The Protector

“Oh!” exclaimed Mabel, “you’re as bad as the silly people who call killing things cruelty. I wouldn’t have thought it of you.”

“I’ve seen him,” said Vane, “drop a deer going almost as fast as a locomotive through thick brush, with a single-shot rifle, and I believe he once assisted in killing a panther in a thicket you couldn’t see two yards ahead in. The point is, that he meant to eat the deer, and the panther had been taking a rancher’s hogs.”

“Then I’m sorry I brought him,” said Mabel decidedly. “He’s not a sportsman.”

“I really think there’s some excuse for the more vigorous sports,” Evelyn declared. “Of course, you can’t eliminate a certain amount of cruelty; but admitting that, isn’t it just as well that men who live in a luxurious civilisation should be willing to plod through miles of heather after grouse, risk their limbs on horseback, or spend hours in cold water? These are bracing things; they imply moral discipline. It can’t be nice to ride at a dangerous fence, or flounder down a rapid after an otter when you’re stiff with cold. The effort to do so must be wholesome.”

“A sure thing,” Carroll agreed. “The only drawback is that when you’ve got your fox or otter, it isn’t worth anything. A good many of the folks in the newer lands have to make something of the kind of effort you described every day. In their case, the results are waggon-trails, valleys cleared for orchards, new branch railroads. I suppose it’s a matter of opinion, but if I’d put in a season’s risky work I’d sooner have a piece of land to grow fruit on, or a share in a mineral claim – you get plenty of excitement in prospecting – than a fox’s tail. But there are people in Canada who wouldn’t agree with me.”

He strolled along the water’s edge with Evelyn, and presently looked round.

“Mopsy’s gone, and I don’t see Vane,” he said.

“After all, he’s one of us. If you’re born in the North Country, it’s hard to keep out of the river when you hear the otter hounds.”

They took up their station behind a growth of alders, and for a while the dogs went trotting by in twos and threes or swam about the pool, but nothing else broke the surface of the leaden-coloured water. Then there was a cry, an outbreak of shouting, a confused baying, and half a dozen hounds dashed past. Evelyn stretched out her hand.

“Look!” she said.

Carroll saw a small grey spot – the top of the otter’s head – moving across the slacker part of the pool, with a very slight, wedge-shaped ripple trailing away from it. It sank next moment; a bubble or two rose, and then there was nothing but the smooth flow of water.

A horn called shrilly, a few whip-cracks rang out like pistol shots, and the dogs took to the water, swimming slowly here and there. Men scrambled along the bank and while some, entering the river, reinforced the line spread out across the head rapid, others joined the second row, wading steadily up-stream, and splashed about as they advanced with iron-tipped poles. Nothing rewarded their efforts; the dogs turned and went down-stream; and then suddenly everybody ran or waded towards the tall outflow. A clamour of shouting and baying broke out, and floundering men and swimming dogs went down the stream together in a confused mass. Then there was silence, and the hounds came out and trotted to and fro along the bank, up which dripping men clambered after them. Evelyn laughed as she pointed to Vane, who looked wetter than most, among the leading group.

“I don’t suppose he meant to go in. It’s in the blood,” she said.

“There’s no reason why he shouldn’t, if it amuses him,” Carroll replied.

A little later, the dogs were driven in again, and this time the whole of the otter’s head was visible as it swam, up-stream. The animal was flagging, and on reaching shoaler water it sprang out altogether now and then, rising and falling in the stronger stream with a curious serpentine motion. In fact, as head and body bent in the same sinuous curves, it looked less like an animal than a plunging fish. The men guarding the rapid stood ready with their poles, and more were wading and splashing up both sides of the pool. The otter’s pace was getting slower; sometimes it seemed to stop, and now and then it vanished among the ripples. Carroll saw that Evelyn’s face was intent, though there were signs of shrinking in it.

“Now,” he said, “I’ll tell you what you are thinking – you want that poor little beast to get away.”

“I believe I do,” Evelyn confessed.

