Anne's House of Dreams
Page 27
CHAPTER 27
ON THE SAND BAR
Owen Ford left Four Winds the next morning. In the evening Anne wentover to see Leslie, but found nobody. The house was locked and therewas no light in any window. It looked like a home left soulless.Leslie did not run over on the following day--which Anne thought a badsign.
Gilbert having occasion to go in the evening to the fishing cove, Annedrove with him to the Point, intending to stay awhile with Captain Jim.But the great light, cutting its swathes through the fog of the autumnevening, was in care of Alec Boyd and Captain Jim was away.
"What will you do?" asked Gilbert. "Come with me?"
"I don't want to go to the cove--but I'll go over the channel with you,and roam about on the sand shore till you come back. The rock shore istoo slippery and grim tonight."
Alone on the sands of the bar Anne gave herself up to the eerie charmof the night. It was warm for September, and the late afternoon hadbeen very foggy; but a full moon had in part lessened the fog andtransformed the harbor and the gulf and the surrounding shores into astrange, fantastic, unreal world of pale silver mist, through whicheverything loomed phantom-like. Captain Josiah Crawford's blackschooner sailing down the channel, laden with potatoes for Bluenoseports, was a spectral ship bound for a far uncharted land, everreceding, never to be reached. The calls of unseen gulls overhead werethe cries of the souls of doomed seamen. The little curls of foam thatblew across the sand were elfin things stealing up from the sea-caves.The big, round-shouldered sand-dunes were the sleeping giants of someold northern tale. The lights that glimmered palely across the harborwere the delusive beacons on some coast of fairyland. Anne pleasedherself with a hundred fancies as she wandered through the mist. Itwas delightful--romantic--mysterious to be roaming here alone on thisenchanted shore.
But was she alone? Something loomed in the mist before her--took shapeand form--suddenly moved towards her across the wave-rippled sand.
"Leslie!" exclaimed Anne in amazement. "Whatever are youdoing--HERE--tonight?"
"If it comes to that, whatever are YOU doing here?" said Leslie, tryingto laugh. The effort was a failure. She looked very pale and tired;but the love locks under her scarlet cap were curling about her faceand eyes like little sparkling rings of gold.
"I'm waiting for Gilbert--he's over at the Cove. I intended to stay atthe light, but Captain Jim is away."
"Well, _I_ came here because I wanted to walk--and walk--and WALK,"said Leslie restlessly. "I couldn't on the rock shore--the tide wastoo high and the rocks prisoned me. I had to come here--or I shouldhave gone mad, I think. I rowed myself over the channel in CaptainJim's flat. I've been here for an hour. Come--come--let us walk. Ican't stand still. Oh, Anne!"
"Leslie, dearest, what is the trouble?" asked Anne, though she knew toowell already.
"I can't tell you--don't ask me. I wouldn't mind your knowing--I wishyou did know--but I can't tell you--I can't tell anyone. I've beensuch a fool, Anne--and oh, it hurts so terribly to be a fool. There'snothing so painful in the world."
She laughed bitterly. Anne slipped her arm around her.
"Leslie, is it that you have learned to care for Mr. Ford?"
Leslie turned herself about passionately.
"How did you know?" she cried. "Anne, how did you know? Oh, is itwritten in my face for everyone to see? Is it as plain as that?"
"No, no. I--I can't tell you how I knew. It just came into my mind,somehow. Leslie, don't look at me like that!"
"Do you despise me?" demanded Leslie in a fierce, low tone. "Do youthink I'm wicked--unwomanly? Or do you think I'm just plain fool?"
"I don't think you any of those things. Come, dear, let's just talk itover sensibly, as we might talk over any other of the great crises oflife. You've been brooding over it and let yourself drift into amorbid view of it. You know you have a little tendency to do thatabout everything that goes wrong, and you promised me that you wouldfight against it."
"But--oh, it's so--so shameful," murmured Leslie. "To lovehim--unsought--and when I'm not free to love anybody."
"There's nothing shameful about it. But I'm very sorry that you havelearned to care for Owen, because, as things are, it will only make youmore unhappy."
"I didn't LEARN to care," said Leslie, walking on and speakingpassionately. "If it had been like that I could have prevented it. Inever dreamed of such a thing until that day, a week ago, when he toldme he had finished his book and must soon go away. Then--then I knew.I felt as if someone had struck me a terrible blow. I didn't sayanything--I couldn't speak--but I don't know what I looked like. I'mso afraid my face betrayed me. Oh, I would die of shame if I thoughthe knew--or suspected."
