Her Freedom

by Ethel M. Dell

"We have been requested to announce that the marriage arranged betweenViscount Merrivale and Miss Hilary St. Orme will not take place."Viscount Merrivale was eating his breakfast when he chanced upon thisannouncement. He was late that morning, and, contrary to custom, wasskimming through the paper at the same time. But the paragraph broughtboth occupations to an abrupt standstill. He stared at the sheet for afew moments as if he thought it was bewitched. His brown face reddened,and he looked as if he were about to say something. Then he pushed thepaper aside with a contemptuous movement and drank his coffee.His servant, appearing in answer to the bell a few minutes later, lookedat him with furtive curiosity. He had already seen the announcement,being in the habit of studying society items before placing the paperon the breakfast-table. But Merrivale's clean-shaven face was free fromperturbation, and the man was puzzled."Reynolds," Merrivale said, "I shall go out of town this afternoon. Havethe motor ready at four!""Very good, my lord." Reynolds glanced at the table and noted with somesatisfaction that his master had only eaten one egg."Yes, I have finished," Merrivale said, taking up the paper. "If Mr.Culver calls, ask him to be good enough to wait for me. And--that's all,"he ended abruptly as he reached the door."As cool as a cucumber!" murmured Reynolds, as he began to clear thetable. "I shouldn't wonder but what he stuck the notice in hisself."Merrivale, still with the morning paper in his hand, strolled easily downto his club and collected a few letters. He then sauntered into thesmoking-room, where a knot of men, busily conversing in undertones, gavehim awkward greeting.Merrivale lighted a cigar and sat down deliberately to study his paper.Nearly an hour later he rose, nodded to several members, who glanced upat him expectantly, and serenely took his departure.A general buzz of discussion followed."He doesn't look exactly heart-broken," one man observed."Hearts grow tough in the West," remarked another. "He has probably donethe breaking-off himself. Jack Merrivale, late of California, isn't thesort of chap to stand much trifling."A young man with quizzical eyes broke in with a laugh."Ask Mr. Cosmo Fletcher! He is really well up on that subject.""Also Mr. Richard Culver, apparently," returned the first speaker.Culver grinned and bowed."Certainly, sir," he said. "But--luckily for himself--he has neverqualified for a leathering from Jack Merrivale, late of California. Idon't believe myself that he did do the breaking-off. As they haven't metmore than a dozen times, it can't have gone very deep with him. And,anyhow, I am certain the girl never cared twopence for anything excepthis title, the imp. She's my cousin, you know, so I can call her what Ilike--always have.""I shouldn't abuse the privilege in Merrivale's presence if I were you,"remarked the man who had expressed the opinion that Merrivale was not oneto stand much trifling.* * * * *"Well, but wasn't it unreasonable?" said Hilary St. Orme, with handsclasped daintily behind her dark head. "Who could stand such tyranny asthat? And surely it's much better to find out before than after. I hatemasterful men, Sybil. I am quite sure I could never have been happy withhim."The girl's young step-mother looked across at the pretty, mutinous faceand sighed."It wasn't a nice way of telling him so, I'm afraid, dear," she said."Your father is very vexed.""But it was beautifully conclusive, wasn't it?" laughed Hilary. "As tothe poor old pater, he won't keep it up for ever, bless his simple heart,that did want its daughter to be a viscountess. So while the fit lastsI propose to judiciously absent my erring self. It's a nuisance to haveto miss all the fun this season; but with the pater in the sulks itwouldn't be worth it. So I'm off to-morrow to join Bertie and thehouse-boat at Riverton. As Dick has taken a bungalow close by, we shallbe quite a happy family party. They will be happy; I shall be happy; andyou--positively, darling, you won't have a care left in the world. If itweren't for your matrimonial bonds, I should quite envy you.""I don't think you ought to go down to Riverton without someoneresponsible to look after you," objected Mrs. St. Orme dubiously."My dear little mother, what a notion!" cried her step-daughter with amerry laugh. "Who ever dreamt of the proprieties on the river? Why, Ispent a whole fortnight on the house-boat with only Bertie and the Badgerthat time the poor old pater and I fell out over--what was it? Well, itdoesn't matter. Anyhow, I did. And no one a bit the worse. Bertie isequal to a dozen duennas, as everyone knows.""Don't you really care, I wonder?" said Mrs. St. Orme, with wonderingeyes on the animated face."Why should I, dear?" laughed the girl, dropping upon a hassock at herside. "I am my own mistress. I have a little money, and--consideringI am only twenty-four--quite a lot of wisdom. As to being ViscountessMerrivale, I will say it fascinated me a little--just at first, you know.And the poor old pater was so