They watched with strained attention. The girl could not help it, though, she dreaded the climax. Her sympathies were now with the hard pressed, exhausted creature that was making a desperate fight for life. The pursuers were close behind it, the swimming dogs leading them; and ahead lay a foaming rush of water which did not seem more than a foot deep with men spread out across it. The shouting from the bank had ceased, and everybody waited in tense expectancy, when the otter disappeared.

The dogs reached the rapid, where they were washed back a few yards before they could make head up-stream. Men who came splashing close upon their tails left the river to scramble along its edge; and then stopped abruptly, while the dogs swam in an uncertain manner about the still reach beyond. They came out in a few minutes, and scampered up and down among the stones, evidently at fault, for there was no sign of the otter anywhere. The hunted creature had crept up the rush of water among the feet of those who watched for it, and vanished unseen into the sheltering depths beyond.

Evelyn sighed with relief. “I think it will escape,” she said. “The river’s rather full after the rain, which is against the dogs, and there isn’t another shallow for some distance. Shall we go on?”

They strolled forward behind the dogs, which were again moving up-stream; but they turned aside to avoid a wood, and it was some time later when they came out upon a rocky promontory dropping steeply to the river. The hunt was now widely scattered about the reach. Men crept along slippery ledges above the water, and moved over steeply-slanting slopes, half hidden among the trees.

A few were in the river, and three or four of the dogs were swimming; the rest, spread out in twos and threes, trotted to and fro among the undergrowth, Carroll did not think they were following any scent, but a figure creeping along the foot of the rock not far away presently seized his attention.

“It’s Mopsy,” he said. “The foothold doesn’t look very safe among those stones, and there seems to be deep water below.”

He called out in warning, but the girl did not heed. The willows were thinner at the spot she had reached, and, squeezing herself through them, she leaned down, clinging to an alder branch.

“He’s gone to holt among the roots,” she cried.

Three or four men came running along the opposite bank and apparently decided that she was right, for the horn was sounded and here and there a dog broke through the underbrush; then, just as the first-comers reached the rapid, there was a splash. It was a moment or two before Evelyn or Carroll, who had been watching the dogs, realised what had happened, and then the blood ebbed from the girl’s face. Mabel had disappeared.

Running a few paces forward, Carroll saw what looked like a bundle of spread-out garments swing round in an eddy. It washed in among the willows, and he heard a faint cry.

“Somebody help me, quick; I’ve caught a branch.”

He could not see the girl now, but an alder bough was bending sharply, and he flung a rapid glance around him. The summit of the rock he stood upon rose above the trees, and though he would have faced the risky fall had there been a better landing, it seemed impossible to alight among the stones without a broken leg. Further down-stream he might reach the water by a reckless jump, because the promontory sloped towards it there; but he would not be able to swim back against the current. His position was a painful one; it looked as if there was nothing that he could do.

Next moment men and dogs went scrambling and swimming down the rapid; but they were in hot pursuit of the otter, which had left its hiding-place, and it was evident that the girl had escaped their attention. Carroll shouted savagely as his comrade appeared among the tail of the hunt below. The others were too occupied to heed, or perhaps concluded that he was urging them on; but Vane, who was in the water, seemed to understand. In another few minutes he was swimming down the pool along the edge of the alders. Then Carroll saw that Evelyn expected him to take some part in the rescue.

“Get down before it’s too late!” she cried.

Carroll spread out his hands, as if to beg her forbearance, and while every impulse urged him to the leap he endeavoured to keep his head.

“I can’t do any good just now,” he answered, knowing he was right and yet feeling horribly ashamed. “She’s holding on, and Wallace will reach her in a moment or two.”

Evelyn broke out on him in an agony of fear and anger. “You coward!” she cried. “Will you let her drown?”

She turned and ran forward, but Carroll, dreading that she meant to attempt the descent, seized her shoulder and held her fast. While he grappled with her, Vane’s voice rose from below, and he let his hands drop.

“Wallace has her! There’s no more danger,” he said.

Evelyn suddenly recovered some degree of calm.

Standing, breathless, a pace or two apart, they saw Vane and the girl appear from beneath the willows and wash away down-stream. The man was swimming but he was hampered by his burden, and once he and Mabel sank almost from sight in a whirling eddy. Carroll said nothing, but he turned and ran along the sloping ridge, until where the fall was less and the trees were thinner he leaped out into the air. He broke through the alders amidst a rustle of bending boughs and disappeared; but a moment later his head rose out of the water close beside Vane, and the two men went down-stream with Mabel between them.

