A FEW days
afterwards the body of the Algonquin Maiden, recovered
from the waves, was lying in an upper chamber at Pine
Towers. Whatever may have been the supreme agony
in which this suffering soul parted from its human habitation,
no trace of it remained upon the inanimate form.
Free from scar or stain it lay, the languid limbs forever
motionless, the cold hands crossed upon a pulseless
breast, the beautiful figure, heavily shadowed in enshrouding
tresses, stretched in painless repose, and on the wonderful
face the expression of one who has gained, not rest
and peace—when had she ever hungered for these?—
but the look, almost startling in its intensity, of
one who has found love. Some- where, sometime,
we who struggle through life—nay, rather, struggle
after life— in this world that God so
loved, shall find our longings satisfied; the one yearning
cry of our heart shall be stilled. The poet shall
touch the stars, whose pale light now shines so uncertainly
upon his brow; the painter shall put upon canvas a beauty
too deep for words; the worshipper of nature shall thrill
with the know- ledge of unspoken secrets; the seeker
after truth shall learn the mysteries of heaven.
The infinite Father cannot deny his children; He will
not cheat them. But the lessons of patience are
harder to learn than those of labour.
Upon this poor child of
the wilderness had fallen a happiness so bewildering
and so complete that it seemed as though the perfect
lips must open to give utterance to a joy too full to
be contained. But to the man self-accused of robbing
her of love and life, this sweet reflected glory from
the other side of the dark gateway brought no consolation.
In that silent room, flooded with cold moonlight, Edward
Macleod stood alone in the dead girl’s presence,
and felt the bitter waves of remorse sweep over his
soul. Her beauty, [Page 234] touched
by the light of absolute happiness, thrilled him now
as never before. From mere wantonness he had crushed
out the heart of this faultlessly lovely and innocent
creature, and his head fell upon his breast in shame
and self-contempt. God might forgive him, but
how could he ever forgive himself?
The door blew open, and,
silently as a vision, Hélène came in and
stood beside him. It was a strange place for a
lover’s tryst—that bare room with its lifeless
occupant, flooded with white unearthly moonlight.
“Let me stay with you, Edward,” she pleaded,
with quivering lips. “No,” she added,
in answer to the unspoken fear in his eyes, “I
shall not try to comfort you.” She knew
intuitively that no consolation could avail in this
hour of silent self-torture. “Only,”
she whispered, “you must let me share your grief,
for I also have wronged her.”
And so, with clasped hands,
they bent together and kissed the beautiful still lips
that could never utter an accusing word against them.
Their love founded upon death had suddenly become as
mysterious and sacred as the life of a child whose mother
perished when she gave it birth.
Some months elapsed after
the burial of Wanda before Edward ventured to bring
his dearest hopes under the notice of Madame DeBerczy.
This august personage, in whose memory yet lingered
frequent rumours of the young man’s flirtations
with the nut-brown forest maid, cherished no particular
partiality for him. If Hélène’s
lover had ever entertained the unfounded illusion that
her lily-white hand had been too lightly won, he might
willingly have submitted to the just punishment of his
presumption; but in view of his long struggle to win
her favour, it was dispiriting to learn that there was
still a greater height to conquer,—the lofty indifference
of one whom he wished, in spite of her weaknesses, to
make his mother-in-law. Ice, however, will melt
when exposed to a certain degree of heat, and this was
where [Page 235] Edward’s naturally
sunny disposition and the warmth of his love did him
good service. Before the good lady fairly realized
the change that was passing over her feelings with regard
to her daughter’s suitor, she had ceased to speak
of him as that frivolous young Macleod, and had begun
to see for herself in his handsome face the sincerity
and sadness that follow in the wake of every deep and
painful experience.
From approval it is but
a step to appreciation, and this merges by natural degrees
into affection. Hélène, who, though
she did not consider Edward faultless, was apt to find
his faults more alluring than the virtues of some others,
had at last the satisfaction of knowing that her mother
inclined to take a like view of them; and her now impatient
lover was made glad by a formal acceptance from Madame
DeBerczy of his request for her daugther’s hand.
