A Daughter of the Forest

by Evelyn Raymond

  CHAPTER X

  DEPARTURE

  But Adrian need not have dreaded the interview to which his host hadsummoned him. Mr. Dutton's face was a little graver than usual but hismanner was even more kind. He was a man to whom justice seemed thehighest good, who had himself suffered most bitterly from injustice.He was forcing himself to be perfectly fair with the lad and it waseven with a smile that he motioned toward an easy-chair oppositehimself. The chair stood in the direct light of the lamp, but Adriandid not notice that.

  "Do not fear me, Adrian, though for a moment I forgot myself. For youpersonally--personally--I have only great good will. But---- Will youanswer my questions, believing that it is a painful necessity whichcompels them?"

  "Certainly."

  "One word more. Beyond the fact, which you confided to Margot, thatyou were a runaway I know no details of your past life. I have wishednot to know and have refrained from any inquiries. I must now breakthat silence. What--is your father's name?"

  As he spoke the man's hands gripped the arms of his chair moretightly, like one prepared for an unpleasant answer.

  "Malachi Wadislaw."

  The questioner waited a moment, during which he seemed to be thinkingprofoundly. Then he rallied his own judgment. It was an uncommon name,but there might be two men bearing it. That was not impossible.

  "Where does he live?"

  "Number --, Madison Avenue, New York."

  A longer silence than before, broken by a long drawn: "A-ah!" Theremight, indeed, be two men of one name, but not two residing at thatonce familiar locality.

  "Adrian, when you asked my niece that question about her father, didyou--had you---- Tell me what was in your mind."

  The lad's face showed nothing but frank astonishment.

  "Why, nothing, sir, beyond an idle curiosity. And I'm no end sorry formy thoughtlessness. I've seen how tenderly you both watch her mother'sgrave and I wondered where her father's was. That was all. I had nobusiness to have done it----"

  "It was natural. It was nothing wrong, in itself. But--unfortunately,it suggested to Margot what I have studiously kept from her. Forreasons which I think best to keep to myself, it is impossible to runthe risk of other questions which may rouse other speculations in hermind. I have been truly glad that she could for a time, at least, havethe companionship of one nearer her own age than Angelique or me, butnow----"

  He paused significantly, and Adrian hastened to complete theunfinished sentence.

  "Now it is time for her to return to her ordinary way of life. Iunderstand you, of course. And I am going away at once. Indeed, I didstart, not meaning to come back, but--I will--how can I do so, sir? IfI could swim----"

  Mr. Dutton's drawn face softened into something like a smile; andagain, most gently, he motioned the excited boy to resume his seat. Ashe did so, he opened a drawer of the table and produced a purse thatseemed to be well filled.

  "Wait. There is no such haste, nor are you in such dire need as youseem to think. You have worked well and faithfully and relieved me ofmuch hard labor that I have not, somehow, felt just equal to. I havekept an account for you and, if you will be good enough to see if itis right, I will hand you the amount due you."

  He pushed a paper toward Adrian who would not, at first, touch it.

  "You owe me nothing, sir, nor can I take anything. I thank you foryour hospitality and some time----" he stopped, choked, and made atelling gesture. It said plainly enough that his pride was just thendeeply humiliated but that he would have his revenge at some futureday.

  "Sit down, lad. I do not wonder at your feeling, nor would you atmine if you knew all. Under other circumstances we should have beenthe best of friends. It is impossible for me to be more explicit,and it hurts my pride as much to bid you go as yours to be sent.Some time--but no matter. What we have in hand is to arrange foryour departure as speedily and comfortably as possible. I wouldsuggest----" but his words had the force of a command--"that Pierreconvey you to the nearest town from which, by stage or railway, youcan reach any further place you choose. If I were to offer advice, itwould be to go home. Make your peace there; and then, if you desire alife in the woods, seek such with the consent and approval of thoseto whom your duty is due."

  Adrian said nothing at first; then remarked:

  "Pierre need not go so far. Across the lake, to the mainland isenough. I can travel on foot afterward, and I know more about theforest now than when I lost myself and you, or Margot, found me. I owemy life to you. I am sorry I have given you pain. Sorry for manythings."

  "There are few who have not something to regret; for anything that hashappened here no apology is necessary. As for saving life, that was byGod's will. Now--to business. You will see that I have reckoned yourwages the same as Pierre's: thirty dollars a month and 'found,' as thefarmers say, though it has been much more difficult to find him thanyou. You have been here nearly three months and eighty dollars isyours."