Evelyn scrambled wildly along the ridge, and when she reached the foot of it Vane was helping Mabel up the sloping bank of gravel. The girl’s drenched garments clung about her, her wet hair was streaked across her face; but she seemed able to stand, and she was speaking in jerky gasps. The hunt had swept on through shoaler water, but there was a cheer from the stragglers across the river. Evelyn clutched her sister, half laughing, half sobbing, and incoherently upbraided her. Mabel shook herself free, and her first remark was characteristic.

“Oh!” she said, “don’t make a silly fuss.” Then she tried to shake out her dripping skirt. “I’m only wet through, Wallace, take me home.”

Vane picked her up, which was what she seemed to expect, and the others followed when he pushed through the underbush towards a neighbouring meadow. Evelyn, however, was still a little unnerved, and when they reached a gap in a wall she stopped, and leaning against the stones turned to Carroll.

“I think I’m more disturbed than Mopsy is,” she said. “What I felt must be some excuse for me. I’m sorry for what I said; it was unjustifiable.”

“Anyway, it was perfectly natural; but I must confess that I felt some temptation to make a fool of myself. I might have jumped into those alders, but it’s most unlikely that I could have got out of them.”

Evelyn looked at him with a faint respect. She had not troubled to point out that he had not flinched from the leap, when it seemed likely to be of service.

“How had you the sense to think of that?” she asked.

“I suppose it’s a matter of practice,” Carroll answered with amusement. “One can’t work among the ranges and rivers without learning to make the right decision rapidly. When you don’t, you get badly hurt. The thing has to be cultivated, it’s not instinctive.”

Evelyn was struck by the explanation. This acquired coolness was a finer thing, and undoubtedly more useful than hot-headed gallantry, though she admired the latter.

“Wallace was splendid in the water,” she broke out, uttering part of her thoughts aloud.

“I thought rather more of him in the city,” Carroll replied. “That kind of thing was new to him, and I’m inclined to believe I’d have let the folks he had to negotiate with have the mine for a good deal less than what he eventually got for it. But I’ve said something about that before, and after all I’m not here to play Boswell.”

The girl was surprised at the apt allusion; it was not what she would have expected from the man. Since she had not recovered her composure, she forgot what Vane had told her about him, and her comment was an incautious one. “How did you hear of him?”

Carroll parried this with a smile.

“Oh!” he said, “you don’t suppose you can keep those old fellows to yourselves – they’re international. But hadn’t we better be getting on? Let me help you through the gap.”

They reached the Dene some time later, and Mabel, very much against her wishes, was sent to bed, while shortly afterwards Carroll came across Vane, who had changed his clothes, strolling up and down among the shrubberies.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Vane looked embarrassed. “For one thing, I’m keeping out of Mrs. Chisholm’s way; she’s inclined to be effusive. For another, I’m trying to decide what I ought to do. We’ll have to pull out very shortly, and I had meant to have had an interview with Evelyn to-day. That’s why I feel uncommonly annoyed with Mopsy for falling in.”

Carroll made a grimace. “If that’s how it strikes you, any advice I could offer would be wasted. A sensible man would consider it a promising opportunity.”

“And trade upon it.”

“Do you really want the girl?”

“That impression’s firmly in my mind,” said Vane, curtly.

“Then you had better pitch your quixotic notions overboard, and tell her so.”

Vane made no answer, and Carroll, seeing that his comrade was not inclined to be communicative, left him.

CHAPTER XI – VANE WITHDRAWS

Dusk was drawing on when Vane strolled along the terrace in front of the Dene.

He was preoccupied and eager, but fully aware of the need for coolness, because it was very possible that he might fail in the task he had in hand. By and by he saw Evelyn, whom he had been waiting for, cross the opposite end of the terrace, and moving forward he joined her at the entrance to a shrubbery walk. A big, clipped yew with a recess in which a seat had been placed stood close by.

