Well, I said naught.” + + + + +CHAPTER XII. CARNAC SAYS GOOD-BYE + +Fabian Grier’s house was in a fashionable quarter of a fashionable +street, the smallest of all built there; but it was happily placed, +rather apart from others, at the very end of the distinguished +promenade. Behind it, a little way up the hill, was a Roman Catholic +chapel. + +The surroundings of the house were rural for a city habitation. Behind +it were commendable trees, from one of which a swing was hung. In a +corner, which seemed to catch the sun, was a bird-cage on a pole, sought +by pigeons and doves. In another corner was a target for the bow and +arrow-evidence of the vigorous life of the owners of the house. + +On the morning after Carnac told his mother he was going away, the doors +of the house were all open. Midway between breakfast and lunch, the +voices of children sang through the dining-room bright with the +morning sun. The children were going to the top of the mountain-the two +youngsters who made the life of Fabian and his wife so busy. Fabian was +a man of little speech. He was slim and dark and quiet, with a black +moustache and smoothly brushed hair, with a body lithe and composed, yet +with hands broad, strong, stubborn. + +As Junia stood by the dining-room table and looked at the alert, +expectant children, she wished she also was going now to the +mountain-top. But that could not be--not yet. Carnac had sent a note +saying he wished to see her, and she had replied through Denzil that her +morning would be spent with her sister. “What is it?” she remarked +to herself. “What is it? There’s nothing wrong. Yet I feel everything +upside down.” + +Her face turned slowly towards the wide mountain; it caught the light +upon the steeple of the Catholic chapel. She shuddered slightly, and an +expression came into her shadowed eyes not belonging to her personality, +which was always buoyant. + +As she stood absorbed, her mind in a maze of perplexity, a sigh broke +from her lips. She suddenly had a conviction about Carnac; she felt his +coming might bring a crisis; that what he might say must influence +her whole life. Carnac--she threw back her head. Suddenly a sweet, +appealing, intoxicating look crossed her face. Carnac! Yes, there was a +man, a man of men. + +Tarboe got his effects by the impetuous rush of a personality; Carnac by +something that haunted, that made him more popular absent than present. +Carnac compelled thought. When he was away she wanted him; when he was +near she liked to quarrel with him. When they were together, one moment +she wanted to take his hands in her hands, and in the next she wanted +to push him over some great cliff--he was so maddening. He provoked the +devil in her; yet he made her sing the song of Eden. What was it? + +As she asked the question she heard a firm step on the path. It was +Carnac. She turned and stood waiting, leaning against the table, +watching the door through which he presently came. He was dressed in +grey. His coat was buttoned. He carried a soft grey hat, and somehow his +face gave her a feeling that he had come to say good-bye. It startled +her; and yet, though she was tempted to grip her breast, she did not. +Presently she spoke. + +“I think you’re a very idle man. Why aren’t you at work?” + +“I am at work,” Carnac said cheerfully. + +“Work is not all paint and canvas of course. There has to be the +thinking beforehand. Well, of what are you thinking now?” + +“Of the evening train to New York.” + +His face was turned away from her at the instant, because he did +not wish to see the effect of his words. He would have seen that +apprehension came to her eyes. Her mouth opened in quick amazement. It +was all too startling. He was going--for how long? + +“Why are you going?” she asked, when she had recovered her poise. + +“Well, you see I haven’t quite learned my painting yet, and I must study +in great Art centres where one isn’t turned down by one’s own judgment.” + +“Ananias!” she said at last. “Ananias!” + +“Why do you say I’m a liar?” he asked, flushing a little, though there +was intense inquiry in his eyes. “Because I think it. It isn’t your work +only that’s taking you away.” Suddenly she laughed. “What a fool you +are, Carnac! You’re not a good actor. You’re not going away for work’s +sake only.” + +“Not for work’s sake only--that’s true.” + +“Then why do you go?” + +“I’m in a mess, Junia. I’ve made some mistakes in my life, and I’m going +to try and put one of them right.” + +“Is anybody trying to do you harm?” she asked gently. + +“Yes, somebody’s trying to hurt me.” + +“Hurt him,” she rejoined sharply, and her eyes fastened his. + +He was about to say there was no him in the matter, but reason steadied +him, and he said: + +“I’ll do my best, Junia. I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. What’s to +be done must be done by myself alone.” + +“Then it ought to be done well.” + +With an instant’s impulse he moved towards her. She went to the window, +however, and she said: “Here’s Fabian. You’ll be glad of that. You’ll +want to say good-bye to him and Sibyl.” She ran from him to the front +door. “Fabian--Fabian, here’s a bad boy who wants to tell you things he +won’t tell me.” With these words she went into the garden. + +“I don’t think he’ll tell me,” came Fabian’s voice. “Why should he?” + +A moment afterwards the two men met. + +“Well, what’s the trouble, Carnac?” asked Fabian in a somewhat +challenging voice. + +“I’m going away.” + +“Oh--for how long?” Fabian asked quizzically. “I don’t know--a year, +perhaps. I want to make myself a better artist, and also free myself.” + +Now his eyes were on Junia in her summer-time recreation, and her +voice, humming a light-opera air, was floating to him through the autumn +morning. + +“Has something got you in its grip, then?” + +“I’m the victim of a reckless past, like you.” Something provocative was +in his voice and in his words. + +“Was my past reckless?” asked Fabian with sullen eyes. + +“Never so reckless as mine. You fought, quarrelled, hit, sold and bought +again, and now you’re out against your father, fighting him.” + +“I had to come out or be crushed.” + +“I’m not so sure you won’t be crushed now you’re out. He plays boldly, +and he knows his game. One or the other of you must prevail, and I think +it won’t be you, Fabian. John Grier does as much thinking in an hour as +most of us do in a month, and with Tarboe he’ll beat you dead. Tarboe is +young; he’s got the vitality of a rhinoceros. He knows the business from +the bark on the tree. He’s a flyer, is Tarboe, and you might have been +in Tarboe’s place and succeeded to the business.” + +Fabian threw out his arms. “But no! Father might live another ten +years--though I don’t think so--and I couldn’t have stood it. He was +lapping me in the mud.” + +“He doesn’t lap Tarboe in the mud.” + +“No, and he wouldn’t have lapped you in the mud, because you’ve got +imagination, and you think wide and long when you want to. But I’m +middle-class in business. I’ve got no genius for the game. He didn’t +see my steady qualities were what was needed. He wanted me to be like +himself, an eagle, and I was only a robin red-breast.” + +Suddenly his eyes flashed and his teeth set. “You couldn’t stand him, +wouldn’t put up with his tyranny. You wanted to live your own life, and +you’re doing it. When he bought me out, what was there for me to do but +go into the only business I knew, with the only big man in the business, +besides John Grier. I’ve as good blood as he’s got in his veins. I do +business straight. + +“He didn’t want me to do it straight. That’s one of the reasons we fell +out. John Grier’s a big, ruthless trickster. I wasn’t. I was for playing +the straight game, and I played it.” + +“Well, he’s got his own way now. He’s got a man who wouldn’t blink at +throttling his own brother, if it’d do him any good. Tarboe is iron and +steel; he’s the kind that succeeds. He likes to rule, and he’s going to +get what he wants mostly.” + +“Is that why you’re going away?” asked Fabian. “Don’t you think it’ll be +just as well not to go, if Tarboe is going to get all he wants?” + +“Does Tarboe come here?” + +“He’s been here twice.” + +“Visiting?” + +“No. He came on urgent business. There was trouble between our two +river-driving camps. He wanted my help to straighten things out, and he +got it. He’s pretty quick on the move.” + +“He wanted you to let him settle it?” + +“He settled it, and I agreed. He knows how to handle men; I’ll say that +for him. He can run reckless on the logs like a river-driver; he can +break a jam like an expert. He’s not afraid of man, or log, or devil. +That’s his training. He got that training from John Grier’s firm under +another name. I used to know him by reputation long before he took +my place in the business--my place and yours. You got loose from the +business only to get tied up in knots of your own tying,” he added. +“What it is I don’t know, but you say you’re in trouble and I believe +you.” Suddenly a sharp look came to his face. “Is it a woman?” + +“It’s not a man.” + +“Well, you ought to know how to handle a woman. You’re popular with +women. My wife’ll never hear a word against you. I don’t know how you +do it. We’re so little alike, it makes me feel sometimes we’re not +brothers. I don’t know where you get your temperament from.” + +“It doesn’t matter where I got it, it’s mine. I want to earn my own +living, and I’m doing it.” Admiration came into Fabian’s face. “Yes,” he +said, “and you don’t borrow--” + +“And don’t beg or steal. Mother has given me money, and I’m spending my +own little legacy, all but five thousand dollars of it.” + +Fabian came up to his brother slowly. “If you know what’s good for you, +you’ll stay where you are. You’re not the only man that ought to be +married. Tarboe’s a strong man, and he’ll be father’s partner. He’s +handsome in his rough way too, is Tarboe. He knows what he wants, and +means to have it, and this is a free country. Our girls, they have their +own way. Why don’t you settle it now? Why don’t you marry Junia, and +take her away with you--if she’ll have you?” + +“I can’t--even if she’ll have me.” + +“Why can’t you?” + +“I’m afraid of the law.” + +An uneasy smile hung at Carnac’s lips. He suddenly caught Fabian’s +shoulder in a strong grip. “We’ve never been close friends, Fabian. +We’ve always been at sixes and sevens, and yet I feel you’d rather do me +a good turn than a bad one. Let me ask you this--that you’ll not believe +anything bad of me till you’ve heard what I’ve got to say. Will you do +that?” + +Fabian nodded. “Of course. But if I were you, I wouldn’t bet on myself, +Carnac. Junia’s worth running risks for. She’s got more brains than my +wife and me together, and she bosses us; but with you, it’s different. +I think you’d boss her. You’re unexpected; you’re daring; and you’re +reckless.” + +“Yes, I certainly am reckless.” + +“Then why aren’t you reckless now? You’re going away. Why, you haven’t +even told her you love her. The other man--is here, and--I’ve seen him +look at her? I know by the way she speaks of him how she feels. Besides, +he’s a great masterful creature. Don’t be a fool! Have a try ... +Junia--Junia,” he called. + +The figure in the garden with the flowers turned. There was a flicker of +understanding in the rare eyes. The girl held up a bunch of flowers high +like a torch. + +“I’m coming, my children,” she called, and, with a laugh, she ran +forward through the doorway. + +“What is it you want, Fabian?” she asked, conscious that in Carnac’s +face was consternation. “What can I do for you?” she added, with a +slight flush. + +“Nothing for me, but for Carnac--” Fabian stretched out a hand. + +She laughed brusquely. “Oh, Carnac! Carnac! Well, I’ve been making him +this bouquet.” She held it out towards him. “It’s a farewell bouquet +for his little journey in the world. Take it, Carnac, with everybody’s +love--with Fabian’s love, with Sibyl’s love, with my love. Take it, and +good-bye.” + +With a laugh she caught up her hat from the table, and a moment later +she was in the street making for the mountain-side up which the children +had gone. + +Carnac placed the bouquet upon the table. Then he turned to his brother. + +“What a damn mess you make of things, Fabian!” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. CARNAC’S RETURN + +“Well, what’s happened since I’ve been gone, mother?” asked Carnac. “Is +nobody we’re interested in married, or going to be married?” + +It was spring-time eight months after Carnac had vanished from Montreal, +and the sun of late April was melting the snow upon the hills, bringing +out the smell of the sprouting verdure and the exultant song of the +birds. + +His mother replied sorrowfully: “Junia’s been away since last fall. Her +aunt in the West was taken ill, and she’s been with her ever since. Tell +me, dearest, is everything all right now? Are you free to do what you +want?” + +He shook his head morosely. “No, everything’s all wrong. I blundered, +and I’m paying the price.” + +“You didn’t find Luzanne Larue?” + +“Yes, I found her, but it was no good. I said there was divorce, and she +replied I’d done it with my eyes open, and had signed our names in the +book of the hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Carnac Grier and divorce would not be +possible. Also, I’d let things go for a year, and what jury would give +me relief! I consulted a lawyer. He said she had the game in her hands, +and that a case could be put up that would discredit me with jury or +judge, so there it is.... Well, bad as she is, she’s fond of me in her +way. I don’t think she’s ever gone loose with any man; this is only a +craze, I’m sure. She wanted me, and she meant to have me.” + +His mother protested: “No pure, straight, honest girl would--” + +Carnac laughed bitterly, and interrupted. “Don’t talk that way, mother. +The girl was brought up among exiles and political criminals in the +purlieu of Montmartre. What’s possible in one place is impossible in +another. Devil as she is, I want to do her justice.” + +“Did she wear a wedding-ring?” + +“No, but she used my name as her own: I saw it on the paper door-plate. +She said she would wait awhile longer, but if at the end of six months +I didn’t do my duty, she’d see the thing through here among my own +people.” + +“Six months--it’s overdue now!” She said in agitation. + +He nodded helplessly. “I’m in hell as things are. There’s only this to +be said: She’s done naught yet, and she mayn’t do aught!” + +They were roused by the click of the gate. “That’s your father--that’s +John Grier,” she said. + +They heard the front door open and shut, a footstep in the hall, then +the door opened and John Grier came into the room. + +Preoccupation, abstraction, filled his face, as he came forward. It was +as though he was looking at something distant that both troubled and +pleased him. When he saw Carnac he stopped, his face flushed. For an +instant he stood unmoving, and then he held out his hand. + +“So you’ve come back, Carnac. When did you get here?” + +As Carnac released his hand from John Grier’s cold clasp, he said: “A +couple of hours ago.” + +The old man scrutinized him sharply, carefully. “Getting on--making +money?” he asked. “Got your hand in the pocket of the world?” + +Carnac shook his head. “I don’t care much about the pocket of the world, +but they like my work in London and New York. I don’t get Royal Academy +prices, but I do pretty well.” + +“Got some pride, eh?” + +“I’m always proud when anybody outside Montreal mentions your name! It +makes me feel I have a place in the world.” + +“Guess you’ve made your own place,” said the other, pleasure coming to +his cheek. “You’ve got your own shovel and pick to make wealth.” + +“I care little about wealth. All I want is enough to clothe and feed me, +and give me a little home.” + +“A little home! Yes, it’s time,” remarked the other, as he seated +himself in his big chair by the table. “Why don’t you marry?” + +The old man’s eyes narrowed until there could only be seen a slit of +fire between the lids, and a bitter smile came to his lips. He had +told his wife a year ago that he had cut Carnac out of all business +consideration. So now, he added: + +“Tarboe’s taken your place in the business, Carnac. Look out he doesn’t +take your little home too.” + +“He’s had near a year, and he hasn’t done it yet.” + +“Is that through any virtue of yours?” + +“Probably not,” answered Carnac ironically. “But I’ve been away; he’s +been here. He’s had everything with him. Why hasn’t he pulled it off +then?” + +“He pulls off everything he plans. He’s never fallen over his own feet +since he’s been with me, and, if I can help it, he won’t have a fall +when I’m gone.” + +Suddenly he got to his feet; a fit of passion seized him. “What’s Junia +to me--nothing! I’ve every reason to dislike her, but she comes and goes +as if the place belonged to her. She comes to my office; she comes to +this house; she visits Fabian; she tries to boss everybody. Why don’t +you regularize it? Why don’t you marry her, and then we’ll know where +we are? She’s got more brains than anybody else in our circle. She’s +got tact and humour. Her sister’s a fool; she’s done harm. Junia’s got +sense. What are you waiting for? I wouldn’t leave her for Tarboe! Look +here, Carnac, I wanted you to do what Tarboe’s doing, and you wouldn’t. +You cheeked me--so I took him in. He’s made good every foot of the way. +He’s a wonder. I’m a millionaire. I’m two times a millionaire, and I got +the money honestly. I gave one-third of it to Fabian, and he left us. I +paid him in cash, and now he’s fighting me.” + +Carnac bristled up: “What else could he do? He might have lived on the +interest of the money, and done nothing. You trained him for business, +and he’s gone on with the business you trained him for. There are other +lumber firms. Why don’t you quarrel with them? Why do you drop on Fabian +as if he was dirt?” + +“Belloc’s a rogue and a liar.” + +“What difference does that make? Isn’t it a fair fight? Don’t you want +anybody to sit down or stand up till you tell them to? Is it your view +you shall tyrannize, browbeat, batter, and then that everybody you love, +or pretend to love, shall bow down before you as though you were eternal +law? I’m glad I didn’t. I’m making my own life. You gave me a chance in +your business, and I tried it, and declined it. You gave it to some one +else, and I approved of it. What more do you want?” + +Suddenly a new spirit of defiance awoke in him. “What I owe you I don’t +know, but if you’ll make out what you think is due, for what you’ve done +for me in the way of food and clothes and education, I’ll see you get it +all. Meanwhile, I want to be free to move and do as I will.” + +John Grier sat down in his chair again, cold, merciless, with a scornful +smile. + +“Yes, yes,” he said slowly, “you’d have made a great business man if +you’d come with me. You refused. I don’t understand you--I never +did. There’s only one thing that’s alike in us, and that’s a devilish +self-respect, self-assertion, self-dependence. There’s nothing more +to be said between us--nothing that counts. Don’t get into a passion, +Carnac. It don’t become you. Good-night--good-night.” + +Suddenly his mother’s face produced a great change in Carnac. Horror, +sorrow, remorse, were all there. He looked at John Grier; then at his +mother. The spirit of the bigger thing crept into his heart. He put his +arm around his mother and kissed her. + +“Good-night, mother,” he said. Then he went to his father and held out +a hand. “You don’t mind my speaking what I think?” he continued, with +a smile. “I’ve had a lot to try me. Shake hands with me, father. We +haven’t found the way to walk together yet. Perhaps it will come; I hope +so.” + +Again a flash of passion seized John Grier. He got to his feet. “I’ll +not shake hands with you, not to night. You can’t put the knife in and +turn it round, and then draw it out and put salve on the wound and say +everything’s all right. Everything’s all wrong. My family’s been my +curse. First one, then another, and then all against me,--my whole +family against me!” + +He dropped back in his chair sunk in gloomy reflection. + +“Well, good-night,” said Carnac. “It will all come right some day.” + +A moment afterwards he was gone. His mother sat down in her seat by the +window; his father sat brooding by the table. + +Carnac stole down the hillside, his heart burning in him. It had not +been a successful day. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. THE HOUSE OF THE THREE TREES + +During Carnac’s absence, Denzil had lain like an animal, watching, as it +were, the doorway out of which Tarboe came and went. His gloom at last +became fanaticism. During all the eight months of Carnac’s absence he +prowled in the precincts of memory. + +While Junia was at home he had been watchfully determined to save her +from Tarboe, if possible. He had an obsession of wrong-mindedness which +is always attached to crime. Though Luke Tarboe had done him no wrong, +and was entitled, if he could, to win Junia for himself, to the mind +of Denzil the stain of his brother’s past was on Tarboe’s life. He saw +Tarboe and Junia meet; he knew Tarboe put himself in her way, and he was +right in thinking that the girl, with a mind for comedy and coquetry, +was drawn instinctively to danger. + +Undoubtedly the massive presence of Tarboe, his animal-like, bull-headed +persistency, the fun at his big mouth and the light in his bold eye had +a kind of charm for her. It was as though she placed herself within the +danger zone to try her strength, her will; and she had done it without +real loss. More than once, as she waited in the office for old John +Grier to come, she had a strange, intuitive feeling that Tarboe might +suddenly grip her in his arms. + +She flushed at the thought of it; it seemed so absurd. Yet that very +thought had passed through the mind of the man. He was by nature a +hunter; he was self-willed and reckless. No woman had ever moved him in +his life until this girl crossed his path, and he reached out towards +her with the same will to control that he had used in the business of +life. Yet, while this brute force suggested physical control of the +girl, it had its immediate reaction. She was so fine, so delicate, and +yet so full of summer and the free unfettered life of the New World, +so unimpassioned physically, yet so passionate in mind and temperament, +that he felt he must atone for the wild moment’s passion--the passion +of possession, which had made him long to crush her to his breast. There +was nothing physically repulsive in it; it was the wild, strong life +of conquering man, of which he had due share. For, as he looked at her +sitting in his office, her perfect health, her slim boyishness, +her exquisite lines and graceful turn of hand, arm and body, or the +flower-like turn of the neck, were the very harmony and poetry of life. +But she was terribly provoking too; and he realized that she was an +unconscious coquette, that her spirit loved mastery as his did. + +Denzil could not know this, however. It was impossible for him to +analyse the natures of these two people. He had instinct, but not +enough to judge the whole situation, and so for two months after Carnac +disappeared he had lived a life of torture. Again and again he had +determined to tell Junia the story of Tarboe’s brother, but instinctive +delicacy stopped him. He could not tell her the terrible story which had +robbed him of all he loved and had made him the avenger of the dead. +A half-dozen times after she came back from John Grier’s office, with +slightly heightening colour, and the bright interest in her eyes, and +had gone about the garden fondling the flowers, he had started towards +her; but had stopped short before her natural modesty. Besides, why +should he tell her? She had her own life to make, her own row to hoe. +Yet, as the weeks passed, it seemed he must break upon this dangerous +romance; and then suddenly she went to visit her sick aunt in the Far +West. Denzil did not know, however, that, in John Grier’s office as she +had gone over figures of a society in which she was interested, the big +hand of Tarboe had suddenly closed upon her fingers, and that his head +bent down beside hers for one swift instant, as though he would whisper +to her. Then she quickly detached herself, yet smiled at him, as she +said reprovingly: + +“You oughtn’t to do that. You’ll spoil our friendship.” + +She did not wait longer. As he stretched out his hands to her, his face +had gone pale: she vanished through the doorway, and in forty-eight +hours was gone to her sick aunt. The autumn had come and the winter and +the spring, and the spring was almost gone when she returned; and, with +her return, Catastrophe lifted its head in the person of Denzil. + +Perhaps it was imperative instinct that brought Junia back in an hour +coincident with Carnac’s return--perhaps. In any case, there it was. +They had both returned, as it were, in the self-same hour, each having +endured a phase of emotion not easy to put on paper. + +Denzil told her of Carnac’s return, and she went to the house where +Carnac’s mother lived, and was depressed at what she saw and felt. Mrs. +Grier’s face was not that of one who had good news. The long arms almost +hurt when they embraced her. Yet Carnac was a subject of talk between +them--open, clear eyed talk. The woman did not know what to say, +except to praise her boy, and the girl asked questions cheerfully, +unimportantly as to sound, but with every nerve tingling. There was, +however, so much of the comedienne in her, so much coquetry, that only +one who knew her well could have seen the things that troubled her +behind all. As though to punish herself, she began to speak of Tarboe, +and Mrs. Grier’s face clouded; she spoke more of Tarboe, and the gloom +deepened. Then, with the mask of coquetry still upon her she left +Carnac’s mother abashed, sorrowful and alone. + +Tarboe had called in her absence. Entering the garden, he saw Denzil at +work. At the click of the gate Denzil turned, and came forward. + +“She ain’t home,” he said bluntly. “She’s out. She ain’t here. She’s up +at Mr. Grier’s house, bien sur.” + +To Tarboe Denzil’s words were offensive. It was none of Denzil’s +business whether he came or went in this house, or what his relations +with Junia were. Democrat though he was, he did not let democracy +transgress his personal associations. He knew that the Frenchman was +less likely to say and do the crude thing than the Britisher. + +Tarboe knew of the position held by Denzil in the Shale household; and +that long years of service had given him authority. All this, however, +could not atone for the insolence of Denzil’s words, but he had +controlled men too long to act rashly. + +“When will Mademoiselle be back?” he asked, putting a hand on himself. + +“To-night,” answered Denzil, with an antipathetic eye. + +“Don’t be a damn fool. Tell me the hour when you think she will be at +home. Before dinner--within the next sixty minutes?” + +“Ma’m’selle is under no orders. She didn’t say when she would be +back--but no!” + +“Do you think she’ll be back for dinner?” asked Tarboe, smothering his +anger, but get to get his own way. + +“I think she’ll be back for dinner!” and he drove the spade into the +ground. + +“Then I’ll sit down and wait.” Tarboe made for the verandah. + +Denzil presently trotted after and said: “I’d like a word with you.” + +Tarboe turned round. “Well, what have you got to say?” + +“Better be said in my house, not here,” replied Denzil. His face was +pale, but there was fire in his eyes. There was no danger of violence, +and, if there were, Tarboe could deal with it. Why should there be +violence? Why should that semi-insanity in Denzil’s eyes disturb him? +The one thing to do was to forge ahead. He nodded. + +“Where are you taking me?” he asked presently, as they passed through +the gate. + +“To my little house by the Three Trees. I’ve got things I’d like to show +you, and there’s some things I’d like to say. You are a big hulk of +a man, and I’m nobody, but yet I’ve been close to you and yours in my +time--that’s so, for sure.” + +“You’ve been close to me and mine in your time, eh? I didn’t know that.” + +“No, you didn’t know it. Nobody knew it--I’ve kept it to myself. Your +family wasn’t all first-class--but no.” + +They soon reached the plain board-house, with the well-laid foundation +of stone, by the big Three Trees. Inside the little spare, undecorated +room, Tarboe looked round. It was all quiet and still enough. It was +like a lodge in the wilderness. Somehow, the atmosphere of it made him +feel apart and lonely. Perhaps that was a little due to the timbered +ceiling, to the walls with cedar scantlings showing, to the crude look +of everything-the head of a moose, the skins hanging down the sides of +the walls, the smell of the cedar, and the swift movement of a tame +red squirrel, which ran up the walls and over the floor and along the +chimney-piece, for Denzil avoided the iron stove so common in these new +cold lands, and remained faithful to a huge old-fashioned mantel. + +Presently Denzil faced him, having closed the door. “I said I’d been +near to your family and you didn’t believe me. Sit down, please to, and +I’ll tell you my story.” + +Seating himself with a little curt laugh, Tarboe waved a hand as though +to say: “Go ahead. I’m ready.” + +It was difficult for Denzil to begin. He walked up and down the room, +muttering and shaking his head. Presently, however, he made the Sign of +the Cross upon himself, and, leaning against the wall, and opposite to +Tarboe, he began the story he had told Carnac. + +His description of his dead fiancee had flashes of poetry and +excruciating touches of life: + +“She had no mother, and there was lots of things she didn’t know because +of that--ah, plenty! She had to learn, and she brought on her own +tragedy by not knowing that men, even when good to look at, can’t be +trusted; that every place, even in the woods and the fields where every +one seems safe to us outdoor people, ain’t safe--but no. So she trusted, +and then one day--” + +For the next five minutes the words poured from him in moroseness. He +drew a picture of the lonely wood, of the believing credulous girl and +the masterful, intellectual, skilful man. In the midst of it Tarboe +started. The description of the place and of the man was familiar. He +had a vision of a fair young girl encompassed by clanger; he saw her in +the man’s arms; the man’s lips to hers, and-- + +“Good God--good God!” he said twice, for a glimmer of the truth struck +him. He knew what his brother had done. He could conceive the revenge +to his brother’s amorous hand. He listened till the whole tale was told; +till the death of the girl in the pond at home--back in her own little +home. Then the rest of the story shook him. + +“The verdict of the coroner’s court was that he was shot by his own +hand--by accident,” said Denzil. “That was the coroner’s verdict, but +yes! Well, he was shot by his own gun, but not by his own hand. There +was some one who loved the girl, took toll. The world did not know, and +does not know, but you know--you--you, the brother of him that spoiled a +woman’s life! Do you think such a man should live? She was the sweetest +girl that ever lived, and she loved me! She told me the truth--and he +died by his own gun--in the woods; but it wasn’t accident--it wasn’t +accident--but no! The girl had gone, but behind her was some one that +loved her, and he settled it once for all.” + +As he had told the story, Denzil’s body seemed to contract; his face +took on an insane expression. It was ghastly pale, but his eyes ware +aflame. His arms stretched out with grim realism as he told of the death +of Almeric Tarboe. + +“You’ve got the whole truth, m’sieu’. I’ve told it you at last. I’ve +never been sorry for killing him--never--never--never. Now, what are you +going to do about it--you--his brother--you that come here making love +too?” + +As the truth dawned upon Tarboe, his great figure stretched itself. A +black spirit possessed him. + +When Denzil had finished, Tarboe stood up. There was dementia, cruelty, +stark purpose in his eyes, in every movement. + +“What am I going to do? You killed my brother! Well, I’m going to kill +you. God blast your soul--I’m going to kill you!” + +He suddenly swooped upon Denzil, his fingers clenched about the thick +throat, insane rage was on him. + +At that moment there was a knock at the door, it opened, and Carnac +stepped inside. He realized the situation and rushed forward. There was +no time to struggle. + +“Let him go,” he cried. “You devil--let him go.” Then with all his +might, he struck Tarboe in the face. The blow brought understanding back +to Tarboe. His fingers loosed from the Frenchman’s throat, and Carnac +caught Denzil as he fell backwards. + +“Good God!” said Carnac. “Good God, Tarboe! Wasn’t it enough for your +brother to take this man’s love without your trying to take his life?” + +Carnac’s blow brought conviction to Tarboe, whose terrible rage passed +away. He wiped the blood from his face. + +“Is the little devil all right?” he whispered. + +Denzil spoke: “Yes. This is the second time M’sieu’ Carnac has saved my +life.” + +Carnac intervened. “Tell me, Tarboe, what shall you do, now you know the +truth?” + +At last Tarboe thrust out a hand. “I don’t know the truth,” he said. + +By this Carnac knew that Denzil was safe from the law. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. CARNAC AND JUNIA + +Tarboe did not see Junia that evening nor for many evenings, but Carnac +and Junia met the next day in her own house. He came on her as she +was arranging the table for midday dinner. She had taken up again +the threads of housekeeping, cheering her father, helping the old +French-woman cook--a huge creature who moved like a small mountain, and +was a tyrant in her way to the old cheerful avocat, whose life had been +a struggle for existence, yet whose one daughter had married a rich +lumberman, and whose other daughter could marry wealth, handsomeness and +youth, if she chose. + +When Carnac saw Junia she was entering the dining-room with flowers and +fruit, and he recalled the last time they met, when she had thrust the +farewell bouquet of flowers into his hand. That was in the early autumn, +and this was in late spring, and the light in her face was as glowing as +then. A remembrance of the scene came to the minds of both, and the girl +gave a little laugh. + +“Well, well, Carnac,” she said gaily, her cheek flushing, her eyes warm +with colour: “well, I sent you away with flowers. Did they bring you +luck?” She looked him steadily in the eyes. + +“Yes, they brought me a perfect remembrance--of one who has always been +to me like the balm of Gilead.” + +“Soothing and stimulating, eh?” she asked, as she put the flowers on the +table and gave him her hand--no, she suddenly gave him both hands with a +rush of old-time friendship, which robbed it of all personal emotion. + +For a moment he held her hands. He felt them tremble in his warm clasp, +the delicate, shivering pulsation of youth, the womanly feeling. It was +for an instant only, because she withdrew her fingers. Then she caught +up an apple from the dish she had brought in, and tossed it to him. + +“For a good boy,” she said. “You have been a good boy, haven’t you?” + +“I think so, chiefly by remembering a good girl.” + +“That’s a pretty compliment--meant for me?” + +“Yes, meant for you. I think you understand me better than anyone else.” + +He noticed her forehead wrinkle slightly, and a faint, incredulous smile +come to her lips. + +“I shouldn’t think I understand you, Carnac,” she said, over her +shoulder, as she arranged dishes on the sideboard. “I shouldn’t think +I know you well. There’s no Book of Revelations of your life except in +your face.” + +She suddenly turned full on him, and held his eyes. “Carnac, I think +your face looks honest. I’ve always thought so, and yet I think you’re +something of a scamp, a rogue and a thief.” + +There was determination at her lips, through which, though only slightly +apart, her beautiful teeth, so straight, so regular, showed. “You don’t +play fair. What’s the good of having a friend if you don’t tell your +friend your troubles? And you’ve been in trouble, Carnac, and you’re +fighting it through alone. Is that wise? You ought to tell some bad man, +or some good woman--if they’re both clever--what’s vexing you. + +“You see the bad clever man would probably think out something that +would have the same effect as the good clever woman. They never would +think out the same thing, but each ‘d think out what would help you.” + +“But you’ve just said I’m a bad clever man. Why shouldn’t I work out my +own trouble?” + +“Oh, you’re bad enough,” she answered, “but you’re not clever enough.” + +He smiled grimly. “I’m not sure though about the woman. Perhaps I’ll +tell the good clever woman some day and let her help me, if she can. But +I’d warn her it won’t be easy.” + +“Then there’s another woman in it!” + +He did not answer. He could not let her know the truth, yet he was sure +she would come to know it one way or another. + +At that moment she leaned over the table and stretched a hand to arrange +something. The perfection of her poise, the beauty of her lines, the +charm of her face seized Carnac, and, with an impulse, he ran his arm +around her waist. + +“Junia--Junia!” he said in a voice of rash, warm feeling. + +She was like a wild bird caught in its flight. A sudden stillness held +her, and then she turned her head towards him, subdued inquiry in her +eyes. For a moment only she looked--and then she said: + +“Take your arm away, please.” + +The conviction that he ought not to make any sign of love to her broke +his sudden passion. He drew back ashamed, yet defiant, rebuked, yet +rebellious. It was like a challenge to her. A sarcastic smile crossed +her lips. + +“What a creature of impulses you are, Carnac! When we were children the +day you saved Denzil years ago you flung your arms around me and kissed +me. I didn’t understand anything then, and what’s more I don’t think +you did. You were a wilful, hazardous boy, and went your way taking the +flowers in the garden that didn’t belong to you. Yet after all these +years, with an impulse behind which there is nothing--nothing at all, +you repeat that incident.” + +Suddenly passion seemed to possess her. “How dare you trifle with things +that mean so much! Have you learned nothing since I saw you last? Can +nothing teach you, Carnac? Can you not learn how to play the big part? +If you weren’t grown up, do you know what I would do? I would slap the +face of an insolent, thoughtless, hopeless boy.” Then her temper seemed +to pass. She caught up an apple again and thrust it into his hand. “Go +and eat that, Adam. Perhaps it’ll make you wise like the old Adam. He +put his faults upon a woman.” + +“So do I,” said Carnac. “So do I.” + +“That’s what you would do, but you mustn’t play that sort of game with a +good woman.” She burst out laughing. “For a man you’re a precious fool! +I don’t think I want to see you again. You don’t improve. You’re full of +horrid impulses.” Her indignation came back. “How dare you put your arm +around me!” + +“It was the impulse of my heart. I can say no more; if I could I would. +There’s something I should like to tell you, but I mustn’t.” He put the +apple down. + +“About the other woman, I suppose,” she said coldly, the hot indignation +gone from her lips. + +He looked her steadfastly in the eyes. “If you won’t trust me--if you +won’t trust me--” + +“I’ve always trusted you,” she replied, “but I don’t trust you now. +Don’t you understand that a good girl hates conduct like yours?” + +Suddenly with anger he turned upon her. “Yes, I understand everything, +but you don’t understand. Why won’t you believe that the reason I won’t +tell you my trouble is that it’s best you shouldn’t know? You’re a young +girl; you don’t know life; you haven’t seen it as I’ve seen it--in the +sewage, in the ditch, on the road, on the mountain and in the bog. I +want you to keep faith with your old friend who doesn’t care what the +rest of the world thinks, but who wants your confidence. Trust me--don’t +condemn me. Believe me, I haven’t been wanton. Won’t you trust me?” + +The spirit of egotism was alive in her. She knew how much she had denied +herself in the past months. She did not know whether she loved him, but +injured pride tortured her. Except in a dance and in sports at a picnic +or recreation-ground no man had ever put his arms around her. No man +except Carnac, and that he had done it was like a lash upon the raw +skinless flesh. If she had been asked by the Almighty whether she loved +Carnac, she would have said she did not know. This was not a matter of +love; but of womanhood, of self-respect, of the pride of one who cannot +ask for herself what she wants in the field of love, who must wait to be +wooed and won. + +“You don’t think I’m straight,” he said in protest. “You think I’m no +good, that I’m a fraud. You’re wrong. Believe me, that is the truth.” He +came closer up to her. “Junia, if you’ll stand by me, I’m sure I’ll come +out right. I’ve been caught in a mesh I can’t untangle yet, but it can +be untangled, and when it is, you shall know everything, because then +you’ll understand. I can free myself from the tangle, but it could never +be explained--not so the world would believe. I haven’t trifled with +you. I would believe in you even if I saw, or thought I saw, the signs +of wrong in you. I would know that at heart you were good. I put my +faith in you long ago--last year I staked all on your friendship, and I +haven’t been deceived.” + +He smiled at her, his soul in his eyes. There was truth in his smile, +and she realized it. + +After a moment, she put out a hand and pushed him gently from her. “Go +away, Carnac, please--now,” she said softly. + +A moment afterwards he was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. JOHN GRIER MAKES A JOURNEY + +John Grier’s business had beaten all past records. Tarboe was +everywhere: on the river, in the saw-mills, in the lumber-yards, in the +office. Health and strength and goodwill were with him, and he had the +confidence of all men in the lumber-world. It was rumoured that he was +a partner of John Grier, and it was a good thing for him as well as +for the business. He was no partner, however; he was on a salary with a +bonus percentage of the profits; but that increased his vigour. + +There were times when he longed for the backwoods life; when the smell +of the pines and the firs and the juniper got into his nostrils; when he +heard, in imagination, the shouts of the river-men as they chopped down +the trees, sawed the boles into standard lengths, and plunged the big +timbers into the stream, or round the fire at night made call upon the +spirit of recreation. In imagination, he felt the timbers creaking +and straining under his feet; he smelt the rich soup from the cook’s +caboose; he drank basins of tea from well-polished metal; he saw the +ugly rows in the taverns, where men let loose from river duty tried to +regain civilian life by means of liquor and cards; he heard the stern +thud of a hard fist against a piece of wood; he saw twenty men spring +upon another twenty with rage in their faces; he saw hundreds of men +arrived in civilization once again striking for their homes and +loved ones, storming with life. He saw the door flung open, and the +knee-booted, corduroyed river-man, with red sash around his waist and +gold rings in his ears, seize the woman he called wife and swing her +to him with a hungry joy; he saw the children pushed gently here, or +roughly, but playfully, tossed in the air and caught again; but he also +saw the rough spirits of the river march into their homes like tyrants +returned, as it were, cursing and banging their way back to their +rightful nests. + +Occasionally he would wish to be in it all again, out in the wild woods +and on the river and in the shanty, free and strong and friendly and a +bit ferocious. All he had known of the backwoods life filled his veins, +tortured him at times. + +From the day that both wills were made and signed, no word had been +spoken concerning them between him and John Grier. He admired certain +characteristics of John Grier; some secret charities, some impulsive +generosity, some signs of public spirit. The old man was fond of +animals, and had given water-troughs to the town; and his own horses and +the horses he used in the woods were always well fed. Also, in all his +arrangements for the woods, he was generous. He believed in feeding his +men well. It was rough food--beans, potatoes, peas, lentils, pork in +barrels-salted pork; but there was bread of the best, rich soup, pork +well boiled and fried, with good tea, freshly made. This was the regular +fare, and men throve on it. + +One day, however, shortly after Carnac’s return home, there came a +change in the scene. Things had been going badly for a couple of days +and the old man had been seriously overworked. He had not listened to +the warnings of Tarboe, or to the hints thrown out by his own punished +physique. He was not a man to take hints. Everything that vexed his life +roused opposition. This Tarboe knew, but he also knew that the business +must suffer, if the old man suffered. + +When John Grier left the office it was with head bowed and mind +depressed. Nothing had happened to cause him grave anxiety, yet he had +been below par for several hours. Why was he working so hard? Why was +life to him such a concentration? Why did he seek for more money and to +get more power? To whom could it go? Not to Fabian; not to his wife. +To Tarboe--well, there was not enough in that! This man had only lately +come into his life, and was only near to him in a business sense. Carnac +was near in every sense that really mattered, and Carnac was out of it +all. + +He was not loved, and in his heart of hearts he knew it, but he had had +his own way, and he loved himself. No one seemed to care for him, not +even his wife. How many years was it since they had roomed together? +Yet as he went towards his own home now, he recalled the day they were +married, and for the first time had drawn as near to each other as life +could draw. He had thought her wonderful then, refined, and oh! so rich +in life’s gifts. His love had almost throttled her. She was warm and +bountiful and full of temperament. So it went for three years, and +then slowly he drew away from her until at last, returning from the +backwoods, he had gone to another room, and there had stayed. Very +occasionally he had smothered her with affection, but that had passed, +until now, middle-aged, she seemed to be not a room away from him, but a +thousand rooms away. He saw it with no reproach to himself. He forgot it +was he who had left her room, and had set up his own tabernacle, because +his hours differed from hers, and because she tossed in her bed at +nights, and that made him restless too. + +Yet, if his love had been the real thing, he would have stayed, because +their lives were so similar, and the rules of domestic life in French +Canada were so fixed. He had spoiled his own household, destroyed his +own peace, forsaken his own nest, outlived his hope and the possibility +of further hope, except more business success, more to leave behind him. + +That was the stern truth. Had he been a different man the devotion +his wife had shown would have drawn him back to her; had she been a +different woman, unvexed by a horrible remembrance, she would have made +his soul her own and her soul his own once again. She had not dared to +tell him the truth; afraid more for her boy’s sake than for her own. +She had been glad that Tarboe had helped to replace the broken link +with Fabian, that he had taken the place which Carnac, had he been John +Grier’s son, ought to have taken. She could not blame Carnac, and she +could not blame her husband, but the thing ate into her heart. + +John Grier found her sitting by her table in the great living-room, +patient and grave, and yet she smiled at him, and rose as he came into +the room. His troubled face brought her forward quickly. She stretched +out a hand appealingly to him. + +“What’s the matter, John? Has anything upset you?” + +“I’m not upset.” + +“Yes you are,” she urged, “but, yes, you are! Something has gone wrong.” + +“Nothing’s gone wrong that hasn’t been wrong for many a year,” he said. + +“What’s been wrong for many a year?” + +“The boys you brought into this world--your sons!” he burst out. “Why +isn’t Carnac working with me? There must have been something damned bad +in the bringing up of those boys. I’ve not, got the love of any of you, +and I know it. Why should I be thrown over by every one?” + +“Every one hasn’t thrown you over. Mr. Tarboe hasn’t. You’ve been in +great spirits about him. What’s the matter?” + +He waved a hand savagely at her, with an almost insane look in his eyes. + +“What’s he to me! He’s a man of business. In a business way I like him, +but I want my own flesh and blood by me in my business. I wanted Carnac, +and he wouldn’t come--a few weeks only he came. I had Fabian, and he +wouldn’t stay. If I’d had a real chance--” + +He broke off, with an outward savage protest of his hands, his voice +falling. + +“If you’d had your chance, you’d have made your own home happy,” + she said sadly. “That was your first duty, not your business--your +home--your home! You didn’t care about it. There were times when for +months you forgot me; and then--then--” + +Suddenly a dreadful suspicion seized his brain. His head bent forward, +his shoulders thrust out, he stumbled towards her. + +“Then--well, what then!” he gasped. “Then--you--forgot--” + +She realized she had gone too far, saw the storm in his mind. + +“No--no--no, I didn’t forget you, John. Never--but--” + +She got no farther. Suddenly his hands stretched out as if to seize +her shoulders, his face became tortured--he swayed. She caught him. She +lowered him to the floor, and put a hassock under his head. Then she +rang the bell--rang it--and rang again. + +When help came, all was too late. John Grier had gone for ever. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. THE READING OF THE WILL + +As Tarboe stood in the church alone at the funeral, in a pew behind John +Grier’s family, sadness held him. He had known, as no one else knew, +that the business would pass into his own hands. He suddenly felt his +task too big for him, and he looked at Carnac now with sympathy. Carnac +had brains, capacity, could almost take his father’s place; he was +tactful, intuitive, alert. Yet Carnac, at present, was out of the +question. He knew the stress of spirit which had turned Carnac from the +opportunity lying at his feet. + +In spite of himself there ran through his mind another thought. Near +by, at the left, dressed in mourning also, was Junia. He had made up +his mind that Junia should be his, and suddenly the usefulness of the +business about to fall into his hands became a weapon in the field of +Love. He was physically a finer man than Carnac; he had capacity; he had +personality; and he would have money and position--for a time at least. +In that time, why should he not win this girl with the wonderful eyes +and hair, with the frankness and candour of unspoiled girlhood in her +face? Presently he would be in the blare of sensation, in the height of +as dramatic an episode as comes to the lives of men; and in the episode +he saw advantages which should weigh with any girl. + +Then had come the reading of the will after the funeral rites were over, +and he, with the family, were gathered in the dining-room of the House +on the Hill. + +He was scarcely ready, however, for the prodigious silence following the +announcement read by the lawyer. He felt as though life was suspended +for many minutes, when it was proclaimed that he, Luke Tarboe, would +inherit the property. Although he knew of the contents of the will his +heart was thumping like a sledge-hammer. + +He looked round the room slowly. The only embarrassment to be seen +was on the faces of Fabian and his wife. Mrs. Grier and Carnac showed +nothing. Carnac did not even move; by neither gesture nor motion of body +did he show aught. At the close of it all, he came to Tarboe and held +out a hand. + +“Good luck to you, Tarboe!” he said. “You’ll make a success, and that’s +what he wanted more than anything else. Good luck to you!” he said again +and turned away.... + +When John Grier’s will was published in the Press consternation filled +the minds of all. Tarboe had been in the business for under two years, +yet here he was left all the property with uncontracted power. Mrs. John +Grier was to be paid during her life a yearly stipend of twenty thousand +dollars from the business; she also received a grant of seventy thousand +dollars. Beyond that, there were a few gifts to hospitals and for the +protection of horses, while to the clergyman of the parish went one +thousand dollars. It certainly could not be called a popular will, and, +complimentary as the newspapers were to the energy and success of John +Grier, few of them called him public-spirited, or a generous-hearted +citizen. In his death he paid the price of his egotism. + +The most surprised person, however, was Junia Shale. + +To her it was shameful that Carnac should be eliminated from all share +in the abundant fortune John Grier had built up. It seemed fantastic +that the fortune and the business--and the business was the +fortune--should be left to Tarboe. Had she known the contents of the +will before John Grier was buried, she would not have gone to the +funeral. Egotistic she had known Grier to be, and she imagined the will +to be a sudden result of anger. He was dead and buried. The places +that knew him knew him no more. All in an hour, as it were, the man +Tarboe--that dominant, resourceful figure--had come into wealth and +power. + +After Junia read the substance of the will, she went springing up the +mountain-side, as it were to work off her excitement by fatigue. At the +mountain-top she gazed over the River St. Lawrence with an eye blind +to all except this terrible distortion of life. Yet through her +obfuscation, there ran admiration for Tarboe. What a man he was! He +had captured John Grier as quickly and as securely as a night fisherman +spears a sturgeon in the flare at the bow of the boat. Tarboe’s ability +was as marked as John Grier’s mad policy. It was strange that Tarboe +should have bewildered and bamboozled--if that word could be used--the +old millowner. It was as curious and thrilling as John Grier’s +fanaticism. + +Already the pinch of corruption had nipped his flesh; he was useless, +motionless in his narrow house, and yet, unseen but powerful, his +influence went on. It shamed a wife and son; it blackened the doors of a +home; it penalized a family. + +Indeed he had been a bad man, and yet she could not reconcile it all +with a wonderful something in him, a boldness, a sense of humour, +an everlasting energy, an electric power. She had never seen anyone +vitalize everything round him as John Grier had done. He threw things +from him like an exasperated giant; he drew things to him like an Angel +of the Covenant. To him life was less a problem than an experiment, and +this last act, this nameless repudiation of the laws of family life, was +like the sign of a chemist’s activity. As she stood on the mountain-top +her breath suddenly came fast, and she caught her bosom with angry +hands. + +“Carnac--poor Carnac!” she exclaimed. + +What would the world say? There were those, perhaps, who thought Carnac +almost a ne’er-do-well, but they were of the commercial world where John +Grier had been supreme. + +At the same moment, Carnac in the garden of his old home beheld the +river too and the great expanse of country, saw the grey light of +evening on the distant hills, and listened to Fabian who condoled with +him. When Fabian had gone, Carnac sat down on a bench and thought over +the whole thing. Carnac had no quarrel with his fate. When in the old +home on the hill he had heard the will, it had surprised him, but it had +not shocked him. He had looked to be the discarded heir, and he knew +it now without rebellion. He had never tried to smooth the path to that +financial security which his father could give. Yet now that disaster +had come, there was a glimmer of remorse, of revolt, because there was +some one besides himself who might think he had thrown away his chances. +He did not know that over on the mountain-side, vituperating the memory +of the dead man, Junia was angry only for Carnac’s sake. + +With the black storm of sudden death roaring in his ears, he had a sense +of freedom, almost of licence. Nothing that had been his father’s was +now his own, or his mother’s, except the land and house on which they +were. All the great business John Grier had built up was gone into the +hands of the usurper, a young, bold, pestilent, powerful, vigorous man. +It seemed suddenly horrible that the timber-yards and the woods and the +offices, and the buildings of John Grier’s commercial business were not +under his own direction, or that of his mother, or brother. They +had ceased to be factors in the equation; they were ‘non est’ in the +postmortem history of John Grier. How immense a nerve the old man had to +make such a will, which outraged every convention of social and family +life; which was, in effect, a proclamation that his son Carnac had no +place in John Grier’s scheme of things, while John Grier’s wife was +rewarded like some faithful old servant. Yet some newspapers had said he +was a man of goodwill, and had appreciation of talent, adding, however, +the doubtful suggestion that the appreciation stopped short of the +prowess of his son Carnac in the field of Art. It was evident John +Grier’s act was thought by the conventionalist to be a wicked blunder. + +As Carnac saw the world where there was not a single material thing that +belonged to him, he had a sudden conviction that his life would run in +other lines than those within which it had been drawn to the present +time. Looking over this wonderful prospect of the St. Lawrence, he had +an insistent feeling that he ought to remain in the land where he was +born, and give of whatever he was capable to its life. It was all a +strenuous problem. For Carnac there was, duly or unduly, fairly or +unfairly, a fate better than that of John Grier. If he died suddenly, +as his father had died, a handful of people would sorrow with excess of +feeling, and the growing world of his patrons would lament his loss. +No one really grieved for John Grier’s departure, except--strange to +say--Tarboe. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. A GREAT DECISION + +Months went by. In them Destiny made new drawings. With his mother, +Carnac went to paint at a place called Charlemont. Tarboe pursued his +work at the mills successfully; Junia saw nothing of Carnac, but she +had a letter from him, and it might have been written by a man to his +friend, yet with an undercurrent of sadness that troubled her. + +She might, perhaps, have yielded to the attentions of Tarboe, had not an +appealing message come from her aunt, and at an hour’s notice went West +again on her mission of sick-service. + +Politically the Province of Quebec was in turmoil. The time was drawing +near when the Dominion Government must go to the polls, and in the most +secluded cottage on the St. Lawrence, the virtues and defects of the +administration were vital questions. Voters knew as much of technical +law-making as the average voter everywhere, but no more, and sometimes +less. Yet there was in the mind of the French-Canadian an intuition, +which was as valuable as the deeper knowledge of a trained politician. +The two great parties in the Province were led by Frenchmen. The English +people, however, were chiefly identified with the party opposed to +Barode Barouche, the Secretary of State. + +As the agitation began in the late spring, Carnac became suddenly +interested in everything political. + +He realized what John Grier had said concerning politics--that, given +other characteristics, the making of laws meant success or failure for +every profession or trade, for every interest in the country. He had +known a few politicians; though he had never yet met the most dominant +figure in the Province--Barode Barouche, who had a singular fascination +for him. He seemed a man dominant and plausible, with a right-minded +impulsiveness. Things John Grier had said about Barouche rang in his +ears. + +As the autumn drew near excitement increased. Political meetings were +being held everywhere. There was one feature more common in Canada than +in any other country; opposing candidates met on the same platform and +fought their fight out in the hearing of those whom they were wooing. +One day Carnac read in a newspaper that Barode Barouche was to speak at +St. Annabel. As that was not far from Charlemont he determined to +hear Barouche for the first time. He had for him a sympathy which, to +himself, seemed a matter of temperament. + +“Mother,” he said, “wouldn’t you like to go and hear Barode Barouche at +St. Annabel? You know him--I mean personally?” + +“Yes, I knew him long ago,” was the scarcely vocal reply. + +“He’s a great, fine man, isn’t he? Wrong-headed, wrong-purposed, but a +big fine fellow.” + +“If a man is wrong-headed and wrong-purposed, it isn’t easy for him to +be fine, is it?” + +“That depends. A man might want to save his country by making some good +law, and be mistaken both as to the result of that law and the right +methods in making it. I’d like you to be with me when I hear him for the +first time. I’ve got a feeling he’s one of the biggest men of our day. +Of course he isn’t perfect. A man might want to save another’s life, +but he might choose the wrong way to do it, and that’s wrongheaded; and +perhaps he oughtn’t to save the man’s life, and that’s wrong-purposed. +There’s no crime in either. Let’s go and hear Monsieur Barouche.” + +He did not see the flush which suddenly filled her face; and, if he had, +he would not have understood. For her a long twenty-seven years rolled +back to the day when she was a young neglected wife, full of life’s +vitalities, out on a junction of the river and the wild woods, with +Barode Barouche’s fishing-camp near by. She shivered now as she thought +of it. It was all so strange, and heart-breaking. For long years she +had paid the price of her mistake. She knew how eloquent Barode Barouche +could be; she knew how his voice had all the ravishment of silver bells +to the unsuspecting. How well she knew him; how deeply she realized the +darkness of his nature! Once she had said to him: + +“Sometimes I think that for duty’s sake you would cling like a leech.” + +It was true. For thirty long years he had been in one sense homeless, +his wife having lost her reason three years after they were married. In +that time he had faithfully visited the place of her confinement every +month of his life, sobered, chastened, at first hopeful, defiant. At the +bottom of his heart Barode Barouche did not want marital freedom. He had +loved the mad woman. He remembered her in the glory of her youth, in the +splendour of her beauty. The insane asylum did not destroy his memory. + +Mrs. Grier remembered too, but in a different way. Her relations with +him had been one swift, absorbing fever--a mad dream, a moment of rash +impulse, a yielding to the natural feeling which her own husband had +aroused: the husband who now neglected her while Barode Barouche treated +her so well, until a day when under his beguilement a stormy impulse +gave--Carnac. Then the end came, instant and final; she bolted, barred +and locked the door against Barode and he had made little effort to open +it. So they had parted, and had never clasped hands or kissed again. To +him she was a sin of which he never repented. He had watched the growth +and development of Carnac with a sharp sympathy. He was not a good man; +but in him were seeds of goodness. To her he was the lash searing her +flesh, day in day out, year in year out, which kept her sacred to her +home. For her children’s sake she did not tell her husband, and she had +emptied out her heart over Carnac with overwhelming fondness. + +“Yes, I’ll go, Carnac,” she said at last, for it seemed the easier way. +“I haven’t been to a political meeting for many years.” + +“That’s right. I like your being with me.” + +The meeting was held in what had been a skating-rink and drill-hall. On +the platform in the centre was the chairman, with Barode Barouche on +his right. There was some preliminary speech-making from the chairman. +A resolution was moved supporting Barouche, his party and policy, and +there were little explosions of merriment at strokes of unconscious +humour made by the speakers; and especially by one old farmer who made +his jokes on the spot, and who now tried to embalm Barouche with praise. +He drew attention to Barouche’s leonine head and beard, to his alert +eyes and quizzical face, and said he was as strong in the field of +legislation as he was in body and mind. Carnac noticed that Barouche +listened good-naturedly, and now and then cocked his head and looked up +at the ceiling as though to find something there. + +There was a curious familiarity in the action of the head which struck +Carnac. He and his mother were seated about five rows back from +the front row on the edge of the aisle. As the meeting progressed, +Barouche’s eyes wandered slowly over the faces of his audience. +Presently he saw Carnac and his mother. Mrs. Grier was conscious of a +shock upon the mind of Barouche. She saw his eyes go misty with feeling. +For him the world was suddenly shut out, and he only saw the woods of +a late summer’s afternoon, a lonely tent--and a woman. A flush crept up +his face. Then he made a spasmodic gesture of the hand, outward, which +again Carnac recognized as familiar. It was the kind of thing he did +himself. + +So absorbed was Barode Barouche that he only mechanically heard the +chairman announce himself, but when he got to his feet his full senses +came back. The sight of the woman to whom he had been so much, and who +had been so much to him for one short month, magnetized him; the face of +the boy, so like his own as he remembered it thirty years ago, stirred +his veins. There before him was his own one unacknowledged child--the +only child ever born to him. His heart throbbed. Then he began to speak. +Never in all his life had he spoken as he did this day. It was only +a rural audience; there was not much intelligence in it; but it had a +character all its own. It was alive to its own interests, chiefly of +agriculture and the river. It was composed of both parties, and he could +stimulate his own side, and, perhaps, win the other. + +Thus it was that, with the blood pounding through his veins, the +inspired sensualist began his speech. It was his duty to map out a +policy for the future; to give the people an idea of what his party +meant to do; to guide, to inspire, to inflame. + +As Carnac listened he kept framing the words not yet issued, but which +did issue from Barouche’s mouth; his quick intelligence correctly +imagined the line Barouche would take; again and again Barouche made a +gesture, or tossed his head, or swung upon his feet to right and left +in harmony with Carnac’s own mind. Carnac would say to himself: “Why, +that’s what I’d have done--that’s what I’d have said, if I had his +policy.” More than once, in some inspired moment of the speech, he +caught his mother’s hand, and he did not notice that her hand trembled. + +But as for one of Barouche’s chapter of policy Carnac almost sprang to +his feet in protest when Barouche declared it. To Carnac it seemed fatal +to French Canada, though it was expounded with a taking air; yet as he +himself had said it was “wrong-headed and wrong-purposed.” + +When the speech had finished to great cheering, Carnac suddenly turned +to his mother: + +“He’s on the wrong track. I know the policy to down his. He’s got no +opponent. I’m going to stand against him at the polls.” + +She clutched his arm. “Carnac--Carnac! You don’t know what you’re +doing.” + +“Well, I will pretty quick,” he replied stoutly. “I’m out after him, if +they’ll have me.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. CARNAC BECOMES A CANDIDATE + +That night Carnac mapped out his course, carefully framed the policy to +offset that of Barode Barouche, and wrote a letter to the Chairman of +the Opposition at Montreal offering to stand, and putting forward an +ingenious policy. He asked also for an interview; and the interview was +granted by telegram--almost to his surprise. He was aware, however, of +the discontent among the English members of the Opposition, and of the +wish of the French members to find a good compromise. + +He had a hope that his singular position--the notoriety which his +father’s death and his own financial disfranchisement had caused--would +be a fine card in his favour. He was not mistaken. His letter arrived +at Headquarters when there were difficulties concerning three candidates +who were pressing their claims. Carnac Grier, the disinherited son of +the great lumber-king, who had fame as an artist, spoke French as +though it were his native tongue, was an element of sensation which, if +adroitly used, could be of great service. It might even defeat +Barode Barouche. In the first place, Carnac was young, good-looking, +personable, and taking in his manner. Barouche was old, experienced, +with hosts of enemies and many friends, but with injurious egotism. An +interview was, therefore, arranged at Headquarters. + +On the morning of the day it took place, Carnac’s anguished mother went +with him to the little railway station of Charlemont. She had slept +little the night before; her mind was in an eddy of emotions. It seemed +dreadful that Carnac should fight his own father, repeating what Fabian +had done in another way. Yet at the bottom of her heart there was a +secret joy. Some native revolt in her had joy in the thought that the +son might extort a price for her long sorrow and his unknown disgrace. + +As she had listened to Barouche at the meeting, she realized how sincere +yet insincere he was; how gifted and yet how ungracious was his mind. +Her youth was over; long pain and regret had chastened her. She was as +lonely a creature as ever the world knew; violence was no part of her +equipment; and yet terrible memories made her assent to this new phase +of Carnac’s life. She wondered what Barouche would think. There was some +ancient touch of war in her which made her rejoice that after long years +the hammer should strike. + +Somehow the thing’s tremendous possibilities thrilled her. Carnac had +always been a politician--always. She remembered how, when he was a boy, +he had argued with John Grier on national matters, laid down the law +with the assurance of an undergraduate, and invented theories impossible +of public acceptance. Yet in every stand he had taken, there had been +thought, logic and reasoning, wrongly premised, but always based on +principles. On paper he was generally right; in practice, generally +wrong. His buoyant devotion to an idea was an inspiration and a tonic. +The curious thing was that, while still this political matter was +hanging fire, he painted with elation. + +His mother knew he did not see the thousand little things which made +public life so wearying; that he only realized the big elements of +national policy. She understood how those big things would inspire the +artist in him. For, after all, there was the spirit of Art in framing a +great policy which would benefit millions in the present and countless +millions in the future. So, at the railway station, as they waited for +the train, with an agitation outwardly controlled, she said: + +“The men who have fought before, will want to stand, so don’t be +surprised if--” + +“If they reject me, mother?” interrupted Carnac. “No, I shan’t be +surprised, but I feel in my bones that I’m going to fight Barode +Barouche into the last corner of the corral.” + +“Don’t be too sure of that, my son. Won’t the thing that prevents your +marrying Junia be a danger in this, if you go on?” + +Sullen tragedy came into his face, his lips set. The sudden paleness of +his cheek, however, was lost in a smile. + +“Yes, I’ve thought of that; but if it has to come, better it should come +now than later. If the truth must be told, I’ll tell it--yes, I’ll tell +it!” + +“Be bold, but not reckless, Carnac,” his mother urged. + +Just then the whistling train approached. She longed to put a hand +out and hold him back, and yet she ached to let him go. Yet as Carnac +mounted the steps of the car, a cry went out from her heart: “My son, +stay with me here--don’t go.” That was only in her heart, however; with +her lips she said: “Good luck! God bless you, Carnac!” and then the +train rolled away, leaving her alone in the bright, bountiful morning. + +Before the day was done, Headquarters had accepted Carnac, in part, as +the solution of their own difficult problem. The three applicants for +the post each hated the other; but all, before the day was over, agreed +to Carnac as an effective opponent of Barouche. + +One thing seemed clear--Carnac’s policy had elements of seduction +appealing to the selfishness of all sections, and he had an eloquence +which would make Barouche uneasy. That eloquence was shown in a speech +Carnac made in the late evening to the assembled executive. He spoke for +only a quarter of an hour, but it was long enough to leave upon all +who heard him an impression of power, pertinacity, picturesqueness and +appeal. He might make mistakes, but he had qualities which would ride +over errors with success. + +“I’m not French,” he said at last in his speech, “but I used to think +and write in French as though I’d been born in Normandy. I’m English +by birth and breeding, but I’ve always gone to French schools and to +a French University, and I know what New France means. I stand to my +English origin, but I want to see the French develop here as they’ve +developed in France, alive to all new ideas, dreaming good dreams. I +believe that Frenchmen in Canada can, and should, be an inspiration to +the whole population. Their great qualities should be the fibre in the +body of public opinion. I will not pander to the French; I will not +be the slave of the English; I will be free, and I hope I shall be +successful at the polls.” + +This was a small part of the speech which caused much enthusiasm, +and was the beginning of a movement, powerful, and as time went on, +impetuous. + +He went to bed with the blood of battle throbbing in his veins. In +the morning he had a reasonable joy in seeing the headlines of his +candidature in the papers. + +At first he was almost appalled, for never since life began had his +personality been so displayed. It seemed absurd that before he had +struck a blow he should be advertised like a general in the field. +Yet common sense told him that in standing against Barouche, he became +important in the eyes of those affected by Barouche’s policy. He had had +luck, and it was for him to justify that luck. Could he do it? His first +thought, however, as his eyes fell on the headlines--he flushed with +elation so that he scarcely saw--was for the thing itself. Before him +there flashed a face, however, which at once sobered his exaltation. It +was the face of Junia. + +“I wonder what she will think,” he said to himself, with a little +perplexity. + +He knew in his heart of hearts she would not think it incongruous that +he, an artist, should become a politician. Good laws served to make life +beautiful, good pictures ministered to beauty; good laws helped to tell +the story of human development; good sculpture strengthened the soul; +good laws made life’s conveniences greater, enlarged activity, lessened +the friction of things not yet adjusted; good laws taught their +framers how to balance things, how to make new principles apply without +disturbing old rights; good pictures increased the well-balanced harmony +of the mind of the people. Junia would understand these things. As he +sat at his breakfast, with the newspaper spread against the teapot and +the milk-pitcher, he felt satisfied he had done the bold and right, if +incomprehensible, thing. + +But in another hotel, at another breakfast, another man read of Carnac’s +candidature with sickening surprise. It was Barode Barouche. + +So, after twenty-seven long years, this was to be the issue! His own +son, whom he had never known, was to fight him at the polls! Somehow, +the day when he had seen Carnac and his mother at the political meeting +had given him new emotions. His wife, to whom he had been so faithful in +one sense since she had passed into the asylum, had died, and with her +going, a new field of life seemed to open up to him. She had died +almost on the same day as John Grier. She had been buried secludedly, +piteously, and he had gone back to his office with the thought that life +had become a preposterous freedom. + +So it was that, on the day when he spoke at the political meeting, his +life’s tragedy became a hammer beating every nerve into emotion. He was +like one shipwrecked who strikes out with a swimmer’s will to reach his +goal. All at once, on the platform, as he spoke, when his eyes saw the +faces of Carnac and his mother the catastrophe stunned him like a huge +engine of war. There had come to him at last a sense of duty where +Alma Grier was concerned. She was nearly fifty years of age, and he was +fifty-nine; she was a widow with this world’s goods; she had been to him +how near and dear! for a brief hour, and then--no more. He knew the boy +was his son, because he saw his own face, as it had been in his youth, +though his mother’s look was also there-transforming, illumining. + +He had a pang as he saw the two at the close of his meeting filtering +out into the great retort of the world. Then it was that he had the +impulse to go to the woman’s home, express his sorrow, and in some small +sense wipe out his wrong by offering her marriage. He had not gone. + +He knew of Carnac’s success in the world of Art; and how he had +alienated his reputed father by an independence revolting to a slave of +convention. He had even bought, not from Carnac, but from a dealer, two +of Carnac’s pictures and a statue of a riverman. Somehow the years +had had their way with him. He had at long last realized that material +things were not the great things of life, and that imagination, however +productive, should be guided by uprightness of soul. + +One thing was sure, the boy had never been told who his father was. That +Barouche knew. He had the useful gift of reading the minds of people in +their faces. From Carnac’s face, from Carnac’s mother’s face, had come +to him the real story. He knew that Alma Grier had sinned only once and +with him. In the first days after that ill-starred month, he had gone +to her, only to be repelled as a woman can repel whose soul has been +shocked, whose self-respect has been shamed. + +It had been as though she thrust out arms of infinite length to push him +away, such had been the storm of her remorse, such the revulsion against +herself and him. So they had fallen apart, and he had seen his boy +grow up independent, original, wilful, capable--a genius. He read +the newspaper reports of what had happened the day before with senses +greatly alive. + +After all, politics was unlike everything else. It was a profession +recruited from all others. The making of laws was done by all kinds of +men. One of the wisest advisers in river-law he had ever known was +a priest; one of the best friends of the legislation of the medical +profession was a woman; one of the bravest Ministers who had ever +quarrelled with and conquered his colleagues had been an insurance +agent; one of the sanest authorities on maritime law had been a man with +a greater pride in his verses than in his practical capacity; and here +was Carnac, who had painted pictures and made statues, plunging into +politics with a policy as ingenious as his own, and as capable of +logical presentation. This boy, who was bone of his bone and flesh of +his flesh, meant to fight him. He threw back his head and laughed. His +boy, his son, meant to fight him, did he? Well, so be it! He got to his +feet, and walked up and down the room. + +“God, what an issue this!” he said. “It would be terrific, if he won. To +wipe me out of the life where I have flourished--what a triumph for him! +And he would not know how great the triumph would be. She has not told +him. Yet she will urge him on. Suppose it was she put the idea into his +head!” + +Then he threw back his head, shaking the long brown hair, browner than +Carnac’s, from his forehead. “Suppose she did this thing--she who was +all mine for one brief moment! Suppose she--” + +Every nerve tingled; every drop of blood beat hard against his walls of +flesh; his every vicious element sprang into life. + +“But no--but no, she would not do it. She would not teach her son to +destroy his own father. But something must have told him to come and +listen to me, to challenge me in his own mind, and then--then this +thing!” + +He stared at the paper, leaning over the table, as though it were a +document of terror. + +“I must go on: I must uphold the policy for which I’ve got the assent of +the Government.” Suddenly his hands clenched. “I will beat him. He shall +not bring me to the dust. I gave him life, and he shall not take my life +from me. He’s at the beginning; I’m going towards the end. I wronged +his mother--yes, I wronged him too! I wronged them both, but he does not +know he’s wronged. He’ll live his own life; he has lived it--” + +There came a tap at the door. Presently it opened and a servant came in. +He had in his hand a half-dozen telegrams. + +“All about the man that’s going to fight you, I expect, m’sieu’,” said +the servant as he handed the telegrams. + +Barode Barouche did not reply, but nodded a little scornfully. + +“A woman has called,” continued the servant. “She wants to see you, +m’sieu’. It’s very important, she says.” + +Barouche shook his head in negation. “No, Gaspard.” + +“It ain’t one of the usual kind, I think, m’sieu’,” protested Gaspard. +“It’s about the election. It’s got something to do with that--” he +pointed to the newspaper propped against the teapot. + +“It’s about that, is it? Well, what about that?” He eyed the servant as +though to see whether the woman had given any information. + +“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me. She’s got a mind of her own. She’s +even handsome, and she’s well-dressed. All she said was: ‘Tell m’sieu’ I +want to see him. It’s about the election-about Mr. Grier.’” + +Barode Barouche’s heart stopped. Something about Carnac Grier--something +about the election--and a woman! He kept a hand on himself. It must not +be seen that he was in any way moved. + +“Is she English?” + +“She’s French, m’sieu’.” + +“You think I ought to see her, Gaspard?” said Barouche. + +“Sure,” was the confident reply. “I guess she’s out against whoever’s +against you.” + +“You never saw her before.” + +“Not to my sense.” + +“But I haven’t finished my breakfast.” + +“Well, if it’s anything important that’ll help you, m’sieu’. It’s like +whittling. If you can do things with your hands while you’re talking and +thinking, it’s a great help. You go on eating. I’ll show her up!” + +Barouche smiled maliciously. “Well, show her up, Gaspard.” + +The servant laughed. “Perhaps she’ll show herself up after I show her +in,” he said, and he went out hastily. + +Presently the door opened again, and Gaspard stepped inside. + +“A lady to see you, m’sieu’,” he said. + +Barouche rose from the table, but he did not hold out his hand. The +woman was young, good looking, she seemed intelligent. There was also +a latent cruelty in her face which only a student of human nature could +have seen quickly. She was a woman with a grievance--that was sure. +He knew the passionate excitement, fairly well controlled; he saw her +bitterness at a glance. He motioned her to a chair. + +“It’s an early call,” he said with a smile. Smiling was one of his +serviceable assets; it was said no man could so palaver the public with +his cheerful goodnature. + +“Yes, it’s an early call,” she replied, “but I wish not to wait till you +go to your office. I wanted you to know something. It has to do with Mr. +Carnac Grier.” + +“Oh, that--eh!” + +“It’s something you’ve got to know. If I give you the sure means to win +your election, it would be worth while--eh?” + +The beating of Barouche’s heart was hard, but nothing showed in his +face. There he had control. + +“I like people who know their own minds,” he said, “but I don’t believe +anything till I study what I hear. Is it something to injure Mr. Grier?” + +“If a married man went about as a single man and stood up for Parliament +against you, don’t you think you could spoil him?” + +For a moment Barouche was silent. Here was an impeachment of his own +son, but this son was out to bring his own father to the ground. There +were two ways to look at it. There was the son’s point of view, and +there was his own. If he loved his son he ought to know the thing +that threatened him; if he hated his son he ought to know. So, after +a moment’s study of the face with the fiery eyes and a complexion like +roses touched with frost, he said slowly: + +“Well, have I the honour of addressing Carnac Grier’s wife?” + +Barouche had had many rewards in his life, but the sweetest reward of +all was now his own. As events proved, he had taken a course which, if +he cared for his son, was for that son’s well-being, and if he cared for +himself most, was essential to his own well-being. + +Relief crossed the woman’s face. “I’ll tell you everything,” she said. + +Then Luzanne told her story, avoiding the fact that Carnac had been +tricked into the marriage. At last she said: “Now I’ve come here to make +him acknowledge me. He’s ruined my life, broken my hopes, and--” + +“Broken your hopes!” interrupted Barode Barouche. “How is that?” + +“I might have married some one else. I could have married some one +else.” + +“Well, why don’t you? There’s the Divorce Court. What’s to prevent it?” + +“You ask me that--you a Frenchman and a Roman Catholic! I’m French. I +was born in Paris.” + +“When will you let me see your papers?” + +“When do you want to see them?” + +“To-day-if possible to-day,” he answered. Then he held her eyes. “To +whom else here have you told this story?” + +“No one--no one. I only came last night, and when I took up the paper +this morning, I saw. Then I found out where you lived, and here I am, +bien sur. I’m here under my maiden name, Ma’m’selle Luzanne Larue.” + +“That’s right. That’s right. Now, until we meet again, don’t speak of +this to anyone. Will you give me your word?” + +“Absolutely,” she said, and there was revenge and passion in her eyes. +Suddenly a strange expression crept over her face. She was puzzled. + +“There’s something of him about you,” she said, and her forehead +gathered. “There’s some look! Well, there it is, but it’s something--I +don’t know what.” + +A moment later she was gone. As the door closed, he stretched his hands +above his head. + +“Nom de Dieu, what a situation!” he remarked. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. JUNIA AND TARBOE HEAR THE NEWS + +To most people Carnac’s candidature was a surprise; to some it was a +bewilderment, and to one or two it was a shock. To the second class +belonged Fabian Grier and his wife; to the third class belonged Luke +Tarboe. Only one person seemed to understand it--by intuition: Junia. + +Somehow, nothing Carnac did changed Junia’s views of him, or surprised +her, though he made her indignant often enough. To her mind, however, +in the big things, his actions always had reasonableness. She had +never felt his artist-life was to be the only note of his career. When, +therefore, in the West she read a telegram in a newspaper announcing his +candidature, she guessed the suddenness of his decision. When she read +it, she spread the paper on the table, smoothed it as though it were +a beautiful piece of linen, then she stretched out her hands in happy +benediction. Like most of her sex, she loved the thrill of warfare. +There flashed the feeling, however, that it would be finer sport if +Carnac and Tarboe were to be at war, instead of Carnac and Barouche. It +was curious she never thought of Carnac but the other man came throbbing +into sight--the millionaire, for he was that now. + +In one way, this last move of Carnac’s had the elements of a +master-stroke. She knew how strange it would seem to the rest of the +world, yet it did not seem strange to her. No man she had ever seen had +been so at home in the world of men, and also at home in the secluded +field of the chisel and the brush as Carnac. + +She took the newspaper over to her aunt, holding it up. The big +headlines showed like semaphores on the page. As the graceful figure +of Junia drew to her aunt--her slim feet, in the brown, well-polished +boots, the long, full neck, and then the chin, Grecian, shapely and +firm, the straight, sensitive nose, the wonderful eyes under the +well-cut, broad forehead, with the brown hair, covering it like a +canopy--the old lady reached out and wound her arms round the lissome +figure. Situated so, she read the telegram, and then the old arms +gripped her tighter. + +Presently, the whistle of a train sounded. The aunt stretched out an +approving finger to the sound. She realized that the figure round +which her arms hung trembled, for it was the “through” daily train for +Montreal. + +“I’m going back at once, aunty,” Junia said. + + .......................... + +“Well, I’m jiggered!” + +These were Tarboe’s words when Carnac’s candidature came first to him in +the press. + +“He’s ‘broke’ out in a new place,” he added. + +Tarboe loved the spectacular, and this was indeed spectacular. Yet he +had not the mental vision of Junia who saw how close, in one intimate +sense, was the relation between the artist life and the political life. +To him it was a gigantic break from a green pasture into a red field +of war. To her, it was a resolution which, in anyone else’s life, would +have seemed abnormal; in Carnac’s life it had naturalness. + +Tarboe had been for a few months only the reputed owner of the great +business, and he had paid a big price for his headship in the weighty +responsibility, the strain of control; but it had got into his blood, +and he felt life would not be easy without it now. + +Besides, there was Junia. To him she was the one being in the world +worth struggling for; the bird to be caught on the wing, or coaxed into +the nest, or snared into the net; and two of the three things he had +tried without avail. The third--the snaring? He would not stop at that, +if it would bring him what he wanted. How to snare her! He surveyed +himself in the mirror. + +“A great hulking figure like that!” he said in disapproval. “All bone +and muscle and flesh and physical show! It wouldn’t weigh with her. +She’s too fine. It isn’t the animal in a man she likes. It’s what he can +do, and what he is, and where he’s going.” + +Then he thought of Carnac’s new outburst, and his veins ran cold. +“She’ll like that--but yes, she’ll like that: and if he succeeds she’ll +think he’s great. Well, she’d be right. He’ll beat Barouche. He’s young +and brave, careless and daring. Now where am I in this fight? I belong +to Barouche’s party and my vote ought to go for him.” + +For some minutes he sat in profound thought. What part should he play? +He liked Carnac, he owed him a debt which he could never repay. Carnac +had saved him from killing Denzil. If that had happened, he himself +might have gone to the gallows. + +He decided. Sitting down, he wrote Carnac the following letter: + + DEAR CARNAC GRIER, + + I see you’re beginning a new work. You now belong to a party that I + am opposed to, but that doesn’t stop me offering you support. It’s + not your general policy, but it is you, the son of your father, that + I mean to work for. If you want financial help for your campaign-- + or after it is over--come and get it here--ten thousand or more if + you wish. Your father, if he knew--and perhaps he does know--would + be pleased that you, who could not be a man of business in his + world, are become a man of business in the bigger world of law- + making. You may be right or wrong in that policy, but that don’t + weigh with me. You’ve taken on as big a job as ever your father + did. What’s the use of working if you don’t try to do the big thing + that means a lot to people outside yourself! If you make new good + laws, if you do something for the world that’s wonderful, it’s as + much as your father did, or, if he was alive, could do now. + Whatever there is here is yours to use. When you come back here to + play your part, you’ll make it a success--the whole blessed thing. + I don’t wish you were here now, except that it’s yours--all of it-- + but I wish you to beat Barode Barouche. + + Yours to the knife, + + LUKE TARBOE. + +He read the letter through, and coming to the words, “When you come +back here to play your part, you’ll make it a success--the whole blessed +thing,” he paused, reflecting... He wondered what Carnac would think the +words meant, and he felt it was bold, and, maybe, dangerous play; but +it was not more dangerous than facts he had dealt with often in the last +two years. He would let it stand, that phrase of the hidden meaning. He +did not post the letter yet. + +Four days later he put on his wide-brimmed panama hat and went out into +the street leading to the centre of the city. There was trouble in the +river reaches between his men and those of Belloc-Grier, and he was +keeping an appointment with Belloc at Fabian Grier’s office, where +several such meetings had taken place. + +He had not gone far, however, when he saw a sprightly figure in +light-brown linen cutting into his street from a cross-road. He had not +seen that figure for months-scarcely since John Grier’s death, and his +heart thumped in his breast. It was Junia. How would she greet him? + +A moment later he met her. Raising his hat, he said: “Back to the +firing-line, Miss Shale! It’ll make a big difference to every one +concerned.” + +“Are you then concerned?” she asked, with a faint smile. + +“One of the most concerned,” he answered with a smile not so composed as +her own. “It’s the honour of the name that’s at stake.” + +“You want to ruin Mr. Grier’s chances in the fight?” + +“I didn’t say that. I said, ‘the honour of the name,’ and the name of my +firm is ‘Grier’s Company of Lumbermen.’ So I’m in it with all my might, +and here’s a letter--I haven’t posted it yet--saying to Carnac Grier +where I stand. Will you read it? There’s no reason why you shouldn’t.” + He tore open the envelope and took the letter out. + +Junia took it, after hesitation, and read it till she came to the +sentence about Carnac returning to the business. She looked up, +startled. + +“What does that mean?” she asked, pointing to the elusive sentence. + +“He might want to come into the business some day, and I’ll give him his +chance. Nothing more than that.” + +“Nothing more than that!” she said cynically. “It’s bravely said, but +how can he be a partner if he can’t buy the shares?” + +“That’s a matter to be thought out,” he answered with a queer twist to +his mouth. + +“I see you’ve offered to help him with cash for the election,” she said, +handing back the letter. + +“I felt it had to be done. Politics are expensive they sap the purse. +That’s why.” + +“You never thought of giving him an income which would compensate a +little for what his father failed to do for him?” + +There was asperity in her tone. + +“He wouldn’t take from me what his father didn’t give him.” Suddenly an +idea seized him. “Look here,” he said, “you’re a friend of the Griers, +why don’t you help keep things straight between the two concerns? You +could do it. You have the art of getting your own way. I’ve noticed +that.” + +“So you’d like me to persuade Fabian Grier to influence Belloc, because +I’d make things easy for you!” she said briskly. “Do you forget I’ve +known Fabian since I was a baby, that my sister is his wife, and that +his interests are near to me?” + +He did not knuckle down. “I think it would be helping Fabian’s +interests. Belloc and Fabian Grier are generally in the wrong, and to +keep them right would be good business-policy. When I’ve trouble with +Belloc’s firm it’s because they act like dogs in the manger. They seem +to hate me to live.” + +She laughed--a buoyant, scornful laugh. “So all the fault is in Belloc +and Fabian, is it?” She was impressed enormously by his sangfroid and +will to rule the roost. “I think you’re clever, and that you’ve got +plenty of horse-sense, as they say in the West, but you’ll be beaten in +the end. How does it feel”--she asked it with provoking candour--“to be +the boss of big things?” + +“I know I’m always settling troubles my business foes make for me. I +have to settle one of them now, and I’m glad I’ve met you, for you can +help me. I want some new river-rules made. If Belloc and Grier’ll agree +to them, we’ll do away with this constant trouble between our gangs.” + +“And you’d like me to help you?” + +He smiled a big riverman’s smile down at her, full of good-humour and +audacity. + +“If you could make it clear to Fabian that all I’m after is peace on the +river, it’d do a lot of good.” + +“Well, do you know,” she said demurely, “I don’t think I’ll take a hand +in this game, chiefly because--” she paused. + +“Yes: chiefly because--” + +“Because you’ll get your own way without help. You get everything you +want,” she added with a little savage comment. + +A flood of feeling came into his eyes, his head jerked like that of a +bull-moose. “No, I don’t get everything I want. The thing I want most in +the world doesn’t come to me.” His voice grew emotional. She knew what +he was trying to say, and as the idea was not new she kept composure. +“I’m not as lucky as you think me,” he added. + +“You’re pretty lucky. You’ve done it all as easy as clasping your +fingers. If I had your luck--!” she paused. + +“I don’t know about that, but if I could reach out and touch you at any +time, as it were, I think it’d bring me permanent good luck. You’ll find +out one day that my luck is only a bubble the prick of a pin’ll destroy. +I don’t misunderstand it. I’ve been left John Grier’s business by Grier +himself, and he’s got a son that ought to have it, and maybe will have +it, when the time is ripe.” + +Suddenly an angry hand flashed out towards him. “When the time is ripe! +Does that mean, when you’ve made all you want, you’ll give up to Carnac +what isn’t yours but his? Why don’t you do it now?” + +“Well, because, in the first place, I like my job and he doesn’t want +it; in the second place, I promised his father I’d run the business as +he wished it run; and in the third place, Carnac wouldn’t know how to +use the income the business brings.” + +She laughed in a mocking, challenging way. “Was there ever a man didn’t +know how to use an income no matter how big it was! You’re talking +enigmas, and I think we’d better say good-bye. Your way to the Belloc +offices is down that street.” She pointed. + +“And you won’t help me? You won’t say a word to Fabian?” + +She shrugged a shoulder. “If I were a man like you, who’s so big, so +lucky, and so dominant, I wouldn’t ask a woman to help me. I’d do the +job myself. I’d keep faith with my reputation. But there’s one nice +thing about you: you’re going to help Carnac to beat Barode Barouche. +You’ve made a gallant offer. If you’d gone against him, if you’d played +Barouche’s game, I--” + +The indignation which came to her face suddenly fled, and she said: +“Honestly, I’d never speak to you again, and I always keep my word. +Carnac’ll see it through. He’s a man of mark, Mr. Tarboe, and he’ll be +Prime Minister of the whole country one day. I don’t think you’ll like +it.” + +“You hit hard, but if I hadn’t taken the business, Carnac Grier wouldn’t +have got it. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been some one else.” + +“Well, why don’t you live like a rich man and not like a foreman?” + +“I’ve been too busy to change my mode of living. I only want enough to +eat and drink and wear, and that’s not costly.” Suddenly an idea came +to him. “Now, if that business had been left to you, you’d be building a +stone house somewhere; and you’d have horses and carriages, and lots +of servants, and you’d swing along like a pretty coloured bird in the +springtime, wouldn’t you?” + +“If I had wealth, I’d make it my servant. I’d give it its chance; but as +I haven’t got it, I live as I do--poor and unknown.” + +“Not unknown. See, you could control what belonged to John Grier, if you +would. I need some one to show me how to spend the money coming from +the business. What is wealth unless you buy things that give pleasure to +life? Do you know--” + +He got no further. “I don’t know anything you’re trying to tell me, and +anyhow this is not the place--” With that she hastened from him up the +street. Tarboe had a pang, and yet her very last words gave him hope. “I +may be a bit sharp in business,” he said to himself, “but I certainly am +a fool in matters of the heart. Yet what she said at last had something +in it for me. Every woman has an idea where a man ought to make love to +her, and this open road certainly ain’t the place. If Carnac wins this +game with Barouche I don’t know where I’ll be with her-maybe I’m a fool +to help him.” He turned the letter over and over in his hand. “No, I’m +not. I ought to do it, and I will.” + +Then he fell to brooding. He remembered about the second hidden will. +There came upon him a wild wish to destroy it. He loved controlling John +Grier’s business. Never had anything absorbed him so. Life seemed a new +thing. The idea of disappearing from the place where, with a stroke +of his fingers, he moved five thousand men, or swept a forest into the +great river, or touched a bell which set going a saw-mill with its many +cross-cut saws, or filled a ship to take the pine, cedar, maple, ash or +elm boards to Europe, or to the United States, was terrible to him. He +loved the smell of the fresh-cut wood. The odour of the sawdust as he +passed through a mill was sweeter than a million bunches of violets. +Many a time he had caught up a handful of the damp dust and smelt it, as +an expert gardener would crumble the fallen flowers of a fruit tree and +sniff the sweet perfume. To be master of one of the greatest enterprises +of the New World for three years, and then to disappear! He felt he +could not do it. + +His feelings shook his big frame. The love of a woman troubled his +spirit. Suppose the will were declared and the girl was still free, what +would she do? + +As he set foot in the office of the firm of Belloc, however, he steeled +himself to composure. + +His task well accomplished, he went back to his own office, and spent +the day like a racehorse under the lash, restive, defiant, and reckless. +When night and the shadows came, he sat alone in his office with drawn +blinds, brooding, wondering. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. THE SECRET MEETING + +As election affairs progressed, Mrs. Grier kept withdrawn from public +ways. She did not seek supporters for her son. As the weeks went on, +the strain became intense. Her eyes were aflame with excitement, but +she grew thinner, until at last she was like a ghost haunting familiar +scenes. Once, and once only, did she have touch with Barode Barouche +since the agitation began. This was how it happened: + +Carnac was at Ottawa, and she was alone, in the late evening. As she sat +sewing, she heard a knock at the front door. Her heart stood still. It +was a knock she had not heard for over a quarter of a century, but it +had an unforgettable touch. She waited a moment, her face pale, her eyes +shining with tortured memory. She waited for the servant to answer the +knock, but presently she realized that the servant probably had not +heard. Laying down her work, she passed into the front hall. There for +an instant she paused, then opened the door. + +It was Barode Barouche. Then the memory of a summer like a terrible +dream shook her. She trembled. Some old quiver of the dead days swept +through her. How distant and how--bad it all was! For one instant the +old thrill repeated itself and then was gone--for ever. + +“What is it you wish here?” she asked. + +“Will you not shut the door?” he responded, for her fingers were on the +handle. “I cannot speak with the night looking in. Won’t you ask me to +your sitting-room? I’m not a robber or a rogue.” + +Slowly she closed the door. Then she turned, and, in the dim light, she +said: + +“But you are both a robber and a rogue.” + +He did not answer until they had entered the sittin-groom. + +“I gave you that which is out against me now. Is he not brilliant, +capable and courageous?” + +There was in her face a stern duty. + +“It was Fate, monsieur. When he and I went to your political meeting at +Charlemont it had no purpose. No blush came to his cheek, because he +did not know who his father is. No one in the world knows--no one except +myself, that must suffer to the end. Your speech roused in him the +native public sense, the ancient fire of the people from whom he did not +know he came. His origin has been his bane from the start. He did not +know why the man he thought his father seemed almost a stranger to him. +He did not understand, and so they fell apart. Yet John Grier would have +given more than he had to win the boy to himself. Do you ever think what +the boy must have suffered? He does not know. Only you and I know!” She +paused. + +He thrust out a hand as though to stay her speech, but she went on again + +“Go away from me. You have spoiled my life; you have spoiled my boy’s +life, and now he fights you. I give him no help save in one direction. +I give to him something his reputed father withheld from him. Don’t you +think it a strange thing”--her voice was thick with feeling--“that he +never could bear to take money from John Grier, and that, even as a +child, gifts seemed to trouble him. I think he wanted to give back again +all that John Grier had ever paid out to him or for him; and now, at +last, he fights the man who gave him birth! I wanted to tell John Grier +all, but I did not because I knew it would spoil his life and my boy’s +life. It was nothing to me whether I lived or died. But I could not bear +Carnac should know. He was too noble to have his life spoiled.” + +Barode Barouche drew himself together. Here was a deep, significant +problem, a situation that needed more expert handling than he had +ever shown. As he stood by the table, the dim light throwing haggard +reflections on her face, he had a feeling that she was more than normal. +He saw her greater than he had ever imagined her. Something in him +revolted at a war between his own son and himself. Also, he wanted to +tell her of the danger in which Carnac was--how Luzanne had come, and +was hidden away in the outskirts of the city, waiting for the moment +when the man who rejected her should be sacrificed. + +Now that Barouche was face to face with Alma Grier, however, he felt the +appalling nature of his task. In all the years he had taken no chance to +pay tribute to the woman who, in a real sense, had been his mistress of +body and mind for one short term of life, and who once, and once only, +had yielded to him. They were both advanced in years, and Life and Time +had taken toll. She was haggard, yet beautiful in a wan way. He did +not believe the vanished years had placed between them an impassable +barrier. + +He put his chances to the test at last. + +“Yes, I know--I understand. You remained silent because your nature +was too generous to injure anyone. Down at the bottom of his heart, +cantankerous, tyrannical as he was, John Grier loved you, and I loved +you also.” + +She made a protest of her hand. “Oh, no! You never knew what love +was--never! You had passion, you had hunger of the body, but of love you +did not know. I know you, Barode Barouche. You have no heart, you have +only sentiment and imagination. No--no, you could not be true. You could +never know how.” + +Suddenly a tempest of fire seemed to burn in his eyes, in his whole +being. His face flushed: his eyes gleamed; his hands were thrust out +with passion. + +“Will you not understand that were I as foul as hell, a woman like you +would make me clean again? The wild sin of our youth has eaten into the +soul of my life. You think I have been indifferent to you and to our +boy. No, never-never! That I left you both to yourselves was the best +proof I was not neglectful. I was sorry, with all my soul, that you +should have suffered through me. In the first reaction, I felt that +nothing could put me right with you or with eternal justice. So I shrank +away from you. You thought it was lust satisfied. I tell you it was +honour shamed. Good God! You thought me just the brazen roue, who seized +what came his way, who ate the fruit within his grasp, who lived to +deceive for his own selfish joy. + +“Did you think that? Then, if you did, I do not wonder you should be +glad to see my son fighting me. It would seem the horrible revenge +Destiny should take.” He took a step nearer to her. His face flamed, +his arms stretched out. “I have held you in these arms. I come with +repentance in my heart, with--” + +Her face now was flushed. She interrupted him. + +“I don’t believe in you, Barode Barouche. At least my husband did not +go from his hearthstone looking for what belonged to others. No--No--no; +however much I suffered, I understood that what he did not feel for me +at least he felt for no one else. To him, life was his business, and to +the long end business mastered his emotions. I have no faith in you! In +the depth of my soul something cries out: ‘He is not true. His life is +false.’ To leave me that was right, but, monsieur, not as you left me. +You pick the fruit and eat it and spit upon the ground the fibre and the +skin. I am no longer the slave of your false eloquence. It has nothing +in it for me now, nothing at all--nothing.” + +“Yet your son--has he naught of me? If your son has genius, I have the +right to say a part of it came from me. Why should you say that all +that’s good in the boy is yours--that the boy, in all he does and +says, is yours! No--no. Your long years of suffering have hardened into +injustice and wrong.” + +Suddenly he touched her arm. “There are women as young as you were when +I wronged you, who would be my wife now--young, beautiful, buoyant; +but I come to you because I feel we might still have some years of +happiness. Together, where our boy’s fate mattered, we two could help +him on his way. That is what I feel, my dear.” + +When he touched her arm she did not move, yet there was in his fingers +something which stirred ulcers long since healed and scarred. She +stepped back from him. + +“Do not touch me. The past is buried for ever. There can be no +resurrection. I know what I should do, and I will do it. For the rest +of my life, I shall live for my son. I hope he will defeat you. I don’t +lift a hand to help him except to give him money, not John Grier’s +money but my own, always that. You are fighting what is stronger than +yourself. One thing is sure, he is nearer to the spirit of your race +than you. He will win--but yes, he will win!” + +Her face suffused with warmth, became alive with a wonderful fire, her +whole being had a simple tragedy. Once again, and perhaps for the last +time, she had renewed the splendour of her young womanhood. The vital +warmth of a great idea had given an expression to her face which had +long been absent from it. + +He fell back from her. Then suddenly passion seized him. The gaunt +beauty of her roused a spirit of contest in him. The evil thing in him, +which her love for her son had almost conquered, came back upon him. He +remembered Luzanne, and now with a spirit alive with anger he said to +her: + +“No--no--no, he cannot win.” He stretched out a hand. “I have that which +will keep for me the place in Parliament that has been mine; which will +send him back to the isolation whence he came. Do you think I don’t know +how to win an election? Why from east to west, from north to south in +this Province of Quebec my name, my fame, have been all-conquering. +Suppose he did defeat me, do you think that would end my political life? +It would end nothing. I should still go on.” + +A scornful smile came to her lips. “So you think your party would find +a seat for you who had been defeated by a young man who never knew what +political life meant till he came to this campaign? You think they would +find you a seat? I know you are coming to the end of your game, and when +he defeats you, it will finish everything for you. You will disappear +from public life, and your day will be done. Men will point at you as +you pass along the street, and say: ‘There goes Barode Barouche. He was +a great man in his day. He was defeated by a boy with a painter’s brush +in his hand.’ He will take from you your livelihood. You will go, and +he will stay; he will conquer and grow strong. Go from me, Barode +Barouche,” she cried, thrusting out her hands against him, “go from me. +I love my son with all my soul. His father has no place in my heart.” + +There had been upon him the wild passion of revenge. It had mastered +him before she spoke, and while she spoke, but, as she finished, the +understanding spirit of him conquered. Instead of telling her of Luzanne +Larue, and of what he would do if he found things going against him, +instead of that he resolved to say naught. He saw he could not conquer +her. For a minute after she had ceased speaking, he watched her in +silence, and in his eyes was a remorse which would never leave them. She +was master. + +Slowly, and with a sense of defeat, he said to her: “Well, we shall +never meet again like this. The fight goes on. I will defeat Carnac. No, +do not shake your head. He shall not put me from my place. For you and +me there is no future--none; yet I want to say to you before we part +for ever now, that you have been deeper in my life than any other woman +since I was born.” + +He said no more. Catching up his hat from the chair, and taking his +stick, he left the room. He opened the front door, stepped out, shut it +behind him and, in a moment, was lost in the night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. POINT TO POINT + +While these things were happening, Carnac was spending all his time in +the constituency. Every day was busy to the last minute, every hole in +the belt of his equipment was buckled tight. In spite of his enthusiasm +he was, however, troubled by the fact that Luzanne might appear. Yet +as time went on he gained confidence. There were days, however, when he +appeared, mentally, to be watching the street corners. + +One day at a public meeting he thought the sensation had come. He had +just finished his speech in reply to Barode Barouche--eloquent, eager, +masterful. Youth’s aspirations, with a curious sympathy with the French +Canadian people, had idealized his utterances. When he finished there +had been cheering, but in the quiet instant that followed the cheering, +a habitant got up--a weird, wilful fellow who had a reputation for brag, +yet who would not have hurt an enemy save in wild passion. + +“M’sieu’ Carnac Grier,” he said, “I’d like to put a question to you. +You’ve been asking for our votes. We’re a family people, we Canucs, +and we like to know where we’re going. Tell me, m’sieu’, where’s your +woman?” + +Having asked the question, he remained standing. “Where’s your woman?” + the habitant had asked. Carnac’s breath came quick and sharp. There +were many hundreds present, and a good number of them were foes. Barode +Barouche was on the same platform. + +Not only Carnac was stirred by the question, for Barouche, who had +listened to his foe’s speech with admiring anxiety, was startled. + +“Where’s your woman?” was not a phrase to be asked anyhow, or anywhere. +Barouche was glad of the incident. Ready as he was to meet challenge, he +presently realized that his son had a readiness equally potent. He was +even pleased to see the glint of a smile at the lips of the slim +young politician, in whom there was more than his own commingling of +temperament, wisdom, wantonness and raillery. + +After a moment, Carnac said: “Isn’t that a leading question to an +unmarried man?” + +Barouche laughed inwardly. Surely it was the reply he himself would have +made. Carnac had showed himself a born politician. The audience cheered, +but the questioner remained standing. He meant to ask another question. + +“Sit down--sit down, jackass!” shouted some of the more raucous of the +crowd, but the man was stubborn. He stretched out an arm towards Carnac. + +“Bien, look here, my son, you take my advice. Pursue the primrose path +into the meadows of matrimony.” + +Again Carnac shrank, but his mind rallied courageously, and he said: +“There are other people who want to ask questions, perhaps.” He turned +to Barode Barouche. “I don’t suggest my opponent has planned this +heckling, but he can see it does no good. I’m not to be floored by +catch-penny tricks. I’m going to win. I run straight. I haven’t been +long enough in politics to learn how to deceive. Let the accomplished +professionals do that. They know how.” + +He waved a hand disdainfully at Barouche. “Let them put forth all that’s +in them, I will remain; let them exert the last ounce of energy, I will +prevail; let them use the thousand devices of elections, I will use +no device, but rely upon my policy. I want nothing except my chance in +Parliament. My highest ambition is to make good laws. I am for the man +who was the first settler on the St. Lawrence and this section of the +continent--his history, his tradition, his honour and fame are in the +history books of the world. If I should live a hundred years, I should +wish nothing better than the honour of having served the men whose +forefathers served Frontenac, Cartier, La Salle and Maisonneuve, and all +the splendid heroes of that ancient age. What they have done is for all +men to do. They have kept the faith. I am for the habitant, for the land +of his faith and love, first and last and all the time.” + +He sat down in a tumult of cheering. Many present remarked that no two +men they had ever heard spoke so much alike, and kept their attacks so +free from personal things. + +There had been at this public meeting two intense supporters of Carnac, +who waited for him at the exit from the main doorway. They were Fabian’s +wife and Junia. + +Barode Barouche came out of the hall before Carnac. His quick eye +saw the two ladies, and he raised his broad-brimmed hat like a Stuart +cavalier, and smiled. + +“Waiting for your champion, eh?” he asked with cynical friendliness. +“Well, work hard, because that will soften his fall.” He leaned over, as +it were confidentially, to them, while his friends craned their necks to +hear what he said: “If I were you I’d prepare him. He’s beaten as sure +as the sun shines.” + +Junia was tempted to say what was in her mind, but her sister Sibyl, who +resented Barouche’s patronage, said: + +“There’s an old adage about the slip ‘twixt the cup and the lip, +Monsieur Barouche. He’s young, and he’s got a better policy than yours.” + +“And he’s unmarried, eh!” Barouche remarked. “He’s unmarried, and I +suppose that matters!” There was an undercurrent of meaning in his voice +which did not escape Junia. + +“And Monsieur Barouche is also unmarried,” she remarked. “So you’re even +there.” + +“Not quite even. I’m a widower. The women don’t work for me as they work +for him.” + +“I don’t understand,” remarked Junia. “The women can’t all marry him.” + +“There are a lot of things that can’t be understood by just blinking the +eyes, but there’s romance in the fight of an unmarried man, and women +like romance even if it’s some one else’s. There’s sensation in it.” + +Barouche looked to where Carnac was slowly coming down the centre of the +hall. Women were waving handkerchiefs and throwing kisses towards him. +One little girl was pushed in front of him, and she reached out a hand +in which was a wild rose. + +“That’s for luck, m’sieu’,” she said. + +Carnac took the rose, and placed it in his buttonhole; then, stooping +down, he kissed the child’s cheek. Outside the hall, Barode Barouche +winked an eye knowingly. “He’s got it all down to a science. Look at +him--kissing the young chick. Nevertheless, he’s walking into an abyss.” + +Carnac was near enough now for the confidence in his face to be seen. +Barouche’s eyes suddenly grew resentful. Sometimes he had a feeling of +deep affection for his young challenger; sometimes there was a storm +of anger in his bosom, a hatred which can be felt only for a member +of one’s own family. Resentment showed in his face now. This boy was +winning friends on every side. + +Something in the two men, some vibration of temperament, struck the +same chord in Junia’s life and being. She had noticed similar gestures, +similar intonations of voice, and, above all else, a little toss of the +head backwards. She knew they were not related, and so she put the whole +thing down to Carnac’s impressionable nature which led its owner into +singular imitations. It had done so in the field of Art. He was young +enough to be the imitator without loss to himself. + +“I’m doing my best to defeat you,” she said to Barouche, reaching out +a hand for good-bye, “and I shall work harder now than ever. You’re so +sure you’re going to win that I’d disappoint you, monsieur--only to do +you good.” + +“Ah, I’m sorry you haven’t any real interest in Carnac Grier, if it’s +only to do me good! Well, goodbye--good-bye,” he added, raising his hat, +and presently was gone. + +As Carnac drew near, Fabian’s wife stepped forward. “Carnac,” she said, +“I hope you’ll come with us on the river in Fabian’s steam-launch. +There’s work to do there. It’s pay-day in the lumber-yards on the +Island, so please come. Will you?” + +Carnac laughed. “Yes, there’s no engagement to prevent it.” He thanked +Junia and Sibyl for all they had done for him, and added: “I’d like a +couple of hours among the rivermen. Where’s the boat?” Fabian’s wife +told him, and added: “I’ve got the roan team here, and you can drive us +down, if you will.” + +A few moments afterwards, with the cheers of the crowd behind them, they +were being driven by Carnac to the wharf where lay the “Fleur-de-lis.” + On board was Fabian. + +“Had a good meeting, Carnac?” Fabian asked. + +“I should call it first-class. It was like a storm, at sea-wind from one +direction, then from another, but I think on the whole we had the best +of it. Don’t you think so?” he added to Fabian’s wife. + +“Oh, much the best,” she answered. “That’s so, Junia, isn’t it?” + +“I wouldn’t say so positively,” answered Junia. “I don’t understand +Monsieur Barouche. He talked as if he had something up his sleeve.” Her +face became clouded. “Have you any idea what it is, Carnac?” + +Carnac laughingly shook his head. “That’s his way. He’s always bluffing. +He does it to make believe the game’s his, and to destroy my confidence. +He’s a man of mark, but he’s having the biggest fight he ever had--of +that I’m sure.... Do you think I’ll win?” he asked Junia presently with +a laugh, as they made their way down the river. “Have I conquest in my +eye?” + +How seldom did Junia have Carnac to herself in these days! How kind of +Fabian to lend his yacht for the purpose of canvassing! But Sibyl had in +her mind a deeper thing--she had become a match-maker. She and Fabian, +when the boat left the shore, went to one corner of the stern, leaving +Carnac and Junia in the bow. + +Three miles below the city was the Island on which many voters were +working in a saw-mill and lumberyard. It had supporters of Barouche +chiefly in the yards and mills. Carnac had never visited it, and it +was Junia’s view that he should ingratiate himself with the workers, a +rough-and-ready lot. They were ready to “burst a meeting” or bludgeon a +candidate on occasion. + +When Carnac asked his question Junia smiled up at him. “Yes, I think +you’ll win, Carnac. You have the tide with you.” Presently she added: +“I’m not sure that you’ve got all the cards, though--I don’t know why, +but I have that fear.” + +“You think that--” + +She nodded. “I think Monsieur Barouche has some cards he hasn’t played +yet. What they are I don’t know, but he’s confident. Tell me, Carnac, +is there any card that would defeat you? Have you committed any crime +against the law--no, I’m sure you haven’t, but I want to hear you say +so.” She smiled cheerfully at him. + +“He has no card of any crime of mine, and he can’t hit me in a mortal +place.” + +“You have the right policy for this province. But tell me, is there +anyone who could hurt you, who could spring up in the fight--man or +woman?” + +She looked him straight in the eye, and his own did not waver. + +“There’s no one has a knock-out blow for me--that’s sure. I can weather +any storm.” + +He paused, however, disconcerted, for the memory of Luzanne came to him, +and his spirit became clouded. “Except one--except one,” he added. + +“And you won’t tell me who it is?” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. THE MAN WHO WOULD NOT + +“No, I can’t tell you--yet,” answered Carnac. “You ought to know; though +you can’t put things right.” + +“Don’t forget you are a public man, and what might happen if things went +wrong. There are those who would gladly roast you on a gridiron for what +you are in politics.” + +“I never forget it. I’ve no crime to repent of, and I’m afraid of +nothing in the last resort. Look, we’re nearing the Island.” + +“It’s your worst place in the constituency, and I’m not sure of your +reception. Oh, but yes, I am,” she added hastily. “You always win good +feeling. No one really hates you. You’re on the way to big success.” + +“I’ve had some unexpected luck. I’ve got Tarboe on my side. He’s a +member of Barouche’s party, but he’s coming with me.” + +“Did he tell you so?” she asked with apparent interest. + +“I’ve had a letter from him, and in it he says he is with me ‘to the +knife!’ That’s good. Tarboe has a big hold on rivermen, and he may carry +with him some of the opposition. It was a good letter--if puzzling.” + +“How, puzzling?” + +“He said in one part of it: ‘When you come back here to play your part +you’ll make it a success, the whole blessed thing.’ I’ve no idea what he +meant by that. I don’t think he wants me as a partner, and I’ll give +him no chance of it. I don’t want now what I could have had when Fabian +left. That’s all over, Junia.” + +“He meant something by it; he’s a very able man,” she replied gravely. +“He’s a huge success.” + +“And women love success more than all else,” he remarked a little +cynically. + +“You’re unjust, Carnac. Of course, women love success; but they’d not +sell their souls for it--not the real women--and you ought to know it.” + +“I ought to know it, I suppose,” he answered, and he held her eyes +meaningly. He was about to say something vital, but Fabian and his wife +came. + +Fabian said to him: “Don’t be surprised if you get a bad reception here, +Carnac. It’s the worst place on the river, and I’ve no influence over +the men--I don’t believe Tarboe could have. They’re a difficult lot. +There’s Eugene Grandois, he’s as bad as they make ‘em. He’s got a grudge +against us because of some act of father, and he may break out any time. +He’s a labour leader too, and we must be vigilant.” + +Carnac nodded. He made no reply in words. They were nearing the little +dock, and men were coming to the point where the launch would stop. + +“There’s Grandois now!” said Fabian with a wry smile, for he had a real +fear of results. He had, however, no idea how skilfully Carnac +would handle the situation--yet he had heard much of his brother’s +adaptability. He had no psychological sense, and Carnac had big +endowment of it. Yet Carnac was not demonstrative. It was his quiet way +that played his game for him. He never spoke, if being could do what +he wanted. He had the sense of physical speech with out words. He was a +bold adventurer, but his methods were those of the subtlest. If a motion +of the hand was sufficient, then let it go at that. + +“You people after our votes never come any other time,” sneeringly said +Eugene Grandois, as Carnac and Fabian landed. “It’s only when you want +to use us.” + +“Would you rather I didn’t come at all?” asked Carnac with a friendly +smile. “You can’t have it both ways. If I came here any other time you’d +want to know why I didn’t stay away, and I come now because it’s good +you should know if I’m fit to represent you in Parliament.” + +“There’s sense, my bonny boy,” said an English-Canadian labourer +standing near. “What you got to say to that, little skeezicks?” he added +teasingly to Eugene Grandois. + +“He ain’t got more gifts than his father had, and we all know what he +was--that’s so, bagosh!” remarked Grandois viciously. + +“Well, what sort of a man was he?” asked Carnac cooly, with a warning +glance at Fabian, who was resentful. Indeed, Fabian would have struck +the man if his brother had not been present, and then been torn to +pieces himself. + +“What sort--don’t you know the kind of things he done? If you don’t, +I do, and there’s lots of others know, and don’t you forget it, mon +vieux.” + +“That’s no answer, Monsieur Grandois--none at all. It tells nothing,” + remarked Carnac cheerily. + +“You got left out of his will, m’sieu’, you talk as if he was all +right--that’s blither.” + +“My father had a conscience. He gave me chance to become a partner in +the business, and I wouldn’t, and he threw me over--what else was there +to do? I could have owned the business to-day, if I’d played the game as +he thought it ought to be played. I didn’t, and he left me out--that’s +all.” + +“Makin’ your own way, ain’t you?” said the English labourer. “That’s hit +you where you’re tender, Grandois. What you got to say to that?” + +The intense black eyes of the habitant sparkled wickedly, his jaws set +with passion, and his sturdy frame seemed to fasten to the ground. His +gnarled hands now shot out fiercely. + +“What I got to say! Only this: John Grier played the devil’s part. He +turned me and my family out into the streets in winter-time, and the law +upheld him, old beast that he was--sacre diable!” + +“Beast-devil! Grandois, those are hard words about a man in his son’s +presence, and they’re not true. You think you can say such things +because I’m standing for Parliament. Beast, devil, eh? You’ve got a free +tongue, Grandois; you forgot to say that my father paid the doctor’s +bill for your whole family when they were taken down with smallpox; and +he kept them for weeks afterwards. You forgot to recall that when he +turned you out for being six months behind with your rent and making no +effort to pay up! Who was the devil and beast then, Grandois? Who spat +upon his own wife and children then? You haven’t a good memory.... Come, +I think your account with my father is squared; and I want you to vote +to put my father’s son in Parliament, and to put out Barode Barouche, +who’s been there too long. Come, come, Grandois, isn’t it a bargain? +Your tongue’s sharp, but your heart’s in the right place--is it a +bargain?” + +He held out his hand with applause from the crowd, but Grandois was not +to be softened. His anger, however, had behind it some sense of caution, +and what Carnac said about the smallpox incident struck him hard. It was +the first time he had ever been hit between the eyes where John Grier +was concerned. His prestige with the men was now under a shadow, yet +he dared not deny the truth of the statement. It could be proved. His +braggart hatred of John Grier had come home to roost. Carnac saw that, +and he was glad he had challenged the man. He believed that in politics, +as in all other departments of life, candour and bold play were best in +the long run. Yet he would like to see the man in a different humour, +and with joy he heard Junia say to Grandois. + +“How is the baby boy, and how is madame, Monsieur Grandois?” + +It came at the right moment, for only two days before had Madame +Grandois given her husband the boy for which he had longed. Junia had +come to know of it through a neighbour and had sent jellies to the sick +woman. As she came forward now, Grandois, taken aback, said: + +“Alors, they’re all right, ma’m’selle, thank you. It was you sent the +jellies, eh?” + +She nodded with a smile. “Yes, I sent them, Grandois. May I come and see +madame and the boy to-morrow?” + +The incident had taken a favourable turn. + +“It’s about even-things between us, Grandois?” asked Carnac, and held +out his hand. “My father hit you, but you hit him harder by forgetting +about the smallpox and the rent, and also by drinking up the cash that +ought to have paid the rent. It doesn’t matter now that the rent was +never paid, but it does that you recall the smallpox debt. Can’t you say +a word for me, Grandois? You’re a big man here among all the workers. +I’m a better Frenchman than the man I’m trying to turn out. Just a word +for a good cause. + +“They’re waiting for you, and your hand on it! Here’s a place for you on +the roost. Come up.” + +The “roost” was an upturned tub lying face down on the ground, and in +the passion of the moment, the little man gripped Carnac’s hand and +stood on the tub to great cheering; for if there was one thing the +French-Canadians love, it is sensation, and they were having it. They +were mostly Barouche’s men, but they were emotional, and melodrama had +stirred their feelings. + +Besides, like the Irish, they had a love of feminine nature, and in all +the river-coves Junia was known by sight at least, and was admired. She +had the freshness of face and mind which is the heart of success with +the habitants. With Eugene Grandois on his feet, she heard a speech +which had in it the best spirit of Gallic eloquence, though it was +crude. But it was forcible and adroit. + +“Friends and comrades,” said Eugene Grandois, with his hands playing +loosely, “there’s been misunderstandings between me and the Grier +family, and I was out against it, but I see things different since +M’sieu’ Carnac has spoke--and I’m changing my mind--certainlee. That +throwing out of my house hit me and my woman and little ones hard, and +I’ve been resentin’ it all these years till now; but I’m weighin’ one +thing agin another, and I’m willing to forget my wrongs for this young +man’s sake. He’s for us French. Alors, some of you was out to hurt our +friend M’sieu’ Carnac here, and I didn’t say no to it; but you’d better +keep your weapons for election day and use them agin Barode Barouche. + +“I got a change of heart. I’ve laid my plate on the table with a prayer +that I get it filled with good political doctrine, and I’ve promise that +the food I’m to get is what’s best for all of us. M’sieu’ Carnac Grier’s +got the right stuff in him, and I’m for him both hands up--both hands +way up high, nom de pipe!” + +At that he raised both hands above his head with a loud cheer, and later +Carnac Grier was carried to the launch in the arms of Eugene Grandois’ +friends. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. THE BLUE PAPER + +“Who are you, ma’m’selle?” + +It was in the house of Eugene Grandois that this question was asked +of Junia. She had followed the experience on the Island by a visit to +Grandois’ house, carrying delicacies for the sick wife. Denzil had come +with her, and was waiting in the street. + +She had almost ended her visit when the outer door opened and Luzanne +Larue entered carrying a dish she placed on the table, eyeing Junia +closely. First they bowed to each other, and Junia gave a pleasant +smile, but instantly she felt here was a factor in her own life--how, +she could not tell. + +To Luzanne, the face of Junia had no familiar feature, and yet she felt +here was one whose life’s lines crossed her own. So it was she presently +said, “Who are you, ma’m’selle?” in a sharp voice. As Junia did not +reply at once, she put the question in another form: “What is your name, +ma’m’selle?” + +“It is Junia Shale,” said the other calmly, yet with heart beating +hard. Somehow the question foreshadowed painful things, associated with +Carnac. Her first glance at Luzanne showed the girl was well dressed, +that she had a face of some beauty, that her eyes were full of +glamour--black and bold, and, in a challenging way, beautiful. It was a +face and figure full of daring. She was not French-Canadian; yet she was +French; that was clear from her accent. Yet the voice had an accent of +crudity, and the plump whiteness of the skin and waving fulness of the +hair gave the girl a look of an adventuress. She was dressed in black +with a white collar which, by contrast, seemed to heighten her unusual +nature. + +At first Junia shuddered, for Luzanne’s presence made her uneasy; yet +the girl must have good qualities, for she had brought comforts to the +sick woman, and indeed, within, madame had spoken of the “dear beautiful +stranger.” That could be no other than this girl. She became composed. +Yet she had a feeling that between them was a situation needing all her +resources. About what? She would soon know, and she gave her name at +last slowly, keeping her eyes on those of Luzanne. + +At mention of the name, Luzanne’s eyes took on prejudice and moroseness. +The pupils enlarged, the lids half closed, the face grew sour. + +“Junia Shale--you are Junia Shale?” The voice was bitter and resentful. + +Junia nodded, and in her smile was understanding and conflict, for she +felt this girl to be her foe. + +“We must have a talk--that’s sure,” Luzanne said with decision. + +“Who are you?” asked Junia calmly. “I am Luzanne Larue.” + +“That makes me no wiser.” + +“Hasn’t Carnac Grier spoken of me?” + +Junia shook her head, and turned her face towards the door of Madame +Grandois’ room. “Had we not better go somewhere else to talk, after +you’ve seen Madame Grandois and the baby?” she asked with a smile, yet +she felt she was about to face an alarming event. “Madame Grandois has +spoken pleasantly of you to me,” Junia added, for tact was her prompt +faculty. “If you’d come where we could talk undisturbed--do you see?” + +Luzanne made no reply in words, but taking up the dish she went into +the sick-room, and Junia heard her in short friendly speech with Madame +Grandois. Luzanne appeared again soon and spoke: “Now we can go where +I’m boarding. It’s only three doors away, and we can be safe there. +You’d like to talk with me--ah, yes, surelee!” + +Her eyes were combative and repellent, but Junia was not dismayed, and +she said: “What shall we talk about?” + +“There’s only one thing and one person to talk about, ma’m’selle.” + +“I still don’t know what you mean.” + +“Aren’t you engaged to Carnac Grier? Don’t you think you’re going to +marry him?... Don’t you like to tell the truth, then?” she added. + +Junia raised her eyebrows. “I’m not engaged to Carnac Grier, and he +has never asked me to marry him--but what business is it of yours, +ma’m’selle?” + +“Come and I’ll tell you.” Luzanne moved towards the door. They were +speechless till they reached Luzanne’s lodgings. + +“This is the house of Monsieur Marmette, an agent of Monsieur Barouche,” + said Junia. “I know it.” + +“You’ll know it better soon. The agent of M’sieu’ Barouche is a man of +mark about here, and he’ll be more marked soon--but yes!” + +“You think Monsieur Barouche will be elected, do you?” asked Junia, as +they closed the door. + +“I know he will.” + +“I’ve been working for Monsieur Grier, and that isn’t my opinion.” + +“I’m working for Barode Barouche, and I know the result.” + +They were now in Luzanne’s small room, and Junia noted that it had all +the characteristics of a habitant dwelling--even to the crucifix at the +head of the bed, and the picture of the French-Canadian Premier of the +Dominion on the wall. She also saw a rosary on a little hook beside the +bed. + +“How do you know?” + +“Because I am the wife of Carnac Grier, and I know what will happen to +him.... You turn pale, ma’m’selle, but your colour isn’t going to alter +the truth. I’m Carnac Grier’s wife by the laws of New York State.” + +“Does Monsieur Grier admit he is your husband?” + +“He must respect the law by which he married me.” + +“I don’t believe he was ever honestly married to you,” declared Junia. +“Has he ever lived with you--for a single day?” + +“What difference would that make? I have the marriage certificate here.” + She touched her bosom. + +“I’d have thought you were Barode Barouche’s wife by the way you act. +Isn’t it a wife’s duty to help her husband--Shouldn’t you be fighting +against Barode Barouche?” + +“I mean to be recognized as Carnac Grier’s wife--that’s why I’m here.” + +“Have you seen him since you’ve been here? Have you told him how you’re +working against him? Have you got the certificate with you?” + +“Of course. I’ve got my head on like a piece of flesh and blood that +belongs to me--bien sur.” + +She suddenly drew from her breast a folded piece of blue paper. “There +it is, signed by Judge Grimshaw that married us, and there’s the +seal; and the whole thing can’t be set aside. Look at it, if you like, +petite.” + +She held it not far from Junia’s face, and Junia could see that it was +registration of a marriage of New York State. She could have snatched +the paper away, but she meant to conquer Luzanne’s savage spirit. “Well, +how do you intend to defeat your husband?” + +“I mean to have the people asked from a platform if they’ve seen the +wife of the candidate, and then a copy of the certificate will be read +to all. What do you think will happen after that?” + +“It will have to be done to-night or to-morrow night,” remarked Junia. + +“Because the election comes the day after to-morrow,--eh + +“Because of that. And who will read the document?” + +“Who but the man he’s trying to defeat?--tell me that.” + +“You mean Barode Barouche?” + +“Who else?” + +“Has he agreed to do it?” + +Luzanne nodded. “On the day--Carnac became a candidate.” + +“And if Carnac Grier denies it?” + +“He won’t deny it. He never has. He says he was drunk when the thing was +done--mais, oui.” + +“Is that all he says?” + +“No. He says he didn’t know it was a real marriage, and--” Luzanne then +related Carnac’s defence, and added: “Do you think anyone would believe +him with the facts as they are? Remember I’m French and he’s English, +and that marriage to a French girl is life and death; and this is a +French province!” + +“And yet you are a Catholic and French, and were married by a Protestant +judge.” + +“That is my own affair, ma’m’selle.” + +“It is not the thing to say to French-Canadians here. What do you get +out of it all? If he is your husband, wouldn’t it be better to have +him successful than your defeated victim. What will be yours if you +defeat--” + +“Revenge--my rights--the law!” was the sharp rejoinder. + +Junia smiled. “What is there in it all for you? If the man I married did +not love me, I’d use the law to be free. What’s the good of trying to +destroy a husband who doesn’t love you, who never loved you--never.” + +“You don’t know that,” retorted Luzanne sharply. + +“Yes, I do. He never loved you. He never lived with you for a single +day. That’s in the power of a doctor to prove. If you are virtuous, +then he has taken nothing; if you have given your all, and not to Carnac +Grier, what will his mind be about you? Is it money? He has no money +except what he earns. His father left him nothing--not a dollar. Why do +you hate him so? I’ve known him all my life, and I’ve never known him +hurt man or animal. When did he ever misuse you, or hurt you? Did he +ever treat you badly? How did you come to know him? Answer that.” + +She paused and Luzanne flushed. The first meeting! Why, that was the day +Carnac had saved her life, had taken her home safe from danger, and had +begun a friendship with behind it only a desire to help her. And how had +she repaid the saviour of her life? By tricking him into a marriage, and +then by threatening him if he did not take her to his home. Truth +is, down beneath her misconduct was a passion for the man which, not +satisfied, became a passion to destroy him and his career. It was +a characteristic of her blood and breed. It was a relic of ancient +dishonour, inherited and searching; it was atavism and the incorrigible +thing. Beneath everything was her desire for the man, and the mood in +which she had fought for him was the twist of a tortured spirit. She was +not so deliberate as her actions had indicated. She had been under the +malicious influence of her father and her father’s friend. She was like +one possessed of a spirit that would not be deterred from its purpose. +Junia saw the impression she had made, and set it down to her last +words. + +“Where did you first meet him? What was the way of it?” she added. + +Suddenly Junia came forward and put her hands on Luzanne’s shoulders. “I +think you loved Carnac once, and perhaps you love him now, and are only +trying to hurt him out of anger. If you destroy him, you will repent of +it--so soon! I don’t know what is behind these things you are doing, but +you’ll be sorry for it when it is too late. Yes, I know you have loved +Carnac, for I see all the signs--” + +“Do you love him then, ma’m’selle?” asked Luzanne exasperated. “Do you +love him?” + +“He has never asked me, and I have never told him that; and I don’t +know, but, if I did, I would move heaven and earth to help him, and if +he didn’t love me I’d help him just the same. And so, I think, should +you. If you ever loved him, then you ought to save him from evil. Tell +me, did Carnac ever do you a kind act, one that is worth while in your +life?” + +For a moment Luzanne stood dismayed, then a new expression drove the +dark light from her eyes. It was as though she had found a new sense. + +“He saved my life the day we first met,” she said at last under Junia’s +hypnotic influence. + +“And now you would strike him when he is trying to do the big thing. You +threaten to declare his marriage, in the face of those who can elect him +to play a great part for his country.” + +Junia saw the girl was in emotional turmoil, was obsessed by one idea, +and she felt her task had vast difficulty. That Carnac should have +married the girl was incredible, that he had played an unworthy part +seemed sure; yet it was in keeping with his past temperament. The girl +was the extreme contrast of himself, with dark--almost piercing-eyes, +and a paleness which was physically constitutional--the joy of the +artistic spirit. It was the head of a tragedienne or a martyr, and the +lean, rather beautiful body was eloquent of life. + +Presently Junia said: “To try to spoil him would be a crime against his +country, and I shall tell him you are here.” + +“He’ll do nothing at all.” The French girl’s words were suddenly biting, +malicious and defiant. The moment’s softness she had felt was gone, and +hardness returned. “If he hasn’t moved against me since he married me, +he wouldn’t dare do so now.” + +“Why hasn’t he moved? Because you’re a woman, and also he’d believe +you’d repent of your conduct. But I believe he will act sternly against +you at once. There is much at stake.” + +“You want it for your own sake,” said Luzanne sharply. “You think he’d +marry you if I gave him up.” + +“Perhaps he’d ask me to marry him, if you weren’t in the way, but I’d +have my own mind about that, and knowing what you’ve told me--truth or +lie--I’d weigh it all carefully. Besides, he’s not the only man. Doesn’t +that ever strike you? Why try to hold him by a spurious bond when there +are other men as good-looking, as clever? Is your world so bare of +men--no, I’m sure it isn’t,” she added, for she saw anger rising in the +impulsive girl. “There are many who’d want to marry you, and it’s better +to marry some one who loves you than to hold to one who doesn’t love you +at all. Is it hate? He saved your life--and that’s how you came to know +him first, and now you would destroy him! He’s a great man. He would +not bend to his father’s will, and so he was left without a sou of his +father’s money. All because he has a conscience, and an independence +worthy of the best that ever lived.... That’s the soul of the man you +are trying to hurt. If you had a real soul, there wouldn’t be even the +thought of this crime. Do you think he wouldn’t loathe you, if you do +this ghastly thing? Would any real man endure it for an hour? What do +you expect to get but ugly revenge on a man who never gave anything +except friendship?” + +“Friendship--friendship-yes, he gave that, but emotion too.” + +“You think that real men marry women for whom they only have emotion. +You think that he--Carnac Grier--would marry any woman on that basis? +Come, ma’m’selle, the truth! He didn’t know he was being married, and +when you told him it was a real marriage he left you at once. You and +yours tricked him--the man you’d never have known if he hadn’t +saved your life. You thought that with your beauty--yes, you are +beautiful--you’d conquer him, and that he’d give in, and become a real +husband in a real home. Come now, isn’t that it?” + +The other did not reply. Her face was alive with memories. The lower +things were flying from it, a spirit of womanhood was living in +her--feebly, but truly, living. She was now conscious of the insanity of +her pursuit of Carnac. For a few moments she stood silent, and then she +said with agitation: + +“If I give this up”--she took from her breast the blue document--“he’d +be safe in his election, and he’d marry you: is it not so, ma’m’selle?” + +“He’d be safe for his election, but he has never asked me to marry him, +and there are others besides him.”--She was thinking of Tarboe. “Tell +me,” she added suddenly, “to whom have you told this thing in Montreal? +Did you mean to challenge him yourself?” + +“I told it only to M’sieu’ Barouche, and he said he would use it at the +right moment--and the right moment has come,” she added. “He asked me +for a copy of it last night, and I said I’d give it to him to-day. +It’s because of him I’ve been here quiet all these weeks as Ma’m’selle +Larue.” + +“He is worse than you, mademoiselle, for he has known Carnac’s family, +and he has no excuse. If a man can’t win his fight fairly, he oughtn’t +to be in public life.” + +After a few dark moments, with a sudden burst of feeling, Luzanne said: +“Well, Carnac won’t be out of public life through me!” + +She took the blue certificate from her breast and was about to tear it +up, when Junia stopped her. + +“Don’t do that,” Junia said, “don’t tear it up yet, give it to me. I’ll +tear it up at the right moment. Give it to me, my dear.” + +She held out her hand, and the blue certificate was presently in her +fingers. She felt a sudden weakness in her knees, for it seemed she +held the career of Carnac Grier, and it moved her as she had never been +moved. + +With the yielding of the certificate, Luzanne seemed suddenly to +lose self-control. She sank on the bed beside the wall with a cry of +distress. + +“Mon Dieu--oh, Mon Dieu!” Then she sprang to her feet. “Give it back, +give it back tome,” she cried, with frantic pain. “It’s all I have of +him--it’s all I have.” + +“I won’t give it back,” declared Junia quietly. “It’s a man’s career, +and you must let it go. It’s the right thing to do. Let it stand, +mademoiselle.” + +She fully realized the half-insane mind and purpose of the girl, and she +wrapped her arms around the stricken figure. + +“See, my dear,” she said, “it’s no use. You can’t have it back. Your +soul is too big for that now. You can be happy in the memory that you +gave Carnac back his freedom.” + +“But the record stands,” said the girl helplessly. “Tell the truth and +have it removed. You owe that to the man who saved your life. Have it +done at once at Shipton.” + +“What will you do with the certificate?” She glanced at Junia’s bosom +where the paper was hidden. “I will give it to Carnac, and he can do +what he likes with it.” + +By now the tears were streaming down the face of Luzanne Larue, and hard +as it was for Junia, she tried to comfort her, for the girl should be +got away at once, and only friendliness could achieve that. She would +see Denzil--he was near by, waiting. + +There would be a train in two hours for New York and the girl must take +it-she must. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. DENZIL TAKES A HAND IN THE GAME + +Barode Baruche was excited. He had sure hope of defeating Carnac with +the help of Luzanne Larue. The woman had remained hidden since her +coming, and the game was now in his hands. On the night before the +poll he could declare the thing, not easy to be forgiven by the +French-Canadian public, which has a strong sense of domestic duty. +Carnac Grier was a Protestant, and that was bad, and if there was added +an offence against domestic morality, he would be beaten at the polls as +sure as the river ran. He had seen Luzanne several times, and though he +did not believe in her, he knew the marriage certificate was real. He +had no credence in Carnac’s lack of honour, yet it was strange he had +not fought his wife, if his case was a good one. + +Day by day he had felt Carnac’s power growing, and he feared his triumph +unless some sensation stopped it. Well, he had at hand the sufficient +sensation. He would produce both the certificate of marriage and the +French girl who was the legal wife of Carnac Grier. That Luzanne was +French helped greatly, for it would be used by Carnac’s foes as an +insult to French Canada, and his pulses throbbed as he thought of the +possible turmoil in the constituency. + +Fortunately the girl was handsome, had ability, and spoke English with +a French accent, and she was powerful for his purposes. He was out to +prevent his own son from driving himself into private life, and he would +lose no trick in the game, if he could help it. + +Sentimental feeling--yes, he had it, but it did not prevent him from +saving his own skin. Carnac had come out against him, and he must hit as +hard as he could. It was not as though Carnac had been guilty of a real +crime and was within the peril of the law. His offence was a personal +one, but it would need impossible defence at the moment of election. +In any case, if Carnac was legally married, he should assume the +responsibilities of married life; and if he had honest reason for not +recognizing the marriage, he should stop the woman from pursuing him. +If the case kept Carnac out of public life and himself in, then justice +would be done; for it was monstrous that a veteran should be driven into +obscurity by a boy. In making his announcement he would be fighting his +son as though he was a stranger and not of his own blood and bones. He +had no personal connection with Carnac in the people’s minds. + +On the afternoon of the day that Junia had had her hour with Luzanne, he +started for the house where Luzanne was lodging. He could not travel the +streets without being recognized, but it did not matter, for the house +where the girl lodged was that of his sub agent, and he was safe in +going to it. He did not know, however, that Denzil had been told by +Junia to watch the place and learn what he meant to do. + +Denzil had a popular respect of Barode Barouche as a Minister of the +Crown; but he had a far greater love of Carnac. He remained +vigilant until after Junia and Luzanne had started in a cab for the +railway-station. They left near three-quarters of an hour before the +train was to start for New York; and for the first quarter of an hour +after they left, Denzil was in apprehension. + +Then he saw Barouche enter the street and go to the house of his +sub-agent. The house stood by itself, with windows open, and Denzil did +not scruple to walk near it, and, if possible, listen. Marmette, the +subagent, would know of the incident between Junia and Luzanne; and +he feared. Barouche might start for the station, overtake Luzanne and +prevent her leaving. He drew close and kept his ears open. + +He was fortunate, he heard voices; Marmette was explaining to Barouche +that Junia and Luzanne had gone to the station, as “Ma’m’selle” was +bound for New York. Marmette had sent word to M. Barouche by messenger, +but the messenger had missed him. Then he heard Barouche in anger say: + +“You fool--why did you let her leave! It’s my bread and butter--and +yours too--that’s at stake. I wanted to use her against Grier. She was +my final weapon of attack. How long ago did she leave?” Marmette told +him. + +Denzil saw Barode Barouche leave the house with grim concern and talking +hard to Paul Marmette. He knew the way they would go, so he fell behind +a tree, and saw them start for the place where they could order a cab. +Then he followed them. Looking at his watch he saw that, if they got +a cab, they would get to the station before the train started, and he +wondered how he could retard Barouche. A delay of three minutes would +be enough, for it was a long way, and the distance could only be covered +with good luck in the time. Yet Denzil had hope, for his faith in Junia +was great, and he felt sure she would do what she planned. He had to +trot along fast, because Barouche and Marmette were going hard, and he +could not see his way to be of use yet. He would give his right hand to +help Carnac win against the danger Junia had suggested. It could not be +aught to Carnac’s discredit, or Junia would not have tried to get the +danger out of Montreal; he had seen Luzanne, and she might be deadly, if +she had a good weapon! + +Presently, he saw Barouche and his agent stop at the door of a +livery-stable, and were told that no cabs were available. There were +none in the street, and time was pressing. Not far away, however, was +a street with a tram-line, and this tram would take Barouche near the +station from which Luzanne would start. So Barouche made hard for this +street and had reached it when a phaeton came along, and in it was one +whom Barouche knew. Barouche spoke to the occupant, and presently both +men were admitted to the phaeton just as a tram-car came near. + +As the phaeton would make the distance to the station in less time than +the car, this seemed the sensible thing to do, and Denzil’s spirits +fell. There remained enough time for Barouche to reach the station +before the New York train started! He got aboard the tram himself, and +watched the phaeton moving quickly on ahead. He saw the driver of the +phaeton strike his horse with a whip, and the horse, suddenly breaking +into a gallop, slipped and fell to the ground on the tramtrack. A moment +later the tram came to a stop behind the fallen horse, and Denzil saw +the disturbed face of Barode Barouche looking for another trap--in any +case, it would take three or four minutes to get the horse up and clear +the track for the tram. There was no carriage in sight--only a loaded +butcher’s cart, a road-cleaner, and a heavily loaded van. These could be +of no use to Barouche. + +In his corner, Denzil saw the play with anxious eyes. + +It was presently found that the horse had injured a leg in falling and +could not be got to its feet, but had presently to be dragged from the +tram-lines. It had all taken near five minutes of the time before the +train went, and, with despair, Barouche mounted the steps of the tram. +He saw Denzil, and shrewdly suspected he was working in the interests of +Carnac. He came forward to Denzil. + +“You’re a long way from home, little man,” he said in a voice with an +acid note. + +“About the same as you from home, m’sieu’,” said Denzil. + +“I’ve got business everywhere in this town,” remarked Barouche with +sarcasm--“and you haven’t, have you? You’re travelling privately, eh?” + +“I travel as m’sieu’ travels, and on the same business,” answered Denzil +with a challenging smile. + +The look Barouche gave him then Denzil never forgot. “I didn’t know you +were in politics, mon vieux! What are you standing for? When are you +going to the polls--who are you fighting, eh?” + +“I’m fighting you, m’sieu’, though I ain’t in politics, and I’m going to +the polls now,” Denzil answered. Denzil had gained in confidence as he +saw the arrogance of Barode Barouche. He spoke with more vigour than +usual, and he felt his gorge rising, for here was a man trying to injure +his political foe through a woman; and Denzil resented it. He did not +know the secret of Luzanne Larue, but he did realize there was conflict +between Junia Shale and Barouche, and between Barouche and Carnac Grier, +and that enlisted his cooperation. By nature he was respectful; but +the politician now was playing a dirty game, and he himself might fight +without gloves, if needed. That was why his eyes showed defiance +at Barouche now. He had said the thing which roused sharp anger in +Barouche. It told Barouche that Denzil knew where he was going and why. +Anger shook him as he saw Denzil take out his watch. + +“The poll closes in three minutes, m’sieu’,” Denzil added with a dry +smile, for it was clear Barouche could not reach the station in time, +if the train left promptly. The swiftest horses could not get him there, +and these were not the days of motor-cars. Yet it was plain Barouche +meant to stick to it, and he promptly said: + +“You haven’t the right time, beetle. The poll closes only when the train +leaves, and your watch doesn’t show that, so don’t put on airs yet.” + +“I’ll put on airs if I’ve won, m’sieu’,” Denzil answered quietly, for he +saw people in the tram were trying to hear. + +Barouche had been recognized, and a murmur of cheering began, followed +by a hum of disapproval, for Barouche had lost many friends since Carnac +had come into the fray. A few folk tried to engage Barouche in talk, but +he responded casually; yet he smiled the smile which had done so much +for him in public life, and the distance lessened to the station. The +tram did not go quite to the station, and as it stopped, the two men +hurried to the doors. As they did so, an engine gave a scream, and +presently, as they reached the inside of the station, they saw passing +out at the far end, the New York train. + +“She started five minutes late, but she did start,” said Denzil, and +there was malice in his smile. + +As he looked at his watch, he saw Junia passing out of a door into the +street, but Barode Barouche did not see her--his eyes were fixed on the +departing train. + +For a moment Barouche stood indecisive as to whether he should hire a +locomotive and send some one after the train, and so get in touch with +Luzanne in that way, or send her a telegram to the first station where +the train would stop in its schedule; but presently he gave up both +ideas. As he turned towards the exit of the station, he saw Denzil, and +he came forward. + +“I think you’ve won, mon petit chien,” he said with vindictiveness, “but +my poll comes to-morrow night, and I shall win.” + +“No game is won till it’s all played, m’sieu’, and this innings is +mine!” + +“I am fighting a bigger man than you, wasp,” snarled Barouche. + +“As big as yourself and bigger, m’sieu’,” said Denzil with a smile. + +There was that in his tone which made Barouche regard him closely. +He saw there was no real knowledge of the relationship of Carnac and +himself in Denzil’s eyes; but he held out his hand with imitation +courtesy, as though to say good-bye. + +“Give me a love-clasp, spider,” he said with a kind of sneer. “I’d like +your love as I travel to triumph.” A light of hatred came into +Denzil’s eyes. “Beetledog--wasp--spider” he had been called by this big +man--well, he should see that the wasp could give as good as it got. His +big gnarled hand enclosed the hand of Barode Barouche, then he suddenly +closed on it tight. He closed on it till he felt it crunching in his own +and saw that the face of Barode Barouche was like that of one in a chair +of torture. He squeezed, till from Barouche’s lips came a gasp of agony, +and then he let go. + +“You’ve had my love-clasp, m’sieu’,” Denzil said with meaning, “and when +you want it again let me know. It’s what M’sieu’ Carnac will do with +you to-morrow night. Only he’ll not let go, as I did, before the blood +comes. Don’t be hard on those under you, m’sieu’. Remember wasps and +spiders can sting in their own way, and that dogs can bite.” + +“Little black beast,” was the short reply, “I’ll strip your hide for +Hell’s gridiron in good time.” + +“Bien, m’sieu’, but you’ll be in hell waiting, for I’m going to bury you +here where you call better men than yourself dogs and wasps and spiders +and beetles. And I’ll not strip your ‘hide,’ either. That’s for lower +men than me.” + +A moment later they parted, Denzil to find Junia, and Barouche to +prepare his speech for the evening. Barouche pondered. What should he +do--should he challenge Carnac with his marriage with Luzanne Larue? His +heart was beating hard. