Wanderfoot (The Dream Ship)
her hands. With her mind she was always working and giving forth to
Bran. But with her hands, for the first time in her life since she had
sat idle under the shadow of a buck-sail imbibing her father's vagabond
creeds, she did nothing. And, even as in those days Gay Haviland had
handed on to his child what was his of greatness of heart and soul, so
in the southern garden during long torrid days of tropical peace, when
under the tingling ether thought seemed to detach itself in bright
fountains from the sluggish mass of lesser things, Val gave of all that
was best in her to Westenra's son. The pity of it is that all mothers
cannot have this unlimited leisure to give to their children in the days
when character is forming for life.
In a sense, too, Val was at peace for the first time since her early
marriage. The menace and terror of Valdana's existence, the load she
had carried on her conscience for years with regard to her position in
Westenra's life, all had been swept away by the hand of Death, the
greatest friend! And she was free of Westenra too. Whether it were true
or not that he intended to marry Miss Holland she would never lay claim
to his life or name again, never return to that life in New York that
crippled her soul, robbed her of her individuality, and turned her into
a useless, incapable creature whom she herself despised.
The decision was not even hers to make--at least so it seemed to her.
He had made it for her in Jersey. And it was all old grief and pain!
She had learned during those terrible months of nursing Horace Valdana
to hush her heart to rest. She had had her chance with Garrett and his
love, and failed, it seemed. Even in spite of Valdana's resurrection
she would surely, had she been worthy, have kept Westenra's love? As it
was, love had done with her, she would never feel passion again.
"All her red roses had fallen asleep,
All her white roses were sleeping!"
The brave thing was to face the fact and abide by it. Besides, she had
Bran. A woman who is a mother can never be quite lonely and unhappy.
One little chapel of the heart may remain empty and dismantled but all
other spaces in it are filled to overflowing. And ... away at the back
of Val's mind a dream had begun to simmer and waver and take form--a
dream of a waggon on the veldt, with Bran. Some day she would return to
work and wandering--she knew that now.
----
In the autumn Haidee passed her exams, brilliantly, getting honours with
her "_Bacho_" and a first-class _diplome_. It was a great achievement,
and Val was deeply pleased, knowing how the news would gratify Westenra.
She wrote at once sending Haidee a beautiful gift in celebration of the
success, and asking when she should come to Paris and fetch her South.
For by this time she had discovered that she could trust Marietta with
Bran, and had no fear of leaving him for a few days.
But Haidee wrote back coldly, barely acknowledging the gift, and stating
that she wished to stay on at the Lycee working at her music and
painting until December, when Celine Lorrain and her father were coming
down to Marseilles to see the last of Rupert, who, having finished his
two years' military service, was going out to Morocco. Val made no
objection to this plan, but her heart was chilled at this open
preference for strangers. The Lorrains were good friends, of course, but
after all she and Haidee had been through poverty and sorrow and
sickness together. She looked upon the girl, if not as her child, at
least as her younger sister. Was it possible that she still cherished
resentment about Sacha? At any rate Val was too proud to make any
further advances. She knew Haidee to be one of those natures that are
not softened by kindly advances, but rather inclined to hold the
advancers in contempt for their pains--a fault of youth that passes with
a wider knowledge and experience of humanity.
When she had gone to say good-bye to Haidee before leaving Paris, it was
with the intention of telling her the wonderful news about the necklace,
and also as much as was necessary of the return and death of Valdana
without exactly revealing the identity of the latter and his
relationship to herself. However, Haidee's bleak manner had nipped
untimely in the bud the good intention. Val could not afford to take
into her confidence any one who was not entirely sympathetic, and though
she did not believe that Haidee would be capable of deliberate
disloyalty, yet she realised that the latter, in spite of the grown-up
airs, was only a child, and as such liable to be swayed by moods in
which she might fling a confidence to the four winds, and repent her
action when it was too late. And the secret of Horace Valdana's
resurrection had not been kept these many years for it to be lightly
betrayed by a child. As for the matter of the fortune gained by the
sale of the Comfort necklace, Val had been obliged to strangle her
longing to tell Haidee all about it, for how could she suppose that any
one who showed such an almost offensive indifference to her affairs was
really burning with curiosity to know the meaning of her suddenly
changed circumstances? Haidee hid her feelings well. Thus it came to
pass that a secret which Val would gladly have shared and felt redoubled
pleasure in the sharing, had been kept of necessity to herself. She had
not even told Rupert, for she felt that apart from the children no one
else before Westenra had a right to know. And since Westenra showed no
further interest in her--well, it was no one's affair.
When the week came for the expected arrival of Haidee, what was Val's
intense surprise to receive a letter from her saying that she should not
be coming down with the Lorrains. For one thing, she wrote, General
Lorrain was ill and Celine could not leave him, so that Rupert would be
travelling alone. For another, she added casually, as if prompted by an
afterthought, "Garry is in Paris and we are going about a great deal
together. It is possible that he may come down South--_to see Bran_
before he returns to New York. But this is not quite certain. I will
let you know later."
