'No change! I never cared for any one half as much!'
'Lucy!' confounded at her apparent oblivion.
'It is true,' said Lucy, sitting down by her. 'Perhaps I thought I did, but if the other had ever been as much to me, I could never have used him as I did! Oh, Honor, when a person is made of the stuff I am, it is very hard to tell which is one's heart, and which is one's flirting-machine! for the other thing does simulate all the motions, and feel real true pain! But I know now that Mr. Pendy was safe in my rear heart of hearts all the time, though I never guessed it, and thought he was only a sort of father; but you see that was why I was always in awe of getting under Robert's dominion, and why I survived his turning me off, and didn't at all wish him to bring it on again.'
'No, that you did not,' said Honor, in a cheered voice, as if acquitting her.
'And I am sure if Mr. Prendergast only looked like using me after my deserts, as
Honor could not but be carried along to give the hearty kiss and motherly congratulation as they were sought, and she saw that she must believe what Lucy said of her own feelings, incomprehensible though they were. But she regretted to hear of the waiting for a college living, and at the first impulse wished she had heard of this attachment before Hiltonbury's fate had been fixed.
'For shame, Honor, as if you ought not to respect Hiltonbury too much to tack it to my petticoat! But at least thank you, for if you could once think of committing Hiltonbury to him, you must like it for me.'
'I must like what is so evidently well for you, my child! Will you tell Phoebe?'
'Not till we go home, I think,' said Cilla, with a blush; and, as if to avoid farther discussion, she bade Honora good night. Decidedly, she wished Robert to feel more than she would like to see, or should he betray no feeling, she had rather not be aware of it.
But such news was already in town as to put to flight, for a time at least, the last remnants of coquetry.
Robert was in the house early in the morning, and called Miss Charlecote to speak to him in the study. He had a packet of letters in his hand, of which he gave one to herself, a long one in Owen's writing, but unfinished and undirected.
'Lakeville, Newcastle District, August 14th.
'MY DEAR HONOR,
'There is no saying how much I rejoice that I can write to you and
Lucy again under the same roof. I hope soon to see you together
again, and revive old times, but we are delayed by the discovery that
the swamp lying full in the Grand Ottawa and Superior Line is
impracticable, and would not only be the death of all the navvies
employed thereon, but would swallow bodily the funds of the G. O. and
S. Company. So we are carrying our survey in other directions,
before making out our report, after which I hope to be permanently
engaged on the construction. This will give me three months to spend
at home, in knitting up old links, and considering how to dispose of
my poor little encumbrance till I can set him to make his way here.
You or Lucy would perhaps look out for some lady who takes Indian
children, or the like. I am my own man now, and can provide the
wherewithal, for my personal expenses are small, and engineering is
well paid. Lucy must not think of bringing him out, for even at her
fastest the Far West would be no place for her. Let her think of
Glendalough, and realize that if she were here she would look back on
it as a temple of comfort, civilization, and civility, and this place
is the last attempt at social habitation for 200 and odd miles. It
stands on a lake of its own, with an Indian name, 'which no man can
speak and no man can spell.' It is colonial to the highest degree,
and inhabited by all denominations, chiefly agreed in worshipping us
as priests of the G. O. and S. Line, which is to make their fortune;
and for their manners, least said soonest mended, though there are
some happy exceptions, French Canadian, Lowland Scots, etc. and a
wiry hard-working parson, whose parish extends nearly to Lake
Superior, and whose remaining aroma of University is refreshing.
There is also a very nice young lad, whose tale may be a moving
example of what it is to come out here expecting to find in the
backwoods Robinson Crusoe's life and that of the Last of the Mohicans
combined. That is, it was not he, but his father, Major Randolf, an
English officer, who, knowing nothing of farming, less of Canada, and
least of all of speculation, got a grant of land, where he speculated
only to lose, and got transferred to this forlorn tract, only to
shiver with ague and die of swamp fever. During the twenty-five
years of this long agony, he had contrived to have two wives, the
first of whom left this son, whom he educated as a scholar, intending
to finish him in England when the tide should turn, but whereas it
never did, he must needs get a fresh partner into the whirlpool, a
Yankee damsel out of a boarding-house. By the time she had had a
couple of children, he died, and the whole weight remains bound about
young Randolf's neck, tying him down to work for dear life in this
doleful spot, without a farthing of capital, no stock, no anything.
I came upon the clearing one day in the course of my surveying, and
never did I see
the half-burnt or overthrown trees lying about overgrown with wild
vines and raspberries, the snake fence broken down, the log-house
looking as if a touch would upset it, and nothing hopeful but a
couple of patches of maize and potatoes, and a great pumpkin climbing
up a stump. My horse and myself were done up, so I halted, and was
amazed at the greeting I received from the youth, who was hard at
work on his hay, single-handed, except for the two children tumbling
in it. The lady in her rocking-chair was contrast enough to make me
heartily glad to find that she was his stepmother, not his wife.
Since that, I have seen a good deal of him; he comes to Lakeville,
five miles across the bush and seven across the lake, to church on
Sunday, and spends the day with the parson, and Mr. Currie has given
him work in our press of business, and finds him so effective, that
he wants to take him on for good; but this can't be while he has got
these three stones about his neck, for whom he works harder and lives
worse than any day-labourer at Hiltonbury; regular hand to mouth, no
chance of making a start, unless the Company will fortunately decide
on the line I am drawing through the heart of his house, which will
force them to buy him out of it. I go out to-morrow to mark the said
line for Mr. Currie to report upon, and will finish my letter to
travel with said report.
'
log-house, though next time he mounts his 'hot-copper filly,' I do
not desire a second neck-and-neck race with him. A sprain of the
leg, and contusion (or confusion) of the head, are the extent of the