Meantime, Rose and Allan,
whose course of love, if it had not suffered so tempestuous
a passage, had still flowed for the most part under
gloomy skies, were at last in the enjoyment of undisputed
shunshine. In this unaccustomed atmosphere the
fairest flower of the Macleod family bloomed anew, and
her lover at last beheld his prospects couleur de
rose. Allan had accepted an invitation from
the old Commodore to visit Pine Towers, and the impression
he made upon his prospective father-in-law grew daily
deeper and pleasanter, till, to the elder gentleman’s
sorrow at the thought of parting from his fondly-loved
daughter, was added real regret that he had never before
appreciated the sterling qualities of her chosen husband.
Politically, their views,
which had once been wide asunder as the poles, had now
almost unconsciously met and kissed each other.
Nor was this the result of abandoned convictions.
Both men continued to cherish their old notions of things,
and to hold to the traditions of the party to which
each was attached. But Allan Dunlop and the Commodore
had come to know and to respect each other, and, as
the [Page 236] result, each took a
more dispassionate view of the questions which disturbed
the country and which had ranged them politically on
opposite sides. This change was especially noticeable
in the elder of the two. Though allied to the
party who prided themselves in being regarded as stiff,
unbending Tories, Commodore Macleod had an acute sense
of what was just and fair; and under a somewhat rough
exterior he had a kindly, sympathetic heart. This
latter virtue in the old gentleman made him keenly alive
to the grievances of the people, and particularly sensitive
to appeals from settlers, the hardships of whose lot,
though he had himself little experience of them, were
nevertheless often present to his mind. His manly
character, moreover, thought it was occasionally hid
under a sailor’s brusque testiness, disposed him
to appreciate manliness in others, and to be sympathetic
towards those whose aims were high and whose motives
were good. Thus, despite his inherent conservatism
and pride of birth, he was gradually won over to regard
Dunlop, first with tolerance, then with awakened interest
and respect, and finally with admiration and love.
Dunlop, on the other hand,
though he abated nothing in his enthusiasm for the cause
of the people, and never faltered in his loyalty to
duty, came to regard the political situation, if not
from the point of view of his opponents, at least from
a point of view which was eminently statesmanlike and
discreet. Influenced by a broader comprehension
of affairs, and by a more complaisant regard for the
country’s rulers, who had done and were doing
much for the young common- wealth, however sorely the
political system pressed upon the people, Dunlop placed
a check upon his gift of parliamentary raillery, and
refrained from press- ing many reforms which time, he
knew, would quietly and with less acrimony bring about.
To these ameliorating
influences both men unresistingly submitted them- selves,
and, as a consequence, each came nearer to the other;
while the bond of love between [Page 237] Rose
and Allan cemented the alliance political, and threw
down all barriers that had once frowned on the alliance
matrimonial. It was a consciousness of this change
of feeling which led Allan Dunlop, on his return for
a time to his political duties at York, to write to
Rose in the following strain, and to assure her of the
complete cordiality that now existed, and was sure to
continue to exist, between her father and himself:
“YORK, November 30th, 1827.
“MY
DEAR ROSE:
From the paradise of the garden of Pine Towers, with
you as its ineffably sweet, pervading presence, to the
inferno of these Legislative Halls, with their scenes
of discord and turbulence, duty and fate have ruthlessly
and unfeelingly banished me. Coming from your
restful presence, how little disposed am I to enter
upon the strifes of these stormy times, and to take
up the gage of battle thrown recklessly down by some
knight of the Upper House, whose idea, either of manly
dignity of Parliamentary warfare, is not that of the
“preux chevalier, sans peur et sans reproche.”