respectful I couldn't help enjoying myself.But the gilt soon wore off the gingerbread, and I really couldn't enjoywhat was left. I said to myself, 'My dear, that man has the makings of ahectoring bully. You must cut yourself loose at once if you don't want todevelop into that most miserable of all creatures, a down-trodden wife.'So after our little tiff of the day before yesterday I sent the noticeoff forthwith. And--you observe--it has taken effect. The tyrant hasn'tbeen near.""You really mean to say the engagement wasn't actually broken off beforeyou sent it?" said Mrs. St. Orme, looking shocked."It didn't occur to either of us," said Hilary, looking down with asmile at the corners of her mouth. "He chose to take exception to mybeing seen riding in the park with Mr. Fletcher. And I took exception tohis interference. Not that I like Mr. Fletcher, for I don't. But I had toassert my right to choose my own friends. He disputed it. And then weparted. No one is going to interfere with my freedom.""You were never truly in love with him, then?" said Mrs. St. Orme, regretand relief struggling in her voice.Hilary looked up with clear eyes."Oh, never, darling!" she said tranquilly. "Nor he with me. I don't knowwhat it means; do you? You can't--surely--be in love with the poor oldpater?"She laughed at the idea and idly took up a paper lying at hand. Half aminute later she uttered a sharp cry and looked up with flaming cheeks."How--how--dare he?" she cried, almost incoherent with angryastonishment. "Sybil! For Heaven's sake! See!"She thrust the paper upon her step-mother's knee and pointed with afinger that shook uncontrollably at a brief announcement in the societycolumn."We are requested to state that the announcement in yesterday's issuethat the marriage arranged between Viscount Merrivale and Miss Hilary St.Orme would not take place was erroneous. The marriage will take place, aspreviously announced, towards the end of the season."* * * * *"What sublime assurance!" exclaimed Bertie St. Orme, lying on his back inthe luxurious punt which his sister was leisurely impelling up stream,and laughing up at her flushed face. "This viscount of yours seems tohave plenty of decision of character, whatever else he may be lackingin."Bertie St. Orme was a cripple, and spent every summer regularly upon theriver with his old manservant, nicknamed "the Badger.""Oh, he is quite impossible!" Hilary declared. "Let's talk of somethingelse!""But he means to keep you to your word, eh?" her brother persisted. "Howwill you get out of it?"Hilary's face flushed more deeply, and she bit her lip."There won't be any getting out of it. Don't be silly! I am free.""The end of the season!" teased Bertie. "That allows you--let'ssee--four, five, six more weeks of freedom.""Be quiet, if you don't want a drenching!" warned Hilary. "Besides," sheadded, with inconsequent optimism, "anything may happen before then. Why,I may even be married to a man I really like.""Great Scotland, so you may!" chuckled her brother. "There's the wild manthat Dick has brought down here to tame before launching at society. He'sa great beast like a brown bear. He wouldn't be my taste, but that's adetail.""I hate fashionable men!" declared Hilary, with scarlet face. "I'd rathermarry a red Indian than one of these inane men about town.""Ho! ho!" laughed Bertie. "Then Dick's wild man will be quite to yourtaste. As soon as he leaves off worrying mutton-bones with his fingersand teeth, we'll ask Dick to bring him to dine.""You're perfectly disgusting!" said Hilary, digging her punt-pole intothe bed of the river with a vicious plunge. "If you don't mean to behaveyourself, I won't stay with you.""Oh, yes, you will," returned Bertie with brotherly assurance. "Youwouldn't miss Dick's aborigine for anything--and I don't blame you, forhe's worth seeing. Dick assures me that he is quite harmless, or I don'tknow that I should care to venture my scalp at such close quarters.""You're positively ridiculous to-day," Hilary declared.* * * * *A perfect summer morning, a rippling blue river that shone like glasswhere the willows dipped and trailed, and a girl who sang a murmurouslittle song to herself as she slid down the bank into the laughingstream.Ah, it was heavenly! The sun-flecks on the water danced and swam allabout her. The trees whispered to one another above her floating form.The roses on the garden balustrade of Dick Culver's bungalow nodded asthough welcoming a friend. She turned over and struck out vigorously,swimming up-stream. It was June, and the whole world was awake andsinging."It's better than the entire London season put together," she murmured toherself, as she presently came drifting back.A whiff of tobacco-smoke interrupted her soliloquy. She shook back herwet hair and stood up waist-deep in the clear, green water."What ho, Dick!" she called gaily. "I can't see you, but I know you'rethere. Come down and have a swim, you lazy boy!"There followed a pause. Then a diffident voice with an unmistakablyforeign accent made reply."Were you speaking to me?"Glancing up in the direction of the