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. THE CHALLENGE + +The day of the election came. Never had feeling run higher, never had +racial lines been so cut across. Barode Barouche fought with vigour, but +from the going of Luzanne Larue, there passed from him the confidence +he had felt since the first day of Carnac’s candidature. He had had +temptation to announce to those who heard him the night before the poll +what Luzanne had told; but better wisdom guided him, to his subsequent +content. He had not played a scurvy trick on his son for his own +personal advantage. Indeed, when his meetings were all over, he was +thankful for the disappearance of Luzanne. At heart he was not all bad. +A madness had been on him. He, therefore, slept heavily from midnight +till morning on the eve of the election, and began the day with the +smile of one who abides the result with courage. + +Several times he came upon Carnac in the streets, and they saluted +courteously; yet he saw the confidence of Carnac in his bearing. Twice +also he came upon Junia and he was startled by the look she gave him. +It was part of his punishment that Junia was the source of his undoing +where Luzanne was concerned. Junia knew about Luzanne; but if she +condemned him now, what would she think if she knew that Carnac was his +own son! + +“A devilish clever girl that,” he said to himself. “If he wins, it’ll +be due to her, and if he wins--no, he can’t marry her, for he’s already +married; but he’ll owe it all to her. If he wins!... No, he shall not +win; I’ve been in the game too long; I’ve served too many interests; +I’ve played too big a part.” + +It was then he met his agent, who said: “They’re making strong play +against us--the strongest since you began politics.” + +“Strong enough to put us in danger?” inquired Barouche. “You’ve been +at the game here for thirty years, and I’d like to know what you +think--quite honestly.” + +His agent was disturbed. “I think you’re in danger; he has all your +gifts, and he’s as clever as Old Nick besides. He’s a man that’ll make +things hum, if he gets in.” + +“If he gets in--you think...?” + +“He has as good a chance as you, m’sieu’. Here’s a list of doubtful +ones, and you’ll see they’re of consequence.” + +“They are indeed,” said Barouche, scanning the list. “I’d no idea these +would be doubtful.” + +“Luke Tarboe’s working like the devil for Carnac. People believe in him. +Half the men on that list were affected by Tarboe’s turning over. Tarboe +is a master-man; he has fought like hell.” + +“Nevertheless, I’ve been too long at it to miss it now,” said the rueful +member with a forced smile. “I must win now, or my game is up.” + +The agent nodded, but there was no certainty in his eye. Feeling ran +higher and higher, but there was no indication that Barouche’s hopes +were sure of fulfilment. His face became paler as the day wore on, and +his hands freer with those of his late constituents. Yet he noticed that +Carnac was still glib with his tongue and freer with his hands. Carnac +seemed everywhere, on every corner, in every street, at every polling +booth; he laid his trowel against every brick in the wall. Carnac was +not as confident as he seemed, but he was nearing the end of the trail; +and his feet were free and his head clear. One good thing had happened. +The girl who could do him great harm was not in evidence, and it was too +late to spoil his chances now, even if she came. What gave him greatest +hope was the look on Junia’s face as he passed her. It was the sign of +the conqueror--something he could not under stand. It was knowledge and +victory. + +Also, he had a new feeling towards Tarboe, who had given him such +powerful support. There was, then, in the man the bigger thing, the +light of fairness and reason! He had had no talk with Tarboe, and he +desired none, but he had seen him at three of his meetings, and he had +evidence of arduous effort on his behalf. Tarboe had influenced many +people in his favour, men of standing and repute, and the workmen of the +Grier firm had come, or were coming, his way. He had always been +popular with them, in spite of the strike he had fought, but they voted +independently of their employers; and he was glad to know that most of +them were with him in the fight. + +His triumph over Eugene Grandois at the Island had been a good +influence, and he had hopes of capturing the majority of the river +people. Yet, strange to say, the Church had somewhat reversed its +position, and at the last had swung round to Barouche, quietly, though +not from the pulpit, supporting him. The old prejudice in favour of a +Catholic and a Frenchman was alive again. + +Carnac was keyed to anxiety, but outwardly seemed moving with brilliant +certainty. He walked on air, and he spoke and acted like one who had the +key of the situation in his fingers, and the button of decision at his +will. It was folly electioneering on the day of the poll, and yet he +saw a few labour leaders and moved them to greater work for him. One of +these told him that at the Grier big-mill was one man working to defeat +him by personal attacks. It had something to do with a so-called secret +marriage, and it would be good to get hold of the man, Roudin, as soon +as possible. + +A secret marriage! So the thing had, after all, been bruited and +used-what was the source of the information? Who was responsible? He +must go to the mill at once, and he started for it. On the way he met +Luke Tarboe. + +“There’s trouble down at the mill,” Tarboe said. “A fellow called Roudin +has been spreading a story that you’re married and repudiate your wife. +It’d be good to fight it now before it gets going. There’s no truth +in it, of course,” he added with an opposite look in his eye, for he +remembered the letter Carnac received one day in the office and his own +conclusion then. + +“It’s a lie, and I’ll go and see Roudin at once.... You’ve been a good +friend to me in the fight, Tarboe, and I’d like a talk when it’s all +over.” + +“That’ll be easy enough, Grier. Don’t make any mistake-this is a big +thing you’re doing; and if a Protestant Britisher can beat a Catholic +Frenchman in his own habitant seat, it’s the clinching of Confederation. +We’ll talk it over when you’ve won.” + +“You think I’m going to win?” asked Carnac with thumping heart, for the +stark uncertainty seemed to overpower him, though he smiled. + +“If the lie doesn’t get going too hard, I’m sure you’ll pull it off. +There’s my hand on it. I’d go down with you to the mill, but you should +go alone. You’ve got your own medicine to give. Go it alone, Grier. It’s +best--and good luck to you!” + +A few moments later Carnac was in the yard of the mill, and in one +corner he saw the man he took to be Roudin talking to a group of +workmen. He hurried over, and heard Roudin declaring that he, Carnac, +was secretly married to a woman whom he repudiated, and was that the +kind of man to have as member of Parliament? Presently Roudin was +interrupted by cheers from supporters of Carnac, and he saw it was due +to Carnac’s arrival. Roudin had courage. He would not say behind a man’s +back what he would not say to his face. + +“I was just telling my friends here, m’sieu’, that you was married, and +you didn’t acknowledge your wife. Is that so?” + +Carnac’s first impulse was to say No, but he gained time by challenging. + +“Why do you say such things to injure me? Is that what Monsieur Barouche +tells you to say?” + +Roudin shook his head protestingly. + +“If Monsieur Barouche does that he oughtn’t to hold the seat, he ought +to be sent back to his law offices.” + +“No, I didn’t hear it from M’sieu’ Barouche. I get it from better hands +than his,” answered Roudin. + +“Better hands than his, eh? From the lady herself, perhaps?” + +“Yes, from the lady herself, m’sieu’.” + +“Then bring the lady here and let us have it out, monsieur. It’s a lie. +Bring the lady here, if you know her.” + +Roudin shrugged a shoulder. “I know what I know, and I don’t have to do +what you say--no--no!” + +“Then you’re not honest. You do me harm by a story like that. I +challenge you, and you don’t respond. You say you know the woman, then +produce her--there’s no time to be lost. The poll closes in four hours. +If you make such statements, prove them. It isn’t playing the game--do +you think so, messieurs?” he added to the crowd which had grown in +numbers. At that moment a man came running from the en trance towards +Carnac. It was Denzil. + +“A letter for you, an important letter,” he kept crying as he came +nearer. He got the letter into Carnac’s hands. + +“Read it at once, m’sieu’,” Denzil said urgently. Carnac saw the +handwriting was Junia’s, and he tore open the letter, which held the +blue certificate of the marriage with Luzanne. He conquered the sudden +dimness of his eyes, and read the letter. It said: + + DEAR CARNAC, + + I hear from Mr. Tarboe of the lies being told against you. Here is + the proof. She has gone. She told it to Barode Barouche, and he + was to have announced it last night, but I saw her first. You can + now deny the story. The game is yours. Tell the man Roudin to + produce the woman--she is now in New York, if the train was not + lost. I will tell you all when you are M.P. + JUNIA. + +With a smile, Carnac placed the certificate in his pocket. How lucky +it was he had denied the marriage and demanded that Roudin produce +the woman! He was safe now, safe and free. It was no good any woman +declaring she was married to him if she could not produce the proof--and +the proof was in his pocket and the woman was in New York. + +“Come, Monsieur Roudin, tell us about the woman, and bring her to the +polls. There is yet time, if you’re telling the truth. Who is she? Where +does she live? What’s her name?” + +“Mrs. Carnac Grier--that’s her name,” responded Roudin with a snarl, and +the crowd laughed, for Carnac’s boldness gave them a sense of security. + +“What was her maiden name?” + +“Larue,” answered the other sharply. + +“What was her Christian name, since you know so much, monsieur?” + +He had no fear now, and his question was audacity, but he knew the game +was with him, and he took the risks. His courage had reward, for Roudin +made no reply. Carnac turned to the crowd. + +“Here’s a man tried to ruin my character by telling a story about a +woman whose name he doesn’t know. Is that playing the game after the +rules--I ask you?” + +There were cries from the crowd supporting him, and he grew bolder. +“Let the man tell his story and I’ll meet it here face to face. I fear +nothing. Out with your story, monsieur. Tell us why you haven’t brought +her into the daylight, why she isn’t claiming her husband at the polls. +What’s the story? Let’s have it now.” + +The truth was, Roudin dared not tell what he knew. It was based wholly +on a talk he had partly overheard between Barode Barouche and Luzanne in +the house where she stayed and where he, Roudin, lodged. It had not been +definite, and he had no proofs. He was a sensationalist, and he had had +his hour and could say no more, because of Barode Barouche. He could +not tell the story of his overhearing, for why had not Barouche told the +tale? With an oath he turned away and disappeared. As he went he could +hear his friends cheering Carnac. + +“Carnac Grier lies, but he wins the game,” he said. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. EXIT + +“Grier’s in--Carnac’s in--Carnac’s got the seat!” This was the cry heard +in the streets at ten-thirty at night when Carnac was found elected by a +majority of one hundred and ten. + +Carnac had not been present at the counting of the votes until the last +quarter-hour, and then he was told by his friends of the fluctuations +of the counting--how at one time his defeat seemed assured, since Barode +Barouche was six hundred ahead, and his own friends had almost given up +hope. One of his foes, however, had no assurance of Carnac’s defeat. He +was too old an agent to believe in returns till all were in, and he knew +of the two incidents by which Carnac had got advantage--at the Island +over Eugene Grandois, and at the Mill over Roudin the very day of +polling; and it was at these points he had hoped to score for Barouche +a majority. He watched Barouche, and he deplored the triumph in his +eye, for there was no surety of winning; his own was the scientific +mind without emotions or passions. He did not “enthuse,” and he did not +despair; he kept his head. + +Presently there were fluctuations in favour of Carnac, and the six +hundred by which Barouche led were steadily swallowed up; he saw that +among the places which gave Carnac a majority were the Island and the +Mill. He was also nonplussed by Carnac’s coolness. For a man with an +artist’s temperament, he was well controlled. When he came into the +room, he went straight to Barouche and shook hands with him, saying +they’d soon offer congratulations to the winner. As the meeting took +place the agent did not fail to note how alike in build and manner were +the two men, how similar were their gestures. + +When at last the Returning Officer announced the result, the agent dared +not glance at his defeated chief. Yet he saw him go to Carnac and offer +a hand. + +“We’ve had a straight fight, Grier, and I hope you’ll have luck in +Parliament. This is no place for me. It’s your game, and I’ll eat my +sour bread alone.” + +He motioned to the window with a balcony, beyond which were the shouting +thousands. Then he smiled at Carnac, and in his heart he was glad he had +not used the facts about Luzanne before the public. The boy’s face +was so glowing that his own youth came back, and a better spirit took +residence in him. He gave thanks to the Returning Officer, and then, +with his agent, left the building by the back door. He did not wait for +the announcement of Carnac’s triumph, and he knew his work was done for +ever in public life. + +Soon he had said his say at the club where his supporters, discomfited, +awaited him. To demands for a speech, he said he owed to his workers +what he could never repay, and that the long years they had kept him in +Parliament would be the happiest memory of his life. + +“We’ll soon have you back,” shouted a voice from the crowd. + +“It’s been a good fight,” said Barode Barouche. Somehow the fact he +had not beaten his son by the story of his secret marriage was the sole +comfort he had. He advised his followers to “play the game” and let the +new member have his triumph without belittlement. + +“It’s the best fight I’ve had in thirty years,” he said at last, “and +I’ve been beaten fairly.” + +In another hour he was driving into the country on his way to visit an +old ex-Cabinet Minister, who had been his friend through all the years +of his Parliamentary life. It did not matter that the hour was late. He +knew the veteran would be waiting for him, and unprepared for the bad +news he brought. The night was spent in pain of mind, and the comfort +the ex-Minister gave him, that a seat would be found for him by +the Government, gave him no thrill. He knew he had enemies in the +Government, that the Prime Minister was the friend of the successful +only, and that there were others, glad of his defeat, who would be +looking for his place. Also he was sure he had injured the chances of +the Government by the defeat of his policy. + +As though Creation was in league against him, a heavy storm broke about +two o’clock, and he went to bed cursed by torturing thoughts. “Chickens +come home to roost--” Why did that ancient phrase keep ringing in his +ears when he tried to sleep? Beaten by his illegitimate son at the +polls, the victim of his own wrong-doing--the sacrifice of penalty! He +knew that his son, inheriting his own political gifts, had done what +could have been done by no one else. All the years passed since Carnac +was begotten laid their deathly hands upon him, and he knew he could +never recover from this defeat. How much better it would have been if he +had been struck twenty-seven years ago! + +Youth, ambition and resolve would have saved him from the worst then. +Age has its powers, but it has its defects, and he had no hope that his +own defects would be wiped out by luck at the polls. Spirit was gone out +of him, longing for the future had no place in his mind; in the world of +public work he was dead and buried. How little he had got from all his +life! How few friends he had, and how few he was entitled to have! This +is one of the punishments that selfishness and wrong-doing brings; it +gives no insurance for the hours of defeat and loss. Well, wealth and +power, the friends so needed in dark days, had not been made, and Barode +Barouche realized he had naught left. He had been too successful from +the start; he had had all his own way; and he had taken no pains to make +or keep friends. He well knew there was no man in the Cabinet or among +his colleagues that would stir to help him--he had stirred to help no +man in all the years he had served the public. It was no good only to +serve the public, for democracy is a weak stick on which to lean. One +must stand by individuals or there is no defence against the malicious +foes that follow the path of defeat, that ambush the way. It is the +personal friends made in one’s own good days that watch the path and +clear away the ambushers. It is not big influential friends that are so +important--the little unknown man may be as useful as the big boss in +the mill of life; and if one stops to measure one’s friends by their +position, the end is no more sure than if one makes no friends at all. + +“There’s nothing left for me in life--nothing at all,” he said as he +tossed in bed while the thunder roared and the storm beat down the +shrubs. “How futile life is--‘Youth’s a dream, middle age a delusion, +old age a mistake!’” he kept repeating to himself in quotation. “What +does one get out of it? Nothing--nothing--nothing! It’s all a poor show +at the best, and yet--is it? Is it all so bad? Is it all so poor and +gaunt and hopeless? Isn’t there anything in it for the man who gives and +does his best?” + +Suddenly there came upon him the conviction that life is only futile +to the futile, that it is only a failure to those who prove themselves +incompetent, selfish and sordid; but to those who live life as it ought +to be lived, there is no such thing as failure, or defeat, or penalty, +or remorse or punishment. Because the straight man has only good ends to +serve, he has no failures; though he may have disappointments, he has +no defeats; for the true secret of life is to be content with what is +decreed, to earn bread and make store only as conscience directs, and +not to set one’s heart on material things. + +He got out of bed soon after daylight, dressed, and went to the stable +and hitched his horse to the buggy. The world was washed clean, that was +sure. It was muddy under foot, but it was a country where the roads soon +dried, and he would suffer little inconvenience from the storm. He bade +his host good-bye and drove away intent to reach the city in time for +breakfast. He found the roads heavy, and the injury of the storm was +everywhere to be seen. Yet it all did not distract him, for he +was thinking hard of the things that lay ahead of him to do--the +heart-breaking things that his defeat meant to him. + +At last he approached a bridge across a stream which had been badly +swept by the storm. It was one of the covered bridges not uncommon in +Canada. It was not long, as the river was narrow, and he did not see +that the middle pier of the bridge had been badly injured. Yet as he +entered the bridge, his horse still trotting, he was conscious of a +hollow, semi-thunderous noise which seemed not to belong to the horse’s +hoofs and the iron wheels of the carriage. He raised his eyes to see +that the other end of the bridge was clear, and at that moment he was +conscious of an unsteady motion of the bridge, of a wavering of the +roof, and then, before he had time to do aught, he saw the roof and the +sides and the floor of the bridge collapse and sink slowly down. + +With a cry, he sprang from the carriage to retrace his way; but he only +climbed up a ladder that grew every instant steeper; and all at once he +was plunged downwards after his horse and carriage into the stream. He +could swim, and as he swept down this thought came to him--that he might +be able to get the shore, as he heard the cries of people on the bank. +It was a hope that died at the moment of its birth, however, for he was +struck by a falling timber on the head. + +When, an hour later, he was found in an eddy of the river by the shore, +he was dead, and his finders could only compose his limbs decently. But +in the afternoon, the papers of Montreal had the following head-lines; +DEFEAT AND DEATH OF BARODE BAROUCHE THE END OF A LONG AND GREAT CAREER + +As soon as Carnac Grier heard the news, he sent a note to his mother +telling her all he knew. When she read the letter, she sank to the +floor, overcome. Her son had triumphed indeed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. A WOMAN WRITES A LETTER + +The whole country rang with the defeat and death of Barode Barouche, +and the triumph of the disinherited son of John Grier. Newspapers drew +differing lessons from the event, but all admitted that Carnac, as a +great fighter, was entitled to success. The Press were friendly to the +memory of Barode Barouche, and some unduly praised his work, and only a +few disparaged his career. + +When news of the tragedy came to Mrs. Grier, she was reading in the +papers of Carnac’s victory, and in her mind was an agonizing triumph, +pride in a stern blow struck for punishment. The event was like none she +could have imagined. + +It was at this moment the note came from Carnac telling of Barouche’s +death, and it dropped from her hand to the floor. The horror of it smote +her being, and, like one struck by lightning, she sank to the floor +unconscious. The thing had hit her where soul and body were closely +knit; and she had realized for the first time how we all must pay to +the last penny for every offence we commit against the laws of life +and nature. Barode Barouche had paid and she must pay--she also who had +sinned with him must pay. But had she not paid? + +For long she lay unconscious, but at last the servant, unknowing why she +was not called to remove the breakfast things, found her huddled on the +floor, her face like that of death. The servant felt her heart, saw she +was alive, and worked with her till consciousness came back. + +“That’s right, ma’am, keep up heart. I’ll send for M’sieu’ Carnac at +once, and we’ll have you all right pretty quick.” + +But Mrs. Grier forbade Carnac to be sent for, and presently in her bed, +declined to have the doctor brought. “It’s no use,” she said. “A doctor +can do no good. I need rest, that’s all.” + +Then she asked for notepaper and pen and ink, and so she was left alone. +She must tell her beloved son why it was there never had been, and never +could be, understanding between John Grier and himself. She had arrived +at that point where naught was to be gained by further concealment. +So through long hours she struggled with her problem, and she was glad +Carnac did not come during the vexing day. He had said when he sent her +word of his victory, that he feared he would not be able to see her the +next day at all, as he had so much to do. She even declined to see Junia +when she came, sending word that she was in bed, indisposed. + +The letter she wrote ran thus: + + MY BELOVED CARNAC, + + Your news of the death of Barode Barouche has shocked me. You will + understand when I tell you I have lived a life of agony ever since + you became a candidate. This is why: you were fighting the man who + gave you to the world. + + Let me tell you how. I loved John Grier when I married him, and + longed to make my life fit in with his. But that could not easily + be, for his life was wedded to his business, and he did not believe + in women. To him they were incapable of the real business of life, + and were only meant to be housekeepers to men who make the world go + round. So, unintentionally, he neglected me, and I was young and + comely then, so the world said, and I was unwise and thoughtless. + + Else, I should not have listened to Barode Barouche, who, one summer + in camp on the St. Lawrence River near our camp, opened up for me + new ways of thought, and springs of feeling. He had the gifts that + have made you what you are, a figure that all turn twice to see. He + had eloquence, he was thoughtful in all the little things which John + Grier despised. In the solitude of the camp he wound himself about + my life, and roused an emotion for him false to duty. And so one + day--one single day, for never but the once was I weak, yet that was + enough, God knows.... He went away because I would not see + him again; because I would not repeat the offence which gave me + years of sorrow and remorse. + + After you became a candidate, he came and offered to marry me, tried + to reopen the old emotion; but I would have none of it. He was + convinced he would defeat you, and he wanted to avoid fighting you. + But when I said, ‘Give up the seat to him,’ he froze. Of course, + his seat belonged to his party and not alone to himself; but that + was the test I put him to, and the answer he gave was, ‘You want me + to destroy my career in politics! That is your proposal, is it?’ + He was not honest either in life or conduct. I don’t think he ever + was sorry for me or for you, until perhaps these last few weeks; but + I have sorrowed ever since the day you came to me very day, every + hour, every minute; and the more because I could not tell John Grier + the truth. + + Perhaps I ought to have told the truth long ago, and faced the + consequences. It might seem now that I would have ruined my home + life, and yours, and Barode Barouche’s, and John Grier’s life if I + had told the truth; but who knows! There are many outcomes to + life’s tragedies, and none might have been what I fancied. It is + little comfort that Barode Barouche has now given all for payment of + his debt. It gives no peace of mind. And it may be you will think + I ought not to tell you the truth. I don’t know, but I feel you + will not misunderstand. I tell you my story, so that you may again + consider if it is not better to face the world with the truth about + Luzanne. We can live but once, and it is to our good if we refuse + the secret way. It is right you should know the truth about your + birth, but it is not right you should declare it to all the world + now. That was my duty long ago, and I did not do it. It is not + your duty, and you must not do it. Barode Barouche is gone; John + Grier has gone; and it would only hurt Fabian and his wife and you + to tell it now. You inherit Barode Barouche’s gifts, and you have + his seat, you represent his people--and they are your people too. + You have French blood in your veins, and you have a chance to carry + on with honour what he did with skill. Forgive me, if you can. + + Your loving + + MOTHER. + + P.S. Do nothing till you see me. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. CARNAC AND HIS MOTHER + +Returning from Barode Barouche’s home to his mother’s House on the Hill, +Carnac was in a cheerless mood. With Barouche’s death to Carnac it +was as though he himself had put aside for ever the armour of war, +for Barouche was the only man in the world who had ever tempted him to +fight, or whom he had fought. + +There was one thing he must do: he must go to Junia, tell her he loved +her, and ask her to be his wife. She had given him the fatal blue +certificate of his marriage and the marriage could now be ended with +Luzanne’s consent, for she would not fight the divorce he must win soon. +He could now tell the truth, if need be, to his constituents, for there +would be time enough to recover his position, if it were endangered, +before the next election came, and Junia would be by his side to help +him! Junia--would she, after all, marry him now? He would soon know. +To-night he must spend with his mother, but to-morrow he would see +Junia and learn his fate, and know about Luzanne. Luzanne had been in +Montreal, had been ready to destroy his chance at the polls, and Junia +had stopped it. How? Well, he should soon know. But now, at first, for +his mother. + +When he entered the House on the Hill, he had a sudden shiver. Somehow, +the room where his mother had sat for so many years, and where he had +last seen his father, John Grier, had a coldness of the tomb. There was +a letter on the centre table standing against the lamp. He saw it was in +his mother’s handwriting, and addressed to himself. + +He tore it open, and began to read. Presently his cheeks turned pale. +More than once he put it down, for it seemed impossible to go on, but +with courage he took it up again and read on to the end. + +“God--God in Heaven!” he broke out when he had finished it. For a long +time he walked the floor, trembling in body and shaking in spirit. “Now +I understand everything,” he said at last aloud in a husky tone. “Now I +see what I could not see--ah yes, I see at last!” + +For another time of silence and turmoil he paced the floor, then he +stopped short. “I’m glad they both are dead,” he said wearily. Thinking +of Barode Barouche, he had a great bitterness. “To treat any woman +so--how glad I am I fought him! He learned that such vile acts come home +at last.” + +Then he thought of John Grier. “I loathed him and loved him always,” he +said with terrible remorse in his tone. “He used my mother badly, and +yet he was himself; he was the soul that he was born, a genius in his +own way, a neglecter of all that makes life beautiful--and yet himself, +always himself. He never pottered. He was real--a pirate, a plunderer, +but he was real. And he cared for me, and would have had me in the +business if he could. Perhaps John Grier knows the truth now!... I hope +he does. For, if he does, he’ll see that I was not to blame for what +I did, that it was Fate behind me. He was a big man, and if I’d worked +with him, we’d have done big things, bigger than he did, and that was +big enough.” + +“Do nothing till you see me,” his mother had written in a postscript to +her letter, and, with a moroseness at his heart and scorn of Barouche at +his lips, he went slowly up to his mother’s room. At her door he paused. +But the woman was his mother, and it must be faced. After all, she had +kept faith ever since he was born. He believed that. She had been an +honest wife ever since that fatal summer twenty-seven years before. + +“She has suffered,” he said, and knocked at her door. An instant later +he was inside the room. There was only a dim light, but his mother was +sitting up in her bed, a gaunt and yet beautiful, sad-eyed figure of a +woman. For a moment Carnac paused. As he stood motionless, the face of +the woman became more drawn and haggard, the eyes more deeply mournful. +Her lips opened as though she would speak, but no sound came, and Carnac +could hardly bear to look at her. Yet he did look, and all at once there +rushed into his heart the love he had ever felt for her. After all, he +was her son, and she had not wronged him since his birth. And he who +had wronged her and himself was dead, his pathway closed for ever to the +deeds of life and time. As he looked, his eyes filled with tears and his +lips compressed. At last he came to the bed. Her letter was in his hand. + +“I have read it, mother.” + +She made no reply, but his face was good for her eyes to see. It had no +hatred or repulsion. + +“I know everything now,” he added. “I see it all, and I understand all +you have suffered these many years.” + +“Oh, my son, you forgive your mother?” She was trembling with emotion. + +He leaned over and caught her wonderful head to his shoulder. “I love +you, mother,” he said gently. “I need you--need you more than I ever +did.” + +“I have no heart any more, and I fear for you--” + +“Why should you fear for me? You wanted me to beat him, didn’t you?” + His face grew hard, his lips became scornful. “Wasn’t it the only way to +make him settle his account?” + +“Yes, the only way. It was not that I fear for you in politics. I was +sure you would win the election. It was not that, it was the girl.” + +“That’s all finished. I am free at last,” he said. He held the blue +certificate before her eyes. + +Her face was deadly pale, her eyes expanded, her breath came sharp and +quick. “How was it don how was it done? Was she here in Montreal?” + +“I don’t know how it was done, but she was here, and Junia got this from +her. I shan’t know how till I’ve seen Junia.” + +“Junia is the best friend,” said the stricken woman gently, “in all the +world; she’s--” + +“She’s so good a friend she must be told the truth,” he said firmly. + +“Oh, not while I live! I could not bear that--” + +“How could I ask Junia to marry me and not tell her all the +truth--mother, can’t you see?” + +The woman’s face flushed scarlet. “Ah, yes, I see, my boy--I see.” + +“Haven’t we had enough of secrecy--in your letter you lamented it! If +it was right for you to be secret all these years, is it not a hundred +times right now for me to tell you the truth.... I have no name--no +name,” he added, tragedy in his tone. + +“You have my name. You may say I have no right to it, but it is the only +name I can carry; they both are dead, and I must keep it. It wrongs no +one living but you, and you have no hatred of me: you think I do not +wrong you--isn’t that so?” + +His cheek was hot with feeling. “Yes, that’s true,” he said. “You must +still keep your married name.” Then a great melancholy took hold of him, +and he could hardly hide it from her. She saw how he was moved, and she +tried to comfort him. + +“You think Junia will resent it all?... But that isn’t what a girl does +when she loves. You have done no wrong; your hands are clean.” + +“But I must tell her all. Tarboe is richer, he has an honest birth, he +is a big man and will be bigger still. She likes him, she--” + +“She will go to you without a penny, my son.” + +“It will be almost without a penny, if you don’t live,” he said with a +faint smile. “I can’t paint--for a time anyhow. I can’t earn money for +a time. I’ve only my salary as a Member of Parliament and the little +that’s left of my legacy; therefore, I must draw on you. And I don’t +seem to mind drawing upon you; I never did.” + +She smiled with an effort. “If I can help you, I shall justify living +on.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. TARBOE HAS A DREAM + +The day Carnac was elected it was clear to Tarboe that he must win Junia +at once, if he was ever to do so, for Carnac’s new honours would play +a great part in influencing her. In his mind, it was now or never for +himself; he must bring affairs to a crisis. + +Junia’s father was poor, but the girl had given their home an air of +comfort and an art belonging to larger spheres. The walls were covered +with brown paper, and on it were a few of her own water-colour drawings, +and a few old engravings of merit. Chintz was the cover on windows and +easy chairs, and in a corner of the parlour was a chintz-covered lounge +where she read of an evening. So it was that, with Carnac elected and +Barode Barouche buried, she sat with one of Disraeli’s novels in her +hand busy with the future. She saw for Carnac a safe career, for his +two chief foes were gone--Luzanne Larue and Barode Barouche. Now she +understood why Carnac had never asked her to be his wife. She had had no +word with Carnac since his election--only a letter to thank her for the +marriage certificate and to say that after M. Barouche was buried he +would come to her, if he might. He did say, however, in the letter that +he owed her his election. + +“You’ve done a great, big thing for me, dearest friend, and I am your +ever grateful Carnac”--that was the way he had put it. Twice she had +gone to visit his mother, and had been told that Mrs. Grier was too ill +to see her--overstrain, the servant had said. She could not understand +being denied admittance; but it did not matter, for one day Mrs. Grier +should know how she--Junia-had saved her son’s career. + +So she thought, as she gazed before her into space from the +chintz-covered lounge on the night of the day Barode Barouche was +buried. There was a smell of roses in the room. She had gathered many +of them that afternoon. She caught a bud from a bunch on a table, and +fastened it in the bosom of her dress. Somehow, as she did it, she had +a feeling she would like to clasp a man’s head to her breast where the +rose was--one of those wild thoughts that come to the sanest woman at +times. She was captured by the excitement in which she had moved during +the past month--far more now than she had been in all the fight itself. + +There came a knock at the outer door, and before that of her own room +opened, she recognized the step of the visitor. So it was Tarboe had +come. He remembered that day in the street when he met Junia, and +was shown there were times when a woman could not be approached with +emotion. He had waited till the day he knew she was alone, for he had +made a friend of her servant by judicious gifts of money. + +“I hope you’re glad to see me,” he said with an uncertain smile, as he +saw her surprise. + +“I hope I am,” she replied, and motioned him to a seat. He chose a +high-backed chair with a wide seat near the lounge. He made a motion of +humorous dissent to her remark, and sat down. + +“Well, we pulled it off somehow, didn’t we?” she said. “Carnac Grier is +M.P.” + +“And his foe is in his grave,” remarked Tarboe dryly. “Providence pays +debts that ought to be paid. This election has settled a lot of things,” + she returned with a smile. + +“I suppose it has, and I’ve come here to try and find one of the +settlements.” + +“Well, find them,” she retorted. + +“I said one of the settlements only. I have to be accurate in my life.” + +“I’m glad to hear of it. You helped Mr. Grier win his election. It was +splendid of you. Think of it, Mr. Tarboe, Carnac Grier is beginning to +get even with his foes.” + +“I’m not a foe--if that’s what you mean. I’ve proved it.” + +She smiled provokingly. “You’ve proved only you’re not an absolute +devil, that’s all. You’ve not proved yourself a real man--not yet. Do +you think it paid your debt to Carnac Grier that you helped get him into +Parliament?” + +His face became a little heated. “I’ll prove to you and to the world +that I’m not an absolute devil in the Grier interests. I didn’t steal +the property. I tried to induce John Grier to leave it to Carnac or his +mother, for if he’d left it to Mrs. Grier it would have come to Carnac. +He did not do it that way, though. He left it to me. Was I to blame for +that?” + +“Perhaps not, but you could have taken Carnac in, or given up the +property to him--the rightful owner. You could have done that. But you +were thinking of yourself altogether.” + +“Not altogether. In the first place, I am bound to keep my word to John +Grier. Besides, if Carnac had inherited, the property would have got +into difficulties--there were things only John Grier and I understood, +and Carnac would have been floored.” + +“Wouldn’t you still have been there?” + +“Who knows! Who can tell! Maybe not!” + +“Carnac Grier is a very able man.” + +“But of the ablest. He’ll be a success in Parliament. He’ll play a big +part; he won’t puddle about. I meant there was a risk in letting Carnac +run the business at the moment, and--” + +“And there never was with you!” + +“None. My mind had grasped all John Grier intended, and I have the +business at my fingers’ ends. There was no risk with me. I’ve proved it. +I’ve added five per cent to the value of the business since John Grier +died. I can double the value of it in twenty years--and easy at that.” + +“If you make up your mind to do it, you will,” she said with admiration, +for the man was persuasive, and he was playing a game in which he was a +master. + +Her remarks were alive with banter, for Tarboe’s humour was a happiness +to her. + +“How did I buy your approval?” he questioned alertly. + +“By ability to put a bad case in a good light. You had your case, and +you have made a real success. If you keep on you may become a Member of +Parliament some day!” + +He laughed. “Your gifts have their own way of stinging. I don’t believe +I could be elected to Parliament. I haven’t the trick of popularity of +that kind.” + +Many thoughts flashed through Tarboe’s mind. If he married her now, and +the truth was told about the wills and the law gave Carnac his rights, +she might hate him for not having told her when he proposed. So it was +that in his desire for her life as his own, he now determined there +should be no second will. In any case, Carnac had enough to live on +through his mother. Also, he had capacity to support himself. There +was a touch of ruthlessness in Tarboe. No one would ever guess what the +second will contained--no one. The bank would have a letter saying where +the will was to be found, but if it was not there! + +He would ask Junia to be his wife now, while she was so friendly. Her +eyes were shining, her face was alive with feeling, and he was aware +that the best chances of his life had come to win her. If she was not +now in the hands of Carnac, his chances were good. Yet there was the +tale of the secret marriage--the letter he saw Carnac receive in John +Grier’s office! The words of the ancient Greek came to him as he looked +at her: “He who will not strike when the hour comes shall wither like a +flower, and his end be that of the chaff of the field.” + +His face flushed with feeling, his eyes grew bright with longing, his +tongue was loosed to the enterprise. “Do you dream, and remember your +dreams?” he asked with a thrill in his voice. “Do you?” + +“I don’t dream often, but I sometimes remember my dreams.” + +“I dream much, and one dream I have constantly.” + +“What is it?” she asked with anticipation. + +“It is the capture of a wild bird in a garden--in a cultivated garden +where there are no nests, no coverts for the secret invaders. I dream +that I pursue the bird from flower-bed to flower-bed, from bush to bush, +along paths and the green-covered walls; and I am not alone in my chase, +for there are others pursuing. It is a bitter struggle to win the wild +thing. And why? Because there is pursuing one of the pursuers another +bird of red plumage. Do you understand?” + +He paused, and saw her face was full of colour and her eyes had a glow. +Every nerve in her was pulsing hard. + +“Tell me,” she said presently, “whom do you mean by the bird of red +plumage? Is it a mere figure of speech? Or has it a real meaning?” + +“It has a real meaning.” + +He rose to his feet, bent over her and spoke hotly. “Junia, the end of +my waiting has come. I want you as I never wanted anything in my life. I +must know the truth. I love you, Junia. I have loved you from the first +moment I saw you, and nothing is worth while with you not in it. Let us +work together. It is a big, big game I’m playing.” + +“Yes, it’s a big game you’re playing,” she said with emotion. “It is +a big, big game, and, all things considered, you should win it, but I +doubt you will. I feel there are matters bigger than the game, or than +you, or me, or anyone else. And I do not believe in your bird of red +plumage; I don’t believe it exists. It may have done so, but it doesn’t +now.” + +She also got to her feet, and Tarboe was so near her she could feel his +hot breath on her cheek. + +“No, it doesn’t exist now,” she repeated, “and the pursuer is not +pursued. You have more imagination than belongs to a mere man of +business--you’re an inexperienced poet.” + +He caught her hand and drew it to his breast. “The only poetry I know +is the sound of your voice in the wind, the laughter of your lips in the +sun, the delight of your body in the heavenly flowers. Yes, I’ve drunk +you in the wild woods; I’ve trailed you on the river; I’ve heard you in +the grinding storm--always the same, the soul of all beautiful things. +Junia, you shall not put me away from you. You shall be mine, and +you and I together shall win our way to great ends. We will have +opportunity, health, wealth and prosperity. Isn’t it worth while?” + +“Yes,” she answered after a moment, “but it cannot be with you, my +friend.” + +She withdrew her fingers and stepped back; she made a gesture of +friendly repulsion. “You have said all that can be said, you have gifts +greater than you yourself believe; and I have been tempted; but it is +no use, there are deeper things than luxuries and the magazines of +merchandise--much deeper. No, no, I cannot marry you; if you were as +rich as Midas, as powerful as Caesar, I would not marry you--never, +never, never.” + +“You love another,” he said boldly. “You love Carnac Grier.” + +“I do not love you--isn’t that enough?” + +“Almost--almost enough,” he said, embarrassed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. THIS WAY HOME + +All Junia had ever felt of the soul of things was upon her as she +arranged flowers and listened to the church bells ringing. + +“They seem to be always ringing,” she said to herself, as she lightly +touched the roses. “It must be a Saint’s Day--where’s Denzil? Ah, there +he is in the garden! I’ll ask him.” + +Truth is, she was deceiving herself. She wanted to talk with Denzil +about all that had happened of late, and he seemed, somehow, to avoid +her. Perhaps he feared she had given her promise to Tarboe who had, as +Denzil knew, spent an hour with her the night before. As this came to +Denzil’s brain, he felt a shiver go through him. Just then he heard +Junia’s footsteps, and saw her coming towards him. + +“Why are the bells ringing so much, Denzil? Is it a Saint’s Day?” she +asked. + +He took off his hat. “Yes, ma’m’selle, it is a Saint’s Day,” and he +named it. “There were lots of neighbours at early Mass, and some have +gone to the Church of St. Anne de Beaupre at Beaupre, them that’s got +sickness.” + +“Yes, Beaupre is as good as Lourdes, I’m sure. Why didn’t you go, +Denzil?” + +“Why should I go, ma’m’selle--I ain’t sick--ah, bah!” + +“I thought you were. You’ve been in low spirits ever since our election, +Denzil.” + +“Nothing strange in that, ma’m’selle. I’ve been thinking of him that’s +gone.” + +“You mean Monsieur Barouche, eh?” + +“Not of M’sieu’ Barouche, but of the father to the man that beat M’sieu’ +Barouche.” + +“Why should you be thinking so much of John Grier these days?” + +“Isn’t it the right time? His son that he threw off without a penny has +proved himself as big a man as his father--ah, surelee! M’sieu’ left +behind him a will that gave all he had to a stranger. His own son was +left without a sou. There he is now,” he added, nodding towards the +street. + +Junia saw Carnac making his way towards her house. “Well, I’ll talk with +him,” she said, and her face flushed. She knew she must give account of +her doings with Luzanne Larue. + +A few moments later in the house, her hand lay in that of Carnac, and +his eyes met hers. + +“It’s all come our way, Junia,” he remarked gaily, though there was +sadness in his tone. + +“It’s as you wanted it. You won.” + +“Thanks to you, Junia,” and he took from his pocket the blue +certificate. + +“That--oh, that was not easy to get,” she said with agitation. “She had +a bad purpose, that girl.” + +“She meant to announce it?” + +“Yes, through Barode Barouche. He agreed to that.” + +Carnac flushed. “He agreed to that--you know it?” + +“Yes. The day you were made candidate she arrived here; and the next +morning she went to Barode Barouche and told her story. He bade her +remain secret till the time was ripe, and he was to be the judge of +that. He was waiting for the night before the election. Then he was +going to strike you and win!” + +“She told you that--Luzanne told you that?” + +“And much else. Besides, she told me you had saved her life from the +street-cars; that you had played fair at the start.” + +“First and last I played fair,” he said indignantly. + +Her eyes were shining. “Not from first to last, Carnac. You ought not +to have painted her, or made much of her and then thrown her over. She +knew--of course she knew, after a time, that you did not mean to propose +to her, and all the evil in her came out. Then she willed to have you in +spite of yourself, believing, if you were married, her affection would +win you in the end. There it was--and you were to blame.” + +“But why should you defend her, Junia?” + +Her tongue became bitter now. “Just as you would, if it was some one +else and not yourself.” + +His head was sunk on his breast, his eyes were burning. “It was a +horrible thing for Barouche to plan.” + +“Why so horrible? If you were hiding a marriage for whatever reason, it +should be known to all whose votes you wanted.” + +“Barouche was the last man on earth to challenge me, for he had a most +terrible secret.” + +“What was it?” Her voice had alarm, for she had never seen Carnac so +disturbed. + +“He was fighting his own son--and he knew it!” The words came in broken +accents. + +“He was fighting his own son, and he knew it! You mean to say that!” + Horror was in her voice. + +“I mean that the summer before I was born--” + +He told her the story as his mother had told it to him. Then at last he +said: + +“And now you know Barode Barouche got what he deserved. He ruined my +mother’s life; he died the easiest death such a man could die. He has +also spoiled my life.” + +“Nothing can spoil your life except yourself,” she declared firmly, and +she laid a hand upon his arm. “Who told you all this--and when?” + +“My mother in a letter last night. I had a talk with her afterwards.” + +“Who else knows?” + +“Only you.” + +“And why did you tell me?” + +“Because I want you to know why our ways must for ever lie apart.” + +“I don’t grasp what you mean,” she declared in a low voice. + +“You don’t grasp why, loving you, I didn’t ask you to marry me long ago; +but you found out for yourself from the one who was responsible, and +freed me and saved me; and now you know I am an illegitimate son.” + +“And you want to cut me out of your life for a bad man’s crime, not your +own.... Listen, Carnac. Last night I told Mr. Tarboe I could not marry +him. He is rich, he has control of a great business, he is a man of +mark. Why do you suppose I did it, and for over two years have done the +same?--for he has wanted me all that time. Does not a girl know when +a real man wants her? And Luke Tarboe is a real man. He knows what he +wants, and he goes for it, and little could stop him as he travels. Why +do you suppose I did it?” Her face flushed, anger lit her eyes. “Because +there was another man; but I’ve only just discovered he’s a sham, with +no real love for me. It makes me sorry I ever knew him.” + +“Me--no real love for you! That’s not the truth: it’s because I have no +real name to give you--that’s why I’ve spoken as I have. Never have I +cared for anyone except you, Junia, and I could have killed anyone that +wronged you--” + +“Kill yourself then,” she flashed. + +“Have I wronged you, Junia?” + +“If you kept me waiting and prevented me from marrying a man I could +have loved, if I hated you--if you did that, and then at last told me +to go my ways, don’t you think it wronging me! Don’t be a fool, Carnac. +You’re not the only man on earth a good girl could love. I tell you, +again and again I have been moved towards Luke Tarboe, and if he had had +understanding of women, I should now be his wife.” + +“You tell me what I have always known,” he interposed. “I knew Tarboe +had a hold on your heart. I’m not so vain as to think I’ve always been +the one man for you. I lived long in anxious fear, and--” + +“And now you shut the door in my face! Looked at from any standpoint, +it’s ugly.” + +“I want you to have your due,” he answered with face paler. “You’re a +great woman--the very greatest, and should have a husband born in honest +wedlock.” + +“I’m the best judge of what I want,” she declared almost sharply, yet +there was a smile at her lips. “Why, I suppose if John Grier had left +you his fortune, you’d give it up; you’d say, ‘I have no right to it,’ +and would give it to my brother-in-law, Fabian.” + +“I should.” + +“Yet Fabian had all he deserved from his father. He has all he should +have, and he tried to beat his father in business. Carnac, don’t be a +bigger fool than there’s any need to be. What is better than that John +Grier’s business should be in Tarboe’s hands--or in yours? Remember, +John Grier might have left it all to your mother, and, if he had, you’d +have taken it, if she had left it to you. You’d have taken it even if +you meant to give it away afterwards. There are hospitals to build. +There are good and costly things to do for the State.” + +Suddenly she saw in his eyes a curious soft understanding, and she +put her hand on his shoulder. “Carnac,” she said gently, “great, great +Carnac, won’t you love me?” + +For an instant he felt he must still put her from him, then he clasped +her to his breast. + +“But I really had to throw myself into your arms!” she said later. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. “HALVES, PARDNER, HALVES” + +It was Thanksgiving Day, and all the people of the Province were en +fete. The day was clear, and the air was thrilling with the spirits of +the north country; the vibrant sting of oxygen, the blessed resilience +of the river and the hills. + +It was a great day on the St. Lawrence, for men were preparing to go to +the backwoods, to the “shanties,” and hosts were busy with the crops, +storing them; while all in trade and industry were cheerful. There was +a real benedicite in the air. In every church. Catholic and Protestant, +hands of devoted workers had made beautiful altar and communion table, +and lectern and pulpit, and in the Methodist chapel and the Presbyterian +kirk, women had made the bare interiors ornate. The bells of all the +churches were ringing, French and English; and each priest, clergyman +and minister was moving his people in his own way and by his own ritual +to bless God and live. + +In the city itself, the Mayor had arranged a festival in the evening, +and there were gathered many people to give thanks. But those most +conspicuous were the poor, unsophisticated habitants, who were on good +terms with the refreshment provided. Their enthusiasm was partly due to +the presence of Carnac Grier. In his speech to the great crowd, among +other things the Mayor said: “It is our happiness that we have here one +whose name is familiar to all in French-Canada--that of the new Member +of Parliament, Monsieur Carnac Grier. In Monsieur Grier we have a man +who knows his own mind, and it is filled with the interests of the +French as well as the English. He is young, he has power, and he will +use his youth and power to advance the good of the whole country. May he +live long!” + +Carnac never spoke better in his life than in his brief reply. When he +had finished, some one touched his arm. It was Luke Tarboe. + +“A good speech, Grier. Can you give me a few moments?” + +“Here?” asked Carnac, smiling. + +“Not here, but in the building. There is a room where we can be alone, +and I have to tell you something of great importance.” + +“Of great importance? Well, so have I to tell you, Tarboe.” + +A few minutes later they were in the Mayor’s private parlour, hung with +the portraits of past Governors and Mayors, and carrying over the door +the coat-of-arms of the Province. + +Presently Carnac said: “Let me give you my news first, Tarboe: I am to +marry Junia Shale--and soon.” + +Tarboe nodded. “I expected that. She is worth the best the world can +offer.” There was a ring of honesty in his tone. “All the more reason +why I should tell you what my news is, Carnac. I’m going to tell you +what oughtn’t yet to be told for another two years, but I feel it due +you, for you were badly used, and so I break my word to your father.” + +Carnac’s hand shot out in protest, but Tarboe took no notice. “I mean to +tell you now in the hour of your political triumph that--” + +“That I can draw on you for ten thousand dollars, perhaps?” shot out +Carnac. + +“Not for ten thousand, but in two years’ time--or to-morrow--for a +hundred and fifty times that if you want it.” + +Carnac shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re driving at, +Tarboe. Two years from now--or to-morrow--I can draw on you for a +hundred and fifty times ten thousand dollars! What does that mean? Is +it you’re tired of the fortune left you by the biggest man industrially +French-Canada has ever known?” + +“I’ll tell you the truth--I never had a permanent fortune, and I was +never meant to have the permanent fortune, though I inherited by will. +That was a matter between John Grier and myself. There was another will +made later, which left the business to some one else.” + +“I don’t see.” + +“Of course you don’t see, and yet you must.” Tarboe then told the story +of the making of the two wills, doing justice to John Grier. + +“He never did things like anyone else, and he didn’t in dying. He loved +you, Carnac. In spite of all he said and did he believed in you. He knew +you had the real thing in you, if you cared to use it.” + +“Good God! Good God!” was all Carnac could at first say. “And you agreed +to that?” + +“What rights had I? None at all. I’ll come out of it with over a +half-million dollars--isn’t that enough for a backwoodsman? I get the +profits of the working for three years, and two hundred thousand dollars +besides. I ought to be satisfied with that.” + +“Who knows of the will besides yourself?” asked Carnac sharply. + +“No one. There is a letter to the bank simply saying that another will +exists and where it is, but that’s all. + +“And you could have destroyed that will in my favour?” + +“That’s so.” The voice of Tarboe was rough with feeling, his face grew +dark. “More than once I willed to destroy it. It seemed at first I could +make better use of the property than you. The temptation was big, but I +held my own, and now I’ve no fear of meeting anyone in Heaven or Hell. +I’ve told you all.... + +“Not quite all. There’s one thing more. The thought of Junia Shale made +me want to burn the second will, and I almost did it; but I’m glad I +didn’t.” + +“If you had, and had married her, you wouldn’t have been happy. You +can’t be fooling a wife and be safe.” + +“I guess I know that--just in time.... I have a bad heart, Carnac. Your +property came to me against my will through your father, but I wanted +the girl you’re going to marry, and against my will you won her. I +fought for her. I thought there was a chance for me, because of the +rumour you were secretly married--” + +“I’ll tell you about it, Tarboe, now. It was an ugly business.” And he +told in a dozen sentences the story of Luzanne and the false marriage. + +When he had finished, Tarboe held out his hand. “It was a close shave, +Carnac.” + +After a few further remarks, Tarboe said: “I thought there was a chance +for me with Junia Shale, but there never was a real one, for she was +yours from a child. You won her fairly, Carnac. If you’ll come to the +office to-morrow morning, I’ll show you the will.” + +“You’ll show me the will?” asked Carnac with an edge to his tone. + +“What do you mean?” Tarboe did not like the look in the other’s eyes. + +“I mean, what you have you shall keep, and what John Grier leaves me by +that will, I will not keep.” + +“You will inherit, and you shall keep.” + +“And turn you out!” remarked Carnac ironically. “I needn’t be turned +out. I hoped you’d keep me as manager. Few could do it as well, and, as +Member of Parliament, you haven’t time yourself. I’ll stay as manager at +twenty thousand dollars a year, if you like.” + +Carnac could not tell him the real reason for declining to inherit, but +that did not matter. Yet there flashed into his heart a love, which +he had never felt so far in his life, for John Grier. The old man had +believed he would come out right in the end, and so had left him the +fortune in so odd a way. How Carnac longed to tell Tarboe the whole +truth about Barode Barouche, and yet dare not! After a short time of +hesitation and doubt, Carnac said firmly: + +“I’ll stand by the will, if you’ll be my partner and manager, Tarboe. If +you’ll take half the business and manage the whole of it, I’ll sell the +half for a dollar to you, and we can run together to the end.” + +Tarboe’s face lighted; there was triumph in his eyes. It was all better +than he had dared to hope, for he liked the business, and he loathed the +way the world had looked at John Grier’s will. + +“Halves, pardner, halves!” he said, assenting gladly, and held out his +hand. + +They clasped hands warmly. + +The door opened and Junia appeared. She studied their faces anxiously. +When she saw the smiling light in them: + +“Oh, you two good men!” she said joyously, and held out a hand to each. + + + ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: + + All genius is at once a blessing or a curse + Do what you feel you’ve got to do, and never mind what happens + Don’t be a bigger fool than there’s any need to be + Had got unreasonably old + How many sons have ever added to their father’s fame? + Life is only futile to the futile + Never give up your soul to things only, keep it for people + We suffer the shames we damn in others + We do what we forbid ourselves to do + Youth’s a dream, middle age a delusion, old age a mistake + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Carnac’s Folly, Complete, by Gilbert Parker + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CARNAC’S FOLLY, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 6299-0.txt or 6299-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/9/6299/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Carnac's Folly, Complete + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Release Date: October 18, 2006 [EBook #6299] +Last Updated: August 27, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CARNAC'S FOLLY, COMPLETE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1> + CARNAC’S FOLLY + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Gilbert Parker + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> IN THE DAYS OF + CHILDHOOD <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> ELEVEN + YEARS PASS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> CARNAC’S + RETURN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> THE + HOUSE ON THE HILL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> CARNAC + AS MANAGER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> LUKE + TARBOE HAS AN OFFER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. + </a> "AT OUR PRICE?” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> + CHAPTER VIII. </a> JOHN GRIER MAKES ANOTHER OFFER <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> THE PUZZLE <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> DENZIL TELLS HIS + STORY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> CARNAC’S + TALK WITH HIS MOTHER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. + </a> CARNAC SAYS GOOD-BYE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> + CHAPTER XIII. </a> CARNAC’S RETURN <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> THE HOUSE OF THE + THREE TREES <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> CARNAC + AND JUNIA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> JOHN + GRIER MAKES A JOURNEY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. + </a> THE READING OF THE WILL <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> A GREAT DECISION + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> CARNAC + BECOMES A CANDIDATE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> JUNIA + AND TARBOE HEAR THE NEWS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER + XXI. </a> THE SECRET MEETING <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> POINT TO POINT <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> THE MAN WHO + WOULD NOT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> THE + BLUE PAPER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> DENZIL + TAKES A HAND IN THE GAME <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER + XXVI. </a> THE CHALLENGE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> + CHAPTER XXVII. </a> EXIT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> + CHAPTER XXVIII. </a> A WOMAN WRITES A + LETTER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a> CARNAC + AND HIS MOTHER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a> TARBOE + HAS A DREAM <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a> THIS + WAY HOME <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a> "HALVES, + PARDNER, HALVES” <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. IN THE DAYS OF CHILDHOOD + </h2> + <p> + “Carnac! Carnac! Come and catch me, Carnac!” It was a day of perfect + summer and hope and happiness in the sweet, wild world behind the near + woods and the far circle of sky and pine and hemlock. The voice that + called was young and vibrant, and had in it the simple, true soul of + things. It had the clearness of a bugle-call, ample and full of life and + all life’s possibilities. It laughed; it challenged; it decoyed. + </p> + <p> + Carnac heard the summons and did his best to catch the girl in the wood by + the tumbling stream, where he had for many an hour emptied out his wayward + heart; where he had seen his father’s logs and timbers caught in jams, + hunched up on rocky ledges, held by the prong of a rock, where man’s + purpose could, apparently, avail so little. Then he had watched the + black-bearded river-drivers with their pike-poles and their levers loose + the key-logs of the bunch, and the tumbling citizens of the woods and + streams toss away down the current to the wider waters below. He was only + a lad of fourteen, and the girl was only eight, but she—Junia—was + as spry and graceful a being as ever woke the echoes of a forest. + </p> + <p> + He was only fourteen, but already he had visions and dreamed dreams. His + father—John Grier—was the great lumber-king of Canada, and + Junia was the child of a lawyer who had done little with his life, but had + had great joy of his two daughters, who were dear to him beyond telling. + </p> + <p> + Carnac was one of Nature’s freaks or accidents. He was physically strong + and daring, but, as a boy, mentally he lacked concentration and decision, + though very clever. He was led from thing to thing like a ray of errant + light, and he did not put a hand on himself, as old Denzil, the partly + deformed servant of Junia’s home, said of him on occasion; and Denzil was + a man of parts. + </p> + <p> + Denzil was not far from the two when Junia made her appeal and challenge. + He loved the girl exceedingly, and he loved Carnac little less, though in + a different way. Denzil was French of the French, with habit of mind and + character wholly his own. + </p> + <p> + Denzil’s head was squat upon his shoulders, and his long, handsome body + was also squat, because his legs were as short, proportionately, as his + mind was long. His face was covered by a well-cared-for beard of dark + brown, streaked with grey; his features were rugged and fine; and his eyes + were like two coals burning under a gnarled headland; for his forehead, + ample and full, had lines which were not lines of age, but of + concentration. In his motions he was quiet and free, yet always there was + a kind of stealthiness in his movements, which made him seem less frank + than he really was. + </p> + <p> + For a time, with salient sympathy in his eyes, he watched the two children + playing. The whisking of their forms among the trees and over the rocks + was fine, gracious, and full of life-life without alarm. At length he saw + the girl falter slightly, then make a swift deceptive movement to avoid + the boy who pursued her. The movement did not delude the boy. He had + quickness of anticipation. An instant later the girl was in his arms. + </p> + <p> + As Denzil gazed, it seemed she was in his arms too long, and a sudden + anxiety took hold of him. That anxiety was deepened when he saw the boy + kiss the girl on the cheek. This act seemed to discompose the girl, but + not enough to make drama out of an innocent, yet sensuous thing. The boy + had meant nothing more than he had shown, and Denzil traced the act to a + native sense of luxury in his nature. Knowing the boy’s father and mother + as he did, it seemed strange that Carnac should have such demonstration in + his character. Of all the women he knew, Carnac’s mother was the most + exact and careful, though now and again he thought of her as being + shrouded, or apart; while the boy’s father, the great lumber-king, + cantankerous, passionate, perspicuous, seemed to have but one passion, and + that was his business. + </p> + <p> + It was strange to Denzil that the lumber-king, short, thin, careless in + his clothes but singularly clean in his person, should have a son so + little like himself, and also so little like his mother. He, Denzil, was a + Catholic, and he could not understand a man like John Grier who, being a + member of the Episcopal Church, so seldom went to service and so defied + rules of conduct suitable to his place in the world. + </p> + <p> + As for the girl, to him she was the seventh wonder of the earth. Wantonly + alive, dexterously alert to all that came her way, sportive, indifferent, + joyous, she had all the boy’s sprightliness, but none of his weaknesses. + She was a born tease; she loved bright and beautiful things; she was a + keen judge of human nature, and she had buoyant spirits, which, however, + were counterbalanced by moments of extreme timidity, or, rather, reserve + and shyness. On a day like this, when everything in life was singing, she + must sing too. Not a mile away was a hut by the river where her father had + brought his family for the summer’s fishing; not a half-mile away was a + tent which Carnac Grier’s father had set up as he passed northward on his + tour of inspection. This particular river, and this particular part of the + river, were trying to the river-man and his clans. It needed a dam, and + the great lumber-king was planning to make one not three hundred yards + from where they were. + </p> + <p> + The boy and the girl resting idly upon a great warm rock had their own + business to consider. The boy kept looking at his boots with the + brass-tipped toes. He hated them. The girl was quick to understand. “Why + don’t you like your boots?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + A whimsical, exasperated look came into his face. “I don’t know why they + brass a boy’s toes like that, but when I marry I won’t wear them—that’s + all,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you wear them now?” she asked, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know my father.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s got plenty of money, hasn’t he?” she urged. “Plenty; and that’s what + I can’t understand about him! There’s a lot of waste in river-driving, + timber-making, out in the shanties and on the river, but he don’t seem to + mind that. He’s got fads, though, about how we are to live, and this is + one of them.” He looked at the brass-tipped boots carefully. A sudden + resolve came into his face. He turned to the girl and flushed as he spoke. + “Look here,” he added, “this is the last day I’m going to wear these + boots. He’s got to buy me a pair without any brass clips on them, or I’ll + kick.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it isn’t the last day you’re going to wear them, Carnac.” + </p> + <p> + “It is. I wonder if all boys feel towards their father as I do to mine. He + don’t treat me right. He—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, look,” interrupted Junia. “Look-Carnac!” She pointed in dismay. + </p> + <p> + Carnac saw a portion of the bank of the river disappear with Denzil. He + ran over to the bank and looked down. In another moment he had made his + way to a descending path which led him swiftly to the river’s edge. The + girl remained at the top. The boy had said to her: “You stay there. I’ll + tell you what to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Is-is he killed?” she called with emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Killed! No. He’s all right,” he called back to her. “I can see him move. + Don’t be frightened. He’s not in the water. It was only about a + thirty-foot fall. You stay there, and I’ll tell you what to do,” he added. + </p> + <p> + A few moments later, the boy called up: “He’s all right, but his leg is + broken. You go to my father’s camp—it’s near. People are sure to be + there, and maybe father too. You bring them along.” + </p> + <p> + In an instant the girl was gone. The boy, left behind, busied himself in + relieving the deformed broken-legged habitant. He brought some water in + his straw hat to refresh him. He removed the rocks and dirt, and dragged + the little man out. + </p> + <p> + “It was a close call—bien sur,” said Denzil, breathing hard. “I + always said that place wasn’t safe, but I went on it myself. That’s the + way in life. We do what we forbid ourselves to do; we suffer the shames we + damn in others—but yes.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, then he added: “That’s what you’ll do in your life, + M’sieu’ Carnac. That’s what you’ll do.” + </p> + <p> + “Always?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you never can tell—but no.” + </p> + <p> + “But you always can tell,” remarked the boy. “The thing is, do what you + feel you’ve got to do, and never mind what happens.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could walk,” remarked the little man, “but this leg of mine is + broke—ah, bah, it is!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you mustn’t try to walk. Be still,” answered the boy. “They’ll be + here soon.” Slowly and carefully he took off the boot and sock from the + broken leg, and, with his penknife, opened the seam of the corduroy + trouser. “I believe I could set that leg myself,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “I think you could—bagosh,” answered Denzil heavily. “They’ll bring + a rope to haul me up?” + </p> + <p> + “Junia has a lot of sense, she won’t forget anything.” + </p> + <p> + “And if your father’s there, he’ll not forget anything,” remarked Denzil. + </p> + <p> + “He’ll forget to make me wear these boots tomorrow,” said the boy + stubbornly, his chin in his hands, his eyes fixed gloomily on the + brass-headed toes. + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. At last from the stricken Denzil came the words: + “You’ll have your own way about the boots.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac murmured, and presently said: + </p> + <p> + “Lucky you fell where you did. Otherwise, you’d have been in the water, + and then I couldn’t have been of any use.” + </p> + <p> + “I hear them coming—holy, yes!” + </p> + <p> + Carnac strained his ears. “Yes, you’re right. I hear them too.” + </p> + <p> + A few moments later, Carnac’s father came sliding down the bank, a rope in + his hands, some workmen remaining above. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter here?” he asked. “A fall, eh! Dang little fool—now, + you are a dang little fool, and you know it, Denzil.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded to his boy, then he raised the wounded man’s head and shoulders, + and slipped the noose over until it caught under his arms. + </p> + <p> + The old lumber-king’s movements were swift, sure and exact. A moment later + he lifted Denzil in his arms, and carried him over to the steep path up + which he was presently dragged. + </p> + <p> + At the top, Denzil turned to Carnac’s father. “M’sieu’, Carnac hates + wearing those brass-toed boots,” he said boldly. + </p> + <p> + The lumber-king looked at his boy acutely. He blew his nose hard, with a + bandana handkerchief. Then he nodded towards the boy. + </p> + <p> + “He can suit himself about that,” he said. + </p> + <p> + With accomplished deftness, with some sacking and two poles, a hasty but + comfortable ambulance was made under the skilful direction of the + river-master. He had the gift of outdoor life. He did not speak as he + worked, but kept humming to himself. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right,” he said, as he saw Denzil on the stretcher. “We’ll get + on home now.” + </p> + <p> + “Home?” asked his son. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Montreal—to-night,” replied his father. “The leg has to be + set.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you set it?” asked the boy. + </p> + <p> + The river-master gazed at him attentively. “Well, I might, with your + help,” he said. “Come along.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. ELEVEN YEARS PASS + </h2> + <p> + Eleven years had passed since Denzil’s fall, and in that time much history + had been made. Carnac Grier, true to his nature, had travelled from + incident to incident, from capacity to capacity, apparently without + system, yet actually with the keenest desire to fulfil himself; with an + honesty as inveterate as his looks were good and his character filled with + dark recesses. In vain had his father endeavoured to induce him to enter + the lumber business; to him it seemed too conventional and fixed. + </p> + <p> + Yet, in his way, he knew the business well. By instinct, over the + twenty-five years of his life, he had observed and become familiar with + the main features of the work. He had once or twice even buried himself in + the shanties of the backwoods, there to inhale and repulse the fetid air, + to endure the untoward, half-savage life, the clean, strong food, the + bitter animosities and the savage friendships. It was a land where + sunshine travelled, and in the sun the bright, tuneful birds made lively + the responsive world. Sometimes an eagle swooped down the stream; again + and again, hawks, and flocks of pigeons which frequented the lonely groves + on the river-side, made vocal the world of air; flocks of wild ducks, or + geese, went whirring down the long spaces of water between the trees on + either bank; and some one with a fiddle or a concertina made musical the + evening, while the singing voices of rough habitants rang through the air. + </p> + <p> + It was all spirited; it smelt good; it felt good; but it was not for + Carnac. When he had a revolt against anything in life, the grim storm + scenes of winter in the shanties under the trees and the snow-swept hills + came to his mind’s eye. The summer life of the river, and what is called + “running the river,” had for him great charms. The smell of hundreds of + thousands of logs in the river, the crushed bark, the slimy ooze were all + suggestive of life in the making. But the savage seclusion of the wild + life in winter repelled his senses. Besides, the lumber business meant + endless figures and measurements in stuffy offices and he retreated from + it all. + </p> + <p> + He had an artistic bent. From a small child he had had it, and it grew + with his years. He wanted to paint, and he painted; he wanted to sculp in + clay, and he sculped in clay; but all the time he was conscious it was the + things he had seen and the life he had lived which made his painting and + his sculpture worth while. It was absurd that a man of his great outdoor + capacity should be the slave of a temperamental quality, and yet it was + so. It was no good for his father to condemn, or his mother to mourn, he + went his own way. + </p> + <p> + He had seen much of Junia Shale in these years and had grown fond of her, + but she was away much with an aunt in the West, and she was sent to + boarding-school, and they saw each other only at intervals. She liked him + and showed it, but he was not ready to go farther. As yet his art was + everything to him, and he did not think of marriage. He was care-free. He + had a little money of his own, left by an uncle of his mother, and he had + also an allowance from his mother—none from his father—and he + was satisfied with life. + </p> + <p> + His brother, Fabian, being the elder, by five years, had gone into his + father’s business as a partner, and had remained there. Fabian had at last + married an elder sister of Junia Shale and settled down in a house on the + hill, and the lumber-king, John Grier, went on building up his splendid + business. + </p> + <p> + At last, Carnac, feeling he was making small headway with his painting, + determined to go again to New York and Paris. He had already spent a year + in each place and it had benefited him greatly. So, with that sudden + decision which marked his life, he started for New York. It was + immediately after the New Year and the ground was covered with snow. He + looked out of the window of the train, and there was only the long line of + white country broken by the leafless trees and rail-fences and the + mansard-roofs and low cottages with their stoops, built up with earth to + keep them warm; and the sheds full of cattle; and here and there a sawmill + going hard, and factories pounding away and men in fur coats driving the + small Indian ponies; and the sharp calls of the men with the sleigh + bringing wood, or meat, or vegetables to market. He was by nature a queer + compound of Radical and Conservative, a victim of vision and temperament. + He was full of pride, yet fuller of humility of a real kind. As he left + Montreal he thought of Junia Shale, and he recalled the day eleven years + before when he had worn brass-toed boots, and he had caught Junia in his + arms and kissed her, and Denzil had had his accident. Denzil had got + unreasonably old since then; but Junia remained as she was the joyous day + when boyhood took on the first dreams of manhood. + </p> + <p> + Life was a queer thing, and he had not yet got his bearings in it. He had + a desire to reform the world and he wanted to be a great painter or + sculptor, or both; and he entered New York with a new sense developed. He + was keen to see, to do, and to feel. He wanted to make the world ring with + his name and fame, yet he wanted to do the world good also, if he could. + It was a curious state of mind for the English boy, who talked French like + a native and loved French literature and the French people, and was angry + with those English-Canadians who were so selfish they would never learn + French. + </p> + <p> + Arrived in New York he took lodgings near old Washington Square, where + there were a few studios near the Bohemian restaurants and a life as + nearly continental as was possible in a new country. He got in touch with + a few artists and began to paint, doing little scenes in the Bowery and of + the night-life of New York, and visiting the Hudson River and Long Island + for landscape and seascape sketches. + </p> + <p> + One day he was going down Broadway, and near Union Square he saved a girl + from being killed by a street-car. She had slipped and fallen on the track + and a car was coming. It was impossible for her to get away in time, and + Carnac had sprung to her and got her free. She staggered to her feet, and + he saw she was beautiful and foreign. He spoke to her in French and her + eyes lighted, for she was French. She told him at once that her name was + Luzanne Larue. He offered to get a cab and take her home, but she said no, + she was fit to walk, so he went with her slowly to her home in one of the + poor streets on the East side. They talked as they went, and Carnac saw + she was of the lower middle-class, with more refinement than was common in + that class, and more charm. She was a fascinating girl with fine black + eyes, black hair, a complexion of cream, and a gift of the tongue. Carnac + could not see that she was very subtle. She seemed a marvel of + guilelessness. She had a wonderful head and neck, and as he was planning a + picture of an early female martyr, he decided to ask her to sit to him. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at her humble home, he was asked to enter, and there he met her + father, Isel Larue, a French monarchist who had been exiled from Paris for + plotting against the Government. He was handsome with snapping black eyes, + a cruel mouth and a droll and humorous tongue. He was grateful to Carnac + for saving his daughter’s life. Coffee and cigarettes were produced, and + they chatted and smoked while Carnac took in the surroundings. Everything + was plain, but spotlessly clean, and he learned that Larue made his living + by doing odd jobs in an electric firm. He was just home from his work. + Luzanne was employed every afternoon in a milliner’s shop, but her + evenings were free after the housework was done at nine o’clock. Carnac in + a burst of enthusiasm asked if she would sit to him as a model in the + mornings. Her father instantly said, of course she would. + </p> + <p> + This she did for many days, and sat with her hair down and bared neck, as + handsome and modest as a female martyr should. Carnac painted her with + skill. Sometimes he would walk with her to lunch and make her eat + something sustaining, and they talked freely then, though little was said + while he was painting her. At last one day the painting was finished, and + she looked up at him wistfully when he told her he would not need another + sitting. Carnac, overcome by her sadness, put his arms round her and + kissed her mouth, her eyes, her neck ravenously. She made only a slight + show of resistance. When he stopped she said: “Is that the way you keep + your word to my father? I am here alone and you embrace me—is that + fair?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it isn’t, and I promise I won’t do it again, Luzanne. I am sorry. I + wanted our friendship to benefit us both, and now I’ve spoiled it all.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you haven’t spoiled it all,” said Luzanne with a sigh, and she + buttoned up the neck of her blouse, flushing slightly as she did so. Her + breast heaved and suddenly she burst into tears. It was evident she wanted + Carnac to comfort her, perhaps to kiss her again, but he did not do so. He + only stood over her, murmuring penance and asking her to forget it. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t forget it—I can’t. No man but my father has ever kissed me + before. It makes me, oh! so miserable!” but she smiled through her tears. + Suddenly she dried her eyes. “Once a man tried to kiss me—and + something more. He was rich and he’d put money into Madame Margot’s + millinery business. He was brilliant, and married, but he had no rules for + his morals—all he wanted was money and pleasures which he bought. I + was attracted by him, but one day he tried to kiss me. I slapped his face, + and then I hated him. So, when you kissed me to-day, I thought of that, + and it made me unhappy—but yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You did not slap my face, Luzanne?” + </p> + <p> + She blushed and hung her head. “No, I did not; you are not a bad man. He + would have spoiled my life. He made it clear I could have all the luxuries + money could buy—all except marriage!” She shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + Carnac was of an impressionable nature, but brought to face the + possibility of marriage with Luzanne, he shrank. If ever he married it + would be a girl like Junia Shale, beautiful, modest, clever and well + educated. No, Luzanne could never be for him. So he forbore doing more + than ask her to forgive him, and he would take her to lunch-the last lunch + of the picture-if she would. With features in chagrin, she put on her hat, + yet when she turned to him, she was smiling. + </p> + <p> + He visited her home occasionally, and Luzanne’s father had a friend, Ingot + by name, who was sometimes present. This man made himself almost + unbearable at first; but Luzanne pulled Ingot up acridly, and he presently + behaved well. Ingot disliked all men in better positions than himself, and + was a revolutionary of the worst sort—a revolutionary and + monarchist. He was only a monarchist because he loved conspiracy and hated + the Republican rulers who had imprisoned him—“those bombastics,” he + called them. It was a constitutional quarrel with the world. However, he + became tractable, and then he and Larue formed a plot to make Carnac marry + Luzanne. It was hatched by Ingot, approved by Larue, and at length + consented to by the girl, for so far as she could love anyone, she loved + Carnac; and she made up her mind that if he married her, no matter how, + she would make him so happy he would forgive all. + </p> + <p> + About four months after the incident in the studio, a picnic was arranged + for the Hudson River. Only the four went. Carnac had just sold a picture + at a good price—his Christian Martyr picture—and he was in + high spirits. They arrived at the spot arranged for the picnic in time for + lunch, and Luzanne prepared it. When the lunch was ready, they sat down. + There was much gay talk, compliments to Carnac came from both Larue and + Ingot, and Carnac was excited and buoyant. He drank much wine and beer, + and told amusing stories of the French-Canadians which delighted them all. + He had a gift of mimicry and he let himself go. + </p> + <p> + “You got a pretty fine tongue in your head—but of the best,” said + Ingot with a burst of applause. “You’d make a good actor, a holy good + actor. You got a way with you. Coquelin, Salvini, Bernhardt! Voila, you’re + just as good! Bagosh, I’d like to see you on the stage.” + </p> + <p> + “So would I,” said Larue. “I think you could play a house full in no time + and make much cash—I think you could. Don’t you think so, Luzanne?” + </p> + <p> + Luzanne laughed. “He can act very first-class, I’m sure,” she said, and + she turned and looked Carnac in the eyes. She was excited, she was + handsome, she was slim and graceful, and Carnac felt towards her as he did + the day at the studio, as though he’d like to kiss her. He knew it was not + real, but it was the man in him and the sex in her. + </p> + <p> + For an hour and a half the lunch went on, all growing gayer, and then at + last Ingot said: “Well, I’m going to have a play now here, and Carnac + Grier shall act, and we all shall act. We’re going to have a wedding + ceremony between M’sieu’ Grier and Luzanne—but, hush, why not!” he + added, when Luzanne shook her finger at him, and said she’d do nothing of + the kind, having, however, agreed to it beforehand. “Why not! There’s + nothing in it. They’ll both be married some day and it will be good + practice for them. They can learn now how to do it. It’s got to be done—but + yes. I’ll find a Judge in the village. Come now, hands up, those that will + do it.” + </p> + <p> + With a loud laugh Larue held up his hand, Carnac, who was half-drunk, did + the same, and after a little hesitation Luzanne also. + </p> + <p> + “Good—a gay little comedy, that’s what it is. I’m off for the + Judge,” and away went Ingot hard afoot, having already engaged a Judge, + called Grimshaw, in the village near to perform the ceremony. When he had + gone, Larue went off to smoke and Luzanne and Carnac cleared up the + lunch-things and put all away in the baskets. When it was finished, Carnac + and Luzanne sat down under a tree and talked cheerfully, and Luzanne was + never so effective as she was that day. They laughed over the mock + ceremony to be performed. + </p> + <p> + “I’m a Catholic, you know,” said Luzanne, “and it isn’t legal in my church + with no dispensation to be married to a Protestant like you. But as it is, + what does it matter!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s true,” said Carnac. “I suppose I ought to be acting the + lover now; I ought to be kissing you, oughtn’t I?” + </p> + <p> + “As an actor, yes, but as a man, better not unless others are present. + Wait till the others come. Wait for witnesses, so that it can look like + the real thing. + </p> + <p> + “See, there they come now.” She pointed, and in the near distance Ingot + could be seen approaching with a short, clean-shaven, roly-poly sort of + man who did not look legal, but was a real magistrate. He came waddling + along in good spirits and rather pompously. At that moment Larue appeared. + Presently Ingot presented the Judge to the would—be bride and + bridegroom. “You wish to be married-you are Mr. Grier?” said Judge + Grimshaw. + </p> + <p> + “That’s me and I’m ready,” said Carnac. “Get on with the show. What’s the + first thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the regular thing is to sign some forms, stating age, residence, + etc., and here they are all ready. Brought ‘em along with me. Most unusual + form of ceremony, but it’ll do. It’s all right. Here are the papers to + sign.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac hastily scratched in the needed information, and Luzanne doing the + same, the magistrate pocketed the papers. + </p> + <p> + “Now we can perform the ceremony,” said the Judge. “Mr. Larue, you go down + there with the young lady and bring her up in form, and Mr. Carnac Grier + waits here.” + </p> + <p> + Larue went away with Luzanne, and presently turned, and she, with her arm + in his, came forward. Carnac stood waiting with a smile on his face, for + it seemed good acting. When Luzanne came, her father handed her over, and + the marriage ceremony proceeded. Presently it concluded, and Grimshaw, who + had had more drink than was good for him, wound up the ceremony with the + words: “And may the Lord have mercy on you!” + </p> + <p> + Every one laughed, Carnac kissed the bride, and the Judge handed her the + marriage certificate duly signed. It was now Carnac’s duty to pay in the + usual way for the ceremony, and he handed the Judge ten dollars; and + Grimshaw rolled away towards the village, Ingot having also given him ten. + </p> + <p> + “That’s as good a piece of acting as I’ve ever seen,” said Larue with a + grin. “It beats Coquelin and Henry Irving.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t think there was much in it,” said Carnac, laughing, “though it + was real enough to cost me ten dollars. One has to pay for one’s fun. But + I got a wife cheap at the price, and I didn’t pay for the wedding ring.” + </p> + <p> + “No, the ring was mine,” said Larue. “I had it a long time. It was my + engagement ring, and I want it back now.” + </p> + <p> + Luzanne took it off her finger—it was much too large—and gave + it to him. “It’s easy enough to get another,” she said in a queer voice. + </p> + <p> + “You did the thing in style, young man,” said Ingot to Carnac with a nod. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll do it better when it’s the real thing,” said Carnac. “I’ve had my + rehearsal now, and it seemed almost real.” + </p> + <p> + “It was almost real,” said Ingot, with his head turned away from Carnac, + but he winked at Larue and caught a furtive look from Luzanne’s eye. + </p> + <p> + “I think we’d better have another hour hereabouts, then get back to New + York,” said Larue. “There’s a circus in the village—let us go to + that.” + </p> + <p> + At the village, they did the circus, called out praise to the clown, gave + the elephant some buns, and at five o’clock started back to New York. + Arrived at New York, they went to a hotel off Broadway for dinner, and + Carnac signed names in the hotel register as “Mr. and Mrs. Carnac Grier.” + When he did it, he saw a furtive glance pass from Luzanne’s eyes to her + father. It was disconcerting to him. Presently the two adjourned to the + sitting-room, and there he saw that the table was only laid for two. That + opened his eyes. The men had disappeared and he and Luzanne were alone. + She was sitting on a sofa near the table, showing to good advantage. She + was composed, while Carnac was embarrassed. Carnac began to take a grip on + himself. + </p> + <p> + The waiter entered. “When shall I serve dinner, sir?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Carnac realized that the dinner had been ordered by the two men, and he + said quietly: “Don’t serve it for a half-hour yet—not till I ring, + please. Make it ready then. There’s no hurry. It’s early.” + </p> + <p> + The waiter bowed and withdrew with a smile, and Carnac turned to Luzanne. + She smiled, got up, came over, laid a hand on his arm, and said: “It’s + quiet and nice here, Carnac dear,” and she looked up ravishingly in his + face. + </p> + <p> + “It’s too quiet and it’s not at all nice,” he suddenly replied. “Your + father and Ingot have gone. They’ve left us alone on purpose. This is a + dirty game and I’m not going to play it any longer. I’ve had enough of it. + I’ve had my fill. I’m going now. Come, let’s go together.” + </p> + <p> + She looked a bit smashed and overdone. “The dinner!” she said in + confusion. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll pay for that. We won’t wait any longer. Come on at once, please.” + </p> + <p> + She put on her things coolly, and he noticed a savage stealthiness as she + pushed the long pins through her hat and hair. He left the room. Outside + the hotel, Carnac held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good night and good-bye, Luzanne,” he said huskily. “You can get home + alone, can’t you?” + </p> + <p> + She laughed a little, then she said: “I guess so. I’ve lived in New York + some years. But you and I are married, Carnac, and you ought to take me to + your home.” + </p> + <p> + There was something devilish in her smile now. Then the whole truth burst + upon Carnac. “Married—married! When did I marry you? Good God!” + </p> + <p> + “You married me this afternoon after lunch at Shipton. I have the + certificate and I mean to hold you to it.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to hold me to it—a real marriage to-day at Shipton! You + and your father and Ingot tricked me into this.” + </p> + <p> + “He was a real Judge, and it was a real marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a fraud, and I’ll unmask it,” Carnac declared in anger. + </p> + <p> + “It would be difficult to prove. You signed our names in the hotel + register as Mr. and Mrs. Carnac Grier. I mean to stick to that name—Mrs. + Carnac Grier. I’ll make you a good wife, Carnac—do believe it. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll believe nothing but the worst of you ever. I’ll fight the thing out, + by God!” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head and smiled. “I meant you to marry me, when you saved my + life from the streetcar. I never saw but one man I wanted to marry, and + you are that man, Carnac. You wouldn’t ask me, so I made you marry me. You + could go farther and fare worse. Come, take me home—take me home, my + love. I want you to love me.” + </p> + <p> + “You little devil!” Carnac declared. “I’d rather cut my own throat. I’m + going to have a divorce. I’m going to teach you and the others a lesson + you won’t forget.” + </p> + <p> + “There isn’t a jury in the United States you could convince after what + you’ve done. You’ve made it impossible. Go to Judge Grimshaw and see what + he will say. Go and ask the hotel people and see what they will say. + You’re my husband, and I mean you shall live with me, and I’ll love you + better than any woman on earth can love you.... Won’t you?” She held out + her hand. + </p> + <p> + With an angry exclamation, Carnac refused it, and then she suddenly turned + on her heel, slipped round a corner and was gone. + </p> + <p> + Carnac was dumbfounded. He did not know what to do. He went dazedly home, + and slept little that night. The next day he went out to Shipton and saw + Judge Grimshaw and told him the whole tale. The Judge shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “It’s too tall a story. Why, you went through the ceremony as if it was + the real thing, signed the papers, paid my fee, and kissed the bride. You + could not get a divorce on such evidence. I’m sorry for you, if you don’t + want the girl. She’s very nice, and ‘d make a good wife. What does she + mean to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. She left me in the street and went back to her home. I + won’t live with her.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t help you anyhow. She has the certificate. You are validly + married. If I were you, I’d let the matter stand.” + </p> + <p> + So they parted, and Carnac sullenly went back to his apartments. The next + day he went to see a lawyer, however. The lawyer opened his eyes at the + story. He had never heard anything like it. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t sound as if you were sober when you did it. Were you, sir? It + was a mad prank, anyhow!” + </p> + <p> + “I had been drinking, but I wasn’t drunk. I’d been telling them stories + and they used them as a means of tempting me to act in the absurd marriage + ceremony. Like a fool I consented. Like a fool—but I wasn’t drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but when you were in your right mind and sober you signed your names + as Mr. and Mrs. Carnac Grier in the register of a hotel. I will try to win + your case for you, but it won’t be easy work. You see the Judge himself + told you the same thing. But it would be a triumph to expose a thing of + that kind, and I’d like to do it. It wouldn’t be cheap, though. You’d have + to foot the bill. Are you rich?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but my people are,” said Carnac. “I could manage the cash, but + suppose I lost!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you’d have to support the woman. She could sue you for cruelty and + desertion, and the damages would be heavy.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac shook his head, paid his fee and left the office. + </p> + <p> + He did not go near Luzanne. After a month he went to Paris for eight + months, and then back to Montreal. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. CARNAC’S RETURN + </h2> + <p> + Arrived in Montreal, there were attempts by Carnac to settle down to + ordinary life of quiet work at his art, but it was not effective, nor had + it been in Paris, though the excitement of working in the great centre had + stimulated him. He ever kept saying to himself, “Carnac, you are a married + man—a married man, by the tricks of rogues!” In Paris, he could more + easily obscure it, but in Montreal, a few hundred miles from the place of + his tragedy, pessimism seized him. He now repented he did not fight it out + at once. It would have been courageous and perhaps successful. But whether + successful or not, he would have put himself right with his own + conscience. That was the chief thing. He was straightforward, and back + again in Canada, Carnac flung reproaches at himself. + </p> + <p> + He knew himself now to be in love with Junia Shale, and because he was + married he could not approach her. It galled him. He was not fond of + Fabian, for they had little in common, and he had no intimate friends. + Only his mother was always sympathetic to him, and he loved her. He saw + much of her, but little of anyone else. He belonged to no clubs, and there + were few artists in Montreal. So he lived his own life, and when he met + Junia he cavilled at himself for his madness with Luzanne. The curious + thing was he had not had a word from her since the day of the mock + marriage. Perhaps she had decided to abandon the thing! But that could do + no good, for there was the marriage recorded in the registers of New York + State. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, things were not going well with others. There befell a day when + matters came to a crisis in the Grier family. Since Fabian’s marriage with + Junia Shale’s sister, Sybil, he had become discontented with his position + in his father’s firm. There was little love between him and his father, + and that was chiefly the father’s fault. One day, the old man stormed at + Fabian because of a mistake in the management, and was foolish enough to + say that Fabian had lost his grip since his marriage. + </p> + <p> + Fabian, enraged, demanded freedom from the partnership, and offered to + sell his share. In a fit of anger, the old man offered him what was at + least ten per cent more than the value of Fabian’s share. The sombre + Fabian had the offer transferred to paper at once, and it was signed by + his father—not without compunction, because difficult as Fabian was + he might go further and fare worse. As for Fabian’s dark-haired, + brown-faced, brown-eyed wife, to John Grier’s mind, it seemed a good thing + to be rid of her. + </p> + <p> + When Fabian left the father alone in his office, however, the stark temper + of the old man broke down. He had had enough. He muttered to himself. + Presently he was roused by a little knock at the door. It was Junia, + brilliant, buoyant, yellow haired, with bright brown eyes, tingling + cheeks, and white laughing teeth that showed against her red lips. She + held up a finger at him. + </p> + <p> + “I know what you’ve done, and it’s no good at all. You can’t live without + us, and you mustn’t,” she said. The old man glowered still, but a + reflective smile crawled to his lips. “No, it’s finished,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “It had to come, and it’s done. It can’t be changed. Fabian wouldn’t alter + it, and I shan’t.” + </p> + <p> + His face was stern and dour. He tangled his short fingers in the hair on + top of his head. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t say that, if I were you,” she responded cheerily. “Fabian + showed me the sum you offered for his share. It’s ridiculous. The business + isn’t worth it.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about the business?” remarked the other. + </p> + <p> + “Well, whatever it was worth an hour ago, it’s worth less now,” she + answered with suggestion. “It’s worth much less now,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that?” he asked sharply, sitting upright, his hands + clasping his knees almost violently, his clean-shaven face showing lines + of trouble. + </p> + <p> + “I mean he’s going to join the enemy,” she answered quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Join the enemy!” broke from the old man’s lips with a startled accent. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the firm of Belloc.” + </p> + <p> + The old man did not speak, but a curious whiteness stole over his face. + “What makes you say that!” he exclaimed, anger in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Fabian has to put money into something,” she answered, “and the + only business he knows is lumber business. Don’t you think it’s natural he + should go to Belloc?” + </p> + <p> + “Did he ever say so?” asked the old man with savage sullenness. “Tell me. + Did he ever say so?” + </p> + <p> + The girl shook back her brave head with a laugh. “Of course he never said + so, but I know the way he’ll go.” + </p> + <p> + The old man shook his head. “I don’t believe it. He’s got no love for + Belloc.” + </p> + <p> + The girl felt like saying, “He’s got no love for you,” but she refrained. + She knew that Fabian had love for his father, but he had inherited a love + for business, and that would overwhelm all other feelings. She therefore + said: “Why don’t you get Carnac to come in? He’s got more sense than + Fabian—and he isn’t married!” + </p> + <p> + She spoke boldly, for she knew the character of the man. She was only + nineteen. She had always come in and gone out of Grier’s house and office + freely and much more since her sister had married Fabian. + </p> + <p> + A storm gathered between the old man’s eyes; his brow knitted. “Carnac’s + got brains enough, but he goes monkeying about with pictures and statues + till he’s worth naught in the business of life.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you understand him,” the girl replied. “I’ve been trying to + understand him for twenty-five years,” the other said malevolently. “He + might have been a big man. He might have bossed this business when I’m + gone. It’s in him, but he’s a fly-away—he’s got no sense. The ideas + he’s got make me sick. He talks like a damn fool sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he’s a ‘damn fool’—is it strange?” She gaily tossed a kiss + at the king of the lumber world. “The difference between you and him is + this: he doesn’t care about the things of this world, and you do; but he’s + one of the ablest men in Canada. If Fabian won’t come back, why not + Carnac?” + </p> + <p> + “We’ve never hit it off.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he stood up, his face flushed, his hands outthrust themselves in + rage, his fingers opened and shut in abandonment of temper. + </p> + <p> + “Why have I two such sons!” he exclaimed. “I’ve not been bad. I’ve + squeezed a few; I’ve struck here and there; I’ve mauled my enemies, but + I’ve been good to my own. Why can’t I run square with my own family?” He + was purple to the roots of his hair. + </p> + <p> + Savagery possessed him. Life was testing him to the nth degree. “I’ve been + a good father, and a good husband! Why am I treated like this?” + </p> + <p> + She watched him silently. Presently, however, the storm seemed to pass. He + appeared to gain control of himself. + </p> + <p> + “You want me to have in Carnac?” he asked, with a little fleck of foam at + the corners of his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “If you could have Fabian back,” she remarked, “but you can’t! It’s been + coming for a long time. He’s got your I.O.U. and he won’t return; but + Carnac’s got plenty of stuff in him. He never was afraid of anything or + anybody, and if he took a notion, he could do this business as well as + yourself by and by. It’s all a chance, but if he comes in he’ll put + everything else aside.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” the old man asked. “He’s with his mother at your home.” + </p> + <p> + The old man took his hat from the window-sill. At that moment a clerk + appeared with some papers. “What have you got there?” asked Grier sharply. + “The Belloc account for the trouble on the river,” answered the clerk. + </p> + <p> + “Give it me,” Grier said, and he waved the clerk away. Then he glanced at + the account, and a grim smile passed over his face. “They can’t have all + they want, and they won’t get it. Are you coming with me?” he asked of the + girl, with a set look in his eyes. “No. I’m going back to my sister,” she + answered. + </p> + <p> + “If he leaves me—if he joins Belloc!” the old man muttered, and + again his face flushed. + </p> + <p> + A few moments afterwards the girl watched him till he disappeared up the + hill. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe Carnac will do it,” she said to herself. “He’s got the + sense, the brains, and the energy; but he won’t do it.” + </p> + <p> + She heard a voice behind her, and turned. It was the deformed but potent + Denzil. He was greyer now. His head, a little to one side, seemed sunk in + his square shoulders, but his eyes were bright. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all a bad scrape—that about Fabian Grier,” he said. “You can’t + ever tell about such things, how they’ll go—but no, bagosh!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE HOUSE ON THE HILL + </h2> + <p> + John Grier’s house had a porch with Corinthian pillars. Its elevation was + noble, but it was rather crudely built, and it needed its grove of maples + to make it pleasant to the eye. It was large but not too ample, and it had + certain rooms with distinct character. + </p> + <p> + Inside the house, John Grier paused a moment before the door of the + sitting-room where his wife usually sat. All was silent. He opened the + door. A woman rose to meet him. She was dressed in black. Her dark hair, + slightly streaked with grey, gave her distinction. Her eyes had soft + understanding; her lips had a reflective smile. There was, however, + uneasiness in her face; her fingers slightly trembled on the linen she was + holding. + </p> + <p> + “You’re home early, John,” she said in a gentle, reserved voice. + </p> + <p> + He twisted a shoulder. “Yes, I’m home early,” he snapped. “Your boy Fabian + has left the business, and I’ve bought his share.” He named the sum. + “Ghastly, ain’t it? But he’s gone, and there’s no more about it. It’s a + bad thing to marry a woman that can’t play fair.” + </p> + <p> + He noted the excessive paleness of his wife’s face; the bright eyes stared + and stared, and the lips trembled. “Fabian—Fabian gone!” she said + brokenly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and he ain’t coming back.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s he going to do?” she asked in a bitter voice. + </p> + <p> + “Join Belloc—fight his own father—try to do me in the race,” + growled the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Who told you that?” + </p> + <p> + “Junia, she told me.” + </p> + <p> + “What does she know about it? Who told her that?” asked the woman with + faded lips. + </p> + <p> + “She always had sense, that child. I wish she was a man.” + </p> + <p> + He suddenly ground his heel, and there was distemper in face and voice; + his shoulders hunched; his hands were thrust down in his pockets. He + wheeled on her. “Where’s your other boy? Where’s Carnac?” + </p> + <p> + The woman pointed to the lawn. “He’s catching a bit of the city from the + hill just beyond the pear-tree.” + </p> + <p> + “Painting, eh? I heard he was here. I want to talk to him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it will do any good,” was the sad reply. “He doesn’t think + as you do.” + </p> + <p> + “You believe he’s a genius,” snarled the other. + </p> + <p> + “You know he is.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go and find him.” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. “I wish you luck,” she said, but there was no conviction in + her tone. Truth was, she did not wish him luck in this. She watched him + leave by the French window and stride across the lawn. A strange, troubled + expression was in her face. + </p> + <p> + “They can’t pull it off together,” she said to herself, and Carnac is too + full of independence. He wants nothing from anybody. He needs no one; he + follows no one—except me. Yes, he follows—he loves me. + </p> + <p> + She watched her husband till he almost viciously thrust aside the bushes + staying his progress, and broke into the space by the pear-tree where + Carnac sat with palette and brush, gazing at the distant roofs on which + the sun was leaving its last kiss. + </p> + <p> + Carnac got to his feet with a smile, and with a courage in his eye equal + to that which had ever been in his father’s face—in the face of John + Grier. It was strange that the other’s presence troubled him, that even as + a small child, to be in the same room for any length of time vexed him. + Much of that had passed away. The independence of the life he lived, the + freedom from resting upon the financial will of the lumber king had given + him light, air and confidence. He loved his mother. What he felt for John + Grier was respect and admiration. He knew he was not spoken to now with + any indolent purpose. + </p> + <p> + They had seen little of each other of late years. His mother had given him + the money to go to New York and Paris, which helped out his own limited + income. He wondered what should bring his father to him now. There was + interested reflection in his eye. With his habit of visualization, he saw + behind John Grier, as he came on now, the long procession of logs and + timbers which had made his fortune, stretch back on the broad St. + Lawrence, from the Mattawan to the Madawaska, from the Richelieu to the + Marmora. Yet, what was it John Grier had done? In a narrow field he had + organized his life perfectly, had developed his opportunities, had + safeguarded his every move. The smiling inquiry in his face was answered + by the old man saying abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Fabian’s gone. He’s deserted the ship.” + </p> + <p> + The young man had the wish to say in reply, “At last, eh!” but he avoided + it. + </p> + <p> + “Where has he gone?” + </p> + <p> + “I bought him out to-day, and I hear he’s going to join Belloc.” + </p> + <p> + “Belloc! Belloc! Who told you that?” asked the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Junia Shale—she told me.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac laughed. “She knows a lot, but how did she know that?” + </p> + <p> + “Sheer instinct, and I believe she’s right.” + </p> + <p> + “Right—right—to fight you, his own father!” was the + inflammable reply. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that would be a lowdown business!” + </p> + <p> + “Would it be lower down than your not helping your father, when you can?” + </p> + <p> + Somehow he yearned over his wayward, fantastic son. The wilful, splendid + character of the youth overcame the insistence in the other’s nature. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be getting on all right,” remarked Carnac with the faint + brown moustache, the fine, showy teeth, the clean-shaven cheeks, and + auburn hair hanging loosely down. + </p> + <p> + “You’re wrong. Things aren’t doing as well with me as they might. Belloc + and the others make difficult going. I’ve got too much to do myself. I + want help.” + </p> + <p> + “You had it in Fabian,” remarked Carnac dryly. “Well, I’ve lost it, and it + never was enough. He hadn’t vision, sense and decision.” + </p> + <p> + “And so you come to me, eh? I always thought you despised me,” said + Carnac. + </p> + <p> + A half-tender, half-repellent expression came into the old man’s face. He + spoke bluntly. “I always thought you had three times the brains of your + brother. You’re not like me, and you’re not like your mother; there’s + something in you that means vision, and seeing things, and doing them. If + fifteen thousand dollars a year and a share in the business is any good to + you—” + </p> + <p> + For an instant there had been pleasure and wonder in the young man’s eyes, + but at the sound of the money and the share in the business he shrank + back. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think so, father. I’m happy enough. I’ve got all I want.” + </p> + <p> + “What the devil are you talking about!” the other burst out. “You’ve got + all you want! You’ve no home; you’ve no wife; you’ve no children; you’ve + no place. You paint, and you sculp, and what’s the good of it all? Have + you ever thought of that? What’s there in it for you or anyone else? Have + you no blood and bones, no sting of life in you? Look what I’ve done. I + started with little, and I’ve built up a business that, if it goes all + right, will be worth millions. I say, if it goes all right, because I’ve + got to carry more than I ought.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac shook his head. “I couldn’t be any help to you. I’m not a man of + action. I think, I devise, but I don’t act. I’d be no good in your + business no, honestly, I’d be no good. I don’t think money is the end of + life. I don’t think success is compensation for all you’ve done and still + must do. I want to stand out of it. You’ve had your life; you’ve lived it + where you wanted to live it. I haven’t, and I’m trying to find out where + my duty and my labour lies. It is Art; no doubt. I don’t know for sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” broke in the old man. “You don’t know for sure—you’re + twenty-five years old, and you don’t know where you’re going!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know where I’m going—to Heaven by and by!” This was his + satirical reply. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, fasten down; get hold of something that matters. Now, listen to me. I + want you to do one thing—the thing I ought to do and can’t. I must + stay here now that Fabian’s gone. I want you to go to the Madawaska + River.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I won’t go to the Madawaska,” replied Carnac after a long pause, + “but”—with sudden resolution—“if it’s any good to you, I’ll + stay here in the business, and you can go to the Madawaska. Show me what + to do here; tell me how to do it, and I’ll try to help you out for a while—if + it can be done,” he added hastily. “You go, but I’ll stay. Let’s talk it + over at supper.” + </p> + <p> + He sighed, and turned and gazed warmly at the sunset on the roofs of the + city; then turned to his father’s face, but it was not the same look in + his eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. CARNAC AS MANAGER + </h2> + <p> + Carnac was installed in the office, and John Grier went to the Madawaska. + Before he left, however, he was with Carnac for near a week, showing the + procedure and the main questions that might arise to be solved. + </p> + <p> + “It’s like this,” said Grier in their last talk, “you’ve got to keep a + stiff hand over the foremen and overseers, and have strict watch of Belloc + & Co. Perhaps there will be trouble when I’ve gone, but, if it does, + keep a stiff upper lip, and don’t let the gang do you. You’ve got a quick + mind and you know how to act sudden. Act at once, and damn the + consequences! Remember, John Grier’s firm has a reputation, and deal + justly, but firmly, with opposition. The way it’s organized, the business + almost runs itself. But that’s only when the man at the head keeps his + finger on the piston-rod. You savvy, don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “I savvy all right. If the Belloc firm cuts up rusty, I’ll think of what + you’d do and try to do it in the same way.” + </p> + <p> + The old man smiled. He liked the spirit in Carnac. It was the right kind + for his business. “I predict this: if you have one fight with the Belloc + lot, you’ll hate them too. Keep the flag flying. Don’t get rattled. It’s a + big job, and it’s worth doing in a big way. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s a big job,” said Carnac. “I hope I’ll pull it off.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll pull it off, if you bend your mind to it. But there won’t be any + time for your little pictures and statues. You’ll have to deal with the + real men, and they’ll lose their glamour. That’s the thing about business—it’s + death to sentimentality.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac flushed with indignation. “So you think Titian and Velasquez and + Goyot and El Greco and Watteau and Van Dyck and Rembrandt and all the rest + were sentimentalists, do you? The biggest men in the world worship them. + You aren’t just to the greatest intellects. I suppose Shakespeare was a + sentimentalist!” + </p> + <p> + The old man laughed and tapped his son on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t get excited, Carnac. I’d rather you ran my business well, than be + Titian or Rembrandt, whoever they were. If you do this job well, I’ll + think there’s a good chance of our working together.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac nodded, but the thought that he could not paint or sculp when he + was on this work vexed him, and he only set his teeth to see it through. + “All right, we’ll see,” he said, and his father went away. + </p> + <p> + Then Carnac’s time of work and trial began. He was familiar with the + routine of the business, he had adaptability, he was a quick worker, and + for a fortnight things went swimmingly. There was elation in doing work + not his regular job, and he knew the eyes of the commercial and river + world were on him. He did his best and it was an effective best. Junia had + been in the City of Quebec, but she came back at the end of a fortnight, + and went to his office to get a subscription for a local charity. She had + a gift in this kind of work. + </p> + <p> + It was a sunny day in the month of June, and as she entered the office a + new spirit seemed to enter with her. + </p> + <p> + The place became distinguished. She stood in the doorway for a moment, + radiant, smiling, half embarrassed, then she said: “Please may I for a + moment, Carnac?” + </p> + <p> + Carnac was delighted. “For many moments, Junia.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not as busy as usual. I’m glad as glad to see you.” + </p> + <p> + She said with restraint: “Not for many moments. I’m here on business. It’s + important. I wanted to get a subscription from John Grier for the Sailors’ + Hospital which is in a bad way. Will you give something for him?” + </p> + <p> + Carnac looked at the subscription list. “I see you’ve been to Belloc first + and they’ve given a hundred dollars. Was that wise-going to them first? + You know how my father feels about Belloc. And we’re the older firm.” + </p> + <p> + The girl laughed. “Oh, that’s silly! Belloc’s money is as good as John + Grier’s, and it only happened he was asked first because Fabian was + present when I took the list, and it’s Fabian’s writing on the paper + there.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac nodded. “That’s all right with me, for I’m no foe to Belloc, but my + father wouldn’t have liked it. He wouldn’t have given anything in the + circumstances.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, he would! He’s got sense with all his prejudices. I’ll tell you + what he’d have done: he’d have given a bigger subscription than Belloc.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac laughed. “Well, perhaps you’re right; it was clever planning it + so.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t plan it. It was accident, but I had to consider everything and I + saw how to turn it to account. So, if you are going to give a subscription + for John Grier you must do as he would do.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac smiled, put the paper on his desk, and took the pen. + </p> + <p> + “Make it measure the hate John Grier has to the Belloc firm,” she said + ironically. + </p> + <p> + Carnac chuckled and wrote. “Will that do?” He handed her the paper. + </p> + <p> + “One hundred and fifty dollars—oh, quite, quite good!” she said. + “But it’s only a half hatred after all. I’d have made it a whole one.” + </p> + <p> + “You’d have expected John Grier to give two hundred, eh? But that would + have been too plain. It looks all right now, and it must go at that.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled. “Well, it’ll go at that. You’re a good business man. I see + you’ve given up your painting and sculping to do this! It will please your + father, but are you satisfied?” + </p> + <p> + “Satisfied—of course, I’m not; and you know it. I’m not a + money-grabber. I’m an artist if I’m anything, and I’m not doing this + permanently. I’m only helping my father while he’s in a hole.” + </p> + <p> + The girl suddenly grew serious. “You mean you’re not going to stick to the + business, and take Fabian’s place in it? He’s been for a week with Belloc + and he’s never coming back here. You have the brains for it; and you could + make your father happy and inherit his fortune—all of it.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac flushed indignantly. “I suppose I could, but it isn’t big enough + for me. I’d rather do one picture that the Luxembourg or the London + National Gallery would buy than own this whole business. That’s the turn + of my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but if you didn’t sell a picture to the Luxembourg or the National + Gallery. What then?” + </p> + <p> + “I’d have a good try for it, that’s all. Do you want me to give up Art and + take to commerce? Is that your view?” + </p> + <p> + “I suggested to John Grier the day that Fabian sold his share that you + might take his place; and I still think it a good thing, though, of + course, I like your painting. But I felt sorry for your father with none + of his own family to help him; and I thought you might stay with him for + your family’s sake.” + </p> + <p> + “You thought I’d be a martyr for love of John Grier—and cold cash, + did you? That isn’t the way the blood runs in my veins. I think John Grier + might get out of the business now, if he’s tired, and sell it and let some + one else run it. John Grier is not in want. If he were, I’d give up + everything to help him, and I’d not think I was a martyr. But I’ve a right + to make my own career. It’s making the career one likes which gets one in + the marrow. I’d take my chances of success as he did. He has enough to + live on, he’s had success; let him get down and out, if he’s tired.” + </p> + <p> + The girl held herself firmly. “Remember John Grier has made a great name + for himself—as great in his way as Andrew Carnegie or Pierpont + Morgan—and he’s got pride in his name. He wants his son to carry it + on, and in a way he’s right.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s good argument,” said Carnac, “but if his name isn’t strong enough + to carry itself, his son can’t carry it for him. That’s the way of life. + How many sons have ever added to their father’s fame? The instances are + very few. In the modern world, I can only think of the Pitts in England. + There’s no one else.” + </p> + <p> + The girl now smiled again. The best part in her was stirred. She saw. Her + mind changed. After a moment she said: “I think you’re altogether right + about it. Carnac, you have your own career to make, so make it as it best + suits yourself. I’m sorry I spoke to your father as I did. I pitied him, + and I thought you’d find scope for your talents in the business. It’s a + big game, but I see now it isn’t yours, Carnac.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded, smiling. “That’s it; that’s it, I hate the whole thing.” + </p> + <p> + She shook hands. As his hand enclosed her long slim fingers, he felt he + wished never to let them go, they were so thrilling; but he did, for the + thought of Luzanne came to his mind. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Junia, and don’t forget that John Grier’s firm is the foe of + the Belloc business,” he said satirically. + </p> + <p> + She laughed, and went down the hill quickly, and as she went Carnac + thought he had never seen so graceful a figure. + </p> + <p> + “What an evil Fate sent Luzanne my way!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Two days later there came an ugly incident on the river. There was a + collision between a gang of John Grier’s and Belloc’s men and one of + Grier’s men was killed. At the inquest, it was found that the man met his + death by his own fault, having first attacked a Belloc man and injured + him. The Belloc man showed the injury to the jury, and he was acquitted. + Carnac watched the case closely, and instructed his lawyer to contend that + the general attack was first made by Belloc’s men, which was true; but the + jury decided that this did not affect the individual case, and that the + John Grier man met his death by his own fault. + </p> + <p> + “A shocking verdict!” he said aloud in the Court when it was given. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said the Coroner, “it is the verdict of men who use their judgment + after hearing the evidence, and your remark is offensive and criminal.” + </p> + <p> + “If it is criminal, I apologize,” said Carnac. + </p> + <p> + “You must apologize for its offensiveness, or you will be arrested, sir.” + </p> + <p> + This nettled Carnac. “I will not apologize for its offensiveness,” he said + firmly. + </p> + <p> + “Constable, arrest this man,” said the Coroner, and the constable did so. + </p> + <p> + “May I be released on bail?” asked Carnac with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “I am a magistrate. Yes, you may be released on bail,” said the Coroner. + </p> + <p> + Carnac bowed, and at once a neighbour became security for three thousand + dollars. Then Carnac bowed again and left the Court with—it was + plain—the goodwill of most people present. + </p> + <p> + Carnac returned to his office with angry feelings at his heart. The Belloc + man ought to have been arrested for manslaughter, he thought. In any case, + he had upheld the honour of John Grier’s firm by his protest, and the + newspapers spoke not unfavourably of him in their reports. They said he + was a man of courage to say what he did, though it was improper, from a + legal standpoint. But human nature was human nature! + </p> + <p> + The trial took place in five days, and Carnac was fined twenty-five cents, + which was in effect a verdict of not guilty; and so the newspapers said. + It was decided that the offence was only legally improper, and it was + natural that Carnac expressed himself strongly. + </p> + <p> + Junia was present at the trial. After it was over, she saw Carnac for a + moment. “I think your firm can just pay the price and exist!” she said. + “It’s a terrible sum, and it shows how great a criminal you are!” + </p> + <p> + “Not a ‘thirty-cent’ criminal, anyhow,” said Carnac. “It is a moral + victory, and tell Fabian so. He’s a bit huffy because I got into the + trouble, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he loathed it all. He’s sorry it occurred.” + </p> + <p> + There was no further talk between them, for a subordinate of Carnac’s came + hurriedly to him and said something which Junia did not hear. Carnac + raised his hat to her, and hurried away. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s not so easy as painting pictures,” she said. “He gets fussed + over these things.” + </p> + <p> + It was later announced by the manager of the main mill that there was to + be a meeting of workers to agitate for a strike for higher pay. A + French-Canadian who had worked in the mills of Maine and who was a red-hot + socialist was the cause of it. He had only been in the mills for about + three months and had spent his spare time inciting well-satisfied workmen + to strike. His name was Luc Baste—a shock-haired criminal with a + huge chest and a big voice, and a born filibuster. The meeting was held + and a deputation was appointed to wait on Carnac at his office. Word was + sent to Carnac, and he said he would see them after the work was done for + the day. So in the evening about seven o’clock the deputation of six men + came, headed by Luc Baste. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it?” Carnac asked calmly. + </p> + <p> + Luc Baste began, not a statement of facts, but an oration on the rights of + workers, their downtrodden condition and their beggarly wages. He said + they had not enough to keep body and soul together, and that right well + did their employers know it. He said there should be an increase of a + half-dollar a day, or there would be a strike. + </p> + <p> + Carnac dealt with the matter quickly and quietly. He said Luc Baste had + not been among them a long time and evidently did not know what was the + cost of living in Montreal. He said the men got good wages, and in any + case it was not for him to settle a thing of such importance. This was for + the head of the firm, John Grier, when he returned. The wages had been + raised two years before, and he doubted that John Grier would consent to a + further rise. All other men on the river seemed satisfied and he doubted + these ought to have a cent more a day. They were getting the full value of + the work. He begged all present to think twice before they brought about + catastrophe. It would be a catastrophe if John Grier’s mills should stop + working and Belloc’s mills should go on as before. It was not like Grier’s + men to do this sort of thing. + </p> + <p> + The men seemed impressed, and, presently, after one of them thanking him, + the deputation withdrew, Luc Baste talking excitedly as they went. The + manager of the main mill, with grave face, said: + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Grier, I don’t think they’ll be satisfied. You said all that + could be said, but I think they’ll strike after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope it won’t occur before John Grier gets back,” said Carnac. + </p> + <p> + That night a strike was declared. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately, only about two-thirds of the men came out, and it could not + be called a complete success. The Belloc people were delighted, but they + lived in daily fear of a strike in their own yards, for agitators were + busy amongst their workmen. But the workers waited to see what would + happen to Grier’s men. + </p> + <p> + Carnac declined to reconsider. The wages were sufficient and the strike + unwarranted! He kept cool, even good-natured, and with only one-third of + his men at work, he kept things going, and the business went on with + regularity, if with smaller output. The Press unanimously supported him, + for it was felt the strike had its origin in foreign influence, and as + French Canada had no love for the United States there was journalistic + opposition to the strike. Carnac had telegraphed to his father when the + strike started, but did not urge him to come back. He knew that Grier + could do nothing more than he himself was doing, and he dreaded new + influence over the strikers. Grier happened to be in the backwoods and did + not get word for nearly a week; then he wired asking Carnac what the + present situation was. Carnac replied he was standing firm, that he would + not yield a cent increase in wages, and that, so far, all was quiet. + </p> + <p> + It happened, however, that on the day he wired, the strikers tried to + prevent the non-strikers from going to work and there was a collision. The + police and a local company of volunteers intervened and then the Press + condemned unsparingly the whole affair. This outbreak did good, and Luc + Baste was arrested for provoking disorder. No one else was arrested, and + this was a good thing, for, on the whole, even the men that followed Luc + did not trust him. His arrest cleared the air and the strike broke. The + next day, all the strikers returned, but Carnac refused their wages for + the time they were on strike, and he had triumphed. + </p> + <p> + On that very day John Grier started back to Montreal. He arrived in about + four days, and when he came, found everything in order. He went straight + from his home to the mill and there found Carnac in control. + </p> + <p> + “Had trouble, eh, Carnac?” he asked with a grin, after a moment of + greeting. Carnac shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the first strike I ever had in my mills, and I hope it will be the + last. I don’t believe in knuckling down to labour tyranny, and I’m glad + you kept your hand steady. There’ll be no more strikes in my mills—I’ll + see to that!” + </p> + <p> + “They’ve only just begun, and they’ll go on, father. It’s the influence of + Canucs who have gone to the factories of Maine. They get bitten there with + the socialistic craze, and they come back and make trouble. This strike + was started by Luc Baste, a French-Canadian, who had been in Maine. You + can’t stop these things by saying so. There was no strike among Belloc’s + men!” + </p> + <p> + “No, but did you have no trouble with Belloc’s men?” + </p> + <p> + Carnac told him of the death of the Grier man after the collision, of his + own arrest and fine of twenty-five cents and of the attitude of the public + and the Press. The old man was jubilant. “Say, you did the thing in style. + It was the only way to do it. You landed ‘em with the protest fair and + easy. You’re going to be a success in the business, I can see that.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac for a moment looked at his father meditatively. Then, seeing the + surprise in John Grier’s face, he said: “No, I’m not going to be a success + in it, for I’m not going on with it. I’ve had enough. I’m through.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve had enough—you’re through—just when you’ve proved you + can do things as well as I can do them! You ain’t going on! Great + Jehoshaphat!” + </p> + <p> + “I mean it; I’m not going on. I’m going to quit in another month. I can’t + stick it. It galls me. It ain’t my job. I do it, but it’s artificial, it + ain’t the real thing. My heart isn’t in it as yours is, and I’d go mad if + I had to do this all my life. It’s full of excitement at times, it’s hard + work, it’s stimulating when you’re fighting, but other times it’s deadly + dull and bores me stiff. I feel as though I were pulling a train of cars.” + </p> + <p> + Slowly the old man’s face reddened with anger. “It bores you stiff, eh? + It’s deadly dull at times! There’s only interest in it when there’s a + fight on, eh? You’re right; you’re not fit for the job, never was and + never will be while your mind is what it is. Don’t take a month to go, + don’t take a week, or a day, go this morning after I’ve got your report on + what’s been done. It ain’t the real thing, eh? No, it ain’t. It’s no place + for you. Tell me all there is to tell, and get out; I’ve had enough too, + I’ve had my fill. ‘It bores me stiff’!” + </p> + <p> + John Grier was in a rage, and he would listen to no explanation. “Come + now, out with your report.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac was not upset. He kept cool. “No need to be so crusty,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. LUKE TARBOE HAS AN OFFER + </h2> + <p> + Many a man behind his horses’ tails on the countryside has watched the + wild reckless life of the water with wonder and admiration. He sees a + cluster of logs gather and climb, and still gather and climb, and between + him and that cluster is a rolling waste of timber, round and square. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, a being with a red shirt, with loose prairie kind of hat, + knee-boots, having metal clamps, strikes out from the shore, running on + the tops of the moving logs till he reaches the jam. Then the pike-pole, + or the lever, reaches the heart of the difficulty, and presently the jam + breaks, and the logs go tumbling into the main, while the vicious-looking + berserker of the water runs back to the shore over the logs, safe and + sound. It is a marvel to the spectator, that men should manipulate the + river so. To him it is a life apart; not belonging to the life he lives-a + passing show. + </p> + <p> + It was a stark surprise of the river which makes this story possible. + There was a strike at Bunder’s Boom—as it was called—between + Bunder and Grier’s men. Some foreman of Grier’s gang had been needlessly + offensive. Bunder had been stupidly resentful. When Grier’s men had tried + to force his hand also, he had resisted. It chanced that, when an impasse + seemed possible to be broken only by force, a telegram came to John Grier + at Montreal telling him of the difficulty. He lost no time in making his + way northwards. + </p> + <p> + But some one else had come upon the scene. It was Luke Tarboe. He had + arrived at a moment when the Belloc river crowd had almost wrecked + Bunder’s Boom, and when a collision between the two gangs seemed + inevitable. What he did remained a river legend. By good temper and + adroitness, he reconciled the leaders of the two gangs; he bought the + freedom of the river by a present to Bunder’s daughter; he won Bunder by + four bottles of “Three Star” brandy. When the police from a town a hundred + miles away arrived at the same time as John Grier, it was to find the + Grier and Belloc gangs peacefully prodding side by side. + </p> + <p> + When the police had gone, John Grier looked Tarboe up and down. The brown + face, the clear, strong brown eyes and the brown hatless head rose up + eighteen inches above his own, making a gallant summit to a robust stalk. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you’ve done easier things than that in your time, eh?” John Grier + asked. + </p> + <p> + Tarboe nodded. “It was touch and go. I guess it was the hardest thing I + ever tried since I’ve been working for you, but it’s come off all right, + hasn’t it?” He waved a hand to the workmen on the river, to the tumbling + rushes of logs and timber. Then he looked far up the stream, with hand + shading his brown eyes to where a crib-or raft-was following the eager + stream of logs. “It’s easy going now,” he added, and his face had a look + of pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “What’s your position, and what’s your name?” asked John Grier. + </p> + <p> + “I’m head-foreman of the Skunk Nest’s gang—that’s this lot, and I + got here—just in time! I don’t believe you could have done it, Mr. + Grier. No master is popular in the real sense with his men. I think they’d + have turned you down. So it was lucky I came.” + </p> + <p> + A faint smile hovered at his lips, and his eyes brooded upon the busy + gangs of men. “Yes, I’ve had a lot of luck this time. There’s nothing like + keeping your head cool and your belly free from drink.” Now he laughed + broadly. “By gosh, it’s all good! Do you know, Mr. Grier, I came out here + a wreck eight years ago. I left Montreal then with a spot in my lungs, + that would kill me, they said. I’ve never seen Montreal since, but I’ve + had a good time out in the woods, in the shanties in the winters; on the + rivers in the summer. I’ve only been as far East as this in eight years.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you do in the winter, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Shanties-shanties all the time. In the summer this; in the Fall taking + the men back to the shanties. Bossing the lot; doing it from love of the + life that’s been given back to me. Yes, this is the life that makes you + take things easy. You don’t get fussed out here. The job I had took a bit + of doing, but it was done, and I’m lucky to have my boss see the end of + it.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled benignly upon John Grier. He knew he was valuable to the Grier + organization; he knew that Grier had heard of him under another name. Now + Grier had seen him, and he felt he would like to tell John Grier some + things about the river he ought to know. He waved a hand declining the + cigar offered him by his great chief. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, I don’t smoke, and I don’t drink, and I don’t chew; but I eat—by + gosh, I eat! Nothing’s so good as good food, except good reading.” + </p> + <p> + “Good reading!” exclaimed John Grier. “Good reading—on the river!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s worked all right, and I read a lot. I get books from Montreal, + from the old library at the University.” + </p> + <p> + “At what University?” struck in the lumber-king. “Oh, Laval! I wouldn’t go + to McGill. I wanted to know French, so I went to Laval. There I came to + know Father Labasse. He was a great man, Father Labasse. He helped me. I + was there three years, and then was told I was going to die. It was + Labasse who gave me this tip. He said, ‘Go into the woods; put your teeth + into the trees; eat the wild herbs, and don’t come back till you feel + well.’ Well, I haven’t gone back, and I’m not going back.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you do with your wages?” asked the lumber-king. + </p> + <p> + “I bought land. I’ve got a farm of four hundred acres twenty miles from + here. I’ve got a man on it working it.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it pay?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. Do you suppose I’d keep a farm that didn’t pay?” + </p> + <p> + “Who runs it?” + </p> + <p> + “A man that broke his leg on the river. One of Belloc’s men. He knows all + about farming. He brought his wife and three children up, and there he is—making + money, and making the land good. I’ve made him a partner at last. When + it’s good enough by and by, I’ll probably go and live there myself. + Anybody ought to make farming a success, if there’s water and proper wood + and such things,” he added. + </p> + <p> + There was silence for a few moments. Then John Grier looked Tarboe up and + down sharply again, noting the splendid physique, the quizzical, + mirth-provoking eye, and said: “I can give you a better job if you’ll come + to Montreal.” + </p> + <p> + Tarboe shook his head. “Haven’t had a sick day for eight years; I’m as + hard as nails; I’m as strong as steel. I love this wild world of the woods + and fields and—” + </p> + <p> + “And the shebangs and grog-shops and the dirty, drunken villages?” + interrupted the old man. + </p> + <p> + “No, they don’t count. I take them in, but they don’t count.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t you have hard times when you first came?” asked John Grier. “Did + you get right with the men from the start?” + </p> + <p> + “A little bit of care is a good thing in any life. I told them good + stories, and they liked that. I used to make the stories up, and they + liked that also. When I added some swear words they liked them all the + better. I learned how to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’ve heard of you, but not as Tarboe.” + </p> + <p> + “You heard of me as Renton, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, as Renton. I wonder I never came across you till to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I kept out of your way; that was the reason. When you came north, I got + farther into the backwoods.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you absolutely straight, Tarboe?” asked John Grier eagerly. “Do you + do these things in the Garden of Eden way, or can you run a bit crooked + when it’s worth while?” + </p> + <p> + “If I’d ever seen it worth while, I’d say so. I could run a bit crooked if + I was fighting among the big ones, or if we were at war with—Belloc, + eh!” A cloud came into the eyes of Tarboe. “If I was fighting Belloc, and + he used a weapon to flay me from behind, I’d never turn my back on him!” + </p> + <p> + A grim smile came into Tarboe’s face. His jaw set almost viciously, his + eyes hardened. “You people don’t play your game very well, Mr. Grier. I’ve + seen a lot that wants changing.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you change it, then?” + </p> + <p> + Tarboe laughed. “If I was boss like you, I’d change it, but I’m not, and I + stick to my own job.” + </p> + <p> + The old man came close to him, and steadily explored his face and eyes. + “I’ve never met anybody like you before. You’re the man can do things and + won’t do them.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t say that. I said what I meant—that good health is better + than everything else in the world, and when you’ve got it, you should keep + it, if you can. I’m going to keep mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, keep it in Montreal,” said John Grier. “There’s a lot doing there + worth while. Is fighting worth anything to one that’s got aught in him? + There’s war for the big things. I believe in war.” He waved a hand. + “What’s the difference between the kind of thing you’ve done to-day, and + doing it with the Belloc gang—with the Folson gang—with the + Longville gang—and all the rest? It’s the same thing. I was like you + when I was young. I could do things you’ve done to-day while I laid the + base of what I’ve got. How old are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m thirty—almost thirty-one.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be just as well in Montreal to-morrow as you are here to-day, and + you’d be twice as clever,” said John Grier. His eyes seemed to pierce + those of the younger man. “I like you,” he continued, suddenly catching + Tarboe’s arm. “You’re all right, and you wouldn’t run straight simply + because it was the straight thing to do.” + </p> + <p> + Tarboe threw back his head and laughed and nodded. The old man’s eyes + twinkled. “By gracious, we’re well met! I never was in a bigger hole in my + life. One of my sons has left me. I bought him out, and he’s joined my + enemy Belloc.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” remarked Tarboe. + </p> + <p> + “My other son, he’s no good. He’s as strong as a horse—but he’s no + good. He paints, he sculps. He doesn’t care whether I give him money or + not. He earns his living as he wants to earn it. When Fabian left me, I + tried Carnac. I offered to take him in permanently. He tried it, but he + wouldn’t go on. He got out. He’s twenty-six. The papers are beginning to + talk about him. He doesn’t care for that, except that it brings in cash + for his statues and pictures. What’s the good of painting and statuary, if + you can’t do the big things?” + </p> + <p> + “So you think the things you do are as big as the things that Shakespeare, + or Tennyson, or Titian, or Van Dyck, or Watt, or Rodin do—or did?” + </p> + <p> + “Bigger-much bigger,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + The younger man smiled. “Well, that’s the way to look at it, I suppose. + Think the thing you do is better than what anybody else does, and you’re + well started.” + </p> + <p> + “Come and do it too. You’re the only man I’ve cottoned to in years. Come + with me, and I’ll give you twelve thousand dollars a year; and I’ll take + you into my business.—I’ll give you the best chance you ever had. + You’ve found your health; come back and keep it. Don’t you long for the + fight, for your finger at somebody’s neck? That’s what I felt when I was + your age, and I did it, and I’m doing it, but I can’t do it as I used to. + My veins are leaking somewhere.” A strange, sad, faded look came into his + eyes. “I don’t want my business to be broken by Belloc,” he added. “Come + and help me save it.” + </p> + <p> + “By gosh, I will!” said the young man after a moment, with a sudden thirst + in his throat and bite to his teeth. “By gum, yes, I’ll go with you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. “AT OUR PRICE?” + </h2> + <p> + West of the city of Montreal were the works and the offices of John Grier. + Here it was that a thing was done without which there might have been no + real story to tell. It was a night which marked the close of the financial + year of the firm. + </p> + <p> + Upon John Grier had come Carnac. He had brought with him a small statue of + a riverman with flannel shirt, scarf about the waist, thick defiant + trousers and well-weaponed boots. It was a real figure of the river, + buoyant, daring, almost vicious. The head was bare; there were plain gold + rings in the ears; and the stark, half-malevolent eyes looked out, as + though searching for a jam of logs or some peril of the river. In the + horny right hand was a defiant pike-pole, its handle thrust forward, its + steel spike stabbing the ground. + </p> + <p> + At first glance, Carnac saw that John Grier was getting worn and old. The + eyes were not so flashing as they once were; the lips were curled in a + half-cynical mood. The old look of activity was fading; something vital + had struck soul and body. He had had a great year. He had fought Belloc + and his son Fabian successfully; he had laid new plans and strengthened + his position. + </p> + <p> + Tarboe coming into the business had made all the difference to him. Tarboe + had imagination, skill and decision, he seldom lost his temper; he kept a + strong hand upon himself. His control of men was marvellous; his knowledge + of finance was instinctive; his capacity for organization was rare, and he + had health unbounded and serene. It was hard to tell what were the + principles controlling Tarboe—there was always an element of + suspicion in his brown and brilliant eyes. Yet he loved work. The wind of + energy seemed to blow through his careless hair. His hands were like iron + and steel; his lips were quick and friendly, or ruthless, as seemed + needed. To John Grier’s eyes he was the epitome of civilization—the + warrior without a soul. + </p> + <p> + When Carnac came in now with the statue tucked under his arm, smiling and + self-contained, it seemed as though something had been done by Fate to + flaunt John Grier. + </p> + <p> + With a nod, Carnac put the statue on the table in front of the old man, + and said: “It’s all right, isn’t it? I’ve lifted that out of the + river-life. That’s one of the best men you ever had, and he’s only one of + a thousand. He doesn’t belong anywhere. He’s a rover, an adventurer, a + wanton of the waters. Look at him. He’s all right, isn’t he?” He asked + this again. + </p> + <p> + The timber-man waved the statue aside, and looked at the youth with + critical eyes. “I’ve just been making up the accounts for the year,” he + said. “It’s been the best year I’ve had in seven. I’ve taken the starch + out of Belloc and Fabian. I’ve broken the back of their opposition—I’ve + got it like a twig in iron teeth.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Tarboe’s been some use, hasn’t he?” was the suggestive response. + </p> + <p> + John Grier’s eyes hardened. “You might have done it. You had it in you. + The staff of life—courage and daring—were yours, and you + wouldn’t take it on. What’s the result? I’ve got a man who’s worth two of + Fabian and Belloc. And you”—he held up a piece of paper—“see + that,” he broke off. “See that. It’s my record. That’s what I’m worth. + That’s what you might have handled!” He took a cigar from his pocket, cut + off the blunt end, and continued: “You threw your chance aside.” He tapped + the paper with the point of the cigar. “That’s what Tarboe has helped do. + What have you got to show?” He pointed to the statue. “I won’t say it + ain’t good. It’s a live man from the river. But what do I want with that, + when I can have the original man himself! My boy, the great game of life + is to fight hard, and never to give in. If you keep your eyes open, + things’ll happen that’ll bring what you want.” + </p> + <p> + He stood up, striking a match to light his cigar. It was dusk, and the + light of the match gave a curious, fantastic glimmer to his powerful, + weird, haggard face. He was like some remnant of a great life, loose in a + careless world. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you,” he said, the smoke leaking from his mouth like a drift of + snow, “the only thing worth doing is making the things that matter in the + commerce and politics of the world.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know you were a politician,” said Carnac. “Of course I’m a + politician,” was the inflammable reply. “What’s commerce without politics? + It’s politics that makes the commerce possible. There’s that fellow + Barouche—Barode Barouche—he’s got no money, but he’s a + Minister, and he can make you rich or poor by planning legislation at + Ottawa that’ll benefit or hamper you. That’s the kind of business that’s + worth doing—seeing into the future, fashioning laws that make good + men happy and bad men afraid. Don’t I know! I’m a master-man in my + business; nothing defeats me. To me, a forest of wild wood is the future + palace of a Prime Minister. A great river is a pathway to the palace, and + all the thousands of men that work the river are the adventurers that + bring the booty home—” + </p> + <p> + “That bring ‘the palace to Paris,’ eh!” interrupted Carnac, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Paris be damned—that bring the forest to Quebec. How long did it + take you to make that?” he added with a nod towards the statue. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I did it in a day—six hours, I think; and he stood like that + for three hours out of the six. He was great, but he’d no more sense of + civilization than I have of Heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t need to have a sense of Heaven, you need to have a sense of + Hell. That prevents you from spoiling your own show. You’re playing with + life’s vital things.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder how much you’ve got out of it all, father,” Carnac remarked with + a smile. He lit a cigarette. “You do your job in style. It’s been a great + career, yours. You’ve made your big business out of nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “I had something to start with. Your grandfather had a business worth not + much, but it was a business, and the fundamental thing is to have + machinery to work with when you start life. I had that. My father was + narrow, contracted and a blunderer, but he made good in a small way.” + </p> + <p> + “And you in a big way,” said Carnac, with admiration and criticism in his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + He realized that John Grier had summed him up fairly when he said he was + playing with life’s vital things. Somehow, he saw the other had a grip + upon essentials lacking in himself; he had his tooth in the orange, as it + were, and was sucking the juice of good profit from his labours. Yet he + knew how much trickery and vital evasion and harsh aggression there were + in his father’s business life. + </p> + <p> + As yet he had never seen Tarboe—he had been away in the country the + whole year nearly—but he imagined a man of strength, abilities, + penetration and deep power. He knew that only a man with savage instincts + could work successfully with John Grier; he knew that Grier was without + mercy in his business, and that his best year’s work had been marked by a + mandatory power which only a malevolent policy could produce. Yet, + somehow, he had a feeling that Tarboe had a steadying influence on John + Grier. The old man was not so uncontrolled as in bygone days. + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to see Tarboe,” Carnac said suddenly. “He ain’t the same as + you,” snapped John Grier. “He’s bigger, broader, and buskier.” A malicious + smile crossed over his face. “He’s a bandit—that’s what he is. He’s + got a chest like a horse and lungs like the ocean. When he’s got a thing, + he’s got it like a nail in a branch of young elm. He’s a dandy, that + fellow.” Suddenly passion came to his eyes. “You might have done it, + you’ve got the brains, and the sense, but you ain’t got the ambition. You + keep feeling for a thousand things instead of keeping your grip on one. + The man that succeeds fastens hard on what he wants to do—the one + big thing, and he does it, thinking of naught else.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s good preaching,” remarked Carnac coolly. “But it doesn’t + mean that a man should stick to one thing, if he finds out he’s been wrong + about it? We all make mistakes. Perhaps some day I’ll wish I’d gone with + you.” + </p> + <p> + Grimness came into the old man’s face. Something came into his eyes that + was strange and revealing. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope you will. But you had your chance with me, and you threw it + down like a piece of rotten leather.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t cost you anything,” returned Carnac. “I’ve paid my own way a long + time—with mother’s help.” + </p> + <p> + “And you’re twenty-six years old, and what have you got? Enough to give + you bread from day to day-no more. I was worth seventy thousand dollars + when I was your age. I’m worth enough to make a prince rich, and if I’d + been treated right by those I brought into the world I’d be worth twice as + much. Fabian was good as far as he went, but he was a coward. You”—a + look of fury entered the dark eyes—“you were no coward, but you + didn’t care a damn. You wanted to paddle about with muck of imagination—” + he pointed to the statue on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Why, your business has been great because of your imagination,” was the + retort. “You saw things ahead with the artist’s eye. You planned with the + artist’s mind; and brought forth what’s to your honour and credit—and + the piling up of your bank balance. The only thing that could have induced + me to work in your business is the looking ahead and planning, seeing the + one thing to be played off against the other, the fighting of strong men, + the politics, all the forces which go to make or break your business. + Well, I didn’t do it, and I’m not sorry. I have a gift which, by training + and development, will give me a place among the men who do things, if I + have good luck—good luck!” + </p> + <p> + He dwelt upon these last words with an intensity which dreaded something. + There was retrospection in his eyes. A cloud seemed to cross his face. + </p> + <p> + A strong step crunching the path stopped the conversation, and presently + there appeared the figure of Tarboe. Certainly the new life had not + changed Tarboe, had not altered his sturdy, strenuous nature. His brown + eyes under the rough thatch of his eyebrow took in the room with lightning + glance, and he nodded respectfully, yet with great friendliness, at John + Grier. He seemed to have news, and he glanced with doubt at Carnac. + </p> + <p> + John Grier understood. “Go ahead. What’s happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing that can’t wait till I’m introduced to your son,” rejoined + Tarboe. + </p> + <p> + With a friendly look, free from all furtiveness, Carnac reached out a + hand, small, graceful, firm. As Tarboe grasped it in his own big paw, he + was conscious of a strength in the grip which told him that the physical + capacity of the “painter-fellow,” as he afterwards called Carnac, had + points worthy of respect. On the instant, there was admiration on the part + of each—admiration and dislike. Carnac liked the new-comer for his + healthy bearing, for the iron hardness of his head, and for the + intelligence of his dark eyes. He disliked him, however, for something + that made him critical of his father, something covert and devilishly + alert. Both John Grier and Tarboe were like two old backwoodsmen, eager to + reach their goal, and somewhat indifferent to the paths by which they + travelled to it. + </p> + <p> + Tarboe, on the other hand, admired the frank, pleasant face of the young + man, which carried still the irresponsibility of youth, but which conveyed + to the watchful eye a brave independence, a fervid, and perhaps futile, + challenge to all the world. Tarboe understood that this young man had a + frankness dangerous to the business of life, yet which, properly applied, + might bring great results. He disliked Carnac for his uncalculating + candour; but he realized that, behind all, was something disturbing to his + life. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a woman,” Tarboe said to himself, “it’s a woman. He’s made a fool of + himself.” + </p> + <p> + Tarboe was right. He had done what no one else had done—he had + pierced the cloud surrounding Carnac: it was a woman. + </p> + <p> + “I hear you’re pulling things off here,” remarked Carnac civilly. “He + says”—pointing to John Grier—“that you’re making the enemy + squirm.” + </p> + <p> + Tarboe nodded, and a half-stealthy smile crept across his face. “I don’t + think we’ve lost anything coming our way,” he replied. “We’ve had good + luck—” + </p> + <p> + “And our eyes were open,” intervened John Grier. “You push the brush and + use the chisel, don’t you?” asked Tarboe in spite of himself with slight + scorn in his tone. + </p> + <p> + “I push the chisel and use the brush,” answered Carnac, smilingly + correcting him. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a good thing. Is it yours?” asked Tarboe, nodding and pointing to + the statue of the riverman. Carnac nodded. “Yes, I did that one day. I’d + like to do you, if you’d let me.” + </p> + <p> + The young giant waved a brawny hand and laughed. He looked down at his + knee-boots, with their muddied soles, and then at the statue again on the + table. “I don’t mind you’re doing me. Turn about is fair play. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve done you out of your job.” Then he added to the old man: “It’s good + news I’ve got. I’ve made the contract with the French firm at our price.” + </p> + <p> + “At our price!” remarked the other with a grim smile. “For the lot?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, for the lot, and I’ve made the contracts with the ships to carry + it.” + </p> + <p> + “At our price?” again asked the old man. Tarboe nodded. “Just a little + better.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t have believed those two things could have been done in the + time.” Grier rubbed his hands cheerfully. “That’s a good day’s work. It’s + the best you’ve done since you’ve come.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac watched the scene with interest. No envy moved him, his soul was + free from malice. Evidently Tarboe was a man of power. Ruthless he might + be, ruthless and unsparing, but a man of power. + </p> + <p> + At that instant a clerk entered with a letter in his hand. “Mrs. Grier + said to give you this,” he remarked to Carnac, handing it to him. + </p> + <p> + Carnac took it and the clerk departed. The letter had an American + postmark, and the handwriting on the letter brought trouble to his eyes. + He composed himself, however, and tore off the end of the envelope, taking + out the letter. + </p> + <p> + It was brief. It contained only a few lines, but as Carnac read them the + colour left his face. “Good God!” he said to himself. Then he put the + paper in his pocket, and, with a forced smile and nod to his father and + Tarboe, left the office. + </p> + <p> + “That’s queer. The letter seemed to get him in the vitals,” said John + Grier with surprise. + </p> + <p> + Tarboe nodded, and said to himself: “It’s a woman all right.” He smiled to + himself also. He had wondered why Carnac and Junia Shale had not come to + an understanding. The letter which had turned Carnac pale was the + interpretation. + </p> + <p> + “Say, sit down, Tarboe,” said John Grier. “I want to talk with you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. JOHN GRIER MAKES ANOTHER OFFER + </h2> + <p> + “I’ve been keeping my eye on you, Tarboe,” John Grier said presently, his + right hand clutching unconsciously the statue which his boy had left with + him. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t suppose you’d forget me when I was making or breaking you.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re a winner, Tarboe. You’ve got sense and judgment, and you ain’t + afraid to get your own way by any route.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and gripped the statue closely in his hands. + </p> + <p> + Tarboe nodded. In the backwoods he had been without ambition save to be + master of what he was doing and of the men who were part of his world of + responsibility. Then John Grier had pulled him back into industry and he + had since desired to ascend, to “make good.” Also, he had seen Junia + often, and for her an aspiration had sprung up in him like a fire in a + wild place. + </p> + <p> + When he first saw her, she was standing in the doorway through which + Carnac had just passed. The brightness of her face, the wonder of her + eyes, the glow of her cheek, had made his pulses throb as they had never + throbbed before. He had put the thought of her away from him, but it had + come back constantly until he had found himself looking for her in the + street, and on the hill that led to John Grier’s house. + </p> + <p> + Tarboe realized that the girl was drawn towards Carnac, and that Carnac + was drawn towards the girl, but that some dark depths lay between. The + letter Carnac had just received seemed to him the plumbline of that abyss. + Carnac and the girl were suited to each other—that was clear; and + the girl was enticing, provoking and bewildering—that was the + modelling fact. He had satisfaction that he had displaced Carnac in this + great business, and there was growing in him a desire to take away the + chances of the girl from Carnac also. With his nature it was inevitable. + Life to him was now a puzzle towards the solution of which he moved with + conquering conviction. + </p> + <p> + From John Grier’s face now, he realized that something was to be said + affecting his whole career. It would, he was sure, alter his foot-steps in + the future. He had a profound respect for the little wiry man, with the + firm body and shrivelled face. + </p> + <p> + Tarboe watched the revealing expression of the old man’s face and the + motions of his body. He noticed that the tight grip of the hand on the + little statue of the riverman had made the fingers pale. He realized how + absorbed was the lumber-king, who had given him more confidence than he + had given to anyone else in the world. As near as he could come to anyone, + he had come to John Grier. There had been differences between them, but + he, Tarboe, fought for his own idea, and, in nine cases out of ten, had + conquered. John Grier had even treated Tarboe’s solutions as though they + were his own. He had a weird faith in the young giant. He saw now Tarboe’s + eyes fixed on his fingers, and he released his grip. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the thing between him and me, Tarboe,” he said, nodding towards + the virile bronze. “Think of my son doing that when he could do all this!” + He swept his arm in a great circle which included the horizon beyond the + doors and the windows. “It beats me, and because it beats me, and because + he defies me, I’ve made up my mind what to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t do anything you’d be sorry for, boss. He ain’t a fool because he’s + not what you are.” He nodded towards the statue. “You think that’s + pottering. I think it’s good stuff. It will last, perhaps, when what you + and I do is forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + There was something big and moving in Tarboe. He was a contradiction. A + lover of life, he was also reckless in how he got what he wanted. If it + could not be got by the straight means, then it must be by the crooked, + and that was where he and Grier lay down together, as it were. Yet he had + some knowledge that was denied to John Grier. The soul of the greater + things was in him. + </p> + <p> + “Give the boy a chance to work out his life in his own way,” he said + manfully. “You gave him a chance to do it in your way, and you were turned + down. Have faith in him. He’ll probably come out all right in the end. + </p> + <p> + “You mean he’ll come my way?” asked the old man almost rabidly. “You mean + he’ll do the things I want him to do here, as you’ve done?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess so,” answered Tarboe, but without conviction in his tone. “I’m + not sure whether it will be like that or not, but I know you’ve got a son + as honest as the stars, and the honest man gets his own in the end.” + </p> + <p> + There was silence for some time, then the old man began walking up and + down the room, softly, noiselessly. + </p> + <p> + “You talk sense,” he said. “I care for that boy, but I care for my life’s + work more. Day in, day out, night in, night out, I’ve slaved for it, + prayed for it, believed in it, and tried to make my wife and my boys feel + as I do about it, and none of them cares as I care. Look at Fabian—over + with the enemy, fighting his own father; look at Carnac, out in the open, + taking his own way.” He paused. + </p> + <p> + “And your wife?” asked Tarboe almost furtively, because it seemed to him + that the old man was most unhappy in that particular field. + </p> + <p> + “She’s been a good wife, but she don’t care as I do for success and + money.