The Second Chance

by Nellie L. McClung

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE COMING OF THURSA

  Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer To still a heart in absence wrung. I tell each bead unto the end, and there A cross is hung!

  _----My Rosary._

  EARLY in December Thursa came. Martha had asked Pearl to come overand help her to receive her guest, which Pearl was only too glad todo, for she knew how hard all this was for Martha.

  "Just like sendin' out invitations to yer own funeral," Pearl said,as early in the morning of the eventful day she walked over the snowyroad to the Perkins home. In spite of all, Pearl was determined tohave Martha looking her very best. She was even prepared to putpowder on Martha's face, and had actually secured some from Camillafor the occasion.

  Martha had improved in many ways since the day she and Pearl hadtalked beside the lilac hedge. She stood straighter; she walked moregracefully; she was more at her ease in conversation. These were theoutward visible signs; but the most important change that had takenplace in Martha was that she now had a broader outlook on the world.It was no longer bounded on the north by the Assiniboine River andthe Brandon Hills, and on the south by the Tiger Hills and PelicanLake. The hours that she had spent studying the magazine had beenwell spent, and Martha had really learned a great deal. She hadlearned that there were hundreds and hundreds of other girls likeherself, living lonely lives of endless toil and sacrifice, and whostill kept alive the little flame of ambition and the desire to makethe best of their surroundings and themselves; and from the stories,which she now read with consuming interest, she learned that therewere other women who loved hopelessly, but yet without bitterness,whose hearts were enriched by it, and who went on with their work dayby day, bravely fighting the good fight; and with all this Martha'sheart was greatly sustained and comforted. Martha had some blue days,too, when she was deeply conscious of her own dullness, and wasdisposed to give up all her efforts; but Pearl Watson was always ableto fire her with fresh enthusiasm, for it was Pearl's good gift thatshe could inspire people to worthy endeavour.

  It was not long before Arthur noticed that Martha was brightening upand that she seemed easier to talk to. After his long days ofsolitude he was glad of an opportunity to talk to an interestedlistener, and so he found his way over to the Perkins home three orfour nights every week.

  He told her stories of his school-days and of the glorious holidayshe had spent at his uncle's country home. Arthur was a close observerand an interesting talker, and even Mrs. Perkins sometimes sat up tolisten to him. Thomas Perkins said he didn't take much stock in thestories that young English chap told, and so he usually retired tothe kitchen, where he would sit studying the catalogues. Mr. Perkinspreferred the centre of the stage, if he were on it at all, andcertainly would not consent to do a "thinking part" for anybody.

  * * *

  "Don't you be a bit worried, Martha," Pearl said soothingly, as shewas combing Martha's hair that morning; "you'll look just as well asshe does. Englishwomen always look queer to me with those big roughcoats on them, all crinkly at the seams. They always wear them comingover on the boat, and it looks to me as if they fell in a few timesand the stuff shrunk something awful; and their hair is always queer,done in a bun on the small of their neck."

  "But Thursa is not like that," Martha said. "She is little andslight, and has a skin as fair as a lily and pink cheeks."

  Pearl stepped back to look at Martha's hair, done in a braid aroundthe top, before replying:

  "Skin like a lily, has she? Well, that settles it--we'll use thepowder. Now, don't say a word, Martha--it ain't wicked at all--it'spaintin' and powderin' that's wicked. Now, I could make a bright glowon each of yer cheeks by usin' the red leaf of one of the roses on mysummer hat. I thought of that, and I tried it myself--it was a finecolour and would improve you, Martha, but I'm afraid it wouldn't bejust the thing to do it, and anyway you are looking fine now, andyour red silk waist will give you a colour."

  They went down-stairs when Martha's toilet was complete, speculatingon what Thursa would be like. Martha was plainly nervous, which Pearlsaw, but would not recognize. They were not left long in doubt, forin a few minutes they heard Arthur driving up to the door. Pearl andMartha held each other's hands in suspense until the door opened andArthur said quite simply:

  "Martha, this is Thursa."