voice, Hilary discovered a strangerseated against the trunk of a willow on the high bank above her. Shestarted and coloured. She had forgotten Dick's wild man. She describedhim later as the brownest man she had ever seen. His face was brown, thelower part of it covered with a thick growth of brown beard. His eyeswere brown, surmounted by very bushy eyebrows. His hair was brown. Hishands were brown. His clothes were brown, and he was smoking what lookedlike a brown clay pipe.Hilary regained her self-possession almost at once. The diffidence of thevoice gave her assurance."I thought my cousin was there," she explained. "You are Dick's friend,I think?"The man on the bank smiled an affirmative, and Hilary remarked to herselfthat he had splendid teeth."I am Dick's friend," he said, speaking slowly, as if learning the lessonfrom her. There was a slight subdued twang in his utterance whichattracted Hilary immensely.She nodded encouragingly to him."I am Dick's cousin," she said. "He will tell you all about me if you askhim.""I will certainly ask," the stranger said in his soft, foreign drawl."Don't forget!" called Hilary, as she splashed back into deep water. "Andtell him to bring you to dine on our house-boat at eight to-night! Bertieand I will be delighted to see you. We were meaning to send a formalinvitation. But no one stands on ceremony on the river--or in it either,"she laughed to herself as she swam away with swift, even strokes."I shouldn't have asked him in that way," she explained to her brotherafterwards, "if he hadn't been rather shy. One must be nice toforeigners, and dear Dickie's society undiluted would bore me toextinction.""I don't think we had better give him a knife at dinner," remarkedBertie. "I shouldn't like you to be scalped, darling. It would ruin yourprospects. I suppose my only course would be to insist upon his marryingyou forthwith.""Bertie, you're a beast!" said his sister tersely.* * * * *"We have taken you at your word, you see," sang out Dick Culver from hispunt. "I hope you haven't thought better of it by any chance, for myfriend has been able to think of nothing else all day."A slim white figure danced eagerly out of the tiny dining-saloon of thehouse-boat."Come on board!" she cried hospitably. "The Badger will see to your punt.I am glad you're not late."She held out her hand to the new-comer with a pretty lack of ceremony. Helooked more than ever like a backwoodsman, but it was quite evident thathe was pleased with his surroundings. He shook hands with her almostreverently, and smiled in a quiet, well-satisfied way. But, havingnothing to say, he did not vex himself to put it into words--a traitwhich strongly appealed to Hilary."His name," said Dick Culver, laughing at his cousin over the big man'sshoulder, "is Jacques. He has another, but, as nobody ever uses it, itisn't to the point, and I never was good at pronunciation. He is a FrenchCanadian, with a dash of Yankee thrown in. He is of a peaceabledisposition except when roused, when all his friends find it advisableto give him a wide berth. He--""That'll do, my dear fellow," softly interposed the stranger, with agentle lift of the elbow in Culver's direction. "Leave Miss St. Orme tofind out the rest for herself! I hope she is not easily alarmed.""Not at all, I assure you," said Hilary. "Never mind Dick! No one does.Come inside!"She led the way with light feet. Her exile from London during the seasonpromised to be less deadly than she had anticipated. Unmistakably sheliked Dick's wild man.They found Bertie in the little roselit saloon, and as he welcomed thestranger Culver drew Hilary aside. There was much mystery on his comicalface."I'll tell you a secret," he murmured; "this fellow is a great chief inhis own country, but he doesn't want anyone to know it. He's coming hereto learn a little of our ways, and he's particularly interested inEnglish women, so be nice to him.""I thought you said he was a French Canadian," said Hilary."That's what he wants to appear," said Culver. "And, anyhow, he had aYankee mother. I know that for a fact. He's quite civilised, you know.You needn't be afraid of him.""Afraid!" exclaimed Hilary.Turning, she found the new-comer looking at her with brown eyes that weresoft under the bushy brows."He can't be a red man," she said to herself. "He hasn't got thecheek-bones."Leaving Dick to amuse himself, she smiled upon her other guest withwinning graciousness and forthwith began the dainty task of initiatinghim into the ways of English women.She was relieved to find that, notwithstanding his hairy appearance, hewas, as Dick had assured her, quite civilised. As the meal proceeded shesuddenly conceived an interest in Canada and the States, which had neverbefore possessed her. She questioned him with growing eagerness, and hereplied with a smile and always that half-reverent, half-shy courtlinessthat had first attracted her. Undoubtedly he was a pleasant companion. Heclothed the information for which she asked in careful and picturesquelanguage. He was ready at any moment to render any service, howeverslight, but his attentions