  "Eighty dollars! Whew! I mean, impossible. In the first place Ihaven't earned it; in the second, I couldn't take it from--fromyou--if I had. How could a man take money from one who had saved hislife?"

  "Easily, I hope, if he has common sense. You exaggerate the service wewere able to do you, which we would have rendered to anybody. Yourearnings will start you straight again. Take them, and oblige me bymaking no further objections."

  Despite his protests, which were honest, Adrian could not but bedelighted at the thought of possessing so goodly a sum. It was thefirst money he had ever earned, therefore better than any other evercould be, and as he put it, in his own thoughts: "it changed him froma beggar to a prince." Yet he made a final protest, asking:

  "Have I really, really, and justly earned all this? Do you surely meanit?"

  "I am not in the habit of saying anything I do not mean. It is gettinglate, and if you are to go to-night, it would be better to startsoon," answered Mr. Dutton, with a frown.

  "Beg pardon. But I'm always saying what I should not, or putting theright things backward. There are some affairs 'not mentioned in thebond': my artist's outfit, these clothes, boots, and other matters. Iwant to pay the cost of them. Indeed, I must. You must allow me, asyou would any other man."

  The woodlander hesitated a moment as if he were considering. He wouldhave preferred no return for anything, but again that effort to bewholly just influenced him.

  "For the clothing, if you so desire, certainly. Here, in this accountbook, is a price list of all such articles as I buy. We will deductthat much. But I hope, in consideration of the pleasure that yourtalent has given me, that you will accept the painting stuff I sogladly provided. If you choose, also, you may leave a small gift forAngelique. Come. Pride is commendable, but not always."

  "Very well. Thank you, then, for your gift. Now, the price list."

  It had been a gratification to Mr. Dutton that Adrian had never wornthe suits of clothing which he had laid out ready for use, on thatmorning after his arrival at the island. The lad had preferred therougher costume suited to the woods and still wore it.

  In a few moments the small business transactions were settled, andAdrian rose.

  "I would like to bid Margot good-bye. But, I suppose, she has gone tobed."

  "Yes. I will give her your message. There is always a pain in partingand you two have been much together. I would spare her as much as Ican. Angelique has packed a basket of food and Pierre is on the beachwith his canoe. He may go as far with you as you desire, and you mustpay him nothing for his service. He is already paid, though his greedmight make him despoil you, if he could. Good-bye. I wish you well."

  Mr. Dutton had also risen, and as he moved forward into the lamplightAdrian noticed how much altered for the worse was his physicalbearing. The man seemed to have aged by many years and his fine headwas now snow-white. He half extended his hand, in response to thelad's proffered clasp, then dropped it to his side. He hoped that thedeparting guest had not observed this inhospitable movement--but hehad. Possibly, it helped him over a
n awkward moment, by touching hispride afresh.

  "Good-bye, sir, and again--thank you. For the present, that is all Ican do. Yet I have heard it was not so big a world, after all, and mychance may come. I'll get my traps from my room, if you please, andone or two little drawings as souvenirs. I'll not be long."

  Fifteen minutes later Pierre was paddling vigorously toward thefurther side of the lake and Adrian was straining his eyes for thelast glimpse of the beautiful island which even now, in his banishmentfrom it, seemed his real and beloved home. It became a vague andshadowy outline, as silent as the stars that brooded over it; andagain he marveled what the mystery might be which enshrouded it, andwhy he should be connected with it.

  "Now that I am no longer its guest, there is no dishonor in my findingout; and find out--I will!"

  "Hey?" asked Pierre, so suddenly, that Adrian jumped and nearly upsetthe boat. "Oh! I thought you said somethin'. Say, ain't this a go?What you done that make the master shut the door on you? I never knewhim do it before. Hey?"

  "Nothing. Keep quiet. I don't feel like talking."

  "Pr-r-r-rp! Look a here, young fello'. Me and you's alone on this deadwater and I can swim--you can't. I've got all I expect to get out thetrip and I've no notion o' makin' it. Not 'less things go to mythinkin'. Now, I'll rest a spell. You paddle!"

  With that, he began to rock the frail craft violently and Adrian'sattention was recalled to the necessity of saving his own life.