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you never taught her,” remarked Tarboe with silky irony. + </p> + <p> + “Taught her! What was there to teach? She saw me working; she knew the + life I had to live; she was lifted up with me. I was giving her everything + in me to give.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean money and a big house and servants and comfort,” said Tarboe + sardonically. + </p> + <p> + “Well, ain’t that right?” snapped the other. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s all right, but it don’t always bring you what you want. It’s + right, but it’s wrong too. Women want more than that, boss. Women want to + be loved—sky high.” + </p> + <p> + All at once Grier felt himself as far removed from Tarboe as he had ever + been from Carnac, or his wife. Why was it? Suddenly Tarboe understood that + between him and John Grier there must always be a flood. He realized that + there was in Grier some touch of the insane thing; something apart, remote + and terrible. He was convinced of it, when he saw Grier suddenly spring + up, and pace the room again like a tortured animal. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve got great influence with me,” he said. “I was just going to tell + you something that’d give you pleasure, but what you’ve said about my boy + coming back has made me change what I was going to do. I don’t need to say + I like you. We were born in the same nest almost. We’ve got the same + ideas.” + </p> + <p> + “Almost,” intervened Tarboe. “Not quite, but almost.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, this is what I’ve got to say. You’ve got youth, courage, and good + sense, and business ability, and what more does a man want in life, I ask + you that?” Tarboe nodded, but made no reply. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t feel as strong as I used to do. I’ve been breaking up this + last year, just when we’ve been knitting the cracks in the building. What + was in my mind is this—to leave you when I die the whole of my + business to keep it a success, and get in the way of Belloc, and pay my + wife so much a year to live on.” + </p> + <p> + “That wouldn’t be fair to your wife or your sons.” + </p> + <p> + “As for Carnac, if I left him the business it’d be dead in two years. + Nothing could save it. He’d spoil it, because he don’t care for it. I + bought Fabian out. As for my wife, she couldn’t run it, and—” + </p> + <p> + “You could sell it,” interrupted Tarboe. + </p> + <p> + “Sell it! Sell it!” said Grier wildly. “Sell it to whom?” + </p> + <p> + “To Belloc,” was the malicious reply. The demon of anger seized the old + man. + </p> + <p> + “You say that to me—you—that I should sell to Belloc! By hell, + I’d rather burn every stick and board and tree I’ve got—sweep it out + of existence, and die a beggar than sell it to Belloc!” Froth gathered at + the corners of his mouth, there was tumult in his eyes. “Belloc! Knuckle + down to him! Sell out to him!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you got a profit of twenty per cent. above what it’s worth it + might be well. That’d be a triumph, not a defeat.” + </p> + <p> + “I see what you mean,” said John Grier, the passion slowly going from his + eyes. “I see what you mean, but that ain’t my way. I want this business to + live. I want Grier’s business to live long after John Grier has gone. + That’s why I was going to say to you that in my will I’m going to leave + you this business, you to pay my wife every year twenty thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “And your son, Carnac?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a sou-not a sou—not a sou—nothing—that’s what I + meant at first. But I’ve changed my mind now. I’m going to leave you the + business, if you’ll make a bargain with me. I want you to run it for three + years, and take for yourself all the profits over the twenty thousand + dollars a year that goes to my wife. There’s a lot of money in it, the way + you’d work it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand about the three years,” said Tarboe, with rising + colour. + </p> + <p> + “No, because I haven’t told you, but you’ll take it in now. I’m going to + leave you the business as though you were going to have it for ever, but + I’ll make another will dated a week later, in which I leave it to Carnac. + Something you said makes me think he might come right, and it will be + playing fair to him to let him run himself alone, maybe with help from his + mother, for three years. That’s long enough, and perhaps the thought of + what he might have had will work its way with him. If it don’t—well, + it won’t; that’s all; but I want you to have the business long enough to + baulk Belloc and Fabian the deserter. I want you for three years to fight + this fight after I’m gone. In that second secret will, I’ll leave you two + hundred thousand dollars. Are you game for it? Is it worthwhile?” + </p> + <p> + The old man paused, his head bent forward, his eyes alert and searching, + both hands gripping the table. There was a long silence, in which the + ticking of the clock upon the wall seemed unduly loud and in which the + buzz of cross-cut saws came sounding through the evening air. Yet Tarboe + did not reply. + </p> + <p> + “Have you nothing to say?” asked Grier at last. “Won’t you do it—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m studying the thing out,” answered Tarboe quietly. “I don’t quite see + about these two wills. Why shouldn’t the second will be found first?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you and I will be the only ones that’ll know of it. That shows + how much I trust you, Tarboe. I’ll put it away where nobody can get it + except you or me.” + </p> + <p> + “But if anything should happen to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’d leave a letter with my bank, not to be opened for three years, + or unless you died, and it would say that the will existed, where it was, + and what its terms were.” + </p> + <p> + “That sounds all right,” but there was a cloud on Tarboe’s face. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a great business,” said Grier, seeing Tarboe’s doubt. “It’s the + biggest thing a man can do—and I’m breaking up.” + </p> + <p> + The old man had said the right thing—“It’s a great business!” It was + the greatness of the thing that had absorbed Tarboe. It was the bigness + made him feel life could be worth living, if the huge machinery were + always in his fingers. Yet he had never expected it, and life was a + problem. Who could tell? Perhaps—perhaps, the business would always + be his in spite of the second will! Perhaps, he would have his chance to + make good. He got to his feet; he held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ain’t it worth any thanks?” + </p> + <p> + “Not between us,” declared Tarboe. + </p> + <p> + “When are you going to do it?” + </p> + <p> + “To-night—now.” He drew out some paper and sat down with a pen in + his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” John Grier repeated. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. THE PUZZLE + </h2> + <p> + On his way home, with Luzanne’s disturbing letter in his pocket, Carnac + met Junia. She was supremely Anglo-Saxon; fresh, fervid and buoyant with + an actual buoyancy of the early spring. She had tact and ability, + otherwise she could never have preserved peace between the contending + factions, Belloc and Fabian, old John Grier, the mother and Carnac. She + was as though she sought for nothing, wished nothing but the life in which + she lived. Yet her wonderful pliability, her joyful boyishness, had behind + all a delicate anxiety which only showed in flashes now and then, fully + understood by no one except Carnac’s mother and old Denzil. These two + having suffered strangely in life had realized that the girl was always + waiting for a curtain to rise which did not rise, for a voice to speak + which gave no sound. + </p> + <p> + Yet since Carnac’s coming back there had appeared a slight change in her, + a bountiful, eager alertness, a sense of wonder and experiment, adding new + interest to her personality. Carnac was conscious of this increased + vitality, was impressed and even provoked by it. Somehow he felt—for + he had the telepathic mind—that the girl admired and liked Tarboe. + He did not stop to question how or why she should like two people so + different as Tarboe and himself. + </p> + <p> + The faint colour of the crimsoning maples was now in her cheek; the light + of the autumn evening was in her eyes; the soft vitality of September was + in her motions. She was attractively alive. Her hair waved back from her + forehead with natural grace; her small feet, with perfect ankles, made her + foothold secure and sedately joyous. Her brown hand—yet not so brown + after all—held her hat lightly, and was, somehow, like a signal out + of a world in which his hopes were lost for the present. + </p> + <p> + She was dearer to him than all the rest of the world; and he had in his + hand what kept them apart—a sentence of death, unless he escaped + from the wanton calling him to fulfil duties into which he had been + tricked. Luzanne Larue had a terrible hold over him. He gripped the letter + in his pocket as a Hopi Indian does the body of a poisonous snake. The + rosy sunset gave the girl’s face a reflected spiritual glamour; it made + her, suddenly, a bewildering figure. Somehow, she seemed a great distance + from him—as one detached and unfamiliar. + </p> + <p> + He suddenly felt she knew more than it was possible she should know. As + she flashed an inquiry into his eyes, it was as though she said: “Why + don’t you tell me everything, and I will help you?” Or, was it: “Why don’t + you tell me everything and end it all?” He longed to press her to his + breast, as he had once done in the woods when Denzil had been injured, but + that was not possible. The thought of that far-off day made him say to + her, rather futilely: + </p> + <p> + “How is Denzil? How is Denzil?” + </p> + <p> + There was swift surprise in her face. She seemed dumbfounded, and then she + said: + </p> + <p> + “Denzil! He’s all right, but he does not like your Mr. Tarboe.” + </p> + <p> + “My Mr. Tarboe! Where do I come in?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he’s got what you ought to have had,” was the reply. “What you + would have had, weren’t you a foolish fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “I still don’t understand how he is my Mr. Tarboe.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he wouldn’t have been in your father’s life if it weren’t for you; + if you had done what your father wished you to do, had—” + </p> + <p> + “Had sold myself for gold—my freedom, my health, everything to help + my father’s business! I don’t see why he should expect that what he’s + doing some one else should do—” + </p> + <p> + “That Belloc would do, that Belloc and Fabian would do,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s it—what they two would do. There’s no genius in it, + though my father comes as near being a genius as any man alive. But + there’s a screw loose somewhere.... It wasn’t good enough for me. It + didn’t give me a chance—in things that are of the mind, the spirit—my + particular gifts, whatever they are. They would have chafed against that + life.” + </p> + <p> + “In other words, you’re a genius, which your father isn’t,” the girl said + almost sarcastically. + </p> + <p> + A disturbed look came into Carnac’s eyes. “I’d have liked my father to be + a genius. Then we’d have hit it off together. I don’t ever feel the things + he does are the things I want to do; or the things he says are those I’d + like to say. He’s a strange man. He lives alone. He never was really near + Fabian or me. We were his sons, but though Fabian is a little bit like him + in appearance, I’m not, and never was. I always feel that—” He + paused, and she took up the tale: + </p> + <p> + “That he wasn’t the father you’d have made for yourself, eh!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that’s it. Conceit, ain’t it? Perhaps the facts are, I’m one of + the most useless people that ever wore a coat. Perhaps the things I do + aren’t going to live beyond me.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems as though your father’s business is going to live after him, + doesn’t it?” the girl asked mockingly. “Where are you going now?” she + added. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m going to take you home,” he said, as he turned and walked by + her side down the hill. + </p> + <p> + “Denzil will be glad to see you. He almost thinks I’m a curse.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac smiled. “All genius is at once a blessing or a curse. And what does + Denzil think of me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—a blessing and a curse!” she said whimsically. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t honestly think I’m a blessing to anybody in this world. There’s + no one belonging to me who believes in me.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s Denzil,” she said. “He believes in you.” + </p> + <p> + “He doesn’t belong to me; he isn’t my family.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are your family? Is it only those who are bone of your bone and flesh + of your flesh? Your family is much wider, because you’re a genius. It’s + worldwide—of all kinds. Denzil belongs to you, because you helped to + save him years ago; the Catholic Archbishop belongs to you, because he’s + got brains and a love of literature and art; Barode Barouche belongs to + you, because he’s almost a genius too.” + </p> + <p> + “Barouche is a politician,” said Carnac with slight derision. + </p> + <p> + “That’s no reason why he shouldn’t be a genius.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s a Frenchman.” + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t Frenchmen genius?” asked the girl. + </p> + <p> + Carnac laughed. “Why, of course. Barode Barouche—yes, he’s a great + one: he can think, he can write, and he can talk; and the talking’s the + best that he does—though I’ve not heard him speak, but I’ve read his + speeches.” + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t he make good laws at Ottawa?” + </p> + <p> + “He makes laws at Ottawa—whether they’re good or not is another + question. I shouldn’t be a follower of his, if I had my chance though.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s because you’re not French.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I’m as French as can be! I felt at home with the French when I + was in France. I was all Gallic. When I’m here I’m more Gallic than Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand it. Here am I, with all my blood for generations + Saxon, and yet I feel French. If I’d been born in the old country, it + would have been in Limerick or Tralee. I’d have been Celtic there.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet Barode Barouche is a great man. He gets drunk sometimes, but he’s + great. He gets hold of men like Denzil.” + </p> + <p> + “Denzil has queer tastes.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—he worships you.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s not queer, it’s abnormal,” said Carnac with gusto. + </p> + <p> + “Then I’m abnormal,” she said with a mocking laugh, and swung her hat on + her fingers like a wheel. Something stormy and strange swam in Carnac’s + eyes. All his trouble rushed back on him; the hand in his pocket crushed + the venomous letter he had received, but he said: + </p> + <p> + “No, you don’t worship me!” + </p> + <p> + “Who was it said all true intelligence is the slave of genius?” she + questioned, a little paler than usual, her eye on the last gleam of the + sun. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know who said it, but if that’s why you worship me, I know how + hollow it all is,” he declared sullenly, for she was pouring carbolic acid + into a sore. + </p> + <p> + He wanted to drag the letter from his pocket and hand it her to read; to + tell her the whole distressful story: but he dared not. He longed for her, + and yet he dared not tell her so. He half drew the letter from his pocket, + but thrust it back again. Tell this innocent girl the whole ugly story? It + could not be done. There was but one thing to do—to go away, to put + this world of French Canada behind him, and leave her free to follow her + fancy, or some one else’s fancy. + </p> + <p> + Or some one else’s fancy? There was Tarboe. Tarboe had taken from him the + place in the business which should be his; he had displaced him in his + father’s affections... and now Junia! + </p> + <p> + He held out a hand to the girl. “I must go and see my mother.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes abashed her. She realized there was trouble in the face of the + man who all her life had been strangely near and dear to her. With + impulsiveness, she said “You’re in trouble, Carnac. Let me help you.” + </p> + <p> + For one swift instant he almost yielded. Then he gripped her hand and + said: “No-no-no. It can’t be done—not yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let Denzil help you. Here he is,” she remarked, and she glanced + affectionately at the greyish, tousled head of the habitant who was + working in the garden of her father’s house. + </p> + <p> + Carnac was master of himself again. “Not a bad idea,” he said. “Denzil! + Denzil!” he called. + </p> + <p> + The little man looked up. An instant later the figure of the girl + fluttered through the doorway of her home, and Carnac stopped beside + Denzil in the garden. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. DENZIL TELLS HIS STORY + </h2> + <p> + “You keep going, Denzil,” remarked Carnac as he lighted his pipe and came + close to the old servant. + </p> + <p> + The face of the toiler lighted, the eyes gazed kindly, at Carnac. “What + else is there to do? We must go on. There’s no standing still in the + world. We must go on—surelee.” + </p> + <p> + “Even when it’s hard going, eh?” asked Carnac, not to get an answer so + much as to express his own feelings. “Yes, that’s right, m’sieu’; that’s + how it is. We can’t stand still even when it’s hard going—but, no, + bagosh!” + </p> + <p> + He realized that around Carnac there was a shadow which took its toll of + light and life. He had the sound instinct of primitive man. Strangely + enough in his own eyes was the look in those of Carnac, a past, hovering + on the brink of revelation. His appearance was that of one who had + suffered; his knotted hands, dark with warm blood, had in them a story of + life’s sorrows; his broad shoulders were stooped with the inertia of long + regret; his feet clung to the ground as though there was a great weight + above them. But a smile shimmered at his mouth, giving to his careworn + face something almost beautiful, lifting the darkness from his powerful, + shaggy forehead. Many men knew Denzil by sight, few knew him in actual + being. There was a legend that once he was about to be married, but the + girl had suddenly gone mad and drowned herself in the river. No one + thought it strange that a month later the eldest son of the Tarboe family + had been found dead in the woods with a gun in his hand and a bullet + through his heart. No one had ever linked the death of Denzil’s loved one + with that of Almeric Tarboe. + </p> + <p> + It was unusual for a Frenchman to give up his life to an English family, + but that is what he had done, and of late he had watched Junia with new + eager solicitude. The day she first saw Tarboe had marked an exciting + phase in her life. + </p> + <p> + Denzil had studied her, and he knew vaguely that a fresh interest, + disturbing, electrifying, had entered into her. Because it was Tarboe, the + fifteen years younger brother of that Almeric Tarboe who had died a month + after his own girl had left this world, his soul was fighting—fighting. + </p> + <p> + As the smoke of Carnac’s pipe came curling into the air, Denzil put on his + coat, and laid the hoe and rake on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, even when it’s hard going we still have to march on—name of + God, yes!” he repeated, and he looked at Carnac quizzically. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going? Don’t you want to talk to me?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going home, m’sieu’. If you’ll come with me I’ll give you a drink of + hard cider, the best was ever made.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll come. Denzil, I’ve never been in your little house. That’s strange, + when I’ve known you so many years.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not too late to mend, m’sieu’. There ain’t much in it, but it’s all + I need.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac stepped with Denzil towards the little house, just in front of + three pine-trees on the hill, and behind Junia’s home. + </p> + <p> + “I always lock my door—always,” said Denzil as he turned a key and + opened the door. + </p> + <p> + They entered into the cool shade of a living-room. There was little + furniture, yet against the wall was a kind of bunk, comfortable and roomy, + on which was stretched the skin of a brown bear. On the wall above it was + a crucifix, and on the opposite wall was the photograph of a girl, + good-looking, refined, with large, imaginative eyes, and a face that might + have been a fortune. + </p> + <p> + Carnac gazed at it for a moment, absorbed. “That was your girl, Denzil, + wasn’t it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Denzil nodded. “The best the world ever had, m’sieu’,” he replied, “the + very best, but she went queer and drowned herself—ah, but yes!” + </p> + <p> + “She just went queer, eh!” Carnac said, looking Denzil straight in the + eyes. “Was there insane blood in her family?” + </p> + <p> + “She wasn’t insane,” answered Denzil firmly. “She’d been bad used—terrible.” + </p> + <p> + “That didn’t come out at the inquest, did it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not likely. She wrote it me. I’m telling you what I’ve never told + anyone.” He shut the door, as though to make a confessional. “She wrote it + me, and I wasn’t telling anyone-but no. She’d been away down at Quebec + City, and there a man got hold of her. Almeric Tarboe it was—the + older brother of Luke Tarboe at John Grier’s.” Suddenly the face of the + little man went mad with emotion. “I—I—” he paused. + </p> + <p> + Carnac held up his hand. “No-no-no, don’t tell me. Tarboe—I + understand, the Unwritten Law. You haven’t told me, but I understand. I + remember: he was found in the woods with his gun in his hand-dead. I read + it all by accident long ago; and that was the story, eh!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She was young, full of imagination. She loved me, but he was clever, + and he was high up, and she was low down. He talked her blind, and then in + the woods it was, in the woods where he died, that he—” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the little man wrung his fingers like one robbed of reason. “He + was a strongman,” he went on, “and she was a girl, weak, but not wanton + ... and so she died, telling me, loving me—so she died, and so he + died, too, in the woods with his gun in his hand. Yes, ‘twas done with his + own gun—by accident—by accident! He stumbled, and the gun went + off. That was the story at the inquest. No one knew I was there. I was + never seen with him and I’ve never been sorry. He got what he deserved—sacre, + yes!” + </p> + <p> + There was something overwhelming in the face of the little resolute, + powerful man. His eyes were aflame. He was telling for the first time the + story of his lifelong agony and shame. + </p> + <p> + “It had to be done. She was young, so sweet, so good, aye, she was good-in + her soul she was good, ah, surelee. That’s why she died in the pond. No + one knew. The inquest did not bring out anything, but that’s why he died; + and ever since I’ve been mourning; life has no rest for me. I’m not sorry + for what I did. I’ve told it you because you saved me years ago when I + fell down the bank. You were only fourteen then, but I’ve never forgotten. + And she, that sweet young lady, she—she was there too; and now when + I look at this Tarboe, the brother of that man, and see her and know what + I know—sacre!” He waved a hand. “No-no-no, don’t think there’s + anything except what’s in the soul. That man has touched ma’m’selle—I + don’t know why, but he has touched her heart. Perhaps by his great bulk, + his cleverness, his brains, his way of doing things. In one sense she’s + his slave, because she doesn’t want to think of him, and she does. She + wants to think of you—and she does—ah, bagosh, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understand,” remarked Carnac morosely. “I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you let her be under Tarboe’s influence? Why don’t—” + </p> + <p> + Carnac thrust out a hand that said silence. “Denzil, I’ll never forget + what you’ve told me about yourself. Some day you’ll have to tell it to the + priest, and then—” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll never tell it till I’m on my death-bed. Then I’ll tell it, sacre + bapteme, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “You’re a bad Catholic, Denzil,” remarked Carnac with emotion, but a smile + upon his face. + </p> + <p> + “I may be a bad Catholic, but the man deserved to die, and he died. What’s + the difference, so far’s the world’s concerned, whether he died by + accident, or died—as he died. It’s me that feels the fury of the + damned, and want my girl back every hour: and she can’t come. But some day + I’ll go to M’sieu’ Luke Tarboe, and tell him the truth, as I’ve told it + you—bagosh, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “I think he’d try and kill you, if you did. That’s the kind of man he is.” + </p> + <p> + “You think if he knew the truth he’d try and kill me—he!” + </p> + <p> + Carnac paused. He did not like to say everything in his mind. “Do you + think he’d say much and do little?” + </p> + <p> + “I dunno, I dunno, but I’ll tell him the truth and take my chance.” + Suddenly he swung round and stretched out appealing hands. “Haven’t you + got any sense, m’sieu’? Don’t you see what you should do? Ma’m’selle Junia + cares for you. I know it—I’ve seen it in her eyes often—often.” + </p> + <p> + With sudden vehemence Carnac caught the wrists of the other. “It can’t be, + Denzil. I can’t tell you why yet. I’m going away. If Tarboe wants her—good—good; + I must give her a chance.” + </p> + <p> + Denzil shrank. “There’s something wrong, m’sieu’,” he said. Then his eyes + fastened on Carnac’s. Suddenly, with a strange, shining light in them, he + added “It will all come right for you and her. I’ll live for that. If you + go away, I’ll take good care of her.” + </p> + <p> + “Even if—” Carnac paused. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, even if he makes love to her. He’ll want to marry her, surelee.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s not strange,” remarked Carnac. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. CARNAC’S TALK WITH HIS MOTHER + </h2> + <p> + Carnac went slowly towards his father’s house on the hill. Fixed, as his + mind was, upon all that had just happened, his eye took fondly from the + gathering dusk pictures which the artist’s mind cherishes—the long + roadway, with the maples and pines, the stump fences; behind which lay the + garnered fields, where the plough had made ready the way for the Fall + wheat; the robins twittering in the scattered trees; the cooing of the + wood-pigeon; over all, the sky in its perfect purpling blue, and far down + the horizon the evening-star slowly climbing. He noted the lizards + slipping through the stones; he saw where the wheel of a wagon had crushed + some wild flower-growth; he heard the far call of a milkmaid to the + cattle; he caught the sweet breath of decaying verdure, and through all, + the fresh, biting air of the new-land autumn, pleasantly stinging his + face. + </p> + <p> + Something kept saying to his mind: “It’s all good. It’s life and light, + and all good.” But his nerves were being tried; his whole nature was + stirred. + </p> + <p> + He took the letter from his pocket again, and read it in the fading light. + It was native, naive, brutal, and unconsciously clever—and the girl + who had written it was beautiful. It had only a few lines. It asked him + why he had deserted her, his wife. It said that he would find American law + protected the deluded stranger. It asked if he had so soon forgotten the + kisses he had given her, and did he not realize they were married? He felt + that, with her, beneath all, there was more than malice; there was a + passion which would run risks to secure its end. + </p> + <p> + A few moments later he was in the room where his mother, with her strong, + fine, lonely face, sat sewing by the window. The door opened squarely on + her, and he saw how refined and sad, yet self-contained, was the woman who + had given him birth. The look in her eyes warmly welcomed him. Her own + sorrows made her sensitive to those of others, and as Carnac entered she + saw something was vexing him. + </p> + <p> + “Dear lad!” she said. + </p> + <p> + He was beside her now, and he kissed her cheek. “Best of all the world,” + he said; and he did not see that she shrank a little. + </p> + <p> + “Are you in trouble?” she asked, and her hand touched his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + The wrong she had done him long ago vexed her. It was not possible this + boy could fit in with a life where, in one sense, he did not belong. It + was not part of her sorrow that he had given himself to painting and + sculpture. In her soul she believed this might be best for him in the end. + She had a surreptitious, an almost anguished, joy in the thought that he + and John Grier could not hit it off. It seemed natural that both men, + ignorant of their own tragedy, believing themselves to be father and son, + should feel for each other the torture of distance, a misunderstanding, + which only she and one other human being understood. + </p> + <p> + John Grier was not the boy’s father. Carnac was the son of Barode + Barouche. + </p> + <p> + After a moment he said: “Mother, I know why I’ve come to you. It’s because + I feel when I’m in trouble, I get helped by being with you.” + </p> + <p> + “How do I help, my boy?” she asked with a sad smile, for he had said the + thing dearest to her heart. + </p> + <p> + “When I’m with you, I seem to get a hold on myself. I’ve always had a + strange feeling about you. I felt when I was a child that you’re two + people; one that lives on some distant, lonely prairie, silent, shadowy + and terribly loving; and the other, a vocal person, affectionate, alert, + good and generous.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, but she only shook her head. After a moment he continued: “I + know you aren’t happy, mother, but maybe you once were—at the + start.” + </p> + <p> + She got to her feet, and drew herself up. + </p> + <p> + “I’m happy in your love, but all the rest—is all the rest. It isn’t + your father’s fault wholly. He was busy; he forgot me. Dear, dear boy, + never give up your soul to things only, keep it for people.” + </p> + <p> + She was naturally straight and composed; yet as she stood there, she had a + certain lonely splendour like some soft metal burning. Among her + fellow-citizens she had place and position, but she took no lead; she was + always an isolated attachment of local enterprises. It was in her own + house where her skill and adaptability had success. She had brought into + her soul misery and martyrdom, and all martyrs are lonely and apart. + </p> + <p> + Sharp visions of what she was really flashed through Carnac’s mind, and he + said: + </p> + <p> + “Mother, there must be something wrong with you and me. You were naturally + a great woman, and sometimes I have a feeling I might be a great man, but + I don’t get started for it. I suppose, you once had an idea you’d play a + big part in the world?” + </p> + <p> + “Girls have dreams,” she answered with moist eyes, “and at times I thought + great things might come to me; but I married and got lost.” + </p> + <p> + “You got lost?” asked Carnac anxiously, for there was a curious note in + her voice. + </p> + <p> + She tried to change the effect of her words. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I lost myself in somebody else’s ambitions I lost myself in the + storm.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac laughed. “Father was always a blizzard, wasn’t he? Now here, now + there, he rushed about making money, humping up his business, and yet why + shouldn’t you have ranged beside him. I don’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + “No, that’s the bane of life,” she replied. “We don’t understand each + other. I can’t understand why you don’t marry Junia. You love her. You + don’t understand why I couldn’t play as big a part as your father—I + couldn’t. He was always odd—masterful and odd, and I never could do + just as he liked.” + </p> + <p> + There was yearning sadness in her eyes. “Dear Carnac, John Grier is a + whirlwind, but he’s also a still pool in which currents are secretly + twisting, turning. His imagination, his power is enormous; but he’s + Oriental, a barbarian.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean he might have had twenty wives?” + </p> + <p> + “He might have had twenty, and he’d have been the same to all of them, + because they play no part, except to make his home a place where his body + can live. That’s the kind of thing, when a wife finds it out, that either + kills her slowly, or drives her mad.” + </p> + <p> + “It didn’t kill you, mother,” remarked Carnac with a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “No, it didn’t kill me.” + </p> + <p> + “And it didn’t drive you mad,” he continued. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him with burning intensity. “Oh, yes, it did—but I + became sane again.” She gazed out of the window, down the hillside. “Your + father will soon be home. Is there anything you want to say before that?” + </p> + <p> + Carnac wanted to tell his tragic story, but it was difficult. He caught + his mother’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter, Carnac? You are in trouble. I can see it in your eyes—I + feel it. Is it money?” she asked. She knew it was not, yet she could not + help but ask. He shook his head in negation. + </p> + <p> + “Is it business?” + </p> + <p> + She knew his answer, yet she must make these steps before she said to him: + “Is it a woman?” + </p> + <p> + He nodded now. She caught his eyes and held them with her own. All the + silence and sorrow, all the remorse and regret of the past twenty-six + years gathered in her face. + </p> + <p> + “Yes and no,” he answered with emotion. “You’ve quarrelled with Junia?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you marry her?” she urged. “We all would like it, even your + father.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” She leant forward with a slight burning of the cheek. “Why, + Carnac?” + </p> + <p> + He had determined to keep his own secret, to hide the thing which had + vexed his life, but a sudden feeling overcame his purpose. With impulse he + drew out the letter he had received in John Grier’s office and handed it + to her. + </p> + <p> + “Read that, and then I’ll tell you all about it—all I can.” + </p> + <p> + With whitening face, she took the letter and read its few lines. It was + written in French, with savage little flourishes and twists, and the name + signed at the end was “Luzanne.” At last she handed it back, her fingers + trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Who is Luzanne, and what does it mean?” What she had read was startling. + </p> + <p> + He slowly seated himself beside her. “I will tell you.” + </p> + <p> + When Carnac had ended his painful story, she said to him: “It’s terrible—oh, + terrible. But there was divorce.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but they told me I couldn’t get a divorce. Yet I wish now I’d tried + for it. I’ve never heard a word from the girl till I got that letter. It + isn’t strange she hasn’t moved in the thing till now. It was I that should + have acted; and she knew that. She means business, that’s clear, and it’ll + be hard to prove I didn’t marry her with eyes wide open. It gets between + me and my work and my plans for the future; between—” + </p> + <p> + “Between you and Junia,” she said mournfully. “Don’t you think you ought + to get a divorce for Junia’s sake, if nothing else?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course. But I’m not sure I could get a divorce—evidence is + so strong against me, and it was a year ago! If I can see Luzanne again + perhaps I can get her to tear up the marriage-lines—that’s what I + want. She isn’t all bad. I must go again to New York; and Junia can wait. + I’m not much, I know—not worth waiting for, maybe, but I’m in + earnest where Junia’s concerned. I could make a little home for her at + once, and a better one as time went on, if she would marry me.” + </p> + <p> + After a moment of silence, Carnac added: “I’m going to New York. Don’t you + think I ought to go?” + </p> + <p> + The gaunt, handsome face of the woman darkened, and then she answered: + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + There was silence again for a moment, deep and painful, and then Carnac + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, I don’t think father is well. I see a great change in him. He + hasn’t long to travel, and some day you’ll have everything. He might make + you run the business, with Tarboe as manager.” + </p> + <p> + She shuddered slightly. “With Tarboe—I never thought of that—with + Tarboe!... Are you going to wait for—your father? He’ll be here + presently.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m off. I’ll go down the garden, through the bushes,” he said.... + “Mother, I’ve got nearer you to-night than in all the rest of my life.” + </p> + <p> + She kissed him fondly. “You’re going away, but I hope you’ll come back in + time.” + </p> + <p> + He knew she meant Junia. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I hope I’ll come back in time.” + </p> + <p> + A moment later he was gone, out of the sidedoor, through the bushes, and + down the hill, running like a boy. He had for the first time talked to his + mother about the life of their home; the facts she told him stripped away + the curtain that hid the secret things of life from his eyes. + </p> + <p> + John Grier almost burst upon his wife. He opened and shut the door + noisily; he stamped into the dusky room. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it time for a light?” he said with a quizzical nod towards her. + </p> + <p> + The short visit of Carnac had straightened her back. “I like the twilight. + I don’t light up until it’s dark, but if you wish—” + </p> + <p> + “You like the twilight; you don’t light up until it’s dark, but if I wish—ah, + that’s it! Have your own way.... I’m the breadwinner; I’m the breadwinner; + I’m the fighter; I’m the man that makes the machine go; but I don’t like + the twilight, and I don’t like to wait until it’s dark before I light up. + So there it is!” + </p> + <p> + She said nothing at once, but struck a match, and lit the gas. + </p> + <p> + “It’s easy to give you what you want,” she answered after a little. “I’m + used to it now.” + </p> + <p> + There was something animal-like in the thrust forward of his neck, in the + anger that mounted to his eyes. When she had drawn down the blinds, he + said to her: “Who’s been here?” + </p> + <p> + For an instant she hesitated. Then she said: “Carnac’s been here, but that + has naught to do with what I said. I’ve lived with you for over thirty + years, and I haven’t spoken my mind often, but I’m speaking it now.” + </p> + <p> + “Never too late to mend, eh!” he gruffly interposed. “So Carnac’s been + here! Putting up his independent clack, eh? He leaves his old father to + struggle as best he may, and doesn’t care a damn. That’s your son Carnac.” + </p> + <p> + How she longed to say to him, “That’s not your son Carnac!” but she could + not. A greyness crossed over her face. + </p> + <p> + “Is Carnac staying here?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head in negation. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now I’ll tell you about Carnac,” he said viciously. “I’m shutting + him out of the business of my life. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean—” She paused. + </p> + <p> + “He’s taken his course, let him stick to it. I’m taking my course, and + I’ll stick to it.” + </p> + <p> + She came close and reached out a faltering hand. “John, don’t do what + you’ll be sorry for.” + </p> + <p> + “I never have.” + </p> + <p> + “When Fabian was born, you remember what you said? You said: ‘Life’s worth + living now.’” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but what did I say when Carnac was born?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t hear, John,” she answered, her face turning white. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I said naught.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. CARNAC SAYS GOOD-BYE + </h2> + <p> + Fabian Grier’s house was in a fashionable quarter of a fashionable street, + the smallest of all built there; but it was happily placed, rather apart + from others, at the very end of the distinguished promenade. Behind it, a + little way up the hill, was a Roman Catholic chapel. + </p> + <p> + The surroundings of the house were rural for a city habitation. Behind it + were commendable trees, from one of which a swing was hung. In a corner, + which seemed to catch the sun, was a bird-cage on a pole, sought by + pigeons and doves. In another corner was a target for the bow and + arrow-evidence of the vigorous life of the owners of the house. + </p> + <p> + On the morning after Carnac told his mother he was going away, the doors + of the house were all open. Midway between breakfast and lunch, the voices + of children sang through the dining-room bright with the morning sun. The + children were going to the top of the mountain-the two youngsters who made + the life of Fabian and his wife so busy. Fabian was a man of little + speech. He was slim and dark and quiet, with a black moustache and + smoothly brushed hair, with a body lithe and composed, yet with hands + broad, strong, stubborn. + </p> + <p> + As Junia stood by the dining-room table and looked at the alert, expectant + children, she wished she also was going now to the mountain-top. But that + could not be—not yet. Carnac had sent a note saying he wished to see + her, and she had replied through Denzil that her morning would be spent + with her sister. “What is it?” she remarked to herself. “What is it? + There’s nothing wrong. Yet I feel everything upside down.” + </p> + <p> + Her face turned slowly towards the wide mountain; it caught the light upon + the steeple of the Catholic chapel. She shuddered slightly, and an + expression came into her shadowed eyes not belonging to her personality, + which was always buoyant. + </p> + <p> + As she stood absorbed, her mind in a maze of perplexity, a sigh broke from + her lips. She suddenly had a conviction about Carnac; she felt his coming + might bring a crisis; that what he might say must influence her whole + life. Carnac—she threw back her head. Suddenly a sweet, appealing, + intoxicating look crossed her face. Carnac! Yes, there was a man, a man of + men. + </p> + <p> + Tarboe got his effects by the impetuous rush of a personality; Carnac by + something that haunted, that made him more popular absent than present. + Carnac compelled thought. When he was away she wanted him; when he was + near she liked to quarrel with him. When they were together, one moment + she wanted to take his hands in her hands, and in the next she wanted to + push him over some great cliff—he was so maddening. He provoked the + devil in her; yet he made her sing the song of Eden. What was it? + </p> + <p> + As she asked the question she heard a firm step on the path. It was + Carnac. She turned and stood waiting, leaning against the table, watching + the door through which he presently came. He was dressed in grey. His coat + was buttoned. He carried a soft grey hat, and somehow his face gave her a + feeling that he had come to say good-bye. It startled her; and yet, though + she was tempted to grip her breast, she did not. Presently she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I think you’re a very idle man. Why aren’t you at work?” + </p> + <p> + “I am at work,” Carnac said cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “Work is not all paint and canvas of course. There has to be the thinking + beforehand. Well, of what are you thinking now?” + </p> + <p> + “Of the evening train to New York.” + </p> + <p> + His face was turned away from her at the instant, because he did not wish + to see the effect of his words. He would have seen that apprehension came + to her eyes. Her mouth opened in quick amazement. It was all too + startling. He was going—for how long? + </p> + <p> + “Why are you going?” she asked, when she had recovered her poise. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see I haven’t quite learned my painting yet, and I must study + in great Art centres where one isn’t turned down by one’s own judgment.” + </p> + <p> + “Ananias!” she said at last. “Ananias!” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say I’m a liar?” he asked, flushing a little, though there was + intense inquiry in his eyes. “Because I think it. It isn’t your work only + that’s taking you away.” Suddenly she laughed. “What a fool you are, + Carnac! You’re not a good actor. You’re not going away for work’s sake + only.” + </p> + <p> + “Not for work’s sake only—that’s true.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you go?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m in a mess, Junia. I’ve made some mistakes in my life, and I’m going + to try and put one of them right.” + </p> + <p> + “Is anybody trying to do you harm?” she asked gently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, somebody’s trying to hurt me.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurt him,” she rejoined sharply, and her eyes fastened his. + </p> + <p> + He was about to say there was no him in the matter, but reason steadied + him, and he said: + </p> + <p> + “I’ll do my best, Junia. I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. What’s to + be done must be done by myself alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it ought to be done well.” + </p> + <p> + With an instant’s impulse he moved towards her. She went to the window, + however, and she said: “Here’s Fabian. You’ll be glad of that. You’ll want + to say good-bye to him and Sibyl.” She ran from him to the front door. + “Fabian—Fabian, here’s a bad boy who wants to tell you things he + won’t tell me.” With these words she went into the garden. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think he’ll tell me,” came Fabian’s voice. “Why should he?” + </p> + <p> + A moment afterwards the two men met. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what’s the trouble, Carnac?” asked Fabian in a somewhat challenging + voice. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going away.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—for how long?” Fabian asked quizzically. “I don’t know—a + year, perhaps. I want to make myself a better artist, and also free + myself.” + </p> + <p> + Now his eyes were on Junia in her summer-time recreation, and her voice, + humming a light-opera air, was floating to him through the autumn morning. + </p> + <p> + “Has something got you in its grip, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m the victim of a reckless past, like you.” Something provocative was + in his voice and in his words. + </p> + <p> + “Was my past reckless?” asked Fabian with sullen eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Never so reckless as mine. You fought, quarrelled, hit, sold and bought + again, and now you’re out against your father, fighting him.” + </p> + <p> + “I had to come out or be crushed.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not so sure you won’t be crushed now you’re out. He plays boldly, and + he knows his game. One or the other of you must prevail, and I think it + won’t be you, Fabian. John Grier does as much thinking in an hour as most + of us do in a month, and with Tarboe he’ll beat you dead. Tarboe is young; + he’s got the vitality of a rhinoceros. He knows the business from the bark + on the tree. He’s a flyer, is Tarboe, and you might have been in Tarboe’s + place and succeeded to the business.” + </p> + <p> + Fabian threw out his arms. “But no! Father might live another ten years—though + I don’t think so—and I couldn’t have stood it. He was lapping me in + the mud.” + </p> + <p> + “He doesn’t lap Tarboe in the mud.” + </p> + <p> + “No, and he wouldn’t have lapped you in the mud, because you’ve got + imagination, and you think wide and long when you want to. But I’m + middle-class in business. I’ve got no genius for the game. He didn’t see + my steady qualities were what was needed. He wanted me to be like himself, + an eagle, and I was only a robin red-breast.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly his eyes flashed and his teeth set. “You couldn’t stand him, + wouldn’t put up with his tyranny. You wanted to live your own life, and + you’re doing it. When he bought me out, what was there for me to do but go + into the only business I knew, with the only big man in the business, + besides John Grier. I’ve as good blood as he’s got in his veins. I do + business straight. + </p> + <p> + “He didn’t want me to do it straight. That’s one of the reasons we fell + out. John Grier’s a big, ruthless trickster. I wasn’t. I was for playing + the straight game, and I played it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he’s got his own way now. He’s got a man who wouldn’t blink at + throttling his own brother, if it’d do him any good. Tarboe is iron and + steel; he’s the kind that succeeds. He likes to rule, and he’s going to + get what he wants mostly.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that why you’re going away?” asked Fabian. “Don’t you think it’ll be + just as well not to go, if Tarboe is going to get all he wants?” + </p> + <p> + “Does Tarboe come here?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s been here twice.” + </p> + <p> + “Visiting?” + </p> + <p> + “No. He came on urgent business. There was trouble between our two + river-driving camps. He wanted my help to straighten things out, and he + got it. He’s pretty quick on the move.” + </p> + <p> + “He wanted you to let him settle it?” + </p> + <p> + “He settled it, and I agreed. He knows how to handle men; I’ll say that + for him. He can run reckless on the logs like a river-driver; he can break + a jam like an expert. He’s not afraid of man, or log, or devil. That’s his + training. He got that training from John Grier’s firm under another name. + I used to know him by reputation long before he took my place in the + business—my place and yours. You got loose from the business only to + get tied up in knots of your own tying,” he added. “What it is I don’t + know, but you say you’re in trouble and I believe you.” Suddenly a sharp + look came to his face. “Is it a woman?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you ought to know how to handle a woman. You’re popular with women. + My wife’ll never hear a word against you. I don’t know how you do it. + We’re so little alike, it makes me feel sometimes we’re not brothers. I + don’t know where you get your temperament from.” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t matter where I got it, it’s mine. I want to earn my own + living, and I’m doing it.” Admiration came into Fabian’s face. “Yes,” he + said, “and you don’t borrow—” + </p> + <p> + “And don’t beg or steal. Mother has given me money, and I’m spending my + own little legacy, all but five thousand dollars of it.” + </p> + <p> + Fabian came up to his brother slowly. “If you know what’s good for you, + you’ll stay where you are. You’re not the only man that ought to be + married. Tarboe’s a strong man, and he’ll be father’s partner. He’s + handsome in his rough way too, is Tarboe. He knows what he wants, and + means to have it, and this is a free country. Our girls, they have their + own way. Why don’t you settle it now? Why don’t you marry Junia, and take + her away with you—if she’ll have you?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t—even if she’ll have me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why can’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid of the law.” + </p> + <p> + An uneasy smile hung at Carnac’s lips. He suddenly caught Fabian’s + shoulder in a strong grip. “We’ve never been close friends, Fabian. We’ve + always been at sixes and sevens, and yet I feel you’d rather do me a good + turn than a bad one. Let me ask you this—that you’ll not believe + anything bad of me till you’ve heard what I’ve got to say. Will you do + that?” + </p> + <p> + Fabian nodded. “Of course. But if I were you, I wouldn’t bet on myself, + Carnac. Junia’s worth running risks for. She’s got more brains than my + wife and me together, and she bosses us; but with you, it’s different. I + think you’d boss her. You’re unexpected; you’re daring; and you’re + reckless.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I certainly am reckless.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why aren’t you reckless now? You’re going away. Why, you haven’t + even told her you love her. The other man—is here, and—I’ve + seen him look at her? I know by the way she speaks of him how she feels. + Besides, he’s a great masterful creature. Don’t be a fool! Have a try ... + Junia—Junia,” he called. + </p> + <p> + The figure in the garden with the flowers turned. There was a flicker of + understanding in the rare eyes. The girl held up a bunch of flowers high + like a torch. + </p> + <p> + “I’m coming, my children,” she called, and, with a laugh, she ran forward + through the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “What is it you want, Fabian?” she asked, conscious that in Carnac’s face + was consternation. “What can I do for you?” she added, with a slight + flush. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing for me, but for Carnac—” Fabian stretched out a hand. + </p> + <p> + She laughed brusquely. “Oh, Carnac! Carnac! Well, I’ve been making him + this bouquet.” She held it out towards him. “It’s a farewell bouquet for + his little journey in the world. Take it, Carnac, with everybody’s love—with + Fabian’s love, with Sibyl’s love, with my love. Take it, and good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + With a laugh she caught up her hat from the table, and a moment later she + was in the street making for the mountain-side up which the children had + gone. + </p> + <p> + Carnac placed the bouquet upon the table. Then he turned to his brother. + </p> + <p> + “What a damn mess you make of things, Fabian!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. CARNAC’S RETURN + </h2> + <p> + “Well, what’s happened since I’ve been gone, mother?” asked Carnac. “Is + nobody we’re interested in married, or going to be married?” + </p> + <p> + It was spring-time eight months after Carnac had vanished from Montreal, + and the sun of late April was melting the snow upon the hills, bringing + out the smell of the sprouting verdure and the exultant song of the birds. + </p> + <p> + His mother replied sorrowfully: “Junia’s been away since last fall. Her + aunt in the West was taken ill, and she’s been with her ever since. Tell + me, dearest, is everything all right now? Are you free to do what you + want?” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head morosely. “No, everything’s all wrong. I blundered, and + I’m paying the price.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t find Luzanne Larue?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I found her, but it was no good. I said there was divorce, and she + replied I’d done it with my eyes open, and had signed our names in the + book of the hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Carnac Grier and divorce would not be + possible. Also, I’d let things go for a year, and what jury would give me + relief! I consulted a lawyer. He said she had the game in her hands, and + that a case could be put up that would discredit me with jury or judge, so + there it is.... Well, bad as she is, she’s fond of me in her way. I don’t + think she’s ever gone loose with any man; this is only a craze, I’m sure. + She wanted me, and she meant to have me.” + </p> + <p> + His mother protested: “No pure, straight, honest girl would—” + </p> + <p> + Carnac laughed bitterly, and interrupted. “Don’t talk that way, mother. + The girl was brought up among exiles and political criminals in the + purlieu of Montmartre. What’s possible in one place is impossible in + another. Devil as she is, I want to do her justice.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she wear a wedding-ring?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but she used my name as her own: I saw it on the paper door-plate. + She said she would wait awhile longer, but if at the end of six months I + didn’t do my duty, she’d see the thing through here among my own people.” + </p> + <p> + “Six months—it’s overdue now!” She said in agitation. + </p> + <p> + He nodded helplessly. “I’m in hell as things are. There’s only this to be + said: She’s done naught yet, and she mayn’t do aught!” + </p> + <p> + They were roused by the click of the gate. “That’s your father—that’s + John Grier,” she said. + </p> + <p> + They heard the front door open and shut, a footstep in the hall, then the + door opened and John Grier came into the room. + </p> + <p> + Preoccupation, abstraction, filled his face, as he came forward. It was as + though he was looking at something distant that both troubled and pleased + him. When he saw Carnac he stopped, his face flushed. For an instant he + stood unmoving, and then he held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “So you’ve come back, Carnac. When did you get here?” + </p> + <p> + As Carnac released his hand from John Grier’s cold clasp, he said: “A + couple of hours ago.” + </p> + <p> + The old man scrutinized him sharply, carefully. “Getting on—making + money?” he asked. “Got your hand in the pocket of the world?” + </p> + <p> + Carnac shook his head. “I don’t care much about the pocket of the world, + but they like my work in London and New York. I don’t get Royal Academy + prices, but I do pretty well.” + </p> + <p> + “Got some pride, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m always proud when anybody outside Montreal mentions your name! It + makes me feel I have a place in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Guess you’ve made your own place,” said the other, pleasure coming to his + cheek. “You’ve got your own shovel and pick to make wealth.” + </p> + <p> + “I care little about wealth. All I want is enough to clothe and feed me, + and give me a little home.” + </p> + <p> + “A little home! Yes, it’s time,” remarked the other, as he seated himself + in his big chair by the table. “Why don’t you marry?” + </p> + <p> + The old man’s eyes narrowed until there could only be seen a slit of fire + between the lids, and a bitter smile came to his lips. He had told his + wife a year ago that he had cut Carnac out of all business consideration. + So now, he added: + </p> + <p> + “Tarboe’s taken your place in the business, Carnac. Look out he doesn’t + take your little home too.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s had near a year, and he hasn’t done it yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that through any virtue of yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Probably not,” answered Carnac ironically. “But I’ve been away; he’s been + here. He’s had everything with him. Why hasn’t he pulled it off then?” + </p> + <p> + “He pulls off everything he plans. He’s never fallen over his own feet + since he’s been with me, and, if I can help it, he won’t have a fall when + I’m gone.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he got to his feet; a fit of passion seized him. “What’s Junia to + me—nothing! I’ve every reason to dislike her, but she comes and goes + as if the place belonged to her. She comes to my office; she comes to this + house; she visits Fabian; she tries to boss everybody. Why don’t you + regularize it? Why don’t you marry her, and then we’ll know where we are? + She’s got more brains than anybody else in our circle. She’s got tact and + humour. Her sister’s a fool; she’s done harm. Junia’s got sense. What are + you waiting for? I wouldn’t leave her for Tarboe! Look here, Carnac, I + wanted you to do what Tarboe’s doing, and you wouldn’t. You cheeked me—so + I took him in. He’s made good every foot of the way. He’s a wonder. I’m a + millionaire. I’m two times a millionaire, and I got the money honestly. I + gave one-third of it to Fabian, and he left us. I paid him in cash, and + now he’s fighting me.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac bristled up: “What else could he do? He might have lived on the + interest of the money, and done nothing. You trained him for business, and + he’s gone on with the business you trained him for. There are other lumber + firms. Why don’t you quarrel with them? Why do you drop on Fabian as if he + was dirt?” + </p> + <p> + “Belloc’s a rogue and a liar.” + </p> + <p> + “What difference does that make? Isn’t it a fair fight? Don’t you want + anybody to sit down or stand up till you tell them to? Is it your view you + shall tyrannize, browbeat, batter, and then that everybody you love, or + pretend to love, shall bow down before you as though you were eternal law? + I’m glad I didn’t. I’m making my own life. You gave me a chance in your + business, and I tried it, and declined it. You gave it to some one else, + and I approved of it. What more do you want?” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a new spirit of defiance awoke in him. “What I owe you I don’t + know, but if you’ll make out what you think is due, for what you’ve done + for me in the way of food and clothes and education, I’ll see you get it + all. Meanwhile, I want to be free to move and do as I will.” + </p> + <p> + John Grier sat down in his chair again, cold, merciless, with a scornful + smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” he said slowly, “you’d have made a great business man if you’d + come with me. You refused. I don’t understand you—I never did. + There’s only one thing that’s alike in us, and that’s a devilish + self-respect, self-assertion, self-dependence. There’s nothing more to be + said between us—nothing that counts. Don’t get into a passion, + Carnac. It don’t become you. Good-night—good-night.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly his mother’s face produced a great change in Carnac. Horror, + sorrow, remorse, were all there. He looked at John Grier; then at his + mother. The spirit of the bigger thing crept into his heart. He put his + arm around his mother and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, mother,” he said. Then he went to his father and held out a + hand. “You don’t mind my speaking what I think?” he continued, with a + smile. “I’ve had a lot to try me. Shake hands with me, father. We haven’t + found the way to walk together yet. Perhaps it will come; I hope so.” + </p> + <p> + Again a flash of passion seized John Grier. He got to his feet. “I’ll not + shake hands with you, not to night. You can’t put the knife in and turn it + round, and then draw it out and put salve on the wound and say + everything’s all right. Everything’s all wrong. My family’s been my curse. + First one, then another, and then all against me,—my whole family + against me!” + </p> + <p> + He dropped back in his chair sunk in gloomy reflection. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-night,” said Carnac. “It will all come right some day.” + </p> + <p> + A moment afterwards he was gone. His mother sat down in her seat by the + window; his father sat brooding by the table. + </p> + <p> + Carnac stole down the hillside, his heart burning in him. It had not been + a successful day. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. THE HOUSE OF THE THREE TREES + </h2> + <p> + During Carnac’s absence, Denzil had lain like an animal, watching, as it + were, the doorway out of which Tarboe came and went. His gloom at last + became fanaticism. During all the eight months of Carnac’s absence he + prowled in the precincts of memory. + </p> + <p> + While Junia was at home he had been watchfully determined to save her from + Tarboe, if possible. He had an obsession of wrong-mindedness which is + always attached to crime. Though Luke Tarboe had done him no wrong, and + was entitled, if he could, to win Junia for himself, to the mind of Denzil + the stain of his brother’s past was on Tarboe’s life. He saw Tarboe and + Junia meet; he knew Tarboe put himself in her way, and he was right in + thinking that the girl, with a mind for comedy and coquetry, was drawn + instinctively to danger. + </p> + <p> + Undoubtedly the massive presence of Tarboe, his animal-like, bull-headed + persistency, the fun at his big mouth and the light in his bold eye had a + kind of charm for her. It was as though she placed herself within the + danger zone to try her strength, her will; and she had done it without + real loss. More than once, as she waited in the office for old John Grier + to come, she had a strange, intuitive feeling that Tarboe might suddenly + grip her in his arms. + </p> + <p> + She flushed at the thought of it; it seemed so absurd. Yet that very + thought had passed through the mind of the man. He was by nature a hunter; + he was self-willed and reckless. No woman had ever moved him in his life + until this girl crossed his path, and he reached out towards her with the + same will to control that he had used in the business of life. Yet, while + this brute force suggested physical control of the girl, it had its + immediate reaction. She was so fine, so delicate, and yet so full of + summer and the free unfettered life of the New World, so unimpassioned + physically, yet so passionate in mind and temperament, that he felt he + must atone for the wild moment’s passion—the passion of possession, + which had made him long to crush her to his breast. There was nothing + physically repulsive in it; it was the wild, strong life of conquering + man, of which he had due share. For, as he looked at her sitting in his + office, her perfect health, her slim boyishness, her exquisite lines and + graceful turn of hand, arm and body, or the flower-like turn of the neck, + were the very harmony and poetry of life. But she was terribly provoking + too; and he realized that she was an unconscious coquette, that her spirit + loved mastery as his did. + </p> + <p> + Denzil could not know this, however. It was impossible for him to analyse + the natures of these two people. He had instinct, but not enough to judge + the whole situation, and so for two months after Carnac disappeared he had + lived a life of torture. Again and again he had determined to tell Junia + the story of Tarboe’s brother, but instinctive delicacy stopped him. He + could not tell her the terrible story which had robbed him of all he loved + and had made him the avenger of the dead. A half-dozen times after she + came back from John Grier’s office, with slightly heightening colour, and + the bright interest in her eyes, and had gone about the garden fondling + the flowers, he had started towards her; but had stopped short before her + natural modesty. Besides, why should he tell her? She had her own life to + make, her own row to hoe. Yet, as the weeks passed, it seemed he must + break upon this dangerous romance; and then suddenly she went to visit her + sick aunt in the Far West. Denzil did not know, however, that, in John + Grier’s office as she had gone over figures of a society in which she was + interested, the big hand of Tarboe had suddenly closed upon her fingers, + and that his head bent down beside hers for one swift instant, as though + he would whisper to her. Then she quickly detached herself, yet smiled at + him, as she said reprovingly: + </p> + <p> + “You oughtn’t to do that. You’ll spoil our friendship.” + </p> + <p> + She did not wait longer. As he stretched out his hands to her, his face + had gone pale: she vanished through the doorway, and in forty-eight hours + was gone to her sick aunt. The autumn had come and the winter and the + spring, and the spring was almost gone when she returned; and, with her + return, Catastrophe lifted its head in the person of Denzil. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was imperative instinct that brought Junia back in an hour + coincident with Carnac’s return—perhaps. In any case, there it was. + They had both returned, as it were, in the self-same hour, each having + endured a phase of emotion not easy to put on paper. + </p> + <p> + Denzil told her of Carnac’s return, and she went to the house where + Carnac’s mother lived, and was depressed at what she saw and felt. Mrs. + Grier’s face was not that of one who had good news. The long arms almost + hurt when they embraced her. Yet Carnac was a subject of talk between them—open, + clear eyed talk. The woman did not know what to say, except to praise her + boy, and the girl asked questions cheerfully, unimportantly as to sound, + but with every nerve tingling. There was, however, so much of the + comedienne in her, so much coquetry, that only one who knew her well could + have seen the things that troubled her behind all. As though to punish + herself, she began to speak of Tarboe, and Mrs. Grier’s face clouded; she + spoke more of Tarboe, and the gloom deepened. Then, with the mask of + coquetry still upon her she left Carnac’s mother abashed, sorrowful and + alone. + </p> + <p> + Tarboe had called in her absence. Entering the garden, he saw Denzil at + work. At the click of the gate Denzil turned, and came forward. + </p> + <p> + “She ain’t home,” he said bluntly. “She’s out. She ain’t here. She’s up at + Mr. Grier’s house, bien sur.” + </p> + <p> + To Tarboe Denzil’s words were offensive. It was none of Denzil’s business + whether he came or went in this house, or what his relations with Junia + were. Democrat though he was, he did not let democracy transgress his + personal associations. He knew that the Frenchman was less likely to say + and do the crude thing than the Britisher. + </p> + <p> + Tarboe knew of the position held by Denzil in the Shale household; and + that long years of service had given him authority. All this, however, + could not atone for the insolence of Denzil’s words, but he had controlled + men too long to act rashly. + </p> + <p> + “When will Mademoiselle be back?” he asked, putting a hand on himself. + </p> + <p> + “To-night,” answered Denzil, with an antipathetic eye. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be a damn fool. Tell me the hour when you think she will be at + home. Before dinner—within the next sixty minutes?” + </p> + <p> + “Ma’m’selle is under no orders. She didn’t say when she would be back—but + no!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think she’ll be back for dinner?” asked Tarboe, smothering his + anger, but get to get his own way. + </p> + <p> + “I think she’ll be back for dinner!” and he drove the spade into the + ground. + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll sit down and wait.” Tarboe made for the verandah. + </p> + <p> + Denzil presently trotted after and said: “I’d like a word with you.” + </p> + <p> + Tarboe turned round. “Well, what have you got to say?” + </p> + <p> + “Better be said in my house, not here,” replied Denzil. His face was pale, + but there was fire in his eyes. There was no danger of violence, and, if + there were, Tarboe could deal with it. Why should there be violence? Why + should that semi-insanity in Denzil’s eyes disturb him? The one thing to + do was to forge ahead. He nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you taking me?” he asked presently, as they passed through the + gate. + </p> + <p> + “To my little house by the Three Trees. I’ve got things I’d like to show + you, and there’s some things I’d like to say. You are a big hulk of a man, + and I’m nobody, but yet I’ve been close to you and yours in my time—that’s + so, for sure.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve been close to me and mine in your time, eh? I didn’t know that.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you didn’t know it. Nobody knew it—I’ve kept it to myself. Your + family wasn’t all first-class—but no.” + </p> + <p> + They soon reached the plain board-house, with the well-laid foundation of + stone, by the big Three Trees. Inside the little spare, undecorated room, + Tarboe looked round. It was all quiet and still enough. It was like a + lodge in the wilderness. Somehow, the atmosphere of it made him feel apart + and lonely. Perhaps that was a little due to the timbered ceiling, to the + walls with cedar scantlings showing, to the crude look of everything-the + head of a moose, the skins hanging down the sides of the walls, the smell + of the cedar, and the swift movement of a tame red squirrel, which ran up + the walls and over the floor and along the chimney-piece, for Denzil + avoided the iron stove so common in these new cold lands, and remained + faithful to a huge old-fashioned mantel. + </p> + <p> + Presently Denzil faced him, having closed the door. “I said I’d been near + to your family and you didn’t believe me. Sit down, please to, and I’ll + tell you my story.” + </p> + <p> + Seating himself with a little curt laugh, Tarboe waved a hand as though to + say: “Go ahead. I’m ready.” + </p> + <p> + It was difficult for Denzil to begin. He walked up and down the room, + muttering and shaking his head. Presently, however, he made the Sign of + the Cross upon himself, and, leaning against the wall, and opposite to + Tarboe, he began the story he had told Carnac. + </p> + <p> + His description of his dead fiancee had flashes of poetry and excruciating + touches of life: + </p> + <p> + “She had no mother, and there was lots of things she didn’t know because + of that—ah, plenty! She had to learn, and she brought on her own + tragedy by not knowing that men, even when good to look at, can’t be + trusted; that every place, even in the woods and the fields where every + one seems safe to us outdoor people, ain’t safe—but no. So she + trusted, and then one day—” + </p> + <p> + For the next five minutes the words poured from him in moroseness. He drew + a picture of the lonely wood, of the believing credulous girl and the + masterful, intellectual, skilful man. In the midst of it Tarboe started. + The description of the place and of the man was familiar. He had a vision + of a fair young girl encompassed by clanger; he saw her in the man’s arms; + the man’s lips to hers, and— + </p> + <p> + “Good God—good God!” he said twice, for a glimmer of the truth + struck him. He knew what his brother had done. He could conceive the + revenge to his brother’s amorous hand. He listened till the whole tale was + told; till the death of the girl in the pond at home—back in her own + little home. Then the rest of the story shook him. + </p> + <p> + “The verdict of the coroner’s court was that he was shot by his own hand—by + accident,” said Denzil. “That was the coroner’s verdict, but yes! Well, he + was shot by his own gun, but not by his own hand. There was some one who + loved the girl, took toll. The world did not know, and does not know, but + you know—you—you, the brother of him that spoiled a woman’s + life! Do you think such a man should live? She was the sweetest girl that + ever lived, and she loved me! She told me the truth—and he died by + his own gun—in the woods; but it wasn’t accident—it wasn’t + accident—but no! The girl had gone, but behind her was some one that + loved her, and he settled it once for all.” + </p> + <p> + As he had told the story, Denzil’s body seemed to contract; his face took + on an insane expression. It was ghastly pale, but his eyes ware aflame. + His arms stretched out with grim realism as he told of the death of + Almeric Tarboe. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve got the whole truth, m’sieu’. I’ve told it you at last. I’ve never + been sorry for killing him—never—never—never. Now, what + are you going to do about it—you—his brother—you that + come here making love too?” + </p> + <p> + As the truth dawned upon Tarboe, his great figure stretched itself. A + black spirit possessed him. + </p> + <p> + When Denzil had finished, Tarboe stood up. There was dementia, cruelty, + stark purpose in his eyes, in every movement. + </p> + <p> + “What am I going to do? You killed my brother! Well, I’m going to kill + you. God blast your soul—I’m going to kill you!” + </p> + <p> + He suddenly swooped upon Denzil, his fingers clenched about the thick + throat, insane rage was on him. + </p> + <p> + At that moment there was a knock at the door, it opened, and Carnac + stepped inside. He realized the situation and rushed forward. There was no + time to struggle. + </p> + <p> + “Let him go,” he cried. “You devil—let him go.” Then with all his + might, he struck Tarboe in the face. The blow brought understanding back + to Tarboe. His fingers loosed from the Frenchman’s throat, and Carnac + caught Denzil as he fell backwards. + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” said Carnac. “Good God, Tarboe! Wasn’t it enough for your + brother to take this man’s love without your trying to take his life?” + </p> + <p> + Carnac’s blow brought conviction to Tarboe, whose terrible rage passed + away. He wiped the blood from his face. + </p> + <p> + “Is the little devil all right?” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + Denzil spoke: “Yes. This is the second time M’sieu’ Carnac has saved my + life.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac intervened. “Tell me, Tarboe, what shall you do, now you know the + truth?” + </p> + <p> + At last Tarboe thrust out a hand. “I don’t know the truth,” he said. + </p> + <p> + By this Carnac knew that Denzil was safe from the law. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. CARNAC AND JUNIA + </h2> + <p> + Tarboe did not see Junia that evening nor for many evenings, but Carnac + and Junia met the next day in her own house. He came on her as she was + arranging the table for midday dinner. She had taken up again the threads + of housekeeping, cheering her father, helping the old French-woman cook—a + huge creature who moved like a small mountain, and was a tyrant in her way + to the old cheerful avocat, whose life had been a struggle for existence, + yet whose one daughter had married a rich lumberman, and whose other + daughter could marry wealth, handsomeness and youth, if she chose. + </p> + <p> + When Carnac saw Junia she was entering the dining-room with flowers and + fruit, and he recalled the last time they met, when she had thrust the + farewell bouquet of flowers into his hand. That was in the early autumn, + and this was in late spring, and the light in her face was as glowing as + then. A remembrance of the scene came to the minds of both, and the girl + gave a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, Carnac,” she said gaily, her cheek flushing, her eyes warm + with colour: “well, I sent you away with flowers. Did they bring you + luck?” She looked him steadily in the eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they brought me a perfect remembrance—of one who has always + been to me like the balm of Gilead.” + </p> + <p> + “Soothing and stimulating, eh?” she asked, as she put the flowers on the + table and gave him her hand—no, she suddenly gave him both hands + with a rush of old-time friendship, which robbed it of all personal + emotion. + </p> + <p> + For a moment he held her hands. He felt them tremble in his warm clasp, + the delicate, shivering pulsation of youth, the womanly feeling. It was + for an instant only, because she withdrew her fingers. Then she caught up + an apple from the dish she had brought in, and tossed it to him. + </p> + <p> + “For a good boy,” she said. “You have been a good boy, haven’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so, chiefly by remembering a good girl.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a pretty compliment—meant for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, meant for you. I think you understand me better than anyone else.” + </p> + <p> + He noticed her forehead wrinkle slightly, and a faint, incredulous smile + come to her lips. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t think I understand you, Carnac,” she said, over her shoulder, + as she arranged dishes on the sideboard. “I shouldn’t think I know you + well. There’s no Book of Revelations of your life except in your face.” + </p> + <p> + She suddenly turned full on him, and held his eyes. “Carnac, I think your + face looks honest. I’ve always thought so, and yet I think you’re + something of a scamp, a rogue and a thief.” + </p> + <p> + There was determination at her lips, through which, though only slightly + apart, her beautiful teeth, so straight, so regular, showed. “You don’t + play fair. What’s the good of having a friend if you don’t tell your + friend your troubles? And you’ve been in trouble, Carnac, and you’re + fighting it through alone. Is that wise? You ought to tell some bad man, + or some good woman—if they’re both clever—what’s vexing you. + </p> + <p> + “You see the bad clever man would probably think out something that would + have the same effect as the good clever woman. They never would think out + the same thing, but each ‘d think out what would help you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you’ve just said I’m a bad clever man. Why shouldn’t I work out my + own trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you’re bad enough,” she answered, “but you’re not clever enough.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled grimly. “I’m not sure though about the woman. Perhaps I’ll tell + the good clever woman some day and let her help me, if she can. But I’d + warn her it won’t be easy.” + </p> + <p> + “Then there’s another woman in it!” + </p> + <p> + He did not answer. He could not let her know the truth, yet he was sure + she would come to know it one way or another. + </p> + <p> + At that moment she leaned over the table and stretched a hand to arrange + something. The perfection of her poise, the beauty of her lines, the charm + of her face seized Carnac, and, with an impulse, he ran his arm around her + waist. + </p> + <p> + “Junia—Junia!” he said in a voice of rash, warm feeling. + </p> + <p> + She was like a wild bird caught in its flight. A sudden stillness held + her, and then she turned her head towards him, subdued inquiry in her + eyes. For a moment only she looked—and then she said: + </p> + <p> + “Take your arm away, please.” + </p> + <p> + The conviction that he ought not to make any sign of love to her broke his + sudden passion. He drew back ashamed, yet defiant, rebuked, yet + rebellious. It was like a challenge to her. A sarcastic smile crossed her + lips. + </p> + <p> + “What a creature of impulses you are, Carnac! When we were children the + day you saved Denzil years ago you flung your arms around me and kissed + me. I didn’t understand anything then, and what’s more I don’t think you + did. You were a wilful, hazardous boy, and went your way taking the + flowers in the garden that didn’t belong to you. Yet after all these + years, with an impulse behind which there is nothing—nothing at all, + you repeat that incident.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly passion seemed to possess her. “How dare you trifle with things + that mean so much! Have you learned nothing since I saw you last? Can + nothing teach you, Carnac? Can you not learn how to play the big part? If + you weren’t grown up, do you know what I would do? I would slap the face + of an insolent, thoughtless, hopeless boy.” Then her temper seemed to + pass. She caught up an apple again and thrust it into his hand. “Go and + eat that, Adam. Perhaps it’ll make you wise like the old Adam. He put his + faults upon a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I,” said Carnac. “So do I.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s what you would do, but you mustn’t play that sort of game with a + good woman.” She burst out laughing. “For a man you’re a precious fool! I + don’t think I want to see you again. You don’t improve. You’re full of + horrid impulses.” Her indignation came back. “How dare you put your arm + around me!” + </p> + <p> + “It was the impulse of my heart. I can say no more; if I could I would. + There’s something I should like to tell you, but I mustn’t.” He put the + apple down. + </p> + <p> + “About the other woman, I suppose,” she said coldly, the hot indignation + gone from her lips. + </p> + <p> + He looked her steadfastly in the eyes. “If you won’t trust me—if you + won’t trust me—” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve always trusted you,” she replied, “but I don’t trust you now. Don’t + you understand that a good girl hates conduct like yours?” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly with anger he turned upon her. “Yes, I understand everything, but + you don’t understand. Why won’t you believe that the reason I won’t tell + you my trouble is that it’s best you shouldn’t know? You’re a young girl; + you don’t know life; you haven’t seen it as I’ve seen it—in the + sewage, in the ditch, on the road, on the mountain and in the bog. I want + you to keep faith with your old friend who doesn’t care what the rest of + the world thinks, but who wants your confidence. Trust me—don’t + condemn me. Believe me, I haven’t been wanton. Won’t you trust me?” + </p> + <p> + The spirit of egotism was alive in her. She knew how much she had denied + herself in the past months. She did not know whether she loved him, but + injured pride tortured her. Except in a dance and in sports at a picnic or + recreation-ground no man had ever put his arms around her. No man except + Carnac, and that he had done it was like a lash upon the raw skinless + flesh. If she had been asked by the Almighty whether she loved Carnac, she + would have said she did not know. This was not a matter of love; but of + womanhood, of self-respect, of the pride of one who cannot ask for herself + what she wants in the field of love, who must wait to be wooed and won. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t think I’m straight,” he said in protest. “You think I’m no + good, that I’m a fraud. You’re wrong. Believe me, that is the truth.” He + came closer up to her. “Junia, if you’ll stand by me, I’m sure I’ll come + out right. I’ve been caught in a mesh I can’t untangle yet, but it can be + untangled, and when it is, you shall know everything, because then you’ll + understand. I can free myself from the tangle, but it could never be + explained—not so the world would believe. I haven’t trifled with + you. I would believe in you even if I saw, or thought I saw, the signs of + wrong in you. I would know that at heart you were good. I put my faith in + you long ago—last year I staked all on your friendship, and I + haven’t been deceived.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled at her, his soul in his eyes. There was truth in his smile, and + she realized it. + </p> + <p> + After a moment, she put out a hand and pushed him gently from her. “Go + away, Carnac, please—now,” she said softly. + </p> + <p> + A moment afterwards he was gone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. JOHN GRIER MAKES A JOURNEY + </h2> + <p> + John Grier’s business had beaten all past records. Tarboe was everywhere: + on the river, in the saw-mills, in the lumber-yards, in the office. Health + and strength and goodwill were with him, and he had the confidence of all + men in the lumber-world. It was rumoured that he was a partner of John + Grier, and it was a good thing for him as well as for the business. He was + no partner, however; he was on a salary with a bonus percentage of the + profits; but that increased his vigour. + </p> + <p> + There were times when he longed for the backwoods life; when the smell of + the pines and the firs and the juniper got into his nostrils; when he + heard, in imagination, the shouts of the river-men as they chopped down + the trees, sawed the boles into standard lengths, and plunged the big + timbers into the stream, or round the fire at night made call upon the + spirit of recreation. In imagination, he felt the timbers creaking and + straining under his feet; he smelt the rich soup from the cook’s caboose; + he drank basins of tea from well-polished metal; he saw the ugly rows in + the taverns, where men let loose from river duty tried to regain civilian + life by means of liquor and cards; he heard the stern thud of a hard fist + against a piece of wood; he saw twenty men spring upon another twenty with + rage in their faces; he saw hundreds of men arrived in civilization once + again striking for their homes and loved ones, storming with life. He saw + the door flung open, and the knee-booted, corduroyed river-man, with red + sash around his waist and gold rings in his ears, seize the woman he + called wife and swing her to him with a hungry joy; he saw the children + pushed gently here, or roughly, but playfully, tossed in the air and + caught again; but he also saw the rough spirits of the river march into + their homes like tyrants returned, as it were, cursing and banging their + way back to their rightful nests. + </p> + <p> + Occasionally he would wish to be in it all again, out in the wild woods + and on the river and in the shanty, free and strong and friendly and a bit + ferocious. All he had known of the backwoods life filled his veins, + tortured him at times. + </p> + <p> + From the day that both wills were made and signed, no word had been spoken + concerning them between him and John Grier. He admired certain + characteristics of John Grier; some secret charities, some impulsive + generosity, some signs of public spirit. The old man was fond of animals, + and had given water-troughs to the town; and his own horses and the horses + he used in the woods were always well fed. Also, in all his arrangements + for the woods, he was generous. He believed in feeding his men well. It + was rough food—beans, potatoes, peas, lentils, pork in + barrels-salted pork; but there was bread of the best, rich soup, pork well + boiled and fried, with good tea, freshly made. This was the regular fare, + and men throve on it. + </p> + <p> + One day, however, shortly after Carnac’s return home, there came a change + in the scene. Things had been going badly for a couple of days and the old + man had been seriously overworked. He had not listened to the warnings of + Tarboe, or to the hints thrown out by his own punished physique. He was + not a man to take hints. Everything that vexed his life roused opposition. + This Tarboe knew, but he also knew that the business must suffer, if the + old man suffered. + </p> + <p> + When John Grier left the office it was with head bowed and mind depressed. + Nothing had happened to cause him grave anxiety, yet he had been below par + for several hours. Why was he working so hard? Why was life to him such a + concentration? Why did he seek for more money and to get more power? To + whom could it go? Not to Fabian; not to his wife. To Tarboe—well, + there was not enough in that! This man had only lately come into his life, + and was only near to him in a business sense. Carnac was near in every + sense that really mattered, and Carnac was out of it all. + </p> + <p> + He was not loved, and in his heart of hearts he knew it, but he had had + his own way, and he loved himself. No one seemed to care for him, not even + his wife. How many years was it since they had roomed together? Yet as he + went towards his own home now, he recalled the day they were married, and + for the first time had drawn as near to each other as life could draw. He + had thought her wonderful then, refined, and oh! so rich in life’s gifts. + His love had almost throttled her. She was warm and bountiful and full of + temperament. So it went for three years, and then slowly he drew away from + her until at last, returning from the backwoods, he had gone to another + room, and there had stayed. Very occasionally he had smothered her with + affection, but that had passed, until now, middle-aged, she seemed to be + not a room away from him, but a thousand rooms away. He saw it with no + reproach to himself. He forgot it was he who had left her room, and had + set up his own tabernacle, because his hours differed from hers, and + because she tossed in her bed at nights, and that made him restless too. + </p> + <p> + Yet, if his love had been the real thing, he would have stayed, because + their lives were so similar, and the rules of domestic life in French + Canada were so fixed. He had spoiled his own household, destroyed his own + peace, forsaken his own nest, outlived his hope and the possibility of + further hope, except more business success, more to leave behind him. + </p> + <p> + That was the stern truth. Had he been a different man the devotion his + wife had shown would have drawn him back to her; had she been a different + woman, unvexed by a horrible remembrance, she would have made his soul her + own and her soul his own once again. She had not dared to tell him the + truth; afraid more for her boy’s sake than for her own. She had been glad + that Tarboe had helped to replace the broken link with Fabian, that he had + taken the place which Carnac, had he been John Grier’s son, ought to have + taken. She could not blame Carnac, and she could not blame her husband, + but the thing ate into her heart. + </p> + <p> + John Grier found her sitting by her table in the great living-room, + patient and grave, and yet she smiled at him, and rose as he came into the + room. His troubled face brought her forward quickly. She stretched out a + hand appealingly to him. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter, John? Has anything upset you?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not upset.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes you are,” she urged, “but, yes, you are! Something has gone wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing’s gone wrong that hasn’t been wrong for many a year,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What’s been wrong for many a year?” + </p> + <p> + “The boys you brought into this world—your sons!” he burst out. “Why + isn’t Carnac working with me? There must have been something damned bad in + the bringing up of those boys. I’ve not, got the love of any of you, and I + know it. Why should I be thrown over by every one?” + </p> + <p> + “Every one hasn’t thrown you over. Mr. Tarboe hasn’t. You’ve been in great + spirits about him. What’s the matter?” + </p> + <p> + He waved a hand savagely at her, with an almost insane look in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What’s he to me! He’s a man of business. In a business way I like him, + but I want my own flesh and blood by me in my business. I wanted Carnac, + and he wouldn’t come—a few weeks only he came. I had Fabian, and he + wouldn’t stay. If I’d had a real chance—” + </p> + <p> + He broke off, with an outward savage protest of his hands, his voice + falling. + </p> + <p> + “If you’d had your chance, you’d have made your own home happy,” she said + sadly. “That was your first duty, not your business—your home—your + home! You didn’t care about it. There were times when for months you + forgot me; and then—then—” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a dreadful suspicion seized his brain. His head bent forward, his + shoulders thrust out, he stumbled towards her. + </p> + <p> + “Then—well, what then!” he gasped. “Then—you—forgot—” + </p> + <p> + She realized she had gone too far, saw the storm in his mind. + </p> + <p> + “No—no—no, I didn’t forget you, John. Never—but—” + </p> + <p> + She got no farther. Suddenly his hands stretched out as if to seize her + shoulders, his face became tortured—he swayed. She caught him. She + lowered him to the floor, and put a hassock under his head. Then she rang + the bell—rang it—and rang again. + </p> + <p> + When help came, all was too late. John Grier had gone for ever. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. THE READING OF THE WILL + </h2> + <p> + As Tarboe stood in the church alone at the funeral, in a pew behind John + Grier’s family, sadness held him. He had known, as no one else knew, that + the business would pass into his own hands. He suddenly felt his task too + big for him, and he looked at Carnac now with sympathy. Carnac had brains, + capacity, could almost take his father’s place; he was tactful, intuitive, + alert. Yet Carnac, at present, was out of the question. He knew the stress + of spirit which had turned Carnac from the opportunity lying at his feet. + </p> + <p> + In spite of himself there ran through his mind another thought. Near by, + at the left, dressed in mourning also, was Junia. He had made up his mind + that Junia should be his, and suddenly the usefulness of the business + about to fall into his hands became a weapon in the field of Love. He was + physically a finer man than Carnac; he had capacity; he had personality; + and he would have money and position—for a time at least. In that + time, why should he not win this girl with the wonderful eyes and hair, + with the frankness and candour of unspoiled girlhood in her face? + Presently he would be in the blare of sensation, in the height of as + dramatic an episode as comes to the lives of men; and in the episode he + saw advantages which should weigh with any girl. + </p> + <p> + Then had come the reading of the will after the funeral rites were over, + and he, with the family, were gathered in the dining-room of the House on + the Hill. + </p> + <p> + He was scarcely ready, however, for the prodigious silence following the + announcement read by the lawyer. He felt as though life was suspended for + many minutes, when it was proclaimed that he, Luke Tarboe, would inherit + the property. Although he knew of the contents of the will his heart was + thumping like a sledge-hammer. + </p> + <p> + He looked round the room slowly. The only embarrassment to be seen was on + the faces of Fabian and his wife. Mrs. Grier and Carnac showed nothing. + Carnac did not even move; by neither gesture nor motion of body did he + show aught. At the close of it all, he came to Tarboe and held out a hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good luck to you, Tarboe!” he said. “You’ll make a success, and that’s + what he wanted more than anything else. Good luck to you!” he said again + and turned away.... + </p> + <p> + When John Grier’s will was published in the Press consternation filled the + minds of all. Tarboe had been in the business for under two years, yet + here he was left all the property with uncontracted power. Mrs. John Grier + was to be paid during her life a yearly stipend of twenty thousand dollars + from the business; she also received a grant of seventy thousand dollars. + Beyond that, there were a few gifts to hospitals and for the protection of + horses, while to the clergyman of the parish went one thousand dollars. It + certainly could not be called a popular will, and, complimentary as the + newspapers were to the energy and success of John Grier, few of them + called him public-spirited, or a generous-hearted citizen. In his death he + paid the price of his egotism. + </p> + <p> + The most surprised person, however, was Junia Shale. + </p> + <p> + To her it was shameful that Carnac should be eliminated from all share in + the abundant fortune John Grier had built up. It seemed fantastic that the + fortune and the business—and the business was the fortune—should + be left to Tarboe. Had she known the contents of the will before John + Grier was buried, she would not have gone to the funeral. Egotistic she + had known Grier to be, and she imagined the will to be a sudden result of + anger. He was dead and buried. The places that knew him knew him no more. + All in an hour, as it were, the man Tarboe—that dominant, + resourceful figure—had come into wealth and power. + </p> + <p> + After Junia read the substance of the will, she went springing up the + mountain-side, as it were to work off her excitement by fatigue. At the + mountain-top she gazed over the River St. Lawrence with an eye blind to + all except this terrible distortion of life. Yet through her obfuscation, + there ran admiration for Tarboe. What a man he was! He had captured John + Grier as quickly and as securely as a night fisherman spears a sturgeon in + the flare at the bow of the boat. Tarboe’s ability was as marked as John + Grier’s mad policy. It was strange that Tarboe should have bewildered and + bamboozled—if that word could be used—the old millowner. It + was as curious and thrilling as John Grier’s fanaticism. + </p> + <p> + Already the pinch of corruption had nipped his flesh; he was useless, + motionless in his narrow house, and yet, unseen but powerful, his + influence went on. It shamed a wife and son; it blackened the doors of a + home; it penalized a family. + </p> + <p> + Indeed he had been a bad man, and yet she could not reconcile it all with + a wonderful something in him, a boldness, a sense of humour, an + everlasting energy, an electric power. She had never seen anyone vitalize + everything round him as John Grier had done. He threw things from him like + an exasperated giant; he drew things to him like an Angel of the Covenant. + To him life was less a problem than an experiment, and this last act, this + nameless repudiation of the laws of family life, was like the sign of a + chemist’s activity. As she stood on the mountain-top her breath suddenly + came fast, and she caught her bosom with angry hands. + </p> + <p> + “Carnac—poor Carnac!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + What would the world say? There were those, perhaps, who thought Carnac + almost a ne’er-do-well, but they were of the commercial world where John + Grier had been supreme. + </p> + <p> + At the same moment, Carnac in the garden of his old home beheld the river + too and the great expanse of country, saw the grey light of evening on the + distant hills, and listened to Fabian who condoled with him. When Fabian + had gone, Carnac sat down on a bench and thought over the whole thing. + Carnac had no quarrel with his fate. When in the old home on the hill he + had heard the will, it had surprised him, but it had not shocked him. He + had looked to be the discarded heir, and he knew it now without rebellion. + He had never tried to smooth the path to that financial security which his + father could give. Yet now that disaster had come, there was a glimmer of + remorse, of revolt, because there was some one besides himself who might + think he had thrown away his chances. He did not know that over on the + mountain-side, vituperating the memory of the dead man, Junia was angry + only for Carnac’s sake. + </p> + <p> + With the black storm of sudden death roaring in his ears, he had a sense + of freedom, almost of licence. Nothing that had been his father’s was now + his own, or his mother’s, except the land and house on which they were. + All the great business John Grier had built up was gone into the hands of + the usurper, a young, bold, pestilent, powerful, vigorous man. It seemed + suddenly horrible that the timber-yards and the woods and the offices, and + the buildings of John Grier’s commercial business were not under his own + direction, or that of his mother, or brother. They had ceased to be + factors in the equation; they were ‘non est’ in the postmortem history of + John Grier. How immense a nerve the old man had to make such a will, which + outraged every convention of social and family life; which was, in effect, + a proclamation that his son Carnac had no place in John Grier’s scheme of + things, while John Grier’s wife was rewarded like some faithful old + servant. Yet some newspapers had said he was a man of goodwill, and had + appreciation of talent, adding, however, the doubtful suggestion that the + appreciation stopped short of the prowess of his son Carnac in the field + of Art. It was evident John Grier’s act was thought by the conventionalist + to be a wicked blunder. + </p> + <p> + As Carnac saw the world where there was not a single material thing that + belonged to him, he had a sudden conviction that his life would run in + other lines than those within which it had been drawn to the present time. + Looking over this wonderful prospect of the St. Lawrence, he had an + insistent feeling that he ought to remain in the land where he was born, + and give of whatever he was capable to its life. It was all a strenuous + problem. For Carnac there was, duly or unduly, fairly or unfairly, a fate + better than that of John Grier. If he died suddenly, as his father had + died, a handful of people would sorrow with excess of feeling, and the + growing world of his patrons would lament his loss. No one really grieved + for John Grier’s departure, except—strange to say—Tarboe. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. A GREAT DECISION + </h2> + <p> + Months went by. In them Destiny made new drawings. With his mother, Carnac + went to paint at a place called Charlemont. Tarboe pursued his work at the + mills successfully; Junia saw nothing of Carnac, but she had a letter from + him, and it might have been written by a man to his friend, yet with an + undercurrent of sadness that troubled her. + </p> + <p> + She might, perhaps, have yielded to the attentions of Tarboe, had not an + appealing message come from her aunt, and at an hour’s notice went West + again on her mission of sick-service. + </p> + <p> + Politically the Province of Quebec was in turmoil. The time was drawing + near when the Dominion Government must go to the polls, and in the most + secluded cottage on the St. Lawrence, the virtues and defects of the + administration were vital questions. Voters knew as much of technical + law-making as the average voter everywhere, but no more, and sometimes + less. Yet there was in the mind of the French-Canadian an intuition, which + was as valuable as the deeper knowledge of a trained politician. The two + great parties in the Province were led by Frenchmen. The English people, + however, were chiefly identified with the party opposed to Barode + Barouche, the Secretary of State. + </p> + <p> + As the agitation began in the late spring, Carnac became suddenly + interested in everything political. + </p> + <p> + He realized what John Grier had said concerning politics—that, given + other characteristics, the making of laws meant success or failure for + every profession or trade, for every interest in the country. He had known + a few politicians; though he had never yet met the most dominant figure in + the Province—Barode Barouche, who had a singular fascination for + him. He seemed a man dominant and plausible, with a right-minded + impulsiveness. Things John Grier had said about Barouche rang in his ears. + </p> + <p> + As the autumn drew near excitement increased. Political meetings were + being held everywhere. There was one feature more common in Canada than in + any other country; opposing candidates met on the same platform and fought + their fight out in the hearing of those whom they were wooing. One day + Carnac read in a newspaper that Barode Barouche was to speak at St. + Annabel. As that was not far from Charlemont he determined to hear + Barouche for the first time. He had for him a sympathy which, to himself, + seemed a matter of temperament. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” he said, “wouldn’t you like to go and hear Barode Barouche at + St. Annabel? You know him—I mean personally?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I knew him long ago,” was the scarcely vocal reply. + </p> + <p> + “He’s a great, fine man, isn’t he? Wrong-headed, wrong-purposed, but a big + fine fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “If a man is wrong-headed and wrong-purposed, it isn’t easy for him to be + fine, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends. A man might want to save his country by making some good + law, and be mistaken both as to the result of that law and the right + methods in making it. I’d like you to be with me when I hear him for the + first time. I’ve got a feeling he’s one of the biggest men of our day. Of + course he isn’t perfect. A man might want to save another’s life, but he + might choose the wrong way to do it, and that’s wrongheaded; and perhaps + he oughtn’t to save the man’s life, and that’s wrong-purposed. There’s no + crime in either. Let’s go and hear Monsieur Barouche.” + </p> + <p> + He did not see the flush which suddenly filled her face; and, if he had, + he would not have understood. For her a long twenty-seven years rolled + back to the day when she was a young neglected wife, full of life’s + vitalities, out on a junction of the river and the wild woods, with Barode + Barouche’s fishing-camp near by. She shivered now as she thought of it. It + was all so strange, and heart-breaking. For long years she had paid the + price of her mistake. She knew how eloquent Barode Barouche could be; she + knew how his voice had all the ravishment of silver bells to the + unsuspecting. How well she knew him; how deeply she realized the darkness + of his nature! Once she had said to him: + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I think that for duty’s sake you would cling like a leech.” + </p> + <p> + It was true. For thirty long years he had been in one sense homeless, his + wife having lost her reason three years after they were married. In that + time he had faithfully visited the place of her confinement every month of + his life, sobered, chastened, at first hopeful, defiant. At the bottom of + his heart Barode Barouche did not want marital freedom. He had loved the + mad woman. He remembered her in the glory of her youth, in the splendour + of her beauty. The insane asylum did not destroy his memory. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Grier remembered too, but in a different way. Her relations with him + had been one swift, absorbing fever—a mad dream, a moment of rash + impulse, a yielding to the natural feeling which her own husband had + aroused: the husband who now neglected her while Barode Barouche treated + her so well, until a day when under his beguilement a stormy impulse gave—Carnac. + Then the end came, instant and final; she bolted, barred and locked the + door against Barode and he had made little effort to open it. So they had + parted, and had never clasped hands or kissed again. To him she was a sin + of which he never repented. He had watched the growth and development of + Carnac with a sharp sympathy. He was not a good man; but in him were seeds + of goodness. To her he was the lash searing her flesh, day in day out, + year in year out, which kept her sacred to her home. For her children’s + sake she did not tell her husband, and she had emptied out her heart over + Carnac with overwhelming fondness. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’ll go, Carnac,” she said at last, for it seemed the easier way. “I + haven’t been to a political meeting for many years.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s right. I like your being with me.” + </p> + <p> + The meeting was held in what had been a skating-rink and drill-hall. On + the platform in the centre was the chairman, with Barode Barouche on his + right. There was some preliminary speech-making from the chairman. A + resolution was moved supporting Barouche, his party and policy, and there + were little explosions of merriment at strokes of unconscious humour made + by the speakers; and especially by one old farmer who made his jokes on + the spot, and who now tried to embalm Barouche with praise. He drew + attention to Barouche’s leonine head and beard, to his alert eyes and + quizzical face, and said he was as strong in the field of legislation as + he was in body and mind. Carnac noticed that Barouche listened + good-naturedly, and now and then cocked his head and looked up at the + ceiling as though to find something there. + </p> + <p> + There was a curious familiarity in the action of the head which struck + Carnac. He and his mother were seated about five rows back from the front + row on the edge of the aisle. As the meeting progressed, Barouche’s eyes + wandered slowly over the faces of his audience. Presently he saw Carnac + and his mother. Mrs. Grier was conscious of a shock upon the mind of + Barouche. She saw his eyes go misty with feeling. For him the world was + suddenly shut out, and he only saw the woods of a late summer’s afternoon, + a lonely tent—and a woman. A flush crept up his face. Then he made a + spasmodic gesture of the hand, outward, which again Carnac recognized as + familiar. It was the kind of thing he did himself. + </p> + <p> + So absorbed was Barode Barouche that he only mechanically heard the + chairman announce himself, but when he got to his feet his full senses + came back. The sight of the woman to whom he had been so much, and who had + been so much to him for one short month, magnetized him; the face of the + boy, so like his own as he remembered it thirty years ago, stirred his + veins. There before him was his own one unacknowledged child—the + only child ever born to him. His heart throbbed. Then he began to speak. + Never in all his life had he spoken as he did this day. It was only a + rural audience; there was not much intelligence in it; but it had a + character all its own. It was alive to its own interests, chiefly of + agriculture and the river. It was composed of both parties, and he could + stimulate his own side, and, perhaps, win the other. + </p> + <p> + Thus it was that, with the blood pounding through his veins, the inspired + sensualist began his speech. It was his duty to map out a policy for the + future; to give the people an idea of what his party meant to do; to + guide, to inspire, to inflame. + </p> + <p> + As Carnac listened he kept framing the words not yet issued, but which did + issue from Barouche’s mouth; his quick intelligence correctly imagined the + line Barouche would take; again and again Barouche made a gesture, or + tossed his head, or swung upon his feet to right and left in harmony with + Carnac’s own mind. Carnac would say to himself: “Why, that’s what I’d have + done—that’s what I’d have said, if I had his policy.” More than + once, in some inspired moment of the speech, he caught his mother’s hand, + and he did not notice that her hand trembled. + </p> + <p> + But as for one of Barouche’s chapter of policy Carnac almost sprang to his + feet in protest when Barouche declared it. To Carnac it seemed fatal to + French Canada, though it was expounded with a taking air; yet as he + himself had said it was “wrong-headed and wrong-purposed.” + </p> + <p> + When the speech had finished to great cheering, Carnac suddenly turned to + his mother: + </p> + <p> + “He’s on the wrong track. I know the policy to down his. He’s got no + opponent. I’m going to stand against him at the polls.” + </p> + <p> + She clutched his arm. “Carnac—Carnac! You don’t know what you’re + doing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will pretty quick,” he replied stoutly. “I’m out after him, if + they’ll have me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. CARNAC BECOMES A CANDIDATE + </h2> + <p> + That night Carnac mapped out his course, carefully framed the policy to + offset that of Barode Barouche, and wrote a letter to the Chairman of the + Opposition at Montreal offering to stand, and putting forward an ingenious + policy. He asked also for an interview; and the interview was granted by + telegram—almost to his surprise. He was aware, however, of the + discontent among the English members of the Opposition, and of the wish of + the French members to find a good compromise. + </p> + <p> + He had a hope that his singular position—the notoriety which his + father’s death and his own financial disfranchisement had caused—would + be a fine card in his favour. He was not mistaken. His letter arrived at + Headquarters when there were difficulties concerning three candidates who + were pressing their claims. Carnac Grier, the disinherited son of the + great lumber-king, who had fame as an artist, spoke French as though it + were his native tongue, was an element of sensation which, if adroitly + used, could be of great service. It might even defeat Barode Barouche. In + the first place, Carnac was young, good-looking, personable, and taking in + his manner. Barouche was old, experienced, with hosts of enemies and many + friends, but with injurious egotism. An interview was, therefore, arranged + at Headquarters. + </p> + <p> + On the morning of the day it took place, Carnac’s anguished mother went + with him to the little railway station of Charlemont. She had slept little + the night before; her mind was in an eddy of emotions. It seemed dreadful + that Carnac should fight his own father, repeating what Fabian had done in + another way. Yet at the bottom of her heart there was a secret joy. Some + native revolt in her had joy in the thought that the son might extort a + price for her long sorrow and his unknown disgrace. + </p> + <p> + As she had listened to Barouche at the meeting, she realized how sincere + yet insincere he was; how gifted and yet how ungracious was his mind. Her + youth was over; long pain and regret had chastened her. She was as lonely + a creature as ever the world knew; violence was no part of her equipment; + and yet terrible memories made her assent to this new phase of Carnac’s + life. She wondered what Barouche would think. There was some ancient touch + of war in her which made her rejoice that after long years the hammer + should strike. + </p> + <p> + Somehow the thing’s tremendous possibilities thrilled her. Carnac had + always been a politician—always. She remembered how, when he was a + boy, he had argued with John Grier on national matters, laid down the law + with the assurance of an undergraduate, and invented theories impossible + of public acceptance. Yet in every stand he had taken, there had been + thought, logic and reasoning, wrongly premised, but always based on + principles. On paper he was generally right; in practice, generally wrong. + His buoyant devotion to an idea was an inspiration and a tonic. The + curious thing was that, while still this political matter was hanging + fire, he painted with elation. + </p> + <p> + His mother knew he did not see the thousand little things which made + public life so wearying; that he only realized the big elements of + national policy. She understood how those big things would inspire the + artist in him. For, after all, there was the spirit of Art in framing a + great policy which would benefit millions in the present and countless + millions in the future. So, at the railway station, as they waited for the + train, with an agitation outwardly controlled, she said: + </p> + <p> + “The men who have fought before, will want to stand, so don’t be surprised + if—” + </p> + <p> + “If they reject me, mother?” interrupted Carnac. “No, I shan’t be + surprised, but I feel in my bones that I’m going to fight Barode Barouche + into the last corner of the corral.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be too sure of that, my son. Won’t the thing that prevents your + marrying Junia be a danger in this, if you go on?” + </p> + <p> + Sullen tragedy came into his face, his lips set. The sudden paleness of + his cheek, however, was lost in a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’ve thought of that; but if it has to come, better it should come + now than later. If the truth must be told, I’ll tell it—yes, I’ll + tell it!” + </p> + <p> + “Be bold, but not reckless, Carnac,” his mother urged. + </p> + <p> + Just then the whistling train approached. She longed to put a hand out and + hold him back, and yet she ached to let him go. Yet as Carnac mounted the + steps of the car, a cry went out from her heart: “My son, stay with me + here—don’t go.” That was only in her heart, however; with her lips + she said: “Good luck! God bless you, Carnac!” and then the train rolled + away, leaving her alone in the bright, bountiful morning. + </p> + <p> + Before the day was done, Headquarters had accepted Carnac, in part, as the + solution of their own difficult problem. The three applicants for the post + each hated the other; but all, before the day was over, agreed to Carnac + as an effective opponent of Barouche. + </p> + <p> + One thing seemed clear—Carnac’s policy had elements of seduction + appealing to the selfishness of all sections, and he had an eloquence + which would make Barouche uneasy. That eloquence was shown in a speech + Carnac made in the late evening to the assembled executive. He spoke for + only a quarter of an hour, but it was long enough to leave upon all who + heard him an impression of power, pertinacity, picturesqueness and appeal. + He might make mistakes, but he had qualities which would ride over errors + with success. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not French,” he said at last in his speech, “but I used to think and + write in French as though I’d been born in Normandy. I’m English by birth + and breeding, but I’ve always gone to French schools and to a French + University, and I know what New France means. I stand to my English + origin, but I want to see the French develop here as they’ve developed in + France, alive to all new ideas, dreaming good dreams. I believe that + Frenchmen in Canada can, and should, be an inspiration to the whole + population. Their great qualities should be the fibre in the body of + public opinion. I will not pander to the French; I will not be the slave + of the English; I will be free, and I hope I shall be successful at the + polls.” + </p> + <p> + This was a small part of the speech which caused much enthusiasm, and was + the beginning of a movement, powerful, and as time went on, impetuous. + </p> + <p> + He went to bed with the blood of battle throbbing in his veins. In the + morning he had a reasonable joy in seeing the headlines of his candidature + in the papers. + </p> + <p> + At first he was almost appalled, for never since life began had his + personality been so displayed. It seemed absurd that before he had struck + a blow he should be advertised like a general in the field. Yet common + sense told him that in standing against Barouche, he became important in + the eyes of those affected by Barouche’s policy. He had had luck, and it + was for him to justify that luck. Could he do it? His first thought, + however, as his eyes fell on the headlines—he flushed with elation + so that he scarcely saw—was for the thing itself. Before him there + flashed a face, however, which at once sobered his exaltation. It was the + face of Junia. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what she will think,” he said to himself, with a little + perplexity. + </p> + <p> + He knew in his heart of hearts she would not think it incongruous that he, + an artist, should become a politician. Good laws served to make life + beautiful, good pictures ministered to beauty; good laws helped to tell + the story of human development; good sculpture strengthened the soul; good + laws made life’s conveniences greater, enlarged activity, lessened the + friction of things not yet adjusted; good laws taught their framers how to + balance things, how to make new principles apply without disturbing old + rights; good pictures increased the well-balanced harmony of the mind of + the people. Junia would understand these things. As he sat at his + breakfast, with the newspaper spread against the teapot and the + milk-pitcher, he felt satisfied he had done the bold and right, if + incomprehensible, thing. + </p> + <p> + But in another hotel, at another breakfast, another man read of Carnac’s + candidature with sickening surprise. It was Barode Barouche. + </p> + <p> + So, after twenty-seven long years, this was to be the issue! His own son, + whom he had never known, was to fight him at the polls! Somehow, the day + when he had seen Carnac and his mother at the political meeting had given + him new emotions. His wife, to whom he had been so faithful in one sense + since she had passed into the asylum, had died, and with her going, a new + field of life seemed to open up to him. She had died almost on the same + day as John Grier. She had been buried secludedly, piteously, and he had + gone back to his office with the thought that life had become a + preposterous freedom. + </p> + <p> + So it was that, on the day when he spoke at the political meeting, his + life’s tragedy became a hammer beating every nerve into emotion. He was + like one shipwrecked who strikes out with a swimmer’s will to reach his + goal. All at once, on the platform, as he spoke, when his eyes saw the + faces of Carnac and his mother the catastrophe stunned him like a huge + engine of war. There had come to him at last a sense of duty where Alma + Grier was concerned. She was nearly fifty years of age, and he was + fifty-nine; she was a widow with this world’s goods; she had been to him + how near and dear! for a brief hour, and then—no more. He knew the + boy was his son, because he saw his own face, as it had been in his youth, + though his mother’s look was also there-transforming, illumining. + </p> + <p> + He had a pang as he saw the two at the close of his meeting filtering out + into the great retort of the world. Then it was that he had the impulse to + go to the woman’s home, express his sorrow, and in some small sense wipe + out his wrong by offering her marriage. He had not gone. + </p> + <p> + He knew of Carnac’s success in the world of Art; and how he had alienated + his reputed father by an independence revolting to a slave of convention. + He had even bought, not from Carnac, but from a dealer, two of Carnac’s + pictures and a statue of a riverman. Somehow the years had had their way + with him. He had at long last realized that material things were not the + great things of life, and that imagination, however productive, should be + guided by uprightness of soul. + </p> + <p> + One thing was sure, the boy had never been told who his father was. That + Barouche knew. He had the useful gift of reading the minds of people in + their faces. From Carnac’s face, from Carnac’s mother’s face, had come to + him the real story. He knew that Alma Grier had sinned only once and with + him. In the first days after that ill-starred month, he had gone to her, + only to be repelled as a woman can repel whose soul has been shocked, + whose self-respect has been shamed. + </p> + <p> + It had been as though she thrust out arms of infinite length to push him + away, such had been the storm of her remorse, such the revulsion against + herself and him. So they had fallen apart, and he had seen his boy grow up + independent, original, wilful, capable—a genius. He read the + newspaper reports of what had happened the day before with senses greatly + alive. + </p> + <p> + After all, politics was unlike everything else. It was a profession + recruited from all others. The making of laws was done by all kinds of + men. One of the wisest advisers in river-law he had ever known was a + priest; one of the best friends of the legislation of the medical + profession was a woman; one of the bravest Ministers who had ever + quarrelled with and conquered his colleagues had been an insurance agent; + one of the sanest authorities on maritime law had been a man with a + greater pride in his verses than in his practical capacity; and here was + Carnac, who had painted pictures and made statues, plunging into politics + with a policy as ingenious as his own, and as capable of logical + presentation. This boy, who was bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh, + meant to fight him. He threw back his head and laughed. His boy, his son, + meant to fight him, did he? Well, so be it! He got to his feet, and walked + up and down the room. + </p> + <p> + “God, what an issue this!” he said. “It would be terrific, if he won. To + wipe me out of the life where I have flourished—what a triumph for + him! And he would not know how great the triumph would be. She has not + told him. Yet she will urge him on. Suppose it was she put the idea into + his head!” + </p> + <p> + Then he threw back his head, shaking the long brown hair, browner than + Carnac’s, from his forehead. “Suppose she did this thing—she who was + all mine for one brief moment! Suppose she—” + </p> + <p> + Every nerve tingled; every drop of blood beat hard against his walls of + flesh; his every vicious element sprang into life. + </p> + <p> + “But no—but no, she would not do it. She would not teach her son to + destroy his own father. But something must have told him to come and + listen to me, to challenge me in his own mind, and then—then this + thing!” + </p> + <p> + He stared at the paper, leaning over the table, as though it were a + document of terror. + </p> + <p> + “I must go on: I must uphold the policy for which I’ve got the assent of + the Government.” Suddenly his hands clenched. “I will beat him. He shall + not bring me to the dust. I gave him life, and he shall not take my life + from me. He’s at the beginning; I’m going towards the end. I wronged his + mother—yes, I wronged him too! I wronged them both, but he does not + know he’s wronged. He’ll live his own life; he has lived it—” + </p> + <p> + There came a tap at the door. Presently it opened and a servant came in. + He had in his hand a half-dozen telegrams. + </p> + <p> + “All about the man that’s going to fight you, I expect, m’sieu’,” said the + servant as he handed the telegrams. + </p> + <p> + Barode Barouche did not reply, but nodded a little scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “A woman has called,” continued the servant. “She wants to see you, + m’sieu’. It’s very important, she says.” + </p> + <p> + Barouche shook his head in negation. “No, Gaspard.” + </p> + <p> + “It ain’t one of the usual kind, I think, m’sieu’,” protested Gaspard. + “It’s about the election. It’s got something to do with that—” he + pointed to the newspaper propped against the teapot. + </p> + <p> + “It’s about that, is it? Well, what about that?” He eyed the servant as + though to see whether the woman had given any information. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. She didn’t tell me. She’s got a mind of her own. She’s even + handsome, and she’s well-dressed. All she said was: ‘Tell m’sieu’ I want + to see him. It’s about the election-about Mr. Grier.’” + </p> + <p> + Barode Barouche’s heart stopped. Something about Carnac Grier—something + about the election—and a woman! He kept a hand on himself. It must + not be seen that he was in any way moved. + </p> + <p> + “Is she English?” + </p> + <p> + “She’s French, m’sieu’.” + </p> + <p> + “You think I ought to see her, Gaspard?” said Barouche. + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” was the confident reply. “I guess she’s out against whoever’s + against you.” + </p> + <p> + “You never saw her before.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to my sense.” + </p> + <p> + “But I haven’t finished my breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if it’s anything important that’ll help you, m’sieu’. It’s like + whittling. If you can do things with your hands while you’re talking and + thinking, it’s a great help. You go on eating. I’ll show her up!” + </p> + <p> + Barouche smiled maliciously. “Well, show her up, Gaspard.” + </p> + <p> + The servant laughed. “Perhaps she’ll show herself up after I show her in,” + he said, and he went out hastily. + </p> + <p> + Presently the door opened again, and Gaspard stepped inside. + </p> + <p> + “A lady to see you, m’sieu’,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Barouche rose from the table, but he did not hold out his hand. The woman + was young, good looking, she seemed intelligent. There was also a latent + cruelty in her face which only a student of human nature could have seen + quickly. She was a woman with a grievance—that was sure. He knew the + passionate excitement, fairly well controlled; he saw her bitterness at a + glance. He motioned her to a chair. + </p> + <p> + “It’s an early call,” he said with a smile. Smiling was one of his + serviceable assets; it was said no man could so palaver the public with + his cheerful goodnature. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s an early call,” she replied, “but I wish not to wait till you + go to your office. I wanted you to know something. It has to do with Mr. + Carnac Grier.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that—eh!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s something you’ve got to know. If I give you the sure means to win + your election, it would be worth while—eh?” + </p> + <p> + The beating of Barouche’s heart was hard, but nothing showed in his face. + There he had control. + </p> + <p> + “I like people who know their own minds,” he said, “but I don’t believe + anything till I study what I hear. Is it something to injure Mr. Grier?” + </p> + <p> + “If a married man went about as a single man and stood up for Parliament + against you, don’t you think you could spoil him?” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Barouche was silent. Here was an impeachment of his own son, + but this son was out to bring his own father to the ground. There were two + ways to look at it. There was the son’s point of view, and there was his + own. If he loved his son he ought to know the thing that threatened him; + if he hated his son he ought to know. So, after a moment’s study of the + face with the fiery eyes and a complexion like roses touched with frost, + he said slowly: + </p> + <p> + “Well, have I the honour of addressing Carnac Grier’s wife?” + </p> + <p> + Barouche had had many rewards in his life, but the sweetest reward of all + was now his own. As events proved, he had taken a course which, if he + cared for his son, was for that son’s well-being, and if he cared for + himself most, was essential to his own well-being. + </p> + <p> + Relief crossed the woman’s face. “I’ll tell you everything,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Then Luzanne told her story, avoiding the fact that Carnac had been + tricked into the marriage. At last she said: “Now I’ve come here to make + him acknowledge me. He’s ruined my life, broken my hopes, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Broken your hopes!” interrupted Barode Barouche. “How is that?” + </p> + <p> + “I might have married some one else. I could have married some one else.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why don’t you? There’s the Divorce Court. What’s to prevent it?” + </p> + <p> + “You ask me that—you a Frenchman and a Roman Catholic! I’m French. I + was born in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “When will you let me see your papers?” + </p> + <p> + “When do you want to see them?” + </p> + <p> + “To-day-if possible to-day,” he answered. Then he held her eyes. “To whom + else here have you told this story?” + </p> + <p> + “No one—no one. I only came last night, and when I took up the paper + this morning, I saw. Then I found out where you lived, and here I am, bien + sur. I’m here under my maiden name, Ma’m’selle Luzanne Larue.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s right. That’s right. Now, until we meet again, don’t speak of this + to anyone. Will you give me your word?” + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely,” she said, and there was revenge and passion in her eyes. + Suddenly a strange expression crept over her face. She was puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “There’s something of him about you,” she said, and her forehead gathered. + “There’s some look! Well, there it is, but it’s something—I don’t + know what.” + </p> + <p> + A moment later she was gone. As the door closed, he stretched his hands + above his head. + </p> + <p> + “Nom de Dieu, what a situation!” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. JUNIA AND TARBOE HEAR THE NEWS + </h2> + <p> + To most people Carnac’s candidature was a surprise; to some it was a + bewilderment, and to one or two it was a shock. To the second class + belonged Fabian Grier and his wife; to the third class belonged Luke + Tarboe. Only one person seemed to understand it—by intuition: Junia. + </p> + <p> + Somehow, nothing Carnac did changed Junia’s views of him, or surprised + her, though he made her indignant often enough. To her mind, however, in + the big things, his actions always had reasonableness. She had never felt + his artist-life was to be the only note of his career. When, therefore, in + the West she read a telegram in a newspaper announcing his candidature, + she guessed the suddenness of his decision. When she read it, she spread + the paper on the table, smoothed it as though it were a beautiful piece of + linen, then she stretched out her hands in happy benediction. Like most of + her sex, she loved the thrill of warfare. There flashed the feeling, + however, that it would be finer sport if Carnac and Tarboe were to be at + war, instead of Carnac and Barouche. It was curious she never thought of + Carnac but the other man came throbbing into sight—the millionaire, + for he was that now. + </p> + <p> + In one way, this last move of Carnac’s had the elements of a + master-stroke. She knew how strange it would seem to the rest of the + world, yet it did not seem strange to her. No man she had ever seen had + been so at home in the world of men, and also at home in the secluded + field of the chisel and the brush as Carnac. + </p> + <p> + She took the newspaper over to her aunt, holding it up. The big headlines + showed like semaphores on the page. As the graceful figure of Junia drew + to her aunt—her slim feet, in the brown, well-polished boots, the + long, full neck, and then the chin, Grecian, shapely and firm, the + straight, sensitive nose, the wonderful eyes under the well-cut, broad + forehead, with the brown hair, covering it like a canopy—the old + lady reached out and wound her arms round the lissome figure. Situated so, + she read the telegram, and then the old arms gripped her tighter. + </p> + <p> + Presently, the whistle of a train sounded. The aunt stretched out an + approving finger to the sound. She realized that the figure round which + her arms hung trembled, for it was the “through” daily train for Montreal. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going back at once, aunty,” Junia said. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + .......................... +</pre> + <p> + “Well, I’m jiggered!” + </p> + <p> + These were Tarboe’s words when Carnac’s candidature came first to him in + the press. + </p> + <p> + “He’s ‘broke’ out in a new place,” he added. + </p> + <p> + Tarboe loved the spectacular, and this was indeed spectacular. Yet he had + not the mental vision of Junia who saw how close, in one intimate sense, + was the relation between the artist life and the political life. To him it + was a gigantic break from a green pasture into a red field of war. To her, + it was a resolution which, in anyone else’s life, would have seemed + abnormal; in Carnac’s life it had naturalness. + </p> + <p> + Tarboe had been for a few months only the reputed owner of the great + business, and he had paid a big price for his headship in the weighty + responsibility, the strain of control; but it had got into his blood, and + he felt life would not be easy without it now. + </p> + <p> + Besides, there was Junia. To him she was the one being in the world worth + struggling for; the bird to be caught on the wing, or coaxed into the + nest, or snared into the net; and two of the three things he had tried + without avail. The third—the snaring? He would not stop at that, if + it would bring him what he wanted. How to snare her! He surveyed himself + in the mirror. + </p> + <p> + “A great hulking figure like that!” he said in disapproval. “All bone and + muscle and flesh and physical show! It wouldn’t weigh with her. She’s too + fine. It isn’t the animal in a man she likes. It’s what he can do, and + what he is, and where he’s going.” + </p> + <p> + Then he thought of Carnac’s new outburst, and his veins ran cold. “She’ll + like that—but yes, she’ll like that: and if he succeeds she’ll think + he’s great. Well, she’d be right. He’ll beat Barouche. He’s young and + brave, careless and daring. Now where am I in this fight? I belong to + Barouche’s party and my vote ought to go for him.” + </p> + <p> + For some minutes he sat in profound thought. What part should he play? He + liked Carnac, he owed him a debt which he could never repay. Carnac had + saved him from killing Denzil. If that had happened, he himself might have + gone to the gallows. + </p> + <p> + He decided. Sitting down, he wrote Carnac the following letter: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DEAR CARNAC GRIER, + + I see you’re beginning a new work. You now belong to a party that I + am opposed to, but that doesn’t stop me offering you support. It’s + not your general policy, but it is you, the son of your father, that + I mean to work for. If you want financial help for your campaign— + or after it is over—come and get it here—ten thousand or more if + you wish. Your father, if he knew—and perhaps he does know—would + be pleased that you, who could not be a man of business in his + world, are become a man of business in the bigger world of law- + making. You may be right or wrong in that policy, but that don’t + weigh with me. You’ve taken on as big a job as ever your father + did. What’s the use of working if you don’t try to do the big thing + that means a lot to people outside yourself! If you make new good + laws, if you do something for the world that’s wonderful, it’s as + much as your father did, or, if he was alive, could do now. + Whatever there is here is yours to use. When you come back here to + play your part, you’ll make it a success—the whole blessed thing. + I don’t wish you were here now, except that it’s yours—all of it— + but I wish you to beat Barode Barouche. + + Yours to the knife, + + LUKE TARBOE. +</pre> + <p> + He read the letter through, and coming to the words, “When you come back + here to play your part, you’ll make it a success—the whole blessed + thing,” he paused, reflecting... He wondered what Carnac would think the + words meant, and he felt it was bold, and, maybe, dangerous play; but it + was not more dangerous than facts he had dealt with often in the last two + years. He would let it stand, that phrase of the hidden meaning. He did + not post the letter yet. + </p> + <p> + Four days later he put on his wide-brimmed panama hat and went out into + the street leading to the centre of the city. There was trouble in the + river reaches between his men and those of Belloc-Grier, and he was + keeping an appointment with Belloc at Fabian Grier’s office, where several + such meetings had taken place. + </p> + <p> + He had not gone far, however, when he saw a sprightly figure in + light-brown linen cutting into his street from a cross-road. He had not + seen that figure for months-scarcely since John Grier’s death, and his + heart thumped in his breast. It was Junia. How would she greet him? + </p> + <p> + A moment later he met her. Raising his hat, he said: “Back to the + firing-line, Miss Shale! It’ll make a big difference to every one + concerned.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you then concerned?” she asked, with a faint smile. + </p> + <p> + “One of the most concerned,” he answered with a smile not so composed as + her own. “It’s the honour of the name that’s at stake.” + </p> + <p> + “You want to ruin Mr. Grier’s chances in the fight?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t say that. I said, ‘the honour of the name,’ and the name of my + firm is ‘Grier’s Company of Lumbermen.’ So I’m in it with all my might, + and here’s a letter—I haven’t posted it yet—saying to Carnac + Grier where I stand. Will you read it? There’s no reason why you + shouldn’t.” He tore open the envelope and took the letter out. + </p> + <p> + Junia took it, after hesitation, and read it till she came to the sentence + about Carnac returning to the business. She looked up, startled. + </p> + <p> + “What does that mean?” she asked, pointing to the elusive sentence. + </p> + <p> + “He might want to come into the business some day, and I’ll give him his + chance. Nothing more than that.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more than that!” she said cynically. “It’s bravely said, but how + can he be a partner if he can’t buy the shares?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a matter to be thought out,” he answered with a queer twist to his + mouth. + </p> + <p> + “I see you’ve offered to help him with cash for the election,” she said, + handing back the letter. + </p> + <p> + “I felt it had to be done. Politics are expensive they sap the purse. + That’s why.” + </p> + <p> + “You never thought of giving him an income which would compensate a little + for what his father failed to do for him?” + </p> + <p> + There was asperity in her tone. + </p> + <p> + “He wouldn’t take from me what his father didn’t give him.” Suddenly an + idea seized him. “Look here,” he said, “you’re a friend of the Griers, why + don’t you help keep things straight between the two concerns? You could do + it. You have the art of getting your own way. I’ve noticed that.” + </p> + <p> + “So you’d like me to persuade Fabian Grier to influence Belloc, because + I’d make things easy for you!” she said briskly. “Do you forget I’ve known + Fabian since I was a baby, that my sister is his wife, and that his + interests are near to me?” + </p> + <p> + He did not knuckle down. “I think it would be helping Fabian’s interests. + Belloc and Fabian Grier are generally in the wrong, and to keep them right + would be good business-policy. When I’ve trouble with Belloc’s firm it’s + because they act like dogs in the manger. They seem to hate me to live.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed—a buoyant, scornful laugh. “So all the fault is in + Belloc and Fabian, is it?” She was impressed enormously by his sangfroid + and will to rule the roost. “I think you’re clever, and that you’ve got + plenty of horse-sense, as they say in the West, but you’ll be beaten in + the end. How does it feel”—she asked it with provoking candour—“to + be the boss of big things?” + </p> + <p> + “I know I’m always settling troubles my business foes make for me. I have + to settle one of them now, and I’m glad I’ve met you, for you can help me. + I want some new river-rules made. If Belloc and Grier’ll agree to them, + we’ll do away with this constant trouble between our gangs.” + </p> + <p> + “And you’d like me to help you?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled a big riverman’s smile down at her, full of good-humour and + audacity. + </p> + <p> + “If you could make it clear to Fabian that all I’m after is peace on the + river, it’d do a lot of good.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, do you know,” she said demurely, “I don’t think I’ll take a hand in + this game, chiefly because—” she paused. + </p> + <p> + “Yes: chiefly because—” + </p> + <p> + “Because you’ll get your own way without help. You get everything you + want,” she added with a little savage comment. + </p> + <p> + A flood of feeling came into his eyes, his head jerked like that of a + bull-moose. “No, I don’t get everything I want. The thing I want most in + the world doesn’t come to me.” His voice grew emotional. She knew what he + was trying to say, and as the idea was not new she kept composure. “I’m + not as lucky as you think me,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “You’re pretty lucky. You’ve done it all as easy as clasping your fingers. + If I had your luck—!” she paused. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know about that, but if I could reach out and touch you at any + time, as it were, I think it’d bring me permanent good luck. You’ll find + out one day that my luck is only a bubble the prick of a pin’ll destroy. I + don’t misunderstand it. I’ve been left John Grier’s business by Grier + himself, and he’s got a son that ought to have it, and maybe will have it, + when the time is ripe.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly an angry hand flashed out towards him. “When the time is ripe! + Does that mean, when you’ve made all you want, you’ll give up to Carnac + what isn’t yours but his? Why don’t you do it now?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, because, in the first place, I like my job and he doesn’t want it; + in the second place, I promised his father I’d run the business as he + wished it run; and in the third place, Carnac wouldn’t know how to use the + income the business brings.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed in a mocking, challenging way. “Was there ever a man didn’t + know how to use an income no matter how big it was! You’re talking + enigmas, and I think we’d better say good-bye. Your way to the Belloc + offices is down that street.” She pointed. + </p> + <p> + “And you won’t help me? You won’t say a word to Fabian?” + </p> + <p> + She shrugged a shoulder. “If I were a man like you, who’s so big, so + lucky, and so dominant, I wouldn’t ask a woman to help me. I’d do the job + myself. I’d keep faith with my reputation. But there’s one nice thing + about you: you’re going to help Carnac to beat Barode Barouche. You’ve + made a gallant offer. If you’d gone against him, if you’d played + Barouche’s game, I—” + </p> + <p> + The indignation which came to her face suddenly fled, and she said: + “Honestly, I’d never speak to you again, and I always keep my word. + Carnac’ll see it through. He’s a man of mark, Mr. Tarboe, and he’ll be + Prime Minister of the whole country one day. I don’t think you’ll like + it.” + </p> + <p> + “You hit hard, but if I hadn’t taken the business, Carnac Grier wouldn’t + have got it. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been some one else.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why don’t you live like a rich man and not like a foreman?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been too busy to change my mode of living. I only want enough to eat + and drink and wear, and that’s not costly.” Suddenly an idea came to him. + “Now, if that business had been left to you, you’d be building a stone + house somewhere; and you’d have horses and carriages, and lots of + servants, and you’d swing along like a pretty coloured bird in the + springtime, wouldn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “If I had wealth, I’d make it my servant. I’d give it its chance; but as I + haven’t got it, I live as I do—poor and unknown.” + </p> + <p> + “Not unknown. See, you could control what belonged to John Grier, if you + would. I need some one to show me how to spend the money coming from the + business. What is wealth unless you buy things that give pleasure to life? + Do you know—” + </p> + <p> + He got no further. “I don’t know anything you’re trying to tell me, and + anyhow this is not the place—” With that she hastened from him up + the street. Tarboe had a pang, and yet her very last words gave him hope. + “I may be a bit sharp in business,” he said to himself, “but I certainly + am a fool in matters of the heart. Yet what she said at last had something + in it for me. Every woman has an idea where a man ought to make love to + her, and this open road certainly ain’t the place. If Carnac wins this + game with Barouche I don’t know where I’ll be with her-maybe I’m a fool to + help him.” He turned the letter over and over in his hand. “No, I’m not. I + ought to do it, and I will.” + </p> + <p> + Then he fell to brooding. He remembered about the second hidden will. + There came upon him a wild wish to destroy it. He loved controlling John + Grier’s business. Never had anything absorbed him so. Life seemed a new + thing. The idea of disappearing from the place where, with a stroke of his + fingers, he moved five thousand men, or swept a forest into the great + river, or touched a bell which set going a saw-mill with its many + cross-cut saws, or filled a ship to take the pine, cedar, maple, ash or + elm boards to Europe, or to the United States, was terrible to him. He + loved the smell of the fresh-cut wood. The odour of the sawdust as he + passed through a mill was sweeter than a million bunches of violets. Many + a time he had caught up a handful of the damp dust and smelt it, as an + expert gardener would crumble the fallen flowers of a fruit tree and sniff + the sweet perfume. To be master of one of the greatest enterprises of the + New World for three years, and then to disappear! He felt he could not do + it. + </p> + <p> + His feelings shook his big frame. The love of a woman troubled his spirit. + Suppose the will were declared and the girl was still free, what would she + do? + </p> + <p> + As he set foot in the office of the firm of Belloc, however, he steeled + himself to composure. + </p> + <p> + His task well accomplished, he went back to his own office, and spent the + day like a racehorse under the lash, restive, defiant, and reckless. When + night and the shadows came, he sat alone in his office with drawn blinds, + brooding, wondering. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. THE SECRET MEETING + </h2> + <p> + As election affairs progressed, Mrs. Grier kept withdrawn from public + ways. She did not seek supporters for her son. As the weeks went on, the + strain became intense. Her eyes were aflame with excitement, but she grew + thinner, until at last she was like a ghost haunting familiar scenes. + Once, and once only, did she have touch with Barode Barouche since the + agitation began. This was how it happened: + </p> + <p> + Carnac was at Ottawa, and she was alone, in the late evening. As she sat + sewing, she heard a knock at the front door. Her heart stood still. It was + a knock she had not heard for over a quarter of a century, but it had an + unforgettable touch. She waited a moment, her face pale, her eyes shining + with tortured memory. She waited for the servant to answer the knock, but + presently she realized that the servant probably had not heard. Laying + down her work, she passed into the front hall. There for an instant she + paused, then opened the door. + </p> + <p> + It was Barode Barouche. Then the memory of a summer like a terrible dream + shook her. She trembled. Some old quiver of the dead days swept through + her. How distant and how—bad it all was! For one instant the old + thrill repeated itself and then was gone—for ever. + </p> + <p> + “What is it you wish here?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Will you not shut the door?” he responded, for her fingers were on the + handle. “I cannot speak with the night looking in. Won’t you ask me to + your sitting-room? I’m not a robber or a rogue.” + </p> + <p> + Slowly she closed the door. Then she turned, and, in the dim light, she + said: + </p> + <p> + “But you are both a robber and a rogue.” + </p> + <p> + He did not answer until they had entered the sittin-groom. + </p> + <p> + “I gave you that which is out against me now. Is he not brilliant, capable + and courageous?” + </p> + <p> + There was in her face a stern duty. + </p> + <p> + “It was Fate, monsieur. When he and I went to your political meeting at + Charlemont it had no purpose. No blush came to his cheek, because he did + not know who his father is. No one in the world knows—no one except + myself, that must suffer to the end. Your speech roused in him the native + public sense, the ancient fire of the people from whom he did not know he + came. His origin has been his bane from the start. He did not know why the + man he thought his father seemed almost a stranger to him. He did not + understand, and so they fell apart. Yet John Grier would have given more + than he had to win the boy to himself. Do you ever think what the boy must + have suffered? He does not know. Only you and I know!” She paused. + </p> + <p> + He thrust out a hand as though to stay her speech, but she went on again + </p> + <p> + “Go away from me. You have spoiled my life; you have spoiled my boy’s + life, and now he fights you. I give him no help save in one direction. I + give to him something his reputed father withheld from him. Don’t you + think it a strange thing”—her voice was thick with feeling—“that + he never could bear to take money from John Grier, and that, even as a + child, gifts seemed to trouble him. I think he wanted to give back again + all that John Grier had ever paid out to him or for him; and now, at last, + he fights the man who gave him birth! I wanted to tell John Grier all, but + I did not because I knew it would spoil his life and my boy’s life. It was + nothing to me whether I lived or died. But I could not bear Carnac should + know. He was too noble to have his life spoiled.” + </p> + <p> + Barode Barouche drew himself together. Here was a deep, significant + problem, a situation that needed more expert handling than he had ever + shown. As he stood by the table, the dim light throwing haggard + reflections on her face, he had a feeling that she was more than normal. + He saw her greater than he had ever imagined her. Something in him + revolted at a war between his own son and himself. Also, he wanted to tell + her of the danger in which Carnac was—how Luzanne had come, and was + hidden away in the outskirts of the city, waiting for the moment when the + man who rejected her should be sacrificed. + </p> + <p> + Now that Barouche was face to face with Alma Grier, however, he felt the + appalling nature of his task. In all the years he had taken no chance to + pay tribute to the woman who, in a real sense, had been his mistress of + body and mind for one short term of life, and who once, and once only, had + yielded to him. They were both advanced in years, and Life and Time had + taken toll. She was haggard, yet beautiful in a wan way. He did not + believe the vanished years had placed between them an impassable barrier. + </p> + <p> + He put his chances to the test at last. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know—I understand. You remained silent because your nature + was too generous to injure anyone. Down at the bottom of his heart, + cantankerous, tyrannical as he was, John Grier loved you, and I loved you + also.” + </p> + <p> + She made a protest of her hand. “Oh, no! You never knew what love was—never! + You had passion, you had hunger of the body, but of love you did not know. + I know you, Barode Barouche. You have no heart, you have only sentiment + and imagination. No—no, you could not be true. You could never know + how.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a tempest of fire seemed to burn in his eyes, in his whole being. + His face flushed: his eyes gleamed; his hands were thrust out with + passion. + </p> + <p> + “Will you not understand that were I as foul as hell, a woman like you + would make me clean again? The wild sin of our youth has eaten into the + soul of my life. You think I have been indifferent to you and to our boy. + No, never-never! That I left you both to yourselves was the best proof I + was not neglectful. I was sorry, with all my soul, that you should have + suffered through me. In the first reaction, I felt that nothing could put + me right with you or with eternal justice. So I shrank away from you. You + thought it was lust satisfied. I tell you it was honour shamed. Good God! + You thought me just the brazen roue, who seized what came his way, who ate + the fruit within his grasp, who lived to deceive for his own selfish joy. + </p> + <p> + “Did you think that? Then, if you did, I do not wonder you should be glad + to see my son fighting me. It would seem the horrible revenge Destiny + should take.” He took a step nearer to her. His face flamed, his arms + stretched out. “I have held you in these arms. I come with repentance in + my heart, with—” + </p> + <p> + Her face now was flushed. She interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe in you, Barode Barouche. At least my husband did not go + from his hearthstone looking for what belonged to others. No—No—no; + however much I suffered, I understood that what he did not feel for me at + least he felt for no one else. To him, life was his business, and to the + long end business mastered his emotions. I have no faith in you! In the + depth of my soul something cries out: ‘He is not true. His life is false.’ + To leave me that was right, but, monsieur, not as you left me. You pick + the fruit and eat it and spit upon the ground the fibre and the skin. I am + no longer the slave of your false eloquence. It has nothing in it for me + now, nothing at all—nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet your son—has he naught of me? If your son has genius, I have + the right to say a part of it came from me. Why should you say that all + that’s good in the boy is yours—that the boy, in all he does and + says, is yours! No—no. Your long years of suffering have hardened + into injustice and wrong.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he touched her arm. “There are women as young as you were when I + wronged you, who would be my wife now—young, beautiful, buoyant; but + I come to you because I feel we might still have some years of happiness. + Together, where our boy’s fate mattered, we two could help him on his way. + That is what I feel, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + When he touched her arm she did not move, yet there was in his fingers + something which stirred ulcers long since healed and scarred. She stepped + back from him. + </p> + <p> + “Do not touch me. The past is buried for ever. There can be no + resurrection. I know what I should do, and I will do it. For the rest of + my life, I shall live for my son. I hope he will defeat you. I don’t lift + a hand to help him except to give him money, not John Grier’s money but my + own, always that. You are fighting what is stronger than yourself. One + thing is sure, he is nearer to the spirit of your race than you. He will + win—but yes, he will win!” + </p> + <p> + Her face suffused with warmth, became alive with a wonderful fire, her + whole being had a simple tragedy. Once again, and perhaps for the last + time, she had renewed the splendour of her young womanhood. The vital + warmth of a great idea had given an expression to her face which had long + been absent from it. + </p> + <p> + He fell back from her. Then suddenly passion seized him. The gaunt beauty + of her roused a spirit of contest in him. The evil thing in him, which her + love for her son had almost conquered, came back upon him. He remembered + Luzanne, and now with a spirit alive with anger he said to her: + </p> + <p> + “No—no—no, he cannot win.” He stretched out a hand. “I have + that which will keep for me the place in Parliament that has been mine; + which will send him back to the isolation whence he came. Do you think I + don’t know how to win an election? Why from east to west, from north to + south in this Province of Quebec my name, my fame, have been + all-conquering. Suppose he did defeat me, do you think that would end my + political life? It would end nothing. I should still go on.” + </p> + <p> + A scornful smile came to her lips. “So you think your party would find a + seat for you who had been defeated by a young man who never knew what + political life meant till he came to this campaign? You think they would + find you a seat? I know you are coming to the end of your game, and when + he defeats you, it will finish everything for you. You will disappear from + public life, and your day will be done. Men will point at you as you pass + along the street, and say: ‘There goes Barode Barouche. He was a great man + in his day. He was defeated by a boy with a painter’s brush in his hand.’ + He will take from you your livelihood. You will go, and he will stay; he + will conquer and grow strong. Go from me, Barode Barouche,” she cried, + thrusting out her hands against him, “go from me. I love my son with all + my soul. His father has no place in my heart.” + </p> + <p> + There had been upon him the wild passion of revenge. It had mastered him + before she spoke, and while she spoke, but, as she finished, the + understanding spirit of him conquered. Instead of telling her of Luzanne + Larue, and of what he would do if he found things going against him, + instead of that he resolved to say naught. He saw he could not conquer + her. For a minute after she had ceased speaking, he watched her in + silence, and in his eyes was a remorse which would never leave them. She + was master. + </p> + <p> + Slowly, and with a sense of defeat, he said to her: “Well, we shall never + meet again like this. The fight goes on. I will defeat Carnac. No, do not + shake your head. He shall not put me from my place. For you and me there + is no future—none; yet I want to say to you before we part for ever + now, that you have been deeper in my life than any other woman since I was + born.” + </p> + <p> + He said no more. Catching up his hat from the chair, and taking his stick, + he left the room. He opened the front door, stepped out, shut it behind + him and, in a moment, was lost in the night. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. POINT TO POINT + </h2> + <p> + While these things were happening, Carnac was spending all his time in the + constituency. Every day was busy to the last minute, every hole in the + belt of his equipment was buckled tight. In spite of his enthusiasm he + was, however, troubled by the fact that Luzanne might appear. Yet as time + went on he gained confidence. There were days, however, when he appeared, + mentally, to be watching the street corners. + </p> + <p> + One day at a public meeting he thought the sensation had come. He had just + finished his speech in reply to Barode Barouche—eloquent, eager, + masterful. Youth’s aspirations, with a curious sympathy with the French + Canadian people, had idealized his utterances. When he finished there had + been cheering, but in the quiet instant that followed the cheering, a + habitant got up—a weird, wilful fellow who had a reputation for + brag, yet who would not have hurt an enemy save in wild passion. + </p> + <p> + “M’sieu’ Carnac Grier,” he said, “I’d like to put a question to you. + You’ve been asking for our votes. We’re a family people, we Canucs, and we + like to know where we’re going. Tell me, m’sieu’, where’s your woman?” + </p> + <p> + Having asked the question, he remained standing. “Where’s your woman?” the + habitant had asked. Carnac’s breath came quick and sharp. There were many + hundreds present, and a good number of them were foes. Barode Barouche was + on the same platform. + </p> + <p> + Not only Carnac was stirred by the question, for Barouche, who had + listened to his foe’s speech with admiring anxiety, was startled. + </p> + <p> + “Where’s your woman?” was not a phrase to be asked anyhow, or anywhere. + Barouche was glad of the incident. Ready as he was to meet challenge, he + presently realized that his son had a readiness equally potent. He was + even pleased to see the glint of a smile at the lips of the slim young + politician, in whom there was more than his own commingling of + temperament, wisdom, wantonness and raillery. + </p> + <p> + After a moment, Carnac said: “Isn’t that a leading question to an + unmarried man?” + </p> + <p> + Barouche laughed inwardly. Surely it was the reply he himself would have + made. Carnac had showed himself a born politician. The audience cheered, + but the questioner remained standing. He meant to ask another question. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down—sit down, jackass!” shouted some of the more raucous of + the crowd, but the man was stubborn. He stretched out an arm towards + Carnac. + </p> + <p> + “Bien, look here, my son, you take my advice. Pursue the primrose path + into the meadows of matrimony.” + </p> + <p> + Again Carnac shrank, but his mind rallied courageously, and he said: + “There are other people who want to ask questions, perhaps.” He turned to + Barode Barouche. “I don’t suggest my opponent has planned this heckling, + but he can see it does no good. I’m not to be floored by catch-penny + tricks. I’m going to win. I run straight. I haven’t been long enough in + politics to learn how to deceive. Let the accomplished professionals do + that. They know how.” + </p> + <p> + He waved a hand disdainfully at Barouche. “Let them put forth all that’s + in them, I will remain; let them exert the last ounce of energy, I will + prevail; let them use the thousand devices of elections, I will use no + device, but rely upon my policy. I want nothing except my chance in + Parliament. My highest ambition is to make good laws. I am for the man who + was the first settler on the St. Lawrence and this section of the + continent—his history, his tradition, his honour and fame are in the + history books of the world. If I should live a hundred years, I should + wish nothing better than the honour of having served the men whose + forefathers served Frontenac, Cartier, La Salle and Maisonneuve, and all + the splendid heroes of that ancient age. What they have done is for all + men to do. They have kept the faith. I am for the habitant, for the land + of his faith and love, first and last and all the time.