"Where are you going, Jean Baptiste?"
Jean stopped instantly, and stared in dumb surprise; for there was Gabrielle standing before him in a hunting suit of tanned buckskin, a light rifle on her arm--a veritable Diana of the wilderness.
"Speak, Jean! Say something, for goodness' sake. I am not a ghost, nor a holy picture descended from its frame. It is I, Gabrielle."
"As I see," said Jean, raising his cap and offering his hand. "Welcome to Lac Desir, Gabrielle."
"Lac Desir! What a pretty name! Where is Lac Desir, Jean? Which way?"
"Come, Gabrielle; I will show you. It is only a step or two. I was coming away, but now I will gladly return. This way, if you please. It is a rough path, and steep. Take my hand, will you not? Now we are at the foot of the hill, and there, under the trees, is the cabin--my hermitage. It is not much like the Ursulines, I should say. You were there, were you not?"
"Yes, certainly, I was there for a while; but I have escaped, as you see. I could not say so many prayers--it was too fatiguing--and I had to have a little vacation in the country. Soon I will return."
"Return?" exclaimed Jean, in dismay. "That would be a pity. Do not return to the convent, Gabrielle."
"Why not, then? It is a pleasant place, the convent, so quiet, so peaceful; and the sisters are so good, so dear. And it is a place where one can make one's salvation."
"Salvation, you say, in a convent, in a little cell? How can one find that between four walls? It is something that belongs to the open air, Gabrielle; something that comes with the sunshine. No, it is here that one finds true peace, rest for the soul--salvation, if you like."
"But you are going away, Jean. Is it possible that you are leaving your salvation?"
"But no. I have found it here; and I am taking it back to St. Placide, to the work that awaits me there. But now that you are here I forget all that, and I could stay for ever. Stay here, Gabrielle."
"So I will, Jean, for a few moments, at least. It is a pretty place. But where is the lake? Where is Lac Desir?"
"We are coming to it. Another turn of the path and you will get a glimpse of it through the trees. There, there it is!"
Gabrielle clapped her hands.
"Beautiful! Charming! Like a picture--more lovely than any picture! Certainly, the pictures at the convent are not like this. You have a canoe, of course. Get it, Jean--quickly. You shall take me out on the lake."
"With pleasure, Gabrielle. The ship is here, in this clump of spruces. It would not be easy to find it if one did not know the place. I am revealing all our secrets, as you see. Presently I will give you the keys, and you shall be the sovereign lady of these dominions. Look! A fine canoe, is it not? Of a single piece of bark. It is not often that one sees a canoe like this--so light, so graceful, so strong, so perfect in all its lines. One carries it like a feather. There, I will place it in the water, by the rock. Have the goodness to take your place in the bow, Mademoiselle the Passenger. A great honour for the canoe, for me, I assure you, Mademoiselle."
"Monsieur, it is with sincere pleasure that I accord you the honour. But how complimentary you have become! Already you are recovering from the surprise, the shock, of my arrival. How serious you were a moment since! I thought I should have to cry. Smile a little, Jean. There, that is better. Once more. Now we are all right. How lovely the water! How balmy the air! How pleasant to glide along like this! Not so fast, Jean. Slowly. It is still early in the morning. Let us not think of time. Let us forget the world. Ah, now I know what it is to be dead to the world, as they say in the convent, and yet very much alive. I think that I have never lived before. But what would Mother Sainte Anne say if she could see me now? And why don't you ask how I happened to come?"
"It is enough to know that you are here, Gabrielle. If only you would stay."
"I am staying, am I not? But if you say that again I will go away at once."
"Allow me to remind you, Mademoiselle, that we are at some distance from the shore."
"But I can swim quite well, Monsieur; and if you provoke me I will jump into the water."
"As you did once before, many years ago. How well I remember the occasion! Do it again, Gabrielle, that I may have the pleasure of saving your life. Then you would belong to me, you know."
"What nonsense you talk, Jean! I will not jump into the water, just to please you, but I will go back to the shore all the same. Take me back."
"Oh, not yet, Gabrielle. It is too pleasant here. Never before have I seen the lake so beautiful. There was always something lacking; but now it is complete, perfect."