Anne was miserably silent, hampered by her deductions from herconversation with Owen. Leslie went on feverishly, as if she foundrelief in speech.
"I was so happy all this summer, Anne--happier than I ever was in mylife. I thought it was because everything had been made clear betweenyou and me, and that it was our friendship which made life seem sobeautiful and full once more. And it WAS, in part--but not all--oh,not nearly all. I know now why everything was so different. And nowit's all over--and he has gone. How can I live, Anne? When I turnedback into the house this morning after he had gone the solitude struckme like a blow in the face."
"It won't seem so hard by and by, dear," said Anne, who always felt thepain of her friends so keenly that she could not speak easy, fluentwords of comforting. Besides, she remembered how well-meant speecheshad hurt her in her own sorrow and was afraid.
"Oh, it seems to me it will grow harder all the time," said Lesliemiserably. "I've nothing to look forward to. Morning will come aftermorning--and he will not come back--he will never come back. Oh, whenI think that I will never see him again I feel as if a great brutalhand had twisted itself among my heartstrings, and was wrenching them.Once, long ago, I dreamed of love--and I thought it must bebeautiful--and NOW--its like THIS. When he went away yesterday morninghe was so cold and indifferent. He said 'Good-bye, Mrs. Moore' in thecoldest tone in the world--as if we had not even been friends--as if Imeant absolutely nothing to him. I know I don't--I didn't want him tocare--but he MIGHT have been a little kinder."
"Oh, I wish Gilbert would come," thought Anne. She was racked betweenher sympathy for Leslie and the necessity of avoiding anything thatwould betray Owen's confidence. She knew why his good-bye had been socold--why it could not have the cordiality that their good-comradeshipdemanded--but she could not tell Leslie.
"I couldn't help it, Anne--I couldn't help it," said poor Leslie.
"I know that."
"Do you blame me so very much?"
"I don't blame you at all."
"And you won't--you won't tell Gilbert?"
"Leslie! Do you think I would do such a thing?"
"Oh, I don't know--you and Gilbert are such CHUMS. I don't see how youcould help telling him everything."
"Everything about my own concerns--yes. But not my friends' secrets."
"I couldn't have HIM know. But I'm glad YOU know. I would feel guiltyif there were anything I was ashamed to tell you. I hope Miss Corneliawon't find out. Sometimes I feel as if those terrible, kind brown eyesof hers read my very soul. Oh, I wish this mist would never lift--Iwish I could just stay in it forever, hidden away from every livingbeing. I don't see how I can go on with life. This summer has been sofull. I never was lonely for a moment. Before Owen came there used tobe horrible moments--when I had been with you and Gilbert--and then hadto leave you. You two would walk away together and I would walk awayALONE. After Owen came he was always there to walk home with me--wewould laugh and talk as you and Gilbert were doing--there were no morelonely, envious moments for me. And NOW! Oh, yes, I've been a fool.Let's have done talking about my folly. I'll never bore you with itagain."
"Here is Gilbert, and you are coming back with us," said Anne, who hadno intention of leaving Leslie to wander alone on the sa
nd-bar on sucha night and in such a mood. "There's plenty of room in our boat forthree, and we'll tie the flat on behind."
"Oh, I suppose I must reconcile myself to being the odd one again,"said poor Leslie with another bitter laugh. "Forgive me, Anne--thatwas hateful. I ought to be thankful--and I AM--that I have two goodfriends who are glad to count me in as a third. Don't mind my hatefulspeeches. I just seem to be one great pain all over and everythinghurts me."
"Leslie seemed very quiet tonight, didn't she?" said Gilbert, when heand Anne reached home. "What in the world was she doing over there onthe bar alone?"
"Oh, she was tired--and you know she likes to go to the shore after oneof Dick's bad days."
"What a pity she hadn't met and married a fellow like Ford long ago,"ruminated Gilbert. "They'd have made an ideal couple, wouldn't they?"
"For pity's sake, Gilbert, don't develop into a match-maker. It's anabominable profession for a man," cried Anne rather sharply, afraidthat Gilbert might blunder on the truth if he kept on in this strain.
"Bless us, Anne-girl, I'm not matchmaking," protested Gilbert, rathersurprised at her tone. "I was only thinking of one of themight-have-beens."
"Well, don't. It's a waste of time," said Anne. Then she addedsuddenly:
"Oh, Gilbert, I wish everybody could be as happy as we are."