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down in a tumult of cheering. Many present remarked that no two men + they had ever heard spoke so much alike, and kept their attacks so free + from personal things. + </p> + <p> + There had been at this public meeting two intense supporters of Carnac, + who waited for him at the exit from the main doorway. They were Fabian’s + wife and Junia. + </p> + <p> + Barode Barouche came out of the hall before Carnac. His quick eye saw the + two ladies, and he raised his broad-brimmed hat like a Stuart cavalier, + and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Waiting for your champion, eh?” he asked with cynical friendliness. + “Well, work hard, because that will soften his fall.” He leaned over, as + it were confidentially, to them, while his friends craned their necks to + hear what he said: “If I were you I’d prepare him. He’s beaten as sure as + the sun shines.” + </p> + <p> + Junia was tempted to say what was in her mind, but her sister Sibyl, who + resented Barouche’s patronage, said: + </p> + <p> + “There’s an old adage about the slip ‘twixt the cup and the lip, Monsieur + Barouche. He’s young, and he’s got a better policy than yours.” + </p> + <p> + “And he’s unmarried, eh!” Barouche remarked. “He’s unmarried, and I + suppose that matters!” There was an undercurrent of meaning in his voice + which did not escape Junia. + </p> + <p> + “And Monsieur Barouche is also unmarried,” she remarked. “So you’re even + there.” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite even. I’m a widower. The women don’t work for me as they work + for him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand,” remarked Junia. “The women can’t all marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “There are a lot of things that can’t be understood by just blinking the + eyes, but there’s romance in the fight of an unmarried man, and women like + romance even if it’s some one else’s. There’s sensation in it.” + </p> + <p> + Barouche looked to where Carnac was slowly coming down the centre of the + hall. Women were waving handkerchiefs and throwing kisses towards him. One + little girl was pushed in front of him, and she reached out a hand in + which was a wild rose. + </p> + <p> + “That’s for luck, m’sieu’,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Carnac took the rose, and placed it in his buttonhole; then, stooping + down, he kissed the child’s cheek. Outside the hall, Barode Barouche + winked an eye knowingly. “He’s got it all down to a science. Look at him—kissing + the young chick. Nevertheless, he’s walking into an abyss.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac was near enough now for the confidence in his face to be seen. + Barouche’s eyes suddenly grew resentful. Sometimes he had a feeling of + deep affection for his young challenger; sometimes there was a storm of + anger in his bosom, a hatred which can be felt only for a member of one’s + own family. Resentment showed in his face now. This boy was winning + friends on every side. + </p> + <p> + Something in the two men, some vibration of temperament, struck the same + chord in Junia’s life and being. She had noticed similar gestures, similar + intonations of voice, and, above all else, a little toss of the head + backwards. She knew they were not related, and so she put the whole thing + down to Carnac’s impressionable nature which led its owner into singular + imitations. It had done so in the field of Art. He was young enough to be + the imitator without loss to himself. + </p> + <p> + “I’m doing my best to defeat you,” she said to Barouche, reaching out a + hand for good-bye, “and I shall work harder now than ever. You’re so sure + you’re going to win that I’d disappoint you, monsieur—only to do you + good.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I’m sorry you haven’t any real interest in Carnac Grier, if it’s only + to do me good! Well, goodbye—good-bye,” he added, raising his hat, + and presently was gone. + </p> + <p> + As Carnac drew near, Fabian’s wife stepped forward. “Carnac,” she said, “I + hope you’ll come with us on the river in Fabian’s steam-launch. There’s + work to do there. It’s pay-day in the lumber-yards on the Island, so + please come. Will you?” + </p> + <p> + Carnac laughed. “Yes, there’s no engagement to prevent it.” He thanked + Junia and Sibyl for all they had done for him, and added: “I’d like a + couple of hours among the rivermen. Where’s the boat?” Fabian’s wife told + him, and added: “I’ve got the roan team here, and you can drive us down, + if you will.” + </p> + <p> + A few moments afterwards, with the cheers of the crowd behind them, they + were being driven by Carnac to the wharf where lay the “Fleur-de-lis.” On + board was Fabian. + </p> + <p> + “Had a good meeting, Carnac?” Fabian asked. + </p> + <p> + “I should call it first-class. It was like a storm, at sea-wind from one + direction, then from another, but I think on the whole we had the best of + it. Don’t you think so?” he added to Fabian’s wife. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, much the best,” she answered. “That’s so, Junia, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t say so positively,” answered Junia. “I don’t understand + Monsieur Barouche. He talked as if he had something up his sleeve.” Her + face became clouded. “Have you any idea what it is, Carnac?” + </p> + <p> + Carnac laughingly shook his head. “That’s his way. He’s always bluffing. + He does it to make believe the game’s his, and to destroy my confidence. + He’s a man of mark, but he’s having the biggest fight he ever had—of + that I’m sure.... Do you think I’ll win?” he asked Junia presently with a + laugh, as they made their way down the river. “Have I conquest in my eye?” + </p> + <p> + How seldom did Junia have Carnac to herself in these days! How kind of + Fabian to lend his yacht for the purpose of canvassing! But Sibyl had in + her mind a deeper thing—she had become a match-maker. She and + Fabian, when the boat left the shore, went to one corner of the stern, + leaving Carnac and Junia in the bow. + </p> + <p> + Three miles below the city was the Island on which many voters were + working in a saw-mill and lumberyard. It had supporters of Barouche + chiefly in the yards and mills. Carnac had never visited it, and it was + Junia’s view that he should ingratiate himself with the workers, a + rough-and-ready lot. They were ready to “burst a meeting” or bludgeon a + candidate on occasion. + </p> + <p> + When Carnac asked his question Junia smiled up at him. “Yes, I think + you’ll win, Carnac. You have the tide with you.” Presently she added: “I’m + not sure that you’ve got all the cards, though—I don’t know why, but + I have that fear.” + </p> + <p> + “You think that—” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. “I think Monsieur Barouche has some cards he hasn’t played + yet. What they are I don’t know, but he’s confident. Tell me, Carnac, is + there any card that would defeat you? Have you committed any crime against + the law—no, I’m sure you haven’t, but I want to hear you say so.” + She smiled cheerfully at him. + </p> + <p> + “He has no card of any crime of mine, and he can’t hit me in a mortal + place.” + </p> + <p> + “You have the right policy for this province. But tell me, is there anyone + who could hurt you, who could spring up in the fight—man or woman?” + </p> + <p> + She looked him straight in the eye, and his own did not waver. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no one has a knock-out blow for me—that’s sure. I can + weather any storm.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, however, disconcerted, for the memory of Luzanne came to him, + and his spirit became clouded. “Except one—except one,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “And you won’t tell me who it is?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. THE MAN WHO WOULD NOT + </h2> + <p> + “No, I can’t tell you—yet,” answered Carnac. “You ought to know; + though you can’t put things right.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t forget you are a public man, and what might happen if things went + wrong. There are those who would gladly roast you on a gridiron for what + you are in politics.” + </p> + <p> + “I never forget it. I’ve no crime to repent of, and I’m afraid of nothing + in the last resort. Look, we’re nearing the Island.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s your worst place in the constituency, and I’m not sure of your + reception. Oh, but yes, I am,” she added hastily. “You always win good + feeling. No one really hates you. You’re on the way to big success.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve had some unexpected luck. I’ve got Tarboe on my side. He’s a member + of Barouche’s party, but he’s coming with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he tell you so?” she asked with apparent interest. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve had a letter from him, and in it he says he is with me ‘to the + knife!’ That’s good. Tarboe has a big hold on rivermen, and he may carry + with him some of the opposition. It was a good letter—if puzzling.” + </p> + <p> + “How, puzzling?” + </p> + <p> + “He said in one part of it: ‘When you come back here to play your part + you’ll make it a success, the whole blessed thing.’ I’ve no idea what he + meant by that. I don’t think he wants me as a partner, and I’ll give him + no chance of it. I don’t want now what I could have had when Fabian left. + That’s all over, Junia.” + </p> + <p> + “He meant something by it; he’s a very able man,” she replied gravely. + “He’s a huge success.” + </p> + <p> + “And women love success more than all else,” he remarked a little + cynically. + </p> + <p> + “You’re unjust, Carnac. Of course, women love success; but they’d not sell + their souls for it—not the real women—and you ought to know + it.” + </p> + <p> + “I ought to know it, I suppose,” he answered, and he held her eyes + meaningly. He was about to say something vital, but Fabian and his wife + came. + </p> + <p> + Fabian said to him: “Don’t be surprised if you get a bad reception here, + Carnac. It’s the worst place on the river, and I’ve no influence over the + men—I don’t believe Tarboe could have. They’re a difficult lot. + There’s Eugene Grandois, he’s as bad as they make ‘em. He’s got a grudge + against us because of some act of father, and he may break out any time. + He’s a labour leader too, and we must be vigilant.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac nodded. He made no reply in words. They were nearing the little + dock, and men were coming to the point where the launch would stop. + </p> + <p> + “There’s Grandois now!” said Fabian with a wry smile, for he had a real + fear of results. He had, however, no idea how skilfully Carnac would + handle the situation—yet he had heard much of his brother’s + adaptability. He had no psychological sense, and Carnac had big endowment + of it. Yet Carnac was not demonstrative. It was his quiet way that played + his game for him. He never spoke, if being could do what he wanted. He had + the sense of physical speech with out words. He was a bold adventurer, but + his methods were those of the subtlest. If a motion of the hand was + sufficient, then let it go at that. + </p> + <p> + “You people after our votes never come any other time,” sneeringly said + Eugene Grandois, as Carnac and Fabian landed. “It’s only when you want to + use us.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you rather I didn’t come at all?” asked Carnac with a friendly + smile. “You can’t have it both ways. If I came here any other time you’d + want to know why I didn’t stay away, and I come now because it’s good you + should know if I’m fit to represent you in Parliament.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s sense, my bonny boy,” said an English-Canadian labourer standing + near. “What you got to say to that, little skeezicks?” he added teasingly + to Eugene Grandois. + </p> + <p> + “He ain’t got more gifts than his father had, and we all know what he was—that’s + so, bagosh!” remarked Grandois viciously. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what sort of a man was he?” asked Carnac cooly, with a warning + glance at Fabian, who was resentful. Indeed, Fabian would have struck the + man if his brother had not been present, and then been torn to pieces + himself. + </p> + <p> + “What sort—don’t you know the kind of things he done? If you don’t, + I do, and there’s lots of others know, and don’t you forget it, mon + vieux.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s no answer, Monsieur Grandois—none at all. It tells nothing,” + remarked Carnac cheerily. + </p> + <p> + “You got left out of his will, m’sieu’, you talk as if he was all right—that’s + blither.” + </p> + <p> + “My father had a conscience. He gave me chance to become a partner in the + business, and I wouldn’t, and he threw me over—what else was there + to do? I could have owned the business to-day, if I’d played the game as + he thought it ought to be played. I didn’t, and he left me out—that’s + all.” + </p> + <p> + “Makin’ your own way, ain’t you?” said the English labourer. “That’s hit + you where you’re tender, Grandois. What you got to say to that?” + </p> + <p> + The intense black eyes of the habitant sparkled wickedly, his jaws set + with passion, and his sturdy frame seemed to fasten to the ground. His + gnarled hands now shot out fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “What I got to say! Only this: John Grier played the devil’s part. He + turned me and my family out into the streets in winter-time, and the law + upheld him, old beast that he was—sacre diable!” + </p> + <p> + “Beast-devil! Grandois, those are hard words about a man in his son’s + presence, and they’re not true. You think you can say such things because + I’m standing for Parliament. Beast, devil, eh? You’ve got a free tongue, + Grandois; you forgot to say that my father paid the doctor’s bill for your + whole family when they were taken down with smallpox; and he kept them for + weeks afterwards. You forgot to recall that when he turned you out for + being six months behind with your rent and making no effort to pay up! Who + was the devil and beast then, Grandois? Who spat upon his own wife and + children then? You haven’t a good memory.... Come, I think your account + with my father is squared; and I want you to vote to put my father’s son + in Parliament, and to put out Barode Barouche, who’s been there too long. + Come, come, Grandois, isn’t it a bargain? Your tongue’s sharp, but your + heart’s in the right place—is it a bargain?” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand with applause from the crowd, but Grandois was not to + be softened. His anger, however, had behind it some sense of caution, and + what Carnac said about the smallpox incident struck him hard. It was the + first time he had ever been hit between the eyes where John Grier was + concerned. His prestige with the men was now under a shadow, yet he dared + not deny the truth of the statement. It could be proved. His braggart + hatred of John Grier had come home to roost. Carnac saw that, and he was + glad he had challenged the man. He believed that in politics, as in all + other departments of life, candour and bold play were best in the long + run. Yet he would like to see the man in a different humour, and with joy + he heard Junia say to Grandois. + </p> + <p> + “How is the baby boy, and how is madame, Monsieur Grandois?” + </p> + <p> + It came at the right moment, for only two days before had Madame Grandois + given her husband the boy for which he had longed. Junia had come to know + of it through a neighbour and had sent jellies to the sick woman. As she + came forward now, Grandois, taken aback, said: + </p> + <p> + “Alors, they’re all right, ma’m’selle, thank you. It was you sent the + jellies, eh?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded with a smile. “Yes, I sent them, Grandois. May I come and see + madame and the boy to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + The incident had taken a favourable turn. + </p> + <p> + “It’s about even-things between us, Grandois?” asked Carnac, and held out + his hand. “My father hit you, but you hit him harder by forgetting about + the smallpox and the rent, and also by drinking up the cash that ought to + have paid the rent. It doesn’t matter now that the rent was never paid, + but it does that you recall the smallpox debt. Can’t you say a word for + me, Grandois? You’re a big man here among all the workers. I’m a better + Frenchman than the man I’m trying to turn out. Just a word for a good + cause. + </p> + <p> + “They’re waiting for you, and your hand on it! Here’s a place for you on + the roost. Come up.” + </p> + <p> + The “roost” was an upturned tub lying face down on the ground, and in the + passion of the moment, the little man gripped Carnac’s hand and stood on + the tub to great cheering; for if there was one thing the French-Canadians + love, it is sensation, and they were having it. They were mostly + Barouche’s men, but they were emotional, and melodrama had stirred their + feelings. + </p> + <p> + Besides, like the Irish, they had a love of feminine nature, and in all + the river-coves Junia was known by sight at least, and was admired. She + had the freshness of face and mind which is the heart of success with the + habitants. With Eugene Grandois on his feet, she heard a speech which had + in it the best spirit of Gallic eloquence, though it was crude. But it was + forcible and adroit. + </p> + <p> + “Friends and comrades,” said Eugene Grandois, with his hands playing + loosely, “there’s been misunderstandings between me and the Grier family, + and I was out against it, but I see things different since M’sieu’ Carnac + has spoke—and I’m changing my mind—certainlee. That throwing + out of my house hit me and my woman and little ones hard, and I’ve been + resentin’ it all these years till now; but I’m weighin’ one thing agin + another, and I’m willing to forget my wrongs for this young man’s sake. + He’s for us French. Alors, some of you was out to hurt our friend M’sieu’ + Carnac here, and I didn’t say no to it; but you’d better keep your weapons + for election day and use them agin Barode Barouche. + </p> + <p> + “I got a change of heart. I’ve laid my plate on the table with a prayer + that I get it filled with good political doctrine, and I’ve promise that + the food I’m to get is what’s best for all of us. M’sieu’ Carnac Grier’s + got the right stuff in him, and I’m for him both hands up—both hands + way up high, nom de pipe!” + </p> + <p> + At that he raised both hands above his head with a loud cheer, and later + Carnac Grier was carried to the launch in the arms of Eugene Grandois’ + friends. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. THE BLUE PAPER + </h2> + <h3> + “Who are you, ma’m’selle?” + </h3> + <p> + It was in the house of Eugene Grandois that this question was asked of + Junia. She had followed the experience on the Island by a visit to + Grandois’ house, carrying delicacies for the sick wife. Denzil had come + with her, and was waiting in the street. + </p> + <p> + She had almost ended her visit when the outer door opened and Luzanne + Larue entered carrying a dish she placed on the table, eyeing Junia + closely. First they bowed to each other, and Junia gave a pleasant smile, + but instantly she felt here was a factor in her own life—how, she + could not tell. + </p> + <p> + To Luzanne, the face of Junia had no familiar feature, and yet she felt + here was one whose life’s lines crossed her own. So it was she presently + said, “Who are you, ma’m’selle?” in a sharp voice. As Junia did not reply + at once, she put the question in another form: “What is your name, + ma’m’selle?” + </p> + <p> + “It is Junia Shale,” said the other calmly, yet with heart beating hard. + Somehow the question foreshadowed painful things, associated with Carnac. + Her first glance at Luzanne showed the girl was well dressed, that she had + a face of some beauty, that her eyes were full of glamour—black and + bold, and, in a challenging way, beautiful. It was a face and figure full + of daring. She was not French-Canadian; yet she was French; that was clear + from her accent. Yet the voice had an accent of crudity, and the plump + whiteness of the skin and waving fulness of the hair gave the girl a look + of an adventuress. She was dressed in black with a white collar which, by + contrast, seemed to heighten her unusual nature. + </p> + <p> + At first Junia shuddered, for Luzanne’s presence made her uneasy; yet the + girl must have good qualities, for she had brought comforts to the sick + woman, and indeed, within, madame had spoken of the “dear beautiful + stranger.” That could be no other than this girl. She became composed. Yet + she had a feeling that between them was a situation needing all her + resources. About what? She would soon know, and she gave her name at last + slowly, keeping her eyes on those of Luzanne. + </p> + <p> + At mention of the name, Luzanne’s eyes took on prejudice and moroseness. + The pupils enlarged, the lids half closed, the face grew sour. + </p> + <p> + “Junia Shale—you are Junia Shale?” The voice was bitter and + resentful. + </p> + <p> + Junia nodded, and in her smile was understanding and conflict, for she + felt this girl to be her foe. + </p> + <p> + “We must have a talk—that’s sure,” Luzanne said with decision. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” asked Junia calmly. “I am Luzanne Larue.” + </p> + <p> + “That makes me no wiser.” + </p> + <p> + “Hasn’t Carnac Grier spoken of me?” + </p> + <p> + Junia shook her head, and turned her face towards the door of Madame + Grandois’ room. “Had we not better go somewhere else to talk, after you’ve + seen Madame Grandois and the baby?” she asked with a smile, yet she felt + she was about to face an alarming event. “Madame Grandois has spoken + pleasantly of you to me,” Junia added, for tact was her prompt faculty. + “If you’d come where we could talk undisturbed—do you see?” + </p> + <p> + Luzanne made no reply in words, but taking up the dish she went into the + sick-room, and Junia heard her in short friendly speech with Madame + Grandois. Luzanne appeared again soon and spoke: “Now we can go where I’m + boarding. It’s only three doors away, and we can be safe there. You’d like + to talk with me—ah, yes, surelee!” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were combative and repellent, but Junia was not dismayed, and she + said: “What shall we talk about?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s only one thing and one person to talk about, ma’m’selle.” + </p> + <p> + “I still don’t know what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you engaged to Carnac Grier? Don’t you think you’re going to marry + him?... Don’t you like to tell the truth, then?” she added. + </p> + <p> + Junia raised her eyebrows. “I’m not engaged to Carnac Grier, and he has + never asked me to marry him—but what business is it of yours, + ma’m’selle?” + </p> + <p> + “Come and I’ll tell you.” Luzanne moved towards the door. They were + speechless till they reached Luzanne’s lodgings. + </p> + <p> + “This is the house of Monsieur Marmette, an agent of Monsieur Barouche,” + said Junia. “I know it.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll know it better soon. The agent of M’sieu’ Barouche is a man of + mark about here, and he’ll be more marked soon—but yes!” + </p> + <p> + “You think Monsieur Barouche will be elected, do you?” asked Junia, as + they closed the door. + </p> + <p> + “I know he will.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been working for Monsieur Grier, and that isn’t my opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m working for Barode Barouche, and I know the result.” + </p> + <p> + They were now in Luzanne’s small room, and Junia noted that it had all the + characteristics of a habitant dwelling—even to the crucifix at the + head of the bed, and the picture of the French-Canadian Premier of the + Dominion on the wall. She also saw a rosary on a little hook beside the + bed. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I am the wife of Carnac Grier, and I know what will happen to + him.... You turn pale, ma’m’selle, but your colour isn’t going to alter + the truth. I’m Carnac Grier’s wife by the laws of New York State.” + </p> + <p> + “Does Monsieur Grier admit he is your husband?” + </p> + <p> + “He must respect the law by which he married me.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe he was ever honestly married to you,” declared Junia. + “Has he ever lived with you—for a single day?” + </p> + <p> + “What difference would that make? I have the marriage certificate here.” + She touched her bosom. + </p> + <p> + “I’d have thought you were Barode Barouche’s wife by the way you act. + Isn’t it a wife’s duty to help her husband—Shouldn’t you be fighting + against Barode Barouche?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean to be recognized as Carnac Grier’s wife—that’s why I’m + here.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen him since you’ve been here? Have you told him how you’re + working against him? Have you got the certificate with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. I’ve got my head on like a piece of flesh and blood that + belongs to me—bien sur.” + </p> + <p> + She suddenly drew from her breast a folded piece of blue paper. “There it + is, signed by Judge Grimshaw that married us, and there’s the seal; and + the whole thing can’t be set aside. Look at it, if you like, petite.” + </p> + <p> + She held it not far from Junia’s face, and Junia could see that it was + registration of a marriage of New York State. She could have snatched the + paper away, but she meant to conquer Luzanne’s savage spirit. “Well, how + do you intend to defeat your husband?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean to have the people asked from a platform if they’ve seen the wife + of the candidate, and then a copy of the certificate will be read to all. + What do you think will happen after that?” + </p> + <p> + “It will have to be done to-night or to-morrow night,” remarked Junia. + </p> + <p> + “Because the election comes the day after to-morrow,—eh + </p> + <p> + “Because of that. And who will read the document?” + </p> + <p> + “Who but the man he’s trying to defeat?—tell me that.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean Barode Barouche?” + </p> + <p> + “Who else?” + </p> + <p> + “Has he agreed to do it?” + </p> + <p> + Luzanne nodded. “On the day—Carnac became a candidate.” + </p> + <p> + “And if Carnac Grier denies it?” + </p> + <p> + “He won’t deny it. He never has. He says he was drunk when the thing was + done—mais, oui.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all he says?” + </p> + <p> + “No. He says he didn’t know it was a real marriage, and—” Luzanne + then related Carnac’s defence, and added: “Do you think anyone would + believe him with the facts as they are? Remember I’m French and he’s + English, and that marriage to a French girl is life and death; and this is + a French province!” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you are a Catholic and French, and were married by a Protestant + judge.” + </p> + <p> + “That is my own affair, ma’m’selle.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not the thing to say to French-Canadians here. What do you get out + of it all? If he is your husband, wouldn’t it be better to have him + successful than your defeated victim. What will be yours if you defeat—” + </p> + <p> + “Revenge—my rights—the law!” was the sharp rejoinder. + </p> + <p> + Junia smiled. “What is there in it all for you? If the man I married did + not love me, I’d use the law to be free. What’s the good of trying to + destroy a husband who doesn’t love you, who never loved you—never.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know that,” retorted Luzanne sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do. He never loved you. He never lived with you for a single day. + That’s in the power of a doctor to prove. If you are virtuous, then he has + taken nothing; if you have given your all, and not to Carnac Grier, what + will his mind be about you? Is it money? He has no money except what he + earns. His father left him nothing—not a dollar. Why do you hate him + so? I’ve known him all my life, and I’ve never known him hurt man or + animal. When did he ever misuse you, or hurt you? Did he ever treat you + badly? How did you come to know him? Answer that.” + </p> + <p> + She paused and Luzanne flushed. The first meeting! Why, that was the day + Carnac had saved her life, had taken her home safe from danger, and had + begun a friendship with behind it only a desire to help her. And how had + she repaid the saviour of her life? By tricking him into a marriage, and + then by threatening him if he did not take her to his home. Truth is, down + beneath her misconduct was a passion for the man which, not satisfied, + became a passion to destroy him and his career. It was a characteristic of + her blood and breed. It was a relic of ancient dishonour, inherited and + searching; it was atavism and the incorrigible thing. Beneath everything + was her desire for the man, and the mood in which she had fought for him + was the twist of a tortured spirit. She was not so deliberate as her + actions had indicated. She had been under the malicious influence of her + father and her father’s friend. She was like one possessed of a spirit + that would not be deterred from its purpose. Junia saw the impression she + had made, and set it down to her last words. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you first meet him? What was the way of it?” she added. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Junia came forward and put her hands on Luzanne’s shoulders. “I + think you loved Carnac once, and perhaps you love him now, and are only + trying to hurt him out of anger. If you destroy him, you will repent of it—so + soon! I don’t know what is behind these things you are doing, but you’ll + be sorry for it when it is too late. Yes, I know you have loved Carnac, + for I see all the signs—” + </p> + <p> + “Do you love him then, ma’m’selle?” asked Luzanne exasperated. “Do you + love him?” + </p> + <p> + “He has never asked me, and I have never told him that; and I don’t know, + but, if I did, I would move heaven and earth to help him, and if he didn’t + love me I’d help him just the same. And so, I think, should you. If you + ever loved him, then you ought to save him from evil. Tell me, did Carnac + ever do you a kind act, one that is worth while in your life?” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Luzanne stood dismayed, then a new expression drove the dark + light from her eyes. It was as though she had found a new sense. + </p> + <p> + “He saved my life the day we first met,” she said at last under Junia’s + hypnotic influence. + </p> + <p> + “And now you would strike him when he is trying to do the big thing. You + threaten to declare his marriage, in the face of those who can elect him + to play a great part for his country.” + </p> + <p> + Junia saw the girl was in emotional turmoil, was obsessed by one idea, and + she felt her task had vast difficulty. That Carnac should have married the + girl was incredible, that he had played an unworthy part seemed sure; yet + it was in keeping with his past temperament. The girl was the extreme + contrast of himself, with dark—almost piercing-eyes, and a paleness + which was physically constitutional—the joy of the artistic spirit. + It was the head of a tragedienne or a martyr, and the lean, rather + beautiful body was eloquent of life. + </p> + <p> + Presently Junia said: “To try to spoil him would be a crime against his + country, and I shall tell him you are here.” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll do nothing at all.” The French girl’s words were suddenly biting, + malicious and defiant. The moment’s softness she had felt was gone, and + hardness returned. “If he hasn’t moved against me since he married me, he + wouldn’t dare do so now.” + </p> + <p> + “Why hasn’t he moved? Because you’re a woman, and also he’d believe you’d + repent of your conduct. But I believe he will act sternly against you at + once. There is much at stake.” + </p> + <p> + “You want it for your own sake,” said Luzanne sharply. “You think he’d + marry you if I gave him up.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he’d ask me to marry him, if you weren’t in the way, but I’d have + my own mind about that, and knowing what you’ve told me—truth or lie—I’d + weigh it all carefully. Besides, he’s not the only man. Doesn’t that ever + strike you? Why try to hold him by a spurious bond when there are other + men as good-looking, as clever? Is your world so bare of men—no, I’m + sure it isn’t,” she added, for she saw anger rising in the impulsive girl. + “There are many who’d want to marry you, and it’s better to marry some one + who loves you than to hold to one who doesn’t love you at all. Is it hate? + He saved your life—and that’s how you came to know him first, and + now you would destroy him! He’s a great man. He would not bend to his + father’s will, and so he was left without a sou of his father’s money. All + because he has a conscience, and an independence worthy of the best that + ever lived.... That’s the soul of the man you are trying to hurt. If you + had a real soul, there wouldn’t be even the thought of this crime. Do you + think he wouldn’t loathe you, if you do this ghastly thing? Would any real + man endure it for an hour? What do you expect to get but ugly revenge on a + man who never gave anything except friendship?” + </p> + <p> + “Friendship—friendship-yes, he gave that, but emotion too.” + </p> + <p> + “You think that real men marry women for whom they only have emotion. You + think that he—Carnac Grier—would marry any woman on that + basis? Come, ma’m’selle, the truth! He didn’t know he was being married, + and when you told him it was a real marriage he left you at once. You and + yours tricked him—the man you’d never have known if he hadn’t saved + your life. You thought that with your beauty—yes, you are beautiful—you’d + conquer him, and that he’d give in, and become a real husband in a real + home. Come now, isn’t that it?” + </p> + <p> + The other did not reply. Her face was alive with memories. The lower + things were flying from it, a spirit of womanhood was living in her—feebly, + but truly, living. She was now conscious of the insanity of her pursuit of + Carnac. For a few moments she stood silent, and then she said with + agitation: + </p> + <p> + “If I give this up”—she took from her breast the blue document—“he’d + be safe in his election, and he’d marry you: is it not so, ma’m’selle?” + </p> + <p> + “He’d be safe for his election, but he has never asked me to marry him, + and there are others besides him.”—She was thinking of Tarboe. “Tell + me,” she added suddenly, “to whom have you told this thing in Montreal? + Did you mean to challenge him yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I told it only to M’sieu’ Barouche, and he said he would use it at the + right moment—and the right moment has come,” she added. “He asked me + for a copy of it last night, and I said I’d give it to him to-day. It’s + because of him I’ve been here quiet all these weeks as Ma’m’selle Larue.” + </p> + <p> + “He is worse than you, mademoiselle, for he has known Carnac’s family, and + he has no excuse. If a man can’t win his fight fairly, he oughtn’t to be + in public life.” + </p> + <p> + After a few dark moments, with a sudden burst of feeling, Luzanne said: + “Well, Carnac won’t be out of public life through me!” + </p> + <p> + She took the blue certificate from her breast and was about to tear it up, + when Junia stopped her. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t do that,” Junia said, “don’t tear it up yet, give it to me. I’ll + tear it up at the right moment. Give it to me, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand, and the blue certificate was presently in her + fingers. She felt a sudden weakness in her knees, for it seemed she held + the career of Carnac Grier, and it moved her as she had never been moved. + </p> + <p> + With the yielding of the certificate, Luzanne seemed suddenly to lose + self-control. She sank on the bed beside the wall with a cry of distress. + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu—oh, Mon Dieu!” Then she sprang to her feet. “Give it back, + give it back tome,” she cried, with frantic pain. “It’s all I have of him—it’s + all I have.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t give it back,” declared Junia quietly. “It’s a man’s career, and + you must let it go. It’s the right thing to do. Let it stand, + mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + She fully realized the half-insane mind and purpose of the girl, and she + wrapped her arms around the stricken figure. + </p> + <p> + “See, my dear,” she said, “it’s no use. You can’t have it back. Your soul + is too big for that now. You can be happy in the memory that you gave + Carnac back his freedom.” + </p> + <p> + “But the record stands,” said the girl helplessly. “Tell the truth and + have it removed. You owe that to the man who saved your life. Have it done + at once at Shipton.” + </p> + <p> + “What will you do with the certificate?” She glanced at Junia’s bosom + where the paper was hidden. “I will give it to Carnac, and he can do what + he likes with it.” + </p> + <p> + By now the tears were streaming down the face of Luzanne Larue, and hard + as it was for Junia, she tried to comfort her, for the girl should be got + away at once, and only friendliness could achieve that. She would see + Denzil—he was near by, waiting. + </p> + <p> + There would be a train in two hours for New York and the girl must take + it-she must. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. DENZIL TAKES A HAND IN THE GAME + </h2> + <p> + Barode Baruche was excited. He had sure hope of defeating Carnac with the + help of Luzanne Larue. The woman had remained hidden since her coming, and + the game was now in his hands. On the night before the poll he could + declare the thing, not easy to be forgiven by the French-Canadian public, + which has a strong sense of domestic duty. Carnac Grier was a Protestant, + and that was bad, and if there was added an offence against domestic + morality, he would be beaten at the polls as sure as the river ran. He had + seen Luzanne several times, and though he did not believe in her, he knew + the marriage certificate was real. He had no credence in Carnac’s lack of + honour, yet it was strange he had not fought his wife, if his case was a + good one. + </p> + <p> + Day by day he had felt Carnac’s power growing, and he feared his triumph + unless some sensation stopped it. Well, he had at hand the sufficient + sensation. He would produce both the certificate of marriage and the + French girl who was the legal wife of Carnac Grier. That Luzanne was + French helped greatly, for it would be used by Carnac’s foes as an insult + to French Canada, and his pulses throbbed as he thought of the possible + turmoil in the constituency. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately the girl was handsome, had ability, and spoke English with a + French accent, and she was powerful for his purposes. He was out to + prevent his own son from driving himself into private life, and he would + lose no trick in the game, if he could help it. + </p> + <p> + Sentimental feeling—yes, he had it, but it did not prevent him from + saving his own skin. Carnac had come out against him, and he must hit as + hard as he could. It was not as though Carnac had been guilty of a real + crime and was within the peril of the law. His offence was a personal one, + but it would need impossible defence at the moment of election. In any + case, if Carnac was legally married, he should assume the responsibilities + of married life; and if he had honest reason for not recognizing the + marriage, he should stop the woman from pursuing him. If the case kept + Carnac out of public life and himself in, then justice would be done; for + it was monstrous that a veteran should be driven into obscurity by a boy. + In making his announcement he would be fighting his son as though he was a + stranger and not of his own blood and bones. He had no personal connection + with Carnac in the people’s minds. + </p> + <p> + On the afternoon of the day that Junia had had her hour with Luzanne, he + started for the house where Luzanne was lodging. He could not travel the + streets without being recognized, but it did not matter, for the house + where the girl lodged was that of his sub agent, and he was safe in going + to it. He did not know, however, that Denzil had been told by Junia to + watch the place and learn what he meant to do. + </p> + <p> + Denzil had a popular respect of Barode Barouche as a Minister of the + Crown; but he had a far greater love of Carnac. He remained vigilant until + after Junia and Luzanne had started in a cab for the railway-station. They + left near three-quarters of an hour before the train was to start for New + York; and for the first quarter of an hour after they left, Denzil was in + apprehension. + </p> + <p> + Then he saw Barouche enter the street and go to the house of his + sub-agent. The house stood by itself, with windows open, and Denzil did + not scruple to walk near it, and, if possible, listen. Marmette, the + subagent, would know of the incident between Junia and Luzanne; and he + feared. Barouche might start for the station, overtake Luzanne and prevent + her leaving. He drew close and kept his ears open. + </p> + <p> + He was fortunate, he heard voices; Marmette was explaining to Barouche + that Junia and Luzanne had gone to the station, as “Ma’m’selle” was bound + for New York. Marmette had sent word to M. Barouche by messenger, but the + messenger had missed him. Then he heard Barouche in anger say: + </p> + <p> + “You fool—why did you let her leave! It’s my bread and butter—and + yours too—that’s at stake. I wanted to use her against Grier. She + was my final weapon of attack. How long ago did she leave?” Marmette told + him. + </p> + <p> + Denzil saw Barode Barouche leave the house with grim concern and talking + hard to Paul Marmette. He knew the way they would go, so he fell behind a + tree, and saw them start for the place where they could order a cab. Then + he followed them. Looking at his watch he saw that, if they got a cab, + they would get to the station before the train started, and he wondered + how he could retard Barouche. A delay of three minutes would be enough, + for it was a long way, and the distance could only be covered with good + luck in the time. Yet Denzil had hope, for his faith in Junia was great, + and he felt sure she would do what she planned. He had to trot along fast, + because Barouche and Marmette were going hard, and he could not see his + way to be of use yet. He would give his right hand to help Carnac win + against the danger Junia had suggested. It could not be aught to Carnac’s + discredit, or Junia would not have tried to get the danger out of + Montreal; he had seen Luzanne, and she might be deadly, if she had a good + weapon! + </p> + <p> + Presently, he saw Barouche and his agent stop at the door of a + livery-stable, and were told that no cabs were available. There were none + in the street, and time was pressing. Not far away, however, was a street + with a tram-line, and this tram would take Barouche near the station from + which Luzanne would start. So Barouche made hard for this street and had + reached it when a phaeton came along, and in it was one whom Barouche + knew. Barouche spoke to the occupant, and presently both men were admitted + to the phaeton just as a tram-car came near. + </p> + <p> + As the phaeton would make the distance to the station in less time than + the car, this seemed the sensible thing to do, and Denzil’s spirits fell. + There remained enough time for Barouche to reach the station before the + New York train started! He got aboard the tram himself, and watched the + phaeton moving quickly on ahead. He saw the driver of the phaeton strike + his horse with a whip, and the horse, suddenly breaking into a gallop, + slipped and fell to the ground on the tramtrack. A moment later the tram + came to a stop behind the fallen horse, and Denzil saw the disturbed face + of Barode Barouche looking for another trap—in any case, it would + take three or four minutes to get the horse up and clear the track for the + tram. There was no carriage in sight—only a loaded butcher’s cart, a + road-cleaner, and a heavily loaded van. These could be of no use to + Barouche. + </p> + <p> + In his corner, Denzil saw the play with anxious eyes. + </p> + <p> + It was presently found that the horse had injured a leg in falling and + could not be got to its feet, but had presently to be dragged from the + tram-lines. It had all taken near five minutes of the time before the + train went, and, with despair, Barouche mounted the steps of the tram. He + saw Denzil, and shrewdly suspected he was working in the interests of + Carnac. He came forward to Denzil. + </p> + <p> + “You’re a long way from home, little man,” he said in a voice with an acid + note. + </p> + <p> + “About the same as you from home, m’sieu’,” said Denzil. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got business everywhere in this town,” remarked Barouche with + sarcasm—“and you haven’t, have you? You’re travelling privately, + eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I travel as m’sieu’ travels, and on the same business,” answered Denzil + with a challenging smile. + </p> + <p> + The look Barouche gave him then Denzil never forgot. “I didn’t know you + were in politics, mon vieux! What are you standing for? When are you going + to the polls—who are you fighting, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m fighting you, m’sieu’, though I ain’t in politics, and I’m going to + the polls now,” Denzil answered. Denzil had gained in confidence as he saw + the arrogance of Barode Barouche. He spoke with more vigour than usual, + and he felt his gorge rising, for here was a man trying to injure his + political foe through a woman; and Denzil resented it. He did not know the + secret of Luzanne Larue, but he did realize there was conflict between + Junia Shale and Barouche, and between Barouche and Carnac Grier, and that + enlisted his cooperation. By nature he was respectful; but the politician + now was playing a dirty game, and he himself might fight without gloves, + if needed. That was why his eyes showed defiance at Barouche now. He had + said the thing which roused sharp anger in Barouche. It told Barouche that + Denzil knew where he was going and why. Anger shook him as he saw Denzil + take out his watch. + </p> + <p> + “The poll closes in three minutes, m’sieu’,” Denzil added with a dry + smile, for it was clear Barouche could not reach the station in time, if + the train left promptly. The swiftest horses could not get him there, and + these were not the days of motor-cars. Yet it was plain Barouche meant to + stick to it, and he promptly said: + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t the right time, beetle. The poll closes only when the train + leaves, and your watch doesn’t show that, so don’t put on airs yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll put on airs if I’ve won, m’sieu’,” Denzil answered quietly, for he + saw people in the tram were trying to hear. + </p> + <p> + Barouche had been recognized, and a murmur of cheering began, followed by + a hum of disapproval, for Barouche had lost many friends since Carnac had + come into the fray. A few folk tried to engage Barouche in talk, but he + responded casually; yet he smiled the smile which had done so much for him + in public life, and the distance lessened to the station. The tram did not + go quite to the station, and as it stopped, the two men hurried to the + doors. As they did so, an engine gave a scream, and presently, as they + reached the inside of the station, they saw passing out at the far end, + the New York train. + </p> + <p> + “She started five minutes late, but she did start,” said Denzil, and there + was malice in his smile. + </p> + <p> + As he looked at his watch, he saw Junia passing out of a door into the + street, but Barode Barouche did not see her—his eyes were fixed on + the departing train. + </p> + <p> + For a moment Barouche stood indecisive as to whether he should hire a + locomotive and send some one after the train, and so get in touch with + Luzanne in that way, or send her a telegram to the first station where the + train would stop in its schedule; but presently he gave up both ideas. As + he turned towards the exit of the station, he saw Denzil, and he came + forward. + </p> + <p> + “I think you’ve won, mon petit chien,” he said with vindictiveness, “but + my poll comes to-morrow night, and I shall win.” + </p> + <p> + “No game is won till it’s all played, m’sieu’, and this innings is mine!” + </p> + <p> + “I am fighting a bigger man than you, wasp,” snarled Barouche. + </p> + <p> + “As big as yourself and bigger, m’sieu’,” said Denzil with a smile. + </p> + <p> + There was that in his tone which made Barouche regard him closely. He saw + there was no real knowledge of the relationship of Carnac and himself in + Denzil’s eyes; but he held out his hand with imitation courtesy, as though + to say good-bye. + </p> + <p> + “Give me a love-clasp, spider,” he said with a kind of sneer. “I’d like + your love as I travel to triumph.” A light of hatred came into Denzil’s + eyes. “Beetledog—wasp—spider” he had been called by this big + man—well, he should see that the wasp could give as good as it got. + His big gnarled hand enclosed the hand of Barode Barouche, then he + suddenly closed on it tight. He closed on it till he felt it crunching in + his own and saw that the face of Barode Barouche was like that of one in a + chair of torture. He squeezed, till from Barouche’s lips came a gasp of + agony, and then he let go. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve had my love-clasp, m’sieu’,” Denzil said with meaning, “and when + you want it again let me know. It’s what M’sieu’ Carnac will do with you + to-morrow night. Only he’ll not let go, as I did, before the blood comes. + Don’t be hard on those under you, m’sieu’. Remember wasps and spiders can + sting in their own way, and that dogs can bite.” + </p> + <p> + “Little black beast,” was the short reply, “I’ll strip your hide for + Hell’s gridiron in good time.” + </p> + <p> + “Bien, m’sieu’, but you’ll be in hell waiting, for I’m going to bury you + here where you call better men than yourself dogs and wasps and spiders + and beetles. And I’ll not strip your ‘hide,’ either. That’s for lower men + than me.” + </p> + <p> + A moment later they parted, Denzil to find Junia, and Barouche to prepare + his speech for the evening. Barouche pondered. What should he do—should + he challenge Carnac with his marriage with Luzanne Larue? His heart was + beating hard. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. THE CHALLENGE + </h2> + <p> + The day of the election came. Never had feeling run higher, never had + racial lines been so cut across. Barode Barouche fought with vigour, but + from the going of Luzanne Larue, there passed from him the confidence he + had felt since the first day of Carnac’s candidature. He had had + temptation to announce to those who heard him the night before the poll + what Luzanne had told; but better wisdom guided him, to his subsequent + content. He had not played a scurvy trick on his son for his own personal + advantage. Indeed, when his meetings were all over, he was thankful for + the disappearance of Luzanne. At heart he was not all bad. A madness had + been on him. He, therefore, slept heavily from midnight till morning on + the eve of the election, and began the day with the smile of one who + abides the result with courage. + </p> + <p> + Several times he came upon Carnac in the streets, and they saluted + courteously; yet he saw the confidence of Carnac in his bearing. Twice + also he came upon Junia and he was startled by the look she gave him. It + was part of his punishment that Junia was the source of his undoing where + Luzanne was concerned. Junia knew about Luzanne; but if she condemned him + now, what would she think if she knew that Carnac was his own son! + </p> + <p> + “A devilish clever girl that,” he said to himself. “If he wins, it’ll be + due to her, and if he wins—no, he can’t marry her, for he’s already + married; but he’ll owe it all to her. If he wins!... No, he shall not win; + I’ve been in the game too long; I’ve served too many interests; I’ve + played too big a part.” + </p> + <p> + It was then he met his agent, who said: “They’re making strong play + against us—the strongest since you began politics.” + </p> + <p> + “Strong enough to put us in danger?” inquired Barouche. “You’ve been at + the game here for thirty years, and I’d like to know what you think—quite + honestly.” + </p> + <p> + His agent was disturbed. “I think you’re in danger; he has all your gifts, + and he’s as clever as Old Nick besides. He’s a man that’ll make things + hum, if he gets in.” + </p> + <p> + “If he gets in—you think...?” + </p> + <p> + “He has as good a chance as you, m’sieu’. Here’s a list of doubtful ones, + and you’ll see they’re of consequence.” + </p> + <p> + “They are indeed,” said Barouche, scanning the list. “I’d no idea these + would be doubtful.” + </p> + <p> + “Luke Tarboe’s working like the devil for Carnac. People believe in him. + Half the men on that list were affected by Tarboe’s turning over. Tarboe + is a master-man; he has fought like hell.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless, I’ve been too long at it to miss it now,” said the rueful + member with a forced smile. “I must win now, or my game is up.” + </p> + <p> + The agent nodded, but there was no certainty in his eye. Feeling ran + higher and higher, but there was no indication that Barouche’s hopes were + sure of fulfilment. His face became paler as the day wore on, and his + hands freer with those of his late constituents. Yet he noticed that + Carnac was still glib with his tongue and freer with his hands. Carnac + seemed everywhere, on every corner, in every street, at every polling + booth; he laid his trowel against every brick in the wall. Carnac was not + as confident as he seemed, but he was nearing the end of the trail; and + his feet were free and his head clear. One good thing had happened. The + girl who could do him great harm was not in evidence, and it was too late + to spoil his chances now, even if she came. What gave him greatest hope + was the look on Junia’s face as he passed her. It was the sign of the + conqueror—something he could not under stand. It was knowledge and + victory. + </p> + <p> + Also, he had a new feeling towards Tarboe, who had given him such powerful + support. There was, then, in the man the bigger thing, the light of + fairness and reason! He had had no talk with Tarboe, and he desired none, + but he had seen him at three of his meetings, and he had evidence of + arduous effort on his behalf. Tarboe had influenced many people in his + favour, men of standing and repute, and the workmen of the Grier firm had + come, or were coming, his way. He had always been popular with them, in + spite of the strike he had fought, but they voted independently of their + employers; and he was glad to know that most of them were with him in the + fight. + </p> + <p> + His triumph over Eugene Grandois at the Island had been a good influence, + and he had hopes of capturing the majority of the river people. Yet, + strange to say, the Church had somewhat reversed its position, and at the + last had swung round to Barouche, quietly, though not from the pulpit, + supporting him. The old prejudice in favour of a Catholic and a Frenchman + was alive again. + </p> + <p> + Carnac was keyed to anxiety, but outwardly seemed moving with brilliant + certainty. He walked on air, and he spoke and acted like one who had the + key of the situation in his fingers, and the button of decision at his + will. It was folly electioneering on the day of the poll, and yet he saw a + few labour leaders and moved them to greater work for him. One of these + told him that at the Grier big-mill was one man working to defeat him by + personal attacks. It had something to do with a so-called secret marriage, + and it would be good to get hold of the man, Roudin, as soon as possible. + </p> + <p> + A secret marriage! So the thing had, after all, been bruited and used-what + was the source of the information? Who was responsible? He must go to the + mill at once, and he started for it. On the way he met Luke Tarboe. + </p> + <p> + “There’s trouble down at the mill,” Tarboe said. “A fellow called Roudin + has been spreading a story that you’re married and repudiate your wife. + It’d be good to fight it now before it gets going. There’s no truth in it, + of course,” he added with an opposite look in his eye, for he remembered + the letter Carnac received one day in the office and his own conclusion + then. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a lie, and I’ll go and see Roudin at once.... You’ve been a good + friend to me in the fight, Tarboe, and I’d like a talk when it’s all + over.” + </p> + <p> + “That’ll be easy enough, Grier. Don’t make any mistake-this is a big thing + you’re doing; and if a Protestant Britisher can beat a Catholic Frenchman + in his own habitant seat, it’s the clinching of Confederation. We’ll talk + it over when you’ve won.” + </p> + <p> + “You think I’m going to win?” asked Carnac with thumping heart, for the + stark uncertainty seemed to overpower him, though he smiled. + </p> + <p> + “If the lie doesn’t get going too hard, I’m sure you’ll pull it off. + There’s my hand on it. I’d go down with you to the mill, but you should go + alone. You’ve got your own medicine to give. Go it alone, Grier. It’s best—and + good luck to you!” + </p> + <p> + A few moments later Carnac was in the yard of the mill, and in one corner + he saw the man he took to be Roudin talking to a group of workmen. He + hurried over, and heard Roudin declaring that he, Carnac, was secretly + married to a woman whom he repudiated, and was that the kind of man to + have as member of Parliament? Presently Roudin was interrupted by cheers + from supporters of Carnac, and he saw it was due to Carnac’s arrival. + Roudin had courage. He would not say behind a man’s back what he would not + say to his face. + </p> + <p> + “I was just telling my friends here, m’sieu’, that you was married, and + you didn’t acknowledge your wife. Is that so?” + </p> + <p> + Carnac’s first impulse was to say No, but he gained time by challenging. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say such things to injure me? Is that what Monsieur Barouche + tells you to say?” + </p> + <p> + Roudin shook his head protestingly. + </p> + <p> + “If Monsieur Barouche does that he oughtn’t to hold the seat, he ought to + be sent back to his law offices.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn’t hear it from M’sieu’ Barouche. I get it from better hands + than his,” answered Roudin. + </p> + <p> + “Better hands than his, eh? From the lady herself, perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, from the lady herself, m’sieu’.” + </p> + <p> + “Then bring the lady here and let us have it out, monsieur. It’s a lie. + Bring the lady here, if you know her.” + </p> + <p> + Roudin shrugged a shoulder. “I know what I know, and I don’t have to do + what you say—no—no!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you’re not honest. You do me harm by a story like that. I challenge + you, and you don’t respond. You say you know the woman, then produce her—there’s + no time to be lost. The poll closes in four hours. If you make such + statements, prove them. It isn’t playing the game—do you think so, + messieurs?” he added to the crowd which had grown in numbers. At that + moment a man came running from the en trance towards Carnac. It was + Denzil. + </p> + <p> + “A letter for you, an important letter,” he kept crying as he came nearer. + He got the letter into Carnac’s hands. + </p> + <p> + “Read it at once, m’sieu’,” Denzil said urgently. Carnac saw the + handwriting was Junia’s, and he tore open the letter, which held the blue + certificate of the marriage with Luzanne. He conquered the sudden dimness + of his eyes, and read the letter. It said: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DEAR CARNAC, + + I hear from Mr. Tarboe of the lies being told against you. Here is + the proof. She has gone. She told it to Barode Barouche, and he + was to have announced it last night, but I saw her first. You can + now deny the story. The game is yours. Tell the man Roudin to + produce the woman—she is now in New York, if the train was not + lost. I will tell you all when you are M.P. + JUNIA. +</pre> + <p> + With a smile, Carnac placed the certificate in his pocket. How lucky it + was he had denied the marriage and demanded that Roudin produce the woman! + He was safe now, safe and free. It was no good any woman declaring she was + married to him if she could not produce the proof—and the proof was + in his pocket and the woman was in New York. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Monsieur Roudin, tell us about the woman, and bring her to the + polls. There is yet time, if you’re telling the truth. Who is she? Where + does she live? What’s her name?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Carnac Grier—that’s her name,” responded Roudin with a snarl, + and the crowd laughed, for Carnac’s boldness gave them a sense of + security. + </p> + <p> + “What was her maiden name?” + </p> + <p> + “Larue,” answered the other sharply. + </p> + <p> + “What was her Christian name, since you know so much, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + He had no fear now, and his question was audacity, but he knew the game + was with him, and he took the risks. His courage had reward, for Roudin + made no reply. Carnac turned to the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “Here’s a man tried to ruin my character by telling a story about a woman + whose name he doesn’t know. Is that playing the game after the rules—I + ask you?” + </p> + <p> + There were cries from the crowd supporting him, and he grew bolder. “Let + the man tell his story and I’ll meet it here face to face. I fear nothing. + Out with your story, monsieur. Tell us why you haven’t brought her into + the daylight, why she isn’t claiming her husband at the polls. What’s the + story? Let’s have it now.” + </p> + <p> + The truth was, Roudin dared not tell what he knew. It was based wholly on + a talk he had partly overheard between Barode Barouche and Luzanne in the + house where she stayed and where he, Roudin, lodged. It had not been + definite, and he had no proofs. He was a sensationalist, and he had had + his hour and could say no more, because of Barode Barouche. He could not + tell the story of his overhearing, for why had not Barouche told the tale? + With an oath he turned away and disappeared. As he went he could hear his + friends cheering Carnac. + </p> + <p> + “Carnac Grier lies, but he wins the game,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. EXIT + </h2> + <p> + “Grier’s in—Carnac’s in—Carnac’s got the seat!” This was the + cry heard in the streets at ten-thirty at night when Carnac was found + elected by a majority of one hundred and ten. + </p> + <p> + Carnac had not been present at the counting of the votes until the last + quarter-hour, and then he was told by his friends of the fluctuations of + the counting—how at one time his defeat seemed assured, since Barode + Barouche was six hundred ahead, and his own friends had almost given up + hope. One of his foes, however, had no assurance of Carnac’s defeat. He + was too old an agent to believe in returns till all were in, and he knew + of the two incidents by which Carnac had got advantage—at the Island + over Eugene Grandois, and at the Mill over Roudin the very day of polling; + and it was at these points he had hoped to score for Barouche a majority. + He watched Barouche, and he deplored the triumph in his eye, for there was + no surety of winning; his own was the scientific mind without emotions or + passions. He did not “enthuse,” and he did not despair; he kept his head. + </p> + <p> + Presently there were fluctuations in favour of Carnac, and the six hundred + by which Barouche led were steadily swallowed up; he saw that among the + places which gave Carnac a majority were the Island and the Mill. He was + also nonplussed by Carnac’s coolness. For a man with an artist’s + temperament, he was well controlled. When he came into the room, he went + straight to Barouche and shook hands with him, saying they’d soon offer + congratulations to the winner. As the meeting took place the agent did not + fail to note how alike in build and manner were the two men, how similar + were their gestures. + </p> + <p> + When at last the Returning Officer announced the result, the agent dared + not glance at his defeated chief. Yet he saw him go to Carnac and offer a + hand. + </p> + <p> + “We’ve had a straight fight, Grier, and I hope you’ll have luck in + Parliament. This is no place for me. It’s your game, and I’ll eat my sour + bread alone.” + </p> + <p> + He motioned to the window with a balcony, beyond which were the shouting + thousands. Then he smiled at Carnac, and in his heart he was glad he had + not used the facts about Luzanne before the public. The boy’s face was so + glowing that his own youth came back, and a better spirit took residence + in him. He gave thanks to the Returning Officer, and then, with his agent, + left the building by the back door. He did not wait for the announcement + of Carnac’s triumph, and he knew his work was done for ever in public + life. + </p> + <p> + Soon he had said his say at the club where his supporters, discomfited, + awaited him. To demands for a speech, he said he owed to his workers what + he could never repay, and that the long years they had kept him in + Parliament would be the happiest memory of his life. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll soon have you back,” shouted a voice from the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “It’s been a good fight,” said Barode Barouche. Somehow the fact he had + not beaten his son by the story of his secret marriage was the sole + comfort he had. He advised his followers to “play the game” and let the + new member have his triumph without belittlement. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the best fight I’ve had in thirty years,” he said at last, “and I’ve + been beaten fairly.” + </p> + <p> + In another hour he was driving into the country on his way to visit an old + ex-Cabinet Minister, who had been his friend through all the years of his + Parliamentary life. It did not matter that the hour was late. He knew the + veteran would be waiting for him, and unprepared for the bad news he + brought. The night was spent in pain of mind, and the comfort the + ex-Minister gave him, that a seat would be found for him by the + Government, gave him no thrill. He knew he had enemies in the Government, + that the Prime Minister was the friend of the successful only, and that + there were others, glad of his defeat, who would be looking for his place. + Also he was sure he had injured the chances of the Government by the + defeat of his policy. + </p> + <p> + As though Creation was in league against him, a heavy storm broke about + two o’clock, and he went to bed cursed by torturing thoughts. “Chickens + come home to roost—” Why did that ancient phrase keep ringing in his + ears when he tried to sleep? Beaten by his illegitimate son at the polls, + the victim of his own wrong-doing—the sacrifice of penalty! He knew + that his son, inheriting his own political gifts, had done what could have + been done by no one else. All the years passed since Carnac was begotten + laid their deathly hands upon him, and he knew he could never recover from + this defeat. How much better it would have been if he had been struck + twenty-seven years ago! + </p> + <p> + Youth, ambition and resolve would have saved him from the worst then. Age + has its powers, but it has its defects, and he had no hope that his own + defects would be wiped out by luck at the polls. Spirit was gone out of + him, longing for the future had no place in his mind; in the world of + public work he was dead and buried. How little he had got from all his + life! How few friends he had, and how few he was entitled to have! This is + one of the punishments that selfishness and wrong-doing brings; it gives + no insurance for the hours of defeat and loss. Well, wealth and power, the + friends so needed in dark days, had not been made, and Barode Barouche + realized he had naught left. He had been too successful from the start; he + had had all his own way; and he had taken no pains to make or keep + friends. He well knew there was no man in the Cabinet or among his + colleagues that would stir to help him—he had stirred to help no man + in all the years he had served the public. It was no good only to serve + the public, for democracy is a weak stick on which to lean. One must stand + by individuals or there is no defence against the malicious foes that + follow the path of defeat, that ambush the way. It is the personal friends + made in one’s own good days that watch the path and clear away the + ambushers. It is not big influential friends that are so important—the + little unknown man may be as useful as the big boss in the mill of life; + and if one stops to measure one’s friends by their position, the end is no + more sure than if one makes no friends at all. + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing left for me in life—nothing at all,” he said as he + tossed in bed while the thunder roared and the storm beat down the shrubs. + “How futile life is—‘Youth’s a dream, middle age a delusion, old age + a mistake!’” he kept repeating to himself in quotation. “What does one get + out of it? Nothing—nothing—nothing! It’s all a poor show at + the best, and yet—is it? Is it all so bad? Is it all so poor and + gaunt and hopeless? Isn’t there anything in it for the man who gives and + does his best?” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly there came upon him the conviction that life is only futile to + the futile, that it is only a failure to those who prove themselves + incompetent, selfish and sordid; but to those who live life as it ought to + be lived, there is no such thing as failure, or defeat, or penalty, or + remorse or punishment. Because the straight man has only good ends to + serve, he has no failures; though he may have disappointments, he has no + defeats; for the true secret of life is to be content with what is + decreed, to earn bread and make store only as conscience directs, and not + to set one’s heart on material things. + </p> + <p> + He got out of bed soon after daylight, dressed, and went to the stable and + hitched his horse to the buggy. The world was washed clean, that was sure. + It was muddy under foot, but it was a country where the roads soon dried, + and he would suffer little inconvenience from the storm. He bade his host + good-bye and drove away intent to reach the city in time for breakfast. He + found the roads heavy, and the injury of the storm was everywhere to be + seen. Yet it all did not distract him, for he was thinking hard of the + things that lay ahead of him to do—the heart-breaking things that + his defeat meant to him. + </p> + <p> + At last he approached a bridge across a stream which had been badly swept + by the storm. It was one of the covered bridges not uncommon in Canada. It + was not long, as the river was narrow, and he did not see that the middle + pier of the bridge had been badly injured. Yet as he entered the bridge, + his horse still trotting, he was conscious of a hollow, semi-thunderous + noise which seemed not to belong to the horse’s hoofs and the iron wheels + of the carriage. He raised his eyes to see that the other end of the + bridge was clear, and at that moment he was conscious of an unsteady + motion of the bridge, of a wavering of the roof, and then, before he had + time to do aught, he saw the roof and the sides and the floor of the + bridge collapse and sink slowly down. + </p> + <p> + With a cry, he sprang from the carriage to retrace his way; but he only + climbed up a ladder that grew every instant steeper; and all at once he + was plunged downwards after his horse and carriage into the stream. He + could swim, and as he swept down this thought came to him—that he + might be able to get the shore, as he heard the cries of people on the + bank. It was a hope that died at the moment of its birth, however, for he + was struck by a falling timber on the head. + </p> + <p> + When, an hour later, he was found in an eddy of the river by the shore, he + was dead, and his finders could only compose his limbs decently. But in + the afternoon, the papers of Montreal had the following head-lines; DEFEAT + AND DEATH OF BARODE BAROUCHE THE END OF A LONG AND GREAT CAREER + </p> + <p> + As soon as Carnac Grier heard the news, he sent a note to his mother + telling her all he knew. When she read the letter, she sank to the floor, + overcome. Her son had triumphed indeed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. A WOMAN WRITES A LETTER + </h2> + <p> + The whole country rang with the defeat and death of Barode Barouche, and + the triumph of the disinherited son of John Grier. Newspapers drew + differing lessons from the event, but all admitted that Carnac, as a great + fighter, was entitled to success. The Press were friendly to the memory of + Barode Barouche, and some unduly praised his work, and only a few + disparaged his career. + </p> + <p> + When news of the tragedy came to Mrs. Grier, she was reading in the papers + of Carnac’s victory, and in her mind was an agonizing triumph, pride in a + stern blow struck for punishment. The event was like none she could have + imagined. + </p> + <p> + It was at this moment the note came from Carnac telling of Barouche’s + death, and it dropped from her hand to the floor. The horror of it smote + her being, and, like one struck by lightning, she sank to the floor + unconscious. The thing had hit her where soul and body were closely knit; + and she had realized for the first time how we all must pay to the last + penny for every offence we commit against the laws of life and nature. + Barode Barouche had paid and she must pay—she also who had sinned + with him must pay. But had she not paid? + </p> + <p> + For long she lay unconscious, but at last the servant, unknowing why she + was not called to remove the breakfast things, found her huddled on the + floor, her face like that of death. The servant felt her heart, saw she + was alive, and worked with her till consciousness came back. + </p> + <p> + “That’s right, ma’am, keep up heart. I’ll send for M’sieu’ Carnac at once, + and we’ll have you all right pretty quick.” + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Grier forbade Carnac to be sent for, and presently in her bed, + declined to have the doctor brought. “It’s no use,” she said. “A doctor + can do no good. I need rest, that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + Then she asked for notepaper and pen and ink, and so she was left alone. + She must tell her beloved son why it was there never had been, and never + could be, understanding between John Grier and himself. She had arrived at + that point where naught was to be gained by further concealment. So + through long hours she struggled with her problem, and she was glad Carnac + did not come during the vexing day. He had said when he sent her word of + his victory, that he feared he would not be able to see her the next day + at all, as he had so much to do. She even declined to see Junia when she + came, sending word that she was in bed, indisposed. + </p> + <p> + The letter she wrote ran thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MY BELOVED CARNAC, + + Your news of the death of Barode Barouche has shocked me. You will + understand when I tell you I have lived a life of agony ever since + you became a candidate. This is why: you were fighting the man who + gave you to the world. + + Let me tell you how. I loved John Grier when I married him, and + longed to make my life fit in with his. But that could not easily + be, for his life was wedded to his business, and he did not believe + in women. To him they were incapable of the real business of life, + and were only meant to be housekeepers to men who make the world go + round. So, unintentionally, he neglected me, and I was young and + comely then, so the world said, and I was unwise and thoughtless. + + Else, I should not have listened to Barode Barouche, who, one summer + in camp on the St. Lawrence River near our camp, opened up for me + new ways of thought, and springs of feeling. He had the gifts that + have made you what you are, a figure that all turn twice to see. He + had eloquence, he was thoughtful in all the little things which John + Grier despised. In the solitude of the camp he wound himself about + my life, and roused an emotion for him false to duty. And so one + day—one single day, for never but the once was I weak, yet that was + enough, God knows.... He went away because I would not see + him again; because I would not repeat the offence which gave me + years of sorrow and remorse. + + After you became a candidate, he came and offered to marry me, tried + to reopen the old emotion; but I would have none of it. He was + convinced he would defeat you, and he wanted to avoid fighting you. + But when I said, ‘Give up the seat to him,’ he froze. Of course, + his seat belonged to his party and not alone to himself; but that + was the test I put him to, and the answer he gave was, ‘You want me + to destroy my career in politics! That is your proposal, is it?’ + He was not honest either in life or conduct. I don’t think he ever + was sorry for me or for you, until perhaps these last few weeks; but + I have sorrowed ever since the day you came to me very day, every + hour, every minute; and the more because I could not tell John Grier + the truth. + + Perhaps I ought to have told the truth long ago, and faced the + consequences. It might seem now that I would have ruined my home + life, and yours, and Barode Barouche’s, and John Grier’s life if I + had told the truth; but who knows! There are many outcomes to + life’s tragedies, and none might have been what I fancied. It is + little comfort that Barode Barouche has now given all for payment of + his debt. It gives no peace of mind. And it may be you will think + I ought not to tell you the truth. I don’t know, but I feel you + will not misunderstand. I tell you my story, so that you may again + consider if it is not better to face the world with the truth about + Luzanne. We can live but once, and it is to our good if we refuse + the secret way. It is right you should know the truth about your + birth, but it is not right you should declare it to all the world + now. That was my duty long ago, and I did not do it. It is not + your duty, and you must not do it. Barode Barouche is gone; John + Grier has gone; and it would only hurt Fabian and his wife and you + to tell it now. You inherit Barode Barouche’s gifts, and you have + his seat, you represent his people—and they are your people too. + You have French blood in your veins, and you have a chance to carry + on with honour what he did with skill. Forgive me, if you can. + + Your loving + + MOTHER. + + P.S. Do nothing till you see me. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. CARNAC AND HIS MOTHER + </h2> + <p> + Returning from Barode Barouche’s home to his mother’s House on the Hill, + Carnac was in a cheerless mood. With Barouche’s death to Carnac it was as + though he himself had put aside for ever the armour of war, for Barouche + was the only man in the world who had ever tempted him to fight, or whom + he had fought. + </p> + <p> + There was one thing he must do: he must go to Junia, tell her he loved + her, and ask her to be his wife. She had given him the fatal blue + certificate of his marriage and the marriage could now be ended with + Luzanne’s consent, for she would not fight the divorce he must win soon. + He could now tell the truth, if need be, to his constituents, for there + would be time enough to recover his position, if it were endangered, + before the next election came, and Junia would be by his side to help him! + Junia—would she, after all, marry him now? He would soon know. + To-night he must spend with his mother, but to-morrow he would see Junia + and learn his fate, and know about Luzanne. Luzanne had been in Montreal, + had been ready to destroy his chance at the polls, and Junia had stopped + it. How? Well, he should soon know. But now, at first, for his mother. + </p> + <p> + When he entered the House on the Hill, he had a sudden shiver. Somehow, + the room where his mother had sat for so many years, and where he had last + seen his father, John Grier, had a coldness of the tomb. There was a + letter on the centre table standing against the lamp. He saw it was in his + mother’s handwriting, and addressed to himself. + </p> + <p> + He tore it open, and began to read. Presently his cheeks turned pale. More + than once he put it down, for it seemed impossible to go on, but with + courage he took it up again and read on to the end. + </p> + <p> + “God—God in Heaven!” he broke out when he had finished it. For a + long time he walked the floor, trembling in body and shaking in spirit. + “Now I understand everything,” he said at last aloud in a husky tone. “Now + I see what I could not see—ah yes, I see at last!” + </p> + <p> + For another time of silence and turmoil he paced the floor, then he + stopped short. “I’m glad they both are dead,” he said wearily. Thinking of + Barode Barouche, he had a great bitterness. “To treat any woman so—how + glad I am I fought him! He learned that such vile acts come home at last.” + </p> + <p> + Then he thought of John Grier. “I loathed him and loved him always,” he + said with terrible remorse in his tone. “He used my mother badly, and yet + he was himself; he was the soul that he was born, a genius in his own way, + a neglecter of all that makes life beautiful—and yet himself, always + himself. He never pottered. He was real—a pirate, a plunderer, but + he was real. And he cared for me, and would have had me in the business if + he could. Perhaps John Grier knows the truth now!... I hope he does. For, + if he does, he’ll see that I was not to blame for what I did, that it was + Fate behind me. He was a big man, and if I’d worked with him, we’d have + done big things, bigger than he did, and that was big enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Do nothing till you see me,” his mother had written in a postscript to + her letter, and, with a moroseness at his heart and scorn of Barouche at + his lips, he went slowly up to his mother’s room. At her door he paused. + But the woman was his mother, and it must be faced. After all, she had + kept faith ever since he was born. He believed that. She had been an + honest wife ever since that fatal summer twenty-seven years before. + </p> + <p> + “She has suffered,” he said, and knocked at her door. An instant later he + was inside the room. There was only a dim light, but his mother was + sitting up in her bed, a gaunt and yet beautiful, sad-eyed figure of a + woman. For a moment Carnac paused. As he stood motionless, the face of the + woman became more drawn and haggard, the eyes more deeply mournful. Her + lips opened as though she would speak, but no sound came, and Carnac could + hardly bear to look at her. Yet he did look, and all at once there rushed + into his heart the love he had ever felt for her. After all, he was her + son, and she had not wronged him since his birth. And he who had wronged + her and himself was dead, his pathway closed for ever to the deeds of life + and time. As he looked, his eyes filled with tears and his lips + compressed. At last he came to the bed. Her letter was in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I have read it, mother.” + </p> + <p> + She made no reply, but his face was good for her eyes to see. It had no + hatred or repulsion. + </p> + <p> + “I know everything now,” he added. “I see it all, and I understand all you + have suffered these many years.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my son, you forgive your mother?” She was trembling with emotion. + </p> + <p> + He leaned over and caught her wonderful head to his shoulder. “I love you, + mother,” he said gently. “I need you—need you more than I ever did.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no heart any more, and I fear for you—” + </p> + <p> + “Why should you fear for me? You wanted me to beat him, didn’t you?” His + face grew hard, his lips became scornful. “Wasn’t it the only way to make + him settle his account?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the only way. It was not that I fear for you in politics. I was sure + you would win the election. It was not that, it was the girl.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all finished. I am free at last,” he said. He held the blue + certificate before her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Her face was deadly pale, her eyes expanded, her breath came sharp and + quick. “How was it don how was it done? Was she here in Montreal?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know how it was done, but she was here, and Junia got this from + her. I shan’t know how till I’ve seen Junia.” + </p> + <p> + “Junia is the best friend,” said the stricken woman gently, “in all the + world; she’s—” + </p> + <p> + “She’s so good a friend she must be told the truth,” he said firmly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not while I live! I could not bear that—” + </p> + <p> + “How could I ask Junia to marry me and not tell her all the truth—mother, + can’t you see?” + </p> + <p> + The woman’s face flushed scarlet. “Ah, yes, I see, my boy—I see.” + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t we had enough of secrecy—in your letter you lamented it! If + it was right for you to be secret all these years, is it not a hundred + times right now for me to tell you the truth.... I have no name—no + name,” he added, tragedy in his tone. + </p> + <p> + “You have my name. You may say I have no right to it, but it is the only + name I can carry; they both are dead, and I must keep it. It wrongs no one + living but you, and you have no hatred of me: you think I do not wrong you—isn’t + that so?” + </p> + <p> + His cheek was hot with feeling. “Yes, that’s true,” he said. “You must + still keep your married name.” Then a great melancholy took hold of him, + and he could hardly hide it from her. She saw how he was moved, and she + tried to comfort him. + </p> + <p> + “You think Junia will resent it all?... But that isn’t what a girl does + when she loves. You have done no wrong; your hands are clean.” + </p> + <p> + “But I must tell her all. Tarboe is richer, he has an honest birth, he is + a big man and will be bigger still. She likes him, she—” + </p> + <p> + “She will go to you without a penny, my son.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be almost without a penny, if you don’t live,” he said with a + faint smile. “I can’t paint—for a time anyhow. I can’t earn money + for a time. I’ve only my salary as a Member of Parliament and the little + that’s left of my legacy; therefore, I must draw on you. And I don’t seem + to mind drawing upon you; I never did.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled with an effort. “If I can help you, I shall justify living on.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. TARBOE HAS A DREAM + </h2> + <p> + The day Carnac was elected it was clear to Tarboe that he must win Junia + at once, if he was ever to do so, for Carnac’s new honours would play a + great part in influencing her. In his mind, it was now or never for + himself; he must bring affairs to a crisis. + </p> + <p> + Junia’s father was poor, but the girl had given their home an air of + comfort and an art belonging to larger spheres. The walls were covered + with brown paper, and on it were a few of her own water-colour drawings, + and a few old engravings of merit. Chintz was the cover on windows and + easy chairs, and in a corner of the parlour was a chintz-covered lounge + where she read of an evening. So it was that, with Carnac elected and + Barode Barouche buried, she sat with one of Disraeli’s novels in her hand + busy with the future. She saw for Carnac a safe career, for his two chief + foes were gone—Luzanne Larue and Barode Barouche. Now she understood + why Carnac had never asked her to be his wife. She had had no word with + Carnac since his election—only a letter to thank her for the + marriage certificate and to say that after M. Barouche was buried he would + come to her, if he might. He did say, however, in the letter that he owed + her his election. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve done a great, big thing for me, dearest friend, and I am your ever + grateful Carnac”—that was the way he had put it. Twice she had gone + to visit his mother, and had been told that Mrs. Grier was too ill to see + her—overstrain, the servant had said. She could not understand being + denied admittance; but it did not matter, for one day Mrs. Grier should + know how she—Junia-had saved her son’s career. + </p> + <p> + So she thought, as she gazed before her into space from the chintz-covered + lounge on the night of the day Barode Barouche was buried. There was a + smell of roses in the room. She had gathered many of them that afternoon. + She caught a bud from a bunch on a table, and fastened it in the bosom of + her dress. Somehow, as she did it, she had a feeling she would like to + clasp a man’s head to her breast where the rose was—one of those + wild thoughts that come to the sanest woman at times. She was captured by + the excitement in which she had moved during the past month—far more + now than she had been in all the fight itself. + </p> + <p> + There came a knock at the outer door, and before that of her own room + opened, she recognized the step of the visitor. So it was Tarboe had come. + He remembered that day in the street when he met Junia, and was shown + there were times when a woman could not be approached with emotion. He had + waited till the day he knew she was alone, for he had made a friend of her + servant by judicious gifts of money. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you’re glad to see me,” he said with an uncertain smile, as he saw + her surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I hope I am,” she replied, and motioned him to a seat. He chose a + high-backed chair with a wide seat near the lounge. He made a motion of + humorous dissent to her remark, and sat down. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we pulled it off somehow, didn’t we?” she said. “Carnac Grier is + M.P.” + </p> + <p> + “And his foe is in his grave,” remarked Tarboe dryly. “Providence pays + debts that ought to be paid. This election has settled a lot of things,” + she returned with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it has, and I’ve come here to try and find one of the + settlements.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, find them,” she retorted. + </p> + <p> + “I said one of the settlements only. I have to be accurate in my life.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad to hear of it. You helped Mr. Grier win his election. It was + splendid of you. Think of it, Mr. Tarboe, Carnac Grier is beginning to get + even with his foes.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not a foe—if that’s what you mean. I’ve proved it.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled provokingly. “You’ve proved only you’re not an absolute devil, + that’s all. You’ve not proved yourself a real man—not yet. Do you + think it paid your debt to Carnac Grier that you helped get him into + Parliament?” + </p> + <p> + His face became a little heated. “I’ll prove to you and to the world that + I’m not an absolute devil in the Grier interests. I didn’t steal the + property. I tried to induce John Grier to leave it to Carnac or his + mother, for if he’d left it to Mrs. Grier it would have come to Carnac. He + did not do it that way, though. He left it to me. Was I to blame for + that?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not, but you could have taken Carnac in, or given up the property + to him—the rightful owner. You could have done that. But you were + thinking of yourself altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “Not altogether. In the first place, I am bound to keep my word to John + Grier. Besides, if Carnac had inherited, the property would have got into + difficulties—there were things only John Grier and I understood, and + Carnac would have been floored.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t you still have been there?” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows! Who can tell! Maybe not!” + </p> + <p> + “Carnac Grier is a very able man.” + </p> + <p> + “But of the ablest. He’ll be a success in Parliament. He’ll play a big + part; he won’t puddle about. I meant there was a risk in letting Carnac + run the business at the moment, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And there never was with you!” + </p> + <p> + “None. My mind had grasped all John Grier intended, and I have the + business at my fingers’ ends. There was no risk with me. I’ve proved it. + I’ve added five per cent to the value of the business since John Grier + died. I can double the value of it in twenty years—and easy at + that.” + </p> + <p> + “If you make up your mind to do it, you will,” she said with admiration, + for the man was persuasive, and he was playing a game in which he was a + master. + </p> + <p> + Her remarks were alive with banter, for Tarboe’s humour was a happiness to + her. + </p> + <p> + “How did I buy your approval?” he questioned alertly. + </p> + <p> + “By ability to put a bad case in a good light. You had your case, and you + have made a real success. If you keep on you may become a Member of + Parliament some day!” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. “Your gifts have their own way of stinging. I don’t believe I + could be elected to Parliament. I haven’t the trick of popularity of that + kind.” + </p> + <p> + Many thoughts flashed through Tarboe’s mind. If he married her now, and + the truth was told about the wills and the law gave Carnac his rights, she + might hate him for not having told her when he proposed. So it was that in + his desire for her life as his own, he now determined there should be no + second will. In any case, Carnac had enough to live on through his mother. + Also, he had capacity to support himself. There was a touch of + ruthlessness in Tarboe. No one would ever guess what the second will + contained—no one. The bank would have a letter saying where the will + was to be found, but if it was not there! + </p> + <p> + He would ask Junia to be his wife now, while she was so friendly. Her eyes + were shining, her face was alive with feeling, and he was aware that the + best chances of his life had come to win her. If she was not now in the + hands of Carnac, his chances were good. Yet there was the tale of the + secret marriage—the letter he saw Carnac receive in John Grier’s + office! The words of the ancient Greek came to him as he looked at her: + “He who will not strike when the hour comes shall wither like a flower, + and his end be that of the chaff of the field.” + </p> + <p> + His face flushed with feeling, his eyes grew bright with longing, his + tongue was loosed to the enterprise. “Do you dream, and remember your + dreams?” he asked with a thrill in his voice. “Do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t dream often, but I sometimes remember my dreams.” + </p> + <p> + “I dream much, and one dream I have constantly.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked with anticipation. + </p> + <p> + “It is the capture of a wild bird in a garden—in a cultivated garden + where there are no nests, no coverts for the secret invaders. I dream that + I pursue the bird from flower-bed to flower-bed, from bush to bush, along + paths and the green-covered walls; and I am not alone in my chase, for + there are others pursuing. It is a bitter struggle to win the wild thing. + And why? Because there is pursuing one of the pursuers another bird of red + plumage. Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and saw her face was full of colour and her eyes had a glow. + Every nerve in her was pulsing hard. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” she said presently, “whom do you mean by the bird of red + plumage? Is it a mere figure of speech? Or has it a real meaning?” + </p> + <p> + “It has a real meaning.” + </p> + <p> + He rose to his feet, bent over her and spoke hotly. “Junia, the end of my + waiting has come. I want you as I never wanted anything in my life. I must + know the truth. I love you, Junia. I have loved you from the first moment + I saw you, and nothing is worth while with you not in it. Let us work + together. It is a big, big game I’m playing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s a big game you’re playing,” she said with emotion. “It is a + big, big game, and, all things considered, you should win it, but I doubt + you will. I feel there are matters bigger than the game, or than you, or + me, or anyone else. And I do not believe in your bird of red plumage; I + don’t believe it exists. It may have done so, but it doesn’t now.” + </p> + <p> + She also got to her feet, and Tarboe was so near her she could feel his + hot breath on her cheek. + </p> + <p> + “No, it doesn’t exist now,” she repeated, “and the pursuer is not pursued. + You have more imagination than belongs to a mere man of business—you’re + an inexperienced poet.” + </p> + <p> + He caught her hand and drew it to his breast. “The only poetry I know is + the sound of your voice in the wind, the laughter of your lips in the sun, + the delight of your body in the heavenly flowers. Yes, I’ve drunk you in + the wild woods; I’ve trailed you on the river; I’ve heard you in the + grinding storm—always the same, the soul of all beautiful things. + Junia, you shall not put me away from you. You shall be mine, and you and + I together shall win our way to great ends. We will have opportunity, + health, wealth and prosperity. Isn’t it worth while?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered after a moment, “but it cannot be with you, my + friend.” + </p> + <p> + She withdrew her fingers and stepped back; she made a gesture of friendly + repulsion. “You have said all that can be said, you have gifts greater + than you yourself believe; and I have been tempted; but it is no use, + there are deeper things than luxuries and the magazines of merchandise—much + deeper. No, no, I cannot marry you; if you were as rich as Midas, as + powerful as Caesar, I would not marry you—never, never, never.” + </p> + <p> + “You love another,” he said boldly. “You love Carnac Grier.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not love you—isn’t that enough?” + </p> + <p> + “Almost—almost enough,” he said, embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI. THIS WAY HOME + </h2> + <p> + All Junia had ever felt of the soul of things was upon her as she arranged + flowers and listened to the church bells ringing. + </p> + <p> + “They seem to be always ringing,” she said to herself, as she lightly + touched the roses. “It must be a Saint’s Day—where’s Denzil? Ah, + there he is in the garden! I’ll ask him.” + </p> + <p> + Truth is, she was deceiving herself. She wanted to talk with Denzil about + all that had happened of late, and he seemed, somehow, to avoid her. + Perhaps he feared she had given her promise to Tarboe who had, as Denzil + knew, spent an hour with her the night before. As this came to Denzil’s + brain, he felt a shiver go through him. Just then he heard Junia’s + footsteps, and saw her coming towards him. + </p> + <p> + “Why are the bells ringing so much, Denzil? Is it a Saint’s Day?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + He took off his hat. “Yes, ma’m’selle, it is a Saint’s Day,” and he named + it. “There were lots of neighbours at early Mass, and some have gone to + the Church of St. Anne de Beaupre at Beaupre, them that’s got sickness.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Beaupre is as good as Lourdes, I’m sure. Why didn’t you go, Denzil?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I go, ma’m’selle—I ain’t sick—ah, bah!” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you were. You’ve been in low spirits ever since our election, + Denzil.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing strange in that, ma’m’selle. I’ve been thinking of him that’s + gone.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean Monsieur Barouche, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Not of M’sieu’ Barouche, but of the father to the man that beat M’sieu’ + Barouche.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should you be thinking so much of John Grier these days?” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it the right time? His son that he threw off without a penny has + proved himself as big a man as his father—ah, surelee! M’sieu’ left + behind him a will that gave all he had to a stranger. His own son was left + without a sou. There he is now,” he added, nodding towards the street. + </p> + <p> + Junia saw Carnac making his way towards her house. “Well, I’ll talk with + him,” she said, and her face flushed. She knew she must give account of + her doings with Luzanne Larue. + </p> + <p> + A few moments later in the house, her hand lay in that of Carnac, and his + eyes met hers. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all come our way, Junia,” he remarked gaily, though there was + sadness in his tone. + </p> + <p> + “It’s as you wanted it. You won.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks to you, Junia,” and he took from his pocket the blue certificate. + </p> + <p> + “That—oh, that was not easy to get,” she said with agitation. “She + had a bad purpose, that girl.” + </p> + <p> + “She meant to announce it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, through Barode Barouche. He agreed to that.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac flushed. “He agreed to that—you know it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The day you were made candidate she arrived here; and the next + morning she went to Barode Barouche and told her story. He bade her remain + secret till the time was ripe, and he was to be the judge of that. He was + waiting for the night before the election. Then he was going to strike you + and win!” + </p> + <p> + “She told you that—Luzanne told you that?” + </p> + <p> + “And much else. Besides, she told me you had saved her life from the + street-cars; that you had played fair at the start.” + </p> + <p> + “First and last I played fair,” he said indignantly. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were shining. “Not from first to last, Carnac. You ought not to + have painted her, or made much of her and then thrown her over. She knew—of + course she knew, after a time, that you did not mean to propose to her, + and all the evil in her came out. Then she willed to have you in spite of + yourself, believing, if you were married, her affection would win you in + the end. There it was—and you were to blame.” + </p> + <p> + “But why should you defend her, Junia?” + </p> + <p> + Her tongue became bitter now. “Just as you would, if it was some one else + and not yourself.” + </p> + <p> + His head was sunk on his breast, his eyes were burning. “It was a horrible + thing for Barouche to plan.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so horrible? If you were hiding a marriage for whatever reason, it + should be known to all whose votes you wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “Barouche was the last man on earth to challenge me, for he had a most + terrible secret.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it?” Her voice had alarm, for she had never seen Carnac so + disturbed. + </p> + <p> + “He was fighting his own son—and he knew it!” The words came in + broken accents. + </p> + <p> + “He was fighting his own son, and he knew it! You mean to say that!” + Horror was in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that the summer before I was born—” + </p> + <p> + He told her the story as his mother had told it to him. Then at last he + said: + </p> + <p> + “And now you know Barode Barouche got what he deserved. He ruined my + mother’s life; he died the easiest death such a man could die. He has also + spoiled my life.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing can spoil your life except yourself,” she declared firmly, and + she laid a hand upon his arm. “Who told you all this—and when?” + </p> + <p> + “My mother in a letter last night. I had a talk with her afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “Who else knows?” + </p> + <p> + “Only you.” + </p> + <p> + “And why did you tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I want you to know why our ways must for ever lie apart.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t grasp what you mean,” she declared in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t grasp why, loving you, I didn’t ask you to marry me long ago; + but you found out for yourself from the one who was responsible, and freed + me and saved me; and now you know I am an illegitimate son.” + </p> + <p> + “And you want to cut me out of your life for a bad man’s crime, not your + own.... Listen, Carnac. Last night I told Mr. Tarboe I could not marry + him. He is rich, he has control of a great business, he is a man of mark. + Why do you suppose I did it, and for over two years have done the same?—for + he has wanted me all that time. Does not a girl know when a real man wants + her? And Luke Tarboe is a real man. He knows what he wants, and he goes + for it, and little could stop him as he travels. Why do you suppose I did + it?” Her face flushed, anger lit her eyes. “Because there was another man; + but I’ve only just discovered he’s a sham, with no real love for me. It + makes me sorry I ever knew him.” + </p> + <p> + “Me—no real love for you! That’s not the truth: it’s because I have + no real name to give you—that’s why I’ve spoken as I have. Never + have I cared for anyone except you, Junia, and I could have killed anyone + that wronged you—” + </p> + <p> + “Kill yourself then,” she flashed. + </p> + <p> + “Have I wronged you, Junia?” + </p> + <p> + “If you kept me waiting and prevented me from marrying a man I could have + loved, if I hated you—if you did that, and then at last told me to + go my ways, don’t you think it wronging me! Don’t be a fool, Carnac. + You’re not the only man on earth a good girl could love. I tell you, again + and again I have been moved towards Luke Tarboe, and if he had had + understanding of women, I should now be his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “You tell me what I have always known,” he interposed. “I knew Tarboe had + a hold on your heart. I’m not so vain as to think I’ve always been the one + man for you. I lived long in anxious fear, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And now you shut the door in my face! Looked at from any standpoint, it’s + ugly.” + </p> + <p> + “I want you to have your due,” he answered with face paler. “You’re a + great woman—the very greatest, and should have a husband born in + honest wedlock.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m the best judge of what I want,” she declared almost sharply, yet + there was a smile at her lips. “Why, I suppose if John Grier had left you + his fortune, you’d give it up; you’d say, ‘I have no right to it,’ and + would give it to my brother-in-law, Fabian.” + </p> + <p> + “I should.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet Fabian had all he deserved from his father. He has all he should + have, and he tried to beat his father in business. Carnac, don’t be a + bigger fool than there’s any need to be. What is better than that John + Grier’s business should be in Tarboe’s hands—or in yours? Remember, + John Grier might have left it all to your mother, and, if he had, you’d + have taken it, if she had left it to you. You’d have taken it even if you + meant to give it away afterwards. There are hospitals to build. There are + good and costly things to do for the State.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she saw in his eyes a curious soft understanding, and she put her + hand on his shoulder. “Carnac,” she said gently, “great, great Carnac, + won’t you love me?” + </p> + <p> + For an instant he felt he must still put her from him, then he clasped her + to his breast. + </p> + <p> + “But I really had to throw myself into your arms!” she said later. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII. “HALVES, PARDNER, HALVES” + </h2> + <p> + It was Thanksgiving Day, and all the people of the Province were en fete. + The day was clear, and the air was thrilling with the spirits of the north + country; the vibrant sting of oxygen, the blessed resilience of the river + and the hills. + </p> + <p> + It was a great day on the St. Lawrence, for men were preparing to go to + the backwoods, to the “shanties,” and hosts were busy with the crops, + storing them; while all in trade and industry were cheerful. There was a + real benedicite in the air. In every church. Catholic and Protestant, + hands of devoted workers had made beautiful altar and communion table, and + lectern and pulpit, and in the Methodist chapel and the Presbyterian kirk, + women had made the bare interiors ornate. The bells of all the churches + were ringing, French and English; and each priest, clergyman and minister + was moving his people in his own way and by his own ritual to bless God + and live. + </p> + <p> + In the city itself, the Mayor had arranged a festival in the evening, and + there were gathered many people to give thanks. But those most conspicuous + were the poor, unsophisticated habitants, who were on good terms with the + refreshment provided. Their enthusiasm was partly due to the presence of + Carnac Grier. In his speech to the great crowd, among other things the + Mayor said: “It is our happiness that we have here one whose name is + familiar to all in French-Canada—that of the new Member of + Parliament, Monsieur Carnac Grier. In Monsieur Grier we have a man who + knows his own mind, and it is filled with the interests of the French as + well as the English. He is young, he has power, and he will use his youth + and power to advance the good of the whole country. May he live long!” + </p> + <p> + Carnac never spoke better in his life than in his brief reply. When he had + finished, some one touched his arm. It was Luke Tarboe. + </p> + <p> + “A good speech, Grier. Can you give me a few moments?” + </p> + <p> + “Here?” asked Carnac, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Not here, but in the building. There is a room where we can be alone, and + I have to tell you something of great importance.” + </p> + <p> + “Of great importance? Well, so have I to tell you, Tarboe.” + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later they were in the Mayor’s private parlour, hung with + the portraits of past Governors and Mayors, and carrying over the door the + coat-of-arms of the Province. + </p> + <p> + Presently Carnac said: “Let me give you my news first, Tarboe: I am to + marry Junia Shale—and soon.” + </p> + <p> + Tarboe nodded. “I expected that. She is worth the best the world can + offer.” There was a ring of honesty in his tone. “All the more reason why + I should tell you what my news is, Carnac. I’m going to tell you what + oughtn’t yet to be told for another two years, but I feel it due you, for + you were badly used, and so I break my word to your father.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac’s hand shot out in protest, but Tarboe took no notice. “I mean to + tell you now in the hour of your political triumph that—” + </p> + <p> + “That I can draw on you for ten thousand dollars, perhaps?” shot out + Carnac. + </p> + <p> + “Not for ten thousand, but in two years’ time—or to-morrow—for + a hundred and fifty times that if you want it.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re driving at, + Tarboe. Two years from now—or to-morrow—I can draw on you for + a hundred and fifty times ten thousand dollars! What does that mean? Is it + you’re tired of the fortune left you by the biggest man industrially + French-Canada has ever known?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you the truth—I never had a permanent fortune, and I was + never meant to have the permanent fortune, though I inherited by will. + That was a matter between John Grier and myself. There was another will + made later, which left the business to some one else.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you don’t see, and yet you must.” Tarboe then told the story of + the making of the two wills, doing justice to John Grier. + </p> + <p> + “He never did things like anyone else, and he didn’t in dying. He loved + you, Carnac. In spite of all he said and did he believed in you. He knew + you had the real thing in you, if you cared to use it.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God! Good God!” was all Carnac could at first say. “And you agreed + to that?” + </p> + <p> + “What rights had I? None at all. I’ll come out of it with over a + half-million dollars—isn’t that enough for a backwoodsman? I get the + profits of the working for three years, and two hundred thousand dollars + besides. I ought to be satisfied with that.” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows of the will besides yourself?” asked Carnac sharply. + </p> + <p> + “No one. There is a letter to the bank simply saying that another will + exists and where it is, but that’s all. + </p> + <p> + “And you could have destroyed that will in my favour?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s so.” The voice of Tarboe was rough with feeling, his face grew + dark. “More than once I willed to destroy it. It seemed at first I could + make better use of the property than you. The temptation was big, but I + held my own, and now I’ve no fear of meeting anyone in Heaven or Hell. + I’ve told you all.... + </p> + <p> + “Not quite all. There’s one thing more. The thought of Junia Shale made me + want to burn the second will, and I almost did it; but I’m glad I didn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “If you had, and had married her, you wouldn’t have been happy. You can’t + be fooling a wife and be safe.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I know that—just in time.... I have a bad heart, Carnac. + Your property came to me against my will through your father, but I wanted + the girl you’re going to marry, and against my will you won her. I fought + for her. I thought there was a chance for me, because of the rumour you + were secretly married—” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you about it, Tarboe, now. It was an ugly business.” And he + told in a dozen sentences the story of Luzanne and the false marriage. + </p> + <p> + When he had finished, Tarboe held out his hand. “It was a close shave, + Carnac.” + </p> + <p> + After a few further remarks, Tarboe said: “I thought there was a chance + for me with Junia Shale, but there never was a real one, for she was yours + from a child. You won her fairly, Carnac. If you’ll come to the office + to-morrow morning, I’ll show you the will.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll show me the will?” asked Carnac with an edge to his tone. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” Tarboe did not like the look in the other’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I mean, what you have you shall keep, and what John Grier leaves me by + that will, I will not keep.” + </p> + <p> + “You will inherit, and you shall keep.” + </p> + <p> + “And turn you out!” remarked Carnac ironically. “I needn’t be turned out. + I hoped you’d keep me as manager. Few could do it as well, and, as Member + of Parliament, you haven’t time yourself. I’ll stay as manager at twenty + thousand dollars a year, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + Carnac could not tell him the real reason for declining to inherit, but + that did not matter. Yet there flashed into his heart a love, which he had + never felt so far in his life, for John Grier. The old man had believed he + would come out right in the end, and so had left him the fortune in so odd + a way. How Carnac longed to tell Tarboe the whole truth about Barode + Barouche, and yet dare not! After a short time of hesitation and doubt, + Carnac said firmly: + </p> + <p> + “I’ll stand by the will, if you’ll be my partner and manager, Tarboe. If + you’ll take half the business and manage the whole of it, I’ll sell the + half for a dollar to you, and we can run together to the end.” + </p> + <p> + Tarboe’s face lighted; there was triumph in his eyes. It was all better + than he had dared to hope, for he liked the business, and he loathed the + way the world had looked at John Grier’s will. + </p> + <p> + “Halves, pardner, halves!” he said, assenting gladly, and held out his + hand. + </p> + <p> + They clasped hands warmly. + </p> + <p> + The door opened and Junia appeared. She studied their faces anxiously. + When she saw the smiling light in them: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you two good men!” she said joyously, and held out a hand to each. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: + + All genius is at once a blessing or a curse + Do what you feel you’ve got to do, and never mind what happens + Don’t be a bigger fool than there’s any need to be + Had got unreasonably old + How many sons have ever added to their father’s fame? + Life is only futile to the futile + Never give up your soul to things only, keep it for people + We suffer the shames we damn in others + We do what we forbid ourselves to do + Youth’s a dream, middle age a delusion, old age a mistake +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Carnac’s Folly, Complete, by Gilbert Parker + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CARNAC’S FOLLY, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 6299-h.htm or 6299-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/9/6299/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Carnac's Folly, Complete + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Last Updated: March 14, 2009 +Release Date: October 18, 2006 [EBook #6299] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CARNAC'S FOLLY, COMPLETE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +CARNAC'S FOLLY + +By Gilbert Parker + + + + +CONTENTS: + + BOOK I + I. IN THE DAYS OF CHILDHOOD + II. ELEVEN YEARS PASS + III. CARNAC'S RETURN + IV. THE HOUSE ON THE HILL + V. CARNAC AS MANAGER + VI. LUKE TARBOE HAS AN OFFER + VII. "AT OUR PRICE" + VIII. JOHN GRIER MAKES ANOTHER OFFER + IX. THE PUZZLE + X. DENZIL TELLS HIS STORY + XI. CARNAC'S TALK WITH HIS MOTHER + XII. CARNAC SAYS GOOD-BYE + + BOOK II + XIII. CARNAC'S RETURN + XIV. THE HOUSE OF THE THREE TREES + XV. CARNAC AND JUNTA + XVI. JOHN GRIER MAKES A JOURNEY + XVII. THE READING OF THE WILL + + BOOK III + XVIII. A GREAT DECISION + XIX. CARNAC BECOMES A CANDIDATE + XX. JUNIA AND TARBOE HEAR THE NEWS + XXI. THE SECRET MEETING + XXII. POINT TO POINT + XXIII. THE MAN WHO WOULD NOT + XXIV. THE BLUE PAPER + XXV. DENZIL TAKES A HAND IN THE GAME + XXVI. THE CHALLENGE + XXVII. EXIT + XXVIII. A WOMAN WRITES A LETTER + XXIX. CARNAC AND HIS MOTHER + XXX. TARBOE HAS A DREAM + XXXI. THIS WAY HOME + XXXII. 'HALVES, PARDNER, HALVES' + + + + + +CHAPTER I. IN THE DAYS OF CHILDHOOD + +"Carnac! Carnac! Come and catch me, Carnac!" It was a day of perfect +summer and hope and happiness in the sweet, wild world behind the near +woods and the far circle of sky and pine and hemlock. The voice that +called was young and vibrant, and had in it the simple, true soul of +things. It had the clearness of a bugle-call-ample and full of life and +all life's possibilities. It laughed; it challenged; it decoyed. + +Carnac heard the summons and did his best to catch the girl in the wood +by the tumbling stream, where he had for many an hour emptied out his +wayward heart; where he had seen his father's logs and timbers caught +in jams, hunched up on rocky ledges, held by the prong of a rock, where +man's purpose could, apparently, avail so little. Then he had watched +the black-bearded river-drivers with their pike-poles and their levers +loose the key-logs of the bunch, and the tumbling citizens of the woods +and streams toss away down the current to the wider waters below. He was +only a lad of fourteen, and the girl was only eight, but she--Junia--was +as spry and graceful a being as ever woke the echoes of a forest. + +He was only fourteen, but already he had visions and dreamed dreams. His +father--John Grier--was the great lumber-king of Canada, and Junia was +the child of a lawyer who had done little with his life, but had had +great joy of his two daughters, who were dear to him beyond telling. + +Carnac was one of Nature's freaks or accidents. He was physically +strong and daring, but, as a boy, mentally he lacked concentration and +decision, though very clever. He was led from thing to thing like a ray +of errant light, and he did not put a hand on himself, as old Denzil, +the partly deformed servant of Junia's home, said of him on occasion; +and Denzil was a man of parts. + +Denzil was not far from the two when Junia made her appeal and +challenge. He loved the girl exceedingly, and he loved Carnac little +less, though in a different way. Denzil was French of the French, with +habit of mind and character wholly his own. + +Denzil's head was squat upon his shoulders, and his long, handsome body +was also squat, because his legs were as short, proportionately, as his +mind was long. His face was covered by a well-cared-for beard of dark +brown, streaked with grey; his features were rugged and fine; and his +eyes were like two coals burning under a gnarled headland; for his +forehead, ample and full, had lines which were not lines of age, but of +concentration. In his motions he was quiet and free, yet always there +was a kind of stealthiness in his movements, which made him seem less +frank than he really was. + +For a time, with salient sympathy in his eyes, he watched the two +children playing. The whisking of their forms among the trees and over +the rocks was fine, gracious, and full of life-life without alarm. At +length he saw the girl falter slightly, then make a swift deceptive +movement to avoid the boy who pursued her. The movement did not delude +the boy. He had quickness of anticipation. An instant later the girl was +in his arms. + +As Denzil gazed, it seemed she was in his arms too long, and a sudden +anxiety took hold of him. That anxiety was deepened when he saw the boy +kiss the girl on the cheek. This act seemed to discompose the girl, but +not enough to make drama out of an innocent, yet sensuous thing. The boy +had meant nothing more than he had shown, and Denzil traced the act to +a native sense of luxury in his nature. Knowing the boy's father +and mother as he did, it seemed strange that Carnac should have such +demonstration in his character. Of all the women he knew, Carnac's +mother was the most exact and careful, though now and again he thought +of her as being shrouded, or apart; while the boy's father, the great +lumber-king, cantankerous, passionate, perspicuous, seemed to have but +one passion, and that was his business. + +It was strange to Denzil that the lumber-king, short, thin, careless +in his clothes but singularly clean in his person, should have a son so +little like himself, and also so little like his mother. He, Denzil, was +a Catholic, and he could not understand a man like John Grier who, +being a member of the Episcopal Church, so seldom went to service and so +defied rules of conduct suitable to his place in the world. + +As for the girl, to him she was the seventh wonder of the earth. +Wantonly alive, dexterously alert to all that came her way, sportive, +indifferent, joyous, she had all the boy's sprightliness, but none of +his weaknesses. She was a born tease; she loved bright and beautiful +things; she was a keen judge of human nature, and she had buoyant +spirits, which, however, were counterbalanced by moments of extreme +timidity, or, rather, reserve and shyness. On a day like this, when +everything in life was singing, she must sing too. Not a mile away was +a hut by the river where her father had brought his family for the +summer's fishing; not a half-mile away was a tent which Carnac Grier's +father had set up as he passed northward on his tour of inspection. This +particular river, and this particular part of the river, were trying to +the river-man and his clans. It needed a dam, and the great lumber-king +was planning to make one not three hundred yards from where they were. + +The boy and the girl resting idly upon a great warm rock had their +own business to consider. The boy kept looking at his boots with the +brass-tipped toes. He hated them. The girl was quick to understand. "Why +don't you like your boots?" she asked. + +A whimsical, exasperated look came into his face. "I don't know why they +brass a boy's toes like that, but when I marry I won't wear them--that's +all," he replied. + +"Why do you wear them now?" she asked, smiling. + +"You don't know my father." + +"He's got plenty of money, hasn't he?" she urged. "Plenty; and +that's what I can't understand about him! There's a lot of waste in +river-driving, timber-making, out in the shanties and on the river, but +he don't seem to mind that. He's got fads, though, about how we are +to live, and this is one of them." He looked at the brass-tipped boots +carefully. A sudden resolve came into his face. He turned to the girl +and flushed as he spoke. "Look here," he added, "this is the last day +I'm going to wear these boots. He's got to buy me a pair without any +brass clips on them, or I'll kick." + +"No, it isn't the last day you're going to wear them, Carnac." + +"It is. I wonder if all boys feel towards their father as I do to mine. +He don't treat me right. He--" + +"Oh, look," interrupted Junia. "Look-Carnac!" She pointed in dismay. + +Carnac saw a portion of the bank of the river disappear with Denzil. He +ran over to the bank and looked down. In another moment he had made his +way to a descending path which led him swiftly to the river's edge. The +girl remained at the top. The boy had said to her: "You stay there. I'll +tell you what to do." + +"Is-is he killed?" she called with emotion. + +"Killed! No. He's all right," he called back to her. "I can see him +move. Don't be frightened. He's not in the water. It was only about +a thirty-foot fall. You stay there, and I'll tell you what to do," he +added. + +A few moments later, the boy called up: "He's all right, but his leg +is broken. You go to my father's camp--it's near. People are sure to be +there, and maybe father too. You bring them along." + +In an instant the girl was gone. The boy, left behind, busied himself in +relieving the deformed broken-legged habitant. He brought some water in +his straw hat to refresh him. He removed the rocks and dirt, and dragged +the little man out. + +"It was a close call--bien sur," said Denzil, breathing hard. "I always +said that place wasn't safe, but I went on it myself. That's the way in +life. We do what we forbid ourselves to do; we suffer the shames we damn +in others--but yes." + +There was a pause, then he added: "That's what you'll do in your life, +M'sieu' Carnac. That's what you'll do." + +"Always?" + +"Well, you never can tell--but no." + +"But you always can tell," remarked the boy. "The thing is, do what you +feel you've got to do, and never mind what happens." + +"I wish I could walk," remarked the little man, "but this leg of mine is +broke--ah, bah, it is!" + +"Yes, you mustn't try to walk. Be still," answered the boy. "They'll be +here soon." Slowly and carefully he took off the boot and sock from +the broken leg, and, with his penknife, opened the seam of the corduroy +trouser. "I believe I could set that leg myself," he added. + +"I think you could--bagosh," answered Denzil heavily. "They'll bring a +rope to haul me up?" + +"Junia has a lot of sense, she won't forget anything." + +"And if your father's there, he'll not forget anything," remarked +Denzil. + +"He'll forget to make me wear these boots tomorrow," said the boy +stubbornly, his chin in his hands, his eyes fixed gloomily on the +brass-headed toes. + +There was a long silence. At last from the stricken Denzil came the +words: "You'll have your own way about the boots." + +Carnac murmured, and presently said: + +"Lucky you fell where you did. Otherwise, you'd have been in the water, +and then I couldn't have been of any use." + +"I hear them coming--holy, yes!" + +Carnac strained his ears. "Yes, you're right. I hear them too." + +A few moments later, Carnac's father came sliding down the bank, a rope +in his hands, some workmen remaining above. + +"What's the matter here?" he asked. "A fall, eh! Dang little fool--now, +you are a dang little fool, and you know it, Denzil." + +He nodded to his boy, then he raised the wounded man's head and +shoulders, and slipped the noose over until it caught under his arms. + +The old lumber-king's movements were swift, sure and exact. A moment +later he lifted Denzil in his arms, and carried him over to the steep +path up which he was presently dragged. + +At the top, Denzil turned to Carnac's father. "M'sieu', Carnac hates +wearing those brass-toed boots," he said boldly. + +The lumber-king looked at his boy acutely. He blew his nose hard, with a +bandana handkerchief. Then he nodded towards the boy. + +"He can suit himself about that," he said. + +With accomplished deftness, with some sacking and two poles, a hasty +but comfortable ambulance was made under the skilful direction of the +river-master. He had the gift of outdoor life. He did not speak as he +worked, but kept humming to himself. + +"That's all right," he said, as he saw Denzil on the stretcher. "We'll +get on home now." + +"Home?" asked his son. + +"Yes, Montreal--to-night," replied his father. "The leg has to be set." + +"Why don't you set it?" asked the boy. + +The river-master gazed at him attentively. "Well, I might, with your +help," he said. "Come along." + + + + +CHAPTER II. ELEVEN YEARS PASS + +Eleven years had passed since Denzil's fall, and in that time much +history had been made. Carnac Grier, true to his nature, had travelled +from incident to incident, from capacity to capacity, apparently without +system, yet actually with the keenest desire to fulfil himself; with an +honesty as inveterate as his looks were good and his character filled +with dark recesses. In vain had his father endeavoured to induce him to +enter the lumber business; to him it seemed too conventional and fixed. + +Yet, in his way, he knew the business well. By instinct, over the +twenty-five years of his life, he had observed and become familiar with +the main features of the work. He had once or twice even buried himself +in the shanties of the backwoods, there to inhale and repulse the fetid +air, to endure the untoward, half-savage life, the clean, strong food, +the bitter animosities and the savage friendships. It was a land where +sunshine travelled, and in the sun the bright, tuneful birds made lively +the responsive world. Sometimes an eagle swooped down the stream; again +and again, hawks, and flocks of pigeons which frequented the lonely +groves on the river-side, made vocal the world of air; flocks of wild +ducks, or geese, went whirring down the long spaces of water between the +trees on either bank; and some one with a fiddle or a concertina made +musical the evening, while the singing voices of rough habitants rang +through the air. + +It was all spirited; it smelt good; it felt good; but it was not for +Carnac. When he had a revolt against anything in life, the grim storm +scenes of winter in the shanties under the trees and the snow-swept +hills came to his mind's eye. The summer life of the river, and what +is called "running the river," had for him great charms. The smell of +hundreds of thousands of logs in the river, the crushed bark, the slimy +ooze were all suggestive of life in the making. But the savage seclusion +of the wild life in winter repelled his senses. Besides, the lumber +business meant endless figures and measurements in stuffy offices and he +retreated from it all. + +He had an artistic bent. From a small child he had had it, and it grew +with his years. He wanted to paint, and he painted; he wanted to sculp +in clay, and he sculped in clay; but all the time he was conscious it +was the things he had seen and the life he had lived which made his +painting and his sculpture worth while. It was absurd that a man of his +great outdoor capacity should be the slave of a temperamental quality, +and yet it was so. It was no good for his father to condemn, or his +mother to mourn, he went his own way. + +He had seen much of Junia Shale in these years and had grown fond of +her, but she was away much with an aunt in the West, and she was sent +to boarding-school, and they saw each other only at intervals. She liked +him and showed it, but he was not ready to go farther. As yet his +art was everything to him, and he did not think of marriage. He was +care-free. He had a little money of his own, left by an uncle of his +mother, and he had also an allowance from his mother--none from his +father--and he was satisfied with life. + +His brother, Fabian, being the elder, by five years, had gone into his +father's business as a partner, and had remained there. Fabian had at +last married an elder sister of Junia Shale and settled down in a house +on the hill, and the lumber-king, John Grier, went on building up his +splendid business. + +At last, Carnac, feeling he was making small headway with his painting, +determined to go again to New York and Paris. He had already spent +a year in each place and it had benefited him greatly. So, with that +sudden decision which marked his life, he started for New York. It was +immediately after the New Year and the ground was covered with snow. He +looked out of the window of the train, and there was only the long line +of white country broken by the leafless trees and rail-fences and the +mansard-roofs and low cottages with their stoops, built up with earth +to keep them warm; and the sheds full of cattle; and here and there a +sawmill going hard, and factories pounding away and men in fur coats +driving the small Indian ponies; and the sharp calls of the men with the +sleigh bringing wood, or meat, or vegetables to market. He was by nature +a queer compound of Radical and Conservative, a victim of vision and +temperament. He was full of pride, yet fuller of humility of a real +kind. As he left Montreal he thought of Junia Shale, and he recalled the +day eleven years before when he had worn brass-toed boots, and he +had caught Junia in his arms and kissed her, and Denzil had had his +accident. Denzil had got unreasonably old since then; but Junia remained +as she was the joyous day when boyhood took on the first dreams of +manhood. + +Life was a queer thing, and he had not yet got his bearings in it. He +had a desire to reform the world and he wanted to be a great painter or +sculptor, or both; and he entered New York with a new sense developed. +He was keen to see, to do, and to feel. He wanted to make the world ring +with his name and fame, yet he wanted to do the world good also, if he +could. It was a curious state of mind for the English boy, who talked +French like a native and loved French literature and the French people, +and was angry with those English-Canadians who were so selfish they +would never learn French. + +Arrived in New York he took lodgings near old Washington Square, where +there were a few studios near the Bohemian restaurants and a life as +nearly continental as was possible in a new country. He got in touch +with a few artists and began to paint, doing little scenes in the Bowery +and of the night-life of New York, and visiting the Hudson River and +Long Island for landscape and seascape sketches. + +One day he was going down Broadway, and near Union Square he saved a +girl from being killed by a street-car. She had slipped and fallen on +the track and a car was coming. It was impossible for her to get away +in time, and Carnac had sprung to her and got her free. She staggered to +her feet, and he saw she was beautiful and foreign. He spoke to her in +French and her eyes lighted, for she was French. She told him at once +that her name was Luzanne Larue. He offered to get a cab and take her +home, but she said no, she was fit to walk, so he went with her slowly +to her home in one of the poor streets on the East side. They talked as +they went, and Carnac saw she was of the lower middle-class, with more +refinement than was common in that class, and more charm. She was a +fascinating girl with fine black eyes, black hair, a complexion of +cream, and a gift of the tongue. Carnac could not see that she was very +subtle. She seemed a marvel of guilelessness. She had a wonderful head +and neck, and as he was planning a picture of an early female martyr, he +decided to ask her to sit to him. + +Arrived at her humble home, he was asked to enter, and there he met her +father, Isel Larue, a French monarchist who had been exiled from Paris +for plotting against the Government. He was handsome with snapping black +eyes, a cruel mouth and a droll and humorous tongue. He was grateful +to Carnac for saving his daughter's life. Coffee and cigarettes +were produced, and they chatted and smoked while Carnac took in the +surroundings. Everything was plain, but spotlessly clean, and he learned +that Larue made his living by doing odd jobs in an electric firm. He +was just home from his work. Luzanne was employed every afternoon in a +milliner's shop, but her evenings were free after the housework was done +at nine o'clock. Carnac in a burst of enthusiasm asked if she would sit +to him as a model in the mornings. Her father instantly said, of course +she would. + +This she did for many days, and sat with her hair down and bared neck, +as handsome and modest as a female martyr should. Carnac painted her +with skill. Sometimes he would walk with her to lunch and make her eat +something sustaining, and they talked freely then, though little +was said while he was painting her. At last one day the painting was +finished, and she looked up at him wistfully when he told her he would +not need another sitting. Carnac, overcome by her sadness, put his arms +round her and kissed her mouth, her eyes, her neck ravenously. She made +only a slight show of resistance. When he stopped she said: "Is that +the way you keep your word to my father? I am here alone and you embrace +me--is that fair?" + +"No, it isn't, and I promise I won't do it again, Luzanne. I am sorry. I +wanted our friendship to benefit us both, and now I've spoiled it all." + +"No, you haven't spoiled it all," said Luzanne with a sigh, and she +buttoned up the neck of her blouse, flushing slightly as she did so. +Her breast heaved and suddenly she burst into tears. It was evident she +wanted Carnac to comfort her, perhaps to kiss her again, but he did +not do so. He only stood over her, murmuring penance and asking her to +forget it. + +"I can't forget it--I can't. No man but my father has ever kissed me +before. It makes me, oh! so miserable!" but she smiled through her +tears. Suddenly she dried her eyes. "Once a man tried to kiss me--and +something more. He was rich and he'd put money into Madame Margot's +millinery business. He was brilliant, and married, but he had no rules +for his morals--all he wanted was money and pleasures which he bought. +I was attracted by him, but one day he tried to kiss me. I slapped his +face, and then I hated him. So, when you kissed me to-day, I thought of +that, and it made me unhappy--but yes." + +"You did not slap my face, Luzanne?" + +She blushed and hung her head. "No, I did not; you are not a bad man. +He would have spoiled my life. He made it clear I could have all +the luxuries money could buy--all except marriage!" She shrugged her +shoulders. + +Carnac was of an impressionable nature, but brought to face the +possibility of marriage with Luzanne, he shrank. If ever he married it +would be a girl like Junia Shale, beautiful, modest, clever and well +educated. No, Luzanne could never be for him. So he forbore doing more +than ask her to forgive him, and he would take her to lunch-the last +lunch of the picture-if she would. With features in chagrin, she put on +her hat, yet when she turned to him, she was smiling. + +He visited her home occasionally, and Luzanne's father had a friend, +Ingot by name, who was sometimes present. This man made himself almost +unbearable at first; but Luzanne pulled Ingot up acridly, and he +presently behaved well. Ingot disliked all men in better positions than +himself, and was a revolutionary of the worst sort--a revolutionary and +monarchist. He was only a monarchist because he loved conspiracy and +hated the Republican rulers who had imprisoned him--"those bombastics," +he called them. It was a constitutional quarrel with the world. However, +he became tractable, and then he and Larue formed a plot to make Carnac +marry Luzanne. It was hatched by Ingot, approved by Larue, and at length +consented to by the girl, for so far as she could love anyone, she loved +Carnac; and she made up her mind that if he married her, no matter how, +she would make him so happy he would forgive all. + +About four months after the incident in the studio, a picnic was +arranged for the Hudson River. Only the four went. Carnac had just sold +a picture at a good price--his Christian Martyr picture--and he was in +high spirits. They arrived at the spot arranged for the picnic in time +for lunch, and Luzanne prepared it. When the lunch was ready, they sat +down. There was much gay talk, compliments to Carnac came from both +Larue and Ingot, and Carnac was excited and buoyant. He drank much +wine and beer, and told amusing stories of the French-Canadians which +delighted them all. He had a gift of mimicry and he let himself go. + +"You got a pretty fine tongue in your head--but of the best," said Ingot +with a burst of applause. "You'd make a good actor, a holy good actor. +You got a way with you. Coquelin, Salvini, Bernhardt! Voila, you're just +as good! Bagosh, I'd like to see you on the stage." + +"So would I," said Larue. "I think you could play a house full in +no time and make much cash--I think you could. Don't you think so, +Luzanne?" + +Luzanne laughed. "He can act very first-class, I'm sure," she said, +and she turned and looked Carnac in the eyes. She was excited, she was +handsome, she was slim and graceful, and Carnac felt towards her as he +did the day at the studio, as though he'd like to kiss her. He knew it +was not real, but it was the man in him and the sex in her. + +For an hour and a half the lunch went on, all growing gayer, and then +at last Ingot said: "Well, I'm going to have a play now here, and Carnac +Grier shall act, and we all shall act. We're going to have a wedding +ceremony between M'sieu' Grier and Luzanne--but, hush, why not!" he +added, when Luzanne shook her finger at him, and said she'd do nothing +of the kind, having, however, agreed to it beforehand. "Why not! There's +nothing in it. They'll both be married some day and it will be good +practice for them. They can learn now how to do it. It's got to be +done--but yes. I'll find a Judge in the village. Come now, hands up, +those that will do it." + +With a loud laugh Larue held up his hand, Carnac, who was half-drunk, +did the same, and after a little hesitation Luzanne also. + +"Good--a gay little comedy, that's what it is. I'm off for the Judge," +and away went Ingot hard afoot, having already engaged a Judge, called +Grimshaw, in the village near to perform the ceremony. When he had +gone, Larue went off to smoke and Luzanne and Carnac cleared up the +lunch-things and put all away in the baskets. When it was finished, +Carnac and Luzanne sat down under a tree and talked cheerfully, and +Luzanne was never so effective as she was that day. They laughed over +the mock ceremony to be performed. + +"I'm a Catholic, you know," said Luzanne, "and it isn't legal in my +church with no dispensation to be married to a Protestant like you. But +as it is, what does it matter!" + +"Well, that's true," said Carnac. "I suppose I ought to be acting the +lover now; I ought to be kissing you, oughtn't I?" + +"As an actor, yes, but as a man, better not unless others are present. +Wait till the others come. Wait for witnesses, so that it can look like +the real thing. + +"See, there they come now." She pointed, and in the near distance Ingot +could be seen approaching with a short, clean-shaven, roly-poly sort of +man who did not look legal, but was a real magistrate. He came waddling +along in good spirits and rather pompously. At that moment Larue +appeared. Presently Ingot presented the Judge to the would--be bride +and bridegroom. "You wish to be married-you are Mr. Grier?" said Judge +Grimshaw. + +"That's me and I'm ready," said Carnac. "Get on with the show. What's +the first thing?" + +"Well, the regular thing is to sign some forms, stating age, residence, +etc., and here they are all ready. Brought 'em along with me. Most +unusual form of ceremony, but it'll do. It's all right. Here are the +papers to sign." + +Carnac hastily scratched in the needed information, and Luzanne doing +the same, the magistrate pocketed the papers. + +"Now we can perform the ceremony," said the Judge. "Mr. Larue, you go +down there with the young lady and bring her up in form, and Mr. Carnac +Grier waits here." + +Larue went away with Luzanne, and presently turned, and she, with her +arm in his, came forward. Carnac stood waiting with a smile on his face, +for it seemed good acting. When Luzanne came, her father handed her +over, and the marriage ceremony proceeded. Presently it concluded, and +Grimshaw, who had had more drink than was good for him, wound up the +ceremony with the words: "And may the Lord have mercy on you!" + +Every one laughed, Carnac kissed the bride, and the Judge handed her the +marriage certificate duly signed. It was now Carnac's duty to pay in +the usual way for the ceremony, and he handed the Judge ten dollars; and +Grimshaw rolled away towards the village, Ingot having also given him +ten. + +"That's as good a piece of acting as I've ever seen," said Larue with a +grin. "It beats Coquelin and Henry Irving." + +"I didn't think there was much in it," said Carnac, laughing, "though +it was real enough to cost me ten dollars. One has to pay for one's fun. +But I got a wife cheap at the price, and I didn't pay for the wedding +ring." + +"No, the ring was mine," said Larue. "I had it a long time. It was my +engagement ring, and I want it back now." + +Luzanne took it off her finger--it was much too large--and gave it to +him. "It's easy enough to get another," she said in a queer voice. + +"You did the thing in style, young man," said Ingot to Carnac with a +nod. + +"I'll do it better when it's the real thing," said Carnac. "I've had my +rehearsal now, and it seemed almost real." + +"It was almost real," said Ingot, with his head turned away from Carnac, +but he winked at Larue and caught a furtive look from Luzanne's eye. + +"I think we'd better have another hour hereabouts, then get back to New +York," said Larue. "There's a circus in the village--let us go to that." + +At the village, they did the circus, called out praise to the clown, +gave the elephant some buns, and at five o'clock started back to New +York. Arrived at New York, they went to a hotel off Broadway for dinner, +and Carnac signed names in the hotel register as "Mr. and Mrs. Carnac +Grier." When he did it, he saw a furtive glance pass from Luzanne's eyes +to her father. It was disconcerting to him. Presently the two adjourned +to the sitting-room, and there he saw that the table was only laid for +two. That opened his eyes. The men had disappeared and he and Luzanne +were alone. She was sitting on a sofa near the table, showing to good +advantage. She was composed, while Carnac was embarrassed. Carnac began +to take a grip on himself. + +The waiter entered. "When shall I serve dinner, sir?" he said. + +Carnac realized that the dinner had been ordered by the two men, and +he said quietly: "Don't serve it for a half-hour yet--not till I ring, +please. Make it ready then. There's no hurry. It's early." + +The waiter bowed and withdrew with a smile, and Carnac turned to +Luzanne. She smiled, got up, came over, laid a hand on his arm, and +said: "It's quiet and nice here, Carnac dear," and she looked up +ravishingly in his face. + +"It's too quiet and it's not at all nice," he suddenly replied. "Your +father and Ingot have gone. They've left us alone on purpose. This is a +dirty game and I'm not going to play it any longer. I've had enough of +it. I've had my fill. I'm going now. Come, let's go together." + +She looked a bit smashed and overdone. "The dinner!" she said in +confusion. + +"I'll pay for that. We won't wait any longer. Come on at once, please." + +She put on her things coolly, and he noticed a savage stealthiness as +she pushed the long pins through her hat and hair. He left the room. +Outside the hotel, Carnac held out his hand. + +"Good night and good-bye, Luzanne," he said huskily. "You can get home +alone, can't you?" + +She laughed a little, then she said: "I guess so. I've lived in New York +some years. But you and I are married, Carnac, and you ought to take me +to your home." + +There was something devilish in her smile now. Then the whole truth +burst upon Carnac. "Married--married! When did I marry you? Good God!" + +"You married me this afternoon after lunch at Shipton. I have the +certificate and I mean to hold you to it." + +"You mean to hold me to it--a real marriage to-day at Shipton! You and +your father and Ingot tricked me into this." + +"He was a real Judge, and it was a real marriage." + +"It is a fraud, and I'll unmask it," Carnac declared in anger. + +"It would be difficult to prove. You signed our names in the hotel +register as Mr. and Mrs. Carnac Grier. I mean to stick to that +name--Mrs. Carnac Grier. I'll make you a good wife, Carnac--do believe +it. + +"I'll believe nothing but the worst of you ever. I'll fight the thing +out, by God!" + +She shook her head and smiled. "I meant you to marry me, when you saved +my life from the streetcar. I never saw but one man I wanted to marry, +and you are that man, Carnac. You wouldn't ask me, so I made you marry +me. You could go farther and fare worse. Come, take me home--take me +home, my love. I want you to love me." + +"You little devil!" Carnac declared. "I'd rather cut my own throat. I'm +going to have a divorce. I'm going to teach you and the others a lesson +you won't forget." + +"There isn't a jury in the United States you could convince after what +you've done. You've made it impossible. Go to Judge Grimshaw and see +what he will say. Go and ask the hotel people and see what they will +say. You're my husband, and I mean you shall live with me, and I'll love +you better than any woman on earth can love you.... Won't you?" She held +out her hand. + +With an angry exclamation, Carnac refused it, and then she suddenly +turned on her heel, slipped round a corner and was gone. + +Carnac was dumbfounded. He did not know what to do. He went dazedly +home, and slept little that night. The next day he went out to Shipton +and saw Judge Grimshaw and told him the whole tale. The Judge shook his +head. + +"It's too tall a story. Why, you went through the ceremony as if it was +the real thing, signed the papers, paid my fee, and kissed the bride. +You could not get a divorce on such evidence. I'm sorry for you, if you +don't want the girl. She's very nice, and 'd make a good wife. What does +she mean to do?" + +"I don't know. She left me in the street and went back to her home. I +won't live with her." + +"I can't help you anyhow. She has the certificate. You are validly +married. If I were you, I'd let the matter stand." + +So they parted, and Carnac sullenly went back to his apartments. The +next day he went to see a lawyer, however. The lawyer opened his eyes at +the story. He had never heard anything like it. + +"It doesn't sound as if you were sober when you did it. Were you, sir? +It was a mad prank, anyhow!" + +"I had been drinking, but I wasn't drunk. I'd been telling them stories +and they used them as a means of tempting me to act in the absurd +marriage ceremony. Like a fool I consented. Like a fool--but I wasn't +drunk." + +"No, but when you were in your right mind and sober you signed your +names as Mr. and Mrs. Carnac Grier in the register of a hotel. I will +try to win your case for you, but it won't be easy work. You see the +Judge himself told you the same thing. But it would be a triumph to +expose a thing of that kind, and I'd like to do it. It wouldn't be +cheap, though. You'd have to foot the bill. Are you rich?" + +"No, but my people are," said Carnac. "I could manage the cash, but +suppose I lost!" + +"Well, you'd have to support the woman. She could sue you for cruelty +and desertion, and the damages would be heavy." + +Carnac shook his head, paid his fee and left the office. + +He did not go near Luzanne. After a month he went to Paris for eight +months, and then back to Montreal. + + + + +CHAPTER III. CARNAC'S RETURN + +Arrived in Montreal, there were attempts by Carnac to settle down to +ordinary life of quiet work at his art, but it was not effective, nor +had it been in Paris, though the excitement of working in the great +centre had stimulated him. He ever kept saying to himself, "Carnac, you +are a married man--a married man, by the tricks of rogues!" In Paris, he +could more easily obscure it, but in Montreal, a few hundred miles from +the place of his tragedy, pessimism seized him. He now repented he did +not fight it out at once. It would have been courageous and perhaps +successful. But whether successful or not, he would have put himself +right with his own conscience. That was the chief thing. He was +straightforward, and back again in Canada, Carnac flung reproaches at +himself. + +He knew himself now to be in love with Junia Shale, and because he was +married he could not approach her. It galled him. He was not fond of +Fabian, for they had little in common, and he had no intimate friends. +Only his mother was always sympathetic to him, and he loved her. He saw +much of her, but little of anyone else. He belonged to no clubs, and +there were few artists in Montreal. So he lived his own life, and when +he met Junia he cavilled at himself for his madness with Luzanne. The +curious thing was he had not had a word from her since the day of the +mock marriage. Perhaps she had decided to abandon the thing! But that +could do no good, for there was the marriage recorded in the registers +of New York State. + +Meanwhile, things were not going well with others. There befell a +day when matters came to a crisis in the Grier family. Since Fabian's +marriage with Junia Shale's sister, Sybil, he had become discontented +with his position in his father's firm. There was little love between +him and his father, and that was chiefly the father's fault. One day, +the old man stormed at Fabian because of a mistake in the management, +and was foolish enough to say that Fabian had lost his grip since his +marriage. + +Fabian, enraged, demanded freedom from the partnership, and offered to +sell his share. In a fit of anger, the old man offered him what was at +least ten per cent more than the value of Fabian's share. The sombre +Fabian had the offer transferred to paper at once, and it was signed by +his father--not without compunction, because difficult as Fabian was +he might go further and fare worse. As for Fabian's dark-haired, +brown-faced, brown-eyed wife, to John Grier's mind, it seemed a good +thing to be rid of her. + +When Fabian left the father alone in his office, however, the stark +temper of the old man broke down. He had had enough. He muttered to +himself. Presently he was roused by a little knock at the door. It +was Junia, brilliant, buoyant, yellow haired, with bright brown eyes, +tingling cheeks, and white laughing teeth that showed against her red +lips. She held up a finger at him. + +"I know what you've done, and it's no good at all. You can't live +without us, and you mustn't," she said. The old man glowered still, but +a reflective smile crawled to his lips. "No, it's finished," he replied. + +"It had to come, and it's done. It can't be changed. Fabian wouldn't +alter it, and I shan't." + +His face was stern and dour. He tangled his short fingers in the hair on +top of his head. + +"I wouldn't say that, if I were you," she responded cheerily. "Fabian +showed me the sum you offered for his share. It's ridiculous. The +business isn't worth it." + +"What do you know about the business?" remarked the other. + +"Well, whatever it was worth an hour ago, it's worth less now," she +answered with suggestion. "It's worth much less now," she added. + +"What do you mean by that?" he asked sharply, sitting upright, his hands +clasping his knees almost violently, his clean-shaven face showing lines +of trouble. + +"I mean he's going to join the enemy," she answered quickly. + +"Join the enemy!" broke from the old man's lips with a startled accent. + +"Yes, the firm of Belloc." + +The old man did not speak, but a curious whiteness stole over his face. +"What makes you say that!" he exclaimed, anger in his eyes. + +"Well, Fabian has to put money into something," she answered, "and the +only business he knows is lumber business. Don't you think it's natural +he should go to Belloc?" + +"Did he ever say so?" asked the old man with savage sullenness. "Tell +me. Did he ever say so?" + +The girl shook back her brave head with a laugh. "Of course he never +said so, but I know the way he'll go." + +The old man shook his head. "I don't believe it. He's got no love for +Belloc." + +The girl felt like saying, "He's got no love for you," but she +refrained. She knew that Fabian had love for his father, but he had +inherited a love for business, and that would overwhelm all other +feelings. She therefore said: "Why don't you get Carnac to come in? He's +got more sense than Fabian--and he isn't married!" + +She spoke boldly, for she knew the character of the man. She was only +nineteen. She had always come in and gone out of Grier's house and +office freely and much more since her sister had married Fabian. + +A storm gathered between the old man's eyes; his brow knitted. "Carnac's +got brains enough, but he goes monkeying about with pictures and statues +till he's worth naught in the business of life." + +"I don't think you understand him," the girl replied. "I've been trying +to understand him for twenty-five years," the other said malevolently. +"He might have been a big man. He might have bossed this business when +I'm gone. It's in him, but he's a fly-away--he's got no sense. The ideas +he's got make me sick. He talks like a damn fool sometimes." + +"But if he's a 'damn fool'--is it strange?" She gaily tossed a kiss at +the king of the lumber world. "The difference between you and him is +this: he doesn't care about the things of this world, and you do; but +he's one of the ablest men in Canada. If Fabian won't come back, why not +Carnac?" + +"We've never hit it off." + +Suddenly he stood up, his face flushed, his hands outthrust themselves +in rage, his fingers opened and shut in abandonment of temper. + +"Why have I two such sons!" he exclaimed. "I've not been bad. I've +squeezed a few; I've struck here and there; I've mauled my enemies, but +I've been good to my own. Why can't I run square with my own family?" He +was purple to the roots of his hair. + +Savagery possessed him. Life was testing him to the nth degree. "I've +been a good father, and a good husband! Why am I treated like this?" + +She watched him silently. Presently, however, the storm seemed to pass. +He appeared to gain control of himself. + +"You want me to have in Carnac?" he asked, with a little fleck of foam +at the corners of his mouth. + +"If you could have Fabian back," she remarked, "but you can't! It's been +coming for a long time. He's got your I.O.U. and he won't return; but +Carnac's got plenty of stuff in him. He never was afraid of anything or +anybody, and if he took a notion, he could do this business as well +as yourself by and by. It's all a chance, but if he comes in he'll put +everything else aside." + +"Where is he?" the old man asked. "He's with his mother at your home." + +The old man took his hat from the window-sill. At that moment a clerk +appeared with some papers. "What have you got there?" asked Grier +sharply. "The Belloc account for the trouble on the river," answered the +clerk. + +"Give it me," Grier said, and he waved the clerk away. Then he glanced +at the account, and a grim smile passed over his face. "They can't have +all they want, and they won't get it. Are you coming with me?" he asked +of the girl, with a set look in his eyes. "No. I'm going back to my +sister," she answered. + +"If he leaves me--if he joins Belloc!" the old man muttered, and again +his face flushed. + +A few moments afterwards the girl watched him till he disappeared up the +hill. + +"I don't believe Carnac will do it," she said to herself. "He's got the +sense, the brains, and the energy; but he won't do it." + +She heard a voice behind her, and turned. It was the deformed but potent +Denzil. He was greyer now. His head, a little to one side, seemed sunk +in his square shoulders, but his eyes were bright. + +"It's all a bad scrape--that about Fabian Grier," he said. "You can't +ever tell about such things, how they'll go--but no, bagosh!