"It is truly wonderful, Jean; and it would be a pity not to enjoy it while we may. I like to sit here on this comfortable bearskin, dipping my hands in the water, looking at the trees, the sky, the clouds--while you do all the work."
"And I, Gabrielle, I should like to do this kind of work for the rest of my life, to glide along over a summer lake while looking into the face of one so beautiful."
"Jean, I will splash you if you say any more."
"Do so, Gabrielle. I need a bath, perhaps."
"On the contrary, you look as though you took a bath every day, like a certain Englishman at Quebec. Is it possible that you have been here for a whole month? You are no wild man of the woods at all. I am disappointed in you, Jean."
"I am sorry, Gabrielle. In the future I will try to please you better."
Gabrielle blushed and looked away; while Jean, in tender and eloquent words, began to confess that he had loved her long; that in all his plans he had thought of her; that all his battles had been for her sake; and that it had been the hope of his life to lay his honours and trophies at her feet. When she went away the light of his life had gone out; and the world, once so full of beauty and interest, had become an empty, barren desolation. Now that she had returned, in all her radiant beauty, the glory had come back to earth; and the wilderness had become a paradise, a garden of love. How wonderful the forest! How enchanting the lake, nestling in the bosom of the hills! How blue the sky! How clear and pure the air! How glorious the freedom of the wilderness, far from the world, but near to the heart of Nature; near, also, to God. And if two loving hearts, by chance, by fate, by the will of God, found themselves together in such a paradise, was it not the will of God that they should make their home there; live upon the bounty so lavishly provided; conquer the wilderness; and achieve something unusual, unique, even, in their day and generation? A good living was assured; a fortune was not impossible; and the effort, the adventure itself, would be well worth while. Their ancestors had carved a kingdom in the forest--why not their children of a later generation?
Thus Jean Baptiste, like all lovers since the world began, saw everything through a golden mist that made a halo about his beloved; gilded the commonest objects with all the colours of the rainbow; and filled his eyes with a light that never was on sea or shore.
Gabrielle listened, as though fascinated, to the story of love; blushes came to her cheeks, smiles to her lips, and tears to her eyes at the wonder and beauty of it; her heart glowed in return; and she was on the point of stretching out her hands in glad surrender to one so strong, so brave, so noble, with such undying faith in her, in himself, in God.
Had Jean but known, he would have spoken of love alone, whom all hearts love, to whom all yield as to their dearest friend; but in his ignorance and folly he went on to speak of things external, foreign, out of harmony with the thought of love. Plans, ambitions, a good living, a fortune, the conquest of the wilderness--why all that? One must live, of course; but why speak of it at such a moment? The beauties of Nature--why so much of that? The lake was lovely, to be sure; the forest and the hills as well, on a summer morning such as this; but what would they be when winter came with its pall of snow and its chill winds blowing out of the North? And how forlorn it would be, far from the old home, with neither friend nor neighbour near; while the snow drifted high, an impassable barrier between the lonely cabin and the outer world.
Renounce the world? The dear, friendly world of St. Placide, the gay, joyous world of Quebec? As well might one enter the convent; for there, at least, one would have the society of the good sisters, the occupation of teaching, and the joy of devotion and worship when the congregation lift up their hearts and voices unto God. What could one do in the forest during the long winter with no books, no games, no music, no society? The ancestors were satisfied? True, but times had changed, and a new generation had arisen. Why go back to those half-savage days? Love? That was all very well now and then; but there were times when one did not wish to love, nor to be loved; when one might wish to cry, perhaps, and there would be no comforter, no one to console. Work? Yes, one might do that--cook, for example; or make garments of fur; or mend the traps; or chop wood for the fire. Yes, that was what Jean wanted--a wife to do the work of a slave, to grow old with toil and hardship. Well, let him find an Indian squaw for that; and not ask a girl from a comfortable home to share his savage existence in the wilderness.
