The Hidden Children

"Lanette is a strange maid, Euan. At first I knew she disliked me. Then, of a sudden, one day she came to me and clung like a child afraid. And we loved from that minute.... It is strange."

"Is she ill?"

"In mind, I think."

"Why?"

"I do not know, Euan."

"Is it love, think you—her disorder?"

"I do not know, I tell you. Once I thought it was—that. But knew not how to be certain."

"Does Boyd still court her?"

"No—I do not know," she said with a troubled look.

"Is it that affair which makes her unhappy?"

"I thought so once. They were ever together. Then she avoided him—or seemed to. It was Betty Bleecker who interfered between them. For Mrs. Bleecker was very wrathful, Euan, and Lana's indiscretions madded her.... There was a scene.... So Boyd came no more, save when other officers came, which was every day. Somehow I have never been certain that he and Lana did not meet in secret when none suspected."

"Have you proof?" I asked, cold with rage.

She shook her head, and her gaze grew vague and remote. After a while she seemed to put away her apprehensions, and, smiling, she turned to me, challenging me with her clear, sunny eyes:

"Come, Euan, you shall do me reason, now that my curly pate is innocent of powder, no French red to tint my lips and hide my freckles, and but a linsey-woolsey gown instead of chintz and silk to cover me! So tell me honestly, does not the enchantment break that for a little while seemed to hold you near me?"

"Do you forget," said I, "that I first saw my enchantress in rags and tattered shoon?"

"Oh!" she said, tossing her pretty head. "Extremes attract all men. But now in this sober and common guise of every day, I am neither Cinderella nor yet the Princess—merely a frowsy, rustic, freckled maid with a mouth somewhat too large for beauty, and the clipped and curly poll of a careless boy. And I desire to know, once for all, how I now suit you, Euan."

"You are perfection—once for all."

"I? What obstinate foolishness you utter! In all seriousness—"

"You are—more beautiful than ever—in all seriousness!"

"What folly!" She began to laugh nervously, then shrugged her shoulders, adding: "This young man is plainly partizan and deaf to reason."

"Being in love."

"You! In love! What nonsense!"

"Do you doubt it?"

"Oh!" she said carelessly. "You are in love with love—as all men are—and not particularly in love with me. Men, my dear Euan, are gamblers. When first you saw me in tatters, you laid a wager with yourself that I'd please you in silks. A gay hazard! A sporting wager! And straight you dressed me up to suit you; and being a man, and therefore conceited, you could scarcely admit that you had lost your wager to your better senses. Could you? But now you shall admit that in this frowsy, woollen gown the magic of both Cinderella and the Princess vanishes with yesterday's enchantment, and, instead of Chloe, pink and simpering, only a sturdy comrade stands revealed who now, as guerdon for the future, strikes hands with you—like this! Koue!" And with the clear and joyous cry on her lips she struck my palm violently with hers, nor winced under my quick-closing grip.

"Is all now clear and plain between us, Euan?" she inquired. And it seemed to me that her eagerness and fervour rang false.

"You can not love me, then?" I asked in a low voice.

"I? What has love to do with us—here in the woods—and I without knowledge and experience–"

"You do not love me, then?"

"I can not."

"Why?"

She made no answer, but bit her lip.

"You need not reply," said I. "Yet—that night I left Otsego—and when I passed you in the dark—I thought–"

"My heart was full that night! What comrade could feel less and still possess a human heart?" she said almost sullenly.

"Your letter—and mine—encouraged me to believe–"

"I know," she said, with the curt and almost breathless impatience of haste, "but have I ever denied our bond of intimacy, Euan? Closer bond have I with no man. But it must be a comrade's bond between us.... I meant to make that plain to you—and doubtless, my heart being full—and I but a girl—conveyed to you—by what I said—and did–"

"Lois! Is it not in you to love me as a woman loves a man?"

"I told you that when the time arrived I would doubtless be what you wish me to be–"

"You can love me, then?"

"How do I know? You perplex and vex me. Who else would I love but you? Who else is there in the world—except my mother?"

There was a silence; then I said:

"Has this passionate quest of her so wholly absorbed and controlled you that all else counts as nothing?"

"Yes, yes! You know it. You knew it at Otsego! Nothing else matters. I will not permit anything else to matter! And, lest you deem me cold, thankless, inhuman, ask of yourself, Euan, why such a lonely girl as I should close her eyes and stop her ears and lock her heart and—and turn her face away when the man—to whom she owes all—to whom she is—utterly devoted—urges her toward emotions—toward matters strange to her—and too profound as yet. So I ask you, for a time, to let what sleeps within us both lie sleeping, undisturbed. There is a love more natural, more imperious, more passionate still; and—it has led me here! And I will not confuse it with any other sentiment; nor share it with any man—not even with you—dear as you have become to me—lonely as I am,—no, not even with you will I share it! For I have vowed that I shall never slake my thirst with love save first in her dear embrace.... After these wistful, stark, and barren years—loveless, weary, naked, and unkind–" Suddenly she covered her face with her hands, bowing her head to her knees.

"Yet you bid me hope, Lois?" I asked under my breath.

She nodded.

"You make me happy beyond words," I whispered.

She looked up from her hands:

"Is that all you required to make you happy?"

"Can I ask more?"

"I—I thought men were more ruthless—more imperious and hotly impatient with the mistress of their hearts—if truly I am mistress of yours, as you tell me."

"I am impatient only for your happiness; ruthless only to secure it."