“I’ve been sitting with Mopsy,” said Evelyn. “She seems very little the worse for her adventure – thanks to you.” She hesitated, and her voice grew softer. “I owe you a heavy debt – I am very fond of Mopsy.”

“It’s a great pity she fell in,” Vane declared.

Evelyn looked at him with surprise. She scarcely thought he could regret the efforts he had made on her sister’s behalf, but that was what his words implied.

“The trouble is that the thing might seem to give me some claim on you, and I don’t want that,” he explained. “It cost me no more than a wetting; I hadn’t the least difficulty in getting her out.”

His companion was still puzzled. She could find no fault with him for being modest about his exploit, but that he should make it clear that he did not require her gratitude seemed to her unnecessary.

“For all that, you did bring her out,” she persisted.

“I don’t seem to be beginning very fortunately,” Vane replied. “What I mean is, that I don’t want to urge my claim, if I have one. I’d sooner be taken on my merits.” He paused a moment with a smile. “That’s not much better, is it? But it partly expresses what I feel. Leaving Mopsy out altogether, let me try to explain – I don’t wish you to be influenced by anything except your own idea of me. I’m saying this because one or two points that seem in my favour may have a contrary effect.”

Evelyn made no answer, and he indicated the seat. “Won’t you sit down, I have something more to say.”

The girl did as he suggested, and his smile faded. “Now,” he went on, “you won’t be astonished if I ask if you will marry me?”

He stood looking down on her with an impressive steadiness of gaze. She could imagine him facing the city men, from whom he had extorted the full value of his mine, in the same fashion, and in a later instance, so surveying the eddies beneath the osiers when he had gone to Mabel’s rescue. She felt that they had better understand one another.

“No,” she said; “if I must be candid, I am not astonished.” Then the colour crept into her cheeks, is she met his gaze. “I suppose it is an honour and it is undoubtedly a – temptation.”

“A temptation?”

“Yes,” said Evelyn, mustering her courage to face a crisis she had dreaded. “It is only due to you that you should hear the truth – though I think you suspect it. I have some liking for you.”

“That is what I wanted you to own,” Vane broke in.

She checked him with a gesture. Her manner was cold, and yet there was something in it that stirred him more than her beauty.

“After all,” she answered, “It does not go very far, and you must try to understand. I want to be quite honest, and what I have to say is – difficult. In the first place, things are far from pleasant for me here; I was expected to make a good marriage, and I had my chance in London; I refused to profit by it, and now I’m a failure. I wonder if you can realise what a temptation it is to get away.”

“Yes,” he said; “it makes me savage to think of it. I can, at least, take you out of all this. If you hadn’t had a very fine courage, you wouldn’t have told me.”

Evelyn smiled a curious wry smile.

“It has only prompted me to behave, as most people would consider, shamelessly; but there are times when one must get above that point of view. Besides, there’s a reason for my candour. Had you been a man of different stamp, it’s possible that I might have been driven into taking the risk. We should both have suffered for a time, but through open variance we might have reached an understanding – not to intrude on one another. As it is, I could not do you that injustice, and I should shrink from marrying you with only a little cold liking.”

The man held himself firmly in hand. Her calmness had infected him, and he felt that this was not an occasion for romantic protestations, even had he felt capable of making them, which was not the case. As a matter of fact, such things were singularly foreign to his nature.

“Even that would go a long way with me, if I could get nothing better,” he declared. “Besides, you might change. I could surround you with some comfort; I think I could promise not to force my company upon you; I believe I could be kind.”

“Yes,” assented Evelyn; “I shouldn’t be afraid of harshness from you; but it seems impossible that I should change. You must see that you started handicapped from the beginning. Had I been free to choose, it might have been different; but I have lived for some time in shame and fear, hating the thought that some one would be forced on me.”

He said nothing, and she went on. “Must I tell you? You are the man.”

His face grew hard and for a moment he set his lips tight. It would have been a relief to express his feelings concerning his host just then.

“If you don’t hate me for it now, I’m willing to take the risk,” he said at length. “It will be my fault if you hate me in the future; I’ll try not to deserve it.”

He imagined she was yielding, but she roused herself with an effort.

“No,” she said. “Love on one side may go a long way, if it is strong enough – but it must be strong to overcome the many clashes of thought and will. Yours” – she looked at him steadily – “would not stand the strain.”