As Jean talked on, in his idealistic, unpractical way, about the glories of life in the forest, the crude realities of that life were borne in upon Gabrielle; and her heart was hardened against one who could, in the name of love, demand so great a sacrifice and offer so little in return. The smile faded from her lips, the colour from her cheeks, and the love-light from her eyes; while a grey cloud passed over the sun; and a chill breath from the North swept over the lake. Gabrielle shuddered.
"Take me back, Jean. I am cold."
"But, Gabrielle, it is so lovely here."
"I do not find it so. Take me back to the shore."
"But the sun will be shining again in a moment; and the lake, the forest, the hills, will be all aglow in the morning light."
"It will not. I detest your lake, your mountains, your forest. It is a desolation, and I hate it all--all."
Without a word Jean turned the prow of the canoe toward the shore; and when they reached the landing-place Gabrielle stepped out unassisted, and walked swiftly up the path, past the cabin, and on up the hill down which she had come an hour before. Jean noted the way she was going; and a few moments later he took up his pack and rifle, and with long, swift strides followed her trail up the ridge, and down the long slope on the other side. Presently he caught a glimpse of her through the trees, as she tripped along, lithe and active as a deer; and it was with no little difficulty that he kept her in sight until she came to the foot of the slope, and began to climb the shoulder of another hill. There Gabrielle slackened her pace, and turned on her pursuer with flushed face and angry eyes.
"Jean, Monsieur Giroux, I will trouble you to cease following me."
"I am sorry, Gabrielle, but I cannot let you go this way alone. It is dangerous at times."
"I am not at all afraid, and I wish to be alone."
"But you might lose your way, Gabrielle."
"I will not. I know the way quite well."
"But it is easy to get lost, Gabrielle, in this vast forest; among these hills, these cliffs, these marshes; and there are places where one might fall, and not be able to rise alone. One needs a companion."
"I do not. Will you please leave me?"
"I will not leave you, Gabrielle, until you are with your friends."
"Why, why? Mon Dieu, why not?"
"Because I love you, Gabrielle."
Gabrielle paused for a moment, on tiptoe, like a frightened deer; and then sprang away, and went on with incredible swiftness up the hill; then along a level place for a while; then down another slope; winding about in a maze of trees and rocks, hills and valleys; but all the time keeping, as she thought, the same general direction toward the place where her friends had set their camp.
An hour later Gabrielle found herself standing on the crest of a hill looking down upon a lake that shimmered in the sunshine, with tiny waves that sparkled like a cluster of diamonds set in emeralds. It was Lac des Isles, no doubt, where they had camped the night before. But where was the camp? And where were the islands? There was but one island to be seen; and no camp at all--only a cabin half hidden in the trees below. Yet the place was strangely familiar. What? Where could it be? Was it possible?
Gabrielle turned in dismay, and there was Jean standing beside her.
"Monsieur Giroux, Jean, what is this? Where am I?"
"This is Lac Desir, Gabrielle, and you are with one who loves you, dear."
Gabrielle looked up with a wistful smile.
"Are you sure, Jean, that you love me as much as you love the lake, for example; or the forest?"
"Oh, Gabrielle, it is you that I love, and you only."
"Or the life of the wilderness, Jean; and the struggle, the conflict, the conquest?"
"Gabrielle!"
"Or the pretty log cabin down there, Jean; or that lovely canoe all made of one piece of bark, so strong, so graceful, so perfect in all its lines. Or----"
"Hush, dear," said Jean, taking her in his strong arms, and kissing her on the wayward lips again and again, while her flaming cheeks and loving eyes, her quick breathing and the fluttering of her heart, told better than any words that she loved this man and would go with him to the end of the world.
By-and-by they went down the hill together; and as Jean was showing Gabrielle his home in the wilderness, she looked up in his face with an expression of perfect trust and whispered her confession of love and unconditional surrender.
"Jean, we shall be happy here. You will be my world and I yours. Two worlds should be enough for us; quite sufficient, should they not?"
"But no, dear. That was a foolish plan, a species of insanity, I think, a madness that came upon me. We will spend the honeymoon here, if you consent; and after that we will make our home in St. Placide. It will be a modest home at the first, but it will be the beginning of great things. There is only one obstacle, one danger; but we will not think of that. Nothing shall come between us any more, Gabrielle."