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE HOUSE ON THE HILL + +John Grier's house had a porch with Corinthian pillars. Its elevation +was noble, but it was rather crudely built, and it needed its grove of +maples to make it pleasant to the eye. It was large but not too ample, +and it had certain rooms with distinct character. + +Inside the house, John Grier paused a moment before the door of the +sitting-room where his wife usually sat. All was silent. He opened the +door. A woman rose to meet him. She was dressed in black. Her dark hair, +slightly streaked with grey, gave her distinction. Her eyes had soft +understanding; her lips had a reflective smile. There was, however, +uneasiness in her face; her fingers slightly trembled on the linen she +was holding. + +"You're home early, John," she said in a gentle, reserved voice. + +He twisted a shoulder. "Yes, I'm home early," he snapped. "Your boy +Fabian has left the business, and I've bought his share." He named the +sum. "Ghastly, ain't it? But he's gone, and there's no more about it. +It's a bad thing to marry a woman that can't play fair." + +He noted the excessive paleness of his wife's face; the bright eyes +stared and stared, and the lips trembled. "Fabian--Fabian gone!" she +said brokenly. + +"Yes, and he ain't coming back." + +"What's he going to do?" she asked in a bitter voice. + +"Join Belloc--fight his own father--try to do me in the race," growled +the old man. + +"Who told you that?" + +"Junia, she told me." + +"What does she know about it? Who told her that?" asked the woman with +faded lips. + +"She always had sense, that child. I wish she was a man." + +He suddenly ground his heel, and there was distemper in face and voice; +his shoulders hunched; his hands were thrust down in his pockets. He +wheeled on her. "Where's your other boy? Where's Carnac?" + +The woman pointed to the lawn. "He's catching a bit of the city from the +hill just beyond the pear-tree." + +"Painting, eh? I heard he was here. I want to talk to him." + +"I don't think it will do any good," was the sad reply. "He doesn't +think as you do." + +"You believe he's a genius," snarled the other. + +"You know he is." + +"I'll go and find him." + +She nodded. "I wish you luck," she said, but there was no conviction in +her tone. Truth was, she did not wish him luck in this. She watched +him leave by the French window and stride across the lawn. A strange, +troubled expression was in her face. + +"They can't pull it off together," she said to herself, and Carnac is +too full of independence. He wants nothing from anybody. He needs no +one; he follows no one--except me. Yes, he follows--he loves me. + +She watched her husband till he almost viciously thrust aside the bushes +staying his progress, and broke into the space by the pear-tree where +Carnac sat with palette and brush, gazing at the distant roofs on which +the sun was leaving its last kiss. + +Carnac got to his feet with a smile, and with a courage in his eye equal +to that which had ever been in his father's face--in the face of John +Grier. It was strange that the other's presence troubled him, that even +as a small child, to be in the same room for any length of time vexed +him. Much of that had passed away. The independence of the life he +lived, the freedom from resting upon the financial will of the lumber +king had given him light, air and confidence. He loved his mother. What +he felt for John Grier was respect and admiration. He knew he was not +spoken to now with any indolent purpose. + +They had seen little of each other of late years. His mother had given +him the money to go to New York and Paris, which helped out his own +limited income. He wondered what should bring his father to him +now. There was interested reflection in his eye. With his habit of +visualization, he saw behind John Grier, as he came on now, the long +procession of logs and timbers which had made his fortune, stretch back +on the broad St. Lawrence, from the Mattawan to the Madawaska, from the +Richelieu to the Marmora. Yet, what was it John Grier had done? In a +narrow field he had organized his life perfectly, had developed his +opportunities, had safeguarded his every move. The smiling inquiry in +his face was answered by the old man saying abruptly: + +"Fabian's gone. He's deserted the ship." + +The young man had the wish to say in reply, "At last, eh!" but he +avoided it. + +"Where has he gone?" + +"I bought him out to-day, and I hear he's going to join Belloc." + +"Belloc! Belloc! Who told you that?" asked the young man. + +"Junia Shale--she told me." + +Carnac laughed. "She knows a lot, but how did she know that?" + +"Sheer instinct, and I believe she's right." + +"Right--right--to fight you, his own father!" was the inflammable reply. + +"Why, that would be a lowdown business!" + +"Would it be lower down than your not helping your father, when you +can?" + +Somehow he yearned over his wayward, fantastic son. The wilful, splendid +character of the youth overcame the insistence in the other's nature. + +"You seem to be getting on all right," remarked Carnac with the faint +brown moustache, the fine, showy teeth, the clean-shaven cheeks, and +auburn hair hanging loosely down. + +"You're wrong. Things aren't doing as well with me as they might. Belloc +and the others make difficult going. I've got too much to do myself. I +want help." + +"You had it in Fabian," remarked Carnac dryly. "Well, I've lost it, and +it never was enough. He hadn't vision, sense and decision." + +"And so you come to me, eh? I always thought you despised me," said +Carnac. + +A half-tender, half-repellent expression came into the old man's face. +He spoke bluntly. "I always thought you had three times the brains +of your brother. You're not like me, and you're not like your mother; +there's something in you that means vision, and seeing things, and doing +them. If fifteen thousand dollars a year and a share in the business is +any good to you--" + +For an instant there had been pleasure and wonder in the young man's +eyes, but at the sound of the money and the share in the business he +shrank back. + +"I don't think so, father. I'm happy enough. I've got all I want." + +"What the devil are you talking about!" the other burst out. "You've got +all you want! You've no home; you've no wife; you've no children; you've +no place. You paint, and you sculp, and what's the good of it all? Have +you ever thought of that? What's there in it for you or anyone else? +Have you no blood and bones, no sting of life in you? Look what I've +done. I started with little, and I've built up a business that, if it +goes all right, will be worth millions. I say, if it goes all right, +because I've got to carry more than I ought." + +Carnac shook his head. "I couldn't be any help to you. I'm not a man +of action. I think, I devise, but I don't act. I'd be no good in your +business no, honestly, I'd be no good. I don't think money is the end +of life. I don't think success is compensation for all you've done and +still must do. I want to stand out of it. You've had your life; you've +lived it where you wanted to live it. I haven't, and I'm trying to find +out where my duty and my labour lies. It is Art; no doubt. I don't know +for sure." + +"Good God!" broke in the old man. "You don't know for sure--you're +twenty-five years old, and you don't know where you're going!" + +"Yes, I know where I'm going--to Heaven by and by!" This was his +satirical reply. + +"Oh, fasten down; get hold of something that matters. Now, listen to me. +I want you to do one thing--the thing I ought to do and can't. I must +stay here now that Fabian's gone. I want you to go to the Madawaska +River." + +"No, I won't go to the Madawaska," replied Carnac after a long pause, +"but"--with sudden resolution--"if it's any good to you, I'll stay here +in the business, and you can go to the Madawaska. Show me what to do +here; tell me how to do it, and I'll try to help you out for a while--if +it can be done," he added hastily. "You go, but I'll stay. Let's talk it +over at supper." + +He sighed, and turned and gazed warmly at the sunset on the roofs of the +city; then turned to his father's face, but it was not the same look in +his eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER V. CARNAC AS MANAGER + +Carnac was installed in the office, and John Grier went to the +Madawaska. Before he left, however, he was with Carnac for near a week, +showing the procedure and the main questions that might arise to be +solved. + +"It's like this," said Grier in their last talk, "you've got to keep +a stiff hand over the foremen and overseers, and have strict watch of +Belloc & Co. Perhaps there will be trouble when I've gone, but, if it +does, keep a stiff upper lip, and don't let the gang do you. You've got +a quick mind and you know how to act sudden. Act at once, and damn the +consequences! Remember, John Grier's firm has a reputation, and deal +justly, but firmly, with opposition. The way it's organized, the +business almost runs itself. But that's only when the man at the head +keeps his finger on the piston-rod. You savvy, don't you?" + +"I savvy all right. If the Belloc firm cuts up rusty, I'll think of what +you'd do and try to do it in the same way." + +The old man smiled. He liked the spirit in Carnac. It was the right kind +for his business. "I predict this: if you have one fight with the Belloc +lot, you'll hate them too. Keep the flag flying. Don't get rattled. It's +a big job, and it's worth doing in a big way. + +"Yes, it's a big job," said Carnac. "I hope I'll pull it off." + +"You'll pull it off, if you bend your mind to it. But there won't be any +time for your little pictures and statues. You'll have to deal with +the real men, and they'll lose their glamour. That's the thing about +business--it's death to sentimentality." + +Carnac flushed with indignation. "So you think Titian and Velasquez and +Goyot and El Greco and Watteau and Van Dyck and Rembrandt and all the +rest were sentimentalists, do you? The biggest men in the world worship +them. You aren't just to the greatest intellects. I suppose Shakespeare +was a sentimentalist!" + +The old man laughed and tapped his son on the shoulder. + +"Don't get excited, Carnac. I'd rather you ran my business well, than +be Titian or Rembrandt, whoever they were. If you do this job well, I'll +think there's a good chance of our working together." + +Carnac nodded, but the thought that he could not paint or sculp when he +was on this work vexed him, and he only set his teeth to see it through. +"All right, we'll see," he said, and his father went away. + +Then Carnac's time of work and trial began. He was familiar with the +routine of the business, he had adaptability, he was a quick worker, and +for a fortnight things went swimmingly. There was elation in doing work +not his regular job, and he knew the eyes of the commercial and river +world were on him. He did his best and it was an effective best. Junia +had been in the City of Quebec, but she came back at the end of a +fortnight, and went to his office to get a subscription for a local +charity. She had a gift in this kind of work. + +It was a sunny day in the month of June, and as she entered the office a +new spirit seemed to enter with her. + +The place became distinguished. She stood in the doorway for a moment, +radiant, smiling, half embarrassed, then she said: "Please may I for a +moment, Carnac?" + +Carnac was delighted. "For many moments, Junia." + +"I'm not as busy as usual. I'm glad as glad to see you." + +She said with restraint: "Not for many moments. I'm here on business. +It's important. I wanted to get a subscription from John Grier for the +Sailors' Hospital which is in a bad way. Will you give something for +him?" + +Carnac looked at the subscription list. "I see you've been to Belloc +first and they've given a hundred dollars. Was that wise-going to them +first? You know how my father feels about Belloc. And we're the older +firm." + +The girl laughed. "Oh, that's silly! Belloc's money is as good as John +Grier's, and it only happened he was asked first because Fabian was +present when I took the list, and it's Fabian's writing on the paper +there." + +Carnac nodded. "That's all right with me, for I'm no foe to Belloc, but +my father wouldn't have liked it. He wouldn't have given anything in the +circumstances." + +"Oh, yes, he would! He's got sense with all his prejudices. I'll tell +you what he'd have done: he'd have given a bigger subscription than +Belloc." + +Carnac laughed. "Well, perhaps you're right; it was clever planning it +so." + +"I didn't plan it. It was accident, but I had to consider everything +and I saw how to turn it to account. So, if you are going to give a +subscription for John Grier you must do as he would do." + +Carnac smiled, put the paper on his desk, and took the pen. + +"Make it measure the hate John Grier has to the Belloc firm," she said +ironically. + +Carnac chuckled and wrote. "Will that do?" He handed her the paper. + +"One hundred and fifty dollars--oh, quite, quite good!" she said. "But +it's only a half hatred after all. I'd have made it a whole one." + +"You'd have expected John Grier to give two hundred, eh? But that would +have been too plain. It looks all right now, and it must go at that." + +She smiled. "Well, it'll go at that. You're a good business man. I see +you've given up your painting and sculping to do this! It will please +your father, but are you satisfied?" + +"Satisfied--of course, I'm not; and you know it. I'm not a +money-grabber. I'm an artist if I'm anything, and I'm not doing this +permanently. I'm only helping my father while he's in a hole." + +The girl suddenly grew serious. "You mean you're not going to stick to +the business, and take Fabian's place in it? He's been for a week with +Belloc and he's never coming back here. You have the brains for it; and +you could make your father happy and inherit his fortune--all of it." + +Carnac flushed indignantly. "I suppose I could, but it isn't big enough +for me. I'd rather do one picture that the Luxembourg or the London +National Gallery would buy than own this whole business. That's the turn +of my mind." + +"Yes, but if you didn't sell a picture to the Luxembourg or the National +Gallery. What then?" + +"I'd have a good try for it, that's all. Do you want me to give up Art +and take to commerce? Is that your view?" + +"I suggested to John Grier the day that Fabian sold his share that you +might take his place; and I still think it a good thing, though, of +course, I like your painting. But I felt sorry for your father with none +of his own family to help him; and I thought you might stay with him for +your family's sake." + +"You thought I'd be a martyr for love of John Grier--and cold cash, did +you? That isn't the way the blood runs in my veins. I think John Grier +might get out of the business now, if he's tired, and sell it and let +some one else run it. John Grier is not in want. If he were, I'd give +up everything to help him, and I'd not think I was a martyr. But I've a +right to make my own career. It's making the career one likes which +gets one in the marrow. I'd take my chances of success as he did. He has +enough to live on, he's had success; let him get down and out, if he's +tired." + +The girl held herself firmly. "Remember John Grier has made a great +name for himself--as great in his way as Andrew Carnegie or Pierpont +Morgan--and he's got pride in his name. He wants his son to carry it on, +and in a way he's right." + +"That's good argument," said Carnac, "but if his name isn't strong +enough to carry itself, his son can't carry it for him. That's the +way of life. How many sons have ever added to their father's fame? The +instances are very few. In the modern world, I can only think of the +Pitts in England. There's no one else." + +The girl now smiled again. The best part in her was stirred. She saw. +Her mind changed. After a moment she said: "I think you're altogether +right about it. Carnac, you have your own career to make, so make it +as it best suits yourself. I'm sorry I spoke to your father as I did. +I pitied him, and I thought you'd find scope for your talents in the +business. It's a big game, but I see now it isn't yours, Carnac." + +He nodded, smiling. "That's it; that's it, I hate the whole thing." + +She shook hands. As his hand enclosed her long slim fingers, he felt he +wished never to let them go, they were so thrilling; but he did, for the +thought of Luzanne came to his mind. + +"Good-bye, Junia, and don't forget that John Grier's firm is the foe of +the Belloc business," he said satirically. + +She laughed, and went down the hill quickly, and as she went Carnac +thought he had never seen so graceful a figure. + +"What an evil Fate sent Luzanne my way!" he said. + +Two days later there came an ugly incident on the river. There was a +collision between a gang of John Grier's and Belloc's men and one of +Grier's men was killed. At the inquest, it was found that the man met +his death by his own fault, having first attacked a Belloc man and +injured him. The Belloc man showed the injury to the jury, and he was +acquitted. Carnac watched the case closely, and instructed his lawyer +to contend that the general attack was first made by Belloc's men, which +was true; but the jury decided that this did not affect the individual +case, and that the John Grier man met his death by his own fault. + +"A shocking verdict!" he said aloud in the Court when it was given. + +"Sir," said the Coroner, "it is the verdict of men who use their +judgment after hearing the evidence, and your remark is offensive and +criminal." + +"If it is criminal, I apologize," said Carnac. + +"You must apologize for its offensiveness, or you will be arrested, +sir." + +This nettled Carnac. "I will not apologize for its offensiveness," he +said firmly. + +"Constable, arrest this man," said the Coroner, and the constable did +so. + +"May I be released on bail?" asked Carnac with a smile. + +"I am a magistrate. Yes, you may be released on bail," said the Coroner. + +Carnac bowed, and at once a neighbour became security for three thousand +dollars. Then Carnac bowed again and left the Court with--it was +plain--the goodwill of most people present. + +Carnac returned to his office with angry feelings at his heart. The +Belloc man ought to have been arrested for manslaughter, he thought. In +any case, he had upheld the honour of John Grier's firm by his protest, +and the newspapers spoke not unfavourably of him in their reports. They +said he was a man of courage to say what he did, though it was improper, +from a legal standpoint. But human nature was human nature! + +The trial took place in five days, and Carnac was fined twenty-five +cents, which was in effect a verdict of not guilty; and so the +newspapers said. It was decided that the offence was only legally +improper, and it was natural that Carnac expressed himself strongly. + +Junia was present at the trial. After it was over, she saw Carnac for a +moment. "I think your firm can just pay the price and exist!" she said. +"It's a terrible sum, and it shows how great a criminal you are!" + +"Not a 'thirty-cent' criminal, anyhow," said Carnac. "It is a moral +victory, and tell Fabian so. He's a bit huffy because I got into the +trouble, I suppose." + +"No, he loathed it all. He's sorry it occurred." + +There was no further talk between them, for a subordinate of Carnac's +came hurriedly to him and said something which Junia did not hear. +Carnac raised his hat to her, and hurried away. + +"Well, it's not so easy as painting pictures," she said. "He gets fussed +over these things." + +It was later announced by the manager of the main mill that there was +to be a meeting of workers to agitate for a strike for higher pay. +A French-Canadian who had worked in the mills of Maine and who was a +red-hot socialist was the cause of it. He had only been in the mills for +about three months and had spent his spare time inciting well-satisfied +workmen to strike. His name was Luc Baste--a shock-haired criminal with +a huge chest and a big voice, and a born filibuster. The meeting was +held and a deputation was appointed to wait on Carnac at his office. +Word was sent to Carnac, and he said he would see them after the +work was done for the day. So in the evening about seven o'clock the +deputation of six men came, headed by Luc Baste. + +"Well, what is it?" Carnac asked calmly. + +Luc Baste began, not a statement of facts, but an oration on the rights +of workers, their downtrodden condition and their beggarly wages. He +said they had not enough to keep body and soul together, and that right +well did their employers know it. He said there should be an increase of +a half-dollar a day, or there would be a strike. + +Carnac dealt with the matter quickly and quietly. He said Luc Baste had +not been among them a long time and evidently did not know what was the +cost of living in Montreal. He said the men got good wages, and in any +case it was not for him to settle a thing of such importance. This was +for the head of the firm, John Grier, when he returned. The wages had +been raised two years before, and he doubted that John Grier would +consent to a further rise. All other men on the river seemed satisfied +and he doubted these ought to have a cent more a day. They were getting +the full value of the work. He begged all present to think twice before +they brought about catastrophe. It would be a catastrophe if John +Grier's mills should stop working and Belloc's mills should go on as +before. It was not like Grier's men to do this sort of thing. + +The men seemed impressed, and, presently, after one of them thanking +him, the deputation withdrew, Luc Baste talking excitedly as they went. +The manager of the main mill, with grave face, said: + +"No, Mr. Grier, I don't think they'll be satisfied. You said all that +could be said, but I think they'll strike after all." + +"Well, I hope it won't occur before John Grier gets back," said Carnac. + +That night a strike was declared. + +Fortunately, only about two-thirds of the men came out, and it could not +be called a complete success. The Belloc people were delighted, but they +lived in daily fear of a strike in their own yards, for agitators were +busy amongst their workmen. But the workers waited to see what would +happen to Grier's men. + +Carnac declined to reconsider. The wages were sufficient and the strike +unwarranted! He kept cool, even good-natured, and with only one-third +of his men at work, he kept things going, and the business went on with +regularity, if with smaller output. The Press unanimously supported him, +for it was felt the strike had its origin in foreign influence, and as +French Canada had no love for the United States there was journalistic +opposition to the strike. Carnac had telegraphed to his father when the +strike started, but did not urge him to come back. He knew that Grier +could do nothing more than he himself was doing, and he dreaded new +influence over the strikers. Grier happened to be in the backwoods and +did not get word for nearly a week; then he wired asking Carnac what +the present situation was. Carnac replied he was standing firm, that +he would not yield a cent increase in wages, and that, so far, all was +quiet. + +It happened, however, that on the day he wired, the strikers tried to +prevent the non-strikers from going to work and there was a collision. +The police and a local company of volunteers intervened and then the +Press condemned unsparingly the whole affair. This outbreak did good, +and Luc Baste was arrested for provoking disorder. No one else was +arrested, and this was a good thing, for, on the whole, even the men +that followed Luc did not trust him. His arrest cleared the air and +the strike broke. The next day, all the strikers returned, but Carnac +refused their wages for the time they were on strike, and he had +triumphed. + +On that very day John Grier started back to Montreal. He arrived in +about four days, and when he came, found everything in order. He went +straight from his home to the mill and there found Carnac in control. + +"Had trouble, eh, Carnac?" he asked with a grin, after a moment of +greeting. Carnac shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing. + +"It's the first strike I ever had in my mills, and I hope it will be the +last. I don't believe in knuckling down to labour tyranny, and I'm glad +you kept your hand steady. There'll be no more strikes in my mills--I'll +see to that!" + +"They've only just begun, and they'll go on, father. It's the influence +of Canucs who have gone to the factories of Maine. They get bitten there +with the socialistic craze, and they come back and make trouble. This +strike was started by Luc Baste, a French-Canadian, who had been in +Maine. You can't stop these things by saying so. There was no strike +among Belloc's men!" + +"No, but did you have no trouble with Belloc's men?" + +Carnac told him of the death of the Grier man after the collision, of +his own arrest and fine of twenty-five cents and of the attitude of the +public and the Press. The old man was jubilant. "Say, you did the thing +in style. It was the only way to do it. You landed 'em with the protest +fair and easy. You're going to be a success in the business, I can see +that." + +Carnac for a moment looked at his father meditatively. Then, seeing +the surprise in John Grier's face, he said: "No, I'm not going to be +a success in it, for I'm not going on with it. I've had enough. I'm +through." + +"You've had enough--you're through--just when you've proved you can do +things as well as I can do them! You ain't going on! Great Jehoshaphat!" + +"I mean it; I'm not going on. I'm going to quit in another month. +I can't stick it. It galls me. It ain't my job. I do it, but it's +artificial, it ain't the real thing. My heart isn't in it as yours is, +and I'd go mad if I had to do this all my life. It's full of excitement +at times, it's hard work, it's stimulating when you're fighting, but +other times it's deadly dull and bores me stiff. I feel as though I were +pulling a train of cars." + +Slowly the old man's face reddened with anger. "It bores you stiff, eh? +It's deadly dull at times! There's only interest in it when there's a +fight on, eh? You're right; you're not fit for the job, never was and +never will be while your mind is what it is. Don't take a month to go, +don't take a week, or a day, go this morning after I've got your report +on what's been done. It ain't the real thing, eh? No, it ain't. It's +no place for you. Tell me all there is to tell, and get out; I've had +enough too, I've had my fill. 'It bores me stiff'!" + +John Grier was in a rage, and he would listen to no explanation. "Come +now, out with your report." + +Carnac was not upset. He kept cool. "No need to be so crusty," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. LUKE TARBOE HAS AN OFFER + +Many a man behind his horses' tails on the countryside has watched the +wild reckless life of the water with wonder and admiration. He sees +a cluster of logs gather and climb, and still gather and climb, and +between him and that cluster is a rolling waste of timber, round and +square. + +Suddenly, a being with a red shirt, with loose prairie kind of hat, +knee-boots, having metal clamps, strikes out from the shore, running on +the tops of the moving logs till he reaches the jam. Then the pike-pole, +or the lever, reaches the heart of the difficulty, and presently the +jam breaks, and the logs go tumbling into the main, while the +vicious-looking berserker of the water runs back to the shore over the +logs, safe and sound. It is a marvel to the spectator, that men should +manipulate the river so. To him it is a life apart; not belonging to the +life he lives-a passing show. + +It was a stark surprise of the river which makes this story possible. +There was a strike at Bunder's Boom--as it was called--between Bunder +and Grier's men. Some foreman of Grier's gang had been needlessly +offensive. Bunder had been stupidly resentful. When Grier's men had +tried to force his hand also, he had resisted. It chanced that, when an +impasse seemed possible to be broken only by force, a telegram came to +John Grier at Montreal telling him of the difficulty. He lost no time in +making his way northwards. + +But some one else had come upon the scene. It was Luke Tarboe. He had +arrived at a moment when the Belloc river crowd had almost wrecked +Bunder's Boom, and when a collision between the two gangs seemed +inevitable. What he did remained a river legend. By good temper and +adroitness, he reconciled the leaders of the two gangs; he bought the +freedom of the river by a present to Bunder's daughter; he won Bunder +by four bottles of "Three Star" brandy. When the police from a town a +hundred miles away arrived at the same time as John Grier, it was to +find the Grier and Belloc gangs peacefully prodding side by side. + +When the police had gone, John Grier looked Tarboe up and down. The +brown face, the clear, strong brown eyes and the brown hatless head rose +up eighteen inches above his own, making a gallant summit to a robust +stalk. + +"Well, you've done easier things than that in your time, eh?" John Grier +asked. + +Tarboe nodded. "It was touch and go. I guess it was the hardest thing I +ever tried since I've been working for you, but it's come off all right, +hasn't it?" He waved a hand to the workmen on the river, to the tumbling +rushes of logs and timber. Then he looked far up the stream, with hand +shading his brown eyes to where a crib-or raft-was following the eager +stream of logs. "It's easy going now," he added, and his face had a look +of pleasure. + +"What's your position, and what's your name?" asked John Grier. + +"I'm head-foreman of the Skunk Nest's gang--that's this lot, and I got +here--just in time! I don't believe you could have done it, Mr. Grier. +No master is popular in the real sense with his men. I think they'd have +turned you down. So it was lucky I came." + +A faint smile hovered at his lips, and his eyes brooded upon the busy +gangs of men. "Yes, I've had a lot of luck this time. There's nothing +like keeping your head cool and your belly free from drink." Now he +laughed broadly. "By gosh, it's all good! Do you know, Mr. Grier, I came +out here a wreck eight years ago. I left Montreal then with a spot in +my lungs, that would kill me, they said. I've never seen Montreal +since, but I've had a good time out in the woods, in the shanties in the +winters; on the rivers in the summer. I've only been as far East as this +in eight years." + +"What do you do in the winter, then?" + +"Shanties-shanties all the time. In the summer this; in the Fall taking +the men back to the shanties. Bossing the lot; doing it from love of the +life that's been given back to me. Yes, this is the life that makes you +take things easy. You don't get fussed out here. The job I had took a +bit of doing, but it was done, and I'm lucky to have my boss see the end +of it." + +He smiled benignly upon John Grier. He knew he was valuable to the Grier +organization; he knew that Grier had heard of him under another name. +Now Grier had seen him, and he felt he would like to tell John Grier +some things about the river he ought to know. He waved a hand declining +the cigar offered him by his great chief. + +"Thanks, I don't smoke, and I don't drink, and I don't chew; but +I eat--by gosh, I eat! Nothing's so good as good food, except good +reading." + +"Good reading!" exclaimed John Grier. "Good reading--on the river!" + +"Well, it's worked all right, and I read a lot. I get books from +Montreal, from the old library at the University." + +"At what University?" struck in the lumber-king. "Oh, Laval! I wouldn't +go to McGill. I wanted to know French, so I went to Laval. There I came +to know Father Labasse. He was a great man, Father Labasse. He helped +me. I was there three years, and then was told I was going to die. It +was Labasse who gave me this tip. He said, 'Go into the woods; put your +teeth into the trees; eat the wild herbs, and don't come back till you +feel well.' Well, I haven't gone back, and I'm not going back." + +"What do you do with your wages?" asked the lumber-king. + +"I bought land. I've got a farm of four hundred acres twenty miles from +here. I've got a man on it working it." + +"Does it pay?" + +"Of course. Do you suppose I'd keep a farm that didn't pay?" + +"Who runs it?" + +"A man that broke his leg on the river. One of Belloc's men. He knows +all about farming. He brought his wife and three children up, and there +he is--making money, and making the land good. I've made him a partner +at last. When it's good enough by and by, I'll probably go and live +there myself. Anybody ought to make farming a success, if there's water +and proper wood and such things," he added. + +There was silence for a few moments. Then John Grier looked Tarboe up +and down sharply again, noting the splendid physique, the quizzical, +mirth-provoking eye, and said: "I can give you a better job if you'll +come to Montreal." + +Tarboe shook his head. "Haven't had a sick day for eight years; I'm as +hard as nails; I'm as strong as steel. I love this wild world of the +woods and fields and--" + +"And the shebangs and grog-shops and the dirty, drunken villages?" +interrupted the old man. + +"No, they don't count. I take them in, but they don't count." + +"Didn't you have hard times when you first came?" asked John Grier. "Did +you get right with the men from the start?" + +"A little bit of care is a good thing in any life. I told them good +stories, and they liked that. I used to make the stories up, and they +liked that also. When I added some swear words they liked them all the +better. I learned how to do it." + +"Yes, I've heard of you, but not as Tarboe." + +"You heard of me as Renton, eh?" + +"Yes, as Renton. I wonder I never came across you till to-day." + +"I kept out of your way; that was the reason. When you came north, I got +farther into the backwoods." + +"Are you absolutely straight, Tarboe?" asked John Grier eagerly. "Do you +do these things in the Garden of Eden way, or can you run a bit crooked +when it's worth while?" + +"If I'd ever seen it worth while, I'd say so. I could run a bit crooked +if I was fighting among the big ones, or if we were at war with--Belloc, +eh!" A cloud came into the eyes of Tarboe. "If I was fighting Belloc, +and he used a weapon to flay me from behind, I'd never turn my back on +him!" + +A grim smile came into Tarboe's face. His jaw set almost viciously, his +eyes hardened. "You people don't play your game very well, Mr. Grier. +I've seen a lot that wants changing." + +"Why don't you change it, then?" + +Tarboe laughed. "If I was boss like you, I'd change it, but I'm not, and +I stick to my own job." + +The old man came close to him, and steadily explored his face and eyes. +"I've never met anybody like you before. You're the man can do things +and won't do them." + +"I didn't say that. I said what I meant--that good health is better than +everything else in the world, and when you've got it, you should keep +it, if you can. I'm going to keep mine." + +"Well, keep it in Montreal," said John Grier. "There's a lot doing there +worth while. Is fighting worth anything to one that's got aught in him? +There's war for the big things. I believe in war." He waved a hand. +"What's the difference between the kind of thing you've done to-day, and +doing it with the Belloc gang--with the Folson gang--with the Longville +gang--and all the rest? It's the same thing. I was like you when I was +young. I could do things you've done to-day while I laid the base of +what I've got. How old are you?" + +"I'm thirty--almost thirty-one." + +"You'll be just as well in Montreal to-morrow as you are here to-day, +and you'd be twice as clever," said John Grier. His eyes seemed to +pierce those of the younger man. "I like you," he continued, suddenly +catching Tarboe's arm. "You're all right, and you wouldn't run straight +simply because it was the straight thing to do." + +Tarboe threw back his head and laughed and nodded. The old man's eyes +twinkled. "By gracious, we're well met! I never was in a bigger hole in +my life. One of my sons has left me. I bought him out, and he's joined +my enemy Belloc." + +"Yes, I know," remarked Tarboe. + +"My other son, he's no good. He's as strong as a horse--but he's no +good. He paints, he sculps. He doesn't care whether I give him money or +not. He earns his living as he wants to earn it. When Fabian left me, I +tried Carnac. I offered to take him in permanently. He tried it, but he +wouldn't go on. He got out. He's twenty-six. The papers are beginning to +talk about him. He doesn't care for that, except that it brings in cash +for his statues and pictures. What's the good of painting and statuary, +if you can't do the big things?" + +"So you think the things you do are as big as the things that +Shakespeare, or Tennyson, or Titian, or Van Dyck, or Watt, or Rodin +do--or did?" + +"Bigger-much bigger," was the reply. + +The younger man smiled. "Well, that's the way to look at it, I suppose. +Think the thing you do is better than what anybody else does, and you're +well started." + +"Come and do it too. You're the only man I've cottoned to in years. Come +with me, and I'll give you twelve thousand dollars a year; and I'll +take you into my business.--I'll give you the best chance you ever had. +You've found your health; come back and keep it. Don't you long for the +fight, for your finger at somebody's neck? That's what I felt when I was +your age, and I did it, and I'm doing it, but I can't do it as I used +to. My veins are leaking somewhere." A strange, sad, faded look came +into his eyes. "I don't want my business to be broken by Belloc," he +added. "Come and help me save it." + +"By gosh, I will!" said the young man after a moment, with a sudden +thirst in his throat and bite to his teeth. "By gum, yes, I'll go with +you." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. "AT OUR PRICE?" + +West of the city of Montreal were the works and the offices of John +Grier. Here it was that a thing was done without which there might have +been no real story to tell. It was a night which marked the close of the +financial year of the firm. + +Upon John Grier had come Carnac. He had brought with him a small statue +of a riverman with flannel shirt, scarf about the waist, thick defiant +trousers and well-weaponed boots. It was a real figure of the river, +buoyant, daring, almost vicious. The head was bare; there were plain +gold rings in the ears; and the stark, half-malevolent eyes looked out, +as though searching for a jam of logs or some peril of the river. In the +horny right hand was a defiant pike-pole, its handle thrust forward, its +steel spike stabbing the ground. + +At first glance, Carnac saw that John Grier was getting worn and old. +The eyes were not so flashing as they once were; the lips were curled +in a half-cynical mood. The old look of activity was fading; something +vital had struck soul and body. He had had a great year. He had fought +Belloc and his son Fabian successfully; he had laid new plans and +strengthened his position. + +Tarboe coming into the business had made all the difference to him. +Tarboe had imagination, skill and decision, he seldom lost his temper; +he kept a strong hand upon himself. His control of men was marvellous; +his knowledge of finance was instinctive; his capacity for organization +was rare, and he had health unbounded and serene. It was hard to tell +what were the principles controlling Tarboe--there was always an element +of suspicion in his brown and brilliant eyes. Yet he loved work. The +wind of energy seemed to blow through his careless hair. His hands were +like iron and steel; his lips were quick and friendly, or ruthless, +as seemed needed. To John Grier's eyes he was the epitome of +civilization--the warrior without a soul. + +When Carnac came in now with the statue tucked under his arm, smiling +and self-contained, it seemed as though something had been done by Fate +to flaunt John Grier. + +With a nod, Carnac put the statue on the table in front of the old +man, and said: "It's all right, isn't it? I've lifted that out of the +river-life. That's one of the best men you ever had, and he's only one +of a thousand. He doesn't belong anywhere. He's a rover, an adventurer, +a wanton of the waters. Look at him. He's all right, isn't he?" He asked +this again. + +The timber-man waved the statue aside, and looked at the youth with +critical eyes. "I've just been making up the accounts for the year," he +said. "It's been the best year I've had in seven. I've taken the starch +out of Belloc and Fabian. I've broken the back of their opposition--I've +got it like a twig in iron teeth." + +"Yes, Tarboe's been some use, hasn't he?" was the suggestive response. + +John Grier's eyes hardened. "You might have done it. You had it in you. +The staff of life--courage and daring--were yours, and you wouldn't take +it on. What's the result? I've got a man who's worth two of Fabian and +Belloc. And you"--he held up a piece of paper--"see that," he broke off. +"See that. It's my record. That's what I'm worth. That's what you might +have handled!" He took a cigar from his pocket, cut off the blunt end, +and continued: "You threw your chance aside." He tapped the paper with +the point of the cigar. "That's what Tarboe has helped do. What have you +got to show?" He pointed to the statue. "I won't say it ain't good. It's +a live man from the river. But what do I want with that, when I can have +the original man himself! My boy, the great game of life is to fight +hard, and never to give in. If you keep your eyes open, things'll happen +that'll bring what you want." + +He stood up, striking a match to light his cigar. It was dusk, and the +light of the match gave a curious, fantastic glimmer to his powerful, +weird, haggard face. He was like some remnant of a great life, loose in +a careless world. + +"I tell you," he said, the smoke leaking from his mouth like a drift of +snow, "the only thing worth doing is making the things that matter in +the commerce and politics of the world." + +"I didn't know you were a politician," said Carnac. "Of course I'm +a politician," was the inflammable reply. "What's commerce without +politics? It's politics that makes the commerce possible. There's +that fellow Barouche--Barode Barouche--he's got no money, but he's a +Minister, and he can make you rich or poor by planning legislation at +Ottawa that'll benefit or hamper you. That's the kind of business that's +worth doing--seeing into the future, fashioning laws that make good men +happy and bad men afraid. Don't I know! I'm a master-man in my business; +nothing defeats me. To me, a forest of wild wood is the future palace of +a Prime Minister. A great river is a pathway to the palace, and all the +thousands of men that work the river are the adventurers that bring the +booty home--" + +"That bring 'the palace to Paris,' eh!" interrupted Carnac, laughing. + +"Paris be damned--that bring the forest to Quebec. How long did it take +you to make that?" he added with a nod towards the statue. + +"Oh, I did it in a day--six hours, I think; and he stood like that for +three hours out of the six. He was great, but he'd no more sense of +civilization than I have of Heaven." + +"You don't need to have a sense of Heaven, you need to have a sense of +Hell. That prevents you from spoiling your own show. You're playing with +life's vital things." + +"I wonder how much you've got out of it all, father," Carnac remarked +with a smile. He lit a cigarette. "You do your job in style. It's been a +great career, yours. You've made your big business out of nothing." + +"I had something to start with. Your grandfather had a business worth +not much, but it was a business, and the fundamental thing is to have +machinery to work with when you start life. I had that. My father was +narrow, contracted and a blunderer, but he made good in a small way." + +"And you in a big way," said Carnac, with admiration and criticism in +his eyes. + +He realized that John Grier had summed him up fairly when he said he was +playing with life's vital things. Somehow, he saw the other had a grip +upon essentials lacking in himself; he had his tooth in the orange, as +it were, and was sucking the juice of good profit from his labours. Yet +he knew how much trickery and vital evasion and harsh aggression there +were in his father's business life. + +As yet he had never seen Tarboe--he had been away in the country +the whole year nearly--but he imagined a man of strength, abilities, +penetration and deep power. He knew that only a man with savage +instincts could work successfully with John Grier; he knew that Grier +was without mercy in his business, and that his best year's work had +been marked by a mandatory power which only a malevolent policy could +produce. Yet, somehow, he had a feeling that Tarboe had a steadying +influence on John Grier. The old man was not so uncontrolled as in +bygone days. + +"I'd like to see Tarboe," Carnac said suddenly. "He ain't the same +as you," snapped John Grier. "He's bigger, broader, and buskier." A +malicious smile crossed over his face. "He's a bandit--that's what he +is. He's got a chest like a horse and lungs like the ocean. When he's +got a thing, he's got it like a nail in a branch of young elm. He's a +dandy, that fellow." Suddenly passion came to his eyes. "You might have +done it, you've got the brains, and the sense, but you ain't got the +ambition. You keep feeling for a thousand things instead of keeping +your grip on one. The man that succeeds fastens hard on what he wants to +do--the one big thing, and he does it, thinking of naught else." + +"Well, that's good preaching," remarked Carnac coolly. "But it doesn't +mean that a man should stick to one thing, if he finds out he's been +wrong about it? We all make mistakes. Perhaps some day I'll wish I'd +gone with you." + +Grimness came into the old man's face. Something came into his eyes that +was strange and revealing. + +"Well, I hope you will. But you had your chance with me, and you threw +it down like a piece of rotten leather." + +"I don't cost you anything," returned Carnac. "I've paid my own way a +long time--with mother's help." + +"And you're twenty-six years old, and what have you got? Enough to give +you bread from day to day-no more. I was worth seventy thousand dollars +when I was your age. I'm worth enough to make a prince rich, and if I'd +been treated right by those I brought into the world I'd be worth twice +as much. Fabian was good as far as he went, but he was a coward. You"--a +look of fury entered the dark eyes--"you were no coward, but you didn't +care a damn. You wanted to paddle about with muck of imagination--" he +pointed to the statue on the table. + +"Why, your business has been great because of your imagination," was the +retort. "You saw things ahead with the artist's eye. You planned +with the artist's mind; and brought forth what's to your honour and +credit--and the piling up of your bank balance. The only thing that +could have induced me to work in your business is the looking ahead and +planning, seeing the one thing to be played off against the other, the +fighting of strong men, the politics, all the forces which go to make or +break your business. Well, I didn't do it, and I'm not sorry. I have a +gift which, by training and development, will give me a place among the +men who do things, if I have good luck--good luck!" + +He dwelt upon these last words with an intensity which dreaded +something. There was retrospection in his eyes. A cloud seemed to cross +his face. + +A strong step crunching the path stopped the conversation, and presently +there appeared the figure of Tarboe. Certainly the new life had not +changed Tarboe, had not altered his sturdy, strenuous nature. His +brown eyes under the rough thatch of his eyebrow took in the room +with lightning glance, and he nodded respectfully, yet with great +friendliness, at John Grier. He seemed to have news, and he glanced with +doubt at Carnac. + +John Grier understood. "Go ahead. What's happened?" + +"Nothing that can't wait till I'm introduced to your son," rejoined +Tarboe. + +With a friendly look, free from all furtiveness, Carnac reached out a +hand, small, graceful, firm. As Tarboe grasped it in his own big paw, he +was conscious of a strength in the grip which told him that the physical +capacity of the "painter-fellow," as he afterwards called Carnac, had +points worthy of respect. On the instant, there was admiration on the +part of each--admiration and dislike. Carnac liked the new-comer for +his healthy bearing, for the iron hardness of his head, and for the +intelligence of his dark eyes. He disliked him, however, for something +that made him critical of his father, something covert and devilishly +alert. Both John Grier and Tarboe were like two old backwoodsmen, eager +to reach their goal, and somewhat indifferent to the paths by which they +travelled to it. + +Tarboe, on the other hand, admired the frank, pleasant face of the +young man, which carried still the irresponsibility of youth, but which +conveyed to the watchful eye a brave independence, a fervid, and perhaps +futile, challenge to all the world. Tarboe understood that this young +man had a frankness dangerous to the business of life, yet which, +properly applied, might bring great results. He disliked Carnac for his +uncalculating candour; but he realized that, behind all, was something +disturbing to his life. + +"It's a woman," Tarboe said to himself, "it's a woman. He's made a fool +of himself." + +Tarboe was right. He had done what no one else had done--he had pierced +the cloud surrounding Carnac: it was a woman. + +"I hear you're pulling things off here," remarked Carnac civilly. "He +says"--pointing to John Grier--"that you're making the enemy squirm." + +Tarboe nodded, and a half-stealthy smile crept across his face. "I don't +think we've lost anything coming our way," he replied. "We've had good +luck--" + +"And our eyes were open," intervened John Grier. "You push the brush and +use the chisel, don't you?" asked Tarboe in spite of himself with slight +scorn in his tone. + +"I push the chisel and use the brush," answered Carnac, smilingly +correcting him. + +"That's a good thing. Is it yours?" asked Tarboe, nodding and pointing +to the statue of the riverman. Carnac nodded. "Yes, I did that one day. +I'd like to do you, if you'd let me." + +The young giant waved a brawny hand and laughed. He looked down at his +knee-boots, with their muddied soles, and then at the statue again on +the table. "I don't mind you're doing me. Turn about is fair play. + +"I've done you out of your job." Then he added to the old man: "It's +good news I've got. I've made the contract with the French firm at our +price." + +"At our price!" remarked the other with a grim smile. "For the lot?" + +"Yes, for the lot, and I've made the contracts with the ships to carry +it." + +"At our price?" again asked the old man. Tarboe nodded. "Just a little +better." + +"I wouldn't have believed those two things could have been done in the +time." Grier rubbed his hands cheerfully. "That's a good day's work. +It's the best you've done since you've come." + +Carnac watched the scene with interest. No envy moved him, his soul was +free from malice. Evidently Tarboe was a man of power. Ruthless he might +be, ruthless and unsparing, but a man of power. + +At that instant a clerk entered with a letter in his hand. "Mrs. Grier +said to give you this," he remarked to Carnac, handing it to him. + +Carnac took it and the clerk departed. The letter had an American +postmark, and the handwriting on the letter brought trouble to his eyes. +He composed himself, however, and tore off the end of the envelope, +taking out the letter. + +It was brief. It contained only a few lines, but as Carnac read them the +colour left his face. "Good God!" he said to himself. Then he put the +paper in his pocket, and, with a forced smile and nod to his father and +Tarboe, left the office. + +"That's queer. The letter seemed to get him in the vitals," said John +Grier with surprise. + +Tarboe nodded, and said to himself: "It's a woman all right." He smiled +to himself also. He had wondered why Carnac and Junia Shale had not come +to an understanding. The letter which had turned Carnac pale was the +interpretation. + +"Say, sit down, Tarboe," said John Grier. "I want to talk with you." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. JOHN GRIER MAKES ANOTHER OFFER + +"I've been keeping my eye on you, Tarboe," John Grier said presently, +his right hand clutching unconsciously the statue which his boy had left +with him. + +"I didn't suppose you'd forget me when I was making or breaking you." + +"You're a winner, Tarboe. You've got sense and judgment, and you ain't +afraid to get your own way by any route." + +He paused, and gripped the statue closely in his hands. + +Tarboe nodded. In the backwoods he had been without ambition save to be +master of what he was doing and of the men who were part of his world of +responsibility. Then John Grier had pulled him back into industry and +he had since desired to ascend, to "make good." Also, he had seen Junia +often, and for her an aspiration had sprung up in him like a fire in a +wild place. + +When he first saw her, she was standing in the doorway through which +Carnac had just passed. The brightness of her face, the wonder of her +eyes, the glow of her cheek, had made his pulses throb as they had never +throbbed before. He had put the thought of her away from him, but it had +come back constantly until he had found himself looking for her in the +street, and on the hill that led to John Grier's house. + +Tarboe realized that the girl was drawn towards Carnac, and that Carnac +was drawn towards the girl, but that some dark depths lay between. The +letter Carnac had just received seemed to him the plumbline of that +abyss. Carnac and the girl were suited to each other--that was clear; +and the girl was enticing, provoking and bewildering--that was the +modelling fact. He had satisfaction that he had displaced Carnac in this +great business, and there was growing in him a desire to take away the +chances of the girl from Carnac also. With his nature it was inevitable. +Life to him was now a puzzle towards the solution of which he moved with +conquering conviction. + +From John Grier's face now, he realized that something was to be said +affecting his whole career. It would, he was sure, alter his foot-steps +in the future. He had a profound respect for the little wiry man, with +the firm body and shrivelled face. + +Tarboe watched the revealing expression of the old man's face and the +motions of his body. He noticed that the tight grip of the hand on the +little statue of the riverman had made the fingers pale. He realized how +absorbed was the lumber-king, who had given him more confidence than +he had given to anyone else in the world. As near as he could come to +anyone, he had come to John Grier. There had been differences between +them, but he, Tarboe, fought for his own idea, and, in nine cases out +of ten, had conquered. John Grier had even treated Tarboe's solutions +as though they were his own. He had a weird faith in the young giant. He +saw now Tarboe's eyes fixed on his fingers, and he released his grip. + +"That's the thing between him and me, Tarboe," he said, nodding towards +the virile bronze. "Think of my son doing that when he could do all +this!" He swept his arm in a great circle which included the horizon +beyond the doors and the windows. "It beats me, and because it beats me, +and because he defies me, I've made up my mind what to do." + +"Don't do anything you'd be sorry for, boss. He ain't a fool because +he's not what you are." He nodded towards the statue. "You think that's +pottering. I think it's good stuff. It will last, perhaps, when what you +and I do is forgotten." + +There was something big and moving in Tarboe. He was a contradiction. A +lover of life, he was also reckless in how he got what he wanted. If it +could not be got by the straight means, then it must be by the crooked, +and that was where he and Grier lay down together, as it were. Yet +he had some knowledge that was denied to John Grier. The soul of the +greater things was in him. + +"Give the boy a chance to work out his life in his own way," he said +manfully. "You gave him a chance to do it in your way, and you were +turned down. Have faith in him. He'll probably come out all right in the +end. + +"You mean he'll come my way?" asked the old man almost rabidly. "You +mean he'll do the things I want him to do here, as you've done?" + +"I guess so," answered Tarboe, but without conviction in his tone. "I'm +not sure whether it will be like that or not, but I know you've got a +son as honest as the stars, and the honest man gets his own in the end." + +There was silence for some time, then the old man began walking up and +down the room, softly, noiselessly. + +"You talk sense," he said. "I care for that boy, but I care for my +life's work more. Day in, day out, night in, night out, I've slaved for +it, prayed for it, believed in it, and tried to make my wife and my +boys feel as I do about it, and none of them cares as I care. Look at +Fabian--over with the enemy, fighting his own father; look at Carnac, +out in the open, taking his own way." He paused. + +"And your wife?" asked Tarboe almost furtively, because it seemed to him +that the old man was most unhappy in that particular field. + +"She's been a good wife, but she don't care as I do for success and +money." + +"Perhaps you never taught her," remarked Tarboe with silky irony. + +"Taught her! What was there to teach? She saw me working; she knew +the life I had to live; she was lifted up with me. I was giving her +everything in me to give." + +"You mean money and a big house and servants and comfort," said Tarboe +sardonically. + +"Well, ain't that right?" snapped the other. + +"Yes, it's all right, but it don't always bring you what you want. It's +right, but it's wrong too. Women want more than that, boss. Women want +to be loved--sky high." + +All at once Grier felt himself as far removed from Tarboe as he had ever +been from Carnac, or his wife. Why was it? Suddenly Tarboe understood +that between him and John Grier there must always be a flood. He +realized that there was in Grier some touch of the insane thing; +something apart, remote and terrible. He was convinced of it, when he +saw Grier suddenly spring up, and pace the room again like a tortured +animal. + +"You've got great influence with me," he said. "I was just going to tell +you something that'd give you pleasure, but what you've said about my +boy coming back has made me change what I was going to do. I don't need +to say I like you. We were born in the same nest almost. We've got the +same ideas." + +"Almost," intervened Tarboe. "Not quite, but almost." + +"Well, this is what I've got to say. You've got youth, courage, and good +sense, and business ability, and what more does a man want in life, I +ask you that?" Tarboe nodded, but made no reply. + +"Well, I don't feel as strong as I used to do. I've been breaking +up this last year, just when we've been knitting the cracks in the +building. What was in my mind is this--to leave you when I die the whole +of my business to keep it a success, and get in the way of Belloc, and +pay my wife so much a year to live on." + +"That wouldn't be fair to your wife or your sons." + +"As for Carnac, if I left him the business it'd be dead in two years. +Nothing could save it. He'd spoil it, because he don't care for it. I +bought Fabian out. As for my wife, she couldn't run it, and--" + +"You could sell it," interrupted Tarboe. + +"Sell it! Sell it!" said Grier wildly. "Sell it to whom?" + +"To Belloc," was the malicious reply. The demon of anger seized the old +man. + +"You say that to me--you--that I should sell to Belloc! By hell, I'd +rather burn every stick and board and tree I've got--sweep it out of +existence, and die a beggar than sell it to Belloc!" Froth gathered at +the corners of his mouth, there was tumult in his eyes. "Belloc! Knuckle +down to him! Sell out to him!" + +"Well, if you got a profit of twenty per cent. above what it's worth it +might be well. That'd be a triumph, not a defeat." + +"I see what you mean," said John Grier, the passion slowly going from +his eyes. "I see what you mean, but that ain't my way. I want this +business to live. I want Grier's business to live long after John Grier +has gone. That's why I was going to say to you that in my will I'm +going to leave you this business, you to pay my wife every year twenty +thousand dollars." + +"And your son, Carnac?" + +"Not a sou-not a sou--not a sou--nothing--that's what I meant at first. +But I've changed my mind now. I'm going to leave you the business, if +you'll make a bargain with me. I want you to run it for three years, +and take for yourself all the profits over the twenty thousand dollars +a year that goes to my wife. There's a lot of money in it, the way you'd +work it." + +"I don't understand about the three years," said Tarboe, with rising +colour. + +"No, because I haven't told you, but you'll take it in now. I'm going to +leave you the business as though you were going to have it for ever, +but I'll make another will dated a week later, in which I leave it to +Carnac. Something you said makes me think he might come right, and it +will be playing fair to him to let him run himself alone, maybe with +help from his mother, for three years. That's long enough, and perhaps +the thought of what he might have had will work its way with him. If it +don't--well, it won't; that's all; but I want you to have the business +long enough to baulk Belloc and Fabian the deserter. I want you for +three years to fight this fight after I'm gone. In that second secret +will, I'll leave you two hundred thousand dollars. Are you game for it? +Is it worthwhile?" + +The old man paused, his head bent forward, his eyes alert and searching, +both hands gripping the table. There was a long silence, in which the +ticking of the clock upon the wall seemed unduly loud and in which the +buzz of cross-cut saws came sounding through the evening air. Yet Tarboe +did not reply. + +"Have you nothing to say?" asked Grier at last. "Won't you do it--eh?" + +"I'm studying the thing out," answered Tarboe quietly. "I don't quite +see about these two wills. Why shouldn't the second will be found +first?" + +"Because you and I will be the only ones that'll know of it. That shows +how much I trust you, Tarboe. I'll put it away where nobody can get it +except you or me." + +"But if anything should happen to me?" + +"Well, I'd leave a letter with my bank, not to be opened for three +years, or unless you died, and it would say that the will existed, where +it was, and what its terms were." + +"That sounds all right," but there was a cloud on Tarboe's face. + +"It's a great business," said Grier, seeing Tarboe's doubt. "It's the +biggest thing a man can do--and I'm breaking up." + +The old man had said the right thing--"It's a great business!" It was +the greatness of the thing that had absorbed Tarboe. It was the bigness +made him feel life could be worth living, if the huge machinery were +always in his fingers. Yet he had never expected it, and life was a +problem. Who could tell? Perhaps--perhaps, the business would always be +his in spite of the second will! Perhaps, he would have his chance to +make good. He got to his feet; he held out his hand. + +"I'll do it." + +"Ain't it worth any thanks?" + +"Not between us," declared Tarboe. + +"When are you going to do it?" + +"To-night--now." He drew out some paper and sat down with a pen in his +hand. + +"Now," John Grier repeated. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE PUZZLE + +On his way home, with Luzanne's disturbing letter in his pocket, Carnac +met Junia. She was supremely Anglo-Saxon; fresh, fervid and buoyant +with an actual buoyancy of the early spring. She had tact and ability, +otherwise she could never have preserved peace between the contending +factions, Belloc and Fabian, old John Grier, the mother and Carnac. She +was as though she sought for nothing, wished nothing but the life in +which she lived. Yet her wonderful pliability, her joyful boyishness, +had behind all a delicate anxiety which only showed in flashes now and +then, fully understood by no one except Carnac's mother and old Denzil. +These two having suffered strangely in life had realized that the girl +was always waiting for a curtain to rise which did not rise, for a voice +to speak which gave no sound. + +Yet since Carnac's coming back there had appeared a slight change in +her, a bountiful, eager alertness, a sense of wonder and experiment, +adding new interest to her personality. Carnac was conscious of this +increased vitality, was impressed and even provoked by it. Somehow he +felt--for he had the telepathic mind--that the girl admired and liked +Tarboe. He did not stop to question how or why she should like two +people so different as Tarboe and himself. + +The faint colour of the crimsoning maples was now in her cheek; the +light of the autumn evening was in her eyes; the soft vitality of +September was in her motions. She was attractively alive. Her hair waved +back from her forehead with natural grace; her small feet, with +perfect ankles, made her foothold secure and sedately joyous. Her +brown hand--yet not so brown after all--held her hat lightly, and was, +somehow, like a signal out of a world in which his hopes were lost for +the present. + +She was dearer to him than all the rest of the world; and he had in his +hand what kept them apart--a sentence of death, unless he escaped from +the wanton calling him to fulfil duties into which he had been tricked. +Luzanne Larue had a terrible hold over him. He gripped the letter in +his pocket as a Hopi Indian does the body of a poisonous snake. The rosy +sunset gave the girl's face a reflected spiritual glamour; it made her, +suddenly, a bewildering figure. Somehow, she seemed a great distance +from him--as one detached and unfamiliar. + +He suddenly felt she knew more than it was possible she should know. As +she flashed an inquiry into his eyes, it was as though she said: "Why +don't you tell me everything, and I will help you?" Or, was it: "Why +don't you tell me everything and end it all?" He longed to press her +to his breast, as he had once done in the woods when Denzil had been +injured, but that was not possible. The thought of that far-off day made +him say to her, rather futilely: + +"How is Denzil? How is Denzil?" + +There was swift surprise in her face. She seemed dumbfounded, and then +she said: + +"Denzil! He's all right, but he does not like your Mr. Tarboe." + +"My Mr. Tarboe! Where do I come in?" + +"Well, he's got what you ought to have had," was the reply. "What you +would have had, weren't you a foolish fellow." + +"I still don't understand how he is my Mr. Tarboe." + +"Well, he wouldn't have been in your father's life if it weren't for +you; if you had done what your father wished you to do, had--" + +"Had sold myself for gold--my freedom, my health, everything to help my +father's business! I don't see why he should expect that what he's doing +some one else should do--" + +"That Belloc would do, that Belloc and Fabian would do," said the girl. + +"Yes, that's it--what they two would do. There's no genius in it, though +my father comes as near being a genius as any man alive. But there's a +screw loose somewhere.... It wasn't good enough for me. It didn't give +me a chance--in things that are of the mind, the spirit--my particular +gifts, whatever they are. They would have chafed against that life." + +"In other words, you're a genius, which your father isn't," the girl +said almost sarcastically. + +A disturbed look came into Carnac's eyes. "I'd have liked my father to +be a genius. Then we'd have hit it off together. I don't ever feel the +things he does are the things I want to do; or the things he says are +those I'd like to say. He's a strange man. He lives alone. He never +was really near Fabian or me. We were his sons, but though Fabian is a +little bit like him in appearance, I'm not, and never was. I always feel +that--" He paused, and she took up the tale: + +"That he wasn't the father you'd have made for yourself, eh!" + +"I suppose that's it. Conceit, ain't it? Perhaps the facts are, I'm one +of the most useless people that ever wore a coat. Perhaps the things I +do aren't going to live beyond me." + +"It seems as though your father's business is going to live after him, +doesn't it?" the girl asked mockingly. "Where are you going now?" she +added. + +"Well, I'm going to take you home," he said, as he turned and walked by +her side down the hill. + +"Denzil will be glad to see you. He almost thinks I'm a curse." + +Carnac smiled. "All genius is at once a blessing or a curse. And what +does Denzil think of me?" + +"Oh--a blessing and a curse!" she said whimsically. + +"I don't honestly think I'm a blessing to anybody in this world. There's +no one belonging to me who believes in me." + +"There's Denzil," she said. "He believes in you." + +"He doesn't belong to me; he isn't my family." + +"Who are your family? Is it only those who are bone of your bone and +flesh of your flesh? Your family is much wider, because you're a genius. +It's worldwide--of all kinds. Denzil belongs to you, because you helped +to save him years ago; the Catholic Archbishop belongs to you, because +he's got brains and a love of literature and art; Barode Barouche +belongs to you, because he's almost a genius too." + +"Barouche is a politician," said Carnac with slight derision. + +"That's no reason why he shouldn't be a genius." + +"He's a Frenchman." + +"Haven't Frenchmen genius?" asked the girl. + +Carnac laughed. "Why, of course. Barode Barouche--yes, he's a great one: +he can think, he can write, and he can talk; and the talking's the +best that he does--though I've not heard him speak, but I've read his +speeches." + +"Doesn't he make good laws at Ottawa?" + +"He makes laws at Ottawa--whether they're good or not is another +question. I shouldn't be a follower of his, if I had my chance though." + +"That's because you're not French." + +"Oh yes, I'm as French as can be! I felt at home with the French when +I was in France. I was all Gallic. When I'm here I'm more Gallic than +Saxon. + +"I don't understand it. Here am I, with all my blood for generations +Saxon, and yet I feel French. If I'd been born in the old country, it +would have been in Limerick or Tralee. I'd have been Celtic there." + +"Yet Barode Barouche is a great man. He gets drunk sometimes, but he's +great. He gets hold of men like Denzil." + +"Denzil has queer tastes." + +"Yes--he worships you." + +"That's not queer, it's abnormal," said Carnac with gusto. + +"Then I'm abnormal," she said with a mocking laugh, and swung her hat on +her fingers like a wheel. Something stormy and strange swam in Carnac's +eyes. All his trouble rushed back on him; the hand in his pocket crushed +the venomous letter he had received, but he said: + +"No, you don't worship me!" + +"Who was it said all true intelligence is the slave of genius?" she +questioned, a little paler than usual, her eye on the last gleam of the +sun. + +"I don't know who said it, but if that's why you worship me, I know how +hollow it all is," he declared sullenly, for she was pouring carbolic +acid into a sore. + +He wanted to drag the letter from his pocket and hand it her to read; +to tell her the whole distressful story: but he dared not. He longed for +her, and yet he dared not tell her so. He half drew the letter from his +pocket, but thrust it back again. Tell this innocent girl the whole ugly +story? It could not be done. There was but one thing to do--to go away, +to put this world of French Canada behind him, and leave her free to +follow her fancy, or some one else's fancy. + +Or some one else's fancy? There was Tarboe. Tarboe had taken from him +the place in the business which should be his; he had displaced him in +his father's affections... and now Junia! + +He held out a hand to the girl. "I must go and see my mother." + +His eyes abashed her. She realized there was trouble in the face of +the man who all her life had been strangely near and dear to her. With +impulsiveness, she said "You're in trouble, Carnac. Let me help you." + +For one swift instant he almost yielded. Then he gripped her hand and +said: "No-no-no. It can't be done--not yet." + +"Then let Denzil help you. Here he is," she remarked, and she glanced +affectionately at the greyish, tousled head of the habitant who was +working in the garden of her father's house. + +Carnac was master of himself again. "Not a bad idea," he said. "Denzil! +Denzil!" he called. + +The little man looked up. An instant later the figure of the girl +fluttered through the doorway of her home, and Carnac stopped beside +Denzil in the garden. + + + + +CHAPTER X. DENZIL TELLS HIS STORY + +"You keep going, Denzil," remarked Carnac as he lighted his pipe and +came close to the old servant. + +The face of the toiler lighted, the eyes gazed kindly, at Carnac. "What +else is there to do? We must go on. There's no standing still in the +world. We must go on--surelee." + +"Even when it's hard going, eh?" asked Carnac, not to get an answer so +much as to express his own feelings. "Yes, that's right, m'sieu'; that's +how it is. We can't stand still even when it's hard going--but, no, +bagosh!" + +He realized that around Carnac there was a shadow which took its toll +of light and life. He had the sound instinct of primitive man. Strangely +enough in his own eyes was the look in those of Carnac, a past, hovering +on the brink of revelation. His appearance was that of one who had +suffered; his knotted hands, dark with warm blood, had in them a story +of life's sorrows; his broad shoulders were stooped with the inertia of +long regret; his feet clung to the ground as though there was a great +weight above them. But a smile shimmered at his mouth, giving to his +careworn face something almost beautiful, lifting the darkness from his +powerful, shaggy forehead. Many men knew Denzil by sight, few knew +him in actual being. There was a legend that once he was about to be +married, but the girl had suddenly gone mad and drowned herself in the +river. No one thought it strange that a month later the eldest son of +the Tarboe family had been found dead in the woods with a gun in his +hand and a bullet through his heart. No one had ever linked the death of +Denzil's loved one with that of Almeric Tarboe. + +It was unusual for a Frenchman to give up his life to an English family, +but that is what he had done, and of late he had watched Junia with new +eager solicitude. The day she first saw Tarboe had marked an exciting +phase in her life. + +Denzil had studied her, and he knew vaguely that a fresh interest, +disturbing, electrifying, had entered into her. Because it was Tarboe, +the fifteen years younger brother of that Almeric Tarboe who had died +a month after his own girl had left this world, his soul was +fighting--fighting. + +As the smoke of Carnac's pipe came curling into the air, Denzil put on +his coat, and laid the hoe and rake on his shoulder. + +"Yes, even when it's hard going we still have to march on--name of God, +yes!" he repeated, and he looked at Carnac quizzically. + +"Where are you going? Don't you want to talk to me?" + +"I'm going home, m'sieu'. If you'll come with me I'll give you a drink +of hard cider, the best was ever made." + +"I'll come. Denzil, I've never been in your little house. That's +strange, when I've known you so many years." + +"It's not too late to mend, m'sieu'. There ain't much in it, but it's +all I need." + +Carnac stepped with Denzil towards the little house, just in front of +three pine-trees on the hill, and behind Junia's home. + +"I always lock my door--always," said Denzil as he turned a key and +opened the door. + +They entered into the cool shade of a living-room. There was little +furniture, yet against the wall was a kind of bunk, comfortable and +roomy, on which was stretched the skin of a brown bear. On the wall +above it was a crucifix, and on the opposite wall was the photograph of +a girl, good-looking, refined, with large, imaginative eyes, and a face +that might have been a fortune. + +Carnac gazed at it for a moment, absorbed. "That was your girl, Denzil, +wasn't it?" he asked. + +Denzil nodded. "The best the world ever had, m'sieu'," he replied, "the +very best, but she went queer and drowned herself--ah, but yes!" + +"She just went queer, eh!" Carnac said, looking Denzil straight in the +eyes. "Was there insane blood in her family?" + +"She wasn't insane," answered Denzil firmly. "She'd been bad +used--terrible." + +"That didn't come out at the inquest, did it?" + +"Not likely. She wrote it me. I'm telling you what I've never told +anyone." He shut the door, as though to make a confessional. "She wrote +it me, and I wasn't telling anyone-but no. She'd been away down at +Quebec City, and there a man got hold of her. Almeric Tarboe it was--the +older brother of Luke Tarboe at John Grier's." Suddenly the face of the +little man went mad with emotion. "I--I--" he paused. + +Carnac held up his hand. "No-no-no, don't tell me. Tarboe--I understand, +the Unwritten Law. You haven't told me, but I understand. I remember: he +was found in the woods with his gun in his hand-dead. I read it all by +accident long ago; and that was the story, eh!" + +"Yes. She was young, full of imagination. She loved me, but he was +clever, and he was high up, and she was low down. He talked her blind, +and then in the woods it was, in the woods where he died, that he--" + +Suddenly the little man wrung his fingers like one robbed of reason. "He +was a strongman," he went on, "and she was a girl, weak, but not wanton +... and so she died, telling me, loving me--so she died, and so he died, +too, in the woods with his gun in his hand. Yes, 'twas done with his own +gun--by accident--by accident! He stumbled, and the gun went off. That +was the story at the inquest. No one knew I was there. I was never seen +with him and I've never been sorry. He got what he deserved--sacre, +yes!" + +There was something overwhelming in the face of the little resolute, +powerful man. His eyes were aflame. He was telling for the first time +the story of his lifelong agony and shame. + +"It had to be done. She was young, so sweet, so good, aye, she was +good-in her soul she was good, ah, surelee. That's why she died in the +pond. No one knew. The inquest did not bring out anything, but that's +why he died; and ever since I've been mourning; life has no rest for +me. I'm not sorry for what I did. I've told it you because you saved me +years ago when I fell down the bank. You were only fourteen then, but +I've never forgotten. And she, that sweet young lady, she--she was there +too; and now when I look at this Tarboe, the brother of that man, and +see her and know what I know--sacre!" He waved a hand. "No-no-no, don't +think there's anything except what's in the soul. That man has touched +ma'm'selle--I don't know why, but he has touched her heart. Perhaps by +his great bulk, his cleverness, his brains, his way of doing things. In +one sense she's his slave, because she doesn't want to think of him, and +she does. She wants to think of you--and she does--ah, bagosh, yes!" + +"Yes, I understand," remarked Carnac morosely. "I understand." + +"Then why do you let her be under Tarboe's influence? Why don't--" + +Carnac thrust out a hand that said silence. "Denzil, I'll never forget +what you've told me about yourself. Some day you'll have to tell it to +the priest, and then--" + +"I'll never tell it till I'm on my death-bed. Then I'll tell it, sacre +bapteme, yes!" + +"You're a bad Catholic, Denzil," remarked Carnac with emotion, but a +smile upon his face. + +"I may be a bad Catholic, but the man deserved to die, and he died. +What's the difference, so far's the world's concerned, whether he died +by accident, or died--as he died. It's me that feels the fury of the +damned, and want my girl back every hour: and she can't come. But some +day I'll go to M'sieu' Luke Tarboe, and tell him the truth, as I've told +it you--bagosh, yes!" + +"I think he'd try and kill you, if you did. That's the kind of man he +is." + +"You think if he knew the truth he'd try and kill me--he!" + +Carnac paused. He did not like to say everything in his mind. "Do you +think he'd say much and do little?" + +"I dunno, I dunno, but I'll tell him the truth and take my chance." +Suddenly he swung round and stretched out appealing hands. "Haven't you +got any sense, m'sieu'? Don't you see what you should do? Ma'm'selle +Junia cares for you. I know it--I've seen it in her eyes often--often." + +With sudden vehemence Carnac caught the wrists of the other. "It can't +be, Denzil. I can't tell you why yet. I'm going away. If Tarboe wants +her--good--good; I must give her a chance." + +Denzil shrank. "There's something wrong, m'sieu'," he said. Then his +eyes fastened on Carnac's. Suddenly, with a strange, shining light in +them, he added "It will all come right for you and her. I'll live for +that. If you go away, I'll take good care of her." + +"Even if--" Carnac paused. + +"Yes, even if he makes love to her. He'll want to marry her, surelee." + +"Well, that's not strange," remarked Carnac. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. CARNAC'S TALK WITH HIS MOTHER + +Carnac went slowly towards his father's house on the hill. Fixed, as his +mind was, upon all that had just happened, his eye took fondly from +the gathering dusk pictures which the artist's mind cherishes--the long +roadway, with the maples and pines, the stump fences; behind which lay +the garnered fields, where the plough had made ready the way for the +Fall wheat; the robins twittering in the scattered trees; the cooing of +the wood-pigeon; over all, the sky in its perfect purpling blue, and far +down the horizon the evening-star slowly climbing. He noted the lizards +slipping through the stones; he saw where the wheel of a wagon had +crushed some wild flower-growth; he heard the far call of a milkmaid to +the cattle; he caught the sweet breath of decaying verdure, and through +all, the fresh, biting air of the new-land autumn, pleasantly stinging +his face. + +Something kept saying to his mind: "It's all good. It's life and light, +and all good." But his nerves were being tried; his whole nature was +stirred. + +He took the letter from his pocket again, and read it in the fading +light. It was native, naive, brutal, and unconsciously clever--and the +girl who had written it was beautiful. It had only a few lines. It +asked him why he had deserted her, his wife. It said that he would find +American law protected the deluded stranger. It asked if he had so soon +forgotten the kisses he had given her, and did he not realize they +were married? He felt that, with her, beneath all, there was more than +malice; there was a passion which would run risks to secure its end. + +A few moments later he was in the room where his mother, with her +strong, fine, lonely face, sat sewing by the window. The door opened +squarely on her, and he saw how refined and sad, yet self-contained, was +the woman who had given him birth. The look in her eyes warmly welcomed +him. Her own sorrows made her sensitive to those of others, and as +Carnac entered she saw something was vexing him. + +"Dear lad!" she said. + +He was beside her now, and he kissed her cheek. "Best of all the world," +he said; and he did not see that she shrank a little. + +"Are you in trouble?" she asked, and her hand touched his shoulder. + +The wrong she had done him long ago vexed her. It was not possible this +boy could fit in with a life where, in one sense, he did not belong. +It was not part of her sorrow that he had given himself to painting and +sculpture. In her soul she believed this might be best for him in the +end. She had a surreptitious, an almost anguished, joy in the thought +that he and John Grier could not hit it off. It seemed natural that both +men, ignorant of their own tragedy, believing themselves to be +father and son, should feel for each other the torture of distance, a +misunderstanding, which only she and one other human being understood. + +John Grier was not the boy's father. Carnac was the son of Barode +Barouche. + +After a moment he said: "Mother, I know why I've come to you. It's +because I feel when I'm in trouble, I get helped by being with you." + +"How do I help, my boy?" she asked with a sad smile, for he had said the +thing dearest to her heart. + +"When I'm with you, I seem to get a hold on myself. I've always had a +strange feeling about you. I felt when I was a child that you're two +people; one that lives on some distant, lonely prairie, silent, shadowy +and terribly loving; and the other, a vocal person, affectionate, alert, +good and generous." + +He paused, but she only shook her head. After a moment he continued: "I +know you aren't happy, mother, but maybe you once were--at the start." + +She got to her feet, and drew herself up. + +"I'm happy in your love, but all the rest--is all the rest. It isn't +your father's fault wholly. He was busy; he forgot me. Dear, dear boy, +never give up your soul to things only, keep it for people." + +She was naturally straight and composed; yet as she stood there, she +had a certain lonely splendour like some soft metal burning. Among her +fellow-citizens she had place and position, but she took no lead; she +was always an isolated attachment of local enterprises. It was in her +own house where her skill and adaptability had success. She had brought +into her soul misery and martyrdom, and all martyrs are lonely and +apart. + +Sharp visions of what she was really flashed through Carnac's mind, and +he said: + +"Mother, there must be something wrong with you and me. You were +naturally a great woman, and sometimes I have a feeling I might be a +great man, but I don't get started for it. I suppose, you once had an +idea you'd play a big part in the world?" + +"Girls have dreams," she answered with moist eyes, "and at times I +thought great things might come to me; but I married and got lost." + +"You got lost?" asked Carnac anxiously, for there was a curious note in +her voice. + +She tried to change the effect of her words. + +"Yes, I lost myself in somebody else's ambitions I lost myself in the +storm." + +Carnac laughed. "Father was always a blizzard, wasn't he? Now here, now +there, he rushed about making money, humping up his business, and yet +why shouldn't you have ranged beside him. I don't understand." + +"No, that's the bane of life," she replied. "We don't understand each +other. I can't understand why you don't marry Junia. You love her. You +don't understand why I couldn't play as big a part as your father--I +couldn't. He was always odd--masterful and odd, and I never could do +just as he liked." + +There was yearning sadness in her eyes. "Dear Carnac, John Grier is a +whirlwind, but he's also a still pool in which currents are secretly +twisting, turning. His imagination, his power is enormous; but he's +Oriental, a barbarian." + +"You mean he might have had twenty wives?" + +"He might have had twenty, and he'd have been the same to all of them, +because they play no part, except to make his home a place where his +body can live. That's the kind of thing, when a wife finds it out, that +either kills her slowly, or drives her mad." + +"It didn't kill you, mother," remarked Carnac with a little laugh. + +"No, it didn't kill me." + +"And it didn't drive you mad," he continued. + +She looked at him with burning intensity. "Oh, yes, it did--but I became +sane again." She gazed out of the window, down the hillside. "Your +father will soon be home. Is there anything you want to say before +that?" + +Carnac wanted to tell his tragic story, but it was difficult. He caught +his mother's hand. + +"What's the matter, Carnac? You are in trouble. I can see it in your +eyes--I feel it. Is it money?" she asked. She knew it was not, yet she +could not help but ask. He shook his head in negation. + +"Is it business?" + +She knew his answer, yet she must make these steps before she said to +him: "Is it a woman?" + +He nodded now. She caught his eyes and held them with her own. All the +silence and sorrow, all the remorse and regret of the past twenty-six +years gathered in her face. + +"Yes and no," he answered with emotion. "You've quarrelled with Junia?" + +"No," he replied. + +"Why don't you marry her?" she urged. "We all would like it, even your +father." + +"I can't." + +"Why?" She leant forward with a slight burning of the cheek. "Why, +Carnac?" + +He had determined to keep his own secret, to hide the thing which had +vexed his life, but a sudden feeling overcame his purpose. With impulse +he drew out the letter he had received in John Grier's office and handed +it to her. + +"Read that, and then I'll tell you all about it--all I can." + +With whitening face, she took the letter and read its few lines. It was +written in French, with savage little flourishes and twists, and the +name signed at the end was "Luzanne." At last she handed it back, her +fingers trembling. + +"Who is Luzanne, and what does it mean?" What she had read was +startling. + +He slowly seated himself beside her. "I will tell you." + +When Carnac had ended his painful story, she said to him: "It's +terrible--oh, terrible. But there was divorce." + +"Yes, but they told me I couldn't get a divorce. Yet I wish now I'd +tried for it. I've never heard a word from the girl till I got that +letter. It isn't strange she hasn't moved in the thing till now. It was +I that should have acted; and she knew that. She means business, that's +clear, and it'll be hard to prove I didn't marry her with eyes wide +open. It gets between me and my work and my plans for the future; +between--" + +"Between you and Junia," she said mournfully. "Don't you think you ought +to get a divorce for Junia's sake, if nothing else?" + +"Yes, of course. But I'm not sure I could get a divorce--evidence is +so strong against me, and it was a year ago! If I can see Luzanne again +perhaps I can get her to tear up the marriage-lines--that's what I want. +She isn't all bad. I must go again to New York; and Junia can wait. I'm +not much, I know--not worth waiting for, maybe, but I'm in earnest where +Junia's concerned. I could make a little home for her at once, and a +better one as time went on, if she would marry me." + +After a moment of silence, Carnac added: "I'm going to New York. Don't +you think I ought to go?" + +The gaunt, handsome face of the woman darkened, and then she answered: +"Yes." + +There was silence again for a moment, deep and painful, and then Carnac +spoke. + +"Mother, I don't think father is well. I see a great change in him. He +hasn't long to travel, and some day you'll have everything. He might +make you run the business, with Tarboe as manager." + +She shuddered slightly. "With Tarboe--I never thought of that--with +Tarboe!... Are you going to wait for--your father? He'll be here +presently." + +"No, I'm off. I'll go down the garden, through the bushes," he said.... +"Mother, I've got nearer you to-night than in all the rest of my life." + +She kissed him fondly. "You're going away, but I hope you'll come back +in time." + +He knew she meant Junia. + +"Yes, I hope I'll come back in time." + +A moment later he was gone, out of the sidedoor, through the bushes, and +down the hill, running like a boy. He had for the first time talked to +his mother about the life of their home; the facts she told him stripped +away the curtain that hid the secret things of life from his eyes. + +John Grier almost burst upon his wife. He opened and shut the door +noisily; he stamped into the dusky room. + +"Isn't it time for a light?" he said with a quizzical nod towards her. + +The short visit of Carnac had straightened her back. "I like the +twilight. I don't light up until it's dark, but if you wish--" + +"You like the twilight; you don't light up until it's dark, but if I +wish--ah, that's it! Have your own way.... I'm the breadwinner; I'm the +breadwinner; I'm the fighter; I'm the man that makes the machine go; +but I don't like the twilight, and I don't like to wait until it's dark +before I light up. So there it is!" + +She said nothing at once, but struck a match, and lit the gas. + +"It's easy to give you what you want," she answered after a little. "I'm +used to it now." + +There was something animal-like in the thrust forward of his neck, in +the anger that mounted to his eyes. When she had drawn down the blinds, +he said to her: "Who's been here?" + +For an instant she hesitated. Then she said: "Carnac's been here, but +that has naught to do with what I said. I've lived with you for over +thirty years, and I haven't spoken my mind often, but I'm speaking it +now." + +"Never too late to mend, eh!" he gruffly interposed. "So Carnac's been +here! Putting up his independent clack, eh? He leaves his old father +to struggle as best he may, and doesn't care a damn. That's your son +Carnac." + +How she longed to say to him, "That's not your son Carnac!" but she +could not. A greyness crossed over her face. + +"Is Carnac staying here?" + +She shook her head in negation. + +"Well, now I'll tell you about Carnac," he said viciously. "I'm shutting +him out of the business of my life. You understand?" + +"You mean--" She paused. + +"He's taken his course, let him stick to it. I'm taking my course, and +I'll stick to it." + +She came close and reached out a faltering hand. "John, don't do what +you'll be sorry for." + +"I never have." + +"When Fabian was born, you remember what you said? You said: 'Life's +worth living now.'" + +"Yes, but what did I say when Carnac was born?" + +"I didn't hear, John," she answered, her face turning white. + +"Well, I said naught." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. CARNAC SAYS GOOD-BYE + +Fabian Grier's house was in a fashionable quarter of a fashionable +street, the smallest of all built there; but it was happily placed, +rather apart from others, at the very end of the distinguished +promenade. Behind it, a little way up the hill, was a Roman Catholic +chapel. + +The surroundings of the house were rural for a city habitation. Behind +it were commendable trees, from one of which a swing was hung. In a +corner, which seemed to catch the sun, was a bird-cage on a pole, sought +by pigeons and doves. In another corner was a target for the bow and +arrow-evidence of the vigorous life of the owners of the house. + +On the morning after Carnac told his mother he was going away, the doors +of the house were all open. Midway between breakfast and lunch, the +voices of children sang through the dining-room bright with the +morning sun. The children were going to the top of the mountain-the two +youngsters who made the life of Fabian and his wife so busy. Fabian was +a man of little speech. He was slim and dark and quiet, with a black +moustache and smoothly brushed hair, with a body lithe and composed, yet +with hands broad, strong, stubborn. + +As Junia stood by the dining-room table and looked at the alert, +expectant children, she wished she also was going now to the +mountain-top. But that could not be--not yet. Carnac had sent a note +saying he wished to see her, and she had replied through Denzil that her +morning would be spent with her sister. "What is it?" she remarked +to herself. "What is it? There's nothing wrong. Yet I feel everything +upside down." + +Her face turned slowly towards the wide mountain; it caught the light +upon the steeple of the Catholic chapel. She shuddered slightly, and an +expression came into her shadowed eyes not belonging to her personality, +which was always buoyant. + +As she stood absorbed, her mind in a maze of perplexity, a sigh broke +from her lips. She suddenly had a conviction about Carnac; she felt his +coming might bring a crisis; that what he might say must influence +her whole life. Carnac--she threw back her head. Suddenly a sweet, +appealing, intoxicating look crossed her face. Carnac! Yes, there was a +man, a man of men. + +Tarboe got his effects by the impetuous rush of a personality; Carnac by +something that haunted, that made him more popular absent than present. +Carnac compelled thought. When he was away she wanted him; when he was +near she liked to quarrel with him. When they were together, one moment +she wanted to take his hands in her hands, and in the next she wanted +to push him over some great cliff--he was so maddening. He provoked the +devil in her; yet he made her sing the song of Eden. What was it? + +As she asked the question she heard a firm step on the path. It was +Carnac. She turned and stood waiting, leaning against the table, +watching the door through which he presently came. He was dressed in +grey. His coat was buttoned. He carried a soft grey hat, and somehow his +face gave her a feeling that he had come to say good-bye. It startled +her; and yet, though she was tempted to grip her breast, she did not. +Presently she spoke. + +"I think you're a very idle man. Why aren't you at work?" + +"I am at work," Carnac said cheerfully. + +"Work is not all paint and canvas of course. There has to be the +thinking beforehand. Well, of what are you thinking now?" + +"Of the evening train to New York." + +His face was turned away from her at the instant, because he did +not wish to see the effect of his words. He would have seen that +apprehension came to her eyes. Her mouth opened in quick amazement. It +was all too startling. He was going--for how long? + +"Why are you going?" she asked, when she had recovered her poise. + +"Well, you see I haven't quite learned my painting yet, and I must study +in great Art centres where one isn't turned down by one's own judgment." + +"Ananias!" she said at last. "Ananias!" + +"Why do you say I'm a liar?" he asked, flushing a little, though there +was intense inquiry in his eyes. "Because I think it. It isn't your work +only that's taking you away." Suddenly she laughed. "What a fool you +are, Carnac! You're not a good actor. You're not going away for work's +sake only." + +"Not for work's sake only--that's true." + +"Then why do you go?" + +"I'm in a mess, Junia. I've made some mistakes in my life, and I'm going +to try and put one of them right." + +"Is anybody trying to do you harm?" she asked gently. + +"Yes, somebody's trying to hurt me." + +"Hurt him," she rejoined sharply, and her eyes fastened his. + +He was about to say there was no him in the matter, but reason steadied +him, and he said: + +"I'll do my best, Junia. I wish I could tell you, but I can't. What's to +be done must be done by myself alone." + +"Then it ought to be done well." + +With an instant's impulse he moved towards her. She went to the window, +however, and she said: "Here's Fabian. You'll be glad of that. You'll +want to say good-bye to him and Sibyl." She ran from him to the front +door. "Fabian--Fabian, here's a bad boy who wants to tell you things he +won't tell me." With these words she went into the garden. + +"I don't think he'll tell me," came Fabian's voice. "Why should he?" + +A moment afterwards the two men met. + +"Well, what's the trouble, Carnac?" asked Fabian in a somewhat +challenging voice. + +"I'm going away." + +"Oh--for how long?" Fabian asked quizzically. "I don't know--a year, +perhaps. I want to make myself a better artist, and also free myself." + +Now his eyes were on Junia in her summer-time recreation, and her +voice, humming a light-opera air, was floating to him through the autumn +morning. + +"Has something got you in its grip, then?" + +"I'm the victim of a reckless past, like you." Something provocative was +in his voice and in his words. + +"Was my past reckless?" asked Fabian with sullen eyes. + +"Never so reckless as mine. You fought, quarrelled, hit, sold and bought +again, and now you're out against your father, fighting him." + +"I had to come out or be crushed." + +"I'm not so sure you won't be crushed now you're out. He plays boldly, +and he knows his game. One or the other of you must prevail, and I think +it won't be you, Fabian. John Grier does as much thinking in an hour as +most of us do in a month, and with Tarboe he'll beat you dead. Tarboe is +young; he's got the vitality of a rhinoceros. He knows the business from +the bark on the tree. He's a flyer, is Tarboe, and you might have been +in Tarboe's place and succeeded to the business." + +Fabian threw out his arms. "But no! Father might live another ten +years--though I don't think so--and I couldn't have stood it. He was +lapping me in the mud." + +"He doesn't lap Tarboe in the mud." + +"No, and he wouldn't have lapped you in the mud, because you've got +imagination, and you think wide and long when you want to. But I'm +middle-class in business. I've got no genius for the game. He didn't +see my steady qualities were what was needed. He wanted me to be like +himself, an eagle, and I was only a robin red-breast." + +Suddenly his eyes flashed and his teeth set. "You couldn't stand him, +wouldn't put up with his tyranny. You wanted to live your own life, and +you're doing it. When he bought me out, what was there for me to do but +go into the only business I knew, with the only big man in the business, +besides John Grier. I've as good blood as he's got in his veins. I do +business straight. + +"He didn't want me to do it straight. That's one of the reasons we fell +out. John Grier's a big, ruthless trickster. I wasn't. I was for playing +the straight game, and I played it." + +"Well, he's got his own way now. He's got a man who wouldn't blink at +throttling his own brother, if it'd do him any good. Tarboe is iron and +steel; he's the kind that succeeds. He likes to rule, and he's going to +get what he wants mostly." + +"Is that why you're going away?" asked Fabian. "Don't you think it'll be +just as well not to go, if Tarboe is going to get all he wants?" + +"Does Tarboe come here?" + +"He's been here twice." + +"Visiting?" + +"No. He came on urgent business. There was trouble between our two +river-driving camps. He wanted my help to straighten things out, and he +got it. He's pretty quick on the move." + +"He wanted you to let him settle it?" + +"He settled it, and I agreed. He knows how to handle men; I'll say that +for him. He can run reckless on the logs like a river-driver; he can +break a jam like an expert. He's not afraid of man, or log, or devil. +That's his training. He got that training from John Grier's firm under +another name. I used to know him by reputation long before he took +my place in the business--my place and yours. You got loose from the +business only to get tied up in knots of your own tying," he added. +"What it is I don't know, but you say you're in trouble and I believe +you." Suddenly a sharp look came to his face. "Is it a woman?" + +"It's not a man." + +"Well, you ought to know how to handle a woman. You're popular with +women. My wife'll never hear a word against you. I don't know how you +do it. We're so little alike, it makes me feel sometimes we're not +brothers. I don't know where you get your temperament from." + +"It doesn't matter where I got it, it's mine. I want to earn my own +living, and I'm doing it." Admiration came into Fabian's face. "Yes," he +said, "and you don't borrow--" + +"And don't beg or steal. Mother has given me money, and I'm spending my +own little legacy, all but five thousand dollars of it." + +Fabian came up to his brother slowly. "If you know what's good for you, +you'll stay where you are. You're not the only man that ought to be +married. Tarboe's a strong man, and he'll be father's partner. He's +handsome in his rough way too, is Tarboe. He knows what he wants, and +means to have it, and this is a free country. Our girls, they have their +own way. Why don't you settle it now? Why don't you marry Junia, and +take her away with you--if she'll have you?" + +"I can't--even if she'll have me." + +"Why can't you?" + +"I'm afraid of the law." + +An uneasy smile hung at Carnac's lips. He suddenly caught Fabian's +shoulder in a strong grip. "We've never been close friends, Fabian. +We've always been at sixes and sevens, and yet I feel you'd rather do me +a good turn than a bad one. Let me ask you this--that you'll not believe +anything bad of me till you've heard what I've got to say. Will you do +that?" + +Fabian nodded. "Of course. But if I were you, I wouldn't bet on myself, +Carnac. Junia's worth running risks for. She's got more brains than my +wife and me together, and she bosses us; but with you, it's different. +I think you'd boss her. You're unexpected; you're daring; and you're +reckless." + +"Yes, I certainly am reckless." + +"Then why aren't you reckless now? You're going away. Why, you haven't +even told her you love her. The other man--is here, and--I've seen him +look at her? I know by the way she speaks of him how she feels. Besides, +he's a great masterful creature. Don't be a fool! Have a try ... +Junia--Junia," he called. + +The figure in the garden with the flowers turned. There was a flicker of +understanding in the rare eyes. The girl held up a bunch of flowers high +like a torch. + +"I'm coming, my children," she called, and, with a laugh, she ran +forward through the doorway. + +"What is it you want, Fabian?" she asked, conscious that in Carnac's +face was consternation. "What can I do for you?" she added, with a +slight flush. + +"Nothing for me, but for Carnac--" Fabian stretched out a hand. + +She laughed brusquely. "Oh, Carnac! Carnac! Well, I've been making him +this bouquet." She held it out towards him. "It's a farewell bouquet +for his little journey in the world. Take it, Carnac, with everybody's +love--with Fabian's love, with Sibyl's love, with my love. Take it, and +good-bye." + +With a laugh she caught up her hat from the table, and a moment later +she was in the street making for the mountain-side up which the children +had gone. + +Carnac placed the bouquet upon the table. Then he turned to his brother. + +"What a damn mess you make of things, Fabian!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. CARNAC'S RETURN + +"Well, what's happened since I've been gone, mother?" asked Carnac. "Is +nobody we're interested in married, or going to be married?" + +It was spring-time eight months after Carnac had vanished from Montreal, +and the sun of late April was melting the snow upon the hills, bringing +out the smell of the sprouting verdure and the exultant song of the +birds. + +His mother replied sorrowfully: "Junia's been away since last fall. Her +aunt in the West was taken ill, and she's been with her ever since. Tell +me, dearest, is everything all right now? Are you free to do what you +want?" + +He shook his head morosely. "No, everything's all wrong. I blundered, +and I'm paying the price." + +"You didn't find Luzanne Larue?" + +"Yes, I found her, but it was no good. I said there was divorce, and she +replied I'd done it with my eyes open, and had signed our names in the +book of the hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Carnac Grier and divorce would not be +possible. Also, I'd let things go for a year, and what jury would give +me relief! I consulted a lawyer. He said she had the game in her hands, +and that a case could be put up that would discredit me with jury or +judge, so there it is.... Well, bad as she is, she's fond of me in her +way. I don't think she's ever gone loose with any man; this is only a +craze, I'm sure. She wanted me, and she meant to have me." + +His mother protested: "No pure, straight, honest girl would--" + +Carnac laughed bitterly, and interrupted. "Don't talk that way, mother. +The girl was brought up among exiles and political criminals in the +purlieu of Montmartre. What's possible in one place is impossible in +another. Devil as she is, I want to do her justice." + +"Did she wear a wedding-ring?" + +"No, but she used my name as her own: I saw it on the paper door-plate. +She said she would wait awhile longer, but if at the end of six months +I didn't do my duty, she'd see the thing through here among my own +people." + +"Six months--it's overdue now!" She said in agitation. + +He nodded helplessly. "I'm in hell as things are. There's only this to +be said: She's done naught yet, and she mayn't do aught!" + +They were roused by the click of the gate. "That's your father--that's +John Grier," she said. + +They heard the front door open and shut, a footstep in the hall, then +the door opened and John Grier came into the room. + +Preoccupation, abstraction, filled his face, as he came forward. It was +as though he was looking at something distant that both troubled and +pleased him. When he saw Carnac he stopped, his face flushed. For an +instant he stood unmoving, and then he held out his hand. + +"So you've come back, Carnac. When did you get here?" + +As Carnac released his hand from John Grier's cold clasp, he said: "A +couple of hours ago." + +The old man scrutinized him sharply, carefully. "Getting on--making +money?" he asked. "Got your hand in the pocket of the world?" + +Carnac shook his head. "I don't care much about the pocket of the world, +but they like my work in London and New York. I don't get Royal Academy +prices, but I do pretty well." + +"Got some pride, eh?" + +"I'm always proud when anybody outside Montreal mentions your name! It +makes me feel I have a place in the world." + +"Guess you've made your own place," said the other, pleasure coming to +his cheek. "You've got your own shovel and pick to make wealth." + +"I care little about wealth. All I want is enough to clothe and feed me, +and give me a little home." + +"A little home! Yes, it's time," remarked the other, as he seated +himself in his big chair by the table. "Why don't you marry?" + +The old man's eyes narrowed until there could only be seen a slit of +fire between the lids, and a bitter smile came to his lips. He had +told his wife a year ago that he had cut Carnac out of all business +consideration. So now, he added: + +"Tarboe's taken your place in the business, Carnac. Look out he doesn't +take your little home too." + +"He's had near a year, and he hasn't done it yet." + +"Is that through any virtue of yours?" + +"Probably not," answered Carnac ironically. "But I've been away; he's +been here. He's had everything with him. Why hasn't he pulled it off +then?" + +"He pulls off everything he plans. He's never fallen over his own feet +since he's been with me, and, if I can help it, he won't have a fall +when I'm gone." + +Suddenly he got to his feet; a fit of passion seized him. "What's Junia +to me--nothing! I've every reason to dislike her, but she comes and goes +as if the place belonged to her. She comes to my office; she comes to +this house; she visits Fabian; she tries to boss everybody. Why don't +you regularize it? Why don't you marry her, and then we'll know where +we are? She's got more brains than anybody else in our circle. She's +got tact and humour. Her sister's a fool; she's done harm. Junia's got +sense. What are you waiting for? I wouldn't leave her for Tarboe! Look +here, Carnac, I wanted you to do what Tarboe's doing, and you wouldn't. +You cheeked me--so I took him in. He's made good every foot of the way. +He's a wonder. I'm a millionaire. I'm two times a millionaire, and I got +the money honestly. I gave one-third of it to Fabian, and he left us. I +paid him in cash, and now he's fighting me." + +Carnac bristled up: "What else could he do? He might have lived on the +interest of the money, and done nothing. You trained him for business, +and he's gone on with the business you trained him for. There are other +lumber firms. Why don't you quarrel with them? Why do you drop on Fabian +as if he was dirt?" + +"Belloc's a rogue and a liar." + +"What difference does that make? Isn't it a fair fight? Don't you want +anybody to sit down or stand up till you tell them to? Is it your view +you shall tyrannize, browbeat, batter, and then that everybody you love, +or pretend to love, shall bow down before you as though you were eternal +law? I'm glad I didn't. I'm making my own life. You gave me a chance in +your business, and I tried it, and declined it. You gave it to some one +else, and I approved of it. What more do you want?" + +Suddenly a new spirit of defiance awoke in him. "What I owe you I don't +know, but if you'll make out what you think is due, for what you've done +for me in the way of food and clothes and education, I'll see you get it +all. Meanwhile, I want to be free to move and do as I will." + +John Grier sat down in his chair again, cold, merciless, with a scornful +smile. + +"Yes, yes," he said slowly, "you'd have made a great business man if +you'd come with me. You refused. I don't understand you--I never +did. There's only one thing that's alike in us, and that's a devilish +self-respect, self-assertion, self-dependence. There's nothing more +to be said between us--nothing that counts. Don't get into a passion, +Carnac. It don't become you. Good-night--good-night." + +Suddenly his mother's face produced a great change in Carnac. Horror, +sorrow, remorse, were all there. He looked at John Grier; then at his +mother. The spirit of the bigger thing crept into his heart. He put his +arm around his mother and kissed her. + +"Good-night, mother," he said. Then he went to his father and held out +a hand. "You don't mind my speaking what I think?" he continued, with +a smile. "I've had a lot to try me. Shake hands with me, father. We +haven't found the way to walk together yet. Perhaps it will come; I hope +so." + +Again a flash of passion seized John Grier. He got to his feet. "I'll +not shake hands with you, not to night. You can't put the knife in and +turn it round, and then draw it out and put salve on the wound and say +everything's all right. Everything's all wrong. My family's been my +curse. First one, then another, and then all against me,--my whole +family against me!" + +He dropped back in his chair sunk in gloomy reflection. + +"Well, good-night," said Carnac. "It will all come right some day." + +A moment afterwards he was gone. His mother sat down in her seat by the +window; his father sat brooding by the table. + +Carnac stole down the hillside, his heart burning in him. It had not +been a successful day. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. THE HOUSE OF THE THREE TREES + +During Carnac's absence, Denzil had lain like an animal, watching, as it +were, the doorway out of which Tarboe came and went. His gloom at last +became fanaticism. During all the eight months of Carnac's absence he +prowled in the precincts of memory. + +While Junia was at home he had been watchfully determined to save her +from Tarboe, if possible. He had an obsession of wrong-mindedness which +is always attached to crime. Though Luke Tarboe had done him no wrong, +and was entitled, if he could, to win Junia for himself, to the mind +of Denzil the stain of his brother's past was on Tarboe's life. He saw +Tarboe and Junia meet; he knew Tarboe put himself in her way, and he was +right in thinking that the girl, with a mind for comedy and coquetry, +was drawn instinctively to danger. + +Undoubtedly the massive presence of Tarboe, his animal-like, bull-headed +persistency, the fun at his big mouth and the light in his bold eye had +a kind of charm for her. It was as though she placed herself within the +danger zone to try her strength, her will; and she had done it without +real loss. More than once, as she waited in the office for old John +Grier to come, she had a strange, intuitive feeling that Tarboe might +suddenly grip her in his arms. + +She flushed at the thought of it; it seemed so absurd. Yet that very +thought had passed through the mind of the man. He was by nature a +hunter; he was self-willed and reckless. No woman had ever moved him in +his life until this girl crossed his path, and he reached out towards +her with the same will to control that he had used in the business of +life. Yet, while this brute force suggested physical control of the +girl, it had its immediate reaction. She was so fine, so delicate, and +yet so full of summer and the free unfettered life of the New World, +so unimpassioned physically, yet so passionate in mind and temperament, +that he felt he must atone for the wild moment's passion--the passion +of possession, which had made him long to crush her to his breast. There +was nothing physically repulsive in it; it was the wild, strong life +of conquering man, of which he had due share. For, as he looked at her +sitting in his office, her perfect health, her slim boyishness, +her exquisite lines and graceful turn of hand, arm and body, or the +flower-like turn of the neck, were the very harmony and poetry of life. +But she was terribly provoking too; and he realized that she was an +unconscious coquette, that her spirit loved mastery as his did. + +Denzil could not know this, however. It was impossible for him to +analyse the natures of these two people. He had instinct, but not +enough to judge the whole situation, and so for two months after Carnac +disappeared he had lived a life of torture. Again and again he had +determined to tell Junia the story of Tarboe's brother, but instinctive +delicacy stopped him. He could not tell her the terrible story which had +robbed him of all he loved and had made him the avenger of the dead. +A half-dozen times after she came back from John Grier's office, with +slightly heightening colour, and the bright interest in her eyes, and +had gone about the garden fondling the flowers, he had started towards +her; but had stopped short before her natural modesty. Besides, why +should he tell her? She had her own life to make, her own row to hoe. +Yet, as the weeks passed, it seemed he must break upon this dangerous +romance; and then suddenly she went to visit her sick aunt in the Far +West. Denzil did not know, however, that, in John Grier's office as she +had gone over figures of a society in which she was interested, the big +hand of Tarboe had suddenly closed upon her fingers, and that his head +bent down beside hers for one swift instant, as though he would whisper +to her. Then she quickly detached herself, yet smiled at him, as she +said reprovingly: + +"You oughtn't to do that. You'll spoil our friendship." + +She did not wait longer. As he stretched out his hands to her, his face +had gone pale: she vanished through the doorway, and in forty-eight +hours was gone to her sick aunt. The autumn had come and the winter and +the spring, and the spring was almost gone when she returned; and, with +her return, Catastrophe lifted its head in the person of Denzil. + +Perhaps it was imperative instinct that brought Junia back in an hour +coincident with Carnac's return--perhaps. In any case, there it was. +They had both returned, as it were, in the self-same hour, each having +endured a phase of emotion not easy to put on paper. + +Denzil told her of Carnac's return, and she went to the house where +Carnac's mother lived, and was depressed at what she saw and felt. Mrs. +Grier's face was not that of one who had good news. The long arms almost +hurt when they embraced her. Yet Carnac was a subject of talk between +them--open, clear eyed talk. The woman did not know what to say, +except to praise her boy, and the girl asked questions cheerfully, +unimportantly as to sound, but with every nerve tingling. There was, +however, so much of the comedienne in her, so much coquetry, that only +one who knew her well could have seen the things that troubled her +behind all. As though to punish herself, she began to speak of Tarboe, +and Mrs. Grier's face clouded; she spoke more of Tarboe, and the gloom +deepened. Then, with the mask of coquetry still upon her she left +Carnac's mother abashed, sorrowful and alone. + +Tarboe had called in her absence. Entering the garden, he saw Denzil at +work. At the click of the gate Denzil turned, and came forward. + +"She ain't home," he said bluntly. "She's out. She ain't here. She's up +at Mr. Grier's house, bien sur." + +To Tarboe Denzil's words were offensive. It was none of Denzil's +business whether he came or went in this house, or what his relations +with Junia were. Democrat though he was, he did not let democracy +transgress his personal associations. He knew that the Frenchman was +less likely to say and do the crude thing than the Britisher. + +Tarboe knew of the position held by Denzil in the Shale household; and +that long years of service had given him authority. All this, however, +could not atone for the insolence of Denzil's words, but he had +controlled men too long to act rashly. + +"When will Mademoiselle be back?" he asked, putting a hand on himself. + +"To-night," answered Denzil, with an antipathetic eye. + +"Don't be a damn fool. Tell me the hour when you think she will be at +home. Before dinner--within the next sixty minutes?" + +"Ma'm'selle is under no orders. She didn't say when she would be +back--but no!" + +"Do you think she'll be back for dinner?" asked Tarboe, smothering his +anger, but get to get his own way. + +"I think she'll be back for dinner!" and he drove the spade into the +ground. + +"Then I'll sit down and wait." Tarboe made for the verandah. + +Denzil presently trotted after and said: "I'd like a word with you." + +Tarboe turned round. "Well, what have you got to say?" + +"Better be said in my house, not here," replied Denzil. His face was +pale, but there was fire in his eyes. There was no danger of violence, +and, if there were, Tarboe could deal with it. Why should there be +violence? Why should that semi-insanity in Denzil's eyes disturb him? +The one thing to do was to forge ahead. He nodded. + +"Where are you taking me?" he asked presently, as they passed through +the gate. + +"To my little house by the Three Trees. I've got things I'd like to show +you, and there's some things I'd like to say. You are a big hulk of +a man, and I'm nobody, but yet I've been close to you and yours in my +time--that's so, for sure." + +"You've been close to me and mine in your time, eh? I didn't know that." + +"No, you didn't know it. Nobody knew it--I've kept it to myself. Your +family wasn't all first-class--but no." + +They soon reached the plain board-house, with the well-laid foundation +of stone, by the big Three Trees. Inside the little spare, undecorated +room, Tarboe looked round. It was all quiet and still enough. It was +like a lodge in the wilderness. Somehow, the atmosphere of it made him +feel apart and lonely. Perhaps that was a little due to the timbered +ceiling, to the walls with cedar scantlings showing, to the crude look +of everything-the head of a moose, the skins hanging down the sides of +the walls, the smell of the cedar, and the swift movement of a tame +red squirrel, which ran up the walls and over the floor and along the +chimney-piece, for Denzil avoided the iron stove so common in these new +cold lands, and remained faithful to a huge old-fashioned mantel. + +Presently Denzil faced him, having closed the door. "I said I'd been +near to your family and you didn't believe me. Sit down, please to, and +I'll tell you my story." + +Seating himself with a little curt laugh, Tarboe waved a hand as though +to say: "Go ahead. I'm ready." + +It was difficult for Denzil to begin. He walked up and down the room, +muttering and shaking his head. Presently, however, he made the Sign of +the Cross upon himself, and, leaning against the wall, and opposite to +Tarboe, he began the story he had told Carnac. + +His description of his dead fiancee had flashes of poetry and +excruciating touches of life: + +"She had no mother, and there was lots of things she didn't know because +of that--ah, plenty! She had to learn, and she brought on her own +tragedy by not knowing that men, even when good to look at, can't be +trusted; that every place, even in the woods and the fields where every +one seems safe to us outdoor people, ain't safe--but no. So she trusted, +and then one day--" + +For the next five minutes the words poured from him in moroseness. He +drew a picture of the lonely wood, of the believing credulous girl and +the masterful, intellectual, skilful man. In the midst of it Tarboe +started. The description of the place and of the man was familiar. He +had a vision of a fair young girl encompassed by clanger; he saw her in +the man's arms; the man's lips to hers, and-- + +"Good God--good God!" he said twice, for a glimmer of the truth struck +him. He knew what his brother had done. He could conceive the revenge +to his brother's amorous hand. He listened till the whole tale was told; +till the death of the girl in the pond at home--back in her own little +home. Then the rest of the story shook him. + +"The verdict of the coroner's court was that he was shot by his own +hand--by accident," said Denzil. "That was the coroner's verdict, but +yes! Well, he was shot by his own gun, but not by his own hand. There +was some one who loved the girl, took toll. The world did not know, and +does not know, but you know--you--you, the brother of him that spoiled a +woman's life! Do you think such a man should live? She was the sweetest +girl that ever lived, and she loved me! She told me the truth--and he +died by his own gun--in the woods; but it wasn't accident--it wasn't +accident--but no! The girl had gone, but behind her was some one that +loved her, and he settled it once for all." + +As he had told the story, Denzil's body seemed to contract; his face +took on an insane expression. It was ghastly pale, but his eyes ware +aflame. His arms stretched out with grim realism as he told of the death +of Almeric Tarboe. + +"You've got the whole truth, m'sieu'. I've told it you at last. I've +never been sorry for killing him--never--never--never. Now, what are you +going to do about it--you--his brother--you that come here making love +too?" + +As the truth dawned upon Tarboe, his great figure stretched itself. A +black spirit possessed him. + +When Denzil had finished, Tarboe stood up. There was dementia, cruelty, +stark purpose in his eyes, in every movement. + +"What am I going to do? You killed my brother! Well, I'm going to kill +you. God blast your soul--I'm going to kill you!" + +He suddenly swooped upon Denzil, his fingers clenched about the thick +throat, insane rage was on him. + +At that moment there was a knock at the door, it opened, and Carnac +stepped inside. He realized the situation and rushed forward. There was +no time to struggle. + +"Let him go," he cried. "You devil--let him go." Then with all his +might, he struck Tarboe in the face. The blow brought understanding back +to Tarboe. His fingers loosed from the Frenchman's throat, and Carnac +caught Denzil as he fell backwards. + +"Good God!" said Carnac. "Good God, Tarboe! Wasn't it enough for your +brother to take this man's love without your trying to take his life?" + +Carnac's blow brought conviction to Tarboe, whose terrible rage passed +away. He wiped the blood from his face. + +"Is the little devil all right?" he whispered. + +Denzil spoke: "Yes. This is the second time M'sieu' Carnac has saved my +life." + +Carnac intervened. "Tell me, Tarboe, what shall you do, now you know the +truth?" + +At last Tarboe thrust out a hand. "I don't know the truth," he said. + +By this Carnac knew that Denzil was safe from the law. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. CARNAC AND JUNIA + +Tarboe did not see Junia that evening nor for many evenings, but Carnac +and Junia met the next day in her own house. He came on her as she +was arranging the table for midday dinner. She had taken up again +the threads of housekeeping, cheering her father, helping the old +French-woman cook--a huge creature who moved like a small mountain, and +was a tyrant in her way to the old cheerful avocat, whose life had been +a struggle for existence, yet whose one daughter had married a rich +lumberman, and whose other daughter could marry wealth, handsomeness and +youth, if she chose. + +When Carnac saw Junia she was entering the dining-room with flowers and +fruit, and he recalled the last time they met, when she had thrust the +farewell bouquet of flowers into his hand. That was in the early autumn, +and this was in late spring, and the light in her face was as glowing as +then. A remembrance of the scene came to the minds of both, and the girl +gave a little laugh. + +"Well, well, Carnac," she said gaily, her cheek flushing, her eyes warm +with colour: "well, I sent you away with flowers. Did they bring you +luck?" She looked him steadily in the eyes. + +"Yes, they brought me a perfect remembrance--of one who has always been +to me like the balm of Gilead." + +"Soothing and stimulating, eh?" she asked, as she put the flowers on the +table and gave him her hand--no, she suddenly gave him both hands with a +rush of old-time friendship, which robbed it of all personal emotion. + +For a moment he held her hands. He felt them tremble in his warm clasp, +the delicate, shivering pulsation of youth, the womanly feeling. It was +for an instant only, because she withdrew her fingers. Then she caught +up an apple from the dish she had brought in, and tossed it to him. + +"For a good boy," she said. "You have been a good boy, haven't you?" + +"I think so, chiefly by remembering a good girl." + +"That's a pretty compliment--meant for me?" + +"Yes, meant for you. I think you understand me better than anyone else." + +He noticed her forehead wrinkle slightly, and a faint, incredulous smile +come to her lips. + +"I shouldn't think I understand you, Carnac," she said, over her +shoulder, as she arranged dishes on the sideboard. "I shouldn't think +I know you well. There's no Book of Revelations of your life except in +your face." + +She suddenly turned full on him, and held his eyes. "Carnac, I think +your face looks honest. I've always thought so, and yet I think you're +something of a scamp, a rogue and a thief." + +There was determination at her lips, through which, though only slightly +apart, her beautiful teeth, so straight, so regular, showed. "You don't +play fair. What's the good of having a friend if you don't tell your +friend your troubles? And you've been in trouble, Carnac, and you're +fighting it through alone. Is that wise? You ought to tell some bad man, +or some good woman--if they're both clever--what's vexing you. + +"You see the bad clever man would probably think out something that +would have the same effect as the good clever woman. They never would +think out the same thing, but each 'd think out what would help you." + +"But you've just said I'm a bad clever man. Why shouldn't I work out my +own trouble?" + +"Oh, you're bad enough," she answered, "but you're not clever enough." + +He smiled grimly. "I'm not sure though about the woman. Perhaps I'll +tell the good clever woman some day and let her help me, if she can. But +I'd warn her it won't be easy." + +"Then there's another woman in it!" + +He did not answer. He could not let her know the truth, yet he was sure +she would come to know it one way or another. + +At that moment she leaned over the table and stretched a hand to arrange +something. The perfection of her poise, the beauty of her lines, the +charm of her face seized Carnac, and, with an impulse, he ran his arm +around her waist. + +"Junia--Junia!" he said in a voice of rash, warm feeling. + +She was like a wild bird caught in its flight. A sudden stillness held +her, and then she turned her head towards him, subdued inquiry in her +eyes. For a moment only she looked--and then she said: + +"Take your arm away, please." + +The conviction that he ought not to make any sign of love to her broke +his sudden passion. He drew back ashamed, yet defiant, rebuked, yet +rebellious. It was like a challenge to her. A sarcastic smile crossed +her lips. + +"What a creature of impulses you are, Carnac! When we were children the +day you saved Denzil years ago you flung your arms around me and kissed +me. I didn't understand anything then, and what's more I don't think +you did. You were a wilful, hazardous boy, and went your way taking the +flowers in the garden that didn't belong to you. Yet after all these +years, with an impulse behind which there is nothing--nothing at all, +you repeat that incident." + +Suddenly passion seemed to possess her. "How dare you trifle with things +that mean so much! Have you learned nothing since I saw you last? Can +nothing teach you, Carnac? Can you not learn how to play the big part? +If you weren't grown up, do you know what I would do? I would slap the +face of an insolent, thoughtless, hopeless boy." Then her temper seemed +to pass. She caught up an apple again and thrust it into his hand. "Go +and eat that, Adam. Perhaps it'll make you wise like the old Adam. He +put his faults upon a woman." + +"So do I," said Carnac. "So do I." + +"That's what you would do, but you mustn't play that sort of game with a +good woman." She burst out laughing. "For a man you're a precious fool! +I don't think I want to see you again. You don't improve. You're full of +horrid impulses." Her indignation came back. "How dare you put your arm +around me!" + +"It was the impulse of my heart. I can say no more; if I could I would. +There's something I should like to tell you, but I mustn't." He put the +apple down. + +"About the other woman, I suppose," she said coldly, the hot indignation +gone from her lips. + +He looked her steadfastly in the eyes. "If you won't trust me--if you +won't trust me--" + +"I've always trusted you," she replied, "but I don't trust you now. +Don't you understand that a good girl hates conduct like yours?" + +Suddenly with anger he turned upon her. "Yes, I understand everything, +but you don't understand. Why won't you believe that the reason I won't +tell you my trouble is that it's best you shouldn't know? You're a young +girl; you don't know life; you haven't seen it as I've seen it--in the +sewage, in the ditch, on the road, on the mountain and in the bog. I +want you to keep faith with your old friend who doesn't care what the +rest of the world thinks, but who wants your confidence. Trust me--don't +condemn me. Believe me, I haven't been wanton. Won't you trust me?" + +The spirit of egotism was alive in her. She knew how much she had denied +herself in the past months. She did not know whether she loved him, but +injured pride tortured her. Except in a dance and in sports at a picnic +or recreation-ground no man had ever put his arms around her. No man +except Carnac, and that he had done it was like a lash upon the raw +skinless flesh. If she had been asked by the Almighty whether she loved +Carnac, she would have said she did not know. This was not a matter of +love; but of womanhood, of self-respect, of the pride of one who cannot +ask for herself what she wants in the field of love, who must wait to be +wooed and won. + +"You don't think I'm straight," he said in protest. "You think I'm no +good, that I'm a fraud. You're wrong. Believe me, that is the truth." He +came closer up to her. "Junia, if you'll stand by me, I'm sure I'll come +out right. I've been caught in a mesh I can't untangle yet, but it can +be untangled, and when it is, you shall know everything, because then +you'll understand. I can free myself from the tangle, but it could never +be explained--not so the world would believe. I haven't trifled with +you. I would believe in you even if I saw, or thought I saw, the signs +of wrong in you. I would know that at heart you were good. I put my +faith in you long ago--last year I staked all on your friendship, and I +haven't been deceived." + +He smiled at her, his soul in his eyes. There was truth in his smile, +and she realized it. + +After a moment, she put out a hand and pushed him gently from her. "Go +away, Carnac, please--now," she said softly. + +A moment afterwards he was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. JOHN GRIER MAKES A JOURNEY + +John Grier's business had beaten all past records. Tarboe was +everywhere: on the river, in the saw-mills, in the lumber-yards, in the +office. Health and strength and goodwill were with him, and he had the +confidence of all men in the lumber-world. It was rumoured that he was +a partner of John Grier, and it was a good thing for him as well as +for the business. He was no partner, however; he was on a salary with a +bonus percentage of the profits; but that increased his vigour. + +There were times when he longed for the backwoods life; when the smell +of the pines and the firs and the juniper got into his nostrils; when he +heard, in imagination, the shouts of the river-men as they chopped down +the trees, sawed the boles into standard lengths, and plunged the big +timbers into the stream, or round the fire at night made call upon the +spirit of recreation. In imagination, he felt the timbers creaking +and straining under his feet; he smelt the rich soup from the cook's +caboose; he drank basins of tea from well-polished metal; he saw the +ugly rows in the taverns, where men let loose from river duty tried to +regain civilian life by means of liquor and cards; he heard the stern +thud of a hard fist against a piece of wood; he saw twenty men spring +upon another twenty with rage in their faces; he saw hundreds of men +arrived in civilization once again striking for their homes and +loved ones, storming with life. He saw the door flung open, and the +knee-booted, corduroyed river-man, with red sash around his waist and +gold rings in his ears, seize the woman he called wife and swing her +to him with a hungry joy; he saw the children pushed gently here, or +roughly, but playfully, tossed in the air and caught again; but he also +saw the rough spirits of the river march into their homes like tyrants +returned, as it were, cursing and banging their way back to their +rightful nests. + +Occasionally he would wish to be in it all again, out in the wild woods +and on the river and in the shanty, free and strong and friendly and a +bit ferocious. All he had known of the backwoods life filled his veins, +tortured him at times. + +From the day that both wills were made and signed, no word had been +spoken concerning them between him and John Grier. He admired certain +characteristics of John Grier; some secret charities, some impulsive +generosity, some signs of public spirit. The old man was fond of +animals, and had given water-troughs to the town; and his own horses and +the horses he used in the woods were always well fed. Also, in all his +arrangements for the woods, he was generous. He believed in feeding his +men well. It was rough food--beans, potatoes, peas, lentils, pork in +barrels-salted pork; but there was bread of the best, rich soup, pork +well boiled and fried, with good tea, freshly made. This was the regular +fare, and men throve on it. + +One day, however, shortly after Carnac's return home, there came a +change in the scene. Things had been going badly for a couple of days +and the old man had been seriously overworked. He had not listened to +the warnings of Tarboe, or to the hints thrown out by his own punished +physique. He was not a man to take hints. Everything that vexed his life +roused opposition. This Tarboe knew, but he also knew that the business +must suffer, if the old man suffered. + +When John Grier left the office it was with head bowed and mind +depressed. Nothing had happened to cause him grave anxiety, yet he had +been below par for several hours. Why was he working so hard? Why was +life to him such a concentration? Why did he seek for more money and to +get more power? To whom could it go? Not to Fabian; not to his wife. +To Tarboe--well, there was not enough in that! This man had only lately +come into his life, and was only near to him in a business sense. Carnac +was near in every sense that really mattered, and Carnac was out of it +all. + +He was not loved, and in his heart of hearts he knew it, but he had had +his own way, and he loved himself. No one seemed to care for him, not +even his wife. How many years was it since they had roomed together? +Yet as he went towards his own home now, he recalled the day they were +married, and for the first time had drawn as near to each other as life +could draw. He had thought her wonderful then, refined, and oh! so rich +in life's gifts. His love had almost throttled her. She was warm and +bountiful and full of temperament. So it went for three years, and +then slowly he drew away from her until at last, returning from the +backwoods, he had gone to another room, and there had stayed. Very +occasionally he had smothered her with affection, but that had passed, +until now, middle-aged, she seemed to be not a room away from him, but a +thousand rooms away. He saw it with no reproach to himself. He forgot it +was he who had left her room, and had set up his own tabernacle, because +his hours differed from hers, and because she tossed in her bed at +nights, and that made him restless too. + +Yet, if his love had been the real thing, he would have stayed, because +their lives were so similar, and the rules of domestic life in French +Canada were so fixed. He had spoiled his own household, destroyed his +own peace, forsaken his own nest, outlived his hope and the possibility +of further hope, except more business success, more to leave behind him. + +That was the stern truth. Had he been a different man the devotion +his wife had shown would have drawn him back to her; had she been a +different woman, unvexed by a horrible remembrance, she would have made +his soul her own and her soul his own once again. She had not dared to +tell him the truth; afraid more for her boy's sake than for her own. +She had been glad that Tarboe had helped to replace the broken link +with Fabian, that he had taken the place which Carnac, had he been John +Grier's son, ought to have taken. She could not blame Carnac, and she +could not blame her husband, but the thing ate into her heart. + +John Grier found her sitting by her table in the great living-room, +patient and grave, and yet she smiled at him, and rose as he came into +the room. His troubled face brought her forward quickly. She stretched +out a hand appealingly to him. + +"What's the matter, John? Has anything upset you?" + +"I'm not upset." + +"Yes you are," she urged, "but, yes, you are! Something has gone wrong." + +"Nothing's gone wrong that hasn't been wrong for many a year," he said. + +"What's been wrong for many a year?" + +"The boys you brought into this world--your sons!" he burst out. "Why +isn't Carnac working with me? There must have been something damned bad +in the bringing up of those boys. I've not, got the love of any of you, +and I know it. Why should I be thrown over by every one?" + +"Every one hasn't thrown you over. Mr. Tarboe hasn't. You've been in +great spirits about him. What's the matter?" + +He waved a hand savagely at her, with an almost insane look in his eyes. + +"What's he to me! He's a man of business. In a business way I like him, +but I want my own flesh and blood by me in my business. I wanted Carnac, +and he wouldn't come--a few weeks only he came. I had Fabian, and he +wouldn't stay. If I'd had a real chance--" + +He broke off, with an outward savage protest of his hands, his voice +falling. + +"If you'd had your chance, you'd have made your own home happy," +she said sadly. "That was your first duty, not your business--your +home--your home! You didn't care about it. There were times when for +months you forgot me; and then--then--" + +Suddenly a dreadful suspicion seized his brain. His head bent forward, +his shoulders thrust out, he stumbled towards her. + +"Then--well, what then!" he gasped. "Then--you--forgot--" + +She realized she had gone too far, saw the storm in his mind. + +"No--no--no, I didn't forget you, John. Never--but--" + +She got no farther. Suddenly his hands stretched out as if to seize +her shoulders, his face became tortured--he swayed. She caught him. She +lowered him to the floor, and put a hassock under his head. Then she +rang the bell--rang it--and rang again. + +When help came, all was too late. John Grier had gone for ever. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. THE READING OF THE WILL + +As Tarboe stood in the church alone at the funeral, in a pew behind John +Grier's family, sadness held him. He had known, as no one else knew, +that the business would pass into his own hands. He suddenly felt his +task too big for him, and he looked at Carnac now with sympathy. Carnac +had brains, capacity, could almost take his father's place; he was +tactful, intuitive, alert. Yet Carnac, at present, was out of the +question. He knew the stress of spirit which had turned Carnac from the +opportunity lying at his feet. + +In spite of himself there ran through his mind another thought. Near +by, at the left, dressed in mourning also, was Junia. He had made up +his mind that Junia should be his, and suddenly the usefulness of the +business about to fall into his hands became a weapon in the field of +Love. He was physically a finer man than Carnac; he had capacity; he had +personality; and he would have money and position--for a time at least. +In that time, why should he not win this girl with the wonderful eyes +and hair, with the frankness and candour of unspoiled girlhood in her +face? Presently he would be in the blare of sensation, in the height of +as dramatic an episode as comes to the lives of men; and in the episode +he saw advantages which should weigh with any girl. + +Then had come the reading of the will after the funeral rites were over, +and he, with the family, were gathered in the dining-room of the House +on the Hill. + +He was scarcely ready, however, for the prodigious silence following the +announcement read by the lawyer. He felt as though life was suspended +for many minutes, when it was proclaimed that he, Luke Tarboe, would +inherit the property. Although he knew of the contents of the will his +heart was thumping like a sledge-hammer. + +He looked round the room slowly. The only embarrassment to be seen +was on the faces of Fabian and his wife. Mrs. Grier and Carnac showed +nothing. Carnac did not even move; by neither gesture nor motion of body +did he show aught. At the close of it all, he came to Tarboe and held +out a hand. + +"Good luck to you, Tarboe!" he said. "You'll make a success, and that's +what he wanted more than anything else. Good luck to you!" he said again +and turned away.... + +When John Grier's will was published in the Press consternation filled +the minds of all. Tarboe had been in the business for under two years, +yet here he was left all the property with uncontracted power. Mrs. John +Grier was to be paid during her life a yearly stipend of twenty thousand +dollars from the business; she also received a grant of seventy thousand +dollars. Beyond that, there were a few gifts to hospitals and for the +protection of horses, while to the clergyman of the parish went one +thousand dollars. It certainly could not be called a popular will, and, +complimentary as the newspapers were to the energy and success of John +Grier, few of them called him public-spirited, or a generous-hearted +citizen. In his death he paid the price of his egotism. + +The most surprised person, however, was Junia Shale. + +To her it was shameful that Carnac should be eliminated from all share +in the abundant fortune John Grier had built up. It seemed fantastic +that the fortune and the business--and the business was the +fortune--should be left to Tarboe. Had she known the contents of the +will before John Grier was buried, she would not have gone to the +funeral. Egotistic she had known Grier to be, and she imagined the will +to be a sudden result of anger. He was dead and buried. The places +that knew him knew him no more. All in an hour, as it were, the man +Tarboe--that dominant, resourceful figure--had come into wealth and +power. + +After Junia read the substance of the will, she went springing up the +mountain-side, as it were to work off her excitement by fatigue. At the +mountain-top she gazed over the River St. Lawrence with an eye blind +to all except this terrible distortion of life. Yet through her +obfuscation, there ran admiration for Tarboe. What a man he was! He +had captured John Grier as quickly and as securely as a night fisherman +spears a sturgeon in the flare at the bow of the boat. Tarboe's ability +was as marked as John Grier's mad policy. It was strange that Tarboe +should have bewildered and bamboozled--if that word could be used--the +old millowner. It was as curious and thrilling as John Grier's +fanaticism. + +Already the pinch of corruption had nipped his flesh; he was useless, +motionless in his narrow house, and yet, unseen but powerful, his +influence went on. It shamed a wife and son; it blackened the doors of a +home; it penalized a family. + +Indeed he had been a bad man, and yet she could not reconcile it all +with a wonderful something in him, a boldness, a sense of humour, +an everlasting energy, an electric power. She had never seen anyone +vitalize everything round him as John Grier had done. He threw things +from him like an exasperated giant; he drew things to him like an Angel +of the Covenant. To him life was less a problem than an experiment, and +this last act, this nameless repudiation of the laws of family life, was +like the sign of a chemist's activity. As she stood on the mountain-top +her breath suddenly came fast, and she caught her bosom with angry +hands. + +"Carnac--poor Carnac!" she exclaimed. + +What would the world say? There were those, perhaps, who thought Carnac +almost a ne'er-do-well, but they were of the commercial world where John +Grier had been supreme. + +At the same moment, Carnac in the garden of his old home beheld the +river too and the great expanse of country, saw the grey light of +evening on the distant hills, and listened to Fabian who condoled with +him. When Fabian had gone, Carnac sat down on a bench and thought over +the whole thing. Carnac had no quarrel with his fate. When in the old +home on the hill he had heard the will, it had surprised him, but it had +not shocked him. He had looked to be the discarded heir, and he knew +it now without rebellion. He had never tried to smooth the path to that +financial security which his father could give. Yet now that disaster +had come, there was a glimmer of remorse, of revolt, because there was +some one besides himself who might think he had thrown away his chances. +He did not know that over on the mountain-side, vituperating the memory +of the dead man, Junia was angry only for Carnac's sake. + +With the black storm of sudden death roaring in his ears, he had a sense +of freedom, almost of licence. Nothing that had been his father's was +now his own, or his mother's, except the land and house on which they +were. All the great business John Grier had built up was gone into the +hands of the usurper, a young, bold, pestilent, powerful, vigorous man. +It seemed suddenly horrible that the timber-yards and the woods and the +offices, and the buildings of John Grier's commercial business were not +under his own direction, or that of his mother, or brother. They +had ceased to be factors in the equation; they were 'non est' in the +postmortem history of John Grier. How immense a nerve the old man had to +make such a will, which outraged every convention of social and family +life; which was, in effect, a proclamation that his son Carnac had no +place in John Grier's scheme of things, while John Grier's wife was +rewarded like some faithful old servant. Yet some newspapers had said he +was a man of goodwill, and had appreciation of talent, adding, however, +the doubtful suggestion that the appreciation stopped short of the +prowess of his son Carnac in the field of Art. It was evident John +Grier's act was thought by the conventionalist to be a wicked blunder. + +As Carnac saw the world where there was not a single material thing that +belonged to him, he had a sudden conviction that his life would run in +other lines than those within which it had been drawn to the present +time. Looking over this wonderful prospect of the St. Lawrence, he had +an insistent feeling that he ought to remain in the land where he was +born, and give of whatever he was capable to its life. It was all a +strenuous problem. For Carnac there was, duly or unduly, fairly or +unfairly, a fate better than that of John Grier. If he died suddenly, +as his father had died, a handful of people would sorrow with excess of +feeling, and the growing world of his patrons would lament his loss. +No one really grieved for John Grier's departure, except--strange to +say--Tarboe. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. A GREAT DECISION + +Months went by. In them Destiny made new drawings. With his mother, +Carnac went to paint at a place called Charlemont. Tarboe pursued his +work at the mills successfully; Junia saw nothing of Carnac, but she +had a letter from him, and it might have been written by a man to his +friend, yet with an undercurrent of sadness that troubled her. + +She might, perhaps, have yielded to the attentions of Tarboe, had not an +appealing message come from her aunt, and at an hour's notice went West +again on her mission of sick-service. + +Politically the Province of Quebec was in turmoil. The time was drawing +near when the Dominion Government must go to the polls, and in the most +secluded cottage on the St. Lawrence, the virtues and defects of the +administration were vital questions. Voters knew as much of technical +law-making as the average voter everywhere, but no more, and sometimes +less. Yet there was in the mind of the French-Canadian an intuition, +which was as valuable as the deeper knowledge of a trained politician. +The two great parties in the Province were led by Frenchmen. The English +people, however, were chiefly identified with the party opposed to +Barode Barouche, the Secretary of State. + +As the agitation began in the late spring, Carnac became suddenly +interested in everything political. + +He realized what John Grier had said concerning politics--that, given +other characteristics, the making of laws meant success or failure for +every profession or trade, for every interest in the country. He had +known a few politicians; though he had never yet met the most dominant +figure in the Province--Barode Barouche, who had a singular fascination +for him. He seemed a man dominant and plausible, with a right-minded +impulsiveness. Things John Grier had said about Barouche rang in his +ears. + +As the autumn drew near excitement increased. Political meetings were +being held everywhere. There was one feature more common in Canada than +in any other country; opposing candidates met on the same platform and +fought their fight out in the hearing of those whom they were wooing. +One day Carnac read in a newspaper that Barode Barouche was to speak at +St. Annabel. As that was not far from Charlemont he determined to +hear Barouche for the first time. He had for him a sympathy which, to +himself, seemed a matter of temperament. + +"Mother," he said, "wouldn't you like to go and hear Barode Barouche at +St. Annabel? You know him--I mean personally?" + +"Yes, I knew him long ago," was the scarcely vocal reply. + +"He's a great, fine man, isn't he? Wrong-headed, wrong-purposed, but a +big fine fellow." + +"If a man is wrong-headed and wrong-purposed, it isn't easy for him to +be fine, is it?" + +"That depends. A man might want to save his country by making some good +law, and be mistaken both as to the result of that law and the right +methods in making it. I'd like you to be with me when I hear him for the +first time. I've got a feeling he's one of the biggest men of our day. +Of course he isn't perfect. A man might want to save another's life, +but he might choose the wrong way to do it, and that's wrongheaded; and +perhaps he oughtn't to save the man's life, and that's wrong-purposed. +There's no crime in either. Let's go and hear Monsieur Barouche." + +He did not see the flush which suddenly filled her face; and, if he had, +he would not have understood. For her a long twenty-seven years rolled +back to the day when she was a young neglected wife, full of life's +vitalities, out on a junction of the river and the wild woods, with +Barode Barouche's fishing-camp near by. She shivered now as she thought +of it. It was all so strange, and heart-breaking. For long years she +had paid the price of her mistake. She knew how eloquent Barode Barouche +could be; she knew how his voice had all the ravishment of silver bells +to the unsuspecting. How well she knew him; how deeply she realized the +darkness of his nature! Once she had said to him: + +"Sometimes I think that for duty's sake you would cling like a leech." + +It was true. For thirty long years he had been in one sense homeless, +his wife having lost her reason three years after they were married. In +that time he had faithfully visited the place of her confinement every +month of his life, sobered, chastened, at first hopeful, defiant. At the +bottom of his heart Barode Barouche did not want marital freedom. He had +loved the mad woman. He remembered her in the glory of her youth, in the +splendour of her beauty. The insane asylum did not destroy his memory. + +Mrs. Grier remembered too, but in a different way. Her relations with +him had been one swift, absorbing fever--a mad dream, a moment of rash +impulse, a yielding to the natural feeling which her own husband had +aroused: the husband who now neglected her while Barode Barouche treated +her so well, until a day when under his beguilement a stormy impulse +gave--Carnac. Then the end came, instant and final; she bolted, barred +and locked the door against Barode and he had made little effort to open +it. So they had parted, and had never clasped hands or kissed again. To +him she was a sin of which he never repented. He had watched the growth +and development of Carnac with a sharp sympathy. He was not a good man; +but in him were seeds of goodness. To her he was the lash searing her +flesh, day in day out, year in year out, which kept her sacred to her +home. For her children's sake she did not tell her husband, and she had +emptied out her heart over Carnac with overwhelming fondness. + +"Yes, I'll go, Carnac," she said at last, for it seemed the easier way. +"I haven't been to a political meeting for many years." + +"That's right. I like your being with me." + +The meeting was held in what had been a skating-rink and drill-hall. On +the platform in the centre was the chairman, with Barode Barouche on +his right. There was some preliminary speech-making from the chairman. +A resolution was moved supporting Barouche, his party and policy, and +there were little explosions of merriment at strokes of unconscious +humour made by the speakers; and especially by one old farmer who made +his jokes on the spot, and who now tried to embalm Barouche with praise. +He drew attention to Barouche's leonine head and beard, to his alert +eyes and quizzical face, and said he was as strong in the field of +legislation as he was in body and mind. Carnac noticed that Barouche +listened good-naturedly, and now and then cocked his head and looked up +at the ceiling as though to find something there. + +There was a curious familiarity in the action of the head which struck +Carnac. He and his mother were seated about five rows back from +the front row on the edge of the aisle. As the meeting progressed, +Barouche's eyes wandered slowly over the faces of his audience. +Presently he saw Carnac and his mother. Mrs. Grier was conscious of a +shock upon the mind of Barouche. She saw his eyes go misty with feeling. +For him the world was suddenly shut out, and he only saw the woods of +a late summer's afternoon, a lonely tent--and a woman. A flush crept up +his face. Then he made a spasmodic gesture of the hand, outward, which +again Carnac recognized as familiar. It was the kind of thing he did +himself. + +So absorbed was Barode Barouche that he only mechanically heard the +chairman announce himself, but when he got to his feet his full senses +came back. The sight of the woman to whom he had been so much, and who +had been so much to him for one short month, magnetized him; the face of +the boy, so like his own as he remembered it thirty years ago, stirred +his veins. There before him was his own one unacknowledged child--the +only child ever born to him. His heart throbbed. Then he began to speak. +Never in all his life had he spoken as he did this day. It was only +a rural audience; there was not much intelligence in it; but it had a +character all its own. It was alive to its own interests, chiefly of +agriculture and the river. It was composed of both parties, and he could +stimulate his own side, and, perhaps, win the other. + +Thus it was that, with the blood pounding through his veins, the +inspired sensualist began his speech. It was his duty to map out a +policy for the future; to give the people an idea of what his party +meant to do; to guide, to inspire, to inflame. + +As Carnac listened he kept framing the words not yet issued, but which +did issue from Barouche's mouth; his quick intelligence correctly +imagined the line Barouche would take; again and again Barouche made a +gesture, or tossed his head, or swung upon his feet to right and left +in harmony with Carnac's own mind. Carnac would say to himself: "Why, +that's what I'd have done--that's what I'd have said, if I had his +policy." More than once, in some inspired moment of the speech, he +caught his mother's hand, and he did not notice that her hand trembled. + +But as for one of Barouche's chapter of policy Carnac almost sprang to +his feet in protest when Barouche declared it. To Carnac it seemed fatal +to French Canada, though it was expounded with a taking air; yet as he +himself had said it was "wrong-headed and wrong-purposed." + +When the speech had finished to great cheering, Carnac suddenly turned +to his mother: + +"He's on the wrong track. I know the policy to down his. He's got no +opponent. I'm going to stand against him at the polls." + +She clutched his arm. "Carnac--Carnac! You don't know what you're +doing." + +"Well, I will pretty quick," he replied stoutly. "I'm out after him, if +they'll have me." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. CARNAC BECOMES A CANDIDATE + +That night Carnac mapped out his course, carefully framed the policy to +offset that of Barode Barouche, and wrote a letter to the Chairman of +the Opposition at Montreal offering to stand, and putting forward an +ingenious policy. He asked also for an interview; and the interview was +granted by telegram--almost to his surprise. He was aware, however, of +the discontent among the English members of the Opposition, and of the +wish of the French members to find a good compromise. + +He had a hope that his singular position--the notoriety which his +father's death and his own financial disfranchisement had caused--would +be a fine card in his favour. He was not mistaken. His letter arrived +at Headquarters when there were difficulties concerning three candidates +who were pressing their claims. Carnac Grier, the disinherited son of +the great lumber-king, who had fame as an artist, spoke French as +though it were his native tongue, was an element of sensation which, if +adroitly used, could be of great service. It might even defeat +Barode Barouche. In the first place, Carnac was young, good-looking, +personable, and taking in his manner. Barouche was old, experienced, +with hosts of enemies and many friends, but with injurious egotism. An +interview was, therefore, arranged at Headquarters. + +On the morning of the day it took place, Carnac's anguished mother went +with him to the little railway station of Charlemont. She had slept +little the night before; her mind was in an eddy of emotions. It seemed +dreadful that Carnac should fight his own father, repeating what Fabian +had done in another way. Yet at the bottom of her heart there was a +secret joy. Some native revolt in her had joy in the thought that the +son might extort a price for her long sorrow and his unknown disgrace. + +As she had listened to Barouche at the meeting, she realized how sincere +yet insincere he was; how gifted and yet how ungracious was his mind. +Her youth was over; long pain and regret had chastened her. She was as +lonely a creature as ever the world knew; violence was no part of her +equipment; and yet terrible memories made her assent to this new phase +of Carnac's life. She wondered what Barouche would think. There was some +ancient touch of war in her which made her rejoice that after long years +the hammer should strike. + +Somehow the thing's tremendous possibilities thrilled her. Carnac had +always been a politician--always. She remembered how, when he was a boy, +he had argued with John Grier on national matters, laid down the law +with the assurance of an undergraduate, and invented theories impossible +of public acceptance. Yet in every stand he had taken, there had been +thought, logic and reasoning, wrongly premised, but always based on +principles. On paper he was generally right; in practice, generally +wrong. His buoyant devotion to an idea was an inspiration and a tonic. +The curious thing was that, while still this political matter was +hanging fire, he painted with elation. + +His mother knew he did not see the thousand little things which made +public life so wearying; that he only realized the big elements of +national policy. She understood how those big things would inspire the +artist in him. For, after all, there was the spirit of Art in framing a +great policy which would benefit millions in the present and countless +millions in the future. So, at the railway station, as they waited for +the train, with an agitation outwardly controlled, she said: + +"The men who have fought before, will want to stand, so don't be +surprised if--" + +"If they reject me, mother?" interrupted Carnac. "No, I shan't be +surprised, but I feel in my bones that I'm going to fight Barode +Barouche into the last corner of the corral." + +"Don't be too sure of that, my son. Won't the thing that prevents your +marrying Junia be a danger in this, if you go on?" + +Sullen tragedy came into his face, his lips set. The sudden paleness of +his cheek, however, was lost in a smile. + +"Yes, I've thought of that; but if it has to come, better it should come +now than later. If the truth must be told, I'll tell it--yes, I'll tell +it!" + +"Be bold, but not reckless, Carnac," his mother urged. + +Just then the whistling train approached. She longed to put a hand +out and hold him back, and yet she ached to let him go. Yet as Carnac +mounted the steps of the car, a cry went out from her heart: "My son, +stay with me here--don't go." That was only in her heart, however; with +her lips she said: "Good luck! God bless you, Carnac!" and then the +train rolled away, leaving her alone in the bright, bountiful morning. + +Before the day was done, Headquarters had accepted Carnac, in part, as +the solution of their own difficult problem. The three applicants for +the post each hated the other; but all, before the day was over, agreed +to Carnac as an effective opponent of Barouche. + +One thing seemed clear--Carnac's policy had elements of seduction +appealing to the selfishness of all sections, and he had an eloquence +which would make Barouche uneasy. That eloquence was shown in a speech +Carnac made in the late evening to the assembled executive. He spoke for +only a quarter of an hour, but it was long enough to leave upon all +who heard him an impression of power, pertinacity, picturesqueness and +appeal. He might make mistakes, but he had qualities which would ride +over errors with success. + +"I'm not French," he said at last in his speech, "but I used to think +and write in French as though I'd been born in Normandy. I'm English +by birth and breeding, but I've always gone to French schools and to +a French University, and I know what New France means. I stand to my +English origin, but I want to see the French develop here as they've +developed in France, alive to all new ideas, dreaming good dreams. I +believe that Frenchmen in Canada can, and should, be an inspiration to +the whole population. Their great qualities should be the fibre in the +body of public opinion. I will not pander to the French; I will not +be the slave of the English; I will be free, and I hope I shall be +successful at the polls." + +This was a small part of the speech which caused much enthusiasm, +and was the beginning of a movement, powerful, and as time went on, +impetuous. + +He went to bed with the blood of battle throbbing in his veins. In +the morning he had a reasonable joy in seeing the headlines of his +candidature in the papers. + +At first he was almost appalled, for never since life began had his +personality been so displayed. It seemed absurd that before he had +struck a blow he should be advertised like a general in the field. +Yet common sense told him that in standing against Barouche, he became +important in the eyes of those affected by Barouche's policy. He had had +luck, and it was for him to justify that luck. Could he do it? His first +thought, however, as his eyes fell on the headlines--he flushed with +elation so that he scarcely saw--was for the thing itself. Before him +there flashed a face, however, which at once sobered his exaltation. It +was the face of Junia. + +"I wonder what she will think," he said to himself, with a little +perplexity. + +He knew in his heart of hearts she would not think it incongruous that +he, an artist, should become a politician. Good laws served to make life +beautiful, good pictures ministered to beauty; good laws helped to tell +the story of human development; good sculpture strengthened the soul; +good laws made life's conveniences greater, enlarged activity, lessened +the friction of things not yet adjusted; good laws taught their +framers how to balance things, how to make new principles apply without +disturbing old rights; good pictures increased the well-balanced harmony +of the mind of the people. Junia would understand these things. As he +sat at his breakfast, with the newspaper spread against the teapot and +the milk-pitcher, he felt satisfied he had done the bold and right, if +incomprehensible, thing. + +But in another hotel, at another breakfast, another man read of Carnac's +candidature with sickening surprise. It was Barode Barouche. + +So, after twenty-seven long years, this was to be the issue! His own +son, whom he had never known, was to fight him at the polls! Somehow, +the day when he had seen Carnac and his mother at the political meeting +had given him new emotions. His wife, to whom he had been so faithful in +one sense since she had passed into the asylum, had died, and with her +going, a new field of life seemed to open up to him. She had died +almost on the same day as John Grier. She had been buried secludedly, +piteously, and he had gone back to his office with the thought that life +had become a preposterous freedom. + +So it was that, on the day when he spoke at the political meeting, his +life's tragedy became a hammer beating every nerve into emotion. He was +like one shipwrecked who strikes out with a swimmer's will to reach his +goal. All at once, on the platform, as he spoke, when his eyes saw the +faces of Carnac and his mother the catastrophe stunned him like a huge +engine of war. There had come to him at last a sense of duty where +Alma Grier was concerned. She was nearly fifty years of age, and he was +fifty-nine; she was a widow with this world's goods; she had been to him +how near and dear! for a brief hour, and then--no more. He knew the boy +was his son, because he saw his own face, as it had been in his youth, +though his mother's look was also there-transforming, illumining. + +He had a pang as he saw the two at the close of his meeting filtering +out into the great retort of the world. Then it was that he had the +impulse to go to the woman's home, express his sorrow, and in some small +sense wipe out his wrong by offering her marriage. He had not gone. + +He knew of Carnac's success in the world of Art; and how he had +alienated his reputed father by an independence revolting to a slave of +convention. He had even bought, not from Carnac, but from a dealer, two +of Carnac's pictures and a statue of a riverman. Somehow the years +had had their way with him. He had at long last realized that material +things were not the great things of life, and that imagination, however +productive, should be guided by uprightness of soul. + +One thing was sure, the boy had never been told who his father was. That +Barouche knew. He had the useful gift of reading the minds of people in +their faces. From Carnac's face, from Carnac's mother's face, had come +to him the real story. He knew that Alma Grier had sinned only once and +with him. In the first days after that ill-starred month, he had gone +to her, only to be repelled as a woman can repel whose soul has been +shocked, whose self-respect has been shamed. + +It had been as though she thrust out arms of infinite length to push him +away, such had been the storm of her remorse, such the revulsion against +herself and him. So they had fallen apart, and he had seen his boy +grow up independent, original, wilful, capable--a genius. He read +the newspaper reports of what had happened the day before with senses +greatly alive. + +After all, politics was unlike everything else. It was a profession +recruited from all others. The making of laws was done by all kinds of +men. One of the wisest advisers in river-law he had ever known was +a priest; one of the best friends of the legislation of the medical +profession was a woman; one of the bravest Ministers who had ever +quarrelled with and conquered his colleagues had been an insurance +agent; one of the sanest authorities on maritime law had been a man with +a greater pride in his verses than in his practical capacity; and here +was Carnac, who had painted pictures and made statues, plunging into +politics with a policy as ingenious as his own, and as capable of +logical presentation. This boy, who was bone of his bone and flesh of +his flesh, meant to fight him. He threw back his head and laughed. His +boy, his son, meant to fight him, did he? Well, so be it! He got to his +feet, and walked up and down the room. + +"God, what an issue this!" he said. "It would be terrific, if he won. To +wipe me out of the life where I have flourished--what a triumph for him! +And he would not know how great the triumph would be. She has not told +him. Yet she will urge him on. Suppose it was she put the idea into his +head!" + +Then he threw back his head, shaking the long brown hair, browner than +Carnac's, from his forehead. "Suppose she did this thing--she who was +all mine for one brief moment! Suppose she--" + +Every nerve tingled; every drop of blood beat hard against his walls of +flesh; his every vicious element sprang into life. + +"But no--but no, she would not do it. She would not teach her son to +destroy his own father. But something must have told him to come and +listen to me, to challenge me in his own mind, and then--then this +thing!" + +He stared at the paper, leaning over the table, as though it were a +document of terror. + +"I must go on: I must uphold the policy for which I've got the assent of +the Government." Suddenly his hands clenched. "I will beat him. He shall +not bring me to the dust. I gave him life, and he shall not take my life +from me. He's at the beginning; I'm going towards the end. I wronged +his mother--yes, I wronged him too! I wronged them both, but he does not +know he's wronged. He'll live his own life; he has lived it--" + +There came a tap at the door. Presently it opened and a servant came in. +He had in his hand a half-dozen telegrams. + +"All about the man that's going to fight you, I expect, m'sieu'," said +the servant as he handed the telegrams. + +Barode Barouche did not reply, but nodded a little scornfully. + +"A woman has called," continued the servant. "She wants to see you, +m'sieu'. It's very important, she says." + +Barouche shook his head in negation. "No, Gaspard." + +"It ain't one of the usual kind, I think, m'sieu'," protested Gaspard. +"It's about the election. It's got something to do with that--" he +pointed to the newspaper propped against the teapot. + +"It's about that, is it? Well, what about that?" He eyed the servant as +though to see whether the woman had given any information. + +"I don't know. She didn't tell me. She's got a mind of her own. She's +even handsome, and she's well-dressed. All she said was: 'Tell m'sieu' I +want to see him. It's about the election-about Mr. Grier.'" + +Barode Barouche's heart stopped. Something about Carnac Grier--something +about the election--and a woman! He kept a hand on himself. It must not +be seen that he was in any way moved. + +"Is she English?" + +"She's French, m'sieu'." + +"You think I ought to see her, Gaspard?" said Barouche. + +"Sure," was the confident reply. "I guess she's out against whoever's +against you." + +"You never saw her before." + +"Not to my sense." + +"But I haven't finished my breakfast." + +"Well, if it's anything important that'll help you, m'sieu'. It's like +whittling. If you can do things with your hands while you're talking and +thinking, it's a great help. You go on eating. I'll show her up!" + +Barouche smiled maliciously. "Well, show her up, Gaspard." + +The servant laughed. "Perhaps she'll show herself up after I show her +in," he said, and he went out hastily. + +Presently the door opened again, and Gaspard stepped inside. + +"A lady to see you, m'sieu'," he said. + +Barouche rose from the table, but he did not hold out his hand. The +woman was young, good looking, she seemed intelligent. There was also +a latent cruelty in her face which only a student of human nature could +have seen quickly. She was a woman with a grievance--that was sure. +He knew the passionate excitement, fairly well controlled; he saw her +bitterness at a glance. He motioned her to a chair. + +"It's an early call," he said with a smile. Smiling was one of his +serviceable assets; it was said no man could so palaver the public with +his cheerful goodnature. + +"Yes, it's an early call," she replied, "but I wish not to wait till you +go to your office. I wanted you to know something. It has to do with Mr. +Carnac Grier." + +"Oh, that--eh!" + +"It's something you've got to know. If I give you the sure means to win +your election, it would be worth while--eh?" + +The beating of Barouche's heart was hard, but nothing showed in his +face. There he had control. + +"I like people who know their own minds," he said, "but I don't believe +anything till I study what I hear. Is it something to injure Mr. Grier?" + +"If a married man went about as a single man and stood up for Parliament +against you, don't you think you could spoil him?" + +For a moment Barouche was silent. Here was an impeachment of his own +son, but this son was out to bring his own father to the ground. There +were two ways to look at it. There was the son's point of view, and +there was his own. If he loved his son he ought to know the thing +that threatened him; if he hated his son he ought to know. So, after +a moment's study of the face with the fiery eyes and a complexion like +roses touched with frost, he said slowly: + +"Well, have I the honour of addressing Carnac Grier's wife?" + +Barouche had had many rewards in his life, but the sweetest reward of +all was now his own. As events proved, he had taken a course which, if +he cared for his son, was for that son's well-being, and if he cared for +himself most, was essential to his own well-being. + +Relief crossed the woman's face. "I'll tell you everything," she said. + +Then Luzanne told her story, avoiding the fact that Carnac had been +tricked into the marriage. At last she said: "Now I've come here to make +him acknowledge me. He's ruined my life, broken my hopes, and--" + +"Broken your hopes!" interrupted Barode Barouche. "How is that?" + +"I might have married some one else. I could have married some one +else." + +"Well, why don't you? There's the Divorce Court. What's to prevent it?" + +"You ask me that--you a Frenchman and a Roman Catholic! I'm French. I +was born in Paris." + +"When will you let me see your papers?" + +"When do you want to see them?" + +"To-day-if possible to-day," he answered. Then he held her eyes. "To +whom else here have you told this story?" + +"No one--no one. I only came last night, and when I took up the paper +this morning, I saw. Then I found out where you lived, and here I am, +bien sur. I'm here under my maiden name, Ma'm'selle Luzanne Larue." + +"That's right. That's right. Now, until we meet again, don't speak of +this to anyone. Will you give me your word?" + +"Absolutely," she said, and there was revenge and passion in her eyes. +Suddenly a strange expression crept over her face. She was puzzled. + +"There's something of him about you," she said, and her forehead +gathered. "There's some look! Well, there it is, but it's something--I +don't know what." + +A moment later she was gone. As the door closed, he stretched his hands +above his head. + +"Nom de Dieu, what a situation!" he remarked. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. JUNIA AND TARBOE HEAR THE NEWS + +To most people Carnac's candidature was a surprise; to some it was a +bewilderment, and to one or two it was a shock. To the second class +belonged Fabian Grier and his wife; to the third class belonged Luke +Tarboe. Only one person seemed to understand it--by intuition: Junia. + +Somehow, nothing Carnac did changed Junia's views of him, or surprised +her, though he made her indignant often enough. To her mind, however, +in the big things, his actions always had reasonableness. She had +never felt his artist-life was to be the only note of his career. When, +therefore, in the West she read a telegram in a newspaper announcing his +candidature, she guessed the suddenness of his decision. When she read +it, she spread the paper on the table, smoothed it as though it were +a beautiful piece of linen, then she stretched out her hands in happy +benediction. Like most of her sex, she loved the thrill of warfare. +There flashed the feeling, however, that it would be finer sport if +Carnac and Tarboe were to be at war, instead of Carnac and Barouche. It +was curious she never thought of Carnac but the other man came throbbing +into sight--the millionaire, for he was that now. + +In one way, this last move of Carnac's had the elements of a +master-stroke. She knew how strange it would seem to the rest of the +world, yet it did not seem strange to her. No man she had ever seen had +been so at home in the world of men, and also at home in the secluded +field of the chisel and the brush as Carnac. + +She took the newspaper over to her aunt, holding it up. The big +headlines showed like semaphores on the page. As the graceful figure +of Junia drew to her aunt--her slim feet, in the brown, well-polished +boots, the long, full neck, and then the chin, Grecian, shapely and +firm, the straight, sensitive nose, the wonderful eyes under the +well-cut, broad forehead, with the brown hair, covering it like a +canopy--the old lady reached out and wound her arms round the lissome +figure. Situated so, she read the telegram, and then the old arms +gripped her tighter. + +Presently, the whistle of a train sounded. The aunt stretched out an +approving finger to the sound. She realized that the figure round +which her arms hung trembled, for it was the "through" daily train for +Montreal. + +"I'm going back at once, aunty," Junia said. + + .......................... + +"Well, I'm jiggered!" + +These were Tarboe's words when Carnac's candidature came first to him in +the press. + +"He's 'broke' out in a new place," he added. + +Tarboe loved the spectacular, and this was indeed spectacular. Yet he +had not the mental vision of Junia who saw how close, in one intimate +sense, was the relation between the artist life and the political life. +To him it was a gigantic break from a green pasture into a red field +of war. To her, it was a resolution which, in anyone else's life, would +have seemed abnormal; in Carnac's life it had naturalness. + +Tarboe had been for a few months only the reputed owner of the great +business, and he had paid a big price for his headship in the weighty +responsibility, the strain of control; but it had got into his blood, +and he felt life would not be easy without it now. + +Besides, there was Junia. To him she was the one being in the world +worth struggling for; the bird to be caught on the wing, or coaxed into +the nest, or snared into the net; and two of the three things he had +tried without avail. The third--the snaring? He would not stop at that, +if it would bring him what he wanted. How to snare her! He surveyed +himself in the mirror. + +"A great hulking figure like that!" he said in disapproval. "All bone +and muscle and flesh and physical show! It wouldn't weigh with her. +She's too fine. It isn't the animal in a man she likes. It's what he can +do, and what he is, and where he's going." + +Then he thought of Carnac's new outburst, and his veins ran cold. +"She'll like that--but yes, she'll like that: and if he succeeds she'll +think he's great. Well, she'd be right. He'll beat Barouche. He's young +and brave, careless and daring. Now where am I in this fight? I belong +to Barouche's party and my vote ought to go for him." + +For some minutes he sat in profound thought. What part should he play? +He liked Carnac, he owed him a debt which he could never repay. Carnac +had saved him from killing Denzil. If that had happened, he himself +might have gone to the gallows. + +He decided. Sitting down, he wrote Carnac the following letter: + + DEAR CARNAC GRIER, + + I see you're beginning a new work. You now belong to a party that I + am opposed to, but that doesn't stop me offering you support. It's + not your general policy, but it is you, the son of your father, that + I mean to work for. If you want financial help for your campaign-- + or after it is over--come and get it here--ten thousand or more if + you wish. Your father, if he knew--and perhaps he does know--would + be pleased that you, who could not be a man of business in his + world, are become a man of business in the bigger world of law- + making. You may be right or wrong in that policy, but that don't + weigh with me. You've taken on as big a job as ever your father + did. What's the use of working if you don't try to do the big thing + that means a lot to people outside yourself! If you make new good + laws, if you do something for the world that's wonderful, it's as + much as your father did, or, if he was alive, could do now. + Whatever there is here is yours to use. When you come back here to + play your part, you'll make it a success--the whole blessed thing. + I don't wish you were here now, except that it's yours--all of it-- + but I wish you to beat Barode Barouche. + + Yours to the knife, + + LUKE TARBOE. + +He read the letter through, and coming to the words, "When you come +back here to play your part, you'll make it a success--the whole blessed +thing," he paused, reflecting... He wondered what Carnac would think the +words meant, and he felt it was bold, and, maybe, dangerous play; but +it was not more dangerous than facts he had dealt with often in the last +two years. He would let it stand, that phrase of the hidden meaning. He +did not post the letter yet. + +Four days later he put on his wide-brimmed panama hat and went out into +the street leading to the centre of the city. There was trouble in the +river reaches between his men and those of Belloc-Grier, and he was +keeping an appointment with Belloc at Fabian Grier's office, where +several such meetings had taken place. + +He had not gone far, however, when he saw a sprightly figure in +light-brown linen cutting into his street from a cross-road. He had not +seen that figure for months-scarcely since John Grier's death, and his +heart thumped in his breast. It was Junia. How would she greet him? + +A moment later he met her. Raising his hat, he said: "Back to the +firing-line, Miss Shale! It'll make a big difference to every one +concerned." + +"Are you then concerned?" she asked, with a faint smile. + +"One of the most concerned," he answered with a smile not so composed as +her own. "It's the honour of the name that's at stake." + +"You want to ruin Mr. Grier's chances in the fight?" + +"I didn't say that. I said, 'the honour of the name,' and the name of my +firm is 'Grier's Company of Lumbermen.' So I'm in it with all my might, +and here's a letter--I haven't posted it yet--saying to Carnac Grier +where I stand. Will you read it? There's no reason why you shouldn't." +He tore open the envelope and took the letter out. + +Junia took it, after hesitation, and read it till she came to the +sentence about Carnac returning to the business. She looked up, +startled. + +"What does that mean?" she asked, pointing to the elusive sentence. + +"He might want to come into the business some day, and I'll give him his +chance. Nothing more than that." + +"Nothing more than that!" she said cynically. "It's bravely said, but +how can he be a partner if he can't buy the shares?" + +"That's a matter to be thought out," he answered with a queer twist to +his mouth. + +"I see you've offered to help him with cash for the election," she said, +handing back the letter. + +"I felt it had to be done. Politics are expensive they sap the purse. +That's why." + +"You never thought of giving him an income which would compensate a +little for what his father failed to do for him?" + +There was asperity in her tone. + +"He wouldn't take from me what his father didn't give him." Suddenly an +idea seized him. "Look here," he said, "you're a friend of the Griers, +why don't you help keep things straight between the two concerns? You +could do it. You have the art of getting your own way. I've noticed +that." + +"So you'd like me to persuade Fabian Grier to influence Belloc, because +I'd make things easy for you!" she said briskly. "Do you forget I've +known Fabian since I was a baby, that my sister is his wife, and that +his interests are near to me?" + +He did not knuckle down. "I think it would be helping Fabian's +interests. Belloc and Fabian Grier are generally in the wrong, and to +keep them right would be good business-policy. When I've trouble with +Belloc's firm it's because they act like dogs in the manger. They seem +to hate me to live." + +She laughed--a buoyant, scornful laugh. "So all the fault is in Belloc +and Fabian, is it?" She was impressed enormously by his sangfroid and +will to rule the roost. "I think you're clever, and that you've got +plenty of horse-sense, as they say in the West, but you'll be beaten in +the end. How does it feel"--she asked it with provoking candour--"to be +the boss of big things?" + +"I know I'm always settling troubles my business foes make for me. I +have to settle one of them now, and I'm glad I've met you, for you can +help me. I want some new river-rules made. If Belloc and Grier'll agree +to them, we'll do away with this constant trouble between our gangs." + +"And you'd like me to help you?" + +He smiled a big riverman's smile down at her, full of good-humour and +audacity. + +"If you could make it clear to Fabian that all I'm after is peace on the +river, it'd do a lot of good." + +"Well, do you know," she said demurely, "I don't think I'll take a hand +in this game, chiefly because--" she paused. + +"Yes: chiefly because--" + +"Because you'll get your own way without help. You get everything you +want," she added with a little savage comment. + +A flood of feeling came into his eyes, his head jerked like that of a +bull-moose. "No, I don't get everything I want. The thing I want most in +the world doesn't come to me." His voice grew emotional. She knew what +he was trying to say, and as the idea was not new she kept composure. +"I'm not as lucky as you think me," he added. + +"You're pretty lucky. You've done it all as easy as clasping your +fingers. If I had your luck--!" she paused. + +"I don't know about that, but if I could reach out and touch you at any +time, as it were, I think it'd bring me permanent good luck. You'll find +out one day that my luck is only a bubble the prick of a pin'll destroy. +I don't misunderstand it. I've been left John Grier's business by Grier +himself, and he's got a son that ought to have it, and maybe will have +it, when the time is ripe." + +Suddenly an angry hand flashed out towards him. "When the time is ripe! +Does that mean, when you've made all you want, you'll give up to Carnac +what isn't yours but his? Why don't you do it now?" + +"Well, because, in the first place, I like my job and he doesn't want +it; in the second place, I promised his father I'd run the business as +he wished it run; and in the third place, Carnac wouldn't know how to +use the income the business brings." + +She laughed in a mocking, challenging way. "Was there ever a man didn't +know how to use an income no matter how big it was! You're talking +enigmas, and I think we'd better say good-bye. Your way to the Belloc +offices is down that street." She pointed. + +"And you won't help me? You won't say a word to Fabian?" + +She shrugged a shoulder. "If I were a man like you, who's so big, so +lucky, and so dominant, I wouldn't ask a woman to help me. I'd do the +job myself. I'd keep faith with my reputation. But there's one nice +thing about you: you're going to help Carnac to beat Barode Barouche. +You've made a gallant offer. If you'd gone against him, if you'd played +Barouche's game, I--" + +The indignation which came to her face suddenly fled, and she said: +"Honestly, I'd never speak to you again, and I always keep my word. +Carnac'll see it through. He's a man of mark, Mr. Tarboe, and he'll be +Prime Minister of the whole country one day. I don't think you'll like +it." + +"You hit hard, but if I hadn't taken the business, Carnac Grier wouldn't +have got it. If it hadn't been me, it would have been some one else." + +"Well, why don't you live like a rich man and not like a foreman?" + +"I've been too busy to change my mode of living. I only want enough to +eat and drink and wear, and that's not costly." Suddenly an idea came +to him. "Now, if that business had been left to you, you'd be building a +stone house somewhere; and you'd have horses and carriages, and lots +of servants, and you'd swing along like a pretty coloured bird in the +springtime, wouldn't you?" + +"If I had wealth, I'd make it my servant. I'd give it its chance; but as +I haven't got it, I live as I do--poor and unknown." + +"Not unknown. See, you could control what belonged to John Grier, if you +would. I need some one to show me how to spend the money coming from +the business. What is wealth unless you buy things that give pleasure to +life? Do you know--" + +He got no further. "I don't know anything you're trying to tell me, and +anyhow this is not the place--" With that she hastened from him up the +street. Tarboe had a pang, and yet her very last words gave him hope. "I +may be a bit sharp in business," he said to himself, "but I certainly am +a fool in matters of the heart. Yet what she said at last had something +in it for me. Every woman has an idea where a man ought to make love to +her, and this open road certainly ain't the place. If Carnac wins this +game with Barouche I don't know where I'll be with her-maybe I'm a fool +to help him." He turned the letter over and over in his hand. "No, I'm +not. I ought to do it, and I will." + +Then he fell to brooding. He remembered about the second hidden will. +There came upon him a wild wish to destroy it. He loved controlling John +Grier's business. Never had anything absorbed him so. Life seemed a new +thing. The idea of disappearing from the place where, with a stroke +of his fingers, he moved five thousand men, or swept a forest into the +great river, or touched a bell which set going a saw-mill with its many +cross-cut saws, or filled a ship to take the pine, cedar, maple, ash or +elm boards to Europe, or to the United States, was terrible to him. He +loved the smell of the fresh-cut wood. The odour of the sawdust as he +passed through a mill was sweeter than a million bunches of violets. +Many a time he had caught up a handful of the damp dust and smelt it, as +an expert gardener would crumble the fallen flowers of a fruit tree and +sniff the sweet perfume. To be master of one of the greatest enterprises +of the New World for three years, and then to disappear! He felt he +could not do it. + +His feelings shook his big frame. The love of a woman troubled his +spirit. Suppose the will were declared and the girl was still free, what +would she do? + +As he set foot in the office of the firm of Belloc, however, he steeled +himself to composure. + +His task well accomplished, he went back to his own office, and spent +the day like a racehorse under the lash, restive, defiant, and reckless. +When night and the shadows came, he sat alone in his office with drawn +blinds, brooding, wondering. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. THE SECRET MEETING + +As election affairs progressed, Mrs. Grier kept withdrawn from public +ways. She did not seek supporters for her son. As the weeks went on, +the strain became intense. Her eyes were aflame with excitement, but +she grew thinner, until at last she was like a ghost haunting familiar +scenes. Once, and once only, did she have touch with Barode Barouche +since the agitation began. This was how it happened: + +Carnac was at Ottawa, and she was alone, in the late evening. As she sat +sewing, she heard a knock at the front door. Her heart stood still. It +was a knock she had not heard for over a quarter of a century, but it +had an unforgettable touch. She waited a moment, her face pale, her eyes +shining with tortured memory. She waited for the servant to answer the +knock, but presently she realized that the servant probably had not +heard. Laying down her work, she passed into the front hall. There for +an instant she paused, then opened the door. + +It was Barode Barouche. Then the memory of a summer like a terrible +dream shook her. She trembled. Some old quiver of the dead days swept +through her. How distant and how--bad it all was! For one instant the +old thrill repeated itself and then was gone--for ever. + +"What is it you wish here?" she asked. + +"Will you not shut the door?" he responded, for her fingers were on the +handle. "I cannot speak with the night looking in. Won't you ask me to +your sitting-room? I'm not a robber or a rogue." + +Slowly she closed the door. Then she turned, and, in the dim light, she +said: + +"But you are both a robber and a rogue." + +He did not answer until they had entered the sittin-groom. + +"I gave you that which is out against me now. Is he not brilliant, +capable and courageous?" + +There was in her face a stern duty. + +"It was Fate, monsieur. When he and I went to your political meeting at +Charlemont it had no purpose. No blush came to his cheek, because he +did not know who his father is. No one in the world knows--no one except +myself, that must suffer to the end. Your speech roused in him the +native public sense, the ancient fire of the people from whom he did not +know he came. His origin has been his bane from the start. He did not +know why the man he thought his father seemed almost a stranger to him. +He did not understand, and so they fell apart. Yet John Grier would have +given more than he had to win the boy to himself. Do you ever think what +the boy must have suffered? He does not know. Only you and I know!" She +paused. + +He thrust out a hand as though to stay her speech, but she went on again + +"Go away from me. You have spoiled my life; you have spoiled my boy's +life, and now he fights you. I give him no help save in one direction. +I give to him something his reputed father withheld from him. Don't you +think it a strange thing"--her voice was thick with feeling--"that he +never could bear to take money from John Grier, and that, even as a +child, gifts seemed to trouble him. I think he wanted to give back again +all that John Grier had ever paid out to him or for him; and now, at +last, he fights the man who gave him birth! I wanted to tell John Grier +all, but I did not because I knew it would spoil his life and my boy's +life. It was nothing to me whether I lived or died. But I could not bear +Carnac should know. He was too noble to have his life spoiled." + +Barode Barouche drew himself together. Here was a deep, significant +problem, a situation that needed more expert handling than he had +ever shown. As he stood by the table, the dim light throwing haggard +reflections on her face, he had a feeling that she was more than normal. +He saw her greater than he had ever imagined her. Something in him +revolted at a war between his own son and himself. Also, he wanted to +tell her of the danger in which Carnac was--how Luzanne had come, and +was hidden away in the outskirts of the city, waiting for the moment +when the man who rejected her should be sacrificed. + +Now that Barouche was face to face with Alma Grier, however, he felt the +appalling nature of his task. In all the years he had taken no chance to +pay tribute to the woman who, in a real sense, had been his mistress of +body and mind for one short term of life, and who once, and once only, +had yielded to him. They were both advanced in years, and Life and Time +had taken toll. She was haggard, yet beautiful in a wan way. He did +not believe the vanished years had placed between them an impassable +barrier. + +He put his chances to the test at last. + +"Yes, I know--I understand. You remained silent because your nature +was too generous to injure anyone. Down at the bottom of his heart, +cantankerous, tyrannical as he was, John Grier loved you, and I loved +you also." + +She made a protest of her hand. "Oh, no! You never knew what love +was--never! You had passion, you had hunger of the body, but of love you +did not know. I know you, Barode Barouche. You have no heart, you have +only sentiment and imagination. No--no, you could not be true. You could +never know how." + +Suddenly a tempest of fire seemed to burn in his eyes, in his whole +being. His face flushed: his eyes gleamed; his hands were thrust out +with passion. + +"Will you not understand that were I as foul as hell, a woman like you +would make me clean again? The wild sin of our youth has eaten into the +soul of my life. You think I have been indifferent to you and to our +boy. No, never-never! That I left you both to yourselves was the best +proof I was not neglectful. I was sorry, with all my soul, that you +should have suffered through me. In the first reaction, I felt that +nothing could put me right with you or with eternal justice. So I shrank +away from you. You thought it was lust satisfied. I tell you it was +honour shamed. Good God! You thought me just the brazen roue, who seized +what came his way, who ate the fruit within his grasp, who lived to +deceive for his own selfish joy. + +"Did you think that? Then, if you did, I do not wonder you should be +glad to see my son fighting me. It would seem the horrible revenge +Destiny should take." He took a step nearer to her. His face flamed, +his arms stretched out. "I have held you in these arms. I come with +repentance in my heart, with--" + +Her face now was flushed. She interrupted him. + +"I don't believe in you, Barode Barouche. At least my husband did not +go from his hearthstone looking for what belonged to others. No--No--no; +however much I suffered, I understood that what he did not feel for me +at least he felt for no one else. To him, life was his business, and to +the long end business mastered his emotions. I have no faith in you! In +the depth of my soul something cries out: 'He is not true. His life is +false.' To leave me that was right, but, monsieur, not as you left me. +You pick the fruit and eat it and spit upon the ground the fibre and the +skin. I am no longer the slave of your false eloquence. It has nothing +in it for me now, nothing at all--nothing." + +"Yet your son--has he naught of me? If your son has genius, I have the +right to say a part of it came from me. Why should you say that all +that's good in the boy is yours--that the boy, in all he does and +says, is yours! No--no. Your long years of suffering have hardened into +injustice and wrong." + +Suddenly he touched her arm. "There are women as young as you were when +I wronged you, who would be my wife now--young, beautiful, buoyant; +but I come to you because I feel we might still have some years of +happiness. Together, where our boy's fate mattered, we two could help +him on his way. That is what I feel, my dear." + +When he touched her arm she did not move, yet there was in his fingers +something which stirred ulcers long since healed and scarred. She +stepped back from him. + +"Do not touch me. The past is buried for ever. There can be no +resurrection. I know what I should do, and I will do it. For the rest +of my life, I shall live for my son. I hope he will defeat you. I don't +lift a hand to help him except to give him money, not John Grier's +money but my own, always that. You are fighting what is stronger than +yourself. One thing is sure, he is nearer to the spirit of your race +than you. He will win--but yes, he will win!" + +Her face suffused with warmth, became alive with a wonderful fire, her +whole being had a simple tragedy. Once again, and perhaps for the last +time, she had renewed the splendour of her young womanhood. The vital +warmth of a great idea had given an expression to her face which had +long been absent from it. + +He fell back from her. Then suddenly passion seized him. The gaunt +beauty of her roused a spirit of contest in him. The evil thing in him, +which her love for her son had almost conquered, came back upon him. He +remembered Luzanne, and now with a spirit alive with anger he said to +her: + +"No--no--no, he cannot win." He stretched out a hand. "I have that which +will keep for me the place in Parliament that has been mine; which will +send him back to the isolation whence he came. Do you think I don't know +how to win an election? Why from east to west, from north to south in +this Province of Quebec my name, my fame, have been all-conquering. +Suppose he did defeat me, do you think that would end my political life? +It would end nothing. I should still go on." + +A scornful smile came to her lips. "So you think your party would find +a seat for you who had been defeated by a young man who never knew what +political life meant till he came to this campaign? You think they would +find you a seat? I know you are coming to the end of your game, and when +he defeats you, it will finish everything for you. You will disappear +from public life, and your day will be done. Men will point at you as +you pass along the street, and say: 'There goes Barode Barouche. He was +a great man in his day. He was defeated by a boy with a painter's brush +in his hand.' He will take from you your livelihood. You will go, and +he will stay; he will conquer and grow strong. Go from me, Barode +Barouche," she cried, thrusting out her hands against him, "go from me. +I love my son with all my soul. His father has no place in my heart." + +There had been upon him the wild passion of revenge. It had mastered +him before she spoke, and while she spoke, but, as she finished, the +understanding spirit of him conquered. Instead of telling her of Luzanne +Larue, and of what he would do if he found things going against him, +instead of that he resolved to say naught. He saw he could not conquer +her. For a minute after she had ceased speaking, he watched her in +silence, and in his eyes was a remorse which would never leave them. She +was master. + +Slowly, and with a sense of defeat, he said to her: "Well, we shall +never meet again like this. The fight goes on. I will defeat Carnac. No, +do not shake your head. He shall not put me from my place. For you and +me there is no future--none; yet I want to say to you before we part +for ever now, that you have been deeper in my life than any other woman +since I was born." + +He said no more. Catching up his hat from the chair, and taking his +stick, he left the room. He opened the front door, stepped out, shut it +behind him and, in a moment, was lost in the night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. POINT TO POINT + +While these things were happening, Carnac was spending all his time in +the constituency. Every day was busy to the last minute, every hole in +the belt of his equipment was buckled tight. In spite of his enthusiasm +he was, however, troubled by the fact that Luzanne might appear. Yet +as time went on he gained confidence. There were days, however, when he +appeared, mentally, to be watching the street corners. + +One day at a public meeting he thought the sensation had come. He had +just finished his speech in reply to Barode Barouche--eloquent, eager, +masterful. Youth's aspirations, with a curious sympathy with the French +Canadian people, had idealized his utterances. When he finished there +had been cheering, but in the quiet instant that followed the cheering, +a habitant got up--a weird, wilful fellow who had a reputation for brag, +yet who would not have hurt an enemy save in wild passion. + +"M'sieu' Carnac Grier," he said, "I'd like to put a question to you. +You've been asking for our votes. We're a family people, we Canucs, +and we like to know where we're going. Tell me, m'sieu', where's your +woman?" + +Having asked the question, he remained standing. "Where's your woman?" +the habitant had asked. Carnac's breath came quick and sharp. There +were many hundreds present, and a good number of them were foes. Barode +Barouche was on the same platform. + +Not only Carnac was stirred by the question, for Barouche, who had +listened to his foe's speech with admiring anxiety, was startled. + +"Where's your woman?" was not a phrase to be asked anyhow, or anywhere. +Barouche was glad of the incident. Ready as he was to meet challenge, he +presently realized that his son had a readiness equally potent. He was +even pleased to see the glint of a smile at the lips of the slim +young politician, in whom there was more than his own commingling of +temperament, wisdom, wantonness and raillery. + +After a moment, Carnac said: "Isn't that a leading question to an +unmarried man?" + +Barouche laughed inwardly. Surely it was the reply he himself would have +made. Carnac had showed himself a born politician. The audience cheered, +but the questioner remained standing. He meant to ask another question. + +"Sit down--sit down, jackass!" shouted some of the more raucous of the +crowd, but the man was stubborn. He stretched out an arm towards Carnac. + +"Bien, look here, my son, you take my advice. Pursue the primrose path +into the meadows of matrimony." + +Again Carnac shrank, but his mind rallied courageously, and he said: +"There are other people who want to ask questions, perhaps." He turned +to Barode Barouche. "I don't suggest my opponent has planned this +heckling, but he can see it does no good. I'm not to be floored by +catch-penny tricks. I'm going to win. I run straight. I haven't been +long enough in politics to learn how to deceive. Let the accomplished +professionals do that. They know how." + +He waved a hand disdainfully at Barouche. "Let them put forth all that's +in them, I will remain; let them exert the last ounce of energy, I will +prevail; let them use the thousand devices of elections, I will use +no device, but rely upon my policy. I want nothing except my chance in +Parliament. My highest ambition is to make good laws. I am for the man +who was the first settler on the St. Lawrence and this section of the +continent--his history, his tradition, his honour and fame are in the +history books of the world. If I should live a hundred years, I should +wish nothing better than the honour of having served the men whose +forefathers served Frontenac, Cartier, La Salle and Maisonneuve, and all +the splendid heroes of that ancient age. What they have done is for all +men to do. They have kept the faith. I am for the habitant, for the land +of his faith and love, first and last and all the time." + +He sat down in a tumult of cheering. Many present remarked that no two +men they had ever heard spoke so much alike, and kept their attacks so +free from personal things. + +There had been at this public meeting two intense supporters of Carnac, +who waited for him at the exit from the main doorway. They were Fabian's +wife and Junia. + +Barode Barouche came out of the hall before Carnac. His quick eye +saw the two ladies, and he raised his broad-brimmed hat like a Stuart +cavalier, and smiled. + +"Waiting for your champion, eh?" he asked with cynical friendliness. +"Well, work hard, because that will soften his fall." He leaned over, as +it were confidentially, to them, while his friends craned their necks to +hear what he said: "If I were you I'd prepare him. He's beaten as sure +as the sun shines." + +Junia was tempted to say what was in her mind, but her sister Sibyl, who +resented Barouche's patronage, said: + +"There's an old adage about the slip 'twixt the cup and the lip, +Monsieur Barouche. He's young, and he's got a better policy than yours." + +"And he's unmarried, eh!" Barouche remarked. "He's unmarried, and I +suppose that matters!" There was an undercurrent of meaning in his voice +which did not escape Junia. + +"And Monsieur Barouche is also unmarried," she remarked. "So you're even +there." + +"Not quite even. I'm a widower. The women don't work for me as they work +for him." + +"I don't understand," remarked Junia. "The women can't all marry him." + +"There are a lot of things that can't be understood by just blinking the +eyes, but there's romance in the fight of an unmarried man, and women +like romance even if it's some one else's. There's sensation in it." + +Barouche looked to where Carnac was slowly coming down the centre of the +hall. Women were waving handkerchiefs and throwing kisses towards him. +One little girl was pushed in front of him, and she reached out a hand +in which was a wild rose. + +"That's for luck, m'sieu'," she said. + +Carnac took the rose, and placed it in his buttonhole; then, stooping +down, he kissed the child's cheek. Outside the hall, Barode Barouche +winked an eye knowingly. "He's got it all down to a science. Look at +him--kissing the young chick. Nevertheless, he's walking into an abyss." + +Carnac was near enough now for the confidence in his face to be seen. +Barouche's eyes suddenly grew resentful. Sometimes he had a feeling of +deep affection for his young challenger; sometimes there was a storm +of anger in his bosom, a hatred which can be felt only for a member +of one's own family. Resentment showed in his face now. This boy was +winning friends on every side. + +Something in the two men, some vibration of temperament, struck the +same chord in Junia's life and being. She had noticed similar gestures, +similar intonations of voice, and, above all else, a little toss of the +head backwards. She knew they were not related, and so she put the whole +thing down to Carnac's impressionable nature which led its owner into +singular imitations. It had done so in the field of Art. He was young +enough to be the imitator without loss to himself. + +"I'm doing my best to defeat you," she said to Barouche, reaching out +a hand for good-bye, "and I shall work harder now than ever. You're so +sure you're going to win that I'd disappoint you, monsieur--only to do +you good." + +"Ah, I'm sorry you haven't any real interest in Carnac Grier, if it's +only to do me good! Well, goodbye--good-bye," he added, raising his hat, +and presently was gone. + +As Carnac drew near, Fabian's wife stepped forward. "Carnac," she said, +"I hope you'll come with us on the river in Fabian's steam-launch. +There's work to do there. It's pay-day in the lumber-yards on the +Island, so please come. Will you?" + +Carnac laughed. "Yes, there's no engagement to prevent it." He thanked +Junia and Sibyl for all they had done for him, and added: "I'd like a +couple of hours among the rivermen. Where's the boat?" Fabian's wife +told him, and added: "I've got the roan team here, and you can drive us +down, if you will." + +A few moments afterwards, with the cheers of the crowd behind them, they +were being driven by Carnac to the wharf where lay the "Fleur-de-lis." +On board was Fabian. + +"Had a good meeting, Carnac?" Fabian asked. + +"I should call it first-class. It was like a storm, at sea-wind from one +direction, then from another, but I think on the whole we had the best +of it. Don't you think so?" he added to Fabian's wife. + +"Oh, much the best," she answered. "That's so, Junia, isn't it?" + +"I wouldn't say so positively," answered Junia. "I don't understand +Monsieur Barouche. He talked as if he had something up his sleeve." Her +face became clouded. "Have you any idea what it is, Carnac?" + +Carnac laughingly shook his head. "That's his way. He's always bluffing. +He does it to make believe the game's his, and to destroy my confidence. +He's a man of mark, but he's having the biggest fight he ever had--of +that I'm sure.... Do you think I'll win?" he asked Junia presently with +a laugh, as they made their way down the river. "Have I conquest in my +eye?" + +How seldom did Junia have Carnac to herself in these days! How kind of +Fabian to lend his yacht for the purpose of canvassing! But Sibyl had in +her mind a deeper thing--she had become a match-maker. She and Fabian, +when the boat left the shore, went to one corner of the stern, leaving +Carnac and Junia in the bow. + +Three miles below the city was the Island on which many voters were +working in a saw-mill and lumberyard. It had supporters of Barouche +chiefly in the yards and mills. Carnac had never visited it, and it +was Junia's view that he should ingratiate himself with the workers, a +rough-and-ready lot. They were ready to "burst a meeting" or bludgeon a +candidate on occasion. + +When Carnac asked his question Junia smiled up at him. "Yes, I think +you'll win, Carnac. You have the tide with you." Presently she added: +"I'm not sure that you've got all the cards, though--I don't know why, +but I have that fear." + +"You think that--" + +She nodded. "I think Monsieur Barouche has some cards he hasn't played +yet. What they are I don't know, but he's confident. Tell me, Carnac, +is there any card that would defeat you? Have you committed any crime +against the law--no, I'm sure you haven't, but I want to hear you say +so." She smiled cheerfully at him. + +"He has no card of any crime of mine, and he can't hit me in a mortal +place." + +"You have the right policy for this province. But tell me, is there +anyone who could hurt you, who could spring up in the fight--man or +woman?" + +She looked him straight in the eye, and his own did not waver. + +"There's no one has a knock-out blow for me--that's sure. I can weather +any storm." + +He paused, however, disconcerted, for the memory of Luzanne came to him, +and his spirit became clouded. "Except one--except one," he added. + +"And you won't tell me who it is?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. THE MAN WHO WOULD NOT + +"No, I can't tell you--yet," answered Carnac. "You ought to know; though +you can't put things right." + +"Don't forget you are a public man, and what might happen if things went +wrong. There are those who would gladly roast you on a gridiron for what +you are in politics." + +"I never forget it. I've no crime to repent of, and I'm afraid of +nothing in the last resort. Look, we're nearing the Island." + +"It's your worst place in the constituency, and I'm not sure of your +reception. Oh, but yes, I am," she added hastily. "You always win good +feeling. No one really hates you. You're on the way to big success." + +"I've had some unexpected luck. I've got Tarboe on my side. He's a +member of Barouche's party, but he's coming with me." + +"Did he tell you so?" she asked with apparent interest. + +"I've had a letter from him, and in it he says he is with me 'to the +knife!' That's good. Tarboe has a big hold on rivermen, and he may carry +with him some of the opposition. It was a good letter--if puzzling." + +"How, puzzling?" + +"He said in one part of it: 'When you come back here to play your part +you'll make it a success, the whole blessed thing.' I've no idea what he +meant by that. I don't think he wants me as a partner, and I'll give +him no chance of it. I don't want now what I could have had when Fabian +left. That's all over, Junia." + +"He meant something by it; he's a very able man," she replied gravely. +"He's a huge success." + +"And women love success more than all else," he remarked a little +cynically. + +"You're unjust, Carnac. Of course, women love success; but they'd not +sell their souls for it--not the real women--and you ought to know it." + +"I ought to know it, I suppose," he answered, and he held her eyes +meaningly. He was about to say something vital, but Fabian and his wife +came. + +Fabian said to him: "Don't be surprised if you get a bad reception here, +Carnac. It's the worst place on the river, and I've no influence over +the men--I don't believe Tarboe could have. They're a difficult lot. +There's Eugene Grandois, he's as bad as they make 'em. He's got a grudge +against us because of some act of father, and he may break out any time. +He's a labour leader too, and we must be vigilant." + +Carnac nodded. He made no reply in words. They were nearing the little +dock, and men were coming to the point where the launch would stop. + +"There's Grandois now!" said Fabian with a wry smile, for he had a real +fear of results. He had, however, no idea how skilfully Carnac +would handle the situation--yet he had heard much of his brother's +adaptability. He had no psychological sense, and Carnac had big +endowment of it. Yet Carnac was not demonstrative. It was his quiet way +that played his game for him. He never spoke, if being could do what +he wanted. He had the sense of physical speech with out words. He was a +bold adventurer, but his methods were those of the subtlest. If a motion +of the hand was sufficient, then let it go at that. + +"You people after our votes never come any other time," sneeringly said +Eugene Grandois, as Carnac and Fabian landed. "It's only when you want +to use us." + +"Would you rather I didn't come at all?" asked Carnac with a friendly +smile. "You can't have it both ways. If I came here any other time you'd +want to know why I didn't stay away, and I come now because it's good +you should know if I'm fit to represent you in Parliament." + +"There's sense, my bonny boy," said an English-Canadian labourer +standing near. "What you got to say to that, little skeezicks?" he added +teasingly to Eugene Grandois. + +"He ain't got more gifts than his father had, and we all know what he +was--that's so, bagosh!" remarked Grandois viciously. + +"Well, what sort of a man was he?" asked Carnac cooly, with a warning +glance at Fabian, who was resentful. Indeed, Fabian would have struck +the man if his brother had not been present, and then been torn to +pieces himself. + +"What sort--don't you know the kind of things he done? If you don't, +I do, and there's lots of others know, and don't you forget it, mon +vieux." + +"That's no answer, Monsieur Grandois--none at all. It tells nothing," +remarked Carnac cheerily. + +"You got left out of his will, m'sieu', you talk as if he was all +right--that's blither." + +"My father had a conscience. He gave me chance to become a partner in +the business, and I wouldn't, and he threw me over--what else was there +to do? I could have owned the business to-day, if I'd played the game as +he thought it ought to be played. I didn't, and he left me out--that's +all." + +"Makin' your own way, ain't you?" said the English labourer. "That's hit +you where you're tender, Grandois. What you got to say to that?" + +The intense black eyes of the habitant sparkled wickedly, his jaws set +with passion, and his sturdy frame seemed to fasten to the ground. His +gnarled hands now shot out fiercely. + +"What I got to say! Only this: John Grier played the devil's part. He +turned me and my family out into the streets in winter-time, and the law +upheld him, old beast that he was--sacre diable!" + +"Beast-devil! Grandois, those are hard words about a man in his son's +presence, and they're not true. You think you can say such things +because I'm standing for Parliament. Beast, devil, eh? You've got a free +tongue, Grandois; you forgot to say that my father paid the doctor's +bill for your whole family when they were taken down with smallpox; and +he kept them for weeks afterwards. You forgot to recall that when he +turned you out for being six months behind with your rent and making no +effort to pay up! Who was the devil and beast then, Grandois? Who spat +upon his own wife and children then? You haven't a good memory.... Come, +I think your account with my father is squared; and I want you to vote +to put my father's son in Parliament, and to put out Barode Barouche, +who's been there too long. Come, come, Grandois, isn't it a bargain? +Your tongue's sharp, but your heart's in the right place--is it a +bargain?" + +He held out his hand with applause from the crowd, but Grandois was not +to be softened. His anger, however, had behind it some sense of caution, +and what Carnac said about the smallpox incident struck him hard. It was +the first time he had ever been hit between the eyes where John Grier +was concerned. His prestige with the men was now under a shadow, yet +he dared not deny the truth of the statement. It could be proved. His +braggart hatred of John Grier had come home to roost. Carnac saw that, +and he was glad he had challenged the man. He believed that in politics, +as in all other departments of life, candour and bold play were best in +the long run. Yet he would like to see the man in a different humour, +and with joy he heard Junia say to Grandois. + +"How is the baby boy, and how is madame, Monsieur Grandois?" + +It came at the right moment, for only two days before had Madame +Grandois given her husband the boy for which he had longed. Junia had +come to know of it through a neighbour and had sent jellies to the sick +woman. As she came forward now, Grandois, taken aback, said: + +"Alors, they're all right, ma'm'selle, thank you. It was you sent the +jellies, eh?" + +She nodded with a smile. "Yes, I sent them, Grandois. May I come and see +madame and the boy to-morrow?" + +The incident had taken a favourable turn. + +"It's about even-things between us, Grandois?" asked Carnac, and held +out his hand. "My father hit you, but you hit him harder by forgetting +about the smallpox and the rent, and also by drinking up the cash that +ought to have paid the rent. It doesn't matter now that the rent was +never paid, but it does that you recall the smallpox debt. Can't you say +a word for me, Grandois? You're a big man here among all the workers. +I'm a better Frenchman than the man I'm trying to turn out. Just a word +for a good cause. + +"They're waiting for you, and your hand on it! Here's a place for you on +the roost. Come up." + +The "roost" was an upturned tub lying face down on the ground, and in +the passion of the moment, the little man gripped Carnac's hand and +stood on the tub to great cheering; for if there was one thing the +French-Canadians love, it is sensation, and they were having it. They +were mostly Barouche's men, but they were emotional, and melodrama had +stirred their feelings. + +Besides, like the Irish, they had a love of feminine nature, and in all +the river-coves Junia was known by sight at least, and was admired. She +had the freshness of face and mind which is the heart of success with +the habitants. With Eugene Grandois on his feet, she heard a speech +which had in it the best spirit of Gallic eloquence, though it was +crude. But it was forcible and adroit. + +"Friends and comrades," said Eugene Grandois, with his hands playing +loosely, "there's been misunderstandings between me and the Grier +family, and I was out against it, but I see things different since +M'sieu' Carnac has spoke--and I'm changing my mind--certainlee. That +throwing out of my house hit me and my woman and little ones hard, and +I've been resentin' it all these years till now; but I'm weighin' one +thing agin another, and I'm willing to forget my wrongs for this young +man's sake. He's for us French. Alors, some of you was out to hurt our +friend M'sieu' Carnac here, and I didn't say no to it; but you'd better +keep your weapons for election day and use them agin Barode Barouche. + +"I got a change of heart. I've laid my plate on the table with a prayer +that I get it filled with good political doctrine, and I've promise that +the food I'm to get is what's best for all of us. M'sieu' Carnac Grier's +got the right stuff in him, and I'm for him both hands up--both hands +way up high, nom de pipe!" + +At that he raised both hands above his head with a loud cheer, and later +Carnac Grier was carried to the launch in the arms of Eugene Grandois' +friends. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. THE BLUE PAPER + +"Who are you, ma'm'selle?" + +It was in the house of Eugene Grandois that this question was asked +of Junia. She had followed the experience on the Island by a visit to +Grandois' house, carrying delicacies for the sick wife. Denzil had come +with her, and was waiting in the street. + +She had almost ended her visit when the outer door opened and Luzanne +Larue entered carrying a dish she placed on the table, eyeing Junia +closely. First they bowed to each other, and Junia gave a pleasant +smile, but instantly she felt here was a factor in her own life--how, +she could not tell. + +To Luzanne, the face of Junia had no familiar feature, and yet she felt +here was one whose life's lines crossed her own. So it was she presently +said, "Who are you, ma'm'selle?" in a sharp voice. As Junia did not +reply at once, she put the question in another form: "What is your name, +ma'm'selle?" + +"It is Junia Shale," said the other calmly, yet with heart beating +hard. Somehow the question foreshadowed painful things, associated with +Carnac. Her first glance at Luzanne showed the girl was well dressed, +that she had a face of some beauty, that her eyes were full of +glamour--black and bold, and, in a challenging way, beautiful. It was a +face and figure full of daring. She was not French-Canadian; yet she was +French; that was clear from her accent. Yet the voice had an accent of +crudity, and the plump whiteness of the skin and waving fulness of the +hair gave the girl a look of an adventuress. She was dressed in black +with a white collar which, by contrast, seemed to heighten her unusual +nature. + +At first Junia shuddered, for Luzanne's presence made her uneasy; yet +the girl must have good qualities, for she had brought comforts to the +sick woman, and indeed, within, madame had spoken of the "dear beautiful +stranger." That could be no other than this girl. She became composed. +Yet she had a feeling that between them was a situation needing all her +resources. About what? She would soon know, and she gave her name at +last slowly, keeping her eyes on those of Luzanne. + +At mention of the name, Luzanne's eyes took on prejudice and moroseness. +The pupils enlarged, the lids half closed, the face grew sour. + +"Junia Shale--you are Junia Shale?" The voice was bitter and resentful. + +Junia nodded, and in her smile was understanding and conflict, for she +felt this girl to be her foe. + +"We must have a talk--that's sure," Luzanne said with decision. + +"Who are you?" asked Junia calmly. "I am Luzanne Larue." + +"That makes me no wiser." + +"Hasn't Carnac Grier spoken of me?" + +Junia shook her head, and turned her face towards the door of Madame +Grandois' room. "Had we not better go somewhere else to talk, after +you've seen Madame Grandois and the baby?" she asked with a smile, yet +she felt she was about to face an alarming event. "Madame Grandois has +spoken pleasantly of you to me," Junia added, for tact was her prompt +faculty. "If you'd come where we could talk undisturbed--do you see?" + +Luzanne made no reply in words, but taking up the dish she went into +the sick-room, and Junia heard her in short friendly speech with Madame +Grandois. Luzanne appeared again soon and spoke: "Now we can go where +I'm boarding. It's only three doors away, and we can be safe there. +You'd like to talk with me--ah, yes, surelee!" + +Her eyes were combative and repellent, but Junia was not dismayed, and +she said: "What shall we talk about?" + +"There's only one thing and one person to talk about, ma'm'selle." + +"I still don't know what you mean." + +"Aren't you engaged to Carnac Grier? Don't you think you're going to +marry him?... Don't you like to tell the truth, then?" she added. + +Junia raised her eyebrows. "I'm not engaged to Carnac Grier, and he +has never asked me to marry him--but what business is it of yours, +ma'm'selle?" + +"Come and I'll tell you." Luzanne moved towards the door. They were +speechless till they reached Luzanne's lodgings. + +"This is the house of Monsieur Marmette, an agent of Monsieur Barouche," +said Junia. "I know it." + +"You'll know it better soon. The agent of M'sieu' Barouche is a man of +mark about here, and he'll be more marked soon--but yes!" + +"You think Monsieur Barouche will be elected, do you?" asked Junia, as +they closed the door. + +"I know he will." + +"I've been working for Monsieur Grier, and that isn't my opinion." + +"I'm working for Barode Barouche, and I know the result." + +They were now in Luzanne's small room, and Junia noted that it had all +the characteristics of a habitant dwelling--even to the crucifix at the +head of the bed, and the picture of the French-Canadian Premier of the +Dominion on the wall. She also saw a rosary on a little hook beside the +bed. + +"How do you know?" + +"Because I am the wife of Carnac Grier, and I know what will happen to +him.... You turn pale, ma'm'selle, but your colour isn't going to alter +the truth. I'm Carnac Grier's wife by the laws of New York State." + +"Does Monsieur Grier admit he is your husband?" + +"He must respect the law by which he married me." + +"I don't believe he was ever honestly married to you," declared Junia. +"Has he ever lived with you--for a single day?" + +"What difference would that make? I have the marriage certificate here." +She touched her bosom. + +"I'd have thought you were Barode Barouche's wife by the way you act. +Isn't it a wife's duty to help her husband--Shouldn't you be fighting +against Barode Barouche?" + +"I mean to be recognized as Carnac Grier's wife--that's why I'm here." + +"Have you seen him since you've been here? Have you told him how you're +working against him? Have you got the certificate with you?" + +"Of course. I've got my head on like a piece of flesh and blood that +belongs to me--bien sur." + +She suddenly drew from her breast a folded piece of blue paper. "There +it is, signed by Judge Grimshaw that married us, and there's the +seal; and the whole thing can't be set aside. Look at it, if you like, +petite." + +She held it not far from Junia's face, and Junia could see that it was +registration of a marriage of New York State. She could have snatched +the paper away, but she meant to conquer Luzanne's savage spirit. "Well, +how do you intend to defeat your husband?" + +"I mean to have the people asked from a platform if they've seen the +wife of the candidate, and then a copy of the certificate will be read +to all. What do you think will happen after that?" + +"It will have to be done to-night or to-morrow night," remarked Junia. + +"Because the election comes the day after to-morrow,--eh + +"Because of that. And who will read the document?" + +"Who but the man he's trying to defeat?--tell me that." + +"You mean Barode Barouche?" + +"Who else?" + +"Has he agreed to do it?" + +Luzanne nodded. "On the day--Carnac became a candidate." + +"And if Carnac Grier denies it?" + +"He won't deny it. He never has. He says he was drunk when the thing was +done--mais, oui." + +"Is that all he says?" + +"No. He says he didn't know it was a real marriage, and--" Luzanne then +related Carnac's defence, and added: "Do you think anyone would believe +him with the facts as they are? Remember I'm French and he's English, +and that marriage to a French girl is life and death; and this is a +French province!" + +"And yet you are a Catholic and French, and were married by a Protestant +judge." + +"That is my own affair, ma'm'selle." + +"It is not the thing to say to French-Canadians here. What do you get +out of it all? If he is your husband, wouldn't it be better to have +him successful than your defeated victim. What will be yours if you +defeat--" + +"Revenge--my rights--the law!" was the sharp rejoinder. + +Junia smiled. "What is there in it all for you? If the man I married did +not love me, I'd use the law to be free. What's the good of trying to +destroy a husband who doesn't love you, who never loved you--never." + +"You don't know that," retorted Luzanne sharply. + +"Yes, I do. He never loved you. He never lived with you for a single +day. That's in the power of a doctor to prove. If you are virtuous, +then he has taken nothing; if you have given your all, and not to Carnac +Grier, what will his mind be about you? Is it money? He has no money +except what he earns. His father left him nothing--not a dollar. Why do +you hate him so? I've known him all my life, and I've never known him +hurt man or animal. When did he ever misuse you, or hurt you? Did he +ever treat you badly? How did you come to know him? Answer that." + +She paused and Luzanne flushed. The first meeting! Why, that was the day +Carnac had saved her life, had taken her home safe from danger, and had +begun a friendship with behind it only a desire to help her. And how had +she repaid the saviour of her life? By tricking him into a marriage, and +then by threatening him if he did not take her to his home. Truth +is, down beneath her misconduct was a passion for the man which, not +satisfied, became a passion to destroy him and his career. It was +a characteristic of her blood and breed. It was a relic of ancient +dishonour, inherited and searching; it was atavism and the incorrigible +thing. Beneath everything was her desire for the man, and the mood in +which she had fought for him was the twist of a tortured spirit. She was +not so deliberate as her actions had indicated. She had been under the +malicious influence of her father and her father's friend. She was like +one possessed of a spirit that would not be deterred from its purpose. +Junia saw the impression she had made, and set it down to her last +words. + +"Where did you first meet him? What was the way of it?" she added. + +Suddenly Junia came forward and put her hands on Luzanne's shoulders. "I +think you loved Carnac once, and perhaps you love him now, and are only +trying to hurt him out of anger. If you destroy him, you will repent of +it--so soon! I don't know what is behind these things you are doing, but +you'll be sorry for it when it is too late. Yes, I know you have loved +Carnac, for I see all the signs--" + +"Do you love him then, ma'm'selle?" asked Luzanne exasperated. "Do you +love him?" + +"He has never asked me, and I have never told him that; and I don't +know, but, if I did, I would move heaven and earth to help him, and if +he didn't love me I'd help him just the same. And so, I think, should +you. If you ever loved him, then you ought to save him from evil. Tell +me, did Carnac ever do you a kind act, one that is worth while in your +life?" + +For a moment Luzanne stood dismayed, then a new expression drove the +dark light from her eyes. It was as though she had found a new sense. + +"He saved my life the day we first met," she said at last under Junia's +hypnotic influence. + +"And now you would strike him when he is trying to do the big thing. You +threaten to declare his marriage, in the face of those who can elect him +to play a great part for his country." + +Junia saw the girl was in emotional turmoil, was obsessed by one idea, +and she felt her task had vast difficulty. That Carnac should have +married the girl was incredible, that he had played an unworthy part +seemed sure; yet it was in keeping with his past temperament. The girl +was the extreme contrast of himself, with dark--almost piercing-eyes, +and a paleness which was physically constitutional--the joy of the +artistic spirit. It was the head of a tragedienne or a martyr, and the +lean, rather beautiful body was eloquent of life. + +Presently Junia said: "To try to spoil him would be a crime against his +country, and I shall tell him you are here." + +"He'll do nothing at all." The French girl's words were suddenly biting, +malicious and defiant. The moment's softness she had felt was gone, and +hardness returned. "If he hasn't moved against me since he married me, +he wouldn't dare do so now." + +"Why hasn't he moved? Because you're a woman, and also he'd believe +you'd repent of your conduct. But I believe he will act sternly against +you at once. There is much at stake." + +"You want it for your own sake," said Luzanne sharply. "You think he'd +marry you if I gave him up." + +"Perhaps he'd ask me to marry him, if you weren't in the way, but I'd +have my own mind about that, and knowing what you've told me--truth or +lie--I'd weigh it all carefully. Besides, he's not the only man. Doesn't +that ever strike you? Why try to hold him by a spurious bond when there +are other men as good-looking, as clever? Is your world so bare of +men--no, I'm sure it isn't," she added, for she saw anger rising in the +impulsive girl. "There are many who'd want to marry you, and it's better +to marry some one who loves you than to hold to one who doesn't love you +at all. Is it hate? He saved your life--and that's how you came to know +him first, and now you would destroy him! He's a great man. He would +not bend to his father's will, and so he was left without a sou of his +father's money. All because he has a conscience, and an independence +worthy of the best that ever lived.... That's the soul of the man you +are trying to hurt. If you had a real soul, there wouldn't be even the +thought of this crime. Do you think he wouldn't loathe you, if you do +this ghastly thing? Would any real man endure it for an hour? What do +you expect to get but ugly revenge on a man who never gave anything +except friendship?" + +"Friendship--friendship-yes, he gave that, but emotion too." + +"You think that real men marry women for whom they only have emotion. +You think that he--Carnac Grier--would marry any woman on that basis? +Come, ma'm'selle, the truth! He didn't know he was being married, and +when you told him it was a real marriage he left you at once. You and +yours tricked him--the man you'd never have known if he hadn't +saved your life. You thought that with your beauty--yes, you are +beautiful--you'd conquer him, and that he'd give in, and become a real +husband in a real home. Come now, isn't that it?" + +The other did not reply. Her face was alive with memories. The lower +things were flying from it, a spirit of womanhood was living in +her--feebly, but truly, living. She was now conscious of the insanity of +her pursuit of Carnac. For a few moments she stood silent, and then she +said with agitation: + +"If I give this up"--she took from her breast the blue document--"he'd +be safe in his election, and he'd marry you: is it not so, ma'm'selle?" + +"He'd be safe for his election, but he has never asked me to marry him, +and there are others besides him."--She was thinking of Tarboe. "Tell +me," she added suddenly, "to whom have you told this thing in Montreal? +Did you mean to challenge him yourself?" + +"I told it only to M'sieu' Barouche, and he said he would use it at the +right moment--and the right moment has come," she added. "He asked me +for a copy of it last night, and I said I'd give it to him to-day. +It's because of him I've been here quiet all these weeks as Ma'm'selle +Larue." + +"He is worse than you, mademoiselle, for he has known Carnac's family, +and he has no excuse. If a man can't win his fight fairly, he oughtn't +to be in public life." + +After a few dark moments, with a sudden burst of feeling, Luzanne said: +"Well, Carnac won't be out of public life through me!" + +She took the blue certificate from her breast and was about to tear it +up, when Junia stopped her. + +"Don't do that," Junia said, "don't tear it up yet, give it to me. I'll +tear it up at the right moment. Give it to me, my dear." + +She held out her hand, and the blue certificate was presently in her +fingers. She felt a sudden weakness in her knees, for it seemed she +held the career of Carnac Grier, and it moved her as she had never been +moved. + +With the yielding of the certificate, Luzanne seemed suddenly to +lose self-control. She sank on the bed beside the wall with a cry of +distress. + +"Mon Dieu--oh, Mon Dieu!" Then she sprang to her feet. "Give it back, +give it back tome," she cried, with frantic pain. "It's all I have of +him--it's all I have." + +"I won't give it back," declared Junia quietly. "It's a man's career, +and you must let it go. It's the right thing to do. Let it stand, +mademoiselle." + +She fully realized the half-insane mind and purpose of the girl, and she +wrapped her arms around the stricken figure. + +"See, my dear," she said, "it's no use. You can't have it back. Your +soul is too big for that now. You can be happy in the memory that you +gave Carnac back his freedom." + +"But the record stands," said the girl helplessly. "Tell the truth and +have it removed. You owe that to the man who saved your life. Have it +done at once at Shipton." + +"What will you do with the certificate?" She glanced at Junia's bosom +where the paper was hidden. "I will give it to Carnac, and he can do +what he likes with it." + +By now the tears were streaming down the face of Luzanne Larue, and hard +as it was for Junia, she tried to comfort her, for the girl should be +got away at once, and only friendliness could achieve that. She would +see Denzil--he was near by, waiting. + +There would be a train in two hours for New York and the girl must take +it-she must. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. DENZIL TAKES A HAND IN THE GAME + +Barode Baruche was excited. He had sure hope of defeating Carnac with +the help of Luzanne Larue. The woman had remained hidden since her +coming, and the game was now in his hands. On the night before the +poll he could declare the thing, not easy to be forgiven by the +French-Canadian public, which has a strong sense of domestic duty. +Carnac Grier was a Protestant, and that was bad, and if there was added +an offence against domestic morality, he would be beaten at the polls as +sure as the river ran. He had seen Luzanne several times, and though he +did not believe in her, he knew the marriage certificate was real. He +had no credence in Carnac's lack of honour, yet it was strange he had +not fought his wife, if his case was a good one. + +Day by day he had felt Carnac's power growing, and he feared his triumph +unless some sensation stopped it. Well, he had at hand the sufficient +sensation. He would produce both the certificate of marriage and the +French girl who was the legal wife of Carnac Grier. That Luzanne was +French helped greatly, for it would be used by Carnac's foes as an +insult to French Canada, and his pulses throbbed as he thought of the +possible turmoil in the constituency. + +Fortunately the girl was handsome, had ability, and spoke English with +a French accent, and she was powerful for his purposes. He was out to +prevent his own son from driving himself into private life, and he would +lose no trick in the game, if he could help it. + +Sentimental feeling--yes, he had it, but it did not prevent him from +saving his own skin. Carnac had come out against him, and he must hit as +hard as he could. It was not as though Carnac had been guilty of a real +crime and was within the peril of the law. His offence was a personal +one, but it would need impossible defence at the moment of election. +In any case, if Carnac was legally married, he should assume the +responsibilities of married life; and if he had honest reason for not +recognizing the marriage, he should stop the woman from pursuing him. +If the case kept Carnac out of public life and himself in, then justice +would be done; for it was monstrous that a veteran should be driven into +obscurity by a boy. In making his announcement he would be fighting his +son as though he was a stranger and not of his own blood and bones. He +had no personal connection with Carnac in the people's minds. + +On the afternoon of the day that Junia had had her hour with Luzanne, he +started for the house where Luzanne was lodging. He could not travel the +streets without being recognized, but it did not matter, for the house +where the girl lodged was that of his sub agent, and he was safe in +going to it. He did not know, however, that Denzil had been told by +Junia to watch the place and learn what he meant to do. + +Denzil had a popular respect of Barode Barouche as a Minister of the +Crown; but he had a far greater love of Carnac. He remained +vigilant until after Junia and Luzanne had started in a cab for the +railway-station. They left near three-quarters of an hour before the +train was to start for New York; and for the first quarter of an hour +after they left, Denzil was in apprehension. + +Then he saw Barouche enter the street and go to the house of his +sub-agent. The house stood by itself, with windows open, and Denzil did +not scruple to walk near it, and, if possible, listen. Marmette, the +subagent, would know of the incident between Junia and Luzanne; and +he feared. Barouche might start for the station, overtake Luzanne and +prevent her leaving. He drew close and kept his ears open. + +He was fortunate, he heard voices; Marmette was explaining to Barouche +that Junia and Luzanne had gone to the station, as "Ma'm'selle" was +bound for New York. Marmette had sent word to M. Barouche by messenger, +but the messenger had missed him. Then he heard Barouche in anger say: + +"You fool--why did you let her leave! It's my bread and butter--and +yours too--that's at stake. I wanted to use her against Grier. She was +my final weapon of attack. How long ago did she leave?" Marmette told +him. + +Denzil saw Barode Barouche leave the house with grim concern and talking +hard to Paul Marmette. He knew the way they would go, so he fell behind +a tree, and saw them start for the place where they could order a cab. +Then he followed them. Looking at his watch he saw that, if they got +a cab, they would get to the station before the train started, and he +wondered how he could retard Barouche. A delay of three minutes would +be enough, for it was a long way, and the distance could only be covered +with good luck in the time. Yet Denzil had hope, for his faith in Junia +was great, and he felt sure she would do what she planned. He had to +trot along fast, because Barouche and Marmette were going hard, and he +could not see his way to be of use yet. He would give his right hand to +help Carnac win against the danger Junia had suggested. It could not be +aught to Carnac's discredit, or Junia would not have tried to get the +danger out of Montreal; he had seen Luzanne, and she might be deadly, if +she had a good weapon! + +Presently, he saw Barouche and his agent stop at the door of a +livery-stable, and were told that no cabs were available. There were +none in the street, and time was pressing. Not far away, however, was +a street with a tram-line, and this tram would take Barouche near the +station from which Luzanne would start. So Barouche made hard for this +street and had reached it when a phaeton came along, and in it was one +whom Barouche knew. Barouche spoke to the occupant, and presently both +men were admitted to the phaeton just as a tram-car came near. + +As the phaeton would make the distance to the station in less time than +the car, this seemed the sensible thing to do, and Denzil's spirits +fell. There remained enough time for Barouche to reach the station +before the New York train started! He got aboard the tram himself, and +watched the phaeton moving quickly on ahead. He saw the driver of the +phaeton strike his horse with a whip, and the horse, suddenly breaking +into a gallop, slipped and fell to the ground on the tramtrack. A moment +later the tram came to a stop behind the fallen horse, and Denzil saw +the disturbed face of Barode Barouche looking for another trap--in any +case, it would take three or four minutes to get the horse up and clear +the track for the tram. There was no carriage in sight--only a loaded +butcher's cart, a road-cleaner, and a heavily loaded van. These could be +of no use to Barouche. + +In his corner, Denzil saw the play with anxious eyes. + +It was presently found that the horse had injured a leg in falling and +could not be got to its feet, but had presently to be dragged from the +tram-lines. It had all taken near five minutes of the time before the +train went, and, with despair, Barouche mounted the steps of the tram. +He saw Denzil, and shrewdly suspected he was working in the interests of +Carnac. He came forward to Denzil. + +"You're a long way from home, little man," he said in a voice with an +acid note. + +"About the same as you from home, m'sieu'," said Denzil. + +"I've got business everywhere in this town," remarked Barouche with +sarcasm--"and you haven't, have you? You're travelling privately, eh?" + +"I travel as m'sieu' travels, and on the same business," answered Denzil +with a challenging smile. + +The look Barouche gave him then Denzil never forgot. "I didn't know you +were in politics, mon vieux! What are you standing for? When are you +going to the polls--who are you fighting, eh?" + +"I'm fighting you, m'sieu', though I ain't in politics, and I'm going to +the polls now," Denzil answered. Denzil had gained in confidence as he +saw the arrogance of Barode Barouche. He spoke with more vigour than +usual, and he felt his gorge rising, for here was a man trying to injure +his political foe through a woman; and Denzil resented it. He did not +know the secret of Luzanne Larue, but he did realize there was conflict +between Junia Shale and Barouche, and between Barouche and Carnac Grier, +and that enlisted his cooperation. By nature he was respectful; but +the politician now was playing a dirty game, and he himself might fight +without gloves, if needed. That was why his eyes showed defiance +at Barouche now. He had said the thing which roused sharp anger in +Barouche. It told Barouche that Denzil knew where he was going and why. +Anger shook him as he saw Denzil take out his watch. + +"The poll closes in three minutes, m'sieu'," Denzil added with a dry +smile, for it was clear Barouche could not reach the station in time, +if the train left promptly. The swiftest horses could not get him there, +and these were not the days of motor-cars. Yet it was plain Barouche +meant to stick to it, and he promptly said: + +"You haven't the right time, beetle. The poll closes only when the train +leaves, and your watch doesn't show that, so don't put on airs yet." + +"I'll put on airs if I've won, m'sieu'," Denzil answered quietly, for he +saw people in the tram were trying to hear. + +Barouche had been recognized, and a murmur of cheering began, followed +by a hum of disapproval, for Barouche had lost many friends since Carnac +had come into the fray. A few folk tried to engage Barouche in talk, but +he responded casually; yet he smiled the smile which had done so much +for him in public life, and the distance lessened to the station. The +tram did not go quite to the station, and as it stopped, the two men +hurried to the doors. As they did so, an engine gave a scream, and +presently, as they reached the inside of the station, they saw passing +out at the far end, the New York train. + +"She started five minutes late, but she did start," said Denzil, and +there was malice in his smile. + +As he looked at his watch, he saw Junia passing out of a door into the +street, but Barode Barouche did not see her--his eyes were fixed on the +departing train. + +For a moment Barouche stood indecisive as to whether he should hire a +locomotive and send some one after the train, and so get in touch with +Luzanne in that way, or send her a telegram to the first station where +the train would stop in its schedule; but presently he gave up both +ideas. As he turned towards the exit of the station, he saw Denzil, and +he came forward. + +"I think you've won, mon petit chien," he said with vindictiveness, "but +my poll comes to-morrow night, and I shall win." + +"No game is won till it's all played, m'sieu', and this innings is +mine!" + +"I am fighting a bigger man than you, wasp," snarled Barouche. + +"As big as yourself and bigger, m'sieu'," said Denzil with a smile. + +There was that in his tone which made Barouche regard him closely. +He saw there was no real knowledge of the relationship of Carnac and +himself in Denzil's eyes; but he held out his hand with imitation +courtesy, as though to say good-bye. + +"Give me a love-clasp, spider," he said with a kind of sneer. "I'd like +your love as I travel to triumph." A light of hatred came into +Denzil's eyes. "Beetledog--wasp--spider" he had been called by this big +man--well, he should see that the wasp could give as good as it got. His +big gnarled hand enclosed the hand of Barode Barouche, then he suddenly +closed on it tight. He closed on it till he felt it crunching in his own +and saw that the face of Barode Barouche was like that of one in a chair +of torture. He squeezed, till from Barouche's lips came a gasp of agony, +and then he let go. + +"You've had my love-clasp, m'sieu'," Denzil said with meaning, "and when +you want it again let me know. It's what M'sieu' Carnac will do with +you to-morrow night. Only he'll not let go, as I did, before the blood +comes. Don't be hard on those under you, m'sieu'. Remember wasps and +spiders can sting in their own way, and that dogs can bite." + +"Little black beast," was the short reply, "I'll strip your hide for +Hell's gridiron in good time." + +"Bien, m'sieu', but you'll be in hell waiting, for I'm going to bury you +here where you call better men than yourself dogs and wasps and spiders +and beetles. And I'll not strip your 'hide,' either. That's for lower +men than me." + +A moment later they parted, Denzil to find Junia, and Barouche to +prepare his speech for the evening. Barouche pondered. What should he +do--should he challenge Carnac with his marriage with Luzanne Larue? His +heart was beating hard. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. THE CHALLENGE + +The day of the election came. Never had feeling run higher, never had +racial lines been so cut across. Barode Barouche fought with vigour, but +from the going of Luzanne Larue, there passed from him the confidence +he had felt since the first day of Carnac's candidature. He had had +temptation to announce to those who heard him the night before the poll +what Luzanne had told; but better wisdom guided him, to his subsequent +content. He had not played a scurvy trick on his son for his own +personal advantage. Indeed, when his meetings were all over, he was +thankful for the disappearance of Luzanne. At heart he was not all bad. +A madness had been on him. He, therefore, slept heavily from midnight +till morning on the eve of the election, and began the day with the +smile of one who abides the result with courage. + +Several times he came upon Carnac in the streets, and they saluted +courteously; yet he saw the confidence of Carnac in his bearing. Twice +also he came upon Junia and he was startled by the look she gave him. +It was part of his punishment that Junia was the source of his undoing +where Luzanne was concerned. Junia knew about Luzanne; but if she +condemned him now, what would she think if she knew that Carnac was his +own son! + +"A devilish clever girl that," he said to himself. "If he wins, it'll +be due to her, and if he wins--no, he can't marry her, for he's already +married; but he'll owe it all to her. If he wins!... No, he shall not +win; I've been in the game too long; I've served too many interests; +I've played too big a part." + +It was then he met his agent, who said: "They're making strong play +against us--the strongest since you began politics." + +"Strong enough to put us in danger?" inquired Barouche. "You've been +at the game here for thirty years, and I'd like to know what you +think--quite honestly." + +His agent was disturbed. "I think you're in danger; he has all your +gifts, and he's as clever as Old Nick besides. He's a man that'll make +things hum, if he gets in." + +"If he gets in--you think...?" + +"He has as good a chance as you, m'sieu'. Here's a list of doubtful +ones, and you'll see they're of consequence." + +"They are indeed," said Barouche, scanning the list. "I'd no idea these +would be doubtful." + +"Luke Tarboe's working like the devil for Carnac. People believe in him. +Half the men on that list were affected by Tarboe's turning over. Tarboe +is a master-man; he has fought like hell." + +"Nevertheless, I've been too long at it to miss it now," said the rueful +member with a forced smile. "I must win now, or my game is up." + +The agent nodded, but there was no certainty in his eye. Feeling ran +higher and higher, but there was no indication that Barouche's hopes +were sure of fulfilment. His face became paler as the day wore on, and +his hands freer with those of his late constituents. Yet he noticed that +Carnac was still glib with his tongue and freer with his hands. Carnac +seemed everywhere, on every corner, in every street, at every polling +booth; he laid his trowel against every brick in the wall. Carnac was +not as confident as he seemed, but he was nearing the end of the trail; +and his feet were free and his head clear. One good thing had happened. +The girl who could do him great harm was not in evidence, and it was too +late to spoil his chances now, even if she came. What gave him greatest +hope was the look on Junia's face as he passed her. It was the sign of +the conqueror--something he could not under stand. It was knowledge and +victory. + +Also, he had a new feeling towards Tarboe, who had given him such +powerful support. There was, then, in the man the bigger thing, the +light of fairness and reason! He had had no talk with Tarboe, and he +desired none, but he had seen him at three of his meetings, and he had +evidence of arduous effort on his behalf. Tarboe had influenced many +people in his favour, men of standing and repute, and the workmen of the +Grier firm had come, or were coming, his way. He had always been +popular with them, in spite of the strike he had fought, but they voted +independently of their employers; and he was glad to know that most of +them were with him in the fight. + +His triumph over Eugene Grandois at the Island had been a good +influence, and he had hopes of capturing the majority of the river +people. Yet, strange to say, the Church had somewhat reversed its +position, and at the last had swung round to Barouche, quietly, though +not from the pulpit, supporting him. The old prejudice in favour of a +Catholic and a Frenchman was alive again. + +Carnac was keyed to anxiety, but outwardly seemed moving with brilliant +certainty. He walked on air, and he spoke and acted like one who had the +key of the situation in his fingers, and the button of decision at his +will. It was folly electioneering on the day of the poll, and yet he +saw a few labour leaders and moved them to greater work for him. One of +these told him that at the Grier big-mill was one man working to defeat +him by personal attacks. It had something to do with a so-called secret +marriage, and it would be good to get hold of the man, Roudin, as soon +as possible. + +A secret marriage! So the thing had, after all, been bruited and +used-what was the source of the information? Who was responsible? He +must go to the mill at once, and he started for it. On the way he met +Luke Tarboe. + +"There's trouble down at the mill," Tarboe said. "A fellow called Roudin +has been spreading a story that you're married and repudiate your wife. +It'd be good to fight it now before it gets going. There's no truth +in it, of course," he added with an opposite look in his eye, for he +remembered the letter Carnac received one day in the office and his own +conclusion then. + +"It's a lie, and I'll go and see Roudin at once.... You've been a good +friend to me in the fight, Tarboe, and I'd like a talk when it's all +over." + +"That'll be easy enough, Grier. Don't make any mistake-this is a big +thing you're doing; and if a Protestant Britisher can beat a Catholic +Frenchman in his own habitant seat, it's the clinching of Confederation. +We'll talk it over when you've won." + +"You think I'm going to win?" asked Carnac with thumping heart, for the +stark uncertainty seemed to overpower him, though he smiled. + +"If the lie doesn't get going too hard, I'm sure you'll pull it off. +There's my hand on it. I'd go down with you to the mill, but you should +go alone. You've got your own medicine to give. Go it alone, Grier. It's +best--and good luck to you!" + +A few moments later Carnac was in the yard of the mill, and in one +corner he saw the man he took to be Roudin talking to a group of +workmen. He hurried over, and heard Roudin declaring that he, Carnac, +was secretly married to a woman whom he repudiated, and was that the +kind of man to have as member of Parliament? Presently Roudin was +interrupted by cheers from supporters of Carnac, and he saw it was due +to Carnac's arrival. Roudin had courage. He would not say behind a man's +back what he would not say to his face. + +"I was just telling my friends here, m'sieu', that you was married, and +you didn't acknowledge your wife. Is that so?" + +Carnac's first impulse was to say No, but he gained time by challenging. + +"Why do you say such things to injure me? Is that what Monsieur Barouche +tells you to say?" + +Roudin shook his head protestingly. + +"If Monsieur Barouche does that he oughtn't to hold the seat, he ought +to be sent back to his law offices." + +"No, I didn't hear it from M'sieu' Barouche. I get it from better hands +than his," answered Roudin. + +"Better hands than his, eh? From the lady herself, perhaps?" + +"Yes, from the lady herself, m'sieu'." + +"Then bring the lady here and let us have it out, monsieur. It's a lie. +Bring the lady here, if you know her." + +Roudin shrugged a shoulder. "I know what I know, and I don't have to do +what you say--no--no!" + +"Then you're not honest. You do me harm by a story like that. I +challenge you, and you don't respond. You say you know the woman, then +produce her--there's no time to be lost. The poll closes in four hours. +If you make such statements, prove them. It isn't playing the game--do +you think so, messieurs?" he added to the crowd which had grown in +numbers. At that moment a man came running from the en trance towards +Carnac. It was Denzil. + +"A letter for you, an important letter," he kept crying as he came +nearer. He got the letter into Carnac's hands. + +"Read it at once, m'sieu'," Denzil said urgently. Carnac saw the +handwriting was Junia's, and he tore open the letter, which held the +blue certificate of the marriage with Luzanne. He conquered the sudden +dimness of his eyes, and read the letter. It said: + + DEAR CARNAC, + + I hear from Mr. Tarboe of the lies being told against you. Here is + the proof. She has gone. She told it to Barode Barouche, and he + was to have announced it last night, but I saw her first. You can + now deny the story. The game is yours. Tell the man Roudin to + produce the woman--she is now in New York, if the train was not + lost. I will tell you all when you are M.P. + JUNIA. + +With a smile, Carnac placed the certificate in his pocket. How lucky +it was he had denied the marriage and demanded that Roudin produce +the woman! He was safe now, safe and free. It was no good any woman +declaring she was married to him if she could not produce the proof--and +the proof was in his pocket and the woman was in New York. + +"Come, Monsieur Roudin, tell us about the woman, and bring her to the +polls. There is yet time, if you're telling the truth. Who is she? Where +does she live? What's her name?" + +"Mrs. Carnac Grier--that's her name," responded Roudin with a snarl, and +the crowd laughed, for Carnac's boldness gave them a sense of security. + +"What was her maiden name?" + +"Larue," answered the other sharply. + +"What was her Christian name, since you know so much, monsieur?" + +He had no fear now, and his question was audacity, but he knew the game +was with him, and he took the risks. His courage had reward, for Roudin +made no reply. Carnac turned to the crowd. + +"Here's a man tried to ruin my character by telling a story about a +woman whose name he doesn't know. Is that playing the game after the +rules--I ask you?" + +There were cries from the crowd supporting him, and he grew bolder. +"Let the man tell his story and I'll meet it here face to face. I fear +nothing. Out with your story, monsieur. Tell us why you haven't brought +her into the daylight, why she isn't claiming her husband at the polls. +What's the story? Let's have it now." + +The truth was, Roudin dared not tell what he knew. It was based wholly +on a talk he had partly overheard between Barode Barouche and Luzanne in +the house where she stayed and where he, Roudin, lodged. It had not been +definite, and he had no proofs. He was a sensationalist, and he had had +his hour and could say no more, because of Barode Barouche. He could +not tell the story of his overhearing, for why had not Barouche told the +tale? With an oath he turned away and disappeared. As he went he could +hear his friends cheering Carnac. + +"Carnac Grier lies, but he wins the game," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. EXIT + +"Grier's in--Carnac's in--Carnac's got the seat!" This was the cry heard +in the streets at ten-thirty at night when Carnac was found elected by a +majority of one hundred and ten. + +Carnac had not been present at the counting of the votes until the last +quarter-hour, and then he was told by his friends of the fluctuations +of the counting--how at one time his defeat seemed assured, since Barode +Barouche was six hundred ahead, and his own friends had almost given up +hope. One of his foes, however, had no assurance of Carnac's defeat. He +was too old an agent to believe in returns till all were in, and he knew +of the two incidents by which Carnac had got advantage--at the Island +over Eugene Grandois, and at the Mill over Roudin the very day of +polling; and it was at these points he had hoped to score for Barouche +a majority. He watched Barouche, and he deplored the triumph in his +eye, for there was no surety of winning; his own was the scientific +mind without emotions or passions. He did not "enthuse," and he did not +despair; he kept his head. + +Presently there were fluctuations in favour of Carnac, and the six +hundred by which Barouche led were steadily swallowed up; he saw that +among the places which gave Carnac a majority were the Island and the +Mill. He was also nonplussed by Carnac's coolness. For a man with an +artist's temperament, he was well controlled. When he came into the +room, he went straight to Barouche and shook hands with him, saying +they'd soon offer congratulations to the winner. As the meeting took +place the agent did not fail to note how alike in build and manner were +the two men, how similar were their gestures. + +When at last the Returning Officer announced the result, the agent dared +not glance at his defeated chief. Yet he saw him go to Carnac and offer +a hand. + +"We've had a straight fight, Grier, and I hope you'll have luck in +Parliament. This is no place for me. It's your game, and I'll eat my +sour bread alone." + +He motioned to the window with a balcony, beyond which were the shouting +thousands. Then he smiled at Carnac, and in his heart he was glad he had +not used the facts about Luzanne before the public. The boy's face +was so glowing that his own youth came back, and a better spirit took +residence in him. He gave thanks to the Returning Officer, and then, +with his agent, left the building by the back door. He did not wait for +the announcement of Carnac's triumph, and he knew his work was done for +ever in public life. + +Soon he had said his say at the club where his supporters, discomfited, +awaited him. To demands for a speech, he said he owed to his workers +what he could never repay, and that the long years they had kept him in +Parliament would be the happiest memory of his life. + +"We'll soon have you back," shouted a voice from the crowd. + +"It's been a good fight," said Barode Barouche. Somehow the fact he +had not beaten his son by the story of his secret marriage was the sole +comfort he had. He advised his followers to "play the game" and let the +new member have his triumph without belittlement. + +"It's the best fight I've had in thirty years," he said at last, "and +I've been beaten fairly." + +In another hour he was driving into the country on his way to visit an +old ex-Cabinet Minister, who had been his friend through all the years +of his Parliamentary life. It did not matter that the hour was late. He +knew the veteran would be waiting for him, and unprepared for the bad +news he brought. The night was spent in pain of mind, and the comfort +the ex-Minister gave him, that a seat would be found for him by +the Government, gave him no thrill. He knew he had enemies in the +Government, that the Prime Minister was the friend of the successful +only, and that there were others, glad of his defeat, who would be +looking for his place. Also he was sure he had injured the chances of +the Government by the defeat of his policy. + +As though Creation was in league against him, a heavy storm broke about +two o'clock, and he went to bed cursed by torturing thoughts. "Chickens +come home to roost--" Why did that ancient phrase keep ringing in his +ears when he tried to sleep? Beaten by his illegitimate son at the +polls, the victim of his own wrong-doing--the sacrifice of penalty! He +knew that his son, inheriting his own political gifts, had done what +could have been done by no one else. All the years passed since Carnac +was begotten laid their deathly hands upon him, and he knew he could +never recover from this defeat. How much better it would have been if he +had been struck twenty-seven years ago! + +Youth, ambition and resolve would have saved him from the worst then. +Age has its powers, but it has its defects, and he had no hope that his +own defects would be wiped out by luck at the polls. Spirit was gone out +of him, longing for the future had no place in his mind; in the world of +public work he was dead and buried. How little he had got from all his +life! How few friends he had, and how few he was entitled to have! This +is one of the punishments that selfishness and wrong-doing brings; it +gives no insurance for the hours of defeat and loss. Well, wealth and +power, the friends so needed in dark days, had not been made, and Barode +Barouche realized he had naught left. He had been too successful from +the start; he had had all his own way; and he had taken no pains to make +or keep friends. He well knew there was no man in the Cabinet or among +his colleagues that would stir to help him--he had stirred to help no +man in all the years he had served the public. It was no good only to +serve the public, for democracy is a weak stick on which to lean. One +must stand by individuals or there is no defence against the malicious +foes that follow the path of defeat, that ambush the way. It is the +personal friends made in one's own good days that watch the path and +clear away the ambushers. It is not big influential friends that are so +important--the little unknown man may be as useful as the big boss in +the mill of life; and if one stops to measure one's friends by their +position, the end is no more sure than if one makes no friends at all. + +"There's nothing left for me in life--nothing at all," he said as he +tossed in bed while the thunder roared and the storm beat down the +shrubs. "How futile life is--'Youth's a dream, middle age a delusion, +old age a mistake!'" he kept repeating to himself in quotation. "What +does one get out of it? Nothing--nothing--nothing! It's all a poor show +at the best, and yet--is it? Is it all so bad? Is it all so poor and +gaunt and hopeless? Isn't there anything in it for the man who gives and +does his best?" + +Suddenly there came upon him the conviction that life is only futile +to the futile, that it is only a failure to those who prove themselves +incompetent, selfish and sordid; but to those who live life as it ought +to be lived, there is no such thing as failure, or defeat, or penalty, +or remorse or punishment. Because the straight man has only good ends to +serve, he has no failures; though he may have disappointments, he has +no defeats; for the true secret of life is to be content with what is +decreed, to earn bread and make store only as conscience directs, and +not to set one's heart on material things. + +He got out of bed soon after daylight, dressed, and went to the stable +and hitched his horse to the buggy. The world was washed clean, that was +sure. It was muddy under foot, but it was a country where the roads soon +dried, and he would suffer little inconvenience from the storm. He bade +his host good-bye and drove away intent to reach the city in time for +breakfast. He found the roads heavy, and the injury of the storm was +everywhere to be seen. Yet it all did not distract him, for he +was thinking hard of the things that lay ahead of him to do--the +heart-breaking things that his defeat meant to him. + +At last he approached a bridge across a stream which had been badly +swept by the storm. It was one of the covered bridges not uncommon in +Canada. It was not long, as the river was narrow, and he did not see +that the middle pier of the bridge had been badly injured. Yet as he +entered the bridge, his horse still trotting, he was conscious of a +hollow, semi-thunderous noise which seemed not to belong to the horse's +hoofs and the iron wheels of the carriage. He raised his eyes to see +that the other end of the bridge was clear, and at that moment he was +conscious of an unsteady motion of the bridge, of a wavering of the +roof, and then, before he had time to do aught, he saw the roof and the +sides and the floor of the bridge collapse and sink slowly down. + +With a cry, he sprang from the carriage to retrace his way; but he only +climbed up a ladder that grew every instant steeper; and all at once he +was plunged downwards after his horse and carriage into the stream. He +could swim, and as he swept down this thought came to him--that he might +be able to get the shore, as he heard the cries of people on the bank. +It was a hope that died at the moment of its birth, however, for he was +struck by a falling timber on the head. + +When, an hour later, he was found in an eddy of the river by the shore, +he was dead, and his finders could only compose his limbs decently. But +in the afternoon, the papers of Montreal had the following head-lines; +DEFEAT AND DEATH OF BARODE BAROUCHE THE END OF A LONG AND GREAT CAREER + +As soon as Carnac Grier heard the news, he sent a note to his mother +telling her all he knew. When she read the letter, she sank to the +floor, overcome. Her son had triumphed indeed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. A WOMAN WRITES A LETTER + +The whole country rang with the defeat and death of Barode Barouche, +and the triumph of the disinherited son of John Grier. Newspapers drew +differing lessons from the event, but all admitted that Carnac, as a +great fighter, was entitled to success. The Press were friendly to the +memory of Barode Barouche, and some unduly praised his work, and only a +few disparaged his career. + +When news of the tragedy came to Mrs. Grier, she was reading in the +papers of Carnac's victory, and in her mind was an agonizing triumph, +pride in a stern blow struck for punishment. The event was like none she +could have imagined. + +It was at this moment the note came from Carnac telling of Barouche's +death, and it dropped from her hand to the floor. The horror of it smote +her being, and, like one struck by lightning, she sank to the floor +unconscious. The thing had hit her where soul and body were closely +knit; and she had realized for the first time how we all must pay to +the last penny for every offence we commit against the laws of life +and nature. Barode Barouche had paid and she must pay--she also who had +sinned with him must pay. But had she not paid? + +For long she lay unconscious, but at last the servant, unknowing why she +was not called to remove the breakfast things, found her huddled on the +floor, her face like that of death. The servant felt her heart, saw she +was alive, and worked with her till consciousness came back. + +"That's right, ma'am, keep up heart. I'll send for M'sieu' Carnac at +once, and we'll have you all right pretty quick." + +But Mrs. Grier forbade Carnac to be sent for, and presently in her bed, +declined to have the doctor brought. "It's no use," she said. "A doctor +can do no good. I need rest, that's all." + +Then she asked for notepaper and pen and ink, and so she was left alone. +She must tell her beloved son why it was there never had been, and never +could be, understanding between John Grier and himself. She had arrived +at that point where naught was to be gained by further concealment. +So through long hours she struggled with her problem, and she was glad +Carnac did not come during the vexing day. He had said when he sent her +word of his victory, that he feared he would not be able to see her the +next day at all, as he had so much to do. She even declined to see Junia +when she came, sending word that she was in bed, indisposed. + +The letter she wrote ran thus: + + MY BELOVED CARNAC, + + Your news of the death of Barode Barouche has shocked me. You will + understand when I tell you I have lived a life of agony ever since + you became a candidate. This is why: you were fighting the man who + gave you to the world. + + Let me tell you how. I loved John Grier when I married him, and + longed to make my life fit in with his. But that could not easily + be, for his life was wedded to his business, and he did not believe + in women. To him they were incapable of the real business of life, + and were only meant to be housekeepers to men who make the world go + round. So, unintentionally, he neglected me, and I was young and + comely then, so the world said, and I was unwise and thoughtless. + + Else, I should not have listened to Barode Barouche, who, one summer + in camp on the St. Lawrence River near our camp, opened up for me + new ways of thought, and springs of feeling. He had the gifts that + have made you what you are, a figure that all turn twice to see. He + had eloquence, he was thoughtful in all the little things which John + Grier despised. In the solitude of the camp he wound himself about + my life, and roused an emotion for him false to duty. And so one + day--one single day, for never but the once was I weak, yet that was + enough, God knows.... He went away because I would not see + him again; because I would not repeat the offence which gave me + years of sorrow and remorse. + + After you became a candidate, he came and offered to marry me, tried + to reopen the old emotion; but I would have none of it. He was + convinced he would defeat you, and he wanted to avoid fighting you. + But when I said, 'Give up the seat to him,' he froze. Of course, + his seat belonged to his party and not alone to himself; but that + was the test I put him to, and the answer he gave was, 'You want me + to destroy my career in politics! That is your proposal, is it?' + He was not honest either in life or conduct. I don't think he ever + was sorry for me or for you, until perhaps these last few weeks; but + I have sorrowed ever since the day you came to me very day, every + hour, every minute; and the more because I could not tell John Grier + the truth. + + Perhaps I ought to have told the truth long ago, and faced the + consequences. It might seem now that I would have ruined my home + life, and yours, and Barode Barouche's, and John Grier's life if I + had told the truth; but who knows! There are many outcomes to + life's tragedies, and none might have been what I fancied. It is + little comfort that Barode Barouche has now given all for payment of + his debt. It gives no peace of mind. And it may be you will think + I ought not to tell you the truth. I don't know, but I feel you + will not misunderstand. I tell you my story, so that you may again + consider if it is not better to face the world with the truth about + Luzanne. We can live but once, and it is to our good if we refuse + the secret way. It is right you should know the truth about your + birth, but it is not right you should declare it to all the world + now. That was my duty long ago, and I did not do it. It is not + your duty, and you must not do it. Barode Barouche is gone; John + Grier has gone; and it would only hurt Fabian and his wife and you + to tell it now. You inherit Barode Barouche's gifts, and you have + his seat, you represent his people--and they are your people too. + You have French blood in your veins, and you have a chance to carry + on with honour what he did with skill. Forgive me, if you can. + + Your loving + + MOTHER. + + P.S. Do nothing till you see me. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. CARNAC AND HIS MOTHER + +Returning from Barode Barouche's home to his mother's House on the Hill, +Carnac was in a cheerless mood. With Barouche's death to Carnac it +was as though he himself had put aside for ever the armour of war, +for Barouche was the only man in the world who had ever tempted him to +fight, or whom he had fought. + +There was one thing he must do: he must go to Junia, tell her he loved +her, and ask her to be his wife. She had given him the fatal blue +certificate of his marriage and the marriage could now be ended with +Luzanne's consent, for she would not fight the divorce he must win soon. +He could now tell the truth, if need be, to his constituents, for there +would be time enough to recover his position, if it were endangered, +before the next election came, and Junia would be by his side to help +him! Junia--would she, after all, marry him now? He would soon know. +To-night he must spend with his mother, but to-morrow he would see +Junia and learn his fate, and know about Luzanne. Luzanne had been in +Montreal, had been ready to destroy his chance at the polls, and Junia +had stopped it. How? Well, he should soon know. But now, at first, for +his mother. + +When he entered the House on the Hill, he had a sudden shiver. Somehow, +the room where his mother had sat for so many years, and where he had +last seen his father, John Grier, had a coldness of the tomb. There was +a letter on the centre table standing against the lamp. He saw it was in +his mother's handwriting, and addressed to himself. + +He tore it open, and began to read. Presently his cheeks turned pale. +More than once he put it down, for it seemed impossible to go on, but +with courage he took it up again and read on to the end. + +"God--God in Heaven!" he broke out when he had finished it. For a long +time he walked the floor, trembling in body and shaking in spirit. "Now +I understand everything," he said at last aloud in a husky tone. "Now I +see what I could not see--ah yes, I see at last!" + +For another time of silence and turmoil he paced the floor, then he +stopped short. "I'm glad they both are dead," he said wearily. Thinking +of Barode Barouche, he had a great bitterness. "To treat any woman +so--how glad I am I fought him! He learned that such vile acts come home +at last." + +Then he thought of John Grier. "I loathed him and loved him always," he +said with terrible remorse in his tone. "He used my mother badly, and +yet he was himself; he was the soul that he was born, a genius in his +own way, a neglecter of all that makes life beautiful--and yet himself, +always himself. He never pottered. He was real--a pirate, a plunderer, +but he was real. And he cared for me, and would have had me in the +business if he could. Perhaps John Grier knows the truth now!... I hope +he does. For, if he does, he'll see that I was not to blame for what +I did, that it was Fate behind me. He was a big man, and if I'd worked +with him, we'd have done big things, bigger than he did, and that was +big enough." + +"Do nothing till you see me," his mother had written in a postscript to +her letter, and, with a moroseness at his heart and scorn of Barouche at +his lips, he went slowly up to his mother's room. At her door he paused. +But the woman was his mother, and it must be faced. After all, she had +kept faith ever since he was born. He believed that. She had been an +honest wife ever since that fatal summer twenty-seven years before. + +"She has suffered," he said, and knocked at her door. An instant later +he was inside the room. There was only a dim light, but his mother was +sitting up in her bed, a gaunt and yet beautiful, sad-eyed figure of a +woman. For a moment Carnac paused. As he stood motionless, the face of +the woman became more drawn and haggard, the eyes more deeply mournful. +Her lips opened as though she would speak, but no sound came, and Carnac +could hardly bear to look at her. Yet he did look, and all at once there +rushed into his heart the love he had ever felt for her. After all, he +was her son, and she had not wronged him since his birth. And he who +had wronged her and himself was dead, his pathway closed for ever to the +deeds of life and time. As he looked, his eyes filled with tears and his +lips compressed. At last he came to the bed. Her letter was in his hand. + +"I have read it, mother." + +She made no reply, but his face was good for her eyes to see. It had no +hatred or repulsion. + +"I know everything now," he added. "I see it all, and I understand all +you have suffered these many years." + +"Oh, my son, you forgive your mother?" She was trembling with emotion. + +He leaned over and caught her wonderful head to his shoulder. "I love +you, mother," he said gently. "I need you--need you more than I ever +did." + +"I have no heart any more, and I fear for you--" + +"Why should you fear for me? You wanted me to beat him, didn't you?" +His face grew hard, his lips became scornful. "Wasn't it the only way to +make him settle his account?" + +"Yes, the only way. It was not that I fear for you in politics. I was +sure you would win the election. It was not that, it was the girl." + +"That's all finished. I am free at last," he said. He held the blue +certificate before her eyes. + +Her face was deadly pale, her eyes expanded, her breath came sharp and +quick. "How was it don how was it done? Was she here in Montreal?" + +"I don't know how it was done, but she was here, and Junia got this from +her. I shan't know how till I've seen Junia." + +"Junia is the best friend," said the stricken woman gently, "in all the +world; she's--" + +"She's so good a friend she must be told the truth," he said firmly. + +"Oh, not while I live! I could not bear that--" + +"How could I ask Junia to marry me and not tell her all the +truth--mother, can't you see?" + +The woman's face flushed scarlet. "Ah, yes, I see, my boy--I see." + +"Haven't we had enough of secrecy--in your letter you lamented it! If +it was right for you to be secret all these years, is it not a hundred +times right now for me to tell you the truth.... I have no name--no +name," he added, tragedy in his tone. + +"You have my name. You may say I have no right to it, but it is the only +name I can carry; they both are dead, and I must keep it. It wrongs no +one living but you, and you have no hatred of me: you think I do not +wrong you--isn't that so?" + +His cheek was hot with feeling. "Yes, that's true," he said. "You must +still keep your married name." Then a great melancholy took hold of him, +and he could hardly hide it from her. She saw how he was moved, and she +tried to comfort him. + +"You think Junia will resent it all?... But that isn't what a girl does +when she loves. You have done no wrong; your hands are clean." + +"But I must tell her all. Tarboe is richer, he has an honest birth, he +is a big man and will be bigger still. She likes him, she--" + +"She will go to you without a penny, my son." + +"It will be almost without a penny, if you don't live," he said with a +faint smile. "I can't paint--for a time anyhow. I can't earn money for +a time. I've only my salary as a Member of Parliament and the little +that's left of my legacy; therefore, I must draw on you. And I don't +seem to mind drawing upon you; I never did." + +She smiled with an effort. "If I can help you, I shall justify living +on." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. TARBOE HAS A DREAM + +The day Carnac was elected it was clear to Tarboe that he must win Junia +at once, if he was ever to do so, for Carnac's new honours would play +a great part in influencing her. In his mind, it was now or never for +himself; he must bring affairs to a crisis. + +Junia's father was poor, but the girl had given their home an air of +comfort and an art belonging to larger spheres. The walls were covered +with brown paper, and on it were a few of her own water-colour drawings, +and a few old engravings of merit. Chintz was the cover on windows and +easy chairs, and in a corner of the parlour was a chintz-covered lounge +where she read of an evening. So it was that, with Carnac elected and +Barode Barouche buried, she sat with one of Disraeli's novels in her +hand busy with the future. She saw for Carnac a safe career, for his +two chief foes were gone--Luzanne Larue and Barode Barouche. Now she +understood why Carnac had never asked her to be his wife. She had had no +word with Carnac since his election--only a letter to thank her for the +marriage certificate and to say that after M. Barouche was buried he +would come to her, if he might. He did say, however, in the letter that +he owed her his election. + +"You've done a great, big thing for me, dearest friend, and I am your +ever grateful Carnac"--that was the way he had put it. Twice she had +gone to visit his mother, and had been told that Mrs. Grier was too ill +to see her--overstrain, the servant had said. She could not understand +being denied admittance; but it did not matter, for one day Mrs. Grier +should know how she--Junia-had saved her son's career. + +So she thought, as she gazed before her into space from the +chintz-covered lounge on the night of the day Barode Barouche was +buried. There was a smell of roses in the room. She had gathered many +of them that afternoon. She caught a bud from a bunch on a table, and +fastened it in the bosom of her dress. Somehow, as she did it, she had +a feeling she would like to clasp a man's head to her breast where the +rose was--one of those wild thoughts that come to the sanest woman at +times. She was captured by the excitement in which she had moved during +the past month--far more now than she had been in all the fight itself. + +There came a knock at the outer door, and before that of her own room +opened, she recognized the step of the visitor. So it was Tarboe had +come. He remembered that day in the street when he met Junia, and +was shown there were times when a woman could not be approached with +emotion. He had waited till the day he knew she was alone, for he had +made a friend of her servant by judicious gifts of money. + +"I hope you're glad to see me," he said with an uncertain smile, as he +saw her surprise. + +"I hope I am," she replied, and motioned him to a seat. He chose a +high-backed chair with a wide seat near the lounge. He made a motion of +humorous dissent to her remark, and sat down. + +"Well, we pulled it off somehow, didn't we?" she said. "Carnac Grier is +M.P." + +"And his foe is in his grave," remarked Tarboe dryly. "Providence pays +debts that ought to be paid. This election has settled a lot of things," +she returned with a smile. + +"I suppose it has, and I've come here to try and find one of the +settlements." + +"Well, find them," she retorted. + +"I said one of the settlements only. I have to be accurate in my life." + +"I'm glad to hear of it. You helped Mr. Grier win his election. It was +splendid of you. Think of it, Mr. Tarboe, Carnac Grier is beginning to +get even with his foes." + +"I'm not a foe--if that's what you mean. I've proved it." + +She smiled provokingly. "You've proved only you're not an absolute +devil, that's all. You've not proved yourself a real man--not yet. Do +you think it paid your debt to Carnac Grier that you helped get him into +Parliament?" + +His face became a little heated. "I'll prove to you and to the world +that I'm not an absolute devil in the Grier interests. I didn't steal +the property. I tried to induce John Grier to leave it to Carnac or his +mother, for if he'd left it to Mrs. Grier it would have come to Carnac. +He did not do it that way, though. He left it to me. Was I to blame for +that?" + +"Perhaps not, but you could have taken Carnac in, or given up the +property to him--the rightful owner. You could have done that. But you +were thinking of yourself altogether." + +"Not altogether. In the first place, I am bound to keep my word to John +Grier. Besides, if Carnac had inherited, the property would have got +into difficulties--there were things only John Grier and I understood, +and Carnac would have been floored." + +"Wouldn't you still have been there?" + +"Who knows! Who can tell! Maybe not!" + +"Carnac Grier is a very able man." + +"But of the ablest. He'll be a success in Parliament. He'll play a big +part; he won't puddle about. I meant there was a risk in letting Carnac +run the business at the moment, and--" + +"And there never was with you!" + +"None. My mind had grasped all John Grier intended, and I have the +business at my fingers' ends. There was no risk with me. I've proved it. +I've added five per cent to the value of the business since John Grier +died. I can double the value of it in twenty years--and easy at that." + +"If you make up your mind to do it, you will," she said with admiration, +for the man was persuasive, and he was playing a game in which he was a +master. + +Her remarks were alive with banter, for Tarboe's humour was a happiness +to her. + +"How did I buy your approval?" he questioned alertly. + +"By ability to put a bad case in a good light. You had your case, and +you have made a real success. If you keep on you may become a Member of +Parliament some day!" + +He laughed. "Your gifts have their own way of stinging. I don't believe +I could be elected to Parliament. I haven't the trick of popularity of +that kind." + +Many thoughts flashed through Tarboe's mind. If he married her now, and +the truth was told about the wills and the law gave Carnac his rights, +she might hate him for not having told her when he proposed. So it was +that in his desire for her life as his own, he now determined there +should be no second will. In any case, Carnac had enough to live on +through his mother. Also, he had capacity to support himself. There +was a touch of ruthlessness in Tarboe. No one would ever guess what the +second will contained--no one. The bank would have a letter saying where +the will was to be found, but if it was not there! + +He would ask Junia to be his wife now, while she was so friendly. Her +eyes were shining, her face was alive with feeling, and he was aware +that the best chances of his life had come to win her. If she was not +now in the hands of Carnac, his chances were good. Yet there was the +tale of the secret marriage--the letter he saw Carnac receive in John +Grier's office! The words of the ancient Greek came to him as he looked +at her: "He who will not strike when the hour comes shall wither like a +flower, and his end be that of the chaff of the field." + +His face flushed with feeling, his eyes grew bright with longing, his +tongue was loosed to the enterprise. "Do you dream, and remember your +dreams?" he asked with a thrill in his voice. "Do you?" + +"I don't dream often, but I sometimes remember my dreams." + +"I dream much, and one dream I have constantly." + +"What is it?" she asked with anticipation. + +"It is the capture of a wild bird in a garden--in a cultivated garden +where there are no nests, no coverts for the secret invaders. I dream +that I pursue the bird from flower-bed to flower-bed, from bush to bush, +along paths and the green-covered walls; and I am not alone in my chase, +for there are others pursuing. It is a bitter struggle to win the wild +thing. And why? Because there is pursuing one of the pursuers another +bird of red plumage. Do you understand?" + +He paused, and saw her face was full of colour and her eyes had a glow. +Every nerve in her was pulsing hard. + +"Tell me," she said presently, "whom do you mean by the bird of red +plumage? Is it a mere figure of speech? Or has it a real meaning?" + +"It has a real meaning." + +He rose to his feet, bent over her and spoke hotly. "Junia, the end of +my waiting has come. I want you as I never wanted anything in my life. I +must know the truth. I love you, Junia. I have loved you from the first +moment I saw you, and nothing is worth while with you not in it. Let us +work together. It is a big, big game I'm playing." + +"Yes, it's a big game you're playing," she said with emotion. "It is +a big, big game, and, all things considered, you should win it, but I +doubt you will. I feel there are matters bigger than the game, or than +you, or me, or anyone else. And I do not believe in your bird of red +plumage; I don't believe it exists. It may have done so, but it doesn't +now." + +She also got to her feet, and Tarboe was so near her she could feel his +hot breath on her cheek. + +"No, it doesn't exist now," she repeated, "and the pursuer is not +pursued. You have more imagination than belongs to a mere man of +business--you're an inexperienced poet." + +He caught her hand and drew it to his breast. "The only poetry I know +is the sound of your voice in the wind, the laughter of your lips in the +sun, the delight of your body in the heavenly flowers. Yes, I've drunk +you in the wild woods; I've trailed you on the river; I've heard you in +the grinding storm--always the same, the soul of all beautiful things. +Junia, you shall not put me away from you. You shall be mine, and +you and I together shall win our way to great ends. We will have +opportunity, health, wealth and prosperity. Isn't it worth while?" + +"Yes," she answered after a moment, "but it cannot be with you, my +friend." + +She withdrew her fingers and stepped back; she made a gesture of +friendly repulsion. "You have said all that can be said, you have gifts +greater than you yourself believe; and I have been tempted; but it is +no use, there are deeper things than luxuries and the magazines of +merchandise--much deeper. No, no, I cannot marry you; if you were as +rich as Midas, as powerful as Caesar, I would not marry you--never, +never, never." + +"You love another," he said boldly. "You love Carnac Grier." + +"I do not love you--isn't that enough?" + +"Almost--almost enough," he said, embarrassed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. THIS WAY HOME + +All Junia had ever felt of the soul of things was upon her as she +arranged flowers and listened to the church bells ringing. + +"They seem to be always ringing," she said to herself, as she lightly +touched the roses. "It must be a Saint's Day--where's Denzil? Ah, there +he is in the garden! I'll ask him." + +Truth is, she was deceiving herself. She wanted to talk with Denzil +about all that had happened of late, and he seemed, somehow, to avoid +her. Perhaps he feared she had given her promise to Tarboe who had, as +Denzil knew, spent an hour with her the night before. As this came to +Denzil's brain, he felt a shiver go through him. Just then he heard +Junia's footsteps, and saw her coming towards him. + +"Why are the bells ringing so much, Denzil? Is it a Saint's Day?" she +asked. + +He took off his hat. "Yes, ma'm'selle, it is a Saint's Day," and he +named it. "There were lots of neighbours at early Mass, and some have +gone to the Church of St. Anne de Beaupre at Beaupre, them that's got +sickness." + +"Yes, Beaupre is as good as Lourdes, I'm sure. Why didn't you go, +Denzil?" + +"Why should I go, ma'm'selle--I ain't sick--ah, bah!" + +"I thought you were. You've been in low spirits ever since our election, +Denzil." + +"Nothing strange in that, ma'm'selle. I've been thinking of him that's +gone." + +"You mean Monsieur Barouche, eh?" + +"Not of M'sieu' Barouche, but of the father to the man that beat M'sieu' +Barouche." + +"Why should you be thinking so much of John Grier these days?" + +"Isn't it the right time? His son that he threw off without a penny has +proved himself as big a man as his father--ah, surelee! M'sieu' left +behind him a will that gave all he had to a stranger. His own son was +left without a sou. There he is now," he added, nodding towards the +street. + +Junia saw Carnac making his way towards her house. "Well, I'll talk with +him," she said, and her face flushed. She knew she must give account of +her doings with Luzanne Larue. + +A few moments later in the house, her hand lay in that of Carnac, and +his eyes met hers. + +"It's all come our way, Junia," he remarked gaily, though there was +sadness in his tone. + +"It's as you wanted it. You won." + +"Thanks to you, Junia," and he took from his pocket the blue +certificate. + +"That--oh, that was not easy to get," she said with agitation. "She had +a bad purpose, that girl." + +"She meant to announce it?" + +"Yes, through Barode Barouche. He agreed to that." + +Carnac flushed. "He agreed to that--you know it?" + +"Yes. The day you were made candidate she arrived here; and the next +morning she went to Barode Barouche and told her story. He bade her +remain secret till the time was ripe, and he was to be the judge of +that. He was waiting for the night before the election. Then he was +going to strike you and win!" + +"She told you that--Luzanne told you that?" + +"And much else. Besides, she told me you had saved her life from the +street-cars; that you had played fair at the start." + +"First and last I played fair," he said indignantly. + +Her eyes were shining. "Not from first to last, Carnac. You ought not +to have painted her, or made much of her and then thrown her over. She +knew--of course she knew, after a time, that you did not mean to propose +to her, and all the evil in her came out. Then she willed to have you in +spite of yourself, believing, if you were married, her affection would +win you in the end. There it was--and you were to blame." + +"But why should you defend her, Junia?" + +Her tongue became bitter now. "Just as you would, if it was some one +else and not yourself." + +His head was sunk on his breast, his eyes were burning. "It was a +horrible thing for Barouche to plan." + +"Why so horrible? If you were hiding a marriage for whatever reason, it +should be known to all whose votes you wanted." + +"Barouche was the last man on earth to challenge me, for he had a most +terrible secret." + +"What was it?" Her voice had alarm, for she had never seen Carnac so +disturbed. + +"He was fighting his own son--and he knew it!" The words came in broken +accents. + +"He was fighting his own son, and he knew it! You mean to say that!" +Horror was in her voice. + +"I mean that the summer before I was born--" + +He told her the story as his mother had told it to him. Then at last he +said: + +"And now you know Barode Barouche got what he deserved. He ruined my +mother's life; he died the easiest death such a man could die. He has +also spoiled my life." + +"Nothing can spoil your life except yourself," she declared firmly, and +she laid a hand upon his arm. "Who told you all this--and when?" + +"My mother in a letter last night. I had a talk with her afterwards." + +"Who else knows?" + +"Only you." + +"And why did you tell me?" + +"Because I want you to know why our ways must for ever lie apart." + +"I don't grasp what you mean," she declared in a low voice. + +"You don't grasp why, loving you, I didn't ask you to marry me long ago; +but you found out for yourself from the one who was responsible, and +freed me and saved me; and now you know I am an illegitimate son." + +"And you want to cut me out of your life for a bad man's crime, not your +own.... Listen, Carnac. Last night I told Mr. Tarboe I could not marry +him. He is rich, he has control of a great business, he is a man of +mark. Why do you suppose I did it, and for over two years have done the +same?--for he has wanted me all that time. Does not a girl know when +a real man wants her? And Luke Tarboe is a real man. He knows what he +wants, and he goes for it, and little could stop him as he travels. Why +do you suppose I did it?" Her face flushed, anger lit her eyes. "Because +there was another man; but I've only just discovered he's a sham, with +no real love for me. It makes me sorry I ever knew him." + +"Me--no real love for you! That's not the truth: it's because I have no +real name to give you--that's why I've spoken as I have. Never have I +cared for anyone except you, Junia, and I could have killed anyone that +wronged you--" + +"Kill yourself then," she flashed. + +"Have I wronged you, Junia?" + +"If you kept me waiting and prevented me from marrying a man I could +have loved, if I hated you--if you did that, and then at last told me +to go my ways, don't you think it wronging me! Don't be a fool, Carnac. +You're not the only man on earth a good girl could love. I tell you, +again and again I have been moved towards Luke Tarboe, and if he had had +understanding of women, I should now be his wife." + +"You tell me what I have always known," he interposed. "I knew Tarboe +had a hold on your heart. I'm not so vain as to think I've always been +the one man for you. I lived long in anxious fear, and--" + +"And now you shut the door in my face! Looked at from any standpoint, +it's ugly." + +"I want you to have your due," he answered with face paler. "You're a +great woman--the very greatest, and should have a husband born in honest +wedlock." + +"I'm the best judge of what I want," she declared almost sharply, yet +there was a smile at her lips. "Why, I suppose if John Grier had left +you his fortune, you'd give it up; you'd say, 'I have no right to it,' +and would give it to my brother-in-law, Fabian." + +"I should." + +"Yet Fabian had all he deserved from his father. He has all he should +have, and he tried to beat his father in business. Carnac, don't be a +bigger fool than there's any need to be. What is better than that John +Grier's business should be in Tarboe's hands--or in yours? Remember, +John Grier might have left it all to your mother, and, if he had, you'd +have taken it, if she had left it to you. You'd have taken it even if +you meant to give it away afterwards. There are hospitals to build. +There are good and costly things to do for the State." + +Suddenly she saw in his eyes a curious soft understanding, and she +put her hand on his shoulder. "Carnac," she said gently, "great, great +Carnac, won't you love me?" + +For an instant he felt he must still put her from him, then he clasped +her to his breast. + +"But I really had to throw myself into your arms!" she said later. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. "HALVES, PARDNER, HALVES" + +It was Thanksgiving Day, and all the people of the Province were en +fete. The day was clear, and the air was thrilling with the spirits of +the north country; the vibrant sting of oxygen, the blessed resilience +of the river and the hills. + +It was a great day on the St. Lawrence, for men were preparing to go to +the backwoods, to the "shanties," and hosts were busy with the crops, +storing them; while all in trade and industry were cheerful. There was +a real benedicite in the air. In every church. Catholic and Protestant, +hands of devoted workers had made beautiful altar and communion table, +and lectern and pulpit, and in the Methodist chapel and the Presbyterian +kirk, women had made the bare interiors ornate. The bells of all the +churches were ringing, French and English; and each priest, clergyman +and minister was moving his people in his own way and by his own ritual +to bless God and live. + +In the city itself, the Mayor had arranged a festival in the evening, +and there were gathered many people to give thanks. But those most +conspicuous were the poor, unsophisticated habitants, who were on good +terms with the refreshment provided. Their enthusiasm was partly due to +the presence of Carnac Grier. In his speech to the great crowd, among +other things the Mayor said: "It is our happiness that we have here one +whose name is familiar to all in French-Canada--that of the new Member +of Parliament, Monsieur Carnac Grier. In Monsieur Grier we have a man +who knows his own mind, and it is filled with the interests of the +French as well as the English. He is young, he has power, and he will +use his youth and power to advance the good of the whole country. May he +live long!" + +Carnac never spoke better in his life than in his brief reply. When he +had finished, some one touched his arm. It was Luke Tarboe. + +"A good speech, Grier. Can you give me a few moments?" + +"Here?" asked Carnac, smiling. + +"Not here, but in the building. There is a room where we can be alone, +and I have to tell you something of great importance." + +"Of great importance? Well, so have I to tell you, Tarboe." + +A few minutes later they were in the Mayor's private parlour, hung with +the portraits of past Governors and Mayors, and carrying over the door +the coat-of-arms of the Province. + +Presently Carnac said: "Let me give you my news first, Tarboe: I am to +marry Junia Shale--and soon." + +Tarboe nodded. "I expected that. She is worth the best the world can +offer." There was a ring of honesty in his tone. "All the more reason +why I should tell you what my news is, Carnac. I'm going to tell you +what oughtn't yet to be told for another two years, but I feel it due +you, for you were badly used, and so I break my word to your father." + +Carnac's hand shot out in protest, but Tarboe took no notice. "I mean to +tell you now in the hour of your political triumph that--" + +"That I can draw on you for ten thousand dollars, perhaps?" shot out +Carnac. + +"Not for ten thousand, but in two years' time--or to-morrow--for a +hundred and fifty times that if you want it." + +Carnac shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what you're driving at, +Tarboe. Two years from now--or to-morrow--I can draw on you for a +hundred and fifty times ten thousand dollars! What does that mean? Is +it you're tired of the fortune left you by the biggest man industrially +French-Canada has ever known?" + +"I'll tell you the truth--I never had a permanent fortune, and I was +never meant to have the permanent fortune, though I inherited by will. +That was a matter between John Grier and myself. There was another will +made later, which left the business to some one else." + +"I don't see." + +"Of course you don't see, and yet you must." Tarboe then told the story +of the making of the two wills, doing justice to John Grier. + +"He never did things like anyone else, and he didn't in dying. He loved +you, Carnac. In spite of all he said and did he believed in you. He knew +you had the real thing in you, if you cared to use it." + +"Good God! Good God!" was all Carnac could at first say. "And you agreed +to that?" + +"What rights had I? None at all. I'll come out of it with over a +half-million dollars--isn't that enough for a backwoodsman? I get the +profits of the working for three years, and two hundred thousand dollars +besides. I ought to be satisfied with that." + +"Who knows of the will besides yourself?" asked Carnac sharply. + +"No one. There is a letter to the bank simply saying that another will +exists and where it is, but that's all. + +"And you could have destroyed that will in my favour?" + +"That's so." The voice of Tarboe was rough with feeling, his face grew +dark. "More than once I willed to destroy it. It seemed at first I could +make better use of the property than you. The temptation was big, but I +held my own, and now I've no fear of meeting anyone in Heaven or Hell. +I've told you all.... + +"Not quite all. There's one thing more. The thought of Junia Shale made +me want to burn the second will, and I almost did it; but I'm glad I +didn't." + +"If you had, and had married her, you wouldn't have been happy. You +can't be fooling a wife and be safe." + +"I guess I know that--just in time.... I have a bad heart, Carnac. Your +property came to me against my will through your father, but I wanted +the girl you're going to marry, and against my will you won her. I +fought for her. I thought there was a chance for me, because of the +rumour you were secretly married--" + +"I'll tell you about it, Tarboe, now. It was an ugly business." And he +told in a dozen sentences the story of Luzanne and the false marriage. + +When he had finished, Tarboe held out his hand. "It was a close shave, +Carnac." + +After a few further remarks, Tarboe said: "I thought there was a chance +for me with Junia Shale, but there never was a real one, for she was +yours from a child. You won her fairly, Carnac. If you'll come to the +office to-morrow morning, I'll show you the will." + +"You'll show me the will?" asked Carnac with an edge to his tone. + +"What do you mean?" Tarboe did not like the look in the other's eyes. + +"I mean, what you have you shall keep, and what John Grier leaves me by +that will, I will not keep." + +"You will inherit, and you shall keep." + +"And turn you out!" remarked Carnac ironically. "I needn't be turned +out. I hoped you'd keep me as manager. Few could do it as well, and, as +Member of Parliament, you haven't time yourself. I'll stay as manager at +twenty thousand dollars a year, if you like." + +Carnac could not tell him the real reason for declining to inherit, but +that did not matter. Yet there flashed into his heart a love, which +he had never felt so far in his life, for John Grier. The old man had +believed he would come out right in the end, and so had left him the +fortune in so odd a way. How Carnac longed to tell Tarboe the whole +truth about Barode Barouche, and yet dare not! After a short time of +hesitation and doubt, Carnac said firmly: + +"I'll stand by the will, if you'll be my partner and manager, Tarboe. If +you'll take half the business and manage the whole of it, I'll sell the +half for a dollar to you, and we can run together to the end." + +Tarboe's face lighted; there was triumph in his eyes. It was all better +than he had dared to hope, for he liked the business, and he loathed the +way the world had looked at John Grier's will. + +"Halves, pardner, halves!" he said, assenting gladly, and held out his +hand. + +They clasped hands warmly. + +The door opened and Junia appeared. She studied their faces anxiously. +When she saw the smiling light in them: + +"Oh, you two good men!" she said joyously, and held out a hand to each. + + + ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + + All genius is at once a blessing or a curse + Do what you feel you've got to do, and never mind what happens + Don't be a bigger fool than there's any need to be + Had got unreasonably old + How many sons have ever added to their father's fame? + Life is only futile to the futile + Never give up your soul to things only, keep it for people + We suffer the shames we damn in others + We do what we forbid ourselves to do + Youth's a dream, middle age a delusion, old age a mistake + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Carnac's Folly, Complete, by Gilbert Parker + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CARNAC'S FOLLY, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 6299.txt or 6299.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/9/6299/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**EBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers***** + + +Title: Carnac's Folly, Complete + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Release Date: August, 2004 [EBook #6299] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on December 19, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CARNAC'S FOLLY, BY PARKER, Entire *** + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> + + + + + +CARNAC'S FOLLY + +By Gilbert Parker + + + +CONTENTS: + +BOOK I +I. IN THE DAYS OF CHILDHOOD +II. ELEVEN YEARS PASS +III. CARNAC'S RETURN +IV. THE HOUSE ON THE HILL +V. CARNAC AS MANAGER +VI. LUKE TARBOE HAS AN OFFER +VII. "AT OUR PRICE" +VIII. JOHN GRIER MAKES ANOTHER OFFER +IX. THE PUZZLE +X. DENZIL TELLS HIS STORY +XI. CARNAC'S TALK WITH HIS MOTHER +XII. CARNAC SAYS GOOD-BYE + +BOOK II +XIII. CARNAC'S RETURN +XIV. THE HOUSE OF THE THREE TREES +XV. CARNAC AND JUNTA +XVI. JOHN GRIER MAKES A JOURNEY +XVII. THE READING OF THE WILL + +BOOK III +XVIII. A GREAT DECISION +XIX. CARNAC BECOMES A CANDIDATE +XX. JUNIA AND TARBOE HEAR THE NEWS +XXI. THE SECRET MEETING +XXII. POINT TO POINT +XXIII. THE MAN WHO WOULD NOT +XXIV. THE BLUE PAPER +XXV. DENZIL TAKES A HAND IN THE GAME +XXVI. THE CHALLENGE +XXVII. EXIT +XXVIII. A WOMAN WRITES A LETTER +XXIX. CARNAC AND HIS MOTHER +XXX. TARBOE HAS A DREAM +XXXI. THIS WAY HOME +XXXII. 'HALVES, PARDNER, HALVES' + + + + +BOOK I + +CHAPTER I + +IN THE DAYS OF CHILDHOOD + +"Carnac! Carnac! Come and catch me, Carnac!" It was a day of perfect +summer and hope and happiness in the sweet, wild world behind the near +woods and the far circle of sky and pine and hemlock. The voice that +called was young and vibrant, and had in it the simple, true soul of +things. It had the clearness of a bugle-call-ample and full of life and +all life's possibilities. It laughed; it challenged; it decoyed. + +Carnac heard the summons and did his best to catch the girl in the wood +by the tumbling stream, where he had for many an hour emptied out his +wayward heart; where he had seen his father's logs and timbers caught in +jams, hunched up on rocky ledges, held by the prong of a rock, where +man's purpose could, apparently, avail so little. Then he had watched +the black-bearded river-drivers with their pike-poles and their levers +loose the key-logs of the bunch, and the tumbling citizens of the woods +and streams toss away down the current to the wider waters below. He was +only a lad of fourteen, and the girl was only eight, but she--Junia--was +as spry and graceful a being as ever woke the echoes of a forest. + +He was only fourteen, but already he had visions and dreamed dreams. His +father--John Grier--was the great lumber-king of Canada, and Junia was +the child of a lawyer who had done little with his life, but had had +great joy of his two daughters, who were dear to him beyond telling. + +Carnac was one of Nature's freaks or accidents. He was physically strong +and daring, but, as a boy, mentally he lacked concentration and decision, +though very clever. He was led from thing to thing like a ray of errant +light, and he did not put a hand on himself, as old Denzil, the partly +deformed servant of Junia's home, said of him on occasion; and Denzil was +a man of parts. + +Denzil was not far from the two when Junia made her appeal and challenge. +He loved the girl exceedingly, and he loved Carnac little less, though in +a different way. Denzil was French of the French, with habit of mind and +character wholly his own. + +Denzil's head was squat upon his shoulders, and his long, handsome body +was also squat, because his legs were as short, proportionately, as his +mind was long. His face was covered by a well-cared-for beard of dark +brown, streaked with grey; his features were rugged and fine; and his +eyes were like two coals burning under a gnarled headland; for his +forehead, ample and full, had lines which were not lines of age, but of +concentration. In his motions he was quiet and free, yet always there +was a kind of stealthiness in his movements, which made him seem less +frank than he really was. + +For a time, with salient sympathy in his eyes, he watched the two +children playing. The whisking of their forms among the trees and over +the rocks was fine, gracious, and full of life-life without alarm. At +length he saw the girl falter slightly, then make a swift deceptive +movement to avoid the boy who pursued her. The movement did not delude +the boy. He had quickness of anticipation. An instant later the girl +was in his arms. + +As Denzil gazed, it seemed she was in his arms too long, and a sudden +anxiety took hold of him. That anxiety was deepened when he saw the boy +kiss the girl on the cheek. This act seemed to discompose the girl, but +not enough to make drama out of an innocent, yet sensuous thing. The boy +had meant nothing more than he had shown, and Denzil traced the act to a +native sense of luxury in his nature. Knowing the boy's father and +mother as he did, it seemed strange that Carnac should have such +demonstration in his character. Of all the women he knew, Carnac's +mother was the most exact and careful, though now and again he thought +of her as being shrouded, or apart; while the boy's father, the great +lumber-king, cantankerous, passionate, perspicuous, seemed to have but +one passion, and that was his business. + +It was strange to Denzil that the lumber-king, short, thin, careless in +his clothes but singularly clean in his person, should have a son so +little like himself, and also so little like his mother. He, Denzil, was +a Catholic, and he could not understand a man like John Grier who, being +a member of the Episcopal Church, so seldom went to service and so defied +rules of conduct suitable to his place in the world. + +As for the girl, to him she was the seventh wonder of the earth. +Wantonly alive, dexterously alert to all that came her way, sportive, +indifferent, joyous, she had all the boy's sprightliness, but none of his +weaknesses. She was a born tease; she loved bright and beautiful things; +she was a keen judge of human nature, and she had buoyant spirits, which, +however, were counterbalanced by moments of extreme timidity, or, rather, +reserve and shyness. On a day like this, when everything in life was +singing, she must sing too. Not a mile away was a hut by the river where +her father had brought his family for the summer's fishing; not a half- +mile away was a tent which Carnac Grier's father had set up as he passed +northward on his tour of inspection. This particular river, and this +particular part of the river, were trying to the river-man and his clans. +It needed a dam, and the great lumber-king was planning to make one not +three hundred yards from where they were. + +The boy and the girl resting idly upon a great warm rock had their own +business to consider. The boy kept looking at his boots with the brass- +tipped toes. He hated them. The girl was quick to understand. "Why +don't you like your boots?" she asked. + +A whimsical, exasperated look came into his face. "I don't know why they +brass a boy's toes like that, but when I marry I won't wear them--that's +all," he replied. + +"Why do you wear them now?" she asked, smiling. + +"You don't know my father." + +"He's got plenty of money, hasn't he?" she urged. "Plenty; and that's +what I can't understand about him! There's a lot of waste in river- +driving, timber-making, out in the shanties and on the river, but he +don't seem to mind that. He's got fads, though, about how we are to +live, and this is one of them." He looked at the brass-tipped boots +carefully. A sudden resolve came into his face. He turned to the girl +and flushed as he spoke. "Look here," he added, "this is the last day +I'm going to wear these boots. He's got to buy me a pair without any +brass clips on them, or I'll kick." + +"No, it isn't the last day you're going to wear them, Carnac." + +"It is. I wonder if all boys feel towards their father as I do to mine. +He don't treat me right. He--" + +"Oh, look," interrupted Junia. "Look-Carnac!" She pointed in dismay. + +Carnac saw a portion of the bank of the river disappear with Denzil. He +ran over to the bank and looked down. In another moment he had made his +way to a descending path which led him swiftly to the river's edge. The +girl remained at the top. The boy had said to her: "You stay there. +I'll tell you what to do." + +"Is-is he killed?" she called with emotion. + +"Killed! No. He's all right," he called back to her. "I can see him +move. Don't be frightened. He's not in the water. It was only about a +thirty-foot fall. You stay there, and I'll tell you what to do," he +added. + +A few moments later, the boy called up: "He's all right, but his leg is +broken. You go to my father's camp--it's near. People are sure to be +there, and maybe father too. You bring them along." + +In an instant the girl was gone. The boy, left behind, busied himself in +relieving the deformed broken-legged habitant. He brought some water in +his straw hat to refresh him. He removed the rocks and dirt, and dragged +the little man out. + +"It was a close call--bien sur," said Denzil, breathing hard. "I always +said that place wasn't safe, but I went on it myself. That's the way in +life. We do what we forbid ourselves to do; we suffer the shames we damn +in others--but yes." + +There was a pause, then he added: "That's what you'll do in your life, +M'sieu' Carnac. That's what you'll do." + +"Always?" + +"Well, you never can tell--but no." + +"But you always can tell," remarked the boy. "The thing is, do what you +feel you've got to do, and never mind what happens." + +"I wish I could walk," remarked the little man, "but this leg of mine is +broke--ah, bah, it is!" + +"Yes, you mustn't try to walk. Be still," answered the boy. "They'll be +here soon." Slowly and carefully he took off the boot and sock from the +broken leg, and, with his penknife, opened the seam of the corduroy +trouser. "I believe I could set that leg myself," he added. + +"I think you could--bagosh," answered Denzil heavily. "They'll bring a +rope to haul me up?" + +"Junia has a lot of sense, she won't forget anything." + +"And if your father's there, he'll not forget anything," remarked Denzil. + +"He'll forget to make me wear these boots tomorrow," said the boy +stubbornly, his chin in his hands, his eyes fixed gloomily on the brass- +headed toes. + +There was a long silence. At last from the stricken Denzil came the +words: "You'll have your own way about the boots." + +Carnac murmured, and presently said: + +"Lucky you fell where you did. Otherwise, you'd have been in the water, +and then I couldn't have been of any use." + +"I hear them coming--holy, yes!" + +Carnac strained his ears. "Yes, you're right. I hear them too." + +A few moments later, Carnac's father came sliding down the bank, a rope +in his hands, some workmen remaining above. + +"What's the matter here?" he asked. "A fall, eh! Dang little fool-- +now, you are a dang little fool, and you know it, Denzil." + +He nodded to his boy, then he raised the wounded man's head and +shoulders, and slipped the noose over until it caught under his arms. + +The old lumber-king's movements were swift, sure and exact. A moment +later he lifted Denzil in his arms, and carried him over to the steep +path up which he was presently dragged. + +At the top, Denzil turned to Carnac's father. "M'sieu', Carnac hates +wearing those brass-toed boots," he said boldly. + +The lumber-king looked at his boy acutely. He blew his nose hard, with a +bandana handkerchief. Then he nodded towards the boy. + +"He can suit himself about that," he said. + +With accomplished deftness, with some sacking and two poles, a hasty but +comfortable ambulance was made under the skilful direction of the river- +master. He had the gift of outdoor life. He did not speak as he worked, +but kept humming to himself. + +"That's all right," he said, as he saw Denzil on the stretcher. "We'll +get on home now." + +"Home?" asked his son. + +"Yes, Montreal--to-night," replied his father. "The leg has to be set." + +"Why don't you set it?" asked the boy. + +The river-master gazed at him attentively. "Well, I might, with your +help," he said. "Come along." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +ELEVEN YEARS PASS + +Eleven years had passed since Denzil's fall, and in that time much +history had been made. Carnac Grier, true to his nature, had travelled +from incident to incident, from capacity to capacity, apparently without +system, yet actually with the keenest desire to fulfil himself; with an +honesty as inveterate as his looks were good and his character filled +with dark recesses. In vain had his father endeavoured to induce him to +enter the lumber business; to him it seemed too conventional and fixed. + +Yet, in his way, he knew the business well. By instinct, over the +twenty-five years of his life, he had observed and become familiar with +the main features of the work. He had once or twice even buried himself +in the shanties of the backwoods, there to inhale and repulse the fetid +air, to endure the untoward, half-savage life, the clean, strong food, +the bitter animosities and the savage friendships. It was a land where +sunshine travelled, and in the sun the bright, tuneful birds made lively +the responsive world. Sometimes an eagle swooped down the stream; again +and again, hawks, and flocks of pigeons which frequented the lonely +groves on the river-side, made vocal the world of air; flocks of wild +ducks, or geese, went whirring down the long spaces of water between the +trees on either bank; and some one with a fiddle or a concertina made +musical the evening, while the singing voices of rough habitants rang +through the air. + +It was all spirited; it smelt good; it felt good; but it was not for +Carnac. When he had a revolt against anything in life, the grim storm +scenes of winter in the shanties under the trees and the snow-swept hills +came to his mind's eye. The summer life of the river, and what is called +"running the river," had for him great charms. The smell of hundreds of +thousands of logs in the river, the crushed bark, the slimy ooze were all +suggestive of life in the making. But the savage seclusion of the wild +life in winter repelled his senses. Besides, the lumber business meant +endless figures and measurements in stuffy offices and he retreated from +it all. + +He had an artistic bent. From a small child he had had it, and it grew +with his years. He wanted to paint, and he painted; he wanted to sculp +in clay, and he sculped in clay; but all the time he was conscious it was +the things he had seen and the life he had lived which made his painting +and his sculpture worth while. It was absurd that a man of his great +outdoor capacity should be the slave of a temperamental quality, and yet +it was so. It was no good for his father to condemn, or his mother to +mourn, he went his own way. + +He had seen much of Junia Shale in these years and had grown fond of her, +but she was away much with an aunt in the West, and she was sent to +boarding-school, and they saw each other only at intervals. She liked +him and showed it, but he was not ready to go farther. As yet his art +was everything to him, and he did not think of marriage. He was care- +free. He had a little money of his own, left by an uncle of his mother, +and he had also an allowance from his mother--none from his father--and +he was satisfied with life. + +His brother, Fabian, being the elder, by five years, had gone into his +father's business as a partner, and had remained there. Fabian had at +last married an elder sister of Junia Shale and settled down in a house +on the hill, and the lumber-king, John Grier, went on building up his +splendid business. + +At last, Carnac, feeling he was making small headway with his painting, +determined to go again to New York and Paris. He had already spent a +year in each place and it had benefited him greatly. So, with that +sudden decision which marked his life, he started for New York. It was +immediately after the New Year and the ground was covered with snow. He +looked out of the window of the train, and there was only the long line +of white country broken by the leafless trees and rail-fences and the +mansard-roofs and low cottages with their stoops, built up with earth to +keep them warm; and the sheds full of cattle; and here and there a +sawmill going hard, and factories pounding away and men in fur coats +driving the small Indian ponies; and the sharp calls of the men with the +sleigh bringing wood, or meat, or vegetables to market. He was by nature +a queer compound of Radical and Conservative, a victim of vision and +temperament. He was full of pride, yet fuller of humility of a real +kind. As he left Montreal he thought of Junia Shale, and he recalled the +day eleven years before when he had worn brass-toed boots, and he had +caught Junia in his arms and kissed her, and Denzil had had his accident. +Denzil had got unreasonably old since then; but Junia remained as she was +the joyous day when boyhood took on the first dreams of manhood. + +Life was a queer thing, and he had not yet got his bearings in it. He +had a desire to reform the world and he wanted to be a great painter or +sculptor, or both; and he entered New York with a new sense developed. +He was keen to see, to do, and to feel. He wanted to make the world ring +with his name and fame, yet he wanted to do the world good also, if he +could. It was a curious state of mind for the English boy, who talked +French like a native and loved French literature and the French people, +and was angry with those English-Canadians who were so selfish they would +never learn French. + +Arrived in New York he took lodgings near old Washington Square, where +there were a few studios near the Bohemian restaurants and a life as +nearly continental as was possible in a new country. He got in touch +with a few artists and began to paint, doing little scenes in the Bowery +and of the night-life of New York, and visiting the Hudson River and Long +Island for landscape and seascape sketches. + +One day he was going down Broadway, and near Union Square he saved a girl +from being killed by a street-car. She had slipped and fallen on the +track and a car was coming. It was impossible for her to get away in +time, and Carnac had sprung to her and got her free. She staggered to +her feet, and he saw she was beautiful and foreign. He spoke to her in +French and her eyes lighted, for she was French. She told him at once +that her name was Luzanne Larue. He offered to get a cab and take her +home, but she said no, she was fit to walk, so he went with her slowly to +her home in one of the poor streets on the East side. They talked as +they went, and Carnac saw she was of the lower middle-class, with more +refinement than was common in that class, and more charm. She was a +fascinating girl with fine black eyes, black hair, a complexion of cream, +and a gift of the tongue. Carnac could not see that she was very subtle. +She seemed a marvel of guilelessness. She had a wonderful head and neck, +and as he was planning a picture of an early female martyr, he decided to +ask her to sit to him. + +Arrived at her humble home, he was asked to enter, and there he met her +father, Isel Larue, a French monarchist who had been exiled from Paris +for plotting against the Government. He was handsome with snapping black +eyes, a cruel mouth and a droll and humorous tongue. He was grateful +to Carnac for saving his daughter's life. Coffee and cigarettes were +produced, and they chatted and smoked while Carnac took in the +surroundings. Everything was plain, but spotlessly clean, and he learned +that Larue made his living by doing odd jobs in an electric firm. He was +just home from his work. Luzanne was employed every afternoon in a +milliner's shop, but her evenings were free after the housework was done +at nine o'clock. Carnac in a burst of enthusiasm asked if she would sit +to him as a model in the mornings. Her father instantly said, of course +she would. + +This she did for many days, and sat with her hair down and bared neck, as +handsome and modest as a female martyr should. Carnac painted her with +skill. Sometimes he would walk with her to lunch and make her eat +something sustaining, and they talked freely then, though little was said +while he was painting her. At last one day the painting was finished, +and she looked up at him wistfully when he told her he would not need +another sitting. Carnac, overcome by her sadness, put his arms round her +and kissed her mouth, her eyes, her neck ravenously. She made only a +slight show of resistance. When he stopped she said: "Is that the way +you keep your word to my father? I am here alone and you embrace me-- +is that fair?" + +"No, it isn't, and I promise I won't do it again, Luzanne. I am sorry. +I wanted our friendship to benefit us both, and now I've spoiled it all." + +"No, you haven't spoiled it all," said Luzanne with a sigh, and she +buttoned up the neck of her blouse, flushing slightly as she did so. +Her breast heaved and suddenly she burst into tears. It was evident she +wanted Carnac to comfort her, perhaps to kiss her again, but he did not +do so. He only stood over her, murmuring penance and asking her to +forget it. + +"I can't forget it--I can't. No man but my father has ever kissed me +before. It makes me, oh! so miserable!" but she smiled through her +tears. Suddenly she dried her eyes. "Once a man tried to kiss me--and +something more. He was rich and he'd put money into Madame Margot's +millinery business. He was brilliant, and married, but he had no rules +for his morals--all he wanted was money and pleasures which he bought. +I was attracted by him, but one day he tried to kiss me. I slapped his +face, and then I hated him. So, when you kissed me to-day, I thought of +that, and it made me unhappy--but yes." + +"You did not slap my face, Luzanne?" + +She blushed and hung her head. "No, I did not; you are not a bad man. +He would have spoiled my life. He made it clear I could have all the +luxuries money could buy--all except marriage!" She shrugged her +shoulders. + +Carnac was of an impressionable nature, but brought to face the +possibility of marriage with Luzanne, he shrank. If ever he married it +would be a girl like Junia Shale, beautiful, modest, clever and well +educated. No, Luzanne could never be for him. So he forbore doing more +than ask her to forgive him, and he would take her to lunch-the last +lunch of the picture-if she would. With features in chagrin, she put +on her hat, yet when she turned to him, she was smiling. + +He visited her home occasionally, and Luzanne's father had a friend, +Ingot by name, who was sometimes present. This man made himself almost +unbearable at first; but Luzanne pulled Ingot up acridly, and he +presently behaved well. Ingot disliked all men in better positions than +himself, and was a revolutionary of the worst sort--a revolutionary and +monarchist. He was only a monarchist because he loved conspiracy and +hated the Republican rulers who had imprisoned him--"those bombastics," +he called them. It was a constitutional quarrel with the world. +However, he became tractable, and then he and Larue formed a plot to make +Carnac marry Luzanne. It was hatched by Ingot, approved by Larue, and at +length consented to by the girl, for so far as she could love anyone, she +loved Carnac; and she made up her mind that if he married her, no matter +how, she would make him so happy he would forgive all. + +About four months after the incident in the studio, a picnic was arranged +for the Hudson River. Only the four went. Carnac had just sold a +picture at a good price--his Christian Martyr picture--and he was in high +spirits. They arrived at the spot arranged for the picnic in time for +lunch, and Luzanne prepared it. When the lunch was ready, they sat down. +There was much gay talk, compliments to Carnac came from both Larue and +Ingot, and Carnac was excited and buoyant. He drank much wine and beer, +and told amusing stories of the French-Canadians which delighted them +all. He had a gift of mimicry and he let himself go. + +"You got a pretty fine tongue in your head--but of the best," said Ingot +with a burst of applause. "You'd make a good actor, a holy good actor. +You got a way with you. Coquelin, Salvini, Bernhardt! Voila, you're +just as good! Bagosh, I'd like to see you on the stage." + +"So would I," said Larue. "I think you could play a house full in no +time and make much cash--I think you could. Don't you think so, +Luzanne?" + +Luzanne laughed. "He can act very first-class, I'm sure," she said, +and she turned and looked Carnac in the eyes. She was excited, she was +handsome, she was slim and graceful, and Carnac felt towards her as he +did the day at the studio, as though he'd like to kiss her. He knew it +was not real, but it was the man in him and the sex in her. + +For an hour and a half the lunch went on, all growing gayer, and then at +last Ingot said: "Well, I'm going to have a play now here, and Carnac +Grier shall act, and we all shall act. We're going to have a wedding +ceremony between M'sieu' Grier and Luzanne--but, hush, why not!" he +added, when Luzanne shook her finger at him, and said she'd do nothing of +the kind, having, however, agreed to it beforehand. "Why not! There's +nothing in it. They'll both be married some day and it will be good +practice for them. They can learn now how to do it. It's got to be +done--but yes. I'll find a Judge in the village. Come now, hands up, +those that will do it." + +With a loud laugh Larue held up his hand, Carnac, who was half-drunk, did +the same, and after a little hesitation Luzanne also. + +"Good--a gay little comedy, that's what it is. I'm off for the Judge," +and away went Ingot hard afoot, having already engaged a Judge, called +Grimshaw, in the village near to perform the ceremony. When he had gone, +Larue went off to smoke and Luzanne and Carnac cleared up the lunch- +things and put all away in the baskets. When it was finished, Carnac and +Luzanne sat down under a tree and talked cheerfully, and Luzanne was +never so effective as she was that day. They laughed over the mock +ceremony to be performed. + +"I'm a Catholic, you know," said Luzanne, "and it isn't legal in my +church with no dispensation to be married to a Protestant like you. But +as it is, what does it matter!" + +"Well, that's true," said Carnac. "I suppose I ought to be acting the +lover now; I ought to be kissing you, oughtn't I?" + +"As an actor, yes, but as a man, better not unless others are present. +Wait till the others come. Wait for witnesses, so that it can look like +the real thing. + +"See, there they come now." She pointed, and in the near distance Ingot +could be seen approaching with a short, clean-shaven, roly-poly sort of +man who did not look legal, but was a real magistrate. He came waddling +along in good spirits and rather pompously. At that moment Larue +appeared. Presently Ingot presented the Judge to the would--be bride and +bridegroom. "You wish to be married-you are Mr. Grier?" said Judge +Grimshaw. + +"That's me and I'm ready," said Carnac. "Get on with the show. What's +the first thing?" + +"Well, the regular thing is to sign some forms, stating age, residence, +etc., and here they are all ready. Brought 'em along with me. Most +unusual form of ceremony, but it'll do. It's all right. Here are the +papers to sign." + +Carnac hastily scratched in the needed information, and Luzanne doing the +same, the magistrate pocketed the papers. + +"Now we can perform the ceremony," said the Judge. "Mr. Larue, you go +down there with the young lady and bring her up in form, and Mr. Carnac +Grier waits here." + +Larue went away with Luzanne, and presently turned, and she, with her arm +in his, came forward. Carnac stood waiting with a smile on his face, for +it seemed good acting. When Luzanne came, her father handed her over, +and the marriage ceremony proceeded. Presently it concluded, and +Grimshaw, who had had more drink than was good for him, wound up the +ceremony with the words: "And may the Lord have mercy on you!" + +Every one laughed, Carnac kissed the bride, and the Judge handed her the +marriage certificate duly signed. It was now Carnac's duty to pay in the +usual way for the ceremony, and he handed the Judge ten dollars; and +Grimshaw rolled away towards the village, Ingot having also given him +ten. + +"That's as good a piece of acting as I've ever seen," said Larue with a +grin. "It beats Coquelin and Henry Irving." + +"I didn't think there was much in it," said Carnac, laughing, "though it +was real enough to cost me ten dollars. One has to pay for one's fun. +But I got a wife cheap at the price, and I didn't pay for the wedding +ring." + +"No, the ring was mine," said Larue. "I had it a long time. It was my +engagement ring, and I want it back now." + +Luzanne took it off her finger--it was much too large--and gave it to +him. "It's easy enough to get another," she said in a queer voice. + +"You did the thing in style, young man," said Ingot to Carnac with a nod. + +"I'll do it better when it's the real thing," said Carnac. "I've had my +rehearsal now, and it seemed almost real." + +"It was almost real," said Ingot, with his head turned away from Carnac, +but he winked at Larue and caught a furtive look from Luzanne's eye. + +"I think we'd better have another hour hereabouts, then get back to New +York," said Larue. "There's a circus in the village--let us go to that." + +At the village, they did the circus, called out praise to the clown, gave +the elephant some buns, and at five o'clock started back to New York. +Arrived at New York, they went to a hotel off Broadway for dinner, and +Carnac signed names in the hotel register as "Mr. and Mrs. Carnac Grier." +When he did it, he saw a furtive glance pass from Luzanne's eyes to her +father. It was disconcerting to him. Presently the two adjourned to the +sitting-room, and there he saw that the table was only laid for two. +That opened his eyes. The men had disappeared and he and Luzanne were +alone. She was sitting on a sofa near the table, showing to good +advantage. She was composed, while Carnac was embarrassed. +Carnac began to take a grip on himself. + +The waiter entered. "When shall I serve dinner, sir?" he said. + +Carnac realized that the dinner had been ordered by the two men, and he +said quietly: "Don't serve it for a half-hour yet--not till I ring, +please. Make it ready then. There's no hurry. It's early." + +The waiter bowed and withdrew with a smile, and Carnac turned to Luzanne. +She smiled, got up, came over, laid a hand on his arm, and said: "It's +quiet and nice here, Carnac dear," and she looked up ravishingly in his +face. + +"It's too quiet and it's not at all nice," he suddenly replied. "Your +father and Ingot have gone. They've left us alone on purpose. This is a +dirty game and I'm not going to play it any longer. I've had enough of +it. I've had my fill. I'm going now. Come, let's go together." + +She looked a bit smashed and overdone. "The dinner!" she said in +confusion. + +"I'll pay for that. We won't wait any longer. Come on at once, please." + +She put on her things coolly, and he noticed a savage stealthiness as +she pushed the long pins through her hat and hair. He left the room. +Outside the hotel, Carnac held out his hand. + +"Good night and good-bye, Luzanne," he said huskily. "You can get home +alone, can't you?" + +She laughed a little, then she said: "I guess so. I've lived in New York +some years. But you and I are married, Carnac, and you ought to take me +to your home." + +There was something devilish in her smile now. Then the whole truth +burst upon Carnac. "Married--married! When did I marry you? Good God!" +"You married me this afternoon after lunch at Shipton. I have the +certificate and I mean to hold you to it." + +"You mean to hold me to it--a real marriage to-day at Shipton! You and +your father and Ingot tricked me into this." + +"He was a real Judge, and it was a real marriage." + +"It is a fraud, and I'll unmask it," Carnac declared in anger. + +"It would be difficult to prove. You signed our names in the hotel +register as Mr. and Mrs. Carnac Grier. I mean to stick to that name-- +Mrs. Carnac Grier. I'll make you a good wife, Carnac--do believe it. + +"I'll believe nothing but the worst of you ever. I'll fight the thing +out, by God!" + +She shook her head and smiled. "I meant you to marry me, when you saved +my life from the streetcar. I never saw but one man I wanted to marry, +and you are that man, Carnac. You wouldn't ask me, so I made you marry +me. You could go farther and fare worse. Come, take me home--take me +home, my love. I want you to love me." + +"You little devil!" Carnac declared. "I'd rather cut my own throat. +I'm going to have a divorce. I'm going to teach you and the others a +lesson you won't forget." + +"There isn't a jury in the United States you could convince after what +you've done. You've made it impossible. Go to Judge Grimshaw and see +what he will say. Go and ask the hotel people and see what they will +say. You're my husband, and I mean you shall live with me, and I'll love +you better than any woman on earth can love you. . . . Won't you?" +She held out her hand. + +With an angry exclamation, Carnac refused it, and then she suddenly +turned on her heel, slipped round a corner and was gone. + +Carnac was dumbfounded. He did not know what to do. He went dazedly +home, and slept little that night. The next day he went out to Shipton +and saw Judge Grimshaw and told him the whole tale. The Judge shook his +head. + +"It's too tall a story. Why, you went through the ceremony as if it was +the real thing, signed the papers, paid my fee, and kissed the bride. +You could not get a divorce on such evidence. I'm sorry for you, if you +don't want the girl. She's very nice, and 'd make a good wife. What +does she mean to do?" + +"I don't know. She left me in the street and went back to her home. I +won't live with her." + +"I can't help you anyhow. She has the certificate. You are validly +married. If I were you, I'd let the matter stand." + +So they parted, and Carnac sullenly went back to his apartments. The +next day he went to see a lawyer, however. The lawyer opened his eyes +at the story. He had never heard anything like it. + +"It doesn't sound as if you were sober when you did it. Were you, sir? +It was a mad prank, anyhow!" + +"I had been drinking, but I wasn't drunk. I'd been telling them stories +and they used them as a means of tempting me to act in the absurd +marriage ceremony. Like a fool I consented. Like a fool--but I wasn't +drunk." + +"No, but when you were in your right mind and sober you signed your names +as Mr. and Mrs. Carnac Grier in the register of a hotel. I will try to +win your case for you, but it won't be easy work. You see the Judge +himself told you the same thing. But it would be a triumph to expose a +thing of that kind, and I'd like to do it. It wouldn't be cheap, though. +You'd have to foot the bill. Are you rich?" + +"No, but my people are," said Carnac. "I could manage the cash, but +suppose I lost!" + +"Well, you'd have to support the woman. She could sue you for cruelty +and desertion, and the damages would be heavy." + +Carnac shook his head, paid his fee and left the office. + +He did not go near Luzanne. After a month he went to Paris for eight +months, and then back to Montreal. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +CARNAC'S RETURN + +Arrived in Montreal, there were attempts by Carnac to settle down to +ordinary life of quiet work at his art, but it was not effective, nor had +it been in Paris, though the excitement of working in the great centre +had stimulated him. He ever kept saying to himself, "Carnac, you are a +married man--a married man, by the tricks of rogues!" In Paris, he could +more easily obscure it, but in Montreal, a few hundred miles from the +place of his tragedy, pessimism seized him. He now repented he did not +fight it out at once. It would have been courageous and perhaps +successful. But whether successful or not, he would have put himself +right with his own conscience. That was the chief thing. He was +straightforward, and back again in Canada, Carnac flung reproaches at +himself. + +He knew himself now to be in love with Junia Shale, and because he was +married he could not approach her. It galled him. He was not fond of +Fabian, for they had little in common, and he had no intimate friends. +Only his mother was always sympathetic to him, and he loved her. He saw +much of her, but little of anyone else. He belonged to no clubs, and +there were few artists in Montreal. So he lived his own life, and when +he met Junia he cavilled at himself for his madness with Luzanne. The +curious thing was he had not had a word from her since the day of the +mock marriage. Perhaps she had decided to abandon the thing! But that +could do no good, for there was the marriage recorded in the registers of +New York State. + +Meanwhile, things were not going well with others. There befell a day +when matters came to a crisis in the Grier family. Since Fabian's +marriage with Junia Shale's sister, Sybil, he had become discontented +with his position in his father's firm. There was little love between +him and his father, and that was chiefly the father's fault. One day, +the old man stormed at Fabian because of a mistake in the management, +and was foolish enough to say that Fabian had lost his grip since his +marriage. + +Fabian, enraged, demanded freedom from the partnership, and offered to +sell his share. In a fit of anger, the old man offered him what was at +least ten per cent more than the value of Fabian's share. The sombre +Fabian had the offer transferred to paper at once, and it was signed by +his father--not without compunction, because difficult as Fabian was +he might go further and fare worse. As for Fabian's dark-haired, brown- +faced, brown-eyed wife, to John Grier's mind, it seemed a good thing to +be rid of her. + +When Fabian left the father alone in his office, however, the stark +temper of the old man broke down. He had had enough. He muttered to +himself. Presently he was roused by a little knock at the door. It was +Junia, brilliant, buoyant, yellow haired, with bright brown eyes, +tingling cheeks, and white laughing teeth that showed against her red +lips. She held up a finger at him. + +"I know what you've done, and it's no good at all. You can't live +without us, and you mustn't," she said. The old man glowered still, but +a reflective smile crawled to his lips. "No, it's finished," he replied. + +"It had to come, and it's done. It can't be changed. Fabian wouldn't +alter it, and I shan't." + +His face was stern and dour. He tangled his short fingers in the hair on +top of his head. + +"I wouldn't say that, if I were you," she responded cheerily. "Fabian +showed me the sum you offered for his share. It's ridiculous. The +business isn't worth it." + +"What do you know about the business?" remarked the other. + +"Well, whatever it was worth an hour ago, it's worth less now," she +answered with suggestion. "It's worth much less now," she added. + +"What do you mean by that?" he asked sharply, sitting upright, his hands +clasping his knees almost violently, his clean-shaven face showing lines +of trouble. + +"I mean he's going to join the enemy," she answered quickly. + +"Join the enemy!" broke from the old man's lips with a startled accent. + +"Yes, the firm of Belloc." + +The old man did not speak, but a curious whiteness stole over his face. +"What makes you say that!" he exclaimed, anger in his eyes. + +"Well, Fabian has to put money into something," she answered, "and the +only business he knows is lumber business. Don't you think it's natural +he should go to Belloc?" + +"Did he ever say so?" asked the old man with savage sullenness. "Tell +me. Did he ever say so?" + +The girl shook back her brave head with a laugh. "Of course he never +said so, but I know the way he'll go." + + +The old man shook his head. "I don't believe it. He's got no love for +Belloc." + +The girl felt like saying, "He's got no love for you," but she refrained. +She knew that Fabian had love for his father, but he had inherited a love +for business, and that would overwhelm all other feelings. She therefore +said: "Why don't you get Carnac to come in? He's got more sense than +Fabian--and he isn't married!" + +She spoke boldly, for she knew the character of the man. She was only +nineteen. She had always come in and gone out of Grier's house and +office freely and much more since her sister had married Fabian. + +A storm gathered between the old man's eyes; his brow knitted. "Carnac's +got brains enough, but he goes monkeying about with pictures and statues +till he's worth naught in the business of life." + +"I don't think you understand him," the girl replied. "I've been trying +to understand him for twenty-five years," the other said malevolently. +"He might have been a big man. He might have bossed this business when +I'm gone. It's in him, but he's a fly-away--he's got no sense. The +ideas he's got make me sick. He talks like a damn fool sometimes." + +"But if he's a 'damn fool'--is it strange?" She gaily tossed a kiss at +the king of the lumber world. "The difference between you and him is +this: he doesn't care about the things of this world, and you do; but +he's one of the ablest men in Canada. If Fabian won't come back, why not +Carnac?" + +"We've never hit it off." + +Suddenly he stood up, his face flushed, his hands outthrust themselves in +rage, his fingers opened and shut in abandonment of temper. + +"Why have I two such sons!" he exclaimed. "I've not been bad. I've +squeezed a few; I've struck here and there; I've mauled my enemies, but +I've been good to my own. Why can't I run square with my own family?" +He was purple to the roots of his hair. + +Savagery possessed him. Life was testing him to the nth degree. "I've +been a good father, and a good husband! Why am I treated like this?" + +She watched him silently. Presently, however, the storm seemed to pass. +He appeared to gain control of himself. + +"You want me to have in Carnac?" he asked, with a little fleck of foam +at the corners of his mouth. + +"If you could have Fabian back," she remarked, "but you can't! It's been +coming for a long time. He's got your I.O.U. and he won't return; but +Carnac's got plenty of stuff in him. He never was afraid of anything or +anybody, and if he took a notion, he could do this business as well as +yourself by and by. It's all a chance, but if he comes in he'll put +everything else aside." + +"Where is he?" the old man asked. "He's with his mother at your home." + +The old man took his hat from the window-sill. At that moment a clerk +appeared with some papers. "What have you got there?" asked Grier +sharply. "The Belloc account for the trouble on the river," answered the +clerk. + +"Give it me," Grier said, and he waved the clerk away. Then he glanced +at the account, and a grim smile passed over his face. "They can't have +all they want, and they won't get it. Are you coming with me?" he asked +of the girl, with a set look in his eyes. "No. I'm going back to my +sister," she answered. + +"If he leaves me--if he joins Belloc!" the old man muttered, and again +his face flushed. + +A few moments afterwards the girl watched him till he disappeared up the +hill. + +"I don't believe Carnac will do it," she said to herself. "He's got the +sense, the brains, and the energy; but he won't do it." + +She heard a voice behind her, and turned. It was the deformed but potent +Denzil. He was greyer now. His head, a little to one side, seemed sunk +in his square shoulders, but his eyes were bright. + +"It's all a bad scrape--that about Fabian Grier," he said. "You can't +ever tell about such things, how they'll go--but no, bagosh!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE HOUSE ON THE HILL + +John Grier's house had a porch with Corinthian pillars. Its elevation +was noble, but it was rather crudely built, and it needed its grove of +maples to make it pleasant to the eye. It was large but not too ample, +and it had certain rooms with distinct character. + +Inside the house, John Grier paused a moment before the door of the +sitting-room where his wife usually sat. All was silent. He opened the +door. A woman rose to meet him. She was dressed in black. Her dark +hair, slightly streaked with grey, gave her distinction. Her eyes had +soft understanding; her lips had a reflective smile. There was, however, +uneasiness in her face; her fingers slightly trembled on the linen she +was holding. + +"You're home early, John," she said in a gentle, reserved voice. + +He twisted a shoulder. "Yes, I'm home early," he snapped. "Your boy +Fabian has left the business, and I've bought his share." He named the +sum. "Ghastly, ain't it? But he's gone, and there's no more about it. +It's a bad thing to marry a woman that can't play fair." + +He noted the excessive paleness of his wife's face; the bright eyes +stared and stared, and the lips trembled. "Fabian--Fabian gone!" she +said brokenly. + +"Yes, and he ain't coming back." + +"What's he going to do?" she asked in a bitter voice. + +"Join Belloc--fight his own father--try to do me in the race," growled +the old man. + +"Who told you that?" "Junia, she told me." + +"What does she know about it? Who told her that?" asked the woman with +faded lips. + +"She always had sense, that child. I wish she was a man." + +He suddenly ground his heel, and there was distemper in face and voice; +his shoulders hunched; his hands were thrust down in his pockets. He +wheeled on her. "Where's your other boy? Where's Carnac?" + +The woman pointed to the lawn. "He's catching a bit of the city from the +hill just beyond the pear-tree." + +"Painting, eh? I heard he was here. I want to talk to him." + +"I don't think it will do any good," was the sad reply. "He doesn't +think as you do." + +"You believe he's a genius," snarled the other. + +"You know he is." + +"I'll go and find him." + +She nodded. "I wish you luck," she said, but there was no conviction in +her tone. Truth was, she did not wish him luck in this. She watched him +leave by the French window and stride across the lawn. A strange, +troubled expression was in her face. + +"They can't pull it off together," she said to herself, and Carnac is too +full of independence. He wants nothing from anybody. He needs no one; +he follows no one--except me. Yes, he follows--he loves me. + +She watched her husband till he almost viciously thrust aside the bushes +staying his progress, and broke into the space by the pear-tree where +Carnac sat with palette and brush, gazing at the distant roofs on which +the sun was leaving its last kiss. + +Carnac got to his feet with a smile, and with a courage in his eye equal +to that which had ever been in his father's face--in the face of John +Grier. It was strange that the other's presence troubled him, that even +as a small child, to be in the same room for any length of time vexed +him. Much of that had passed away. The independence of the life he +lived, the freedom from resting upon the financial will of the lumber +king had given him light, air and confidence. He loved his mother. What +he felt for John Grier was respect and admiration. He knew he was not +spoken to now with any indolent purpose. + +They had seen little of each other of late years. His mother had given +him the money to go to New York and Paris, which helped out his own +limited income. He wondered what should bring his father to him now. +There was interested reflection in his eye. With his habit of +visualization, he saw behind John Grier, as he came on now, the long +procession of logs and timbers which had made his fortune, stretch back +on the broad St. Lawrence, from the Mattawan to the Madawaska, from the +Richelieu to the Marmora. Yet, what was it John Grier had done? In a +narrow field he had organized his life perfectly, had developed his +opportunities, had safeguarded his every move. The smiling inquiry in +his face was answered by the old man saying abruptly: + +"Fabian's gone. He's deserted the ship." + +The young man had the wish to say in reply, "At last, eh!" but he +avoided it. + +"Where has he gone?" + +"I bought him out to-day, and I hear he's going to join Belloc." + +"Belloc! Belloc! Who told you that?" asked the young man. + +"Junia Shale--she told me." + +Carnac laughed. "She knows a lot, but how did she know that?" + +"Sheer instinct, and I believe she's right." + +"Right--right--to fight you, his own father!" was the inflammable reply. + +"Why, that would be a lowdown business!" + +"Would it be lower down than your not helping your father, when you can?" + +Somehow he yearned over his wayward, fantastic son. The wilful, splendid +character of the youth overcame the insistence in the other's nature. + +"You seem to be getting on all right," remarked Carnac with the faint +brown moustache, the fine, showy teeth, the clean-shaven cheeks, and +auburn hair hanging loosely down. + +"You're wrong. Things aren't doing as well with me as they might. +Belloc and the others make difficult going. I've got too much to do +myself. I want help." + +"You had it in Fabian," remarked Carnac dryly. "Well, I've lost it, and +it never was enough. He hadn't vision, sense and decision." + +"And so you come to me, eh? I always thought you despised me," said +Carnac. + +A half-tender, half-repellent expression came into the old man's face. +He spoke bluntly. "I always thought you had three times the brains of +your brother. You're not like me, and you're not like your mother; +there's something in you that means vision, and seeing things, and doing +them. If fifteen thousand dollars a year and a share in the business is +any good to you--" + +For an instant there had been pleasure and wonder in the young man's +eyes, but at the sound of the money and the share in the business he +shrank back. + +"I don't think so, father. I'm happy enough. I've got all I want." + +"What the devil are you talking about!" the other burst out. "You've +got all you want! You've no home; you've no wife; you've no children; +you've no place. You paint, and you sculp, and what's the good of it +all? Have you ever thought of that? What's there in it for you or +anyone else? Have you no blood and bones, no sting of life in you? Look +what I've done. I started with little, and I've built up a business +that, if it goes all right, will be worth millions. I say, if it goes +all right, because I've got to carry more than I ought." + +Carnac shook his head. "I couldn't be any help to you. I'm not a man +of action. I think, I devise, but I don't act. I'd be no good in your +business no, honestly, I'd be no good. I don't think money is the end +of life. I don't think success is compensation for all you've done and +still must do. I want to stand out of it. You've had your life; you've +lived it where you wanted to live it. I haven't, and I'm trying to find +out where my duty and my labour lies. It is Art; no doubt. I don't know +for sure." + +"Good God!" broke in the old man. "You don't know for sure--you're +twenty-five years old, and you don't know where you're going!" + +"Yes, I know where I'm going--to Heaven by and by!" This was his +satirical reply. + +"Oh, fasten down; get hold of something that matters. Now, listen to me. +I want you to do one thing--the thing I ought to do and can't. I must +stay here now that Fabian's gone. I want you to go to the Madawaska +River." + +"No, I won't go to the Madawaska," replied Carnac after a long pause, +"but"--with sudden resolution--"if it's any good to you, I'll stay here +in the business, and you can go to the Madawaska. Show me what to do +here; tell me how to do it, and I'll try to help you out for a while-- +if it can be done," he added hastily. "You go, but I'll stay. Let's +talk it over at supper." + +He sighed, and turned and gazed warmly at the sunset on the roofs of the +city; then turned to his father's face, but it was not the same look in +his eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +CARNAC AS MANAGER + +Carnac was installed in the office, and John Grier went to the Madawaska. +Before he left, however, he was with Carnac for near a week, showing the +procedure and the main questions that might arise to be solved. + +"It's like this," said Grier in their last talk, "you've got to keep a +stiff hand over the foremen and overseers, and have strict watch of +Belloc & Co. Perhaps there will be trouble when I've gone, but, if it +does, keep a stiff upper lip, and don't let the gang do you. You've got +a quick mind and you know how to act sudden. Act at once, and damn the +consequences! Remember, John Grier's firm has a reputation, and deal +justly, but firmly, with opposition. The way it's organized, the +business almost runs itself. But that's only when the man at the head +keeps his finger on the piston-rod. You savvy, don't you?" + +"I savvy all right. If the Belloc firm cuts up rusty, I'll think of what +you'd do and try to do it in the same way." + +The old man smiled. He liked the spirit in Carnac. It was the right +kind for his business. "I predict this: if you have one fight with the +Belloc lot, you'll hate them too. Keep the flag flying. Don't get +rattled. It's a big job, and it's worth doing in a big way. + +"Yes, it's a big job," said Carnac. "I hope I'll pull it off." + +"You'll pull it off, if you bend your mind to it. But there won't be any +time for your little pictures and statues. You'll have to deal with the +real men, and they'll lose their glamour. That's the thing about +business--it's death to sentimentality." + +Carnac flushed with indignation. "So you think Titian and Velasquez and +Goyot and El Greco and Watteau and Van Dyck and Rembrandt and all the +rest were sentimentalists, do you? The biggest men in the world worship +them. You aren't just to the greatest intellects. I suppose Shakespeare +was a sentimentalist!" + +The old man laughed and tapped his son on the shoulder. + +"Don't get excited, Carnac. I'd rather you ran my business well, than be +Titian or Rembrandt, whoever they were. If you do this job well, I'll +think there's a good chance of our working together." + +Carnac nodded, but the thought that he could not paint or sculp when he +was on this work vexed him, and he only set his teeth to see it through. +"All right, we'll see," he said, and his father went away. + +Then Carnac's time of work and trial began. He was familiar with the +routine of the business, he had adaptability, he was a quick worker, and +for a fortnight things went swimmingly. There was elation in doing work +not his regular job, and he knew the eyes of the commercial and river +world were on him. He did his best and it was an effective best. Junia +had been in the City of Quebec, but she came back at the end of a +fortnight, and went to his office to get a subscription for a local +charity. She had a gift in this kind of work. + +It was a sunny day in the month of June, and as she entered the office a +new spirit seemed to enter with her. + +The place became distinguished. She stood in the doorway for a moment, +radiant, smiling, half embarrassed, then she said: "Please may I for a +moment, Carnac?" + +Carnac was delighted. "For many moments, Junia." + +"I'm not as busy as usual. I'm glad as glad to see you." + +She said with restraint: "Not for many moments. I'm here on business. +It's important. I wanted to get a subscription from John Grier for the +Sailors' Hospital which is in a bad way. Will you give something for +him?" + +Carnac looked at the subscription list. "I see you've been to Belloc +first and they've given a hundred dollars. Was that wise-going to them +first? You know how my father feels about Belloc. And we're the older +firm." + +The girl laughed. "Oh, that's silly! Belloc's money is as good as John +Grier's, and it only happened he was asked first because Fabian was +present when I took the list, and it's Fabian's writing on the paper +there." + +Carnac nodded. "That's all right with me, for I'm no foe to Belloc, but +my father wouldn't have liked it. He wouldn't have given anything in the +circumstances." + +"Oh, yes, he would! He's got sense with all his prejudices. I'll tell +you what he'd have done: he'd have given a bigger subscription than +Belloc." + +Carnac laughed. "Well, perhaps you're right; it was clever planning it +so." + +"I didn't plan it. It was accident, but I had to consider everything and +I saw how to turn it to account. So, if you are going to give a +subscription for John Grier you must do as he would do." + +Carnac smiled, put the paper on his desk, and took the pen. + +"Make it measure the hate John Grier has to the Belloc firm," she said +ironically. + +Carnac chuckled and wrote. "Will that do?" He handed her the paper. + +"One hundred and fifty dollars--oh, quite, quite good!" she said. +"But it's only a half hatred after all. I'd have made it a whole one." + +"You'd have expected John Grier to give two hundred, eh? But that would +have been too plain. It looks all right now, and it must go at that." + +She smiled. "Well, it'll go at that. You're a good business man. I see +you've given up your painting and sculping to do this! It will please +your father, but are you satisfied?" + +"Satisfied--of course, I'm not; and you know it. I'm not a money- +grabber. I'm an artist if I'm anything, and I'm not doing this +permanently. I'm only helping my father while he's in a hole." + +The girl suddenly grew serious. "You mean you're not going to stick to +the business, and take Fabian's place in it? He's been for a week with +Belloc and he's never coming back here. You have the brains for it; and +you could make your father happy and inherit his fortune--all of it." + +Carnac flushed indignantly. "I suppose I could, but it isn't big enough +for me. I'd rather do one picture that the Luxembourg or the London +National Gallery would buy than own this whole business. That's the turn +of my mind." + +"Yes, but if you didn't sell a picture to the Luxembourg or the National +Gallery. What then?" + +"I'd have a good try for it, that's all. Do you want me to give up Art +and take to commerce? Is that your view?" + +"I suggested to John Grier the day that Fabian sold his share that you +might take his place; and I still think it a good thing, though, of +course, I like your painting. But I felt sorry for your father with none +of his own family to help him; and I thought you might stay with him for +your family's sake." + +"You thought I'd be a martyr for love of John Grier--and cold cash, did +you? That isn't the way the blood runs in my veins. I think John Grier +might get out of the business now, if he's tired, and sell it and let +some one else run it. John Grier is not in want. If he were, I'd give +up everything to help him, and I'd not think I was a martyr. But I've a +right to make my own career. It's making the career one likes which gets +one in the marrow. I'd take my chances of success as he did. He has +enough to live on, he's had success; let him get down and out, if he's +tired." + +The girl held herself firmly. "Remember John Grier has made a great name +for himself--as great in his way as Andrew Carnegie or Pierpont Morgan-- +and he's got pride in his name. He wants his son to carry it on, and in +a way he's right." + +"That's good argument," said Carnac, "but if his name isn't strong enough +to carry itself, his son can't carry it for him. That's the way of life. +How many sons have ever added to their father's fame? The instances are +very few. In the modern world, I can only think of the Pitts in England. +There's no one else." + +The girl now smiled again. The best part in her was stirred. She saw. +Her mind changed. After a moment she said: "I think you're altogether +right about it. Carnac, you have your own career to make, so make it +as it best suits yourself. I'm sorry I spoke to your father as I did. +I pitied him, and I thought you'd find scope for your talents in the +business. It's a big game, but I see now it isn't yours, Carnac." + +He nodded, smiling. "That's it; that's it, I hate the whole thing." + +She shook hands. As his hand enclosed her long slim fingers, he felt he +wished never to let them go, they were so thrilling; but he did, for the +thought of Luzanne came to his mind. + +"Good-bye, Junia, and don't forget that John Grier's firm is the foe of +the Belloc business," he said satirically. + +She laughed, and went down the hill quickly, and as she went Carnac +thought he had never seen so graceful a figure. + +"What an evil Fate sent Luzanne my way!" he said. + +Two days later there came an ugly incident on the river. There was a +collision between a gang of John Grier's and Belloc's men and one of +Grier's men was killed. At the inquest, it was found that the man met +his death by his own fault, having first attacked a Belloc man and +injured him. The Belloc man showed the injury to the jury, and he was +acquitted. Carnac watched the case closely, and instructed his lawyer to +contend that the general attack was first made by Belloc's men, which was +true; but the jury decided that this did not affect the individual case, +and that the John Grier man met his death by his own fault. + +"A shocking verdict!" he said aloud in the Court when it was given. + +"Sir," said the Coroner, "it is the verdict of men who use their judgment +after hearing the evidence, and your remark is offensive and criminal." + +"If it is criminal, I apologize," said Carnac. + +"You must apologize for its offensiveness, or you will be arrested, sir." + +This nettled Carnac. "I will not apologize for its offensiveness," he +said firmly. + +"Constable, arrest this man," said the Coroner, and the constable did so. + +"May I be released on bail?" asked Carnac with a smile. + +"I am a magistrate. Yes, you may be released on bail," said the Coroner. + +Carnac bowed, and at once a neighbour became security for three thousand +dollars. Then Carnac bowed again and left the Court with--it was plain-- +the goodwill of most people present. + +Carnac returned to his office with angry feelings at his heart. The +Belloc man ought to have been arrested for manslaughter, he thought. In +any case, he had upheld the honour of John Grier's firm by his protest, +and the newspapers spoke not unfavourably of him in their reports. They +said he was a man of courage to say what he did, though it was improper, +from a legal standpoint. But human nature was human nature! + +The trial took place in five days, and Carnac was fined twenty-five +cents, which was in effect a verdict of not guilty; and so the newspapers +said. It was decided that the offence was only legally improper, and it +was natural that Carnac expressed himself strongly. + +Junia was present at the trial. After it was over, she saw Carnac for a +moment. "I think your firm can just pay the price and exist!" she said. +"It's a terrible sum, and it shows how great a criminal you are!" + +"Not a 'thirty-cent' criminal, anyhow," said Carnac. "It is a moral +victory, and tell Fabian so. He's a bit huffy because I got into the +trouble, I suppose." + +"No, he loathed it all. He's sorry it occurred." + +There was no further talk between them, for a subordinate of Carnac's +came hurriedly to him and said something which Junia did not hear. +Carnac raised his hat to her, and hurried away. + +"Well, it's not so easy as painting pictures," she said. "He gets fussed +over these things." + +It was later announced by the manager of the main mill that there was +to be a meeting of workers to agitate for a strike for higher pay. A +French-Canadian who had worked in the mills of Maine and who was a red- +hot socialist was the cause of it. He had only been in the mills for +about three months and had spent his spare time inciting well-satisfied +workmen to strike. His name was Luc Baste--a shock-haired criminal with +a huge chest and a big voice, and a born filibuster. The meeting was +held and a deputation was appointed to wait on Carnac at his office. +Word was sent to Carnac, and he said he would see them after the work was +done for the day. So in the evening about seven o'clock the deputation +of six men came, headed by Luc Baste. + +"Well, what is it?" Carnac asked calmly. + +Luc Baste began, not a statement of facts, but an oration on the rights +of workers, their downtrodden condition and their beggarly wages. He +said they had not enough to keep body and soul together, and that right +well did their employers know it. He said there should be an increase of +a half-dollar a day, or there would be a strike. + +Carnac dealt with the matter quickly and quietly. He said Luc Baste had +not been among them a long time and evidently did not know what was the +cost of living in Montreal. He said the men got good wages, and in any +case it was not for him to settle a thing of such importance. This was +for the head of the firm, John Grier, when he returned. The wages had +been raised two years before, and he doubted that John Grier would +consent to a further rise. All other men on the river seemed satisfied +and he doubted these ought to have a cent more a day. They were getting +the full value of the work. He begged all present to think twice before +they brought about catastrophe. It would be a catastrophe if John +Grier's mills should stop working and Belloc's mills should go on as +before. It was not like Grier's men to do this sort of thing. + +The men seemed impressed, and, presently, after one of them thanking him, +the deputation withdrew, Luc Baste talking excitedly as they went. The +manager of the main mill, with grave face, said: + +"No, Mr. Grier, I don't think they'll be satisfied. You said all that +could be said, but I think they'll strike after all." + +"Well, I hope it won't occur before John Grier gets back," said Carnac. + +That night a strike was declared. + +Fortunately, only about two-thirds of the men came out, and it could not +be called a complete success. The Belloc people were delighted, but they +lived in daily fear of a strike in their own yards, for agitators were +busy amongst their workmen. But the workers waited to see what would +happen to Grier's men. + +Carnac declined to reconsider. The wages were sufficient and the strike +unwarranted! He kept cool, even good-natured, and with only one-third of +his men at work, he kept things going, and the business went on with +regularity, if with smaller output. The Press unanimously supported him, +for it was felt the strike had its origin in foreign influence, and as +French Canada had no love for the United States there was journalistic +opposition to the strike. Carnac had telegraphed to his father when the +strike started, but did not urge him to come back. He knew that Grier +could do nothing more than he himself was doing, and he dreaded new +influence over the strikers. Grier happened to be in the backwoods and +did not get word for nearly a week; then he wired asking Carnac what the +present situation was. Carnac replied he was standing firm, that he +would not yield a cent increase in wages, and that, so far, all was +quiet. + +It happened, however, that on the day he wired, the strikers tried to +prevent the non-strikers from going to work and there was a collision. +The police and a local company of volunteers intervened and then the +Press condemned unsparingly the whole affair. This outbreak did good, +and Luc Baste was arrested for provoking disorder. No one else was +arrested, and this was a good thing, for, on the whole, even the men +that followed Luc did not trust him. His arrest cleared the air and +the strike broke. The next day, all the strikers returned, but Carnac +refused their wages for the time they were on strike, and he had +triumphed. + +On that very day John Grier started back to Montreal. He arrived in +about four days, and when he came, found everything in order. He went +straight from his home to the mill and there found Carnac in control. + +"Had trouble, eh, Carnac?" he asked with a grin, after a moment of +greeting. Carnac shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing. + +"It's the first strike I ever had in my mills, and I hope it will be the +last. I don't believe in knuckling down to labour tyranny, and I'm glad +you kept your hand steady. There'll be no more strikes in my mills--I'll +see to that!" + +"They've only just begun, and they'll go on, father. It's the influence +of Canucs who have gone to the factories of Maine. They get bitten there +with the socialistic craze, and they come back and make trouble. This +strike was started by Luc Baste, a French-Canadian, who had been in +Maine. You can't stop these things by saying so. There was no strike +among Belloc's men!" + +"No, but did you have no trouble with Belloc's men?" + +Carnac told him of the death of the Grier man after the collision, of his +own arrest and fine of twenty-five cents and of the attitude of the +public and the Press. The old man was jubilant. "Say, you did the thing +in style. It was the only way to do it. You landed 'em with the protest +fair and easy. You're going to be a success in the business, I can see +that." + +Carnac for a moment looked at his father meditatively. Then, seeing the +surprise in John Grier's face, he said: "No, I'm not going to be a +success in it, for I'm not going on with it. I've had enough. I'm +through." + +"You've had enough--you're through--just when you've proved you can do +things as well as I can do them! You ain't going on! Great +Jehoshaphat!" + +"I mean it; I'm not going on. I'm going to quit in another month. +I can't stick it. It galls me. It ain't my job. I do it, but it's +artificial, it ain't the real thing. My heart isn't in it as yours is, +and I'd go mad if I had to do this all my life. It's full of excitement +at times, it's hard work, it's stimulating when you're fighting, but +other times it's deadly dull and bores me stiff. I feel as though I were +pulling a train of cars." + +Slowly the old man's face reddened with anger. "It bores you stiff, eh? +It's deadly dull at times! There's only interest in it when there's a +fight on, eh? You're right; you're not fit for the job, never was and +never will be while your mind is what it is. Don't take a month to go, +don't take a week, or a day, go this morning after I've got your report +on what's been done. It ain't the real thing, eh? No, it ain't. It's +no place for you. Tell me all there is to tell, and get out; I've had +enough too, I've had my fill. 'It bores me stiff'!" + +John Grier was in a rage, and he would listen to no explanation. "Come +now, out with your report." + +Carnac was not upset. He kept cool. "No need to be so crusty," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +LUKE TARBOE HAS AN OFFER + +Many a man behind his horses' tails on the countryside has watched the +wild reckless life of the water with wonder and admiration. He sees a +cluster of logs gather and climb, and still gather and climb, and between +him and that cluster is a rolling waste of timber, round and square. + +Suddenly, a being with a red shirt, with loose prairie kind of hat, knee- +boots, having metal clamps, strikes out from the shore, running on the +tops of the moving logs till he reaches the jam. Then the pike-pole, or +the lever, reaches the heart of the difficulty, and presently the jam +breaks, and the logs go tumbling into the main, while the vicious-looking +berserker of the water runs back to the shore over the logs, safe and +sound. It is a marvel to the spectator, that men should manipulate the +river so. To him it is a life apart; not belonging to the life he lives +-a passing show. + +It was a stark surprise of the river which makes this story possible. +There was a strike at Bunder's Boom--as it was called--between Bunder and +Grier's men. Some foreman of Grier's gang had been needlessly offensive. +Bunder had been stupidly resentful. When Grier's men had tried to force +his hand also, he had resisted. It chanced that, when an impasse seemed +possible to be broken only by force, a telegram came to John Grier at +Montreal telling him of the difficulty. He lost no time in making his +way northwards. + +But some one else had come upon the scene. It was Luke Tarboe. He had +arrived at a moment when the Belloc river crowd had almost wrecked +Bunder's Boom, and when a collision between the two gangs seemed +inevitable. What he did remained a river legend. By good temper and +adroitness, he reconciled the leaders of the two gangs; he bought the +freedom of the river by a present to Bunder's daughter; he won Bunder +by four bottles of "Three Star" brandy. When the police from a town a +hundred miles away arrived at the same time as John Grier, it was +to find the Grier and Belloc gangs peacefully prodding side by side. + +When the police had gone, John Grier looked Tarboe up and down. The +brown face, the clear, strong brown eyes and the brown hatless head rose +up eighteen inches above his own, making a gallant summit to a robust +stalk. + +"Well, you've done easier things than that in your time, eh?" John Grier +asked. + +Tarboe nodded. "It was touch and go. I guess it was the hardest thing I +ever tried since I've been working for you, but it's come off all right, +hasn't it?" He waved a hand to the workmen on the river, to the tumbling +rushes of logs and timber. Then he looked far up the stream, with hand +shading his brown eyes to where a crib-or raft-was following the eager +stream of logs. "It's easy going now," he added, and his face had a look +of pleasure. + +"What's your position, and what's your name?" asked John Grier. + +"I'm head-foreman of the Skunk Nest's gang--that's this lot, and I got +here--just in time! I don't believe you could have done it, Mr. Grier. +No master is popular in the real sense with his men. I think they'd have +turned you down. So it was lucky I came." + +A faint smile hovered at his lips, and his eyes brooded upon the busy +gangs of men. "Yes, I've had a lot of luck this time. There's nothing +like keeping your head cool and your belly free from drink." Now he +laughed broadly. "By gosh, it's all good! Do you know, Mr. Grier, I +came out here a wreck eight years ago. I left Montreal then with a spot +in my lungs, that would kill me, they said. I've never seen Montreal +since, but I've had a good time out in the woods, in the shanties in the +winters; on the rivers in the summer. I've only been as far East as this +in eight years." + +"What do you do in the winter, then?" + +"Shanties-shanties all the time. In the summer this; in the Fall taking +the men back to the shanties. Bossing the lot; doing it from love of the +life that's been given back to me. Yes, this is the life that makes you +take things easy. You don't get fussed out here. The job I had took a +bit of doing, but it was done, and I'm lucky to have my boss see the end +of it." + +He smiled benignly upon John Grier. He knew he was valuable to the Grier +organization; he knew that Grier had heard of him under another name. +Now Grier had seen him, and he felt he would like to tell John Grier some +things about the river he ought to know. He waved a hand declining the +cigar offered him by his great chief. + +"Thanks, I don't smoke, and I don't drink, and I don't chew; but I eat +--by gosh, I eat! Nothing's so good as good food, except good reading." + +"Good reading!" exclaimed John Grier. "Good reading--on the river!" + +"Well, it's worked all right, and I read a lot. I get books from +Montreal, from the old library at the University." + +"At what University?" struck in the lumber-king. "Oh, Laval! I +wouldn't go to McGill. I wanted to know French, so I went to Laval. +There I came to know Father Labasse. He was a great man, Father Labasse. +He helped me. I was there three years, and then was told I was going to +die. It was Labasse who gave me this tip. He said, 'Go into the woods; +put your teeth into the trees; eat the wild herbs, and don't come back +till you feel well.' Well, I haven't gone back, and I'm not going back." + +"What do you do with your wages?" asked the lumber-king. + +"I bought land. I've got a farm of four hundred acres twenty miles from +here. I've got a man on it working it." + +"Does it pay?" + +"Of course. Do you suppose I'd keep a farm that didn't pay?" + +"Who runs it?" + +"A man that broke his leg on the river. One of Belloc's men. He knows +all about farming. He brought his wife and three children up, and there +he is--making money, and making the land good. I've made him a partner +at last. When it's good enough by and by, I'll probably go and live +there myself. Anybody ought to make farming a success, if there's water +and proper wood and such things," he added. + +There was silence for a few moments. Then John Grier looked Tarboe up +and down sharply again, noting the splendid physique, the quizzical, +mirth-provoking eye, and said: "I can give you a better job if you'll +come to Montreal." + +Tarboe shook his head. "Haven't had a sick day for eight years; I'm as +hard as nails; I'm as strong as steel. I love this wild world of the +woods and fields and--" + +"And the shebangs and grog-shops and the dirty, drunken villages?" +interrupted the old man. + +"No, they don't count. I take them in, but they don't count." + +"Didn't you have hard times when you first came?" asked John Grier. +"Did you get right with the men from the start?" + +"A little bit of care is a good thing in any life. I told them good +stories, and they liked that. I used to make the stories up, and they +liked that also. When I added some swear words they liked them all the +better. I learned how to do it." + +"Yes, I've heard of you, but not as Tarboe." + +"You heard of me as Renton, eh?" + +"Yes, as Renton. I wonder I never came across you till to-day." + +"I kept out of your way; that was the reason. When you came north, I got +farther into the backwoods." + +"Are you absolutely straight, Tarboe?" asked John Grier eagerly. "Do +you do these things in the Garden of Eden way, or can you run a bit +crooked when it's worth while?" + +"If I'd ever seen it worth while, I'd say so. I could run a bit crooked +if I was fighting among the big ones, or if we were at war with--Belloc, +eh!" A cloud came into the eyes of Tarboe. "If I was fighting Belloc, +and he used a weapon to flay me from behind, I'd never turn my back on +him!" + +A grim smile came into Tarboe's face. His jaw set almost viciously, his +eyes hardened. "You people don't play your game very well, Mr. Grier. +I've seen a lot that wants changing." + +"Why don't you change it, then?" + +Tarboe laughed. "If I was boss like you, I'd change it, but I'm not, and +I stick to my own job." + +The old man came close to him, and steadily explored his face and eyes. +"I've never met anybody like you before. You're the man can do things +and won't do them." + +"I didn't say that. I said what I meant--that good health is better than +everything else in the world, and when you've got it, you should keep it, +if you can. I'm going to keep mine." + +"Well, keep it in Montreal," said John Grier. "There's a lot doing there +worth while. Is fighting worth anything to one that's got aught in him? +There's war for the big things. I believe in war." He waved a hand. +"What's the difference between the kind of thing you've done to-day, and +doing it with the Belloc gang--with the Folson gang--with the Longville +gang--and all the rest? It's the same thing. I was like you when I was +young. I could do things you've done to-day while I laid the base of +what I've got. How old are you?" + +"I'm thirty--almost thirty-one." + +"You'll be just as well in Montreal to-morrow as you are here to-day, and +you'd be twice as clever," said John Grier. His eyes seemed to pierce +those of the younger man. "I like you," he continued, suddenly catching +Tarboe's arm. "You're all right, and you wouldn't run straight simply +because it was the straight thing to do." + +Tarboe threw back his head and laughed and nodded. The old man's eyes +twinkled. "By gracious, we're well met! I never was in a bigger hole in +my life. One of my sons has left me. I bought him out, and he's joined +my enemy Belloc." + +"Yes, I know," remarked Tarboe. + +"My other son, he's no good. He's as strong as a horse--but he's no +good. He paints, he sculps. He doesn't care whether I give him money or +not. He earns his living as he wants to earn it. When Fabian left me, I +tried Carnac. I offered to take him in permanently. He tried it, but he +wouldn't go on. He got out. He's twenty-six. The papers are beginning +to talk about him. He doesn't care for that, except that it brings in +cash for his statues and pictures. What's the good of painting and +statuary, if you can't do the big things?" + +"So you think the things you do are as big as the things that +Shakespeare, or Tennyson, or Titian, or Van Dyck, or Watt, or Rodin do +--or did?" + +"Bigger-much bigger," was the reply. + +The younger man smiled. "Well, that's the way to look at it, I suppose. +Think the thing you do is better than what anybody else does, and you're +well started." + +"Come and do it too. You're the only man I've cottoned to in years. +Come with me, and I'll give you twelve thousand dollars a year; and I'll +take you into my business.--I'll give you the best chance you ever had. +You've found your health; come back and keep it. Don't you long for the +fight, for your finger at somebody's neck? That's what I felt when I was +your age, and I did it, and I'm doing it, but I can't do it as I used to. +My veins are leaking somewhere." A strange, sad, faded look came into +his eyes. "I don't want my business to be broken by Belloc," he added. +"Come and help me save it." + +"By gosh, I will!" said the young man after a moment, with a sudden +thirst in his throat and bite to his teeth. "By gum, yes, I'll go with +you." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +"AT OUR PRICE?" + +West of the city of Montreal were the works and the offices of John +Grier. Here it was that a thing was done without which there might have +been no real story to tell. It was a night which marked the close of the +financial year of the firm. + +Upon John Grier had come Carnac. He had brought with him a small statue +of a riverman with flannel shirt, scarf about the waist, thick defiant +trousers and well-weaponed boots. It was a real figure of the river, +buoyant, daring, almost vicious. The head was bare; there were plain +gold rings in the ears; and the stark, half-malevolent eyes looked out, +as though searching for a jam of logs or some peril of the river. In the +horny right hand was a defiant pike-pole, its handle thrust forward, its +steel spike stabbing the ground. + +At first glance, Carnac saw that John Grier was getting worn and old. +The eyes were not so flashing as they once were; the lips were curled in +a half-cynical mood. The old look of activity was fading; something +vital had struck soul and body. He had had a great year. He had fought +Belloc and his son Fabian successfully; he had laid new plans and +strengthened his position. + +Tarboe coming into the business had made all the difference to him. +Tarboe had imagination, skill and decision, he seldom lost his temper; he +kept a strong hand upon himself. His control of men was marvellous; his +knowledge of finance was instinctive; his capacity for organization was +rare, and he had health unbounded and serene. It was hard to tell what +were the principles controlling Tarboe--there was always an element of +suspicion in his brown and brilliant eyes. Yet he loved work. The wind +of energy seemed to blow through his careless hair. His hands were like +iron and steel; his lips were quick and friendly, or ruthless, as seemed +needed. To John Grier's eyes he was the epitome of civilization--the +warrior without a soul. + +When Carnac came in now with the statue tucked under his arm, smiling and +self-contained, it seemed as though something had been done by Fate to +flaunt John Grier. + +With a nod, Carnac put the statue on the table in front of the old man, +and said: "It's all right, isn't it? I've lifted that out of the river- +life. That's one of the best men you ever had, and he's only one of a +thousand. He doesn't belong anywhere. He's a rover, an adventurer, a +wanton of the waters. Look at him. He's all right, isn't he?" He asked +this again. + +The timber-man waved the statue aside, and looked at the youth with +critical eyes. "I've just been making up the accounts for the year," he +said. "It's been the best year I've had in seven. I've taken the starch +out of Belloc and Fabian. I've broken the back of their opposition--I've +got it like a twig in iron teeth." + +"Yes, Tarboe's been some use, hasn't he?" was the suggestive response. + +John Grier's eyes hardened. "You might have done it. You had it in you. +The staff of life--courage and daring--were yours, and you wouldn't take +it on. What's the result? I've got a man who's worth two of Fabian and +Belloc. And you"--he held up a piece of paper--"see that," he broke off. +"See that. It's my record. That's what I'm worth. That's what you +might have handled!" He took a cigar from his pocket, cut off the blunt +end, and continued: "You threw your chance aside." He tapped the paper +with the point of the cigar. "That's what Tarboe has helped do. What +have you got to show?" He pointed to the statue. "I won't say it ain't +good. It's a live man from the river. But what do I want with that, +when I can have the original man himself! My boy, the great game of life +is to fight hard, and never to give in. If you keep your eyes open, +things'll happen that'll bring what you want." + +He stood up, striking a match to light his cigar. It was dusk, and the +light of the match gave a curious, fantastic glimmer to his powerful, +weird, haggard face. He was like some remnant of a great life, loose in +a careless world. + +"I tell you," he said, the smoke leaking from his mouth like a drift of +snow," the only thing worth doing is making the things that matter in the +commerce and politics of the world." + +"I didn't know you were a politician," said Carnac. "Of course I'm a +politician," was the inflammable reply. "What's commerce without +politics? It's politics that makes the commerce possible. There's that +fellow Barouche--Barode Barouche--he's got no money, but he's a Minister, +and he can make you rich or poor by planning legislation at Ottawa +that'll benefit or hamper you. That's the kind of business that's worth +doing--seeing into the future, fashioning laws that make good men happy +and bad men afraid. Don't I know! I'm a master-man in my business; +nothing defeats me. To me, a forest of wild wood is the future palace of +a Prime Minister. A great river is a pathway to the palace, and all the +thousands of men that work the river are the adventurers that bring the +booty home--" + +"That bring 'the palace to Paris,' eh!" interrupted Carnac, laughing. + +"Paris be damned--that bring the forest to Quebec. How long did it take +you to make that?" he added with a nod towards the statue. + +"Oh, I did it in a day--six hours, I think; and he stood like that for +three hours out of the six. He was great, but he'd no more sense of +civilization than I have of Heaven." + +"You don't need to have a sense of Heaven, you need to have a sense of +Hell. That prevents you from spoiling your own show. You're playing +with life's vital things." + +"I wonder how much you've got out of it all, father," Carnac remarked +with a smile. He lit a cigarette. "You do your job in style. It's been +a great career, yours. You've made your big business out of nothing." + +"I had something to start with. Your grandfather had a business worth +not much, but it was a business, and the fundamental thing is to have +machinery to work with when you start life. I had that. My father was +narrow, contracted and a blunderer, but he made good in a small way." + +"And you in a big way," said Carnac, with admiration and criticism in his +eyes. + +He realized that John Grier had summed him up fairly when he said he was +playing with life's vital things. Somehow, he saw the other had a grip +upon essentials lacking in himself; he had his tooth in the orange, as it +were, and was sucking the juice of good profit from his labours. Yet he +knew how much trickery and vital evasion and harsh aggression there were +in his father's business life. + +As yet he had never seen Tarboe--he had been away in the country the +whole year nearly--but he imagined a man of strength, abilities, +penetration and deep power. He knew that only a man with savage +instincts could work successfully with John Grier; he knew that Grier +was without mercy in his business, and that his best year's work had been +marked by a mandatory power which only a malevolent policy could produce. +Yet, somehow, he had a feeling that Tarboe had a steadying influence on +John Grier. The old man was not so uncontrolled as in bygone days. + +"I'd like to see Tarboe," Carnac said suddenly. "He ain't the same as +you," snapped John Grier. "He's bigger, broader, and buskier." A +malicious smile crossed over his face. "He's a bandit--that's what he +is. He's got a chest like a horse and lungs like the ocean. When he's +got a thing, he's got it like a nail in a branch of young elm. He's a +dandy, that fellow." Suddenly passion came to his eyes. "You might have +done it, you've got the brains, and the sense, but you ain't got the +ambition. You keep feeling for a thousand things instead of keeping your +grip on one. The man that succeeds fastens hard on what he wants to do-- +the one big thing, and he does it, thinking of naught else." + +"Well, that's good preaching," remarked Carnac coolly. "But it doesn't +mean that a man should stick to one thing, if he finds out he's been +wrong about it? We all make mistakes. Perhaps some day I'll wish I'd +gone with you." + +Grimness came into the old man's face. Something came into his eyes that +was strange and revealing. + +"Well, I hope you will. But you had your chance with me, and you threw +it down like a piece of rotten leather." + +"I don't cost you anything," returned Carnac. "I've paid my own way a +long time--with mother's help." + +"And you're twenty-six years old, and what have you got? Enough to give +you bread from day to day-no more. I was worth seventy thousand dollars +when I was your age. I'm worth enough to make a prince rich, and if I'd +been treated right by those I brought into the world I'd be worth twice +as much. Fabian was good as far as he went, but he was a coward. You"-- +a look of fury entered the dark eyes--"you were no coward, but you didn't +care a damn. You wanted to paddle about with muck of imagination--" he +pointed to the statue on the table. + +"Why, your business has been great because of your imagination," was the +retort. "You saw things ahead with the artist's eye. You planned with +the artist's mind; and brought forth what's to your honour and credit-- +and the piling up of your bank balance. The only thing that could have +induced me to work in your business is the looking ahead and planning, +seeing the one thing to be played off against the other, the fighting of +strong men, the politics, all the forces which go to make or break your +business. Well, I didn't do it, and I'm not sorry. I have a gift which, +by training and development, will give me a place among the men who do +things, if I have good luck--good luck!" + +He dwelt upon these last words with an intensity which dreaded something. +There was retrospection in his eyes. A cloud seemed to cross his face. + +A strong step crunching the path stopped the conversation, and presently +there appeared the figure of Tarboe. Certainly the new life had not +changed Tarboe, had not altered his sturdy, strenuous nature. His brown +eyes under the rough thatch of his eyebrow took in the room with +lightning glance, and he nodded respectfully, yet with great +friendliness, at John Grier. He seemed to have news, and he +glanced with doubt at Carnac. + +John Grier understood. "Go ahead. What's happened?" + +"Nothing that can't wait till I'm introduced to your son," rejoined +Tarboe. + +With a friendly look, free from all furtiveness, Carnac reached out a +hand, small, graceful, firm. As Tarboe grasped it in his own big paw, he +was conscious of a strength in the grip which told him that the physical +capacity of the "painter-fellow," as he afterwards called Carnac, had +points worthy of respect. On the instant, there was admiration on the +part of each--admiration and dislike. Carnac liked the new-comer for +his healthy bearing, for the iron hardness of his head, and for the +intelligence of his dark eyes. He disliked him, however, for something +that made him critical of his father, something covert and devilishly +alert. Both John Grier and Tarboe were like two old backwoodsmen, eager +to reach their goal, and somewhat indifferent to the paths by which they +travelled to it. + +Tarboe, on the other hand, admired the frank, pleasant face of the young +man, which carried still the irresponsibility of youth, but which +conveyed to the watchful eye a brave independence, a fervid, and perhaps +futile, challenge to all the world. Tarboe understood that this young +man had a frankness dangerous to the business of life, yet which, +properly applied, might bring great results. He disliked Carnac for his +uncalculating candour; but he realized that, behind all, was something +disturbing to his life. + +"It's a woman," Tarboe said to himself, "it's a woman. He's made a fool +of himself." + +Tarboe was right. He had done what no one else had done--he had pierced +the cloud surrounding Carnac: it was a woman. + +"I hear you're pulling things off here," remarked Carnac civilly. "He +says"--pointing to John Grier--"that you're making the enemy squirm." + +Tarboe nodded, and a half-stealthy smile crept across his face. "I don't +think we've lost anything coming our way," he replied. "We've had good +luck--" + +"And our eyes were open," intervened John Grier. "You push the brush and +use the chisel, don't you?" asked Tarboe in spite of himself with slight +scorn in his tone. + +"I push the chisel and use the brush," answered Carnac, smilingly +correcting him. + +"That's a good thing. Is it yours?" asked Tarboe, nodding and pointing +to the statue of the riverman. Carnac nodded. "Yes, I did that one day. +I'd like to do you, if you'd let me." + +The young giant waved a brawny hand and laughed. He looked down at his +knee-boots, with their muddied soles, and then at the statue again on the +table. "I don't mind you're doing me. Turn about is fair play. + +"I've done you out of your job." Then he added to the old man: "It's good +news I've got. I've made the contract with the French firm at our +price." + +"At our price!" remarked the other with a grim smile. "For the lot?" + +"Yes, for the lot, and I've made the contracts with the ships to carry +it." + +"At our price?" again asked the old man. Tarboe nodded. "Just a little +better." + +"I wouldn't have believed those two things could have been done in the +time." Grier rubbed his hands cheerfully. "That's a good day's work. +It's the best you've done since you've come." + +Carnac watched the scene with interest. No envy moved him, his soul was +free from malice. Evidently Tarboe was a man of power. Ruthless he +might be, ruthless and unsparing, but a man of power. + +At that instant a clerk entered with a letter in his hand. "Mrs. Grier +said to give you this," he remarked to Carnac, handing it to him. + +Carnac took it and the clerk departed. The letter had an American +postmark, and the handwriting on the letter brought trouble to his eyes. +He composed himself, however, and tore off the end of the envelope, +taking out the letter. + +It was brief. It contained only a few lines, but as Carnac read them the +colour left his face. "Good God!" he said to himself. Then he put the +paper in his pocket, and, with a forced smile and nod to his father and +Tarboe, left the office. + +"That's queer. The letter seemed to get him in the vitals," said John +Grier with surprise. + +Tarboe nodded, and said to himself: "It's a woman all right." He smiled +to himself also. He had wondered why Carnac and Junia Shale had not come +to an understanding. The letter which had turned Carnac pale was the +interpretation. + +"Say, sit down, Tarboe," said John Grier. "I want to talk with you." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +JOHN GRIER MAKES ANOTHER OFFER + +"I've been keeping my eye on you, Tarboe," John Grier said presently, his +right hand clutching unconsciously the statue which his boy had left with +him. + +"I didn't suppose you'd forget me when I was making or breaking you." + +"You're a winner, Tarboe. You've got sense and judgment, and you ain't +afraid to get your own way by any route." + +He paused, and gripped the statue closely in his hands. + +Tarboe nodded. In the backwoods he had been without ambition save to be +master of what he was doing and of the men who were part of his world of +responsibility. Then John Grier had pulled him back into industry and he +had since desired to ascend, to "make good." Also, he had seen Junia +often, and for her an aspiration had sprung up in him like a fire in a +wild place. + +When he first saw her, she was standing in the doorway through which +Carnac had just passed. The brightness of her face, the wonder of her +eyes, the glow of her cheek, had made his pulses throb as they had never +throbbed before. He had put the thought of her away from him, but it had +come back constantly until he had found himself looking for her in the +street, and on the hill that led to John Grier's house. + +Tarboe realized that the girl was drawn towards Carnac, and that Carnac +was drawn towards the girl, but that some dark depths lay between. The +letter Carnac had just received seemed to him the plumbline of that +abyss. Carnac and the girl were suited to each other--that was clear; +and the girl was enticing, provoking and bewildering--that was the +modelling fact. He had satisfaction that he had displaced Carnac in this +great business, and there was growing in him a desire to take away the +chances of the girl from Carnac also. With his nature it was inevitable. +Life to him was now a puzzle towards the solution of which he moved with +conquering conviction. + +From John Grier's face now, he realized that something was to be said +affecting his whole career. It would, he was sure, alter his foot-steps +in the future. He had a profound respect for the little wiry man, with +the firm body and shrivelled face. + +Tarboe watched the revealing expression of the old man's face and the +motions of his body. He noticed that the tight grip of the hand on the +little statue of the riverman had made the fingers pale. He realized how +absorbed was the lumber-king, who had given him more confidence than he +had given to anyone else in the world. As near as he could come to +anyone, he had come to John Grier. There had been differences between +them, but he, Tarboe, fought for his own idea, and, in nine cases out of +ten, had conquered. John Grier had even treated Tarboe's solutions as +though they were his own. He had a weird faith in the young giant. He +saw now Tarboe's eyes fixed on his fingers, and he released his grip. + +"That's the thing between him and me, Tarboe," he said, nodding towards +the virile bronze. "Think of my son doing that when he could do all +this!" He swept his arm in a great circle which included the horizon +beyond the doors and the windows. "It beats me, and because it beats me, +and because he defies me, I've made up my mind what to do." + +"Don't do anything you'd be sorry for, boss. He ain't a fool because +he's not what you are." He nodded towards the statue. "You think that's +pottering. I think it's good stuff. It will last, perhaps, when what +you and I do is forgotten." + +There was something big and moving in Tarboe. He was a contradiction. +A lover of life, he was also reckless in how he got what he wanted. +If it could not be got by the straight means, then it must be by the +crooked, and that was where he and Grier lay down together, as it were. +Yet he had some knowledge that was denied to John Grier. The soul of the +greater things was in him. + +"Give the boy a chance to work out his life in his own way," he said +manfully. "You gave him a chance to do it in your way, and you were +turned down. Have faith in him. He'll probably come out all right in +the end. + +"You mean he'll come my way?" asked the old man almost rabidly. "You +mean he'll do the things I want him to do here, as you've done?" + +"I guess so," answered Tarboe, but without conviction in his tone. "I'm +not sure whether it will be like that or not, but I know you've got a son +as honest as the stars, and the honest man gets his own in the end." + +There was silence for some time, then the old man began walking up and +down the room, softly, noiselessly. + +"You talk sense," he said. "I care for that boy, but I care for my +life's work more. Day in, day out, night in, night out, I've slaved for +it, prayed for it, believed in it, and tried to make my wife and my boys +feel as I do about it, and none of them cares as I care. Look at Fabian +--over with the enemy, fighting his own father; look at Carnac, out in +the open, taking his own way." He paused. + +"And your wife?" asked Tarboe almost furtively, because it seemed to him +that the old man was most unhappy in that particular field. + +"She's been a good wife, but she don't care as I do for success and +money." + +"Perhaps you never taught her," remarked Tarboe with silky irony. + +"Taught her! What was there to teach? She saw me working; she knew the +life I had to live; she was lifted up with me. I was giving her +everything in me to give." + +"You mean money and a big house and servants and comfort," said Tarboe +sardonically. + +"Well, ain't that right?" snapped the other. + +"Yes, it's all right, but it don't always bring you what you want. It's +right, but it's wrong too. Women want more than that, boss. Women want +to be loved--sky high." + +All at once Grier felt himself as far removed from Tarboe as he had ever +been from Carnac, or his wife. Why was it? Suddenly Tarboe understood +that between him and John Grier there must always be a flood. He +realized that there was in Grier some touch of the insane thing; +something apart, remote and terrible. He was convinced of it, when he +saw Grier suddenly spring up, and pace the room again like a tortured +animal. + +"You've got great influence with me," he said. "I was just going to tell +you something that'd give you pleasure, but what you've said about my boy +coming back has made me change what I was going to do. I don't need to +say I like you. We were born in the same nest almost. We've got the +same ideas." + +"Almost," intervened Tarboe. "Not quite, but almost." + +"Well, this is what I've got to say. You've got youth, courage, and good +sense, and business ability, and what more does a man want in life, I ask +you that?" Tarboe nodded, but made no reply. + +"Well, I don't feel as strong as I used to do. I've been breaking up +this last year, just when we've been knitting the cracks in the building. +What was in my mind is this--to leave you when I die the whole of my +business to keep it a success, and get in the way of Belloc, and pay my +wife so much a year to live on." + +"That wouldn't be fair to your wife or your sons." + +"As for Carnac, if I left him the business it'd be dead in two years. +Nothing could save it. He'd spoil it, because he don't care for it. I +bought Fabian out. As for my wife, she couldn't run it, and--" + +"You could sell it," interrupted Tarboe. + +"Sell it! Sell it!" said Grier wildly. "Sell it to whom?" + +"To Belloc," was the malicious reply. The demon of anger seized the old +man. + +"You say that to me--you--that I should sell to Belloc! By hell, I'd +rather burn every stick and board and tree I've got--sweep it out of +existence, and die a beggar than sell it to Belloc!" Froth gathered at +the corners of his mouth, there was tumult in his eyes. "Belloc! +Knuckle down to him! Sell out to him!" + +"Well, if you got a profit of twenty per cent. above what it's worth it +might be well. That'd be a triumph, not a defeat." + +"I see what you mean," said John Grier, the passion slowly going from his +eyes. "I see what you mean, but that ain't my way. I want this business +to live. I want Grier's business to live long after John Grier has gone. +That's why I was going to say to you that in my will I'm going to leave +you this business, you to pay my wife every year twenty thousand +dollars." "And your son, Carnac?" + +"Not a sou-not a sou--not a sou--nothing--that's what I meant at first. +But I've changed my mind now. I'm going to leave you the business, if +you'll make a bargain with me. I want you to run it for three years, and +take for yourself all the profits over the twenty thousand dollars a year +that goes to my wife. There's a lot of money in it, the way you'd work +it." + +"I don't understand about the three years," said Tarboe, with rising +colour. + +"No, because I haven't told you, but you'll take it in now. I'm going to +leave you the business as though you were going to have it for ever, but +I'll make another will dated a week later, in which I leave it to Carnac. +Something you said makes me think he might come right, and it will be +playing fair to him to let him run himself alone, maybe with help from +his mother, for three years. That's long enough, and perhaps the thought +of what he might have had will work its way with him. If it don't--well, +it won't; that's all; but I want you to have the business long enough to +baulk Belloc and Fabian the deserter. I want you for three years to +fight this fight after I'm gone. In that second secret will, I'll leave +you two hundred thousand dollars. Are you game for it? Is it +worthwhile?" + +The old man paused, his head bent forward, his eyes alert and searching, +both hands gripping the table. There was a long silence, in which the +ticking of the clock upon the wall seemed unduly loud and in which the +buzz of cross-cut saws came sounding through the evening air. Yet Tarboe +did not reply. + +"Have you nothing to say?" asked Grier at last. "Won't you do it--eh?" + +"I'm studying the thing out," answered Tarboe quietly. "I don't quite +see about these two wills. Why shouldn't the second will be found +first?" + +"Because you and I will be the only ones that'll know of it. That shows +how much I trust you, Tarboe. I'll put it away where nobody can get it +except you or me." + +"But if anything should happen to me?" + +"Well, I'd leave a letter with my bank, not to be opened for three years, +or unless you died, and it would say that the will existed, where it was, +and what its terms were." + +"That sounds all right," but there was a cloud on Tarboe's face. + +"It's a great business," said Grier, seeing Tarboe's doubt. "It's the +biggest thing a man can do--and I'm breaking up." + +The old man had said the right thing--"It's a great business!" It was +the greatness of the thing that had absorbed Tarboe. It was the bigness +made him feel life could be worth living, if the huge machinery were +always in his fingers. Yet he had never expected it, and life was a +problem. Who could tell? Perhaps--perhaps, the business would always be +his in spite of the second will! Perhaps, he would have his chance to +make good. He got to his feet; he held out his hand. + +"I'll do it." + +"Ain't it worth any thanks?" + +"Not between us," declared Tarboe. + +"When are you going to do it?" + +"To-night--now." He drew out some paper and sat down with a pen in his +hand. + +"Now," John Grier repeated. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE PUZZLE + +On his way home, with Luzanne's disturbing letter in his pocket, Carnac +met Junia. She was supremely Anglo-Saxon; fresh, fervid and buoyant with +an actual buoyancy of the early spring. She had tact and ability, +otherwise she could never have preserved peace between the contending +factions, Belloc and Fabian, old John Grier, the mother and Carnac. She +was as though she sought for nothing, wished nothing but the life in +which she lived. Yet her wonderful pliability, her joyful boyishness, +had behind all a delicate anxiety which only showed in flashes now and +then, fully understood by no one except Carnac's mother and old Denzil. +These two having suffered strangely in life had realized that the girl +was always waiting for a curtain to rise which did not rise, for a voice +to speak which gave no sound. + +Yet since Carnac's coming back there had appeared a slight change in her, +a bountiful, eager alertness, a sense of wonder and experiment, adding +new interest to her personality. Carnac was conscious of this increased +vitality, was impressed and even provoked by it. Somehow he felt--for he +had the telepathic mind--that the girl admired and liked Tarboe. He did +not stop to question how or why she should like two people so different +as Tarboe and himself. + +The faint colour of the crimsoning maples was now in her cheek; the light +of the autumn evening was in her eyes; the soft vitality of September was +in her motions. She was attractively alive. Her hair waved back from +her forehead with natural grace; her small feet, with perfect ankles, +made her foothold secure and sedately joyous. Her brown hand--yet not so +brown after all--held her hat lightly, and was, somehow, like a signal +out of a world in which his hopes were lost for the present. + +She was dearer to him than all the rest of the world; and he had in his +hand what kept them apart--a sentence of death, unless he escaped from +the wanton calling him to fulfil duties into which he had been tricked. +Luzanne Larue had a terrible hold over him. He gripped the letter in his +pocket as a Hopi Indian does the body of a poisonous snake. The rosy +sunset gave the girl's face a reflected spiritual glamour; it made her, +suddenly, a bewildering figure. Somehow, she seemed a great distance +from him--as one detached and unfamiliar. + +He suddenly felt she knew more than it was possible she should know. +As she flashed an inquiry into his eyes, it was as though she said: "Why +don't you tell me everything, and I will help you?" Or, was it: "Why +don't you tell me everything and end it all?" He longed to press her to +his breast, as he had once done in the woods when Denzil had been +injured, but that was not possible. The thought of that far-off day made +him say to her, rather futilely: + +"How is Denzil? How is Denzil?" + +There was swift surprise in her face. She seemed dumbfounded, and then +she said: + +"Denzil! He's all right, but he does not like your Mr. Tarboe." + +"My Mr. Tarboe! Where do I come in?" + +"Well, he's got what you ought to have had," was the reply. "What you +would have had, weren't you a foolish fellow." + +"I still don't understand how he is my Mr. Tarboe." + +"Well, he wouldn't have been in your father's life if it weren't for you; +if you had done what your father wished you to do, had--" + +"Had sold myself for gold--my freedom, my health, everything to help my +father's business! I don't see why he should expect that what he's doing +some one else should do--" + +"That Belloc would do, that Belloc and Fabian would do," said the girl. + +"Yes, that's it--what they two would do. There's no genius in it, +though my father comes as near being a genius as any man alive. But +there's a screw loose somewhere. . . . It wasn't good enough for me. +It didn't give me a chance--in things that are of the mind, the spirit-- +my particular gifts, whatever they are. They would have chafed against +that life." + +"In other words, you're a genius, which your father isn't," the girl said +almost sarcastically. + +A disturbed look came into Carnac's eyes. "I'd have liked my father to +be a genius. Then we'd have hit it off together. I don't ever feel the +things he does are the things I want to do; or the things he says are +those I'd like to say. He's a strange man. He lives alone. He never +was really near Fabian or me. We were his sons, but though Fabian is a +little bit like him in appearance, I'm not, and never was. I always feel +that--" He paused, and she took up the tale: + +"That he wasn't the father you'd have made for yourself, eh!" + +"I suppose that's it. Conceit, ain't it? Perhaps the facts are, I'm one +of the most useless people that ever wore a coat. Perhaps the things I +do aren't going to live beyond me." + +"It seems as though your father's business is going to live after him, +doesn't it?" the girl asked mockingly. "Where are you going now?" she +added. + +"Well, I'm going to take you home," he said, as he turned and walked by +her side down the hill. + +"Denzil will be glad to see you. He almost thinks I'm a curse." + +Carnac smiled. "All genius is at once a blessing or a curse. And what +does Denzil think of me?" + +"Oh--a blessing and a curse!" she said whimsically. + +"I don't honestly think I'm a blessing to anybody in this world. +There's no one belonging to me who believes in me." + +"There's Denzil," she said. "He believes in you." + +"He doesn't belong to me; he isn't my family." + +"Who are your family? Is it only those who are bone of your bone and +flesh of your flesh? Your family is much wider, because you're a genius. +It's worldwide--of all kinds. Denzil belongs to you, because you helped +to save him years ago; the Catholic Archbishop belongs to you, because +he's got brains and a love of literature and art; Barode Barouche belongs +to you, because he's almost a genius too." + +"Barouche is a politician," said Carnac with slight derision. + +"That's no reason why he shouldn't be a genius." + +"He's a Frenchman." + +"Haven't Frenchmen genius?" asked the girl. + +Carnac laughed. "Why, of course. Barode Barouche--yes, he's a great +one: he can think, he can write, and he can talk; and the talking's the +best that he does--though I've not heard him speak, but I've read his +speeches." + +"Doesn't he make good laws at Ottawa?" + +"He makes laws at Ottawa--whether they're good or not is another +question. I shouldn't be a follower of his, if I had my chance though." + +"That's because you're not French." + +"Oh yes, I'm as French as can be! I felt at home with the French when I +was in France. I was all Gallic. When I'm here I'm more Gallic than +Saxon. + +"I don't understand it. Here am I, with all my blood for generations +Saxon, and yet I feel French. If I'd been born in the old country, it +would have been in Limerick or Tralee. I'd have been Celtic there." + +"Yet Barode Barouche is a great man. He gets drunk sometimes, but he's +great. He gets hold of men like Denzil." + +"Denzil has queer tastes." + +"Yes--he worships you." + +"That's not queer, it's abnormal," said Carnac with gusto. + +"Then I'm abnormal," she said with a mocking laugh, and swung her hat on +her fingers like a wheel. Something stormy and strange swam in Carnac's +eyes. All his trouble rushed back on him; the hand in his pocket crushed +the venomous letter he had received, but he said: + +"No, you don't worship me!" + +"Who was it said all true intelligence is the slave of genius?" she +questioned, a little paler than usual, her eye on the last gleam of the +sun. + +"I don't know who said it, but if that's why you worship me, I know how +hollow it all is," he declared sullenly, for she was pouring carbolic +acid into a sore. + +He wanted to drag the letter from his pocket and hand it her to read; to +tell her the whole distressful story: but he dared not. He longed for +her, and yet he dared not tell her so. He half drew the letter from his +pocket, but thrust it back again. Tell this innocent girl the whole ugly +story? It could not be done. There was but one thing to do--to go away, +to put this world of French Canada behind him, and leave her free to +follow her fancy, or some one else's fancy. + +Or some one else's fancy? There was Tarboe. Tarboe had taken from him +the place in the business which should be his; he had displaced him in +his father's affections . . . and now Junia! + +He held out a hand to the girl. "I must go and see my mother." + +His eyes abashed her. She realized there was trouble in the face of the +man who all her life had been strangely near and dear to her. With +impulsiveness, she said "You're in trouble, Carnac. Let me help you." + +For one swift instant he almost yielded. Then he gripped her hand and +said: "No-no-no. It can't be done--not yet." + +"Then let Denzil help you. Here he is," she remarked, and she glanced +affectionately at the greyish, tousled head of the habitant who was +working in the garden of her father's house. + +Carnac was master of himself again. "Not a bad idea," he said. "Denzil! +Denzil!" he called. + +The little man looked up. An instant later the figure of the girl +fluttered through the doorway of her home, and Carnac stopped beside +Denzil in the garden. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +DENZIL TELLS HIS STORY + +"You keep going, Denzil," remarked Carnac as he lighted his pipe and came +close to the old servant. + +The face of the toiler lighted, the eyes gazed kindly, at Carnac. "What +else is there to do? We must go on. There's no standing still in the +world. We must go on--surelee." + +"Even when it's hard going, eh?" asked Carnac, not to get an answer so +much as to express his own feelings. "Yes, that's right, m'sieu'; that's +how it is. We can't stand still even when it's hard going--but, no, +bagosh!" + +He realized that around Carnac there was a shadow which took its toll of +light and life. He had the sound instinct of primitive man. Strangely +enough in his own eyes was the look in those of Carnac, a past, hovering +on the brink of revelation. His appearance was that of one who had +suffered; his knotted hands, dark with warm blood, had in them a story of +life's sorrows; his broad shoulders were stooped with the inertia of long +regret; his feet clung to the ground as though there was a great weight +above them. But a smile shimmered at his mouth, giving to his careworn +face something almost beautiful, lifting the darkness from his powerful, +shaggy forehead. Many men knew Denzil by sight, few knew him in actual +being. There was a legend that once he was about to be married, but the +girl had suddenly gone mad and drowned herself in the river. No one +thought it strange that a month later the eldest son of the Tarboe family +had been found dead in the woods with a gun in his hand and a bullet +through his heart. No one had ever linked the death of Denzil's loved +one with that of Almeric Tarboe. + +It was unusual for a Frenchman to give up his life to an English family, +but that is what he had done, and of late he had watched Junia with new +eager solicitude. The day she first saw Tarboe had marked an exciting +phase in her life. + +Denzil had studied her, and he knew vaguely that a fresh interest, +disturbing, electrifying, had entered into her. Because it was Tarboe, +the fifteen years younger brother of that Almeric Tarboe who had died a +month after his own girl had left this world, his soul was fighting-- +fighting. + +As the smoke of Carnac's pipe came curling into the air, Denzil put on +his coat, and laid the hoe and rake on his shoulder. + +"Yes, even when it's hard going we still have to march on--name of God, +yes!" he repeated, and he looked at Carnac quizzically. + +"Where are you going? Don't you want to talk to me?" + +"I'm going home, m'sieu'. If you'll come with me I'll give you a drink +of hard cider, the best was ever made." + +"I'll come. Denzil, I've never been in your little house. That's +strange, when I've known you so many years." + +"It's not too late to mend, m'sieu'. There ain't much in it, but it's +all I need." + +Carnac stepped with Denzil towards the little house, just in front of +three pine-trees on the hill, and behind Junia's home. + +"I always lock my door--always," said Denzil as he turned a key and +opened the door. + +They entered into the cool shade of a living-room. There was little +furniture, yet against the wall was a kind of bunk, comfortable and +roomy, on which was stretched the skin of a brown bear. On the wall +above it was a crucifix, and on the opposite wall was the photograph of a +girl, good-looking, refined, with large, imaginative eyes, and a face +that might have been a fortune. + +Carnac gazed at it for a moment, absorbed. "That was your girl, Denzil, +wasn't it?" he asked. + +Denzil nodded. "The best the world ever had, m'sieu'," he replied, "the +very best, but she went queer and drowned herself--ah, but yes!" + +"She just went queer, eh!" Carnac said, looking Denzil straight in the +eyes. "Was there insane blood in her family?" + +"She wasn't insane," answered Denzil firmly. "She'd been bad used-- +terrible." + +"That didn't come out at the inquest, did it?" + +"Not likely. She wrote it me. I'm telling you what I've never told +anyone." He shut the door, as though to make a confessional. "She wrote +it me, and I wasn't telling anyone-but no. She'd been away down at +Quebec City, and there a man got hold of her. Almeric Tarboe it was--the +older brother of Luke Tarboe at John Grier's." Suddenly the face of the +little man went mad with emotion. "I--I--" he paused. + +Carnac held up his hand. "No-no-no, don't tell me. Tarboe-- +I understand, the Unwritten Law. You haven't told me, but I understand. +I remember: he was found in the woods with his gun in his hand-dead. +I read it all by accident long ago; and that was the story, eh!" + +"Yes. She was young, full of imagination. She loved me, but he was +clever, and he was high up, and she was low down. He talked her blind, +and then in the woods it was, in the woods where he died, that he--" + +Suddenly the little man wrung his fingers like one robbed of reason. +"He was a strongman," he went on, "and she was a girl, weak, but not +wanton . . . and so she died, telling me, loving me--so she died, and +so he died, too, in the woods with his gun in his hand. Yes, 'twas done +with his own gun--by accident--by accident! He stumbled, and the gun +went off. That was the story at the inquest. No one knew I was there. +I was never seen with him and I've never been sorry. He got what he +deserved--sacre, yes!" + +There was something overwhelming in the face of the little resolute, +powerful man. His eyes were aflame. He was telling for the first time +the story of his lifelong agony and shame. + +"It had to be done. She was young, so sweet, so good, aye, she was good- +in her soul she was good, ah, surelee. That's why she died in the pond. +No one knew. The inquest did not bring out anything, but that's why he +died; and ever since I've been mourning; life has no rest for me. +I'm not sorry for what I did. I've told it you because you saved me +years ago when I fell down the bank. You were only fourteen then, +but I've never forgotten. And she, that sweet young lady, she--she was +there too; and now when I look at this Tarboe, the brother of that man, +and see her and know what I know--sacre!" He waved a hand. "No-no-no, +don't think there's anything except what's in the soul. That man has +touched ma'm'selle--I don't know why, but he has touched her heart. +Perhaps by his great bulk, his cleverness, his brains, his way of doing +things. In one sense she's his slave, because she doesn't want to think +of him, and she does. She wants to think of you--and she does--ah, +bagosh, yes!" + +"Yes, I understand," remarked Carnac morosely. "I understand." + +"Then why do you let her be under Tarboe's influence? Why don't--" + +Carnac thrust out a hand that said silence. "Denzil, I'll never forget +what you've told me about yourself. Some day you'll have to tell it to +the priest, and then--" + +"I'll never tell it till I'm on my death-bed. Then I'll tell it, sacre +bapteme, yes!" + +"You're a bad Catholic, Denzil," remarked Carnae with emotion, but a +smile upon his face. + +"I may be a bad Catholic, but the man deserved to die, and he died. +What's the difference, so far's the world's concerned, whether he died by +accident, or died--as he died. It's me that feels the fury of the +damned, and want my girl back every hour: and she can't come. But some +day I'll go to M'sieu' Luke Tarboe, and tell him the truth, as I've told +it you--bagosh, yes!" + +"I think he'd try and kill you, if you did. That's the kind of man he +is." + +"You think if he knew the truth he'd try and kill me--he!" + +Carnac paused. He did not like to say everything in his mind. "Do you +think he'd say much and do little?" + +"I dunno, I dunno, but I'll tell him the truth and take my chance." +Suddenly he swung round and stretched out appealing hands. "Haven't you +got any sense, m'sieu'? Don't you see what you should do? Ma'm'selle +Junia cares for you. I know it--I've seen it in her eyes often--often." + +With sudden vehemence Carnac caught the wrists of the other. "It can't +be, Denzil. I can't tell you why yet. I'm going away. If Tarboe wants +her--good--good; I must give her a chance." + +Denzil shrank. "There's something wrong, m'sieu'," he said. Then his +eyes fastened on Carnac's. Suddenly, with a strange, shining light in +them, he added "It will all come right for you and her. I'll live for +that. If you go away, I'll take good care of her." + +"Even if--" Carnac paused. + +"Yes, even if he makes love to her. He'll want to marry her, surelee." + +"Well, that's not strange," remarked Carnac. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +CARNAC'S TALK WITH HIS MOTHER + +Carnac went slowly towards his father's house on the hill. Fixed, as his +mind was, upon all that had just happened, his eye took fondly from the +gathering dusk pictures which the artist's mind cherishes--the long +roadway, with the maples and pines, the stump fences; behind which lay +the garnered fields, where the plough had made ready the way for the Fall +wheat; the robins twittering in the scattered trees; the cooing of the +wood-pigeon; over all, the sky in its perfect purpling blue, and far down +the horizon the evening-star slowly climbing. He noted the lizards +slipping through the stones; he saw where the wheel of a wagon had +crushed some wild flower-growth; he heard the far call of a milkmaid to +the cattle; he caught the sweet breath of decaying verdure, and through +all, the fresh, biting air of the new-land autumn, pleasantly stinging +his face. + +Something kept saying to his mind: "It's all good. It's life and light, +and all good." But his nerves were being tried; his whole nature was +stirred. + +He took the letter from his pocket again, and read it in the fading +light. It was native, naive, brutal, and unconsciously clever--and the +girl who had written it was beautiful. It had only a few lines. It +asked him why he had deserted her, his wife. It said that he would find +American law protected the deluded stranger. It asked if he had so soon +forgotten the kisses he had given her, and did he not realize they were +married? He felt that, with her, beneath all, there was more than +malice; there was a passion which would run risks to secure its end. + +A few moments later he was in the room where his mother, with her strong, +fine, lonely face, sat sewing by the window. The door opened squarely on +her, and he saw how refined and sad, yet self-contained, was the woman +who had given him birth. The look in her eyes warmly welcomed him. Her +own sorrows made her sensitive to those of others, and as Carnac entered +she saw something was vexing him. + +"Dear lad!" she said. + +He was beside her now, and he kissed her cheek. "Best of all the world," +he said; and he did not see that she shrank a little. + +"Are you in trouble?" she asked, and her hand touched his shoulder. + +The wrong she had done him long ago vexed her. It was not possible this +boy could fit in with a life where, in one sense, he did not belong. It +was not part of her sorrow that he had given himself to painting and +sculpture. In her soul she believed this might be best for him in the +end. She had a surreptitious, an almost anguished, joy in the thought +that he and John Grier could not hit it off. It seemed natural that +both men, ignorant of their own tragedy, believing themselves to be +father and son, should feel for each other the torture of distance, +a misunderstanding, which only she and one other human being understood. + +John Grier was not the boy's father. Carnac was the son of Barode +Barouche. + +After a moment he said: "Mother, I know why I've come to you. It's +because I feel when I'm in trouble, I get helped by being with you." + +"How do I help, my boy?" she asked with a sad smile, for he had said +the thing dearest to her heart. + +"When I'm with you, I seem to get a hold on myself. I've always had a +strange feeling about you. I felt when I was a child that you're two +people; one that lives on some distant, lonely prairie, silent, shadowy +and terribly loving; and the other, a vocal person, affectionate, alert, +good and generous." + +He paused, but she only shook her head. After a moment he continued: +"I know you aren't happy, mother, but maybe you once were--at the start." + +She got to her feet, and drew herself up. + +"I'm happy in your love, but all the rest--is all the rest. It isn't +your father's fault wholly. He was busy; he forgot me. Dear, dear boy, +never give up your soul to things only, keep it for people." + +She was naturally straight and composed; yet as she stood there, she had +a certain lonely splendour like some soft metal burning. Among her +fellow-citizens she had place and position, but she took no lead; she was +always an isolated attachment of local enterprises. It was in her own +house where her skill and adaptability had success. She had brought into +her soul misery and martyrdom, and all martyrs are lonely and apart. + +Sharp visions of what she was really flashed through Carnac's mind, and +he said: + +"Mother, there must be something wrong with you and me. You were +naturally a great woman, and sometimes I have a feeling I might be a +great man, but I don't get started for it. I suppose, you once had an +idea you'd play a big part in the world?" + +"Girls have dreams," she answered with moist eyes, "and at times I +thought great things might come to me; but I married and got lost." + +"You got lost?" asked Carnac anxiously, for there was a curious note in +her voice. + +She tried to change the effect of her words. + +"Yes, I lost myself in somebody else's ambitions I lost myself in the +storm." + +Carnac laughed. "Father was always a blizzard, wasn't he? Now here, now +there, he rushed about making money, humping up his business, and yet why +shouldn't you have ranged beside him. I don't understand." + +"No, that's the bane of life," she replied. "We don't understand each +other. I can't understand why you don't marry Junia. You love her. +You don't understand why I couldn't play as big a part as your father-- +I couldn't. He was always odd--masterful and odd, and I never could do +just as he liked." + +There was yearning sadness in her eyes. "Dear Carnac, John Grier is a +whirlwind, but he's also a still pool in which currents are secretly +twisting, turning. His imagination, his power is enormous; but he's +Oriental, a barbarian." + +"You mean he might have had twenty wives?" + +"He might have had twenty, and he'd have been the same to all of them, +because they play no part, except to make his home a place where his body +can live. That's the kind of thing, when a wife finds it out, that +either kills her slowly, or drives her mad." + +"It didn't kill you, mother," remarked Carnac with a little laugh. + +"No, it didn't kill me." + +"And it didn't drive you mad," he continued. + +She looked at him with burning intensity. "Oh, yes, it did--but I became +sane again." She gazed out of the window, down the hillside. "Your +father will soon be home. Is there anything you want to say before +that?" + +Carnac wanted to tell his tragic story, but it was difficult. He caught +his mother's hand. + +"What's the matter, Carnac? You are in trouble. I can see it in your +eyes--I feel it. Is it money?" she asked. She knew it was not, yet she +could not help but ask. He shook his head in negation. + +"Is it business?" + +She knew his answer, yet she must make these steps before she said to +him: "Is it a woman?" + +He nodded now. She caught his eyes and held them with her own. All the +silence and sorrow, all the remorse and regret of the past twenty-six +years gathered in her face. + +"Yes and no," he answered with emotion. "You've quarrelled with Junia?" + +"No," he replied. + +"Why don't you marry her?" she urged. "We all would like it, even your +father." + +"I can't." + +"Why?" She leant forward with a slight burning of the cheek. "Why, +Carnac?" + +He had determined to keep his own secret, to hide the thing which had +vexed his life, but a sudden feeling overcame his purpose. With impulse +he drew out the letter he had received in John Grier's office and handed +it to her. + +"Read that, and then I'll tell you all about it--all I can." + +With whitening face, she took the letter and read its few lines. It was +written in French, with savage little flourishes and twists, and the name +signed at the end was "Luzanne." At last she handed it back, her fingers +trembling. + +"Who is Luzanne, and what does it mean?" What she had read was +startling. + +He slowly seated himself beside her. "I will tell you." + +When Carnac had ended his painful story, she said to him: "It's terrible +--oh, terrible. But there was divorce." + +"Yes, but they told me I couldn't get a divorce. Yet I wish now I'd +tried for it. I've never heard a word from the girl till I got that +letter. It isn't strange she hasn't moved in the thing till now. It was +I that should have acted; and she knew that. She means business, that's +clear, and it'll be hard to prove I didn't marry her with eyes wide open. +It gets between me and my work and my plans for the future; between--" + +"Between you and Junia," she said mournfully. "Don't you think you ought +to get a divorce for Junia's sake, if nothing else?" + +"Yes, of course. But I'm not sure I could get a divorce--evidence is so +strong against me, and it was a year ago! If I can see Luzanne again +perhaps I can get her to tear up the marriage-lines--that's what I want. +She isn't all bad. I must go again to New York; and Junia can wait. I'm +not much, I know--not worth waiting for, maybe, but I'm in earnest where +Junia's concerned. I could make a little home for her at once, and a +better one as time went on, if she would marry me." + +After a moment of silence, Carnac added: "I'm going to New York. Don't +you think I ought to go?" + +The gaunt, handsome face of the woman darkened, and then she answered: +"Yes." + +There was silence again for a moment, deep and painful, and then Carnac +spoke. + +"Mother, I don't think father is well. I see a great change in him. He +hasn't long to travel, and some day you'll have everything. He might +make you run the business, with Tarboe as manager." + +She shuddered slightly. "With Tarboe--I never thought of that--with +Tarboe! . . . Are you going to wait for--your father? He'll be here +presently." + +"No, I'm off. I'll go down the garden, through the bushes," he said.... +"Mother, I've got nearer you to-night than in all the rest of my life." + +She kissed him fondly. "You're going away, but I hope you'll come back +in time." + +He knew she meant Junia. + +"Yes, I hope I'll come back in time." + +A moment later he was gone, out of the sidedoor, through the bushes, and +down the hill, running like a boy. He had for the first time talked to +his mother about the life of their home; the facts she told him stripped +away the curtain that hid the secret things of life from his eyes. + +John Grier almost burst upon his wife. He opened and shut the door +noisily; he stamped into the dusky room. + +"Isn't it time for a light?" he said with a quizzical nod towards her. + +The short visit of Carnac had straightened her back. "I like the +twilight. I don't light up until it's dark, but if you wish--" + +"You like the twilight; you don't light up until it's dark, but if I +wish--ah, that's it! Have your own way.... I'm the breadwinner; I'm the +breadwinner; I'm the fighter; I'm the man that makes the machine go; but +I don't like the twilight, and I don't like to wait until it's dark +before I light up. So there it is!" + +She said nothing at once, but struck a match, and lit the gas. + +"It's easy to give you what you want," she answered after a little. +"I'm used to it now." + +There was something animal-like in the thrust forward of his neck, in the +anger that mounted to his eyes. When she had drawn down the blinds, he +said to her: "Who's been here?" + +For an instant she hesitated. Then she said: "Carnac's been here, but +that has naught to do with what I said. I've lived with you for over +thirty years, and I haven't spoken my mind often, but I'm speaking it +now." + +"Never too late to mend, eh!" he gruffly interposed. "So Carnac's been +here! Putting up his independent clack, eh? He leaves his old father to +struggle as best he may, and doesn't care a damn. That's your son +Carnac." + +How she longed to say to him, "That's not your son Carnac!" but she +could not. A greyness crossed over her face. + +"Is Carnac staying here?" + +She shook her head in negation. + +"Well, now I'll tell you about Carnac," he said viciously. "I'm shutting +him out of the business of my life. You understand?" + +"You mean--" She paused. + +"He's taken his course, let him stick to it. I'm taking my course, and +I'll stick to it." + +She came close and reached out a faltering hand. "John, don't do what +you'll be sorry for." + +"I never have." + +"When Fabian was born, you remember what you said? You said: 'Life's +worth living now.'" + +"Yes, but what did I say when Carnac was born?" + +"I didn't hear, John," she answered, her face turning white. + +"Well, I said naught." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +CARNAC SAYS GOOD-BYE + +Fabian Grier's house was in a fashionable quarter of a fashionable +street, the smallest of all built there; but it was happily placed, +rather apart from others, at the very end of the distinguished promenade. +Behind it, a little way up the hill, was a Roman Catholic chapel. + +The surroundings of the house were rural for a city habitation. Behind +it were commendable trees, from one of which a swing was hung. In a +corner, which seemed to catch the sun, was a bird-cage on a pole, sought +by pigeons and doves. In another corner was a target for the bow and +arrow-evidence of the vigorous life of the owners of the house. + +On the morning after Carnac told his mother he was going away, the doors +of the house were all open. Midway between breakfast and lunch, the +voices of children sang through the dining-room bright with the morning +sun. The children were going to the top of the mountain-the two +youngsters who made the life of Fabian and his wife so busy. Fabian was +a man of little speech. He was slim and dark and quiet, with a black +moustache and smoothly brushed hair, with a body lithe and composed, yet +with hands broad, strong, stubborn. + +As Junia stood by the dining-room table and looked at the alert, +expectant children, she wished she also was going now to the mountain- +top. But that could not be--not yet. Carnac had sent a note saying he +wished to see her, and she had replied through Denzil that her morning +would be spent with her sister. "What is it?" she remarked to herself. +"What is it? There's nothing wrong. Yet I feel everything upside down." + +Her face turned slowly towards the wide mountain; it caught the light +upon the steeple of the Catholic chapel. She shuddered slightly, and an +expression came into her shadowed eyes not belonging to her personality, +which was always buoyant. + +As she stood absorbed, her mind in a maze of perplexity, a sigh broke +from her lips. She suddenly had a conviction about Carnac; she felt his +coming might bring a crisis; that what he might say must influence her +whole life. Carnac--she threw back her head. Suddenly a sweet, +appealing, intoxicating look crossed her face. Carnac! Yes, +there was a man, a man of men. + +Tarboe got his effects by the impetuous rush of a personality; Carnac by +something that haunted, that made him more popular absent than present. +Carnac compelled thought. When he was away she wanted him; when he was +near she liked to quarrel with him. When they were together, one moment +she wanted to take his hands in her hands, and in the next she wanted to +push him over some great cliff--he was so maddening. He provoked the +devil in her; yet he made her sing the song of Eden. What was it? + +As she asked the question she heard a firm step on the path. It was +Carnac. She turned and stood waiting, leaning against the table, +watching the door through which he presently came. He was dressed in +grey. His coat was buttoned. He carried a soft grey hat, and somehow +his face gave her a feeling that he had come to say good-bye. +It startled her; and yet, though she was tempted to grip her breast, +she did not. Presently she spoke. + +"I think you're a very idle man. Why aren't you at work?" + +"I am at work," Carnac said cheerfully. + +"Work is not all paint and canvas of course. There has to be the +thinking beforehand. Well, of what are you thinking now?" + +"Of the evening train to New York." + +His face was turned away from her at the instant, because he did not wish +to see the effect of his words. He would have seen that apprehension +came to her eyes. Her mouth opened in quick amazement. It was all too +startling. He was going--for how long? + +"Why are you going?" she asked, when she had recovered her poise. + +"Well, you see I haven't quite learned my painting yet, and I must study +in great Art centres where one isn't turned down by one's own judgment." + +"Ananias!" she said at last. "Ananias!" + +"Why do you say I'm a liar?" he asked, flushing a little, though there +was intense inquiry in his eyes. "Because I think it. It isn't your +work only that's taking you away." Suddenly she laughed. "What a fool +you are, Carnac! You're not a good actor. You're not going away for +work's sake only." + +"Not for work's sake only--that's true." + +"Then why do you go?" + +"I'm in a mess, Junia. I've made some mistakes in my life, and I'm going +to try and put one of them right." + +"Is anybody trying to do you harm?" she asked gently. + +"Yes, somebody's trying to hurt me." + +"Hurt him," she rejoined sharply, and her eyes fastened his. + +He was about to say there was no him in the matter, but reason steadied +him, and he said: + +"I'll do my best, Junia. I wish I could tell you, but I can't. What's +to be done must be done by myself alone." + +"Then it ought to be done well." + +With an instant's impulse he moved towards her. She went to the window, +however, and she said: "Here's Fabian. You'll be glad of that. You'll +want to say good-bye to him and Sibyl." She ran from him to the front +door. "Fabian--Fabian, here's a bad boy who wants to tell you things +he won't tell me." With these words she went into the garden. + +"I don't think he'll tell me," came Fabian's voice. "Why should he?" + +A moment afterwards the two men met. + +"Well, what's the trouble, Carnac?" asked Fabian in a somewhat +challenging voice. + +"I'm going away." + +"Oh--for how long?" Fabian asked quizzically. "I don't know--a year, +perhaps. I want to make myself a better artist, and also free myself." + +Now his eyes were on Junia in her summer-time recreation, and her voice, +humming a light-opera air, was floating to him through the autumn +morning. + +"Has something got you in its grip, then?" + +"I'm the victim of a reckless past, like you." Something provocative was +in his voice and in his words. + +"Was my past reckless?" asked Fabian with sullen eyes. + +"Never so reckless as mine. You fought, quarrelled, hit, sold and bought +again, and now you're out against your father, fighting him." + +"I had to come out or be crushed." + +"I'm not so sure you won't be crushed now you're out. He plays boldly, +and he knows his game. One or the other of you must prevail, and I think +it won't be you, Fabian. John Grier does as much thinking in an hour as +most of us do in a month, and with Tarboe he'll beat you dead. Tarboe is +young; he's got the vitality of a rhinoceros. He knows the business from +the bark on the tree. He's a flyer, is Tarboe, and you might have been +in Tarboe's place and succeeded to the business." + +Fabian threw out his arms. "But no! Father might live another ten +years--though I don't think so--and I couldn't have stood it. He was +lapping me in the mud." + +"He doesn't lap Tarboe in the mud." + +"No, and he wouldn't have lapped you in the mud, because you've got +imagination, and you think wide and long when you want to. But I'm +middle-class in business. I've got no genius for the game. He didn't +see my steady qualities were what was needed. He wanted me to be like +himself, an eagle, and I was only a robin red-breast." + +Suddenly his eyes flashed and his teeth set. "You couldn't stand him, +wouldn't put up with his tyranny. You wanted to live your own life, and +you're doing it. When he bought me out, what was there for me to do but +go into the only business I knew, with the only big man in the business, +besides John Grier. I've as good blood as he's got in his veins. I do +business straight. + +"He didn't want me to do it straight. That's one of the reasons we fell +out. John Grier's a big, ruthless trickster. I wasn't. I was for +playing the straight game, and I played it." + +"Well, he's got his own way now. He's got a man who wouldn't blink at +throttling his own brother, if it'd do him any good. Tarboe is iron and +steel; he's the kind that succeeds. He likes to rule, and he's going to +get what he wants mostly." + +"Is that why you're going away?" asked Fabian. "Don't you think it'll +be just as well not to go, if Tarboe is going to get all he wants?" + +"Does Tarboe come here?" + +"He's been here twice." + +"Visiting?" + +"No. He came on urgent business. There was trouble between our two +river-driving camps. He wanted my help to straighten things out, and he +got it. He's pretty quick on the move." + +"He wanted you to let him settle it?" + +"He settled it, and I agreed. He knows how to handle men; I'll say that +for him. He can run reckless on the logs like a river-driver; he can +break a jam like an expert. He's not afraid of man, or log, or devil. +That's his training. He got that training from John Grier's firm under +another name. I used to know him by reputation long before he took my +place in the business--my place and yours. You got loose from the +business only to get tied up in knots of your own tying," he added. +"What it is I don't know, but you say you're in trouble and I believe +you." Suddenly a sharp look came to his face. "Is it a woman?" + +"It's not a man." + +"Well, you ought to know how to handle a woman. You're popular with +women. My wife'll never hear a word against you. I don't know how you +do it. We're so little alike, it makes me feel sometimes we're not +brothers. I don't know where you get your temperament from." + +"It doesn't matter where I got it, it's mine. I want to earn my own +living, and I'm doing it." Admiration came into Fabian's face. "Yes," +he said, "and you don't borrow--" + +"And don't beg or steal. Mother has given me money, and I'm spending my +own little legacy, all but five thousand dollars of it." + +Fabian came up to his brother slowly. "If you know what's good for you, +you'll stay where you are. You're not the only man that ought to be +married. Tarboe's a strong man, and he'll be father's partner. He's +handsome in his rough way too, is Tarboe. He knows what he wants, and +means to have it, and this is a free country. Our girls, they have their +own way. Why don't you settle it now? Why don't you marry Junia, and +take her away with you--if she'll have you?" + +"I can't--even if she'll have me." + +"Why can't you?" + +"I'm afraid of the law." + +An uneasy smile hung at Carnac's lips. He suddenly caught Fabian's +shoulder in a strong grip. "We've never been close friends, Fabian. +We've always been at sixes and sevens, and yet I feel you'd rather do me +a good turn than a bad one. Let me ask you this--that you'll not believe +anything bad of me till you've heard what I've got to say. Will you do +that?" + +Fabian nodded. "Of course. But if I were you, I wouldn't bet on myself, +Carnac. Junia's worth running risks for. She's got more brains than my +wife and me together, and she bosses us; but with you, it's different. +I think you'd boss her. You're unexpected; you're daring; and you're +reckless." + +"Yes, I certainly am reckless." + +"Then why aren't you reckless now? You're going away. Why, you haven't +even told her you love her. The other man--is here, and--I've seen him +look at her? I know by the way she speaks of him how she feels. +Besides, he's a great masterful creature. Don't be a fool! Have a try + . . . Junia--Junia," he called. + +The figure in the garden with the flowers turned. There was a flicker of +understanding in the rare eyes. The girl held up a bunch of flowers high +like a torch. + +"I'm coming, my children," she called, and, with a laugh, she ran forward +through the doorway. + +"What is it you want, Fabian?" she asked, conscious that in Carnac's +face was consternation. "What can I do for you?" she added, with a +slight flush. + +"Nothing for me, but for Carnac--" Fabian stretched out a hand. + +She laughed brusquely. "Oh, Carnac! Carnac! Well, I've been making him +this bouquet." She held it out towards him. "It's a farewell bouquet +for his little journey in the world. Take it, Carnac, with everybody's +love--with Fabian's love, with Sibyl's love, with my love. Take it, and +good-bye." + +With a laugh she caught up her hat from the table, and a moment later she +was in the street making for the mountain-side up which the children had +gone. + +Carnac placed the bouquet upon the table. Then he turned to his brother. + +"What a damn mess you make of things, Fabian!" + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +All genius is at once a blessing or a curse +Do what you feel you've got to do, and never mind what happens +Had got unreasonably old +How many sons have ever added to their father's fame? +Never give up your soul to things only, keep it for people +We do what we forbid ourselves to do +We suffer the shames we damn in others + + + + + + +CARNAC'S FOLLY + +By Gilbert Parker + + + +BOOK II + +XIII. CARNAC'S RETURN +XIV. THE HOUSE OF THE THREE TREES +XV. CARNAC AND JUNTA +XVI. JOHN GRIER MAKES A JOURNEY +XVII. THE READING OF THE WILL + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +CARNAC'S RETURN + +"Well, what's happened since I've been gone, mother?" asked Carnac. "Is +nobody we're interested in married, or going to be married?" + +It was spring-time eight months after Carnac had vanished from Montreal, +and the sun of late April was melting the snow upon the hills, bringing +out the smell of the sprouting verdure and the exultant song of the +birds. + +His mother replied sorrowfully: "Junia's been away since last fall. Her +aunt in the West was taken ill, and she's been with her ever since. Tell +me, dearest, is everything all right now? Are you free to do what you +want?" + +He shook his head morosely. "No, everything's all wrong. I blundered, +and I'm paying the price." + +"You didn't find Luzanne Larue?" + +"Yes, I found her, but it was no good. I said there was divorce, and she +replied I'd done it with my eyes open, and had signed our names in the +book of the hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Carnac Grier and divorce would not be +possible. Also, I'd let things go for a year, and what jury would give +me relief! I consulted a lawyer. He said she had the game in her hands, +and that a case could be put up that would discredit me with jury or +judge, so there it is. . . . Well, bad as she is, she's fond of me +in her way. I don't think she's ever gone loose with any man; this is +only a craze, I'm sure. She wanted me, and she meant to have me." + +His mother protested: "No pure, straight, honest girl would--" + +Carnac laughed bitterly, and interrupted. "Don't talk that way, mother. +The girl was brought up among exiles and political criminals in the +purlieu of Montmartre. What's possible in one place is impossible in +another. Devil as she is, I want to do her justice." + +"Did she wear a wedding-ring?" + +"No, but she used my name as her own: I saw it on the paper door-plate. +She said she would wait awhile longer, but if at the end of six months I +didn't do my duty, she'd see the thing through here among my own people." + +"Six months--it's overdue now!" She said in agitation. + +He nodded helplessly. "I'm in hell as things are. There's only this to +be said: She's done naught yet, and she mayn't do aught!" + +They were roused by the click of the gate. "That's your father--that's +John Grier," she said. + +They heard the front door open and shut, a footstep in the hall, then the +door opened and John Grier came into the room. + +Preoccupation, abstraction, filled his face, as he came forward. It was +as though he was looking at something distant that both troubled and +pleased him. When he saw Carnac he stopped, his face flushed. For an +instant he stood unmoving, and then he held out his hand. + +"So you've come back, Carnac. When did you get here?" + +As Carnac released his hand from John Grier's cold clasp, he said: "A +couple of hours ago." + +The old man scrutinized him sharply, carefully. "Getting on--making +money?" he asked. "Got your hand in the pocket of the world?" + +Carnac shook his head. "I don't care much about the pocket of the world, +but they like my work in London and New York. I don't get Royal Academy +prices, but I do pretty well." + +"Got some pride, eh?" + +"I'm always proud when anybody outside Montreal mentions your name! +It makes me feel I have a place in the world." + +"Guess you've made your own place," said the other, pleasure coming to +his cheek. "You've got your own shovel and pick to make wealth." + +"I care little about wealth. All I want is enough to clothe and feed me, +and give me a little home." + +"A little home! Yes, it's time," remarked the other, as he seated +himself in his big chair by the table. "Why don't you marry?" + +The old man's eyes narrowed until there could only be seen a slit of fire +between the lids, and a bitter smile came to his lips. He had told his +wife a year ago that he had cut Carnac out of all business consideration. +So now, he added: + +"Tarboe's taken your place in the business, Carnac. Look out he doesn't +take your little home too." + +"He's had near a year, and he hasn't done it yet." + +"Is that through any virtue of yours?" + +"Probably not," answered Carnac ironically. "But I've been away; he's +been here. He's had everything with him. Why hasn't he pulled it off +then?" + +"He pulls off everything he plans. He's never fallen over his own feet +since he's been with me, and, if I can help it, he won't have a fall when +I'm gone." + +Suddenly he got to his feet; a fit of passion seized him. "What's Junia +to me--nothing! I've every reason to dislike her, but she comes and goes +as if the place belonged to her. She comes to my office; she comes to +this house; she visits Fabian; she tries to boss everybody. Why don't +you regularize it? Why don't you marry her, and then we'll know where we +are? She's got more brains than anybody else in our circle. She's got +tact and humour. Her sister's a fool; she's done harm. Junia's got +sense. What are you waiting for? I wouldn't leave her for Tarboe! Look +here, Carnac, I wanted you to do what Tarboe's doing, and you wouldn't. +You cheeked me--so I took him in. He's made good every foot of the way. +He's a wonder. I'm a millionaire. I'm two times a millionaire, and I +got the money honestly. I gave one-third of it to Fabian, and he left +us. I paid him in cash, and now he's fighting me." + +Carnac bristled up: "What else could he do? He might have lived on the +interest of the money, and done nothing. You trained him for business, +and he's gone on with the business you trained him for. There are other +lumber firms. Why don't you quarrel with them? Why do you drop on +Fabian as if he was dirt?" + +"Belloc's a rogue and a liar." + +"What difference does that make? Isn't it a fair fight? Don't you want +anybody to sit down or stand up till you tell them to? Is it your view +you shall tyrannize, browbeat, batter, and then that everybody you love, +or pretend to love, shall bow down before you as though you were eternal +law? I'm glad I didn't. I'm making my own life. You gave me a chance +in your business, and I tried it, and declined it. You gave it to some +one else, and I approved of it. What more do you want?" + +Suddenly a new spirit of defiance awoke in him. "What I owe you I don't +know, but if you'll make out what you think is due, for what you've done +for me in the way of food and clothes and education, I'll see you get it +all. Meanwhile, I want to be free to move and do as I will." + +John Grier sat down in his chair again, cold, merciless, with a scornful +smile. + +"Yes, yes," he said slowly, "you'd have made a great business man if +you'd come with me. You refused. I don't understand you--I never did. +There's only one thing that's alike in us, and that's a devilish self- +respect, self-assertion, self-dependence. There's nothing more to be +said between us--nothing that counts. Don't get into a passion, Carnac. +It don't become you. Good-night--good-night." + +Suddenly his mother's face produced a great change in Carnac. Horror, +sorrow, remorse, were all there. He looked at John Grier; then at his +mother. The spirit of the bigger thing crept into his heart. He put his +arm around his mother and kissed her. + +"Good-night, mother," he said. Then he went to his father and held out a +hand. "You don't mind my speaking what I think?" he continued, with a +smile. "I've had a lot to try me. Shake hands with me, father. We +haven't found the way to walk together yet. Perhaps it will come; I hope +so." + +Again a flash of passion seized John Grier. He got to his feet. "I'll +not shake hands with you, not to night. You can't put the knife in and +turn it round, and then draw it out and put salve on the wound and say +everything's all right. Everything's all wrong. My family's been my +curse. First one, then another, and then all against me,--my whole +family against me!" + +He dropped back in his chair sunk in gloomy reflection. + +"Well, good-night," said Carnac. "It will all come right some day." + +A moment afterwards he was gone. His mother sat down in her seat by the +window; his father sat brooding by the table. + +Carnac stole down the hillside, his heart burning in him. It had not +been a successful day. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE HOUSE OF THE THREE TREES + +During Carnac's absence, Denzil had lain like an animal, watching, as it +were, the doorway out of which Tarboe came and went. His gloom at last +became fanaticism. During all the eight months of Carnac's absence he +prowled in the precincts of memory. + +While Junia was at home he had been watchfully determined to save her +from Tarboe, if possible. He had an obsession of wrong-mindedness which +is always attached to crime. Though Luke Tarboe had done him no wrong, +and was entitled, if he could, to win Junia for himself, to the mind of +Denzil the stain of his brother's past was on Tarboe's life. He saw +Tarboe and Junia meet; he knew Tarboe put himself in her way, and he was +right in thinking that the girl, with a mind for comedy and coquetry, was +drawn instinctively to danger. + +Undoubtedly the massive presence of Tarboe, his animal-like, bull-headed +persistency, the fun at his big mouth and the light in his bold eye had a +kind of charm for her. It was as though she placed herself within the +danger zone to try her strength, her will; and she had done it without +real loss. More than once, as she waited in the office for old John +Grier to come, she had a strange, intuitive feeling that Tarboe might +suddenly grip her in his arms. + +She flushed at the thought of it; it seemed so absurd. Yet that very +thought had passed through the mind of the man. He was by nature a +hunter; he was self-willed and reckless. No woman had ever moved him in +his life until this girl crossed his path, and he reached out towards her +with the same will to control that he had used in the business of life. +Yet, while this brute force suggested physical control of the girl, it +had its immediate reaction. She was so fine, so delicate, and yet so +full of summer and the free unfettered life of the New World, so +unimpassioned physically, yet so passionate in mind and temperament, +that he felt he must atone for the wild moment's passion--the passion +of possession, which had made him long to crush her to his breast. There +was nothing physically repulsive in it; it was the wild, strong life of +conquering man, of which he had due share. For, as he looked at her +sitting in his office, her perfect health, her slim boyishness, her +exquisite lines and graceful turn of hand, arm and body, or the flower- +like turn of the neck, were the very harmony and poetry of life. But she +was terribly provoking too; and he realized that she was an unconscious +coquette, that her spirit loved mastery as his did. + +Denzil could not know this, however. It was impossible for him to +analyse the natures of these two people. He had instinct, but not enough +to judge the whole situation, and so for two months after Carnac +disappeared he had lived a life of torture. Again and again he had +determined to tell Junia the story of Tarboe's brother, but instinctive +delicacy stopped him. He could not tell her the terrible story which +had robbed him of all he loved and had made him the avenger of the dead. +A half-dozen times after she came back from John Grier's office, with +slightly heightening colour, and the bright interest in her eyes, and had +gone about the garden fondling the flowers, he had started towards her; +but had stopped short before her natural modesty. Besides, why should he +tell her? She had her own life to make, her own row to hoe. Yet, as the +weeks passed, it seemed he must break upon this dangerous romance; and +then suddenly she went to visit her sick aunt in the Far West. Denzil +did not know, however, that, in John Grier's office as she had gone over +figures of a society in which she was interested, the big hand of Tarboe +had suddenly closed upon her fingers, and that his head bent down beside +hers for one swift instant, as though he would whisper to her. Then she +quickly detached herself, yet smiled at him, as she said reprovingly: + +"You oughtn't to do that. You'll spoil our friendship." + +She did not wait longer. As he stretched out his hands to her, his face +had gone pale: she vanished through the doorway, and in forty-eight hours +was gone to her sick aunt. The autumn had come and the winter and the +spring, and the spring was almost gone when she returned; and, with her +return, Catastrophe lifted its head in the person of Denzil. + +Perhaps it was imperative instinct that brought Junia back in an hour +coincident with Carnac's return--perhaps. In any case, there it was. +They had both returned, as it were, in the self-same hour, each having +endured a phase of emotion not easy to put on paper. + +Denzil told her of Carnac's return, and she went to the house where +Carnac's mother lived, and was depressed at what she saw and felt. Mrs. +Grier's face was not that of one who had good news. The long arms almost +hurt when they embraced her. Yet Carnac was a subject of talk between +them--open, clear eyed talk. The woman did not know what to say, except +to praise her boy, and the girl asked questions cheerfully, unimportantly +as to sound, but with every nerve tingling. There was, however, so much +of the comedienne in her, so much coquetry, that only one who knew her +well could have seen the things that troubled her behind all. As though +to punish herself, she began to speak of Tarboe, and Mrs. Grier's face +clouded; she spoke more of Tarboe, and the gloom deepened. Then, with +the mask of coquetry still upon her she left Carnac's mother abashed, +sorrowful and alone. + +Tarboe had called in her absence. Entering the garden, he saw Denzil at +work. At the click of the gate Denzil turned, and came forward. + +"She ain't home," he said bluntly. "She's out. She ain't here. She's +up at Mr. Grier's house, bien sur." + +To Tarboe Denzil's words were offensive. It was none of Denzil's +business whether he came or went in this house, or what his relations +with Junia were. Democrat though he was, he did not let democracy +transgress his personal associations. He knew that the Frenchman was +less likely to say and do the crude thing than the Britisher. + +Tarboe knew of the position held by Denzil in the Shale household; and +that long years of service had given him authority. All this, however, +could not atone for the insolence of Denzil's words, but he had +controlled men too long to act rashly. + +"When will Mademoiselle be back?" he asked, putting a hand on himself. + +"To-night," answered Denzil, with an antipathetic eye. + +"Don't be a damn fool. Tell me the hour when you think she will be at +home. Before dinner--within the next sixty minutes?" + +"Ma'm'selle is under no orders. She didn't say when she would be back-- +but no!" + +"Do you think she'll be back for dinner?" asked Tarboe, smothering his +anger, but get to get his own way. + +"I think she'll be back for dinner!" and he drove the spade into the +ground. + +"Then I'll sit down and wait." Tarboe made for the verandah. + +Denzil presently trotted after and said: "I'd like a word with you." + +Tarboe turned round. "Well, what have you got to say?" + +"Better be said in my house, not here," replied Denzil. His face was +pale, but there was fire in his eyes. There was no danger of violence, +and, if there were, Tarboe could deal with it. Why should there be +violence? Why should that semi-insanity in Denzil's eyes disturb him? +The one thing to do was to forge ahead. He nodded. + +"Where are you taking me?" he asked presently, as they passed through +the gate. + +"To my little house by the Three Trees. I've got things I'd like to show +you, and there's some things I'd like to say. You are a big hulk of a +man, and I'm nobody, but yet I've been close to you and yours in my time +--that's so, for sure." + +"You've been close to me and mine in your time, eh? I didn't know that." + +"No, you didn't know it. Nobody knew it--I've kept it to myself. Your +family wasn't all first-class--but no." + +They soon reached the plain board-house, with the well-laid foundation of +stone, by the big Three Trees. Inside the little spare, undecorated +room, Tarboe looked round. It was all quiet and still enough. It was +like a lodge in the wilderness. Somehow, the atmosphere of it made him +feel apart and lonely. Perhaps that was a little due to the timbered +ceiling, to the walls with cedar scantlings showing, to the crude look of +everything-the head of a moose, the skins hanging down the sides of the +walls, the smell of the cedar, and the swift movement of a tame red +squirrel, which ran up the walls and over the floor and along the +chimney-piece, for Denzil avoided the iron stove so common in these new +cold lands, and remained faithful to a huge old-fashioned mantel. + +Presently Denzil faced him, having closed the door. "I said I'd been +near to your family and you didn't believe me. Sit down, please to, and +I'll tell you my story." + +Seating himself with a little curt laugh, Tarboe waved a hand as though +to say: "Go ahead. I'm ready." + +It was difficult for Denzil to begin. He walked up and down the room, +muttering and shaking his head. Presently, however, he made the Sign of +the Cross upon himself, and, leaning against the wall, and opposite to +Tarboe, he began the story he had told Carnac. + +His description of his dead fiancee had flashes of poetry and +excruciating touches of life: + +"She had no mother, and there was lots of things she didn't know because +of that--ah, plenty! She had to learn, and she brought on her own +tragedy by not knowing that men, even when good to look at, can't be +trusted; that every place, even in the woods and the fields where every +one seems safe to us outdoor people, ain't safe--but no. So she trusted, +and then one day--" + +For the next five minutes the words poured from him in moroseness. He +drew a picture of the lonely wood, of the believing credulous girl and +the masterful, intellectual, skilful man. In the midst of it Tarboe +started. The description of the place and of the man was familiar. He +had a vision of a fair young girl encompassed by clanger; he saw her in +the man's arms; the man's lips to hers, and-- + +"Good God--good God!" he said twice, for a glimmer of the truth struck +him. He knew what his brother had done. He could conceive the revenge +to his brother's amorous hand. He listened till the whole tale was told; +till the death of the girl in the pond at home--back in her own little +home. Then the rest of the story shook him. + +"The verdict of the coroner's court was that he was shot by his own hand +--by accident," said Denzil. "That was the coroner's verdict, but yes! +Well, he was shot by his own gun, but not by his own hand. There was +some one who loved the girl, took toll. The world did not know, and does +not know, but you know--you--you, the brother of him that spoiled a +woman's life! Do you think such a man should live? She was the sweetest +girl that ever lived, and she loved me! She told me the truth--and he +died by his own gun--in the woods; but it wasn't accident--it wasn't +accident--but no! The girl had gone, but behind her was some one that +loved her, and he settled it once for all." + +As he had told the story, Denzil's body seemed to contract; his face took +on an insane expression. It was ghastly pale, but his eyes ware aflame. +His arms stretched out with grim realism as he told of the death of +Almeric Tarboe. + +"You've got the whole truth, m'sieu'. I've told it you at last. I've +never been sorry for killing him--never--never--never. Now, what are you +going to do about it--you--his brother--you that come here making love +too?" + +As the truth dawned upon Tarboe, his great figure stretched itself. A +black spirit possessed him. + +When Denzil had finished, Tarboe stood up. There was dementia, cruelty, +stark purpose in his eyes, in every movement. + +"What am I going to do? You killed my brother! Well, I'm going to kill +you. God blast your soul--I'm going to kill you!" + +He suddenly swooped upon Denzil, his fingers clenched about the thick +throat, insane rage was on him. + +At that moment there was a knock at the door, it opened, and Carnac +stepped inside. He realized the situation and rushed forward. There was +no time to struggle. + +"Let him go," he cried. "You devil--let him go." Then with all his +might, he struck Tarboe in the face. The blow brought understanding back +to Tarboe. His fingers loosed from the Frenchman's throat, and Carnac +caught Denzil as he fell backwards. + +"Good God!" said Carnac. "Good God, Tarboe! Wasn't it enough for your +brother to take this man's love without your trying to take his life?" + +Carnac's blow brought conviction to Tarboe, whose terrible rage passed +away. He wiped the blood from his face. + +"Is the little devil all right?" he whispered. + +Denzil spoke: "Yes. This is the second time M'sieu' Carnac has saved my +life." + +Carnac intervened. "Tell me, Tarboe, what shall you do, now you know the +truth?" + +At last Tarboe thrust out a hand. "I don't know the truth," he said. + +By this Carnac knew that Denzil was safe from the law. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +CARNAC AND JUNIA + +Tarboe did not see Junia that evening nor for many evenings, but Carnac +and Junia met the next day in her own house. He came on her as she was +arranging the table for midday dinner. She had taken up again the +threads of housekeeping, cheering her father, helping the old French- +woman cook--a huge creature who moved like a small mountain, and was a +tyrant in her way to the old cheerful avocat, whose life had been a +struggle for existence, yet whose one daughter had married a rich +lumberman, and whose other daughter could marry wealth, handsomeness +and youth, if she chose. + +When Carnac saw Junia she was entering the dining-room with flowers and +fruit, and he recalled the last time they met, when she had thrust the +farewell bouquet of flowers into his hand. That was in the early autumn, +and this was in late spring, and the light in her face was as glowing as +then. A remembrance of the scene came to the minds of both, and the girl +gave a little laugh. + +"Well, well, Carnac," she said gaily, her cheek flushing, her eyes warm +with colour: "well, I sent you away with flowers. Did they bring you +luck?" She looked him steadily in the eyes. + +"Yes, they brought me a perfect remembrance--of one who has always been +to me like the balm of Gilead." + +"Soothing and stimulating, eh?" she asked, as she put the flowers on the +table and gave him her hand--no, she suddenly gave him both hands with a +rush of old-time friendship, which robbed it of all personal emotion. + +For a moment he held her hands. He felt them tremble in his warm clasp, +the delicate, shivering pulsation of youth, the womanly feeling. It was +for an instant only, because she withdrew her fingers. Then she caught +up an apple from the dish she had brought in, and tossed it to him. + +"For a good boy," she said. "You have been a good boy, haven't you?" + +"I think so, chiefly by remembering a good girl." + +"That's a pretty compliment--meant for me?" + +"Yes, meant for you. I think you understand me better than anyone else." + +He noticed her forehead wrinkle slightly, and a faint, incredulous smile +come to her lips. + +"I shouldn't think I understand you, Carnac," she said, over her +shoulder, as she arranged dishes on the sideboard. "I shouldn't think I +know you well. There's no Book of Revelations of your life except in +your face." + +She suddenly turned full on him, and held his eyes. "Carnac, I think +your face looks honest. I've always thought so, and yet I think you're +something of a scamp, a rogue and a thief." + +There was determination at her lips, through which, though only slightly +apart, her beautiful teeth, so straight, so regular, showed. "You don't +play fair. What's the good of having a friend if you don't tell your +friend your troubles? And you've been in trouble, Carnac, and you're +fighting it through alone. Is that wise? You ought to tell some bad +man, or some good woman--if they're both clever--what's vexing you. + +"You see the bad clever man would probably think out something that would +have the same effect as the good clever woman. They never would think +out the same thing, but each 'd think out what would help you." + +"But you've just said I'm a bad clever man. Why shouldn't I work out my +own trouble?" + +"Oh, you're bad enough," she answered, "but you're not clever enough." + +He smiled grimly. "I'm not sure though about the woman. Perhaps I'll +tell the good clever woman some day and let her help me, if she can. +But I'd warn her it won't be easy." + +"Then there's another woman in it!" + +He did not answer. He could not let her know the truth, yet he was sure +she would come to know it one way or another. + +At that moment she leaned over the table and stretched a hand to arrange +something. The perfection of her poise, the beauty of her lines, the +charm of her face seized Carnac, and, with an impulse, he ran his arm +around her waist. + +"Junia--Junia!" he said in a voice of rash, warm feeling. + +She was like a wild bird caught in its flight. A sudden stillness held +her, and then she turned her head towards him, subdued inquiry in her +eyes. For a moment only she looked--and then she said: + +"Take your arm away, please." + +The conviction that he ought not to make any sign of love to her broke +his sudden passion. He drew back ashamed, yet defiant, rebuked, yet +rebellious. It was like a challenge to her. A sarcastic smile crossed +her lips. + +"What a creature of impulses you are, Carnac! When we were children the +day you saved Denzil years ago you flung your arms around me and kissed +me. I didn't understand anything then, and what's more I don't think you +did. You were a wilful, hazardous boy, and went your way taking the +flowers in the garden that didn't belong to you. Yet after all these +years, with an impulse behind which there is nothing--nothing at all, +you repeat that incident." + +Suddenly passion seemed to possess her. "How dare you trifle with things +that mean so much! Have you learned nothing since I saw you last? Can +nothing teach you, Carnac? Can you not learn how to play the big part? +If you weren't grown up, do you know what I would do? I would slap the +face of an insolent, thoughtless, hopeless boy." Then her temper seemed +to pass. She caught up an apple again and thrust it into his hand. "Go +and eat that, Adam. Perhaps it'll make you wise like the old Adam. He +put his faults upon a woman." + +"So do I," said Carnac. "So do I." + +"That's what you would do, but you mustn't play that sort of game with a +good woman." She burst out laughing. "For a man you're a precious fool! +I don't think I want to see you again. You don't improve. You're full +of horrid impulses." Her indignation came back. "How dare you put your +arm around me!" + +"It was the impulse of my heart. I can say no more; if I could I would. +There's something I should like to tell you, but I mustn't." He put the +apple down. + +"About the other woman, I suppose," she said coldly, the hot indignation +gone from her lips. + +He looked her steadfastly in the eyes. "If you won't trust me--if you +won't trust me--" + +"I've always trusted you," she replied, "but I don't trust you now. +Don't you understand that a good girl hates conduct like yours?" + +Suddenly with anger he turned upon her. "Yes, I understand everything, +but you don't understand. Why won't you believe that the reason I won't +tell you my trouble is that it's best you shouldn't know? You're a young +girl; you don't know life; you haven't seen it as I've seen it--in the +sewage, in the ditch, on the road, on the mountain and in the bog. I +want you to keep faith with your old friend who doesn't care what the +rest of the world thinks, but who wants your confidence. Trust me--don't +condemn me. Believe me, I haven't been wanton. Won't you trust me?" + +The spirit of egotism was alive in her. She knew how much she had denied +herself in the past months. She did not know whether she loved him, but +injured pride tortured her. Except in a dance and in sports at a picnic +or recreation-ground no man had ever put his arms around her. No man +except Carnac, and that he had done it was like a lash upon the raw +skinless flesh. If she had been asked by the Almighty whether she loved +Carnac, she would have said she did not know. This was not a matter of +love; but of womanhood, of self-respect, of the pride of one who cannot +ask for herself what she wants in the field of love, who must wait to be +wooed and won. + +"You don't think I'm straight," he said in protest. "You think I'm no +good, that I'm a fraud. You're wrong. Believe me, that is the truth." +He came closer up to her. "Junia, if you'll stand by me, I'm sure I'll +come out right. I've been caught in a mesh I can't untangle yet, but it +can be untangled, and when it is, you shall know everything, because then +you'll understand. I can free myself from the tangle, but it could never +be explained--not so the world would believe. I haven't trifled with +you. I would believe in you even if I saw, or thought I saw, the signs +of wrong in you. I would know that at heart you were good. I put my +faith in you long ago--last year I staked all on your friendship, and I +haven't been deceived." + +He smiled at her, his soul in his eyes. There was truth in his smile, +and she realized it. + +After a moment, she put out a hand and pushed him gently from her. "Go +away, Carnac, please--now," she said softly. + +A moment afterwards he was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +JOHN GRIER MAKES A JOURNEY + +John Grier's business had beaten all past records. Tarboe was +everywhere: on the river, in the saw-mills, in the lumber-yards, in the +office. Health and strength and goodwill were with him, and he had the +confidence of all men in the lumber-world. It was rumoured that he was a +partner of John Grier, and it was a good thing for him as well as for the +business. He was no partner, however; he was on a salary with a bonus +percentage of the profits; but that increased his vigour. + +There were times when he longed for the backwoods life; when the smell of +the pines and the firs and the juniper got into his nostrils; when he +heard, in imagination, the shouts of the river-men as they chopped down +the trees, sawed the boles into standard lengths, and plunged the big +timbers into the stream, or round the fire at night made call upon the +spirit of recreation. In imagination, he felt the timbers creaking and +straining under his feet; he smelt the rich soup from the cook's caboose; +he drank basins of tea from well-polished metal; he saw the ugly rows in +the taverns, where men let loose from river duty tried to regain civilian +life by means of liquor and cards; he heard the stern thud of a hard fist +against a piece of wood; he saw twenty men spring upon another twenty +with rage in their faces; he saw hundreds of men arrived in civilization +once again striking for their homes and loved ones, storming with life. +He saw the door flung open, and the knee-booted, corduroyed river-man, +with red sash around his waist and gold rings in his ears, seize the +woman he called wife and swing her to him with a hungry joy; he saw the +children pushed gently here, or roughly, but playfully, tossed in the air +and caught again; but he also saw the rough spirits of the river march +into their homes like tyrants returned, as it were, cursing and banging +their way back to their rightful nests. + +Occasionally he would wish to be in it all again, out in the wild woods +and on the river and in the shanty, free and strong and friendly and a +bit ferocious. All he had known of the backwoods life filled his veins, +tortured him at times. + +From the day that both wills were made and signed, no word had been +spoken concerning them between him and John Grier. He admired certain +characteristics of John Grier; some secret charities, some impulsive +generosity, some signs of public spirit. The old man was fond of +animals, and had given water-troughs to the town; and his own horses and +the horses he used in the woods were always well fed. Also, in all his +arrangements for the woods, he was generous. He believed in feeding his +men well. It was rough food--beans, potatoes, peas, lentils, pork in +barrels-salted pork; but there was bread of the best, rich soup, pork +well boiled and fried, with good tea, freshly made. This was the regular +fare, and men throve on it. + +One day, however, shortly after Carnac's return home, there came a change +in the scene. Things had been going badly for a couple of days and the +old man had been seriously overworked. He had not listened to the +warnings of Tarboe, or to the hints thrown out by his own punished +physique. He was not a man to take hints. Everything that vexed his +life roused opposition. This Tarboe knew, but he also knew that the +business must suffer, if the old man suffered. + +When John Grier left the office it was with head bowed and mind +depressed. Nothing had happened to cause him grave anxiety, yet he had +been below par for several hours. Why was he working so hard? Why was +life to him such a concentration? Why did he seek for more money and to +get more power? To whom could it go? Not to Fabian; not to his wife. +To Tarboe--well, there was not enough in that! This man had only lately +come into his life, and was only near to him in a business sense. Carnac +was near in every sense that really mattered, and Carnac was out of it +all. + +He was not loved, and in his heart of hearts he knew it, but he had had +his own way, and he loved himself. No one seemed to care for him, not +even his wife. How many years was it since they had roomed together? +Yet as he went towards his own home now, he recalled the day they were +married, and for the first time had drawn as near to each other as life +could draw. He had thought her wonderful then, refined, and oh! so rich +in life's gifts. His love had almost throttled her. She was warm and +bountiful and full of temperament. So it went for three years, and then +slowly he drew away from her until at last, returning from the backwoods, +he had gone to another room, and there had stayed. Very occasionally he +had smothered her with affection, but that had passed, until now, middle- +aged, she seemed to be not a room away from him, but a thousand rooms +away. He saw it with no reproach to himself. He forgot it was he who +had left her room, and had set up his own tabernacle, because his hours +differed from hers, and because she tossed in her bed at nights, and that +made him restless too. + +Yet, if his love had been the real thing, he would have stayed, because +their lives were so similar, and the rules of domestic life in French +Canada were so fixed. He had spoiled his own household, destroyed his +own peace, forsaken his own nest, outlived his hope and the possibility +of further hope, except more business success, more to leave behind him. + +That was the stern truth. Had he been a different man the devotion his +wife had shown would have drawn him back to her; had she been a different +woman, unvexed by a horrible remembrance, she would have made his soul +her own and her soul his own once again. She had not dared to tell him +the truth; afraid more for her boy's sake than for her own. She had been +glad that Tarboe had helped to replace the broken link with Fabian, that +he had taken the place which Carnac, had he been John Grier's son, ought +to have taken. She could not blame Carnac, and she could not blame her +husband, but the thing ate into her heart. + +John Grier found her sitting by her table in the great living-room, +patient and grave, and yet she smiled at him, and rose as he came into +the room. His troubled face brought her forward quickly. She stretched +out a hand appealingly to him. + +"What's the matter, John? Has anything upset you?" + +"I'm not upset." + +"Yes you are," she urged, "but, yes, you are! Something has gone wrong." + +"Nothing's gone wrong that hasn't been wrong for many a year," he said. + +"What's been wrong for many a year?" + +"The boys you brought into this world--your sons!" he burst out. "Why +isn't Carnac working with me? There must have been something damned bad +in the bringing up of those boys. I've not, got the love of any of you, +and I know it. Why should I be thrown over by every one?" + +"Every one hasn't thrown you over. Mr. Tarboe hasn't. You've been in +great spirits about him. What's the matter?" + +He waved a hand savagely at her, with an almost insane look in his eyes. + +"What's he to me! He's a man of business. In a business way I like him, +but I want my own flesh and blood by me in my business. I wanted Carnac, +and he wouldn't come--a few weeks only he came. I had Fabian, and he +wouldn't stay. If I'd had a real chance--" + +He broke off, with an outward savage protest of his hands, his voice +falling. + +"If you'd had your chance, you'd have made your own home happy," she said +sadly. "That was your first duty, not your business--your home--your +home! You didn't care about it. There were times when for months you +forgot me; and then--then--" + +Suddenly a dreadful suspicion seized his brain. His head bent forward, +his shoulders thrust out, he stumbled towards her. + +"Then--well, what then!" he gasped. "Then--you--forgot--" + +She realized she had gone too far, saw the storm in his mind. + +"No--no--no, I didn't forget you, John. Never--but--" + +She got no farther. Suddenly his hands stretched out as if to seize her +shoulders, his face became tortured--he swayed. She caught him. She +lowered him to the floor, and put a hassock under his head. Then she +rang the bell--rang it--and rang again. + +When help came, all was too late. John Grier had gone for ever. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE READING OF THE WILL + +As Tarboe stood in the church alone at the funeral, in a pew behind John +Grier's family, sadness held him. He had known, as no one else knew, +that the business would pass into his own hands. He suddenly felt his +task too big for him, and he looked at Carnac now with sympathy. Carnac +had brains, capacity, could almost take his father's place; he was +tactful, intuitive, alert. Yet Carnac, at present, was out of the +question. He knew the stress of spirit which had turned Carnac from +the opportunity lying at his feet. + +In spite of himself there ran through his mind another thought. Near by, +at the left, dressed in mourning also, was Junia. He had made up his +mind that Junia should be his, and suddenly the usefulness of the +business about to fall into his hands became a weapon in the field of +Love. He was physically a finer man than Carnac; he had capacity; he had +personality; and he would have money and position--for a time at least. +In that time, why should he not win this girl with the wonderful eyes and +hair, with the frankness and candour of unspoiled girlhood in her face? +Presently he would be in the blare of sensation, in the height of as +dramatic an episode as comes to the lives of men; and in the episode he +saw advantages which should weigh with any girl. + +Then had come the reading of the will after the funeral rites were over, +and he, with the family, were gathered in the dining-room of the House on +the Hill. + +He was scarcely ready, however, for the prodigious silence following the +announcement read by the lawyer. He felt as though life was suspended +for many minutes, when it was proclaimed that he, Luke Tarboe, would +inherit the property. Although he knew of the contents of the will his +heart was thumping like a sledge-hammer. + +He looked round the room slowly. The only embarrassment to be seen was +on the faces of Fabian and his wife. Mrs. Grier and Carnac showed +nothing. Carnac did not even move; by neither gesture nor motion of body +did he show aught. At the close of it all, he came to Tarboe and held +out a hand. + +"Good luck to you, Tarboe!" he said. "You'll make a success, and that's +what he wanted more than anything else. Good luck to you!" he said +again and turned away. . . . + +When John Grier's will was published in the Press consternation filled +the minds of all. Tarboe had been in the business for under two years, +yet here he was left all the property with uncontracted power. Mrs. John +Grier was to be paid during her life a yearly stipend of twenty thousand +dollars from the business; she also received a grant of seventy thousand +dollars. Beyond that, there were a few gifts to hospitals and for the +protection of horses, while to the clergyman of the parish went one +thousand dollars. It certainly could not be called a popular will, and, +complimentary as the newspapers were to the energy and success of John +Grier, few of them called him public-spirited, or a generous-hearted +citizen. In his death he paid the price of his egotism. + +The most surprised person, however, was Junia Shale. + +To her it was shameful that Carnac should be eliminated from all share in +the abundant fortune John Grier had built up. It seemed fantastic that +the fortune and the business--and the business was the fortune--should be +left to Tarboe. Had she known the contents of the will before John Grier +was buried, she would not have gone to the funeral. Egotistic she had +known Grier to be, and she imagined the will to be a sudden result of +anger. He was dead and buried. The places that knew him knew him no +more. All in an hour, as it were, the man Tarboe--that dominant, +resourceful figure--had come into wealth and power. + +After Junia read the substance of the will, she went springing up the +mountain-side, as it were to work off her excitement by fatigue. At the +mountain-top she gazed over the River St. Lawrence with an eye blind to +all except this terrible distortion of life. Yet through her +obfuscation, there ran admiration for Tarboe. What a man he was! He +had captured John Grier as quickly and as securely as a night fisherman +spears a sturgeon in the flare at the bow of the boat. Tarboe's ability +was as marked as John Grier's mad policy. It was strange that Tarboe +should have bewildered and bamboozled--if that word could be used--the +old millowner. It was as curious and thrilling as John Grier's +fanaticism. + +Already the pinch of corruption had nipped his flesh; he was useless, +motionless in his narrow house, and yet, unseen but powerful, his +influence went on. It shamed a wife and son; it blackened the doors +of a home; it penalized a family. + +Indeed he had been a bad man, and yet she could not reconcile it all +with a wonderful something in him, a boldness, a sense of humour, an +everlasting energy, an electric power. She had never seen anyone +vitalize everything round him as John Grier had done. He threw things +from him like an exasperated giant; he drew things to him like an Angel +of the Covenant. To him life was less a problem than an experiment, and +this last act, this nameless repudiation of the laws of family life, was +like the sign of a chemist's activity. As she stood on the mountain-top +her breath suddenly came fast, and she caught her bosom with angry hands. + +"Carnac--poor Carnac!" she exclaimed. + +What would the world say? There were those, perhaps, who thought Carnac +almost a ne'er-do-well, but they were of the commercial world where John +Grier had been supreme. + +At the same moment, Carnac in the garden of his old home beheld the river +too and the great expanse of country, saw the grey light of evening on +the distant hills, and listened to Fabian who condoled with him. When +Fabian had gone, Carnac sat down on a bench and thought over the whole +thing. Carnac had no quarrel with his fate. When in the old home on the +hill he had heard the will, it had surprised him, but it had not shocked +him. He had looked to be the discarded heir, and he knew it now without +rebellion. He had never tried to smooth the path to that financial +security which his father could give. Yet now that disaster had come, +there was a glimmer of remorse, of revolt, because there was some one +besides himself who might think he had thrown away his chances. He did +not know that over on the mountain-side, vituperating the memory of the +dead man, Junia was angry only for Carnac's sake. + +With the black storm of sudden death roaring in his ears, he had a sense +of freedom, almost of licence. Nothing that had been his father's was +now his own, or his mother's, except the land and house on which they +were. All the great business John Grier had built up was gone into the +hands of the usurper, a young, bold, pestilent, powerful, vigorous man. +It seemed suddenly horrible that the timber-yards and the woods and the +offices, and the buildings of John Grier's commercial business were not +under his own direction, or that of his mother, or brother. They had +ceased to be factors in the equation; they were 'non est' in the +postmortem history of John Grier. How immense a nerve the old man had to +make such a will, which outraged every convention of social and family +life; which was, in effect, a proclamation that his son Carnac had no +place in John Grier's scheme of things, while John Grier's wife was +rewarded like some faithful old servant. Yet some newspapers had said he +was a man of goodwill, and had appreciation of talent, adding, however, +the doubtful suggestion that the appreciation stopped short of the +prowess of his son Carnac in the field of Art. It was evident John +Grier's act was thought by the conventionalist to be a wicked blunder. + +As Carnac saw the world where there was not a single material thing that +belonged to him, he had a sudden conviction that his life would run in +other lines than those within which it had been drawn to the present +time. Looking over this wonderful prospect of the St. Lawrence, he had +an insistent feeling that he ought to remain in the land where he was +born, and give of whatever he was capable to its life. It was all a +strenuous problem. For Carnac there was, duly or unduly, fairly or +unfairly, a fate better than that of John Grier. If he died suddenly, +as his father had died, a handful of people would sorrow with excess of +feeling, and the growing world of his patrons would lament his loss. +No one really grieved for John Grier's departure, except--strange to say +--Tarboe. + + + + + + +CARNAC'S FOLLY + +By Gilbert Parker + + + +BOOK III + +XVIII. A GREAT DECISION +XIX. CARNAC BECOMES A CANDIDATE +XX. JUNIA AND TARBOE HEAR THE NEWS +XXI. THE SECRET MEETING +XXII. POINT TO POINT +XXIII. THE MAN WHO WOULD NOT +XXIV. THE BLUE PAPER +XXV. DENZIL TAKES A HAND IN THE GAME +XXVI. THE CHALLENGE +XXVII. EXIT +XXVIII. A WOMAN WRITES A LETTER +XXIX. CARNAC AND HIS MOTHER +XXX. TARBOE HAS A DREAM +XXXI. THIS WAY HOME +XXXII. 