  And then poor Martha had need of her full supply of true greatness asThursa's fresh young beauty burst on her, for Thursa was of that mostbewitching type of young English girl, clear-skinned and violet-eyed,with a head of curling golden hair. She wore a long green coat and alittle green cap that did not begin to hold down the rebelliouscurls.

  If Martha was embarrassed Thursa certainly was not. She kissed Marthaimpulsively and called her "the dearest thing," and then, turning toPearl, cried gaily. "Come here, you brown-eyed witch. I should haveknown you anywhere. You two girls have spoiled Arthur, I am afraid,by dancing attendance on him. He will be so frightfully important andoverlordish, but all that will be changed now. I am really a verydomineering person."

  When Martha took Thursa upstairs to remove her wraps she said, as shetucked in her curls before the glass: "It does seem so gorgeous to beaway without an aunt. I have three of them at home, you know, andthey have always taken the wildest interest in me, and there wasalways one ready to come with me every place. They are not oldreally, but they seem old to me, and I really expect they will neverdie. They have heaps of money, too, and so I simply had to be civilto them. I had a perfectly ripping time on the boat. My aunts put mein charge of the Bishop of Donchester, and he was a perfect love andwent to his stateroom so early every evening, and slept in a steamerchair every afternoon until he got ill, the old dear, and then hedidn't appear at all for three days, and I really had such jolly fun.It did seem such fun not to be bothered with some one stalking me allthe time. There were such pleasant people, too, on shipboard!'"

  Martha remembered what Pearl had said about the English girl who hadchanged her mind coming over on the boat, and, making an excuse abouthaving dinner to see to, went down stairs and sent Pearl up toThursa. Pearl would get at the true state of affairs quicker than anyone else.

  "Did you have a pleasant journey?" Pearl asked, when she wentupstairs.

  "Oh, rather!" said Thursa. "It was simply heavenly to be away anyplace without an aunt. I was just telling Martha I have three ofthem--Aunt Honora, Aunt Constance, and Aunt Prudence. They havedangled their money over my head for years, but I don't care now if Inever get it. They've always done everything for me. They picked outArthur for me because his uncle is a bishop, and they do adorebishops."

  "But didn't you like Arthur first--yourself--anyway?" Pearlexclaimed, hanging on to the chair in her excitement.

  Thursa pursed her pretty lips. "Well enough--oh, yes, real well--andI liked him awfully when he decided to come to Canada--it was sosplendid and dashing of him, I thought, and I was simply wild tocome, too, for the adventures!"

  "The what?" Pearl asked.

  "The adventures. It must be perfectly jolly to chase Indians andbuffaloes and bears. Wouldn't it be a lark to send one home?"

  Pearl winked hard, wondering if it was an Indian, a buffalo, or abear she wanted to send home.

  After dinner, for which Arthur stayed, Thursa said she believed shewould take a rest--she had so many letters to write, too, to peopleshe met on shipboard, and such delightful people.

  Arthur begged to be let stay 'a little while longer, but Thursa saidvery, decidedly he must go now and not come back until the nextevening, for she really must get her letters done--there was one inparticular that must be sent by next post. "Do you know a Mr. Smeatonin Brandon," she asked, "Mr. Jack Smeaton?"

  Arthur did not know him.

  "He was on the boat and was so jolly! He was teaching me Canadianwords. We did have good fun over it. He told me to be sure and lethim know how I liked you when I saw you."

  Arthur winced.

  "I said I would come and see anyway, for I said I couldn'
t believeyou had changed so very much in two years. He said it was always wellto take thirty days to consider any serious step, and he taught methe word for it--'a thirty days' option'--that's it, Arthur. That'swhat I have on you!"

  She laughed merrily, but Arthur pleaded with her not to say suchthings.