Vane started. “You are the only woman I ever wished to marry.” He paused with a forcible gesture. “What can I say to convince you?”

She smiled softly. “I’m afraid it’s impossible. If you had wanted me greatly, you would have pressed the claim you had in saving Mopsy, and I would have forgiven you that; you would have urged any and every claim. As it is, I suppose I am pretty” – her lips curled scornfully – “and you find some of your ideas and mine agree. It isn’t half enough. Shall I tell you that you are scarcely moved as yet?”

It flashed upon Vane that he was confronted with the reality. Her beauty had appealed to him, but without rousing passion, for there was little of the sensual in this man. Her other qualities, her reserved graciousness, which had a tinge of dignity in it; her insight and comprehension, had also had their effect; but they had only awakened admiration and respect. He desired her as one desires an object for its rarity and preciousness; but this, as she had told him, was not enough. Behind her physical and mental attributes, and half revealed by them, there was something deeper: the real personality of the girl. It was elusive, mystic, with a spark of immaterial radiance which might brighten human love with its transcendent glow; but, as he dimly realised, if he won her by force, it might recede and vanish altogether. He could not, with strong ardour, compel its clearer manifestation.

“I think I am as moved as it is possible for me to be,” he said.

Evelyn shook her head. “No; you will discover the difference some day, and then you will thank me for leaving you your liberty. Now I beg you to leave me mine and let me go.”

Vane stood silent a minute or two, for the last appeal had stirred him to chivalrous pity. He was shrewd enough to realise that if he persisted he could force her to come to him. Her father and mother were with him; she had nothing – no common-place usefulness or trained abilities – to fall back upon if she defied them. But it was unthinkable that he should brutally compel her.

“Well,” he said at length, “I must try to face the situation; I want to assure you that it is not a pleasant one to me. But there’s another point. I’m afraid I’ve made things worse for you. Your people will probably blame you for sending me away.”

Evelyn did not answer this, and he broke into a little grim smile. “Now,” he added, “I think I can save you any trouble on that score – though the course I’m going to take isn’t flattering, if you look at it in one way. I want you to leave me to deal with your father.”

He took her consent for granted, and leaning down laid a hand lightly on her shoulder. “You will try to forgive me for the anxiety I have caused you. The time I’ve spent here has been very pleasant, but I’m going back to Canada in a few days. Perhaps you’ll think of me without bitterness now and then.”

He turned away, and Evelyn sat still, glad that the strain was over, and thinking earnestly. The man was gentle and considerate as well as forceful, and she liked him. Indeed, she admitted that she had not met any man she liked as much, but that was not going very far. Then she began to wonder at her candour, and to consider if it had been necessary. It was curious that this was the only man she had ever taken into her confidence; and her next suitor would probably be a much less promising specimen. On the other hand, it was consoling to remember that eligible suitors for the daughter of an impoverished gentleman were likely to be scarce.

It had grown dark when she rose and, entering the house, went up to Mabel’s room. The girl looked at her sharply as she came in.

“So you have got rid of him,” she said. “I think you’re very silly.”

“How did you know?” Evelyn asked with a start.

“I heard him walking up and down the terrace, and I heard you go out. You can’t walk over raked gravel without making a noise. He went along to join you, and it was a good while before you came back at different times. I’ve been waiting for this the last day or two.”

Evelyn sat down with a strained smile. “Well,” she said, “I have sent him away.”

Mabel regarded her indignantly. “Then you’ll never get another chance like this one. If you had only taken him I could have worn decent frocks. Nobody could call the last one that.”

This was a favourite grievance and Evelyn ignored it; but Mabel had more to say. “I suppose,” she went on, “you don’t know that Wallace has been getting Gerald out of trouble?”

“Are you sure of that?” Evelyn asked sharply.

“Yes,” said Mabel; “I’ll tell you what I know. Wallace saw Gerald in London – he told us that – and we all know that Gerald couldn’t pay his debts a little while since. You remember he came down to Kendal and went on and stayed the next night with the Claytons. It isn’t astonishing that he didn’t come here after the row there was on the last occasion.”