A Sister to Evangeline Read online

  Chapter XXXI

  Young Will and Old Wisdom

  Mother Pêche lived to do good deeds, and loved to think she did themfrom an ill motive. Her witchcraft, devoutly believed in by herself, andby a good half of Grand Pré as well, was never known to curse, but everto bless; yet its white magic she called black art. There was no onesick, there was no one sorrowful, there was no child in all Grand Pré,but loved her; yet it was her whim to believe herself feared, and inhourly peril of anathema. Even Father Fafard, whom she affected toderide, but in truth vastly reverenced, found it hard to maintain aproper show of austerity toward this incomprehensible old woman.

  The boat, soon loaded, went dragging through the flame-lit tide towardthe ship. The old dame sat clutching Yvonne’s hand under the warmprivacy of the cloak. Here was a weight off her mind. She loved Yvonnede Lamourie and Paul Grande better than any one else in the world; andwith all her heart she believed that to hold them apart would mean ruinto others in the end, as well as to themselves. This which had now comeabout (she had trembled lest Yvonne should not prove quite strong enoughat the last) seemed to her the best exit from a bad closure. Andersonshe had ever regarded with hostile and unreasoning contempt; and now itsuited her whim to tell herself that a part of her present satisfactionlay in the thought of him so ignominiously thwarted. But in very truthshe believed that the thwarting was for his good; that he would recoverfrom his hurt in time, and see himself well saved from the lifelongmordancy of a loveless marriage. In a word, what Mother Pêche wanted wasthe good of those she loved, and as little ill as might be to those sheaccounted enemies.

  Though the boat was packed with intimates of hers, she was absorbed instudying so much of Yvonne’s face as could be seen through thehalf-drawn hood. “She is, indeed, much better already,” said the olddame to herself. “This _was_ the one medicine.”

  Yvonne, for her part, had no eyes but for the ship she was approaching.Eagerly she scanned the bulwarks. Women’s heads, and children’s, she sawin plenty; but no men, save the sailors and a few red-coats.

  “Are none of the—are there no _men_ on this ship?” she whispered toMother Pêche, in a sudden awful doubt.

  “But think, _chérie_,” muttered the old woman, “these men are dangerous.Would they be left on deck like women and children? But no, indeed. Theyare in the hold, surely; and in irons belike. But they are there—or onthe other ship,” she added uneasily in her heart.

  By this the boat was come to the ship-side. By some one’s carelessnessit was not rightly fended, and was suffered to bump heavily. One gunwaledipped; an icy flood poured in; there was imminent peril of swamping.

  Women jumped up with screams, and children caught at them,terror-stricken by the looming black wall of the ship’s side. Theboatmen cursed fiercely. The two soldiers in the boat shouted: “Sitdown! damn you! sit down!” with such authority that all obeyed at once.The shrill clamour ceased; the peril was over; the embarkation went on.Mother Pêche, with nerves of steel, had but gripped the more firmly uponYvonne’s hand. As for Yvonne, she had apparently taken no note of thedisturbance.

  Driven by a consuming purpose, which had gathered new fuel from thepicture of the fettered captives in the hold, Yvonne had no soonerreached the deck than she started off to find the captain. But MotherPêche was at her elbow on the instant, clinging to her.

  “I must see the captain at once!” exclaimed Yvonne, “and make someinquiry—find out _something_!”

  “Yes, _chérie_,” whispered the old dame, with loving irony, “and getyourself recognized, and be taken back next boat to Monsieur GeorgeAnderson.”

  The girl’s head drooped. She saw how near she had been to undoingherself through impatience. She submissively followed the red shawl to aretired place near the bow of the ship. There the two settled themselvesinto a warm nest of beds and blankets, wherefrom they could watch theend of the embarking. But what more engrossed their eyes was the end ofGrand Pré; for by now the sea of fire was roaring over more than halfthe village, the whole world seemed awash with ruddy air, and the throbsof scorching heat, even at their distance and with the wind blowing fromthem, made them cover their faces from time to time and marvel if thiscould be a December night.

  Fascinated by the monstrous roar, the mad red light, the rolling levelcanopy of cloud, the old woman sat a long time silent, her startlingeyes very wide open, her hawk face set in rigid lines. But the linessoftened, the eyes filmed suddenly, at a sound close beside her. Yvonnehad buried her face in a coloured quilt, and was sobbing tempestuously.

  “It is well! It had to come! It was just a pulling of herself up by theroots to leave her father and mother, poor heart!” thought the old womanto herself. Then after a few minutes, she said aloud:

  “That is right, dear heart! Cry all you can. Cry it all out. You haveheld it back too long.”

  “Oh, how could I leave _them_ so? How could I be so cruel?” moaned thegirl, catching her breath at every word or two. “They will die ofsorrow, I know they will!”

  “No, _chérie_, they will not die of sorrow,” said the old dame softly.“They will grieve; but they have each other. And they will see youagain; and they will know you are safe, with your—_husband_,” shefinished slowly.