  Then Thursa became very serious. "Now, Arthur, for heaven's sake,"she said, "don't act like the aunts. That's what I've listened to allmy life. Calm yourself, my de-ar. That's what I've run away from. Imight as well have stayed with them if you're going to do it. It'swicked of you, Arthur, it really is, to scold me, when I came so farjust to see you, and when you know how tired I am."

  Pearl and Martha retired hastily to the kitchen.

  Arthur apologized in due form and Thursa's good-humour came back."Now, then, Arthur, run along, because I am going to have a longsleep, and then I have some very serious thinking to do. The auntssaid that is what I am incapable of doing, but I've done some thatwould have surprised them if they had just heard me at it. Now I amgoing to do some more. It's so horrible to be in a quandary. It is asbad as it was when I was choosing a gown for my first party; I layawake nearly a whole night trying to decide between a reseda and apink-violet. It was perfectly maddening, and I did have such a headthe next day."

  "Are you in a quandary now, Thursa?" he asked gently. "Tell me aboutit."

  "Oh, no, Arthur, dear me, no--I haven't got half my thinking doneyet. I'll tell you after I get it done. I am so happy to think that Igot away without any of the aunts that, really, I am not very worriedabout anything. You' know I wasn't perfectly sure that I was awayuntil I was a day out, and once I got such a fright--there wassomething swimming behind the boat! But now, good-bye, Arthur. Kissme, if you like. There, now, that will do. Yes, I do like you,Arthur, you're a good sort. Good-bye till to-morrow evening."

  Two days later Arthur took Thursa over to see the house. She wasquite rested now from her journey, and in her scarlet coat and hatshe was more bewitching than ever.

  "It is very pretty here in the summer-time, Thursa," he said, as theystood together in the little porch. "I had some flowers last year,and the trees are growing nicely. It will be the dearest place onearth to me when you are here. Won't it be glorious to be togetheralways, dearie, you and I? I wonder if you know how beautiful youare, Thursa?"

  Thursa knit her brows in deep thought. "I wonder if I do?" she saidquite gravely. "I've heard quite a 'lot about it lately, and I don'tobject to hearing it as much as my aunts would wish me to, I fear. Itseems pleasant, really!"

  Arthur laughed joyously. Her beauty dazzled him.

  Then they went into the house that he had built and furnished withmuch loving care. Thursa was interested in everything; the shiningnew pots and pans gave her great delight--she said they were "suchjolly little dears," but what were they all for? Arthur tried toexplain, but Thursa became impatient at the mention of cooking andwashing dishes, and cried out petulantly. "Why don't you tame a squawand have her do all this? I simply loathe cooking or washing up. Itis horrid, messy work, Arthur, and I really never can do it. I know Ican't. I never stayed in our scullery at home for one minute. Ofcourse my aunts would not have allowed me to stay anyway, but thatisn't why. I simply detest work of that kind."

  Arthur's face showed his disappointment. "We will have to get someone to show you how," he said, after an unpleasant pause. "You willnot dislike it so much after you learn how, Thursa. It is reallypleasant work, housekeeping is, and I am sure you will learn to be afamous little housewife."

  "Don't bank too strong on it, Arthur. Isn't that the right word? Mr.Smeaton taught me that. This idea of having to cook has upset medreadfully."

  She sat down in the rocking-chair and rocked herself in heragitation. "Arthur, I shall go staring mad if I have to mess aroundand try to cook. I know I shall. I feel it beginning on me, and Ishall have rough hands, and my skin will get red and blotchy, justlike a cook's, and there will always be a greasy smell on my clothes.I am going to cry, Arthur, I am, now, really, and nobody can stop me,and I do cry dreadfully when I start."

  "Oh, don't cry, Thursa!" Arthur pleaded, with all the helplessness ofa man in the presence of tears. "Don't cry, dearest. You'll break myheart if you cry the first day you come into your new home. I don'twant you to cook or work or do anything, only just stay with me andlove me and let me look at you--you are too beautiful to ever have towork, darling."