were so unobtrusive that Hilary could notbut accept them with pleasure. She maintained her pretty graciousnessthroughout dinner, anxious to set him at his ease."Englishmen are not half so nice," she said to herself, as she rose fromthe table. And she thought of the stubborn Viscount Merrivale as shesaid it.There was a friendly regret at her departure written in the man's eyes ashe opened the door for her, and with a sudden girlish impulse she paused."Why don't you come and smoke your cigar in the punt?" she said.He glanced irresolutely over his shoulder at the other two men who werediscussing some political problem with much absorption.With a curious desire to have her way with him, the girl waited with alittle laugh."Come!" she said softly. "You can't be interested in British politics."He looked at her with his friendly, silent smile, and followed her out.* * * * *"Isn't it heavenly?" breathed Hilary, as she lay back on the velvetcushions and watched the man's strong figure bend to the punt-pole."I think it is Heaven, Miss St. Orme," he answered in a hushed voice.The sun had scarcely set in a cloudless shimmer of rose, and, sailing upfrom the east, a full moon cast a rippling, silvery pathway upon themysterious water.The girl drew a long sigh of satisfaction, then laughed a little."What a shame to make you work after dinner!" she said.She saw his smile in the moonlight."Do you call this work?" She seemed to hear a faint ring of amusement inthe slowly-uttered question."You are very strong," she said almost involuntarily."Yes," he agreed quietly, and there suddenly ran a curious thrill throughher--a feeling that she and he had once been kindred spirits together inanother world.She felt as if their intimacy had advanced by strides when she spokeagain, and the sensation was one of a strange, quivering delight whichthe perfection of the June night seemed to wholly justify. Anyhow, it wasnot a moment for probing her inner self with searching questions. Sheturned a little and suffered her fingers to trail through the moonlitwater."I wonder if you would tell me something?" she said almost diffidently."If it lies in my power," he answered courteously."You may think it rude," she suggested, with a most unusual attack oftimidity. It had been her habit all her life to command rather than torequest. But somehow the very courtesy with which this man treated hermade her uncertain of herself."I shall not think anything so--impossible," he assured her gently, andagain she saw his smile."Well," she said, looking up at him intently, "will you--please--let meinto your secret? I promise I won't tell. But do tell me who you are!"There followed a silence, during which the man leaned a little on hispole, gazing downwards while he kept the punt motionless. The waterbabbled round them with a tinkling murmur that was like the laughter offairy voices. They had passed beyond the region of house-boats andbungalows, and the night was very still.At last the man spoke, and the girl gave a queer little motion of relief."I should like to tell you everything there is to know about me," he saidin his careful, foreign English. "But--will you forgive me?--I do notfeel myself able to do so--yet. Some day I will answer your questiongladly--I hope some day soon--if you are kind enough to continue toextend to me your interest and your friendship."He looked down into Hilary's uplifted face with a queer wistfulness thatstruck unexpectedly straight to her heart. She felt suddenly that thisman's past contained something of loss and disappointment of which hecould not lightly speak to a mere casual acquaintance.With the quickness of impulse characteristic of her, she smiledsympathetic comprehension."And you won't even tell me your name?" she said.He bent again to the pole, and she saw his teeth shine in the moonlight."I think my friend told you one of my names," he said."Oh, it's much too commonplace," she protested. "Quite half the menI know are called Jack."And then for the first time she heard him laugh--a low, exultant laughthat sent the blood in a sudden rush to her cheeks."Shall we go back now?" she suggested, turning her face away.He obeyed her instantly, and the punt began to glide back through theripples.No further word passed between them till, as they neared the house-boat,the high, keen notes of a flute floated out upon the tender silence.Hilary glanced up sharply, the moonlight on her face, and saw a group ofmen in a punt moored under the shadowy bank. One of them raised hishand and sent a ringing salutation across the water.Hilary nodded and turned aside. There was annoyance on her face--theannoyance of one suddenly awakened from a dream of complete enjoyment.Her companion asked no question. He was bending vigorously to his work.But she seemed to consider some explanation to be due to him."That," she said, "is a man I know slightly. His name is Cosmo Fletcher.""A friend?" asked the big man.Hilary coloured a little."Well," she said half-reluctantly, "I suppose one would call him that."