  Yvonne was silent at the word; but it was not repeated, though shelistened for it.

  “But how will they know I am safe?” she asked.

  “Because,” said the old woman, rising nimbly to her feet, “the sailorsare getting up the anchor now, and there is the last boat returning tothe land. I go to send word by them, saying where you are. It is toolate for any one to follow you now.”

  She went to the side of the ship, and called to the boat as it rowedaway:

  “Will you have the goodness, gentlemen, to send word to Monsieur deLamourie that his daughter is safe and well, and that she has of her ownchoice gone into exile for a reason which he will understand; but thatshe will come back, with love, when things are something changed?”

  The boat stopped, and the soldiers listened with astonishment to thisstrange message. There was a moment of indecision, and she trembled lestthe boat should put back. But there was no one aboard with authority tothwart the will of Mademoiselle de Lamourie, so a doubtful voice cried:

  “The message shall be delivered.”

  The oars dipped again, and the boat ran swiftly toward the landing; andthe ship sped smoothly out with the tide.

  The hawk face in the red shawl hurried back to Yvonne. The girl, sorelyoverwrought, had once more buried her head in the quilt, that she mightthe more unrestrainedly give way to her tears. Though she had no leastdream of going back, nevertheless the sending of the message, and therealization that the ship was actually under way, had overwhelmed her.Moreover, it had been for weeks that she had endured the great straindry-eyed, her breast anguished for the relief of tears. Now that therelief had come, however, it threatened to grow excessive, tooexhausting in its violence. Mother Pêche sat beside her, watching for awhile in silence. Then she seemed to think the passionate outburstshould be checked. But she was far too wise to say so.

  “That’s right, dearie,” murmured the subtle old dame at the girl’s ear.“Just cry as hard as you like, if it does you good. There’s so manywomen crying on this ship, poor souls, that you’re no ways noticeable.”

  So many women crying! True, they had not the same to cry about that shehad, but Yvonne felt that her grief was suddenly cheapened. She must tryto be less weak than those others. With an obstinate effort shestrangled her sobs. Her shoulders heaved convulsively for a minute ortwo, and then, with a strong shudder, she sat up, throwing back her deephair and resolutely dashing the tears from her eyes.

  “What a fool I am, mother!” she cried. “Here am I, where, after weeks ofdreadful thinking, I deliberately made up my mind to be. And I do notrepent my decision—no, not for one instant. It _had to be_. Yet—why, I’macting just like a baby! But now I’m done with tears, mother. Y
ou shallsee that I am strong enough for what I’ve undertaken.”

  “Of course you are, dear heart!” said the old woman softly. “The bravestof us women must have our cry once in a while, or something is sure togo wrong inside of us.”

  “And now hadn’t I better find the captain, and ask who’s on board?”cried Yvonne, springing lightly to her feet, and no longer troubling tokeep the hood about her face.

  “But no, _chérie_!” urged the old woman. “Don’t you see how every one isstill busy, and shouting, and cursing, and unpleasant? This is not thetime. Wait just a little. And tell me, now, how you got away.”

  Yvonne sat down again, and told the whole story, vividly, with light inher eyes, and with those revealing gestures of her small hands. The oldwoman’s face darkened at the tale of the spy.

  “And so you see, mother,” she concluded, “I feel very confident that heis in this ship—for the man could have no reason to lie to me about it.I am sure from his face that he is the kind of man to do nothing withouta reason.”

  “Tell me what he looked like, _chérie_!” said the old woman, the whitesof her eyes flashing nervously.

  Yvonne described him—she made him stand there on the deck before them.Mother Pêche knew that picture well. Le Fûret was one of the few livingcreatures she feared. She rose to her feet, and involuntarily cast aneager look in the direction of the other ship, whose sails, a leagueaway, shone scarlet in that disastrous light.

  “What is the matter?” asked Yvonne, in swift alarm.

  “My old legs need stretching. I was too long still,” said Mother Pêche.

  “No, you are troubled at something. Tell me at once,” cried Yvonne,rising also, and letting her cloak drop.

  “Yes, _chérie_, yes!” answered the old woman, much agitated, and notdaring to deceive her. “I _am_ much troubled. That was Le Fûret,Vaurin’s man, whom Captain Grande knocked down that day at the forge. Hewould do anything. He would lie even to you!”

  Yvonne grew pale to the lips.

  “Then you think Paul is _not_”—she began, in a strained voice.

  “I think he _may_ not be in _this_ ship,” interrupted Mother Pêchehurriedly. “But I’ll go right now and find out. Wait here for me.” Andshe went off briskly, poking through the confusion with her staff.

  She knew men, this old dame; and she quickly found out what she wantedto find out. Trembling with apprehension, she came back to Yvonne—andwent straight to the point.

  “No, no, dear heart!” she began. “He is not here. He is on the othership yonder. I have a plan, though”—

  But there was no use going on; for Yvonne had dropped in a faint.