"Very good, Ijima. You needn't lock the boat-house. I may go out later."
The cottagers at Port Annandale hold once every summer a canoe fête, and this was the appointed night. I was in no mood for gaiety of any sort, but it occurred to me that I might relieve the strained relations between Helen and her aunt by taking them out to watch the procession of boats. I passed through the gate and took a turn or two, not to appear to know of the whereabouts of the women, and to my surprise met Miss Pat walking alone.
She greeted me with her usual kindness, but I knew that I had broken upon sad reflections. Her handkerchief vanished into the silk bag she wore at her wrist. Helen was not in sight, but I strolled back and forth with Miss Pat, thinking the girl might appear.
"I had a note from Father Stoddard to-day," said Miss Pat.
"I congratulate you," I laughed. "He doesn't honor me."
"He's much occupied," she remarked defensively; "and I suppose he doesn't indulge in many letters. Mine was only ten lines long, not more!"
"Father Stoddard feels that he has a mission in the world, and he has little time for people like us, who have food, clothes and drink in plenty. He gives his life to the hungry, unclothed and thirsty."
And now, quite abruptly, Miss Pat spoke of her brother.
She nodded several times, then looked at me and smiled.
"You have frightened him off! I am grateful to you!"--and I was glad in my heart that she did not know that Gillespie's money had sent him away.
Helen had not appeared, and I now made bold to ask for her.
"Let me send the maid to tell her you are here," said Miss Pat, and we walked to the door and rang.
The maid quickly reported that Miss Holbrook begged to be excused.
"She is a little afraid of the damp night air of the garden," said Miss Pat, with so kind an intention that I smiled to myself. It was at the point of my tongue to remark, in my disappointment at not seeing her, that she must have taken sudden alarm at the lake atmosphere; but Miss Pat talked on unconcernedly. I felt from her manner that she wished to detain me. No one might know how her heart ached, but it was less the appeal of her gentleness that won me now, I think, than the remembrance that flashed upon me of her passionate outburst after our meeting with the Italian; and that seemed very long ago. She had been magnificent that day, like a queen driven to desperation, and throwing down the gauntlet as though she had countless battalions at her back. Indecision took flight before shame; it was a privilege to know and to serve her!