'HALVES, PARDNER, HALVES' + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +A GREAT DECISION + +Months went by. In them Destiny made new drawings. With his mother, +Carnac went to paint at a place called Charlemont. Tarboe pursued his +work at the mills successfully; Junia saw nothing of Carnac, but she had +a letter from him, and it might have been written by a man to his friend, +yet with an undercurrent of sadness that troubled her. + +She might, perhaps, have yielded to the attentions of Tarboe, had not an +appealing message come from her aunt, and at an hour's notice went West +again on her mission of sick-service. + +Politically the Province of Quebec was in turmoil. The time was drawing +near when the Dominion Government must go to the polls, and in the most +secluded cottage on the St. Lawrence, the virtues and defects of the +administration were vital questions. Voters knew as much of technical +law-making as the average voter everywhere, but no more, and sometimes +less. Yet there was in the mind of the French-Canadian an intuition, +which was as valuable as the deeper knowledge of a trained politician. +The two great parties in the Province were led by Frenchmen. The English +people, however, were chiefly identified with the party opposed to Barode +Barouche, the Secretary of State. + +As the agitation began in the late spring, Carnac became suddenly +interested in everything political. + +He realized what John Grier had said concerning politics--that, given +other characteristics, the making of laws meant success or failure for +every profession or trade, for every interest in the country. He had +known a few politicians; though he had never yet met the most dominant +figure in the Province--Barode Barouche, who had a singular fascination +for him. He seemed a man dominant and plausible, with a right-minded +impulsiveness. Things John Grier had said about Barouche rang in his +ears. + +As the autumn drew near excitement increased. Political meetings were +being held everywhere. There was one feature more common in Canada than +in any other country; opposing candidates met on the same platform and +fought their fight out in the hearing of those whom they were wooing. +One day Carnac read in a newspaper that Barode Barouche was to speak at +St. Annabel. As that was not far from Charlemont he determined to hear +Barouche for the first time. He had for him a sympathy which, to +himself, seemed a matter of temperament. + +"Mother," he said, "wouldn't you like to go and hear Barode Barouche at +St. Annabel? You know him--I mean personally?" + +"Yes, I knew him long ago," was the scarcely vocal reply. + +"He's a great, fine man, isn't he? Wrong-headed, wrong-purposed, but a +big fine fellow." + +"If a man is wrong-headed and wrong-purposed, it isn't easy for him to be +fine, is it?" + +"That depends. A man might want to save his country by making some good +law, and be mistaken both as to the result of that law and the right +methods in making it. I'd like you to be with me when I hear him for the +first time. I've got a feeling he's one of the biggest men of our day. +Of course he isn't perfect. A man might want to save another's life, but +he might choose the wrong way to do it, and that's wrongheaded; and +perhaps he oughtn't to save the man's life, and that's wrong-purposed. +There's no crime in either. Let's go and hear Monsieur Barouche." + +He did not see the flush which suddenly filled her face; and, if he had, +he would not have understood. For her a long twenty-seven years rolled +back to the day when she was a young neglected wife, full of life's +vitalities, out on a junction of the river and the wild woods, with +Barode Barouche's fishing-camp near by. She shivered now as she thought +of it. It was all so strange, and heart-breaking. For long years she +had paid the price of her mistake. She knew how eloquent Barode Barouche +could be; she knew how his voice had all the ravishment of silver bells +to the unsuspecting. How well she knew him; how deeply she realized the +darkness of his nature! Once she had said to him: + +"Sometimes I think that for duty's sake you would cling like a leech." + +It was true. For thirty long years he had been in one sense homeless, +his wife having lost her reason three years after they were married. In +that time he had faithfully visited the place of her confinement every +month of his life, sobered, chastened, at first hopeful, defiant. At the +bottom of his heart Barode Barouche did not want marital freedom. He had +loved the mad woman. He remembered her in the glory of her youth, in the +splendour of her beauty. The insane asylum did not destroy his memory. + +Mrs. Grier remembered too, but in a different way. Her relations with +him had been one swift, absorbing fever--a mad dream, a moment of rash +impulse, a yielding to the natural feeling which her own husband had +aroused: the husband who now neglected her while Barode Barouche treated +her so well, until a day when under his beguilement a stormy impulse +gave--Carnac. Then the end came, instant and final; she bolted, barred +and locked the door against Barode and he had made little effort to open +it. So they had parted, and had never clasped hands or kissed again. To +him she was a sin of which he never repented. He had watched the growth +and development of Carnac with a sharp sympathy. He was not a good man; +but in him were seeds of goodness. To her he was the lash searing her +flesh, day in day out, year in year out, which kept her sacred to her +home. For her children's sake she did not tell her husband, and she had +emptied out her heart over Carnac with overwhelming fondness. + +"Yes, I'll go, Carnac," she said at last, for it seemed the easier way. +"I haven't been to a political meeting for many years." + +"That's right. I like your being with me." + +The meeting was held in what had been a skating-rink and drill-hall. On +the platform in the centre was the chairman, with Barode Barouche on his +right. There was some preliminary speech-making from the chairman. A +resolution was moved supporting Barouche, his party and policy, and there +were little explosions of merriment at strokes of unconscious humour made +by the speakers; and especially by one old farmer who made his jokes on +the spot, and who now tried to embalm Barouche with praise. He drew +attention to Barouche's leonine head and beard, to his alert eyes and +quizzical face, and said he was as strong in the field of legislation as +he was in body and mind. Carnac noticed that Barouche listened good- +naturedly, and now and then cocked his head and looked up at the ceiling +as though to find something there. + +There was a curious familiarity in the action of the head which struck +Carnac. He and his mother were seated about five rows back from the +front row on the edge of the aisle. As the meeting progressed, +Barouche's eyes wandered slowly over the faces of his audience. +Presently he saw Carnac and his mother. Mrs. Grier was conscious of a +shock upon the mind of Barouche. She saw his eyes go misty with feeling. +For him the world was suddenly shut out, and he only saw the woods of a +late summer's afternoon, a lonely tent--and a woman. A flush crept up +his face. Then he made a spasmodic gesture of the hand, outward, which +again Carnac recognized as familiar. It was the kind of thing he did +himself. + +So absorbed was Barode Barouche that he only mechanically heard the +chairman announce himself, but when he got to his feet his full senses +came back. The sight of the woman to whom he had been so much, and who +had been so much to him for one short month, magnetized him; the face of +the boy, so like his own as he remembered it thirty years ago, stirred +his veins. There before him was his own one unacknowledged child--the +only child ever born to him. His heart throbbed. Then he began to +speak. Never in all his life had he spoken as he did this day. It was +only a rural audience; there was not much intelligence in it; but it had +a character all its own. It was alive to its own interests, chiefly of +agriculture and the river. It was composed of both parties, and he could +stimulate his own side, and, perhaps, win the other. + +Thus it was that, with the blood pounding through his veins, the inspired +sensualist began his speech. It was his duty to map out a policy for the +future; to give the people an idea of what his party meant to do; to +guide, to inspire, to inflame. + +As Carnac listened he kept framing the words not yet issued, but which +did issue from Barouche's mouth; his quick intelligence correctly +imagined the line Barouche would take; again and again Barouche made +a gesture, or tossed his head, or swung upon his feet to right and left +in harmony with Carnac's own mind. Carnac would say to himself: "Why, +that's what I'd have done--that's what I'd have said, if I had his +policy." More than once, in some inspired moment of the speech, he +caught his mother's hand, and he did not notice that her hand trembled. + +But as for one of Barouche's chapter of policy Carnac almost sprang to +his feet in protest when Barouche declared it. To Carnac it seemed fatal +to French Canada, though it was expounded with a taking air; yet as he +himself had said it was "wrong-headed and wrong-purposed." + +When the speech had finished to great cheering, Carnac suddenly turned to +his mother: + +"He's on the wrong track. I know the policy to down his. He's got no +opponent. I'm going to stand against him at the polls." + +She clutched his arm. "Carnac--Carnac! You don't know what you're +doing." + +"Well, I will pretty quick," he replied stoutly. "I'm out after him, if +they'll have me." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +CARNAC BECOMES A CANDIDATE + +That night Carnac mapped out his course, carefully framed the policy to +offset that of Barode Barouche, and wrote a letter to the Chairman of +the Opposition at Montreal offering to stand, and putting forward an +ingenious policy. He asked also for an interview; and the interview was +granted by telegram--almost to his surprise. He was aware, however, of +the discontent among the English members of the Opposition, and of the +wish of the French members to find a good compromise. + +He had a hope that his singular position--the notoriety which his +father's death and his own financial disfranchisement had caused--would +be a fine card in his favour. He was not mistaken. His letter arrived +at Headquarters when there were difficulties concerning three candidates +who were pressing their claims. Carnac Grier, the disinherited son of +the great lumber-king, who had fame as an artist, spoke French as though +it were his native tongue, was an element of sensation which, if adroitly +used, could be of great service. It might even defeat Barode Barouche. +In the first place, Carnac was young, good-looking, personable, and +taking in his manner. Barouche was old, experienced, with hosts of +enemies and many friends, but with injurious egotism. An interview was, +therefore, arranged at Headquarters. + +On the morning of the day it took place, Carnac's anguished mother went +with him to the little railway station of Charlemont. She had slept +little the night before; her mind was in an eddy of emotions. It seemed +dreadful that Carnac should fight his own father, repeating what Fabian +had done in another way. Yet at the bottom of her heart there was a +secret joy. Some native revolt in her had joy in the thought that the +son might extort a price for her long sorrow and his unknown disgrace. + +As she had listened to Barouche at the meeting, she realized how sincere +yet insincere he was; how gifted and yet how ungracious was his mind. +Her youth was over; long pain and regret had chastened her. She was as +lonely a creature as ever the world knew; violence was no part of her +equipment; and yet terrible memories made her assent to this new phase of +Carnac's life. She wondered what Barouche would think. There was some +ancient touch of war in her which made her rejoice that after long years +the hammer should strike. + +Somehow the thing's tremendous possibilities thrilled her. Carnac had +always been a politician--always. She remembered how, when he was a boy, +he had argued with John Grier on national matters, laid down the law with +the assurance of an undergraduate, and invented theories impossible of +public acceptance. Yet in every stand he had taken, there had been +thought, logic and reasoning, wrongly premised, but always based on +principles. On paper he was generally right; in practice, generally +wrong. His buoyant devotion to an idea was an inspiration and a tonic. +The curious thing was that, while still this political matter was hanging +fire, he painted with elation. + +His mother knew he did not see the thousand little things which made +public life so wearying; that he only realized the big elements of +national policy. She understood how those big things would inspire the +artist in him. For, after all, there was the spirit of Art in framing a +great policy which would benefit millions in the present and countless +millions in the future. So, at the railway station, as they waited for +the train, with an agitation outwardly controlled, she said: + +"The men who have fought before, will want to stand, so don't be +surprised if--" + +"If they reject me, mother?" interrupted Carnac. No, I shan't be +surprised, but I feel in my bones that I'm going to fight Barode +Barouche into the last corner of the corral." + +"Don't be too sure of that, my son. Won't the thing that prevents your +marrying Junia be a danger in this, if you go on?" + +Sullen tragedy came into his face, his lips set. The sudden paleness of +his cheek, however, was lost in a smile. + +"Yes, I've thought of that; but if it has to come, better it should come +now than later. If the truth must be told, I'll tell it--yes, I'll tell +it!" + +"Be bold, but not reckless, Carnac," his mother urged. + +Just then the whistling train approached. She longed to put a hand out +and hold him back, and yet she ached to let him go. Yet as Carnac +mounted the steps of the car, a cry went out from her heart: "My son, +stay with me here--don't go." That was only in her heart, however; with +her lips she said: "Good luck! God bless you, Carnac!" and then the +train rolled away, leaving her alone in the bright, bountiful morning. + +Before the day was done, Headquarters had accepted Carnac, in part, as +the solution of their own difficult problem. The three applicants for +the post each hated the other; but all, before the day was over, agreed +to Carnac as an effective opponent of Barouche. + +One thing seemed clear--Carnac's policy had elements of seduction +appealing to the selfishness of all sections, and he had an eloquence +which would make Barouche uneasy. That eloquence was shown in a speech +Carnac made in the late evening to the assembled executive. He spoke for +only a quarter of an hour, but it was long enough to leave upon all who +heard him an impression of power, pertinacity, picturesqueness and +appeal. He might make mistakes, but he had qualities which would ride +over errors with success. + +"I'm not French," he said at last in his speech, "but I used to think +and write in French as though I'd been born in Normandy. I'm English +by birth and breeding, but I've always gone to French schools and to +a French University, and I know what New France means. I stand to my +English origin, but I want to see the French develop here as they've +developed in France, alive to all new ideas, dreaming good dreams. +I believe that Frenchmen in Canada can, and should, be an inspiration +to the whole population. Their great qualities should be the fibre in +the body of public opinion. I will not pander to the French; I will not +be the slave of the English; I will be free, and I hope I shall be +successful at the polls." + +This was a small part of the speech which caused much enthusiasm, and was +the beginning of a movement, powerful, and as time went on, impetuous. + +He went to bed with the blood of battle throbbing in his veins. In the +morning he had a reasonable joy in seeing the headlines of his +candidature in the papers. + +At first he was almost appalled, for never since life began had his +personality been so displayed. It seemed absurd that before he had +struck a blow he should be advertised like a general in the field. +Yet common sense told him that in standing against Barouche, he became +important in the eyes of those affected by Barouche's policy. He had had +luck, and it was for him to justify that luck. Could he do it? His +first thought, however, as his eyes fell on the headlines--he flushed +with elation so that he scarcely saw--was for the thing itself. Before +him there flashed a face, however, which at once sobered his exaltation. +It was the face of Junia. + +"I wonder what she will think," he said to himself, with a little +perplexity. + +He knew in his heart of hearts she would not think it incongruous that +he, an artist, should become a politician. Good laws served to make life +beautiful, good pictures ministered to beauty; good laws helped to tell +the story of human development; good sculpture strengthened the soul; +good laws made life's conveniences greater, enlarged activity, lessened +the friction of things not yet adjusted; good laws taught their framers +how to balance things, how to make new principles apply without +disturbing old rights; good pictures increased the well-balanced harmony +of the mind of the people. Junia would understand these things. As he +sat at his breakfast, with the newspaper spread against the teapot and +the milk-pitcher, he felt satisfied he had done the bold and right, if +incomprehensible, thing. + +But in another hotel, at another breakfast, another man read of Carnac's +candidature with sickening surprise. It was Barode Barouche. + +So, after twenty-seven long years, this was to be the issue! His own +son, whom he had never known, was to fight him at the polls! Somehow, +the day when he had seen Carnac and his mother at the political meeting +had given him new emotions. His wife, to whom he had been so faithful in +one sense since she had passed into the asylum, had died, and with her +going, a new field of life seemed to open up to him. She had died +almost on the same day as John Grier. She had been buried secludedly, +piteously, and he had gone back to his office with the thought that life +had become a preposterous freedom. + +So it was that, on the day when he spoke at the political meeting, his +life's tragedy became a hammer beating every nerve into emotion. He was +like one shipwrecked who strikes out with a swimmer's will to reach his +goal. All at once, on the platform, as he spoke, when his eyes saw the +faces of Carnac and his mother the catastrophe stunned him like a huge +engine of war. There had come to him at last a sense of duty where Alma +Grier was concerned. She was nearly fifty years of age, and he was +fifty-nine; she was a widow with this world's goods; she had been to him +how near and dear! for a brief hour, and then--no more. He knew the boy +was his son, because he saw his own face, as it had been in his youth, +though his mother's look was also there-transforming, illumining. + +He had a pang as he saw the two at the close of his meeting filtering out +into the great retort of the world. Then it was that he had the impulse +to go to the woman's home, express his sorrow, and in some small sense +wipe out his wrong by offering her marriage. He had not gone. + +He knew of Carnac's success in the world of Art; and how he had alienated +his reputed father by an independence revolting to a slave of convention. +He had even bought, not from Carnac, but from a dealer, two of Carnac's +pictures and a statue of a riverman. Somehow the years had had their way +with him. He had at long last realized that material things were not the +great things of life, and that imagination, however productive, should be +guided by uprightness of soul. + +One thing was sure, the boy had never been told who his father was. That +Barouche knew. He had the useful gift of reading the minds of people in +their faces. From Carnac's face, from Carnac's mother's face, had come +to him the real story. He knew that Alma Grier had sinned only once and +with him. In the first days after that ill-starred month, he had gone to +her, only to be repelled as a woman can repel whose soul has been +shocked, whose self-respect has been shamed. + +It had been as though she thrust out arms of infinite length to push him +away, such had been the storm of her remorse, such the revulsion against +herself and him. So they had fallen apart, and he had seen his boy grow +up independent, original, wilful, capable--a genius. He read the +newspaper reports of what had happened the day before with senses greatly +alive. + +After all, politics was unlike everything else. It was a profession +recruited from all others. The making of laws was done by all kinds of +men. One of the wisest advisers in river-law he had ever known was a +priest; one of the best friends of the legislation of the medical +profession was a woman; one of the bravest Ministers who had ever +quarrelled with and conquered his colleagues had been an insurance agent; +one of the sanest authorities on maritime law had been a man with a +greater pride in his verses than in his practical capacity; and here was +Carnac, who had painted pictures and made statues, plunging into politics +with a policy as ingenious as his own, and as capable of logical +presentation. This boy, who was bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh, +meant to fight him. He threw back his head and laughed. His boy, his +son, meant to fight him, did he? Well, so be it! He got to his feet, +and walked up and down the room. + +"God, what an issue this!" he said. "It would be terrific, if he won. +To wipe me out of the life where I have flourished--what a triumph for +him! And he would not know how great the triumph would be. She has not +told him. Yet she will urge him on. Suppose it was she put the idea +into his head!" + +Then he threw back his head, shaking the long brown hair, browner than +Carnac's, from his forehead. "Suppose she did this thing--she who was +all mine for one brief moment! Suppose she--" + +Every nerve tingled; every drop of blood beat hard against his walls of +flesh; his every vicious element sprang into life. + +"But no--but no, she would not do it. She would not teach her son to +destroy his own father. But something must have told him to come and +listen to me, to challenge me in his own mind, and then--then this +thing!" + +He stared at the paper, leaning over the table, as though it were a +document of terror. + +"I must go on: I must uphold the policy for which I've got the assent of +the Government." Suddenly his hands clenched. "I will beat him. He +shall not bring me to the dust. I gave him life, and he shall not take +my life from me. He's at the beginning; I'm going towards the end. +I wronged his mother--yes, I wronged him too! I wronged them both, but +he does not know he's wronged. He'll live his own life; +he has lived it--" + +There came a tap at the door. Presently it opened and a servant came in. +He had in his hand a half-dozen telegrams. + +"All about the man that's going to fight you, I expect, m'sieu'," said +the servant as he handed the telegrams. + +Barode Barouche did not reply, but nodded a little scornfully. + +"A woman has called," continued the servant. "She wants to see you, +m'sieu'. It's very important, she says." + +Barouche shook his head in negation. "No, Gaspard." + +"It ain't one of the usual kind, I think, m'sieu'," protested Gaspard. +"It's about the election. It's got something to do with that--" he +pointed to the newspaper propped against the teapot. + +"It's about that, is it? Well, what about that?" He eyed the servant as +though to see whether the woman had given any information. + +"I don't know. She didn't tell me. She's got a mind of her own. She's +even handsome, and she's well-dressed. All she said was: 'Tell m'sieu' I +want to see him. It's about the election-about Mr. Grier.'" + +Barode Barouche's heart stopped. Something about Carnac Grier--something +about the election--and a woman! He kept a hand on himself. It must not +be seen that he was in any way moved. + +"Is she English?" + +"She's French, m'sieu'." + +"You think I ought to see her, Gaspard?" said Barouche. + +"Sure," was the confident reply. "I guess she's out against whoever's +against you." + +"You never saw her before." + +"Not to my sense." + +"But I haven't finished my breakfast." + +"Well, if it's anything important that'll help you, m'sieu'. It's like +whittling. If you can do things with your hands while you're talking and +thinking, it's a great help. You go on eating. I'll show her up!" + +Barouche smiled maliciously. "Well, show her up, Gaspard." + +The servant laughed. "Perhaps she'll show herself up after I show her +in," he said, and he went out hastily. + +Presently the door opened again, and Gaspard stepped inside. + +"A lady to see you, m'sieu'," he said. + +Barouche rose from the table, but he did not hold out his hand. The +woman was young, good looking, she seemed intelligent. There was also +a latent cruelty in her face which only a student of human nature could +have seen quickly. She was a woman with a grievance--that was sure. +He knew the passionate excitement, fairly well controlled; he saw her +bitterness at a glance. He motioned her to a chair. + +"It's an early call," he said with a smile. Smiling was one of his +serviceable assets; it was said no man could so palaver the public with +his cheerful goodnature. + +"Yes, it's an early call," she replied, "but I wish not to wait till you +go to your office. I wanted you to know something. It has to do with +Mr. Carnac Grier." + +"Oh, that--eh!" + +"It's something you've got to know. If I give you the sure means to win +your election, it would be worth while--eh?" + +The beating of Barouche's heart was hard, but nothing showed in his face. +There he had control. + +"I like people who know their own minds," he said, "but I don't believe +anything till I study what I hear. Is it something to injure Mr. Grier?" + +"If a married man went about as a single man and stood up for Parliament +against you, don't you think you could spoil him?" + +For a moment Barouche was silent. Here was an impeachment of his own +son, but this son was out to bring his own father to the ground. There +were two ways to look at it. There was the son's point of view, and +there was his own. If he loved his son he ought to know the thing that +threatened him; if he hated his son he ought to know. So, after a +moment's study of the face with the fiery eyes and a complexion like +roses touched with frost, he said slowly: + +"Well, have I the honour of addressing Carnac Grier's wife?" + +Barouche had had many rewards in his life, but the sweetest reward of all +was now his own. As events proved, he had taken a course which, if he +cared for his son, was for that son's well-being, and if he cared for +himself most, was essential to his own well-being. + +Relief crossed the woman's face. "I'll tell you everything," she said. + +Then Luzanne told her story, avoiding the fact that Carnac had been +tricked into the marriage. At last she said: "Now I've come here to +make him acknowledge me. He's ruined my life, broken my hopes, and--" + +"Broken your hopes!" interrupted Barode Barouche. "How is that?" + +"I might have married some one else. I could have married some one +else." + +"Well, why don't you? There's the Divorce Court. What's to prevent it?" + +"You ask me that--you a Frenchman and a Roman Catholic! I'm French. +I was born in Paris." + +"When will you let me see your papers?" + +"When do you want to see them?" + +"To-day-if possible to-day," he answered. Then he held her eyes. "To +whom else here have you told this story?" + +"No one--no one. I only came last night, and when I took up the paper +this morning, I saw. Then I found out where you lived, and here I am, +bien sur. I'm here under my maiden name, Ma'm'selle Luzanne Larue." + +"That's right. That's right. Now, until we meet again, don't speak of +this to anyone. Will you give me your word?" + +"Absolutely," she said, and there was revenge and passion in her eyes. +Suddenly a strange expression crept over her face. She was puzzled. + +"There's something of him about you," she said, and her forehead +gathered. "There's some look! Well, there it is, but it's something-- +I don't know what." + +A moment later she was gone. As the door closed, he stretched his hands +above his head. + +"Nom de Dieu, what a situation!" he remarked. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +JUNIA AND TARBOE HEAR THE NEWS + +To most people Carnac's candidature was a surprise; to some it was a +bewilderment, and to one or two it was a shock. To the second class +belonged Fabian Grier and his wife; to the third class belonged Luke +Tarboe. Only one person seemed to understand it--by intuition: Junia. + +Somehow, nothing Carnac did changed Junia's views of him, or surprised +her, though he made her indignant often enough. To her mind, however, in +the big things, his actions always had reasonableness. She had never +felt his artist-life was to be the only note of his career. When, +therefore, in the West she read a telegram in a newspaper announcing his +candidature, she guessed the suddenness of his decision. When she read +it, she spread the paper on the table, smoothed it as though it were a +beautiful piece of linen, then she stretched out her hands in happy +benediction. Like most of her sex, she loved the thrill of warfare. +There flashed the feeling, however, that it would be finer sport if +Carnac and Tarboe were to be at war, instead of Carnac and Barouche. It +was curious she never thought of Carnac but the other man came throbbing +into sight--the millionaire, for he was that now. + +In one way, this last move of Carnac's had the elements of a master- +stroke. She knew how strange it would seem to the rest of the world, yet +it did not seem strange to her. No man she had ever seen had been so at +home in the world of men, and also at home in the secluded field of the +chisel and the brush as Carnac. + +She took the newspaper over to her aunt, holding it up. The big +headlines showed like semaphores on the page. As the graceful figure of +Junia drew to her aunt--her slim feet, in the brown, well-polished boots, +the long, full neck, and then the chin, Grecian, shapely and firm, the +straight, sensitive nose, the wonderful eyes under the well-cut, broad +forehead, with the brown hair, covering it like a canopy--the old lady +reached out and wound her arms round the lissome figure. Situated so, +she read the telegram, and then the old arms gripped her tighter. + +Presently, the whistle of a train sounded. The aunt stretched out an +approving finger to the sound. She realized that the figure round which +her arms hung trembled, for it was the "through" daily train for +Montreal. + +"I'm going back at once, aunty," Junia said. + + .......................... + +"Well, I'm jiggered!" + +These were Tarboe's words when Carnac's candidature came first to him in +the press. + +"He's 'broke' out in a new place," he added. + +Tarboe loved the spectacular, and this was indeed spectacular. Yet he +had not the mental vision of Junia who saw how close, in one intimate +sense, was the relation between the artist life and the political life. +To him it was a gigantic break from a green pasture into a red field of +war. To her, it was a resolution which, in anyone else's life, would +have seemed abnormal; in Carnac's life it had naturalness. + +Tarboe had been for a few months only the reputed owner of the great +business, and he had paid a big price for his headship in the weighty +responsibility, the strain of control; but it had got into his blood, +and he felt life would not be easy without it now. + +Besides, there was Junia. To him she was the one being in the world +worth struggling for; the bird to be caught on the wing, or coaxed into +the nest, or snared into the net; and two of the three things he had +tried without avail. The third--the snaring? He would not stop at that, +if it would bring him what he wanted. How to snare her! He surveyed +himself in the mirror. + +"A great hulking figure like that!" he said in disapproval. "All bone +and muscle and flesh and physical show! It wouldn't weigh with her. +She's too fine. It isn't the animal in a man she likes. It's what he +can do, and what he is, and where he's going." + +Then he thought of Carnac's new outburst, and his veins ran cold. +"She'll like that--but yes, she'll like that: and if he succeeds she'll +think he's great. Well, she'd be right. He'll beat Barouche. He's +young and brave, careless and daring. Now where am I in this fight? +I belong to Barouche's party and my vote ought to go for him." + +For some minutes he sat in profound thought. What part should he play? +He liked Carnac, he owed him a debt which he could never repay. Carnac +had saved him from killing Denzil. If that had happened, he himself +might have gone to the gallows. + +He decided. Sitting down, he wrote Carnac the following letter: + + DEAR CARNAC GRIER, + + I see you're beginning a new work. You now belong to a party that I + am opposed to, but that doesn't stop me offering you support. It's + not your general policy, but it is you, the son of your father, that + I mean to work for. If you want financial help for your campaign-- + or after it is over--come and get it here--ten thousand or more if + you wish. Your father, if he knew--and perhaps he does know--would + be pleased that you, who could not be a man of business in his + world, are become a man of business in the bigger world of law- + making. You may be right or wrong in that policy, but that don't + weigh with me. You've taken on as big a job as ever your father + did. What's the use of working if you don't try to do the big thing + that means a lot to people outside yourself! If you make new good + laws, if you do something for the world that's wonderful, it's as + much as your father did, or, if he was alive, could do now. + Whatever there is here is yours to use. When you come back here to + play your part, you'll make it a success--the whole blessed thing. + I don't wish you were here now, except that it's yours--all of it-- + but I wish you to beat Barode Barouche. + + Yours to the knife, + + LUKE TARBOE. + + +He read the letter through, and coming to the words, "When you come back +here to play your part, you'll make it a success--the whole blessed +thing," he paused, reflecting . . . He wondered what Carnac would +think the words meant, and he felt it was bold, and, maybe, dangerous +play; but it was not more dangerous than facts he had dealt with often +in the last two years. He would let it stand, that phrase of the hidden +meaning. He did not post the letter yet. + +Four days later he put on his wide-brimmed panama hat and went out into +the street leading to the centre of the city. There was trouble in the +river reaches between his men and those of Belloc-Grier, and he was +keeping an appointment with Belloc at Fabian Grier's office, where +several such meetings had taken place. + +He had not gone far, however, when he saw a sprightly figure in light- +brown linen cutting into his street from a cross-road. He had not seen +that figure for months-scarcely since John Grier's death, and his heart +thumped in his breast. It was Junia. How would she greet him? + +A moment later he met her. Raising his hat, he said: "Back to the +firing-line, Miss Shale! It'll make a big difference to every one +concerned." + +"Are you then concerned?" she asked, with a faint smile. + +"One of the most concerned," he answered with a smile not so composed as +her own. "It's the honour of the name that's at stake." + +"You want to ruin Mr. Grier's chances in the fight?" + +"I didn't say that. I said, 'the honour of the name,' and the name of my +firm is 'Grier's Company of Lumbermen.' So I'm in it with all my might, +and here's a letter--I haven't posted it yet--saying to Carnac Grier +where I stand. Will you read it? There's no reason why you shouldn't." +He tore open the envelope and took the letter out. + +Junia took it, after hesitation, and read it till she came to the +sentence about Carnac returning to the business. She looked up, +startled. + +"What does that mean?" she asked, pointing to the elusive sentence. + +"He might want to come into the business some day, and I'll give him his +chance. Nothing more than that." + +"Nothing more than that!" she said cynically. "It's bravely said, but +how can he be a partner if he can't buy the shares?" + +"That's a matter to be thought out," he answered with a queer twist to +his mouth. + +"I see you've offered to help him with cash for the election," she said, +handing back the letter. + +"I felt it had to be done. Politics are expensive they sap the purse. +That's why." + +"You never thought of giving him an income which would compensate a +little for what his father failed to do for him?" + +There was asperity in her tone. + +"He wouldn't take from me what his father didn't give him." Suddenly an +idea seized him. "Look here," he said, "you're a friend of the Griers, +why don't you help keep things straight between the two concerns? You +could do it. You have the art of getting your own way. I've noticed +that." + +"So you'd like me to persuade Fabian Grier to influence Belloc, because +I'd make things easy for you!" she said briskly. "Do you forget I've +known Fabian since I was a baby, that my sister is his wife, and that his +interests are near to me?" + +He did not knuckle down. "I think it would be helping Fabian's +interests. Belloc and Fabian Grier are generally in the wrong, and to +keep them right would be good business-policy. When I've trouble with +Belloc's firm it's because they act like dogs in the manger. They seem +to hate me to live." + +She laughed--a buoyant, scornful laugh. "So all the fault is in Belloc +and Fabian, is it?" She was impressed enormously by his sangfroid and +will to rule the roost. "I think you're clever, and that you've got +plenty of horse-sense, as they say in the West, but you'll be beaten in +the end. How does it feel"--she asked it with provoking candour--"to be +the boss of big things?" + +"I know I'm always settling troubles my business foes make for me. I +have to settle one of them now, and I'm glad I've met you, for you can +help me. I want some new river-rules made. If Belloc and Grier'll agree +to them, we'll do away with this constant trouble between our gangs." + +"And you'd like me to help you?" + +He smiled a big riverman's smile down at her, full of good-humour and +audacity. + +"If you could make it clear to Fabian that all I'm after is peace on the +river, it'd do a lot of good." + +"Well, do you know," she said demurely, "I don't think I'll take a hand +in this game, chiefly because--" she paused. + +"Yes: chiefly because--" + +"Because you'll get your own way without help. You get everything you +want," she added with a little savage comment. + +A flood of feeling came into his eyes, his head jerked like that of a +bull-moose. "No, I don't get everything I want. The thing I want most +in the world doesn't come to me." His voice grew emotional. She knew +what he was trying to say, and as the idea was not new she kept +composure. "I'm not as lucky as you think me," he added. + +"You're pretty lucky. You've done it all as easy as clasping your +fingers. If I had your luck--!" she paused. + +"I don't know about that, but if I could reach out and touch you at any +time, as it were, I think it'd bring me permanent good luck. You'll find +out one day that my luck is only a bubble the prick of a pin'll destroy. +I don't misunderstand it. I've been left John Grier's business by Grier +himself, and he's got a son that ought to have it, and maybe will have +it, when the time is ripe." + +Suddenly an angry hand flashed out towards him. "When the time is ripe! +Does that mean, when you've made all you want, you'll give up to Carnac +what isn't yours but his? Why don't you do it now?" + +"Well, because, in the first place, I like my job and he doesn't want it; +in the second place, I promised his father I'd run the business as he +wished it run; and in the third place, Carnac wouldn't know how to use +the income the business brings." + +She laughed in a mocking, challenging way. "Was there ever a man didn't +know how to use an income no matter how big it was! You're talking +enigmas, and I think we'd better say good-bye. Your way to the Belloc +offices is down that street." She pointed. + +"And you won't help me? You won't say a word to Fabian?" + +She shrugged a shoulder. "If I were a man like you, who's so big, so +lucky, and so dominant, I wouldn't ask a woman to help me. I'd do the +job myself. I'd keep faith with my reputation. But there's one nice +thing about you: you're going to help Carnac to beat Barode Barouche. +You've made a gallant offer. If you'd gone against him, if you'd played +Barouche's game, I--" + +The indignation which came to her face suddenly fled, and she said: +"Honestly, I'd never speak to you again, and I always keep my word. +Carnac'll see it through. He's a man of mark, Mr. Tarboe, and he'll be +Prime Minister of the whole country one day. I don't think you'll like +it." + +"You hit hard, but if I hadn't taken the business, Carnac Grier wouldn't +have got it. If it hadn't been me, it would have been some one else." + +"Well, why don't you live like a rich man and not like a foreman?" + +"I've been too busy to change my mode of living. I only want enough to +eat and drink and wear, and that's not costly." Suddenly an idea came to +him. "Now, if that business had been left to you, you'd be building a +stone house somewhere; and you'd have horses and carriages, and lots of +servants, and you'd swing along like a pretty coloured bird in the +springtime, wouldn't you?" + +"If I had wealth, I'd make it my servant. I'd give it its chance; but as +I haven't got it, I live as I do--poor and unknown." + +"Not unknown. See, you could control what belonged to John Grier, if you +would. I need some one to show me how to spend the money coming from the +business. What is wealth unless you buy things that give pleasure to +life? Do you know--" + +He got no further. "I don't know anything you're trying to tell me, +and anyhow this is not the place--" With that she hastened from him up +the street. Tarboe had a pang, and yet her very last words gave him +hope. "I may be a bit sharp in business," he said to himself, "but I +certainly am a fool in matters of the heart. Yet what she said at last +had something in it for me. Every woman has an idea where a man ought +to make love to her, and this open road certainly ain't the place. If +Carnac wins this game with Barouche I don't know where I'll be with her- +maybe I'm a fool to help him." He turned the letter over and over in his +hand. "No, I'm not. I ought to do it, and I will." + +Then he fell to brooding. He remembered about the second hidden will. +There came upon him a wild wish to destroy it. He loved controlling John +Grier's business. Never had anything absorbed him so. Life seemed a new +thing. The idea of disappearing from the place where, with a stroke of +his fingers, he moved five thousand men, or swept a forest into the great +river, or touched a bell which set going a saw-mill with its many cross- +cut saws, or filled a ship to take the pine, cedar, maple, ash or elm +boards to Europe, or to the United States, was terrible to him. He loved +the smell of the fresh-cut wood. The odour of the sawdust as he passed +through a mill was sweeter than a million bunches of violets. Many a +time he had caught up a handful of the damp dust and smelt it, as an +expert gardener would crumble the fallen flowers of a fruittree and sniff +the sweet perfume. To be master of one of the greatest enterprises of +the New World for three years, and then to disappear! He felt he could +not do it. + +His feelings shook his big frame. The love of a woman troubled his +spirit. Suppose the will were declared and the girl was still free, +what would she do? + +As he set foot in the office of the firm of Belloc, however, he steeled +himself to composure. + +His task well accomplished, he went back to his own office, and spent +the day like a racehorse under the lash, restive, defiant, and reckless. +When night and the shadows came, he sat alone in his office with drawn +blinds, brooding, wondering. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE SECRET MEETING + +As election affairs progressed, Mrs. Grier kept withdrawn from public +ways. She did not seek supporters for her son. As the weeks went on, +the strain became intense. Her eyes were aflame with excitement, but she +grew thinner, until at last she was like a ghost haunting familiar +scenes. Once, and once only, did she have touch with Barode Barouche +since the agitation began. This was how it happened: + +Carnac was at Ottawa, and she was alone, in the late evening. As she sat +sewing, she heard a knock at the front door. Her heart stood still. It +was a knock she had not heard for over a quarter of a century, but it had +an unforgettable touch. She waited a moment, her face pale, her eyes +shining with tortured memory. She waited for the servant to answer the +knock, but presently she realized that the servant probably had not +heard. Laying down her work, she passed into the front hall. There for +an instant she paused, then opened the door. + +It was Barode Barouche. Then the memory of a summer like a terrible +dream shook her. She trembled. Some old quiver of the dead days swept +through her. How distant and how--bad it all was! For one instant the +old thrill repeated itself and then was gone--for ever. + +"What is it you wish here?" she asked. + +"Will you not shut the door?" he responded, for her fingers were on the +handle. "I cannot speak with the night looking in. Won't you ask me to +your sitting-room? I'm not a robber or a rogue." + +Slowly she closed the door. Then she turned, and, in the dim light, she +said: + +"But you are both a robber and a rogue." + +He did not answer until they had entered the sittin-groom. + +"I gave you that which is out against me now. Is he not brilliant, +capable and courageous?" + +There was in her face a stern duty. + +"It was Fate, monsieur. When he and I went to your political meeting at +Charlemont it had no purpose. No blush came to his cheek, because he did +not know who his father is. No one in the world knows--no one except +myself, that must suffer to the end. Your speech roused in him the +native public sense, the ancient fire of the people from whom he did not +know he came. His origin has been his bane from the start. He did not +know why the man he thought his father seemed almost a stranger to him. +He did not understand, and so they fell apart. Yet John Grier would have +given more than he had to win the boy to himself. Do you ever think what +the boy must have suffered? He does not know. Only you and I know!" +She paused. + +He thrust out a hand as though to stay her speech, but she went on again + +"Go away from me. You have spoiled my life; you have spoiled my boy's +life, and now he fights you. I give him no help save in one direction. +I give to him something his reputed father withheld from him. Don't you +think it a strange thing"--her voice was thick with feeling--"that he +never could bear to take money from John Grier, and that, even as a +child, gifts seemed to trouble him. I think he wanted to give back again +all that John Grier had ever paid out to him or for him; and now, at +last, he fights the man who gave him birth! I wanted to tell John Grier +all, but I did not because I knew it would spoil his life and my boy's +life. It was nothing to me whether I lived or died. But I could not +bear Carnac should know. He was too noble to have his life spoiled." + +Barode Barouche drew himself together. Here was a deep, significant +problem, a situation that needed more expert handling than he had ever +shown. As he stood by the table, the dim light throwing haggard +reflections on her face, he had a feeling that she was more than normal. +He saw her greater than he had ever imagined her. Something in him +revolted at a war between his own son and himself. Also, he wanted to +tell her of the danger in which Carnac was--how Luzanne had come, and was +hidden away in the outskirts of the city, waiting for the moment when the +man who rejected her should be sacrificed. + +Now that Barouche was face to face with Alma Grier, however, he felt the +appalling nature of his task. In all the years he had taken no chance to +pay tribute to the woman who, in a real sense, had been his mistress of +body and mind for one short term of life, and who once, and once only, +had yielded to him. They were both advanced in years, and Life and Time +had taken toll. She was haggard, yet beautiful in a wan way. He did not +believe the vanished years had placed between them an impassable barrier. + +He put his chances to the test at last. + +"Yes, I know--I understand. You remained silent because your nature was +too generous to injure anyone. Down at the bottom of his heart, +cantankerous, tyrannical as he was, John Grier loved you, and I loved you +also." + +She made a protest of her hand. "Oh, no! You never knew what love was-- +never! You had passion, you had hunger of the body, but of love you did +not know. I know you, Barode Barouche. You have no heart, you have only +sentiment and imagination. No--no, you could not be true. You could +never know how." + +Suddenly a tempest of fire seemed to burn in his eyes, in his whole +being. His face flushed: his eyes gleamed; his hands were thrust out +with passion. + +"Will you not understand that were I as foul as hell, a woman like you +would make me clean again? The wild sin of our youth has eaten into the +soul of my life. You think I have been indifferent to you and to our +boy. No, never-never! That I left you both to yourselves was the best +proof I was not neglectful. I was sorry, with all my soul, that you +should have suffered through me. In the first reaction, I felt that +nothing could put me right with you or with eternal justice. So I shrank +away from you. You thought it was lust satisfied. I tell you it was +honour shamed. Good God! You thought me just the brazen roue, who +seized what came his way, who ate the fruit within his grasp, who lived +to deceive for his own selfish joy. + +"Did you think that? Then, if you did, I do not wonder you should be glad +to see my son fighting me. It would seem the horrible revenge Destiny +should take." He took a step nearer to her. His face flamed, his arms +stretched out. "I have held you in these arms. I come with repentance +in my heart, with--" + +Her face now was flushed. She interrupted him. + +"I don't believe in you, Barode Barouche. At least my husband did not go +from his hearthstone looking for what belonged to others. No--No--no; +however much I suffered, I understood that what he did not feel for me at +least he felt for no one else. To him, life was his business, and to the +long end business mastered his emotions. I have no faith in you! In the +depth of my soul something cries out: 'He is not true. His life is +false.' To leave me that was right, but, monsieur, not as you left me. +You pick the fruit and eat it and spit upon the ground the fibre and the +skin. I am no longer the slave of your false eloquence. It has nothing +in it for me now, nothing at all--nothing." + +"Yet your son--has he naught of me? If your son has genius, I have the +right to say a part of it came from me. Why should you say that all +that's good in the boy is yours--that the boy, in all he does and says, +is yours! No--no. Your long years of suffering have hardened into +injustice and wrong." + +Suddenly he touched her arm. "There are women as young as you were when +I wronged you, who would be my wife now--young, beautiful, buoyant; but I +come to you because I feel we might still have some years of happiness. +Together, where our boy's fate mattered, we two could help him on his +way. That is what I feel, my dear." + +When he touched her arm she did not move, yet there was in his fingers +something which stirred ulcers long since healed and scarred. She +stepped back from him. + +"Do not touch me. The past is buried for ever. There can be no +resurrection. I know what I should do, and I will do it. For the rest +of my life, I shall live for my son. I hope he will defeat you. I don't +lift a hand to help him except to give him money, not John Grier's money +but my own, always that. You are fighting what is stronger than +yourself. One thing is sure, he is nearer to the spirit of your race +than you. He will win--but yes, he will win!" + +Her face suffused with warmth, became alive with a wonderful fire, her +whole being had a simple tragedy. Once again, and perhaps for the last +time, she had renewed the splendour of her young womanhood. The vital +warmth of a great idea had given an expression to her face which had long +been absent from it. + +He fell back from her. Then suddenly passion seized him. The gaunt +beauty of her roused a spirit of contest in him. The evil thing in him, +which her love for her son had almost conquered, came back upon him. He +remembered Luzanne, and now with a spirit alive with anger he said to +her: + +"No--no--no, he cannot win." He stretched out a hand. "I have that +which will keep for me the place in Parliament that has been mine; which +will send him back to the isolation whence he came. Do you think I don't +know how to win an election? Why from east to west, from north to south +in this Province of Quebec my name, my fame, have been all-conquering. +Suppose he did defeat me, do you think that would end my political life? +It would end nothing. I should still go on." + +A scornful smile came to her lips. "So you think your party would find a +seat for you who had been defeated by a young man who never knew what +political life meant till he came to this campaign? You think they would +find you a seat? I know you are coming to the end of your game, and when +he defeats you, it will finish everything for you. You will disappear +from public life, and your day will be done. Men will point at you as +you pass along the street, and say: 'There goes Barode Barouche. He was +a great man in his day. He was defeated by a boy with a painter's brush +in his hand.' He will take from you your livelihood. You will go, and +he will stay; he will conquer and grow strong. Go from me, Barode +Barouche," she cried, thrusting out her hands against him, "go from me. +I love my son with all my soul. His father has no place in my heart." + +There had been upon him the wild passion of revenge. It had mastered +him before she spoke, and while she spoke, but, as she finished, the +understanding spirit of him conquered. Instead of telling her of Luzanne +Larue, and of what he would do if he found things going against him, +instead of that he resolved to say naught. He saw he could not conquer +her. For a minute after she had ceased speaking, he watched her in +silence, and in his eyes was a remorse which would never leave them. +She was master. + +Slowly, and with a sense of defeat, he said to her: "Well, we shall never +meet again like this. The fight goes on. I will defeat Carnac. No, do +not shake your head. He shall not put me from my place. For you and me +there is no future--none; yet I want to say to you before we part for +ever now, that you have been deeper in my life than any other woman +since I was born." + +He said no more. Catching up his hat from the chair, and taking his +stick, he left the room. He opened the front door, stepped out, shut it +behind him and, in a moment, was lost in the night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +POINT TO POINT + +While these things were happening, Carnac was spending all his time in +the constituency. Every day was busy to the last minute, every hole in +the belt of his equipment was buckled tight. In spite of his enthusiasm +he was, however, troubled by the fact that Luzanne might appear. Yet as +time went on he gained confidence. There were days, however, when he +appeared, mentally, to be watching the street corners. + +One day at a public meeting he thought the sensation had come. He had +just finished his speech in reply to Barode Barouche--eloquent, eager, +masterful. Youth's aspirations, with a curious sympathy with the French +Canadian people, had idealized his utterances. When he finished there +had been cheering, but in the quiet instant that followed the cheering, +a habitant got up--a weird, wilful fellow who had a reputation for brag, +yet who would not have hurt an enemy save in wild passion. + +"M'sieu' Carnac Grier," he said, "I'd like to put a question to you. +You've been asking for our votes. We're a family people, we Canucs, and +we like to know where we're going. Tell me, m'sieu', where's your +woman?" + +Having asked the question, he remained standing. "Where's your woman?" +the habitant had asked. Carnac's breath came quick and sharp. There +were many hundreds present, and a good number of them were foes. Barode +Barouche was on the same platform. + +Not only Carnac was stirred by the question, for Barouche, who had +listened to his foe's speech with admiring anxiety, was startled. + +"Where's your woman?" was not a phrase to be asked anyhow, or anywhere. +Barouche was glad of the incident. Ready as he was to meet challenge, he +presently realized that his son had a readiness equally potent. He was +even pleased to see the glint of a smile at the lips of the slim young +politician, in whom there was more than his own commingling of +temperament, wisdom, wantonness and raillery. + +After a moment, Carnac said: "Isn't that a leading question to an +unmarried man?" + +Barouche laughed inwardly. Surely it was the reply he himself would have +made. Carnac had showed himself a born politician. The audience +cheered, but the questioner remained standing. He meant to ask another +question. + +"Sit down--sit down, jackass!" shouted some of the more raucous of the +crowd, but the man was stubborn. He stretched out an arm towards Carnac. + +"Bien, look here, my son, you take my advice. Pursue the primrose path +into the meadows of matrimony." + +Again Carnac shrank, but his mind rallied courageously, and he said: +"There are other people who want to ask questions, perhaps." He turned +to Barode Barouche. "I don't suggest my opponent has planned this +heckling, but he can see it does no good. I'm not to be floored by +catch-penny tricks. I'm going to win. I run straight. I haven't been +long enough in politics to learn how to deceive. Let the accomplished +professionals do that. They know how." + +He waved a hand disdainfully at Barouche. "Let them put forth all that's +in them, I will remain; let them exert the last ounce of energy, I will +prevail; let them use the thousand devices of elections, I will use no +device, but rely upon my policy. I want nothing except my chance in +Parliament. My highest ambition is to make good laws. I am for the man +who was the first settler on the St. Lawrence and this section of the +continent--his history, his tradition, his honour and fame are in the +history books of the world. If I should live a hundred years, I should +wish nothing better than the honour of having served the men whose +forefathers served Frontenac, Cartier, La Salle and Maisonneuve, and all +the splendid heroes of that ancient age. What they have done is for all +men to do. They have kept the faith. I am for the habitant, for the +land of his faith and love, first and last and all the time." + +He sat down in a tumult of cheering. Many present remarked that no two +men they had ever heard spoke so much alike, and kept their attacks so +free from personal things. + +There had been at this public meeting two intense supporters of Carnac, +who waited for him at the exit from the main doorway. They were Fabian's +wife and Junia. + +Barode Barouche came out of the hall before Carnac. His quick eye saw +the two ladies, and he raised his broad-brimmed hat like a Stuart +cavalier, and smiled. + +"Waiting for your champion, eh?" he asked with cynical friendliness. +"Well, work hard, because that will soften his fall." He leaned over, as +it were confidentially, to them, while his friends craned their necks to +hear what he said: "If I were you I'd prepare him. He's beaten as sure +as the sun shines." + +Junia was tempted to say what was in her mind, but her sister Sibyl, who +resented Barouche's patronage, said: + +"There's an old adage about the slip 'twixt the cup and the lip, Monsieur +Barouche. He's young, and he's got a better policy than yours." + +"And he's unmarried, eh!" Barouche remarked. "He's unmarried, and I +suppose that matters!" There was an undercurrent of meaning in his voice +which did not escape Junia. + +"And Monsieur Barouche is also unmarried," she remarked. "So you're even +there." + +"Not quite even. I'm a widower. The women don't work for me as they +work for him." + +"I don't understand," remarked Junia. "The women can't all marry him." + +"There are a lot of things that can't be understood by just blinking the +eyes, but there's romance in the fight of an unmarried man, and women +like romance even if it's some one else's. There's sensation in it." + +Barouche looked to where Carnac was slowly coming down the centre of the +hall. Women were waving handkerchiefs and throwing kisses towards him. +One little girl was pushed in front of him, and she reached out a hand in +which was a wild rose. + +"That's for luck, m'sieu'," she said. + +Carnac took the rose, and placed it in his buttonhole; then, stooping +down, he kissed the child's cheek. Outside the hall, Barode Barouche +winked an eye knowingly. "He's got it all down to a science. Look at +him--kissing the young chick. Nevertheless, he's walking into an abyss." + +Carnac was near enough now for the confidence in his face to be seen. +Barouche's eyes suddenly grew resentful. Sometimes he had a feeling of +deep affection for his young challenger; sometimes there was a storm of +anger in his bosom, a hatred which can be felt only for a member of one's +own family. Resentment showed in his face now. This boy was winning +friends on every side. + +Something in the two men, some vibration of temperament, struck the same +chord in Junia's life and being. She had noticed similar gestures, +similar intonations of voice, and, above all else, a little toss of the +head backwards. She knew they were not related, and so she put the whole +thing down to Carnac's impressionable nature which led its owner into +singular imitations. It had done so in the field of Art. He was young +enough to be the imitator without loss to himself. + +"I'm doing my best to defeat you," she said to Barouche, reaching out a +hand for good-bye, "and I shall work harder now than ever. You're so +sure you're going to win that I'd disappoint you, monsieur--only to do +you good." + +"Ah, I'm sorry you haven't any real interest in Carnac Grier, if it's +only to do me good! Well, goodbye--good-bye," he added, raising his hat, +and presently was gone. + +As Carnac drew near, Fabian's wife stepped forward. "Carnac," she said, +"I hope you'll come with us on the river in Fabian's steam-launch. +There's work to do there. It's pay-day in the lumber-yards on the +Island, so please come. Will you?" + +Carnac laughed. "Yes, there's no engagement to prevent it." He thanked +Junia and Sibyl for all they had done for him, and added: "I'd like a +couple of hours among the rivermen. Where's the boat?" Fabian's wife +told him, and added: "I've got the roan team here, and you can drive us +down, if you will." + +A few moments afterwards, with the cheers of the crowd behind them, they +were being driven by Carnac to the wharf where lay the "Fleur-de-lis." +On board was Fabian. + +"Had a good meeting, Carnac?" Fabian asked. + +"I should call it first-class. It was like a storm, at sea-wind from one +direction, then from another, but I think on the whole we had the best of +it. Don't you think so?" he added to Fabian's wife. + +"Oh, much the best," she answered. "That's so, Junia, isn't it?" + +"I wouldn't say so positively," answered Junia. "I don't understand +Monsieur Barouche. He talked as if he had something up his sleeve." +Her face became clouded. "Have you any idea what it is, Carnac?" + +Carnac laughingly shook his head. "That's his way. He's always +bluffing. He does it to make believe the game's his, and to destroy my +confidence. He's a man of mark, but he's having the biggest fight he +ever had--of that I'm sure. . . . Do you think I'll win?" he asked +Junia presently with a laugh, as they made their way down the river. +"Have I conquest in my eye?" + +How seldom did Junia have Carnac to herself in these days! How kind of +Fabian to lend his yacht for the purpose of canvassing! But Sibyl had in +her mind a deeper thing--she had become a match-maker. She and Fabian, +when the boat left the shore, went to one corner of the stern, leaving +Carnac and Junia in the bow. + +Three miles below the city was the Island on which many voters were +working in a saw-mill and lumberyard. It had supporters of Barouche +chiefly in the yards and mills. Carnac had never visited it, and it was +Junia's view that he should ingratiate himself with the workers, a rough- +and-ready lot. They were ready to "burst a meeting" or bludgeon a +candidate on occasion. + +When Carnac asked his question Junia smiled up at him. "Yes, I think +you'll win, Carnac. You have the tide with you." Presently she added: +"I'm not sure that you've got all the cards, though--I don't know why, +but I have that fear." + +"You think that--" + +She nodded. "I think Monsieur Barouche has some cards he hasn't played +yet. What they are I don't know, but he's confident. Tell me, Carnac, +is there any card that would defeat you? Have you committed any crime +against the law--no, I'm sure you haven't, but I want to hear you say +so." She smiled cheerfully at him. + +"He has no card of any crime of mine, and he can't hit me in a mortal +place." + +"You have the right policy for this province. But tell me, is there +anyone who could hurt you, who could spring up in the fight--man or +woman?" + +She looked him straight in the eye, and his own did not waver. + +"There's no one has a knock-out blow for me--that's sure. I can weather +any storm." + +He paused, however, disconcerted, for the memory of Luzanne came to him, +and his spirit became clouded. "Except one--except one," he added. + +"And you won't tell me who it is?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE MAN WHO WOULD NOT + +"No, I can't tell you--yet," answered Carnac. "You ought to know; though +you can't put things right." + +"Don't forget you are a public man, and what might happen if things went +wrong. There are those who would gladly roast you on a gridiron for what +you are in politics." + +"I never forget it. I've no crime to repent of, and I'm afraid of +nothing in the last resort. Look, we're nearing the Island." + +"It's your worst place in the constituency, and I'm not sure of your +reception. Oh, but yes, I am," she added hastily. "You always win good +feeling. No one really hates you. You're on the way to big success." + +"I've had some unexpected luck. I've got Tarboe on my side. He's a +member of Barouche's party, but he's coming with me." + +"Did he tell you so?" she asked with apparent interest. + +"I've had a letter from him, and in it he says he is with me 'to the +knife!' That's good. Tarboe has a big hold on rivermen, and he may +carry with him some of the opposition. It was a good letter--if +puzzling." + +"How, puzzling?" + +"He said in one part of it: 'When you come back here to play your part +you'll make it a success, the whole blessed thing.' I've no idea what he +meant by that. I don't think he wants me as a partner, and I'll give him +no chance of it. I don't want now what I could have had when Fabian +left. That's all over, Junia." + +"He meant something by it; he's a very able man," she replied gravely. +"He's a huge success." + +"And women love success more than all else," he remarked a little +cynically. + +"You're unjust, Carnac. Of course, women love success; but they'd not +sell their souls for it--not the real women--and you ought to know it." + +"I ought to know it, I suppose," he answered, and he held her eyes +meaningly. He was about to say something vital, but Fabian and his wife +came. + +Fabian said to him: "Don't be surprised if you get a bad reception here, +Carnac. It's the worst place on the river, and I've no influence over +the men--I don't believe Tarboe could have. They're a difficult lot. +There's Eugene Grandois, he's as bad as they make 'em. He's got a grudge +against us because of some act of father, and he may break out any time. +He's a labour leader too, and we must be vigilant." + +Carnac nodded. He made no reply in words. They were nearing the little +dock, and men were coming to the point where the launch would stop. + +"There's Grandois now!" said Fabian with a wry smile, for he had a +real fear of results. He had, however, no idea how skilfully Carnac +would handle the situation--yet he had heard much of his brother's +adaptability. He had no psychological sense, and Carnac had big +endowment of it. Yet Carnac was not demonstrative. It was his quiet +way that played his game for him. He never spoke, if being could do what +he wanted. He had the sense of physical speech with out words. He was a +bold adventurer, but his methods were those of the subtlest. If a motion +of the hand was sufficient, then let it go at that. + +"You people after our votes never come any other time," sneeringly said +Eugene Grandois, as Carnac and Fabian landed. "It's only when you want +to use us." + +"Would you rather I didn't come at all?" asked Carnac with a friendly +smile. "You can't have it both ways. If I came here any other time +you'd want to know why I didn't stay away, and I come now because it's +good you should know if I'm fit to represent you in Parliament." + +"There's sense, my bonny boy," said an English-Canadian labourer standing +near. "What you got to say to that, little skeezicks?" he added +teasingly to Eugene Grandois. + +"He ain't got more gifts than his father had, and we all know what he +was--that's so, bagosh!" remarked Grandois viciously. + +"Well, what sort of a man was he?" asked Carnac cooly, with a warning +glance at Fabian, who was resentful. Indeed, Fabian would have struck +the man if his brother had not been present, and then been torn to pieces +himself. + +"What sort--don't you know the kind of things he done? If you don't, I +do, and there's lots of others know, and don't you forget it, mon vieux." + +"That's no answer, Monsieur Grandois--none at all. It tells nothing," +remarked Carnac cheerily. + +"You got left out of his will, m'sieu', you talk as if he was all right +--that's blither." + +"My father had a conscience. He gave me chance to become a partner in +the business, and I wouldn't, and he threw me over--what else was there +to do? I could have owned the business to-day, if I'd played the game as +he thought it ought to be played. I didn't, and he left me out--that's +all." + +"Makin' your own way, ain't you?" said the English labourer. "That's +hit you where you're tender, Grandois. What you got to say to that?" + +The intense black eyes of the habitant sparkled wickedly, his jaws set +with passion, and his sturdy frame seemed to fasten to the ground. His +gnarled hands now shot out fiercely. + +"What I got to say! Only this: John Grier played the devil's part. He +turned me and my family out into the streets in winter-time, and the law +upheld him, old beast that he was--sacre diable!" + +"Beast-devil! Grandois, those are hard words about a man in his son's +presence, and they're not true. You think you can say such things +because I'm standing for Parliament. Beast, devil, eh? You've got a +free tongue, Grandois; you forgot to say that my father paid the doctor's +bill for your whole family when they were taken down with smallpox; and +he kept them for weeks afterwards. You forgot to recall that when he +turned you out for being six months behind with your rent and making no +effort to pay up! Who was the devil and beast then, Grandois? Who spat +upon his own wife and children then? You haven't a good memory. . . . +Come, I think your account with my father is squared; and I want you to +vote to put my father's son in Parliament, and to put out Barode +Barouche, who's been there too long. Come, come, Grandois, isn't it a +bargain? Your tongue's sharp, but your heart's in the right place--is it +a bargain?" + +He held out his hand with applause from the crowd, but Grandois was not +to be softened. His anger, however, had behind it some sense of caution, +and what Carnac said about the smallpox incident struck him hard. It was +the first time he had ever been hit between the eyes where John Grier was +concerned. His prestige with the men was now under a shadow, yet he +dared not deny the truth of the statement. It could be proved. His +braggart hatred of John Grier had come home to roost. Carnac saw that, +and he was glad he had challenged the man. He believed that in politics, +as in all other departments of life, candour and bold play were best in +the long run. Yet he would like to see the man in a different humour, +and with joy he heard Junia say to Grandois. + +"How is the baby boy, and how is madame, Monsieur Grandois?" + +It came at the right moment, for only two days before had Madame Grandois +given her husband the boy for which he had longed. Junia had come to +know of it through a neighbour and had sent jellies to the sick woman. +As she came forward now, Grandois, taken aback, said: + +"Alors, they're all right, ma'm'selle, thank you. It was you sent the +jellies, eh?" + +She nodded with a smile. "Yes, I sent them, Grandois. May I come and +see madame and the boy to-morrow?" + +The incident had taken a favourable turn. + +"It's about even-things between us, Grandois?" asked Carnac, and held +out his hand. "My father hit you, but you hit him harder by forgetting +about the smallpox and the rent, and also by drinking up the cash that +ought to have paid the rent. It doesn't matter now that the rent was +never paid, but it does that you recall the smallpox debt. Can't you say +a word for me, Grandois? You're a big man here among all the workers. +I'm a better Frenchman than the man I'm trying to turn out. Just a word +for a good cause. + +"They're waiting for you, and your hand on it! Here's a place for you on +the roost. Come up." + +The "roost" was an upturned tub lying face down on the ground, and in +the passion of the moment, the little man gripped Carnac's hand and stood +on the tub to great cheering; for if there was one thing the French- +Canadians love, it is sensation, and they were having it. They were +mostly Barouche's men, but they were emotional, and melodrama had stirred +their feelings. + +Besides, like the Irish, they had a love of feminine nature, and in all +the river-coves Junia was known by sight at least, and was admired. She +had the freshness of face and mind which is the heart of success with the +habitants. With Eugene Grandois on his feet, she heard a speech which +had in it the best spirit of Gallic eloquence, though it was crude. But +it was forcible and adroit. + +"Friends and comrades," said Eugene Grandois, with his hands playing +loosely, "there's been misunderstandings between me and the Grier family, +and I was out against it, but I see things different since M'sieu' Carnac +has spoke--and I'm changing my mind--certainlee. That throwing out of my +house hit me and my woman and little ones hard, and I've been resentin' +it all these years till now; but I'm weighin' one thing agin another, and +I'm willing to forget my wrongs for this young man's sake. He's for us +French. Alors, some of you was out to hurt our friend M'sieu' Carnac +here, and I didn't say no to it; but you'd better keep your weapons for +election day and use them agin Barode Barouche. + +"I got a change of heart. I've laid my plate on the table with a prayer +that I get it filled with good political doctrine, and I've promise that +the food I'm to get is what's best for all of us. M'sieu' Carnac Grier's +got the right stuff in him, and I'm for him both hands up--both hands way +up high, nom de pipe!" + +At that he raised both hands above his head with a loud cheer, and later +Carnac Grier was carried to the launch in the arms of Eugene Grandois' +friends. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE BLUE PAPER + +"Who are you, ma'm'selle?" + +It was in the house of Eugene Grandois that this question was asked of +Junia. She had followed the experience on the Island by a visit to +Grandois' house, carrying delicacies for the sick wife. Denzil had come +with her, and was waiting in the street. + +She had almost ended her visit when the outer door opened and Luzanne +Larue entered carrying a dish she placed on the table, eyeing Junia +closely. First they bowed to each other, and Junia gave a pleasant +smile, but instantly she felt here was a factor in her own life--how, +she could not tell. + +To Luzanne, the face of Junia had no familiar feature, and yet she felt +here was one whose life's lines crossed her own. So it was she presently +said, "Who are you, ma'm'selle?" in a sharp voice. As Junia did not +reply at once, she put the question in another form: "What is your name, +ma'm'selle?" + +"It is Junia Shale," said the other calmly, yet with heart beating hard. +Somehow the question foreshadowed painful things, associated with Carnac. +Her first glance at Luzanne showed the girl was well dressed, that she +had a face of some beauty, that her eyes were full of glamour--black and +bold, and, in a challenging way, beautiful. It was a face and figure +full of daring. She was not French-Canadian; yet she was French; that +was clear from her accent. Yet the voice had an accent of crudity, and +the plump whiteness of the skin and waving fulness of the hair gave the +girl a look of an adventuress. She was dressed in black with a white +collar which, by contrast, seemed to heighten her unusual nature. + +At first Junia shuddered, for Luzanne's presence made her uneasy; yet the +girl must have good qualities, for she had brought comforts to the sick +woman, and indeed, within, madame had spoken of the "dear beautiful +stranger." That could be no other than this girl. She became composed. +Yet she had a feeling that between them was a situation needing all her +resources. About what? She would soon know, and she gave her name at +last slowly, keeping her eyes on those of Luzanne. + +At mention of the name, Luzanne's eyes took on prejudice and moroseness. +The pupils enlarged, the lids half closed, the face grew sour. + +"Junia Shale--you are Junia Shale?" The voice was bitter and resentful. + +Junia nodded, and in her smile was understanding and conflict, for she +felt this girl to be her foe. + +"We must have a talk--that's sure," Luzanne said with decision. + +"Who are you?" asked Junia calmly. "I am Luzanne Larue." + +"That makes me no wiser." + +"Hasn't Carnac Grier spoken of me?" + +Junia shook her head, and turned her face towards the door of Madame +Grandois' room. "Had we not better go somewhere else to talk, after +you've seen Madame Grandois and the baby?" she asked with a smile, yet +she felt she was about to face an alarming event. "Madame Grandois has +spoken pleasantly of you to me," Junia added, for tact was her prompt +faculty. "If you'd come where we could talk undisturbed--do you see?" + +Luzanne made no reply in words, but taking up the dish she went into the +sick-room, and Junia heard her in short friendly speech with Madame +Grandois. Luzanne appeared again soon and spoke: "Now we can go where +I'm boarding. It's only three doors away, and we can be safe there. +You'd like to talk with me--ah, yes, surelee!" + +Her eyes were combative and repellent, but Junia was not dismayed, and +she said: "What shall we talk about?" + +"There's only one thing and one person to talk about, ma'm'selle." + +"I still don't know what you mean." + +"Aren't you engaged to Carnac Grier? Don't you think you're going to +marry him? . . . Don't you like to tell the truth, then?" she added. + +Junia raised her eyebrows. "I'm not engaged to Carnac Grier, and he has +never asked me to marry him--but what business is it of yours, +ma'm'selle?" + +"Come and I'll tell you." Luzanne moved towards the door. They were +speechless till they reached Luzanne's lodgings. + +"This is the house of Monsieur Marmette, an agent of Monsieur Barouche," +said Junia. "I know it." + +"You'll know it better soon. The agent of M'sieu' Barouche is a man of +mark about here, and he'll be more marked soon--but yes!" + +"You think Monsieur Barouche will be elected, do you?" asked Junia, as +they closed the door. + +"I know he will." + +"I've been working for Monsieur Grier, and that isn't my opinion." + +"I'm working for Barode Barouche, and I know the result." + +They were now in Luzanne's small room, and Junia noted that it had all +the characteristics of a habitant dwelling--even to the crucifix at the +head of the bed, and the picture of the French-Canadian Premier of the +Dominion on the wall. She also saw a rosary on a little hook beside the +bed. + +"How do you know?" + +"Because I am the wife of Carnac Grier, and I know what will happen to +him. . . . You turn pale, ma'm'selle, but your colour isn't going to +alter the truth. I'm Carnac Grier's wife by the laws of New York State." + +"Does Monsieur Grier admit he is your husband?" + +"He must respect the law by which he married me." + +"I don't believe he was ever honestly married to you," declared Junia. +"Has he ever lived with you--for a single day?" + +"What difference would that make? I have the marriage certificate here." +She touched her bosom. + +"I'd have thought you were Barode Barouche's wife by the way you act. +Isn't it a wife's duty to help her husband--Shouldn't you be fighting +against Barode Barouche?" + +"I mean to be recognized as Carnac Grier's wife--that's why I'm here." + +"Have you seen him since you've been here? Have you told him how you're +working against him? Have you got the certificate with you?" + +"Of course. I've got my head on like a piece of flesh and blood that +belongs to me--bien sur." + +She suddenly drew from her breast a folded piece of blue paper. "There +it is, signed by Judge Grimshaw that married us, and there's the seal; +and the whole thing can't be set aside. Look at it, if you like, +petite." + +She held it not far from Junia's face, and Junia could see that it was +registration of a marriage of New York State. She could have snatched +the paper away, but she meant to conquer Luzanne's savage spirit. "Well, +how do you intend to defeat your husband?" + +"I mean to have the people asked from a platform if they've seen the wife +of the candidate, and then a copy of the certificate will be read to all. +What do you think will happen after that?" + +"It will have to be done to-night or to-morrow night," remarked Junia. + +"Because the election comes the day after to-morrow,--eh + +"Because of that. And who will read the document?" + +"Who but the man he's trying to defeat?--tell me that." + +"You mean Barode Barouche?" + +"Who else?" + +"Has he agreed to do it?" + +Luzanne nodded. "On the day--Carnac became a candidate." + +"And if Carnac Grier denies it?" + +"He won't deny it. He never has. He says he was drunk when the thing +was done--mais, oui." + +"Is that all he says?" + +"No. He says he didn't know it was a real marriage, and--" Luzanne then +related Carnac's defence, and added: "Do you think anyone would believe +him with the facts as they are? Remember I'm French and he's English, +and that marriage to a French girl is life and death; and this is a +French province!" + +"And yet you are a Catholic and French, and were married by a Protestant +judge." + +"That is my own affair, ma'm'selle." + +"It is not the thing to say to French-Canadians here. What do you get +out of it all? If he is your husband, wouldn't it be better to have him +successful than your defeated victim. What will be yours if you defeat--" + +"Revenge--my rights--the law!" was the sharp rejoinder. + +Junia smiled. "What is there in it all for you? If the man I married +did not love me, I'd use the law to be free. What's the good of trying +to destroy a husband who doesn't love you, who never loved you--never." + +"You don't know that," retorted Luzanne sharply. + +"Yes, I do. He never loved you. He never lived with you for a single +day. That's in the power of a doctor to prove. If you are virtuous, +then he has taken nothing; if you have given your all, and not to Carnac +Grier, what will his mind be about you? Is it money? He has no money +except what he earns. His father left him nothing--not a dollar. Why do +you hate him so? I've known him all my life, and I've never known him +hurt man or animal. When did he ever misuse you, or hurt you? Did he +ever treat you badly? How did you come to know him? Answer that." + +She paused and Luzanne flushed. The first meeting! Why, that was the +day Carnac had saved her life, had taken her home safe from danger, and +had begun a friendship with behind it only a desire to help her. And how +had she repaid the saviour of her life? By tricking him into a marriage, +and then by threatening him if he did not take her to his home. Truth is, +down beneath her misconduct was a passion for the man which, not +satisfied, became a passion to destroy him and his career. It was a +characteristic of her blood and breed. It was a relic of ancient +dishonour, inherited and searching; it was atavism and the incorrigible +thing. Beneath everything was her desire for the man, and the mood in +which she had fought for him was the twist of a tortured spirit. She +was not so deliberate as her actions had indicated. She had been under +the malicious influence of her father and her father's friend. She was +like one possessed of a spirit that would not be deterred from its +purpose. Junia saw the impression she had made, and set it down to her +last words. + +"Where did you first meet him? What was the way of it?" she added. + +Suddenly Junia came forward and put her hands on Luzanne's shoulders. +"I think you loved Carnac once, and perhaps you love him now, and are +only trying to hurt him out of anger. If you destroy him, you will +repent of it--so soon! I don't know what is behind these things you are +doing, but you'll be sorry for it when it is too late. Yes, I know you +have loved Carnac, for I see all the signs--" + +"Do you love him then, ma'm'selle?" asked Luzanne exasperated. "Do you +love him?" + +"He has never asked me, and I have never told him that; and I don't know, +but, if I did, I would move heaven and earth to help him, and if he +didn't love me I'd help him just the same. And so, I think, should you. +If you ever loved him, then you ought to save him from evil. Tell me, +did Carnac ever do you a kind act, one that is worth while in your life?" + +For a moment Luzanne stood dismayed, then a new expression drove the dark +light from her eyes. It was as though she had found a new sense. + +"He saved my life the day we first met," she said at last under Junia's +hypnotic influence. + +"And now you would strike him when he is trying to do the big thing. You +threaten to declare his marriage, in the face of those who can elect him +to play a great part for his country." + +Junia saw the girl was in emotional turmoil, was obsessed by one idea, +and she felt her task had vast difficulty. That Carnac should have +married the girl was incredible, that he had played an unworthy part +seemed sure; yet it was in keeping with his past temperament. The girl +was the extreme contrast of himself, with dark--almost piercing-eyes, and +a paleness which was physically constitutional--the joy of the artistic +spirit. It was the head of a tragedienne or a martyr, and the lean, +rather beautiful body was eloquent of life. + +Presently Junia said: "To try to spoil him would be a crime against his +country, and I shall tell him you are here." + +"He'll do nothing at all." The French girl's words were suddenly biting, +malicious and defiant. The moment's softness she had felt was gone, and +hardness returned. "If he hasn't moved against me since he married me, +he wouldn't dare do so now." + +"Why hasn't he moved? Because you're a woman, and also he'd believe +you'd repent of your conduct. But I believe he will act sternly against +you at once. There is much at stake." + +"You want it for your own sake," said Luzanne sharply. "You think he'd +marry you if I gave him up." + +"Perhaps he'd ask me to marry him, if you weren't in the way, but I'd +have my own mind about that, and knowing what you've told me--truth or +lie--I'd weigh it all carefully. Besides, he's not the only man. +Doesn't that ever strike you? Why try to hold him by a spurious bond +when there are other men as good-looking, as clever? Is your world so +bare of men--no, I'm sure it isn't," she added, for she saw anger rising +in the impulsive girl. "There are many who'd want to marry you, and it's +better to marry some one who loves you than to hold to one who doesn't +love you at all. Is it hate? He saved your life--and that's how you +came to know him first, and now you would destroy him! He's a great man. +He would not bend to his father's will, and so he was left without a sou +of his father's money. All because he has a conscience, and an +independence worthy of the best that ever lived. . . . That's the +soul of the man you are trying to hurt. If you had a real soul, there +wouldn't be even the thought of this crime. Do you think he wouldn't +loathe you, if you do this ghastly thing? Would any real man endure it +for an hour? What do you expect to get but ugly revenge on a man who +never gave anything except friendship?" + +"Friendship--friendship-yes, he gave that, but emotion too." + +"You think that real men marry women for whom they only have emotion. +You think that he--Carnac Grier--would marry any woman on that basis? +Come, ma'm'selle, the truth! He didn't know he was being married, and +when you told him it was a real marriage he left you at once. You and +yours tricked him--the man you'd never have known if he hadn't saved your +life. You thought that with your beauty--yes, you are beautiful--you'd +conquer him, and that he'd give in, and become a real husband in a real +home. Come now, isn't that it?" + +The other did not reply. Her face was alive with memories. The lower +things were flying from it, a spirit of womanhood was living in her-- +feebly, but truly, living. She was now conscious of the insanity of her +pursuit of Carnac. For a few moments she stood silent, and then she said +with agitation: + +"If I give this up"--she took from her breast the blue document--"he'd be +safe in his election, and he'd marry you: is it not so, ma'm'selle?" + +"He'd be safe for his election, but he has never asked me to marry him, +and there are others besides him.--She was thinking of Tarboe. "Tell +me," she added suddenly, "to whom have you told this thing in Montreal? +Did you mean to challenge him yourself?" + +"I told it only to M'sieu' Barouche, and he said he would use it at the +right moment--and the right moment has come," she added. "He asked me +for a copy of it last night, and I said I'd give it to him to-day. It's +because of him I've been here quiet all these weeks as Ma'm'selle Larue." + +"He is worse than you, mademoiselle, for he has known Carnac's family, +and he has no excuse. If a man can't win his fight fairly, he oughtn't +to be in public life." + +After a few dark moments, with a sudden burst of feeling, Luzanne said: +"Well, Carnac won't be out of public life through me!" + +She took the blue certificate from her breast and was about to tear it +up, when Junia stopped her. + +"Don't do that," Junia said, "don't tear it up yet, give it to me. I'll +tear it up at the right moment. Give it to me, my dear." + +She held out her hand, and the blue certificate was presently in her +fingers. She felt a sudden weakness in her knees, for it seemed she held +the career of Carnac Grier, and it moved her as she had never been moved. + +With the yielding of the certificate, Luzanne seemed suddenly to lose +self-control. She sank on the bed beside the wall with a cry of +distress. + +"Mon Dieu--oh, Mon Dieu!" Then she sprang to her feet. "Give it back, +give it back tome," she cried, with frantic pain. "It's all I have of +him--it's all I have." + +"I won't give it back," declared Junia quietly. "It's a man's career, +and you must let it go. It's the right thing to do. Let it stand, +mademoiselle." + +She fully realized the half-insane mind and purpose of the girl, and she +wrapped her arms around the stricken figure. + +"See, my dear," she said, "it's no use. You can't have it back. Your +soul is too big for that now. You can be happy in the memory that you +gave Carnac back his freedom." + +"But the record stands," said the girl helplessly. "Tell the truth and +have it removed. You owe that to the man who saved your life. Have it +done at once at Shipton." + +"What will you do with the certificate?" She glanced at Junia's bosom +where the paper was hidden. "I will give it to Carnac, and he can do +what he likes with it." + +By now the tears were streaming down the face of Luzanne Larue, and hard +as it was for Junia, she tried to comfort her, for the girl should be got +away at once, and only friendliness could achieve that. She would see +Denzil--he was near by, waiting. + +There would be a train in two hours for New York and the girl must take +it-she must. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +DENZIL TAKES A HAND IN THE GAME + +Barode Baruche was excited. He had sure hope of defeating Carnac with +the help of Luzanne Larue. The woman had remained hidden since her +coming, and the game was now in his hands. On the night before the poll +he could declare the thing, not easy to be forgiven by the French- +Canadian public, which has a strong sense of domestic duty. Carnac Grier +was a Protestant, and that was bad, and if there was added an offence +against domestic morality, he would be beaten at the polls as sure as the +river ran. He had seen Luzanne several times, and though he did not +believe in her, he knew the marriage certificate was real. He had no +credence in Carnac's lack of honour, yet it was strange he had not fought +his wife, if his case was a good one. + +Day by day he had felt Carnac's power growing, and he feared his triumph +unless some sensation stopped it. Well, he had at hand the sufficient +sensation. He would produce both the certificate of marriage and the +French girl who was the legal wife of Carnac Grier. That Luzanne was +French helped greatly, for it would be used by Carnac's foes as an insult +to French Canada, and his pulses throbbed as he thought of the possible +turmoil in the constituency. + +Fortunately the girl was handsome, had ability, and spoke English with a +French accent, and she was powerful for his purposes. He was out to +prevent his own son from driving himself into private life, and he would +lose no trick in the game, if he could help it. + +Sentimental feeling--yes, he had it, but it did not prevent him from +saving his own skin. Carnac had come out against him, and he must hit as +hard as he could. It was not as though Carnac had been guilty of a real +crime and was within the peril of the law. His offence was a personal +one, but it would need impossible defence at the moment of election. +In any case, if Carnac was legally married, he should assume the +responsibilities of married life; and if he had honest reason for not +recognizing the marriage, he should stop the woman from pursuing him. +If the case kept Carnac out of public life and himself in, then justice +would be done; for it was monstrous that a veteran should be driven into +obscurity by a boy. In making his announcement he would be fighting his +son as though he was a stranger and not of his own blood and bones. He +had no personal connection with Carnac in the people's minds. + +On the afternoon of the day that Junia had had her hour with Luzanne, he +started for the house where Luzanne was lodging. He could not travel the +streets without being recognized, but it did not matter, for the house +where the girl lodged was that of his sub agent, and he was safe in going +to it. He did not know, however, that Denzil had been told by Junia to +watch the place and learn what he meant to do. + +Denzil had a popular respect of Barode Barouche as a Minister of the +Crown; but he had a far greater love of Carnac. He remained vigilant +until after Junia and Luzanne had started in a cab for the railway- +station. They left near three-quarters of an hour before the train was +to start for New York; and for the first quarter of an hour after they +left, Denzil was in apprehension. + +Then he saw Barouche enter the street and go to the house of his sub- +agent. The house stood by itself, with windows open, and Denzil did +not scruple to walk near it, and, if possible, listen. Marmette, the +subagent, would know of the incident between Junia and Luzanne; and +he feared. Barouche might start for the station, overtake Luzanne +and prevent her leaving. He drew close and kept his ears open. + +He was fortunate, he heard voices; Marmette was explaining to Barouche +that Junia and Luzanne had gone to the station, as "Ma'm'selle" was bound +for New York. Marmette had sent word to M. Barouche by messenger, but +the messenger had missed him. Then he heard Barouche in anger say: + +"You fool--why did you let her leave! It's my bread and butter--and +yours too--that's at stake. I wanted to use her against Grier. She was +my final weapon of attack. How long ago did she leave?" Marmette told +him. + +Denzil saw Barode Barouche leave the house with grim concern and talking +hard to Paul Marmette. He knew the way they would go, so he fell behind +a tree, and saw them start for the place where they could order a cab. +Then he followed them. Looking at his watch he saw that, if they got a +cab, they would get to the station before the train started, and he +wondered how he could retard Barouche. A delay of three minutes would be +enough, for it was a long way, and the distance could only be covered +with good luck in the time. Yet Denzil had hope, for his faith in Junia +was great, and he felt sure she would do what she planned. He had to +trot along fast, because Barouche and Marmette were going hard, and he +could not see his way to be of use yet. He would give his right hand to +help Carnac win against the danger Junia had suggested. It could not be +aught to Carnac's discredit, or Junia would not have tried to get the +danger out of Montreal; he had seen Luzanne, and she might be deadly, if +she had a good weapon! + +Presently, he saw Barouche and his agent stop at the door of a livery- +stable, and were told that no cabs were available. There were none in +the street, and time was pressing. Not far away, however, was a street +with a tram-line, and this tram would take Barouche near the station from +which Luzanne would start. So Barouche made hard for this street and had +reached it when a phaeton came along, and in it was one whom Barouche +knew. Barouche spoke to the occupant, and presently both men were +admitted to the phaeton just as a tram-car came near. + +As the phaeton would make the distance to the station in less time than +the car, this seemed the sensible thing to do, and Denzil's spirits fell. +There remained enough time for Barouche to reach the station before the +New York train started! He got aboard the tram himself, and watched the +phaeton moving quickly on ahead. He saw the driver of the phaeton strike +his horse with a whip, and the horse, suddenly breaking into a gallop, +slipped and fell to the ground on the tramtrack. A moment later the tram +came to a stop behind the fallen horse, and Denzil saw the disturbed face +of Barode Barouche looking for another trap--in any case, it would take +three or four minutes to get the horse up and clear the track for the +tram. There was no carriage in sight--only a loaded butcher's cart, +a road-cleaner, and a heavily loaded van. These could be of no use to +Barouche. + +In his corner, Denzil saw the play with anxious eyes. + +It was presently found that the horse had injured a leg in falling and +could not be got to its feet, but had presently to be dragged from the +tram-lines. It had all taken near five minutes of the time before the +train went, and, with despair, Barouche mounted the steps of the tram. +He saw Denzil, and shrewdly suspected he was working in the interests of +Carnac. He came forward to Denzil. + +"You're a long way from home, little man," he said in a voice with an +acid note. + +"About the same as you from home, m'sieu'," said Denzil. + +"I've got business everywhere in this town," remarked Barouche with +sarcasm--"and you haven't, have you? You're travelling privately, eh?" + +"I travel as m'sieu' travels, and on the same business," answered Denzil +with a challenging smile. + +The look Barouche gave him then Denzil never forgot. "I didn't know you +were in politics, mon vieux! What are you standing for? When are you +going to the polls--who are you fighting, eh?" + +"I'm fighting you, m'sieu', though I ain't in politics, and I'm going to +the polls now," Denzil answered. Denzil had gained in confidence as he +saw the arrogance of Barode Barouche. He spoke with more vigour than +usual, and he felt his gorge rising, for here was a man trying to injure +his political foe through a woman; and Denzil resented it. He did not +know the secret of Luzanne Larue, but he did realize there was conflict +between Junia Shale and Barouche, and between Barouche and Carnac Grier, +and that enlisted his cooperation. By nature he was respectful; but the +politician now was playing a dirty game, and he himself might fight +without gloves, if needed. That was why his eyes showed defiance at +Barouche now. He had said the thing which roused sharp anger in +Barouche. It told Barouche that Denzil knew where he was going and why. +Anger shook him as he saw Denzil take out his watch. + +"The poll closes in three minutes, m'sieu'," Denzil added with a dry +smile, for it was clear Barouche could not reach the station in time, +if the train left promptly. The swiftest horses could not get him there, +and these were not the days of motor-cars. Yet it was plain Barouche +meant to stick to it, and he promptly said: + +"You haven't the right time, beetle. The poll closes only when the train +leaves, and your watch doesn't show that, so don't put on airs yet." + +"I'll put on airs if I've won, m'sieu'," Denzil answered quietly, for he +saw people in the tram were trying to hear. + +Barouche had been recognized, and a murmur of cheering began, followed by +a hum of disapproval, for Barouche had lost many friends since Carnac had +come into the fray. A few folk tried to engage Barouche in talk, but he +responded casually; yet he smiled the smile which had done so much for +him in public life, and the distance lessened to the station. The tram +did not go quite to the station, and as it stopped, the two men hurried +to the doors. As they did so, an engine gave a scream, and presently, as +they reached the inside of the station, they saw passing out at the far +end, the New York train. + +"She started five minutes late, but she did start," said Denzil, and +there was malice in his smile. + +As he looked at his watch, he saw Junia passing out of a door into the +street, but Barode Barouche did not see her--his eyes were fixed on the +departing train. + +For a moment Barouche stood indecisive as to whether he should hire a +locomotive and send some one after the train, and so get in touch with +Luzanne in that way, or send her a telegram to the first station where +the train would stop in its schedule; but presently he gave up both +ideas. As he turned towards the exit of the station, he saw Denzil, and +he came forward. + +"I think you've won, mon petit chien," he said with vindictiveness, "but +my poll comes to-morrow night, and I shall win." + +"No game is won till it's all played, m'sieu', and this innings is mine!" + +"I am fighting a bigger man than you, wasp," snarled Barouche. + +"As big as yourself and bigger, m'sieu'," said Denzil with a smile. + +There was that in his tone which made Barouche regard him closely. He +saw there was no real knowledge of the relationship of Carnac and himself +in Denzil's eyes; but he held out his hand with imitation courtesy, as +though to say good-bye. + +"Give me a love-clasp, spider," he said with a kind of sneer. "I'd like +your love as I travel to triumph." A light of hatred came into Denzil's +eyes. "Beetledog--wasp--spider" he had been called by this big man-- +well, he should see that the wasp could give as good as it got. His +big gnarled hand enclosed the hand of Barode Barouche, then he suddenly +closed on it tight. He closed on it till he felt it crunching in his own +and saw that the face of Barode Barouche was like that of one in a chair +of torture. He squeezed, till from Barouche's lips came a gasp of agony, +and then he let go. + +"You've had my love-clasp, m'sieu'," Denzil said with meaning, "and when +you want it again let me know. It's what M'sieu' Carnac will do with you +to-morrow night. Only he'll not let go, as I did, before the blood +comes. Don't be hard on those under you, m'sieu'. Remember wasps and +spiders can sting in their own way, and that dogs can bite." + +"Little black beast," was the short reply, "I'll strip your hide for +Hell's gridiron in good time." + +"Bien, m'sieu', but you'll be in hell waiting, for I'm going to bury you +here where you call better men than yourself dogs and wasps and spiders +and beetles. And I'll not strip your 'hide,' either. That's for lower +men than me." + +A moment later they parted, Denzil to find Junia, and Barouche to prepare +his speech for the evening. Barouche pondered. What should he do-- +should he challenge Carnac with his marriage with Luzanne Larue? His +heart was beating hard. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE CHALLENGE + +The day of the election came. Never had feeling run higher, never had +racial lines been so cut across. Barode Barouche fought with vigour, but +from the going of Luzanne Larue, there passed from him the confidence he +had felt since the first day of Carnac's candidature. He had had +temptation to announce to those who heard him the night before the poll +what Luzanne had told; but better wisdom guided him, to his subsequent +content. He had not played a scurvy trick on his son for his own +personal advantage. Indeed, when his meetings were all over, he was +thankful for the disappearance of Luzanne. At heart he was not all bad. +A madness had been on him. He, therefore, slept heavily from midnight +till morning on the eve of the election, and began the day with the smile +of one who abides the result with courage. + +Several times he came upon Carnac in the streets, and they saluted +courteously; yet he saw the confidence of Carnac in his bearing. Twice +also he came upon Junia and he was startled by the look she gave him. It +was part of his punishment that Junia was the source of his undoing where +Luzanne was concerned. Junia knew about Luzanne; but if she condemned +him now, what would she think if she knew that Carnac was his own son! + +"A devilish clever girl that," he said to himself. "If he wins, it'll be +due to her, and if he wins--no, he can't marry her, for he's already +married; but he'll owe it all to her. If he wins! . . . No, he shall +not win; I've been in the game too long; I've served too many interests; +I've played too big a part." + +It was then he met his agent, who said: "They're making strong play +against us--the strongest since you began politics." + +"Strong enough to put us in danger?" inquired Barouche. "You've been +at the game here for thirty years, and I'd like to know what you think-- +quite honestly." + +His agent was disturbed. "I think you're in danger; he has all your +gifts, and he's as clever as Old Nick besides. He's a man that'll make +things hum, if he gets in." + +"If he gets in-you think . . . ?" + +"He has as good a chance as you, m'sieu'. Here's a list of doubtful +ones, and you'll see they're of consequence." + +"They are indeed," said Barouche, scanning the list. "I'd no idea these +would be doubtful." + +"Luke Tarboe's working like the devil for Carnac. People believe in him. +Half the men on that list were affected by Tarboe's turning over. Tarboe +is a master-man; he has fought like hell." + +"Nevertheless, I've been too long at it to miss it now," said the rueful +member with a forced smile. "I must win now, or my game is up." + +The agent nodded, but there was no certainty in his eye. Feeling ran +higher and higher, but there was no indication that Barouche's hopes were +sure of fulfilment. His face became paler as the day wore on, and his +hands freer with those of his late constituents. Yet he noticed that +Carnac was still glib with his tongue and freer with his hands. Carnac +seemed everywhere, on every corner, in every street, at every polling +booth; he laid his trowel against every brick in the wall. Carnac was +not as confident as he seemed, but he was nearing the end of the trail; +and his feet were free and his head clear. One good thing had happened. +The girl who could do him great harm was not in evidence, and it was too +late to spoil his chances now, even if she came. What gave him greatest +hope was the look on Junia's face as he passed her. It was the sign of +the conqueror--something he could not under stand. It was knowledge and +victory. + +Also, he had a new feeling towards Tarboe, who had given him such +powerful support. There was, then, in the man the bigger thing, the +light of fairness and reason! He had had no talk with Tarboe, and he +desired none, but he had seen him at three of his meetings, and he had +evidence of arduous effort on his behalf. Tarboe had influenced many +people in his favour, men of standing and repute, and the workmen of +the Grier firm had come, or were coming, his way. He had always been +popular with them, in spite of the strike he had fought, but they voted +independently of their employers; and he was glad to know that most of +them were with him in the fight. + +His triumph over Eugene Grandois at the Island had been a good influence, +and he had hopes of capturing the majority of the river people. Yet, +strange to say, the Church had somewhat reversed its position, and at the +last had swung round to Barouche, quietly, though not from the pulpit, +supporting him. The old prejudice in favour of a Catholic and a +Frenchman was alive again. + +Carnac was keyed to anxiety, but outwardly seemed moving with brilliant +certainty. He walked on air, and he spoke and acted like one who had the +key of the situation in his fingers, and the button of decision at his +will. It was folly electioneering on the day of the poll, and yet he saw +a few labour leaders and moved them to greater work for him. One of +these told him that at the Grier big-mill was one man working to defeat +him by personal attacks. It had something to do with a so-called secret +marriage, and it would be good to get hold of the man, Roudin, as soon as +possible. + +A secret marriage! So the thing had, after all, been bruited and used- +what was the source of the information? Who was responsible? He must go +to the mill at once, and he started for it. On the way he met Luke +Tarboe. + +"There's trouble down at the mill," Tarboe said. "A fellow called Roudin +has been spreading a story that you're married and repudiate your wife. +It'd be good to fight it now before it gets going. There's no truth in +it, of course," he added with an opposite look in his eye, for he +remembered the letter Carnac received one day in the office and his own +conclusion then. + +"It's a lie, and I'll go and see Roudin at once. . . . You've been a +good friend to me in the fight, Tarboe, and I'd like a talk when it's all +over." + +"That'll be easy enough, Grier. Don't make any mistake-this is a big +thing you're doing; and if a Protestant Britisher can beat a Catholic +Frenchman in his own habitant seat, it's the clinching of Confederation. +We'll talk it over when you've won." + +"You think I'm going to win?" asked Carnac with thumping heart, for the +stark uncertainty seemed to overpower him, though he smiled. + +"If the lie doesn't get going too hard, I'm sure you'll pull it off. +There's my hand on it. I'd go down with you to the mill, but you should +go alone. You've got your own medicine to give. Go it alone, Grier. +It's best--and good luck to you!" + +A few moments later Carnac was in the yard of the mill, and in one corner +he saw the man he took to be Roudin talking to a group of workmen. He +hurried over, and heard Roudin declaring that he, Carnac, was secretly +married to a woman whom he repudiated, and was that the kind of man to +have as member of Parliament? Presently Roudin was interrupted by cheers +from supporters of Carnac, and he saw it was due to Carnac's arrival. +Roudin had courage. He would not say behind a man's back what he would +not say to his face. + +"I was just telling my friends here, m'sieu', that you was married, and +you didn't acknowledge your wife. Is that so?" + +Carnac's first impulse was to say No, but he gained time by challenging. + +"Why do you say such things to injure me? Is that what Monsieur Barouche +tells you to say?" + +Roudin shook his head protestingly. + +"If Monsieur Barouche does that he oughtn't to hold the seat, he ought to +be sent back to his law offices." + +"No, I didn't hear it from M'sieu' Barouche. I get it from better hands +than his," answered Roudin. + +"Better hands than his, eh? From the lady herself, perhaps?" + +"Yes, from the lady herself, m'sieu'." + +"Then bring the lady here and let us have it out, monsieur. It's a lie. +Bring the lady here, if you know her." + +Roudin shrugged a shoulder. "I know what I know, and I don't have to do +what you say--no--no!" + +"Then you're not honest. You do me harm by a story like that. I +challenge you, and you don't respond. You say you know the woman, then +produce her--there's no time to be lost. The poll closes in four hours. +If you make such statements, prove them. It isn't playing the game-- +do you think so, messieurs?" he added to the crowd which had grown in +numbers. At that moment a man came running from the en trance towards +Carnac. It was Denzil. + +"A letter for you, an important letter," he kept crying as he came +nearer. He got the letter into Carnac's hands. + +"Read it at once, m'sieu'," Denzil said urgently. Carnac saw the +handwriting was Junia's, and he tore open the letter, which held the blue +certificate of the marriage with Luzanne. He conquered the sudden +dimness of his eyes, and read the letter. It said: + + DEAR CARNAC, + + I hear from Mr. Tarboe of the lies being told against you. Here is + the proof. She has gone. She told it to Barode Barouche, and he + was to have announced it last night, but I saw her first. You can + now deny the story. The game is yours. Tell the man Roudin to + produce the woman--she is now in New York, if the train was not + lost. I will tell you all when you are M.P. + JUNIA. + +With a smile, Carnac placed the certificate in his pocket. How lucky it +was he had denied the marriage and demanded that Roudin produce the +woman! He was safe now, safe and free. It was no good any woman +declaring she was married to him if she could not produce the proof +--and the proof was in his pocket and the woman was in New York. + +"Come, Monsieur Roudin, tell us about the woman, and bring her to the +polls. There is yet time, if you're telling the truth. Who is she? +Where does she live? What's her name?" + +"Mrs. Carnac Grier--that's her name," responded Roudin with a snarl, and +the crowd laughed, for Carnac's boldness gave them a sense of security. + +"What was her maiden name?" + +"Larue," answered the other sharply. + +"What was her Christian name, since you know so much, monsieur?" + +He had no fear now, and his question was audacity, but he knew the game +was with him, and he took the risks. His courage had reward, for Roudin +made no reply. Carnac turned to the crowd. + +"Here's a man tried to ruin my character by telling a story about a woman +whose name he doesn't know. Is that playing the game after the rules-- +I ask you?" + +There were cries from the crowd supporting him, and he grew bolder. +"Let the man tell his story and I'll meet it here face to face. I fear +nothing. Out with your story, monsieur. Tell us why you haven't brought +her into the daylight, why she isn't claiming her husband at the polls. +What's the story? Let's have it now." + +The truth was, Roudin dared not tell what he knew. It was based wholly +on a talk he had partly overheard between Barode Barouche and Luzanne in +the house where she stayed and where he, Roudin, lodged. It had not been +definite, and he had no proofs. He was a sensationalist, and he had had +his hour and could say no more, because of Barode Barouche. He could not +tell the story of his overhearing, for why had not Barouche told the +tale? With an oath he turned away and disappeared. As he went he could +hear his friends cheering Carnac. + +"Carnac Grier lies, but he wins the game," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +EXIT + +"Grier's in--Carnac's in--Carnac's got the seat!" This was the cry heard +in the streets at ten-thirty at night when Carnac was found elected by a +majority of one hundred and ten. + +Carnac had not been present at the counting of the votes until the last +quarter-hour, and then he was told by his friends of the fluctuations of +the counting--how at one time his defeat seemed assured, since Barode +Barouche was six hundred ahead, and his own friends had almost given up +hope. One of his foes, however, had no assurance of Carnac's defeat. He +was too old an agent to believe in returns till all were in, and he knew +of the two incidents by which Carnac had got advantage--at the Island +over Eugene Grandois, and at the Mill over Roudin the very day of +polling; and it was at these points he had hoped to score for Barouche +a majority. He watched Barouche, and he deplored the triumph in his eye, +for there was no surety of winning; his own was the scientific mind +without emotions or passions. He did not "enthuse," and he did not +despair; he kept his head. + +Presently there were fluctuations in favour of Carnac, and the six +hundred by which Barouche led were steadily swallowed up; he saw that +among the places which gave Carnac a majority were the Island and the +Mill. He was also nonplussed by Carnac's coolness. For a man with an +artist's temperament, he was well controlled. When he came into the +room, he went straight to Barouche and shook hands with him, saying +they'd soon offer congratulations to the winner. As the meeting took +place the agent did not fail to note how alike in build and manner were +the two men, how similar were their gestures. + +When at last the Returning Officer announced the result, the agent dared +not glance at his defeated chief. Yet he saw him go to Carnac and offer +a hand. + +"We've had a straight fight, Grier, and I hope you'll have luck in +Parliament. This is no place for me. It's your game, and I'll eat my +sour bread alone." + +He motioned to the window with a balcony, beyond which were the shouting +thousands. Then he smiled at Carnac, and in his heart he was glad he had +not used the facts about Luzanne before the public. The boy's face was +so glowing that his own youth came back, and a better spirit took +residence in him. He gave thanks to the Returning Officer, and then, +with his agent, left the building by the back door. He did not wait for +the announcement of Carnac's triumph, and he knew his work was done for +ever in public life. + +Soon he had said his say at the club where his supporters, discomfited, +awaited him. To demands for a speech, he said he owed to his workers +what he could never repay, and that the long years they had kept him in +Parliament would be the happiest memory of his life. + +"We'll soon have you back," shouted a voice from the crowd. + +"It's been a good fight," said Barode Barouche. Somehow the fact he had +not beaten his son by the story of his secret marriage was the sole +comfort he had. He advised his followers to "play the game" and let the +new member have his triumph without belittlement. + +"It's the best fight I've had in thirty years," he said at last, "and +I've been beaten fairly." + +In another hour he was driving into the country on his way to visit an +old ex-Cabinet Minister, who had been his friend through all the years +of his Parliamentary life. It did not matter that the hour was late. +He knew the veteran would be waiting for him, and unprepared for the bad +news he brought. The night was spent in pain of mind, and the comfort +the ex-Minister gave him, that a seat would be found for him by the +Government, gave him no thrill. He knew he had enemies in the +Government, that the Prime Minister was the friend of the successful +only, and that there were others, glad of his defeat, who would be +looking for his place. Also he was sure he had injured the chances +of the Government by the defeat of his policy. + +As though Creation was in league against him, a heavy storm broke about +two o'clock, and he went to bed cursed by torturing thoughts. "Chickens +come home to roost--" Why did that ancient phrase keep ringing in his +ears when he tried to sleep? Beaten by his illegitimate son at the +polls, the victim of his own wrong-doing--the sacrifice of penalty! +He knew that his son, inheriting his own political gifts, had done what +could have been done by no one else. All the years passed since Carnac +was begotten laid their deathly hands upon him, and he knew he could +never recover from this defeat. How much better it would have been if he +had been struck twenty-seven years ago! + +Youth, ambition and resolve would have saved him from the worst then. +Age has its powers, but it has its defects, and he had no hope that his +own defects would be wiped out by luck at the polls. Spirit was gone out +of him, longing for the future had no place in his mind; in the world of +public work he was dead and buried. How little he had got from all his +life! How few friends he had, and how few he was entitled to have! This +is one of the punishments that selfishness and wrong-doing brings; it +gives no insurance for the hours of defeat and loss. Well, wealth and +power, the friends so needed in dark days, had not been made, and Barode +Barouche realized he had naught left. He had been too successful from +the start; he had had all his own way; and he had taken no pains to make +or keep friends. He well knew there was no man in the Cabinet or among +his colleagues that would stir to help him--he had stirred to help no man +in all the years he had served the public. It was no good only to serve +the public, for democracy is a weak stick on which to lean. One must +stand by individuals or there is no defence against the malicious foes +that follow the path of defeat, that ambush the way. It is the personal +friends made in one's own good days that watch the path and clear away +the ambushers. It is not big influential friends that are so important +--the little unknown man may be as useful as the big boss in the mill of +life; and if one stops to measure one's friends by their position, the +end is no more sure than if one makes no friends at all. + +"There's nothing left for me in life--nothing at all," he said as he +tossed in bed while the thunder roared and the storm beat down the +shrubs. "How futile life is--'Youth's a dream, middle age a delusion, +old age a mistake!'" he kept repeating to himself in quotation. "What +does one get out of it? Nothing--nothing--nothing! It's all a poor show +at the best, and yet--is it? Is it all so bad? Is it all so poor and +gaunt and hopeless? Isn't there anything in it for the man who gives and +does his best?" + +Suddenly there came upon him the conviction that life is only futile to +the futile, that it is only a failure to those who prove themselves +incompetent, selfish and sordid; but to those who live life as it ought +to be lived, there is no such thing as failure, or defeat, or penalty, +or remorse or punishment. Because the straight man has only good ends to +serve, he has no failures; though he may have disappointments, he has no +defeats; for the true secret of life is to be content with what is +decreed, to earn bread and make store only as conscience directs, and not +to set one's heart on material things. + +He got out of bed soon after daylight, dressed, and went to the stable +and hitched his horse to the buggy. The world was washed clean, that was +sure. It was muddy under foot, but it was a country where the roads soon +dried, and he would suffer little inconvenience from the storm. He bade +his host good-bye and drove away intent to reach the city in time for +breakfast. He found the roads heavy, and the injury of the storm was +everywhere to be seen. Yet it all did not distract him, for he was +thinking hard of the things that lay ahead of him to do--the heart- +breaking things that his defeat meant to him. + +At last he approached a bridge across a stream which had been badly swept +by the storm. It was one of the covered bridges not uncommon in Canada. +It was not long, as the river was narrow, and he did not see that the +middle pier of the bridge had been badly injured. Yet as he entered the +bridge, his horse still trotting, he was conscious of a hollow, semi- +thunderous noise which seemed not to belong to the horse's hoofs and the +iron wheels of the carriage. He raised his eyes to see that the other +end of the bridge was clear, and at that moment he was conscious of an +unsteady motion of the bridge, of a wavering of the roof, and then, +before he had time to do aught, he saw the roof and the sides and the +floor of the bridge collapse and sink slowly down. + +With a cry, he sprang from the carriage to retrace his way; but he only +climbed up a ladder that grew every instant steeper; and all at once he +was plunged downwards after his horse and carriage into the stream. He +could swim, and as he swept down this thought came to him--that he might +be able to get the shore, as he heard the cries of people on the bank. +It was a hope that died at the moment of its birth, however, for he was +struck by a falling timber on the head. + +When, an hour later, he was found in an eddy of the river by the shore, +he was dead, and his finders could only compose his limbs decently. But +in the afternoon, the papers of Montreal had the following head-lines; + +DEFEAT AND DEATH OF BARODE BAROUCHE THE END OF A LONG AND GREAT CAREER + +As soon as Carnac Grier heard the news, he sent a note to his mother +telling her all he knew. When she read the letter, she sank to the +floor, overcome. Her son had triumphed indeed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +A WOMAN WRITES A LETTER + +The whole country rang with the defeat and death of Barode Barouche, +and the triumph of the disinherited son of John Grier. Newspapers drew +differing lessons from the event, but all admitted that Carnac, as a +great fighter, was entitled to success. The Press were friendly to the +memory of Barode Barouche, and some unduly praised his work, and only a +few disparaged his career. + +When news of the tragedy came to Mrs. Grier, she was reading in the +papers of Carnac's victory, and in her mind was an agonizing triumph, +pride in a stern blow struck for punishment. The event was like none +she could have imagined. + +It was at this moment the note came from Carnac telling of Barouche's +death, and it dropped from her hand to the floor. The horror of it smote +her being, and, like one struck by lightning, she sank to the floor +unconscious. The thing had hit her where soul and body were closely +knit; and she had realized for the first time how we all must pay to the +last penny for every offence we commit against the laws of life and +nature. Barode Barouche had paid and she must pay--she also who had +sinned with him must pay. But had she not paid? + +For long she lay unconscious, but at last the servant, unknowing why she +was not called to remove the breakfast things, found her huddled on the +floor, her face like that of death. The servant felt her heart, saw she +was alive, and worked with her till consciousness came back. + +"That's right, ma'am, keep up heart. I'll send for M'sieu' Carnac at +once, and we'll have you all right pretty quick." + +But Mrs. Grier forbade Carnac to be sent for, and presently in her bed, +declined to have the doctor brought. "It's no use," she said. "A doctor +can do no good. I need rest, that's all." + +Then she asked for notepaper and pen and ink, and so she was left alone. +She must tell her beloved son why it was there never had been, and never +could be, understanding between John Grier and himself. She had arrived +at that point where naught was to be gained by further concealment. So +through long hours she struggled with her problem, and she was glad +Carnac did not come during the vexing day. He had said when he sent her +word of his victory, that he feared he would not be able to see her the +next day at all, as he had so much to do. She even declined to see Junia +when she came, sending word that she was in bed, indisposed. + +The letter she wrote ran thus: + + MY BELOVED CARNAC, + + Your news of the death of Barode Barouche has shocked me. You will + understand when I tell you I have lived a life of agony ever since + you became a candidate. This is why: you were fighting the man who + gave you to the world. + + Let me tell you how. I loved John Grier when I married him, and + longed to make my life fit in with his. But that could not easily + be, for his life was wedded to his business, and he did not believe + in women. To him they were incapable of the real business of life, + and were only meant to be housekeepers to men who make the world go + round. So, unintentionally, he neglected me, and I was young and + comely then, so the world said, and I was unwise and thoughtless. + + Else, I should not have listened to Barode Barouche, who, one summer + in camp on the St. Lawrence River near our camp, opened up for me + new ways of thought, and springs of feeling. He had the gifts that + have made you what you are, a figure that all turn twice to see. He + had eloquence, he was thoughtful in all the little things which John + Grier despised. In the solitude of the camp he wound himself about + my life, and roused an emotion for him false to duty. And so one + day--one single day, for never but the once was I weak, yet that was + enough, God knows. . . . He went away because I would not see + him again; because I would not repeat the offence which gave me + years of sorrow and remorse. + + After you became a candidate, he came and offered to marry me, tried + to reopen the old emotion; but I would have none of it. He was + convinced he would defeat you, and he wanted to avoid fighting you. + But when I said, 'Give up the seat to him,' he froze. Of course, + his seat belonged to his party and not alone to himself; but that + was the test I put him to, and the answer he gave was, 'You want me + to destroy my career in politics! That is your proposal, is it?' + He was not honest either in life or conduct. I don't think he ever + was sorry for me or for you, until perhaps these last few weeks; but + I have sorrowed ever since the day you came to me very day, every + hour, every minute; and the more because I could not tell John Grier + the truth. + + Perhaps I ought to have told the truth long ago, and faced the + consequences. It might seem now that I would have ruined my home + life, and yours, and Barode Barouche's, and John Grier's life if I + had told the truth; but who knows! There are many outcomes to + life's tragedies, and none might have been what I fancied. It is + little comfort that Barode Barouche has now given all for payment of + his debt. It gives no peace of mind. And it may be you will think + I ought not to tell you the truth. I don't know, but I feel you + will not misunderstand. I tell you my story, so that you may again + consider if it is not better to face the world with the truth about + Luzanne. We can live but once, and it is to our good if we refuse + the secret way. It is right you should know the truth about your + birth, but it is not right you should declare it to all the world + now. That was my duty long ago, and I did not do it. It is not + your duty, and you must not do it. Barode Barouche is gone; John + Grier has gone; and it would only hurt Fabian and his wife and you + to tell it now. You inherit Barode Barouche's gifts, and you have + his seat, you represent his people--and they are your people too. + You have French blood in your veins, and you have a chance to carry + on with honour what he did with skill. Forgive me, if you can. + + Your loving + + MOTHER. + + P.S. Do nothing till you see me. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +CARNAL AND HIS MOTHER + +Returning from Barode Barouche's home to his mother's House on the Hill, +Carnac was in a cheerless mood. With Barouche's death to Carnac it was +as though he himself had put aside for ever the armour of war, for +Barouche was the only man in the world who had ever tempted him to fight, +or whom he had fought. + +There was one thing he must do: he must go to Junia, tell her he loved +her, and ask her to be his wife. She had given him the fatal blue +certificate of his marriage and the marriage could now be ended with +Luzanne's consent, for she would not fight the divorce he must win soon. +He could now tell the truth, if need be, to his constituents, for there +would be time enough to recover his position, if it were endangered, +before the next election came, and Junia would be by his side to help +him! Junia--would she, after all, marry him now? He would soon know. +To-night he must spend with his mother, but to-morrow he would see Junia +and learn his fate, and know about Luzanne. Luzanne had been in +Montreal, had been ready to destroy his chance at the polls, and Junia +had stopped it. How? Well, he should soon know. But now, at first, +for his mother. + +When he entered the House on the Hill, he had a sudden shiver. Somehow, +the room where his mother had sat for so many years, and where he had +last seen his father, John Grier, had a coldness of the tomb. There was +a letter on the centre table standing against the lamp. He saw it was in +his mother's handwriting, and addressed to himself. + +He tore it open, and began to read. Presently his cheeks turned pale. +More than once he put it down, for it seemed impossible to go on, but +with courage he took it up again and read on to the end. + +"God--God in Heaven!" he broke out when he had finished it. For a long +time he walked the floor, trembling in body and shaking in spirit. "Now +I understand everything," he said at last aloud in a husky tone. "Now I +see what I could not see--ah yes, I see at last!" + +For another time of silence and turmoil he paced the floor, then he +stopped short. "I'm glad they both are dead," he said wearily. Thinking +of Barode Barouche, he had a great bitterness. "To treat any woman so-- +how glad I am I fought him! He learned that such vile acts come home at +last." + +Then he thought of John Grier. "I loathed him and loved him always," he +said with terrible remorse in his tone. "He used my mother badly, and +yet he was himself; he was the soul that he was born, a genius in his own +way, a neglecter of all that makes life beautiful--and yet himself, +always himself. He never pottered. He was real--a pirate, a plunderer, +but he was real. And he cared for me, and would have had me in the +business if he could. Perhaps John Grier knows the truth now! . . . +I hope he does. For, if he does, he'll see that I was not to blame for +what I did, that it was Fate behind me. He was a big man, and if I'd +worked with him, we'd have done big things, bigger than he did, and that +was big enough." + +"Do nothing till you see me," his mother had written in a postscript to +her letter, and, with a moroseness at his heart and scorn of Barouche at +his lips, he went slowly up to his mother's room. At her door he paused. +But the woman was his mother, and it must be faced. After all, she had +kept faith ever since he was born. He believed that. She had been an +honest wife ever since that fatal summer twenty-seven years before. + +"She has suffered," he said, and knocked at her door. An instant later +he was inside the room. There was only a dim light, but his mother was +sitting up in her bed, a gaunt and yet beautiful, sad-eyed figure of a +woman. For a moment Carnac paused. As he stood motionless, the face of +the woman became more drawn and haggard, the eyes more deeply mournful. +Her lips opened as though she would speak, but no sound came, and Carnac +could hardly bear to look at her. Yet he did look, and all at once there +rushed into his heart the love he had ever felt for her. After all, he +was her son, and she had not wronged him since his birth. And he who had +wronged her and himself was dead, his pathway closed for ever to the +deeds of life and time. As he looked, his eyes filled with tears and his +lips compressed. At last he came to the bed. Her letter was in his +hand. + +"I have read it, mother." + +She made no reply, but his face was good for her eyes to see. It had no +hatred or repulsion. + +"I know everything now," he added. "I see it all, and I understand all +you have suffered these many years." + +"Oh, my son, you forgive your mother?" She was trembling with emotion. + +He leaned over and caught her wonderful head to his shoulder. "I love +you, mother," he said gently. "I need you--need you more than I ever +did." + +"I have no heart any more, and I fear for you--" + +"Why should you fear for me? You wanted me to beat him, didn't you?" +His face grew hard, his lips became scornful. "Wasn't it the only way to +make him settle his account?" + +"Yes, the only way. It was not that I fear for you in politics. I was +sure you would win the election. It was not that, it was the girl." + +"That's all finished. I am free at last," he said. He held the blue +certificate before her eyes. + +Her face was deadly pale, her eyes expanded, her breath came sharp and +quick. "How was it don how was it done? Was she here in Montreal?" + +"I don't know how it was done, but she was here, and Junia got this from +her. I shan't know how till I've seen Junia." + +"Junia is the best friend," said the stricken woman gently, "in all the +world; she's--" + +"She's so good a friend she must be told the truth," he said firmly. + +"Oh, not while I live! I could not bear that--" + +"How could I ask Junia to marry me and not tell her all the truth-- +mother, can't you see?" + +The woman's face flushed scarlet. "Ah, yes, I see, my boy--I see." + +"Haven't we had enough of secrecy--in your letter you lamented it! If it +was right for you to be secret all these years, is it not a hundred times +right now for me to tell you the truth. . . . I have no name--no +name," he added, tragedy in his tone. + +"You have my name. You may say I have no right to it, but it is the only +name I can carry; they both are dead, and I must keep it. It wrongs no +one living but you, and you have no hatred of me: you think I do not +wrong you--isn't that so?" + +His cheek was hot with feeling. "Yes, that's true," he said. "You must +still keep your married name." Then a great melancholy took hold of him, +and he could hardly hide it from her. She saw how he was moved, and she +tried to comfort him. + +"You think Junia will resent it all? . . . But that isn't what a girl +does when she loves. You have done no wrong; your hands are clean." + +"But I must tell her all. Tarboe is richer, he has an honest birth, he +is a big man and will be bigger still. She likes him, she--" + +"She will go to you without a penny, my son." + +"It will be almost without a penny, if you don't live," he said with a +faint smile. "I can't paint--for a time anyhow. I can't earn money for +a time. I've only my salary as a Member of Parliament and the little +that's left of my legacy; therefore, I must draw on you. And I don't +seem to mind drawing upon you; I never did." + +She smiled with an effort. "If I can help you, I shall justify living +on." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +TARBOE HAS A DREAM + +The day Carnac was elected it was clear to Tarboe that he must win Junia +at once, if he was ever to do so, for Carnac's new honours would play a +great part in influencing her. In his mind, it was now or never for +himself; he must bring affairs to a crisis. + +Junia's father was poor, but the girl had given their home an air of +comfort and an art belonging to larger spheres. The walls were covered +with brown paper, and on it were a few of her own water-colour drawings, +and a few old engravings of merit. Chintz was the cover on windows and +easy chairs, and in a corner of the parlour was a chintz-covered lounge +where she read of an evening. So it was that, with Carnac elected and +Barode Barouche buried, she sat with one of Disraeli's novels in her hand +busy with the future. She saw for Carnac a safe career, for his two +chief foes were gone--Luzanne Larue and Barode Barouche. Now she +understood why Carnac had never asked her to be his wife. She had had no +word with Carnac since his election--only a letter to thank her for the +marriage certificate and to say that after M. Barouche was buried he +would come to her, if he might. He did say, however, in the letter that +he owed her his election. + +"You've done a great, big thing for me, dearest friend, and I am your +ever grateful Carnac"--that was the way he had put it. Twice she had +gone to visit his mother, and had been told that Mrs. Grier was too ill +to see her--overstrain, the servant had said. She could not understand +being denied admittance; but it did not matter, for one day Mrs. Grier +should know how she--Junia-had saved her son's career. + +So she thought, as she gazed before her into space from the chintz- +covered lounge on the night of the day Barode Barouche was buried. There +was a smell of roses in the room. She had gathered many of them that +afternoon. She caught a bud from a bunch on a table, and fastened it in +the bosom of her dress. Somehow, as she did it, she had a feeling she +would like to clasp a man's head to her breast where the rose was--one +of those wild thoughts that come to the sanest woman at times. She was +captured by the excitement in which she had moved during the past month +--far more now than she had been in all the fight itself. + +There came a knock at the outer door, and before that of her own room +opened, she recognized the step of the visitor. So it was Tarboe had +come. He remembered that day in the street when he met Junia, and was +shown there were times when a woman could not be approached with emotion. +He had waited till the day he knew she was alone, for he had made a +friend of her servant by judicious gifts of money. + +"I hope you're glad to see me," he said with an uncertain smile, as he +saw her surprise. + +"I hope I am," she replied, and motioned him to a seat. He chose a high- +backed chair with a wide seat near the lounge. He made a motion of +humorous dissent to her remark, and sat down. + +"Well, we pulled it off somehow, didn't we?" she said. "Carnac Grier is +M.P." + +"And his foe is in his grave," remarked Tarboe dryly. "Providence pays +debts that ought to be paid. This election has settled a lot of things," +she returned with a smile. + +"I suppose it has, and I've come here to try and find one of the +settlements." + +"Well, find them," she retorted. + +"I said one of the settlements only. I have to be accurate in my life." + +"I'm glad to hear of it. You helped Mr. Grier win his election. It was +splendid of you. Think of it, Mr. Tarboe, Carnac Grier is beginning to +get even with his foes." + +"I'm not a foe--if that's what you mean. I've proved it." + +She smiled provokingly. "You've proved only you're not an absolute +devil, that's all. You've not proved yourself a real man--not yet. Do +you think it paid your debt to Carnac Grier that you helped get him into +Parliament?" + +His face became a little heated. "I'll prove to you and to the world +that I'm not an absolute devil in the Grier interests. I didn't steal +the property. I tried to induce John Grier to leave it to Carnac or his +mother, for if he'd left it to Mrs. Grier it would have come to Carnac. +He did not do it that way, though. He left it to me. Was I to blame for +that?" + +"Perhaps not, but you could have taken Carnac in, or given up the +property to him--the rightful owner. You could have done that. +But you were thinking of yourself altogether." + +"Not altogether. In the first place, I am bound to keep my word to John +Grier. Besides, if Carnac had inherited, the property would have got +into difficulties--there were things only John Grier and I understood, +and Carnac would have been floored." + +"Wouldn't you still have been there?" + +"Who knows! Who can tell! Maybe not!" + +"Carnac Grier is a very able man." + +"But of the ablest. He'll be a success in Parliament. He'll play a big +part; he won't puddle about. I meant there was a risk in letting Carnac +run the business at the moment, and--" + +"And there never was with you!" + +"None. My mind had grasped all John Grier intended, and I have the +business at my fingers' ends. There was no risk with me. I've proved +it. I've added five per cent to the value of the business since John +Grier died. I can double the value of it in twenty years--and easy at +that." + +"If you make up your mind to do it, you will," she said with admiration, +for the man was persuasive, and he was playing a game in which he was a +master. + +Her remarks were alive with banter, for Tarboe's humour was a happiness +to her. + +"How did I buy your approval?" he questioned alertly. + +"By ability to put a bad case in a good light. You had your case, and +you have made a real success. If you keep on you may become a Member of +Parliament some day!" + +He laughed. "Your gifts have their own way of stinging. I don't believe +I could be elected to Parliament. I haven't the trick of popularity of +that kind." + +Many thoughts flashed through Tarboe's mind. If he married her now, and +the truth was told about the wills and the law gave Carnac his rights, +she might hate him for not having told her when he proposed. So it was +that in his desire for her life as his own, he now determined there +should be no second will. In any case, Carnac had enough to live on +through his mother. Also, he had capacity to support himself. There was +a touch of ruthlessness in Tarboe. No one would ever guess what the +second will contained--no one. The bank would have a letter saying where +the will was to be found, but if it was not there! + +He would ask Junia to be his wife now, while she was so friendly. Her +eyes were shining, her face was alive with feeling, and he was aware that +the best chances of his life had come to win her. If she was not now in +the hands of Carnac, his chances were good. Yet there was the tale of +the secret marriage--the letter he saw Carnac receive in John Grier's +office! The words of the ancient Greek came to him as he looked at her: +"He who will not strike when the hour comes shall wither like a flower, +and his end be that of the chaff of the field." + +His face flushed with feeling, his eyes grew bright with longing, his +tongue was loosed to the enterprise. "Do you dream, and remember your +dreams?" he asked with a thrill in his voice. "Do you?" + +"I don't dream often, but I sometimes remember my dreams." + +"I dream much, and one dream I have constantly." + +"What is it?" she asked with anticipation. + +"It is the capture of a wild bird in a garden--in a cultivated garden +where there are no nests, no coverts for the secret invaders. I dream +that I pursue the bird from flower-bed to flower-bed, from bush to bush, +along paths and the green-covered walls; and I am not alone in my chase, +for there are others pursuing. It is a bitter struggle to win the wild +thing. And why? Because there is pursuing one of the pursuers another +bird of red plumage. Do you understand?" + +He paused, and saw her face was full of colour and her eyes had a glow. +Every nerve in her was pulsing hard. + +"Tell me," she said presently, "whom do you mean by the bird of red +plumage? Is it a mere figure of speech? Or has it a real meaning?" + +"It has a real meaning." + +He rose to his feet, bent over her and spoke hotly. "Junia, the end of +my waiting has come. I want you as I never wanted anything in my life. +I must know the truth. I love you, Junia. I have loved you from the +first moment I saw you, and nothing is worth while with you not in it. +Let us work together. It is a big, big game I'm playing." + +"Yes, it's a big game you're playing," she said with emotion. "It is a +big, big game, and, all things considered, you should win it, but I doubt +you will. I feel there are matters bigger than the game, or than you, or +me, or anyone else. And I do not believe in your bird of red plumage; I +don't believe it exists. It may have done so, but it doesn't now." + +She also got to her feet, and Tarboe was so near her she could feel his +hot breath on her cheek. + +"No, it doesn't exist now," she repeated, "and the pursuer is not +pursued. You have more imagination than belongs to a mere man of +business--you're an inexperienced poet." + +He caught her hand and drew it to his breast. "The only poetry I know is +the sound of your voice in the wind, the laughter of your lips in the +sun, the delight of your body in the heavenly flowers. Yes, I've drunk +you in the wild woods; I've trailed you on the river; I've heard you in +the grinding storm--always the same, the soul of all beautiful things. +Junia, you shall not put me away from you. You shall be mine, and +you and I together shall win our way to great ends. We will have +opportunity, health, wealth and prosperity. Isn't it worth while?" + +"Yes," she answered after a moment, "but it cannot be with you, my +friend." + +She withdrew her fingers and stepped back; she made a gesture of friendly +repulsion. "You have said all that can be said, you have gifts greater +than you yourself believe; and I have been tempted; but it is no use, +there are deeper things than luxuries and the magazines of merchandise-- +much deeper. No, no, I cannot marry you; if you were as rich as Midas, +as powerful as Caesar, I would not marry you--never, never, never." + +"You love another," he said boldly. "You love Carnac Grier." + +"I do not love you--isn't that enough?" + +"Almost--almost enough," he said, embarrassed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +THIS WAY HOME + +All Junia had ever felt of the soul of things was upon her as she +arranged flowers and listened to the church bells ringing. + +"They seem to be always ringing," she said to herself, as she lightly +touched the roses. "It must be a Saint's Day--where's Denzil? Ah, there +he is in the garden! I'll ask him." + +Truth is, she was deceiving herself. She wanted to talk with Denzil +about all that had happened of late, and he seemed, somehow, to avoid +her. Perhaps he feared she had given her promise to Tarboe who had, as +Denzil knew, spent an hour with her the night before. As this came to +Denzil's brain, he felt a shiver go through him. Just then he heard +Junia's footsteps, and saw her coming towards him. + +"Why are the bells ringing so much, Denzil? Is it a Saint's Day?" she +asked. + +He took off his hat. "Yes, ma'm'selle, it is a Saint's Day," and he +named it. "There were lots of neighbours at early Mass, and some have +gone to the Church of St. Anne de Beaupre at Beaupre, them that's got +sickness." + +"Yes, Beaupre is as good as Lourdes, I'm sure. Why didn't you go, +Denzil?" + +"Why should I go, ma'm'selle--I ain't sick--ah, bah!" + +"I thought you were. You've been in low spirits ever since our election, +Denzil." + +"Nothing strange in that, ma'm'selle. I've been thinking of him that's +gone." + +"You mean Monsieur Barouche, eh?" + +"Not of M'sieu' Barouche, but of the father to the man that beat M'sieu' +Barouche." + +"Why should you be thinking so much of John Grier these days?" + +"Isn't it the right time? His son that he threw off without a penny has +proved himself as big a man as his father--ah, surelee! M'sieu' left +behind him a will that gave all he had to a stranger. His own son was +left without a sou. There he is now," he added, nodding towards the +street. + +Junia saw Carnac making his way towards her house. "Well, I'll talk with +him," she said, and her face flushed. She knew she must give account of +her doings with Luzanne Larue. + +A few moments later in the house, her hand lay in that of Carnac, and his +eyes met hers. + +"It's all come our way, Junia," he remarked gaily, though there was +sadness in his tone. + +"It's as you wanted it. You won." + +"Thanks to you, Junia," and he took from his pocket the blue certificate. + +"That--oh, that was not easy to get," she said with agitation. "She had +a bad purpose, that girl." + +"She meant to announce it?" + +"Yes, through Barode Barouche. He agreed to that." + +Carnac flushed. "He agreed to that--you know it?" + +"Yes. The day you were made candidate she arrived here; and the next +morning she went to Barode Barouche and told her story. He bade her +remain secret till the time was ripe, and he was to be the judge of that. +He was waiting for the night before the election. Then he was going to +strike you and win!" + +"She told you that--Luzanne told you that?" + +"And much else. Besides, she told me you had saved her life from the +street-cars; that you had played fair at the start." + +"First and last I played fair," he said indignantly. + +Her eyes were shining. "Not from first to last, Carnac. You ought not +to have painted her, or made much of her and then thrown her over. She +knew--of course she knew, after a time, that you did not mean to propose +to her, and all the evil in her came out. Then she willed to have you in +spite of yourself, believing, if you were married, her affection would +win you in the end. There it was--and you were to blame." + +"But why should you defend her, Junia?" + +Her tongue became bitter now. "Just as you would, if it was some one +else and not yourself." + +His head was sunk on his breast, his eyes were burning. "It was a +horrible thing for Barouche to plan." + +"Why so horrible? If you were hiding a marriage for whatever reason, it +should be known to all whose votes you wanted." + +"Barouche was the last man on earth to challenge me, for he had a most +terrible secret." + +"What was it?" Her voice had alarm, for she had never seen Carnac so +disturbed. + +"He was fighting his own son--and he knew it!" The words came in broken +accents. + +"He was fighting his own son, and he knew it! You mean to say that!" +Horror was in her voice. + +"I mean that the summer before I was born--" + +He told her the story as his mother had told it to him. Then at last he +said: + +"And now you know Barode Barouche got what he deserved. He ruined my +mother's life; he died the easiest death such a man could die. He has +also spoiled my life." + +"Nothing can spoil your life except yourself," she declared firmly, and +she laid a hand upon his arm. "Who told you all this--and when?" + +"My mother in a letter last night. I had a talk with her afterwards." + +"Who else knows?" "Only you." + +"And why did you tell me?" + +"Because I want you to know why our ways must for ever lie apart." + +"I don't grasp what you mean," she declared in a low voice. + +"You don't grasp why, loving you, I didn't ask you to marry me long ago; +but you found out for yourself from the one who was responsible, and +freed me and saved me; and now you know I am an illegitimate son." + +"And you want to cut me out of your life for a bad man's crime, not your +own. . . . Listen, Carnac. Last night I told Mr. Tarboe I could not +marry him. He is rich, he has control of a great business, he is a man +of mark. Why do you suppose I did it, and for over two years have done +the same?--for he has wanted me all that time. Does not a girl know when +a real man wants her? And Luke Tarboe is a real man. He knows what he +wants, and he goes for it, and little could stop him as he travels. Why +do you suppose I did it?" Her face flushed, anger lit her eyes. +"Because there was another man; but I've only just discovered he's a +sham, with no real love for me. It makes me sorry I ever knew him." + +"Me--no real love for you! That's not the truth: it's because I have no +real name to give you--that's why I've spoken as I have. Never have I +cared for anyone except you, Junia, and I could have killed anyone that +wronged you--" + +"Kill yourself then," she flashed. + +"Have I wronged you, Junia?" + +"If you kept me waiting and prevented me from marrying a man I could have +loved, if I hated you--if you did that, and then at last told me to go my +ways, don't you think it wronging me! Don't be a fool, Carnac. You're +not the only man on earth a good girl could love. I tell you, again and +again I have been moved towards Luke Tarboe, and if he had had +understanding of women, I should now be his wife." + +"You tell me what I have always known," he interposed. "I knew Tarboe +had a hold on your heart. I'm not so vain as to think I've always been +the one man for you. I lived long in anxious fear, and--" + +"And now you shut the door in my face! Looked at from any standpoint, +it's ugly." + +"I want you to have your due," he answered with face paler. "You're a +great woman--the very greatest, and should have a husband born in honest +wedlock." + +"I'm the best judge of what I want," she declared almost sharply, yet +there was a smile at her lips. "Why, I suppose if John Grier had left +you his fortune, you'd give it up; you'd say, 'I have no right to it,' +and would give it to my brother-in-law, Fabian." + +"I should." + +"Yet Fabian had all he deserved from his father. He has all he should +have, and he tried to beat his father in business. Carnac, don't be a +bigger fool than there's any need to be. What is better than that John +Grier's business should be in Tarboe's hands--or in yours? Remember, +John Grier might have left it all to your mother, and, if he had, you'd +have taken it, if she had left it to you. You'd have taken it even if +you meant to give it away afterwards. There are hospitals to build. +There are good and costly things to do for the State." + +Suddenly she saw in his eyes a curious soft understanding, and she put +her hand on his shoulder. "Carnac," she said gently, "great, great +Carnac, won't you love me?" + +For an instant he felt he must still put her from him, then he clasped +her to his breast. + +"But I really had to throw myself into your arms!" she said later. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +"HALVES, PARDNER, HALVES" + +It was Thanksgiving Day, and all the people of the Province were en fete. +The day was clear, and the air was thrilling with the spirits of the +north country; the vibrant sting of oxygen, the blessed resilience of the +river and the hills. + +It was a great day on the St. Lawrence, for men were preparing to go to +the backwoods, to the "shanties," and hosts were busy with the crops, +storing them; while all in trade and industry were cheerful. There was a +real benedicite in the air. In every church. Catholic and Protestant, +hands of devoted workers had made beautiful altar and communion table, +and lectern and pulpit, and in the Methodist chapel and the Presbyterian +kirk, women had made the bare interiors ornate. The bells of all the +churches were ringing, French and English; and each priest, clergyman and +minister was moving his people in his own way and by his own ritual to +bless God and live. + +In the city itself, the Mayor had arranged a festival in the evening, and +there were gathered many people to give thanks. But those most +conspicuous were the poor, unsophisticated habitants, who were on good +terms with the refreshment provided. Their enthusiasm was partly due to +the presence of Carnac Grier. In his speech to the great crowd, among +other things the Mayor said: "It is our happiness that we have here one +whose name is familiar to all in French-Canada--that of the new Member of +Parliament, Monsieur Carnac Grier. In Monsieur Grier we have a man who +knows his own mind, and it is filled with the interests of the French as +well as the English. He is young, he has power, and he will use his +youth and power to advance the good of the whole country. May he live +long!" + +Carnac never spoke better in his life than in his brief reply. When he +had finished, some one touched his arm. It was Luke Tarboe. + +"A good speech, Grier. Can you give me a few moments?" + +"Here?" asked Carnac, smiling. + +"Not here, but in the building. There is a room where we can be alone, +and I have to tell you something of great importance." + +"Of great importance? Well, so have I to tell you, Tarboe." + +A few minutes later they were in the Mayor's private parlour, hung with +the portraits of past Governors and Mayors, and carrying over the door +the coat-of-arms of the Province. + +Presently Carnac said: "Let me give you my news first, Tarboe: I am to +marry Junia Shale--and soon." + +Tarboe nodded. "I expected that. She is worth the best the world can +offer." There was a ring of honesty in his tone. "All the more reason +why I should tell you what my news is, Carnac. I'm going to tell you +what oughtn't yet to be told for another two years, but I feel it due +you, for you were badly used, and so I break my word to your father." + +Carnac's hand shot out in protest, but Tarboe took no notice. "I mean to +tell you now in the hour of your political triumph that--" + +"That I can draw on you for ten thousand dollars, perhaps?" shot out +Carnac. + +"Not for ten thousand, but in two years' time--or to-morrow--for a +hundred and fifty times that if you want it." + +Carnac shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what you're driving at, +Tarboe. Two years from now--or to-morrow--I can draw on you for a +hundred and fifty times ten thousand dollars! What does that mean? Is +it you're tired of the fortune left you by the biggest man industrially +French-Canada has ever known?" + +"I'll tell you the truth--I never had a permanent fortune, and I was +never meant to have the permanent fortune, though I inherited by will. +That was a matter between John Grier and myself. There was another will +made later, which left the business to some one else." + +"I don't see." + +"Of course you don't see, and yet you must." Tarboe then told the story +of the making of the two wills, doing justice to John Grier. + +"He never did things like anyone else, and he didn't in dying. He loved +you, Carnac. In spite of all he said and did he believed in you. He +knew you had the real thing in you, if you cared to use it." + +"Good God! Good God!" was all Carnac could at first say. "And you +agreed to that?" + +"What rights had I? None at all. I'll come out of it with over a half- +million dollars--isn't that enough for a backwoodsman? I get the profits +of the working for three years, and two hundred thousand dollars besides. +I ought to be satisfied with that." + +"Who knows of the will besides yourself?" asked Carnac sharply. + +"No one. There is a letter to the bank simply saying that another will +exists and where it is, but that's all. + +"And you could have destroyed that will in my favour?" + +"That's so." The voice of Tarboe was rough with feeling, his face grew +dark. "More than once I willed to destroy it. It seemed at first I +could make better use of the property than you. The temptation was big, +but I held my own, and now I've no fear of meeting anyone in Heaven or +Hell. I've told you all. . . . + +"Not quite all. There's one thing more. The thought of Junia Shale made +me want to burn the second will, and I almost did it; but I'm glad I +didn't." + +"If you had, and had married her, you wouldn't have been happy. You +can't be fooling a wife and be safe." + +"I guess I know that--just in time. . . . I have a bad heart, Carnac. +Your property came to me against my will through your father, but I +wanted the girl you're going to marry, and against my will you won +her. I fought for her. I thought there was a chance for me, because of +the rumour you were secretly married--" + +"I'll tell you about it, Tarboe, now. It was an ugly business." And he +told in a dozen sentences the story of Luzanne and the false marriage. + +When he had finished, Tarboe held out his hand. "It was a close shave, +Carnac." + +After a few further remarks, Tarboe said: "I thought there was a chance +for me with Junia Shale, but there never was a real one, for she was +yours from a child. You won her fairly, Carnac. If you'll come to the +office to-morrow morning, I'll show you the will." + +"You'll show me the will?" asked Carnac with an edge to his tone. + +"What do you mean?" Tarboe did not like the look in the other's eyes. + +"I mean, what you have you shall keep, and what John Grier leaves me by +that will, I will not keep." + +"You will inherit, and you shall keep." + +"And turn you out!" remarked Carnac ironically. "I needn't be turned +out. I hoped you'd keep me as manager. Few could do it as well, and, as +Member of Parliament, you haven't time yourself. I'll stay as manager at +twenty thousand dollars a year, if you like." + +Carnac could not tell him the real reason for declining to inherit, but +that did not matter. Yet there flashed into his heart a love, which he +had never felt so far in his life, for John Grier. The old man had +believed he would come out right in the end, and so had left him the +fortune in so odd a way. How Carnac longed to tell Tarboe the whole +truth about Barode Barouche, and yet dare not! After a short time of +hesitation and doubt, Carnac said firmly: + +"I'll stand by the will, if you'll be my partner and manager, Tarboe. If +you'll take half the business and manage the whole of it, I'll sell the +half for a dollar to you, and we can run together to the end." + +Tarboe's face lighted; there was triumph in his eyes. It was all better +than he had dared to hope, for he liked the business, and he loathed the +way the world had looked at John Grier's will. + +"Halves, pardner, halves!" he said, assenting gladly, and held out his +hand. + +They clasped hands warmly. + +The door opened and Junia appeared. She studied their faces anxiously. +When she saw the smiling light in them: + +"Oh, you two good men!" she said joyously, and held out a hand to each. + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +Don't be a bigger fool than there's any need to be +Life is only futile to the futile +Youth's a dream, middle age a delusion, old age a mistake + + + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE "CARNAC'S FOLLY": + +All genius is at once a blessing or a curse +Do what you feel you've got to do, and never mind what happens +Don't be a bigger fool than there's any need to be +Had got unreasonably old +How many sons have ever added to their father's fame? +Life is only futile to the futile +Never give up your soul to things only, keep it for people +We suffer the shames we damn in others +We do what we forbid ourselves to do +Youth's a dream, middle age a delusion, old age a mistake + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CARNAC'S FOLLY, BY PARKER, ENTIRE *** + +*********** This file should be named gp12610.txt or gp12610.zip *********** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, gp12611.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, gp12610a.txt + +This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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