  Contrary to her expectations, Thursa did not cry, but looked atArthur with a very shrewd expression on her pretty face.

  "I'd rather stay here and take a chance on it--that's a Canadianword, too--than go back to the aunts and have to work antimacassarsand put up with them trailing around after me always--that wasperfectly maddening--but it seems to me--" she went over to Arthur'snew sideboard and looked critically into the glass--"it seems to me agirl like me--you see I am not what you might call a fright, am I,Arthur?--and here in Canada there are abundant opportunities for goodmarriages--I think I really should do pretty well."

  Arthur stood beside her looking at her image in the glass. When hermeaning became clear he turned away hastily to hide the hurt herwords had given him.

  "You mean I am not good enough for you. You are quite right, I amnot. You are a queen among women, Thursa."

  "Queen nothing!" Thursa cried impatiently. "You make love like theydo it in Scott's novels. The aunts made me read it, and now I simplyloathe anything that sounds like it. Now, Mr. Smeaton said I was apeach."

  Arthur consigned Mr. Smeaton and all such cads to a hotter climate.

  "Good for you, Arthur!" she said, laughing, "you can ride the highhorse, too. I like you like that. Now, Mr. Smeaton said----"

  "See here, Thursa," Arthur broke in, "did that cur make love to you?"

  "Madly," she said.

  "And you let him--and listened?"

  She clapped her hands and laughed merrily.

  "Listened? I didn't have to listen hard. He was near me, you know,and he did make love so beautifully. I wish you could have heardhim."

  "I'd have bashed his head for him," Arthur said hotly. "Who is he,anyway?"

  "He has a dry-goods store in Brandon. He's a linen-draper really, andis only six-and-twenty, but he is awfully clever, and so charming.When I sent you word that I was staying to see the shops I meant Iwas staying to see his shop. He took me to his own home, and hismother and sisters were lovely to me. He wanted me to marry him atMontreal, and asked me again at North Bay, and twice in Winnipeg, andI really forgot to count how many times he proposed to me in Brandon;but I wanted to be perfectly fair, and would not marry him until Ihad seen you."

  Arthur said not a word, but walked over to the eastern window. It wasa pleasant day in early winter. He could see the curls of smokerising from the neighbours' houses into the frosty air, and the longgray wreath of it that the morning train had left still lay on theTiger Hills. A mirage had lifted the old spruce bush on theAssiniboine into vision. Every mark on the landscape stung him withremembrances of happy days when youth and love and hope were weavingfor him a glorious dream.

  He turned suddenly and caught her in his arms. "Don't go back on me,Thursa! I won't give you up!" he cried. "He can't love you the way Ido. You haven't been in his mind, day and night, all these years. Hedoesn't love you, dear, like I do, and he can't have you. I tell you,I won't give you up. You are mine forever."

  Suddenly his arms, dropped and he put her away from him. "Let methink a minute, Thursa," he said, in his usual tone. "This has comeon me suddenly. Stay here until I come back."

  Outside the cold, bracing air fanned his burning face. He stood onthe bank of the Plover Creek and looked with unseeing eyes aroundhim, and found himself thinking of the most trifling things--hecouldn't think about what he wanted to; his brain refused to act.Suddenly there came over him a great calmness, and with it a strongresolve. He would do the square thing. He loved Thursa, but there wassomething stronger even than that--something that must be obeyed.

  When Arthur went
back to the house his face was white with theconflict, but his resolve was taken "Do you want to marry thisBrandon man, Thursa?" he asked.

  "I don't know. I am thinking. Don't hurry me now. I can't bear to behurried. That's where Aunt Honora and I never could agree; shecrowded me so. I am thinking very hard, really. Mr. Smeaton's offeris still open. I was to let him know. Of course, Arthur, you are abishop's nephew, and that's something. Mr. Smeaton's family are allin trade."

  "That does not matter in this country," said Arthur. "No, that's whathe said, too. He is so witty and clever. He said I could write to theaunts that I had married the son of a leading M. P. of the West."