Westenra in Europe for the first time for four years, and this was the
way he notified her! Val was stricken to the soul. Never had she so
acutely realised the position to which he had relegated her. A mere
minder of his child, and in some respects not so good as that, for a
nurse or governess would at least have received kindly and courteous
letters from her employer. This casual second-hand message seemed to be
the cruellest of any of the blows her heart had suffered since first she
threw in her lot with Garrett Westenra. And at first she sank under it.
It was the little more that is too much. But presently with some of her
old courage she braced herself to the new situation. If she had got to
meet Westenra she would be ready for it. She had not trained her soul
for years to no avail. She had not lived with austerity, stood apart
from temptation, fought spiritual battles, for nothing. A strong rock
was at her back for the hour of need, a rock she had been forming for
herself in all the years since she last saw Westenra. She would be ready
when he came to receive him with dignity and strength untainted by
resentment or any petty feeling.
But before that time Rupert the blue-eyed and ardent, in whom she
recognised so much of her own nature, came bursting into the Calendar of
Little Days. She welcomed him with all the pleasure a woman feels in
seeing those whose affection for her is sure and unquestioning, who
doubt not her loyalty and pure intention.
His light-heartedness seemed to have waned a little, and his pleasure at
having attained his majority and freedom to depart where he listed was
not so great as Val had expected. He explained the reason succinctly.
"It is all very well to be rich and free, Val, but I am very alone in
the world." His eyes resting in hers took an expression of intense
melancholy.
"That is the curse the gods lay upon us wanderers, Rupert," she said
sadly.
"'Lover of the Lone Trail, the Lone Trail waits for you!'
"Yet it is that loneliness we are always trying by our own efforts to
alleviate."
"There is only one person in the world who can alleviate it for me."
"And you have not found her yet," interrupted Val promptly, and before
he could say what she read in his eyes, continued swiftly: "I want you
to tell me all about Haidee. You saw her recently, didn't you? How is
she looking?"
"Very pretty," said Rupert gloomily. "She is a great beauty, that
Haidee, and looks no longer like a brown pony."
"Brown pony?"
"Ah, I should not have said that! It was one of poor Sacha's _blagues_
that she always looked like a wild pony with her brown mane flying ...
but she is very different now and quite cured of Sacha, with her hair
put up and long frocks and the self-possessed manner of twenty."
"Has she really got her hair up?"
"Yes, indeed. I saw her with the guardian. He is a fine fellow, is n't
he? She is much in love with him. I think they will marry."
"Marry!" Val started as if a missile had struck her. A moment later
she controlled herself and laughed--an odd, nervous laugh. "Why,
Rupert, how silly you are! She is practically Dr. Westenra's child. He
has brought her up from a baby."
"That makes nothing. She is not a baby any more, and she does n't look
at him like a father. I prophesy to you that Haidee marries him."
He was arrested by Val's expression.
"You do not care for such a marriage?"
"It is out of the question to discuss such a thing," she said firmly,
but her face was ashen.
Rupert examined her acutely. He did not know of course that he was
speaking of Bran's father.
CHAPTER XXII
THE WAY OF LOVE
"The philosophy of six thousand years has not searched the chambers and
magazines of the soul."--EMERSON.
The Lempriere hat Haidee had on, though it was only a travelling hat of
soft silk, turned up in front with one orchid, must have cost at least
six guineas, but Westenra had paid it without blenching. It seemed to
him that Val had trained him to buying hats and choosing pretty gowns,
though the strange thing, if he had analysed it, was that he had never
bought Val a hat or gown in his life. Yet because of Val he knew that
women needed these things, and because life had gone exceedingly well
with him in the last few years, he bought for Haidee all she asked, and
made no demur. In America he always travelled second, but now he and
Haidee were in a first-class carriage, en route for the South of France,
and it seemed natural enough.
Haidee had certainly come into her own, and it was a goodly inheritance
of beauty. With her hair _coiffe_ and the hat with the orchid (a
wonderful imitation of a rare species found in the Congo forest), she
was a lovely dryad come to town. The cut of her tan shantung suit
betrayed a master hand, and from its open coat rippled little cascades
of fine lace. Yet she looked discontented. Perhaps the bitter moodiness
on the face opposite had infected her.
Westenra had not worn that look when they commenced the journey; it was
within the last half-hour while they talked of Val that Haidee had
watched it creeping like a shadow into his eyes, making harsh lines
about his mouth.
"You should have gone to the Lamartine studios and made inquiries," she
said suddenly. "Then you 'd have known all about it--far more than I
wrote and told you!"
"I have no right to make inquiries about Val, Haidee. She is not my
wife and I have no claim whatever over----"
"Not your wife?"