"Obstacle, Jean? Danger? I cannot think of any. But wait. Do you know why I came here? I had quite forgotten. Can you guess?"
"Gabrielle, I had not thought of it. Strange, too, that you should find your way to Lac Desir, so far from home. But you were nearly lost in the end."
"No, not lost, Jean, for you found me; and I, I found myself. Not lost at all, Jean Baptiste Giroux. But how did I arrive in the first place? Guess!"
"How can I? You did not know the way. No one knows it but Michel and I. Now I see. It was Michel who showed you the way, came with you. Where is he, then?"
"Good guess, Jean. You are not so stupid, after all. Michel and my father are down there at Lac des Isles, not five miles away. That explains my early visit, as you see."
"Perfectly. It is the best way to come. You take the old road to Lac des Isles, and then you follow the valley right up to this place. An easy way, Gabrielle, and yet you missed it. It is to laugh."
"No, indeed, I did not miss it on the way up, and if I missed it on the way back it was your fault, Jean. It was cruel of you to torment me like that."
"True, Gabrielle, and I am glad of it. If I had let you go alone you would have been lost."
"Not at all, Monsieur Giroux. I should have gone back to the happy Ursulines, to Mother Sainte Anne, and all the dear sisters, who would have received me with open arms. And I should not have said a single prayer for you, not one."
"No matter, Gabrielle. Now that I have you I shall have the benefit of your prayers as well; shall I not, dear?"
"No. Yes. I don't know. You will need them, without doubt; for you are a great sinner, Jean."
"How so, Gabrielle?"
"You broke the heart of that good girl, Blanchette."
"No, Gabrielle; not intentionally, at least. Moreover, I think that the heart of that young lady is not so very fragile."
"What do you know about it, stupid man? It was broken indeed, but now it is mended again--completely."
"Mended?"
"Yes, and she is to marry Pamphile Lareau."
"Pamphile is dead, Gabrielle."
"No, Jean. He is alive and almost well. For a time it was thought that he would die, but Blanchette brought him back to life, with the aid of the good God. That is what I came to tell you. We thought that you would like to know."
"Thank God!" said Jean. "And thank you, too, Gabrielle. Now there is not a cloud in the sky. What a day, this--the best day of my life! And you came to tell me the good news."
"Yes, and to have a little outing, a little fresh air and exercise--after the convent, you know."
"Gabrielle, I am glad that you did not stay in the convent. It is a refuge, a blessed retreat, for those who are discouraged, for the weary, the sad at heart; but for the young, the strong, the brave, the world is a better place. It was not for you. You had no vocation."
"That is just what Mother Sainte Anne said. She is a dear friend. 'Listen, Gabrielle,' she said, 'for the voice, the true call that speaks to the heart. You shall know it by the tone, like the clear, pure sound of a bell, to which all the chords of the heart respond; and you will say: "Lo! that is for me." Sometimes the call of love is the voice of God, my dear.' Yes, she is a true friend, Mother Sainte Anne."
"And Michel. He also is a good friend to us, as to my father in the early days."
"Oh, Jean, there is something else that I was forgetting. I forget everything now. A treasure, a great treasure."
"I could not touch it, Gabrielle."
"No, Jean, you could not. But what do you think Michel has done? He has given it to Mother Sainte Anne to found a hospital for poor children, a cause that she has had at heart for many years. The poor children will be happy with Mother Sainte Anne, and she with them. I am so glad that you did not take the gold, Jean. Now it is treasure in Heaven. I call it Mother Sainte Anne's dowry and my ransom."
"Your ransom, Gabrielle? Yes, that is it. How lucky for me that I did not take the treasure!"
"And for me, Jean. Oh, how fortunate! I thank God! It was a miracle, almost."
"Yes, Gabrielle, but there is a greater miracle, the miracle of your love, and a treasure more precious--yourself."
"A treasure, I? Oh no, Jean, only a wilful, wayward girl. Can it be that you love me, Jean? Is it true?"
"Gabrielle!"
"Jean!"
THE TEMPLE PRESS
LETCHWORTH, ENGLAND