Yet I would be unworthy
of the little queen I serve, whose smiles and favour
are a continuous inspiration to me, were I weakly to
forego my duty, and desire to seek the solace of her
presence without having first acquitted myself with
honour on this mimic field of battle. What is
to be the outcome of this strife of tongues, and what
the future of our country, riven asunder as it is by
those, on the one side, who are jealous merely for their
own rights and privileges, and, on the other, by those
who care only for the distraction and clamour of fruitless
conten- tion, it were hard to say. With the ever-increasing
complications, the fires of discontent must some day
burst into flame. Even now it wants but the breath
of a bold, daring spirit to set the whole Province in
a blaze; and I shudder at the prospect unless a spirit
of conciliation speedily shows itself, and the Executive
makes some surrender of its autocratic powers. [Page
238]
In the discussion of political
affairs I had recently with your father, I am glad to
say that we agree very closely as to the inciting causes
of the public discontent, and have a common opinion
as to the best,—indeed, the only satisfactory,—
means of applying a remedy. This unity of feeling
must rivet and perpetuate our friendship, and aid in
bringing about, what I ardently desire, some necessary
and immediate reforms in our mode of government.
I need hardly say to you, who are so dear to me, how
fervently I hail this mutual understanding on political
matters, and how much I auger from it of weal to the
country and of pleasure and happiness to ourselves.
Heaven grant that all I expect from it may be realized!
I have no news to give
you of social matters in York, save of Lady Mary Willis’s
Fancy Ball, which is to come off at the close of the
year. Mr. Galt, of the Canada Company, the Robinsons,
Hewards, Hagermans, Widmers, Spragges, and Baldwins—everybody
but a few of the Government House people—are taking
a great interest in the coming affair. There is
to be a sleighing-party soon also from the Macaulays
to the Crookshank’s farm, and on to the Denisons.
I have been asked to join it, and wish you were to be
here in time, to make one— the dearest to me!—of
the party.
With my respects to your
father, kind regards to Edward and Mad’lle Hélène,
and abiding love to your sweet self and the little people
of your household,
I remain, ever and devotedly yours,
ALLAN
DUNLOP.”
But
there was little need now of formal—or indeed
of any—correspondence between Allan and Rose,
for they were soon to be forever together, in the bonds
not only of a common sympathy and a common interest
in their country’s welfare, but in that closer
union of hearts which both had secretly longed for and
both had feared would never come about. It was
arranged that in the spring of the follow- ing year
[Page 239] there would be a double
marriage, and that the day that saw Edward united to
Hélène would also see the union of Allan
and Rose. Even now, preparations for the interesting
event had been set on foot, and society in “Muddy
Little York” was on the tip-toe of excitement
over the coming weddings.
As the winter passed,
and the month drew near which was to witness the two-fold
alliance, the young people of the Capital took a delirious
interest in every circumstance, however trivial, connected
with the affair. Of course, the double ceremony
was to take place at the Church of St. James, and it
was known that the Lieutenant-Governor and Lady Sarah
Maitland, before finally quitting the Province, were
to be present, and that the redoubtable politico-ecclesiastic,
the Archdeacon of York, was to tie the knots, and, in
his richest Doric, pronounce both couples severally
“mon and wife.” The wedding breakfast,
it was also a matter of current talk, was to be at the
homestead of a distinguished member of the local judiciary;
and it had also leaked out that, thereafter, the united
couples were to embark on His Majesty’s sloop-of-war,
“The Princess Charlotte,” and be
conveyed as far as Kingston, on the wedding journey
to Quebec, where Edward, with his bride, was to proceed
to England to rejoin his regiment, and Allan and Rose
were to spend the honeymoon in some delightful retreat
on the St. Lawrence.
What need is there to
continue the chronicle?—save to assure the modern
reader of this old-time story that everything happily
came about as foreshad- owed in the gossip we have just
related, and that the after-fortunes of the four happy
people who took that early wedding journey on the St.
Lawrence were as bright as those of the happiest Canadian
bride and bridegroom that have ever taken the same journey
since.
THE
END. [Page 240]
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