  "Is his father a Member of Parliament?" Arthur asked quickly.

  Thursa laughed delightedly. "M. P. stands for 'milk peddler,'" shesaid. "Wasn't he adorable to think of that?"

  "Very clever indeed," Arthur said quietly.

  "We did have screaming fun over it. He said we would spell itSmeatholym if it would make the aunts feel any easier, and he told meI could tell them how brave he was--that he once slew a wild oryx. Hesaid he often drove a yoke of wild oryxen before him as gentle aslambs. I know Aunt Constance would be deeply impressed with this. Heeven went so far, Arthur--he was so deadly in earnest--to give me thetelegraph form to sign. It is all written if I decide to marry him."

  "Let me see it!" said Arthur.

  She opened her little bead purse and handed him a yellow telegraphblank, on which was written:

  "Mr. John Smeaton, "Rosser Avenue, "Brandon, "L. G. D. is past. O. for O."

  "What does it mean?" he asked.

  "You could never guess--it is so funny," she laughed. '"L. G. D.' is'love's golden dream.' 'O. for O.' means 'open for offers.'"

  Arthur's face was twitching with pain and anger, but with wonderfulself-control he asked her again:

  "Do you want to marry this man?"

  "I think I do, Arthur. He's lovely."

  Arthur handed her his pencil and motioned to her to sign the blank.

  "Oh, Arthur!" she cried, "do you mean it? May I sign it? Do you notmind?"

  She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him impulsively. Arthurmade no response to her embrace, but the perspiration stood out inbeads on his forehead.

  "Sign it," he said, almost roughly. He turned away his head, whileshe signed her name.

  She watched him anxiously. Why didn't he speak? This was dreadfullyunpleasant.

  "Thursa," he said at last, "will you sing for me that Rosary song?Just once. I want to hear it."

  She sang it, sweet and tender as ever, every word a caress.

  When she was done, he stood up and said very gently, but very sadly,"I wanted to be sure it was not ever meant for me. A clean cut is theeasiest healed."

  He went to his phonograph records and picked out the "Rosary." Onlyfor a second he fondled it in his hand, then crushed it in pieces andthrew them into the fire. "There now, Thursa," he said steadily,"that chapter is closed forever."

  She looked at him in astonishment. "Why don't you get excited andthreaten to shoot yourself and all that?"

  "Because I have no notion of doing it," he said.

  "Well, I do wish you would be a little bit melodramatic--this isdeadly uninteresting. I would have loved to write home somethingreally thrilling."

  "This is thrilling enough for me, Thursa," he answered. Then, after apause, he said, "Shall I send your telegram?"

  "Not just yet," she answered. "You see, Arthur, I want to be sure. Iknow that Mr. Smeaton is lovely and all that, but I want to be surehe is a gentleman. I want you to go and see him; Arthur. I will dowhatever you say."

  She came and put her hands on Arthur's shoulders and looked up athim.

  "Arthur, I have not treated you very well, but you'll do this for me,and if you find that he is not--" she hesitated--"I do not like tospeak of him in this way, it doesn't seem right to doubt him, and Idon't doubt him really; but you will do it, won't you, Arthur?"

  "I will not do it!" he cried. "Don't ask me to do this!"

  "And Arthur, if you come back and say that I must forget him, I will,try to, and I will marry you and try to like all these horrid littlepots and pans. I truly will, and we will never speak of this again."

  She was looking into his face as she spoke, and there was anearnestness in the depths of her violet eyes, a sweet womanliness,that he had never seen before.

  "Oh, Thursa!" he cried, his voice quivering with tenderness. "You aremaking it hard for me--how can I help but perjure myself to win you?Any man would lie to you rather than lose you. Send some one else; Ican't do it. I can't come back and tell you he is worthy of you."

  Thursa drew his face down to hers and kissed his cheek.

  "Arthur, I know you, and I will trust you. You couldn't lie; youdon't know how, and you will do this, for me."