* * * * *"I believe you're in love with Culver's half-breed American," said CosmoFletcher brutally, nearly three weeks later. He had just been rejectedfinally and emphatically by the girl who faced him in the stern of hisskiff.She was very pale, but her eyes were full of resolution as they met his."That," she said, "is no business of yours. Please take me back!"He looked as if he would have liked to refuse, but her steadfast eyescompelled him. Sullenly he turned the boat.Dead silence reigned between them till, as they rounded a bend in theriver and came within sight of the house-boat, Fletcher, glancing overhis shoulder, caught sight of a big figure seated on the deck.Then he turned to the girl with a sneer:"It might interest Jack Merrivale to hear of this pretty little romanceof yours," he said.The colour flamed in her cheeks."Tell him then!" she said defiantly."I think I must," said Fletcher. "He and I are such old friends."He waited for her to tell him that it was on his account that they hadquarrelled, but she would not so far gratify him, maintaining a stubbornsilence till they drew alongside. Jacques rose to hand her on board."I hope you have enjoyed your row," he said courteously."Thanks!" she returned briefly, avoiding his eyes. "I think it is too hotto enjoy anything to-day."The tea-kettle was singing merrily on the dainty brass spirit-lamp, andshe sat down at the table forthwith.Jacques stood beside her, silent and friendly as a tame mastiff. Perhapshis presence after what had just passed between herself and Fletcher madeher nervous, or perhaps her thoughts were elsewhere and she forgot to becautious. Whatever the cause, she took up the kettle carelessly andknocked it against the spirit-lamp with some force.Jacques swooped forward and steadied it before it could overturn; but thedodging flame caught the girl's muslin sleeve and set it ablaze in aninstant. She uttered a cry and started up with a wild idea of flingingherself into the river, but Jacques was too quick for her. He turned andseized the burning fabric in his great hands, ripping it away from herarm and crushing out the flames with unflinching strength."Don't be frightened!" he said. "It's all right. I've got it out.""And what of you?" she gasped, eyes of horror on his blackened hands.He smiled at her reassuringly."Well done, man!" cried Dick Culver. "It was like you to save her lifewhile we were thinking about it. Are you hurt, Hilary?""No," she said, with trembling lips. "But--but--"She broke off on the verge of tears, and Dick considerately transferredhis attention to his friend."Let's see the damage, old fellow!""It is nothing," said Jacques, still faintly smiling. "Yes, you may seeit if you like, if only to prove that I speak the truth."He thrust out one hand and displayed a scorched and blistered palm."Call that nothing!" began Dick.Fletcher suddenly pushed forward with an oath that startled them all."I should know that hand anywhere!" he exclaimed. "You infernal, lyingimpostor!"There was an elaborate tattoo of the American flag on the extended wrist,to which he pointed with a furious laugh."Deny it if you can!" he said.Jacques looked at him gravely, without the smallest sign of agitation."You certainly have good reason to know that hand rather well," he saidafter a moment, speaking with extreme deliberation, "considering that ithas had the privilege of giving you the finest thrashing of your life."Fletcher turned purple. He looked as if he were going to strike thespeaker on the mouth. But before he could raise his hand Hilary suddenlyforced herself between them."Mr. Fletcher," she said, her voice quivering with anger, "go instantly!There is your boat. And never come near us again!"Fletcher fell back a step, but he was too furious to obey such a command."Do you think I am going to leave that confounded humbug to have it allhis own way?" he snarled. "I tell you--"But here Culver intervened."You shut up!" he ordered sternly. "We've had too much of you already.You had better go."He took Fletcher imperatively by the arm, but Jacques intervened."Pray let the gentleman speak, Dick!" he said. "It will ease his feelingsperhaps.""No!" broke in Hilary breathlessly. "No, no! I won't listen! I tell youI won't!" facing the big man almost fiercely. "Tell me yourself if youlike!"He looked at her closely, still with that odd half-smile upon his face.Then, before them all, he took her hand, and, bending, held it to hislips."Thank you, Hilary!" he said very softly.In the privacy of her own cabin Hilary removed her tatters and cooled hertingling cheeks. She and her brother were engaged to dine at Dick'sbungalow that night, but an overwhelming shyness possessed her, and atthe last moment she persuaded Bertie to go alone. It was plain thatfor some reason Bertie was hugely amused, and she thought it ratherheartless of him.She dined alone on the house-boat with her face to the river. Her frighthad made her somewhat nervous, and she was inclined to start at everysound. When the meal was over she went up to her favourite retreat on theupper deck. A golden twilight still lingered in the air, and the riverwas mysteriously calm. But the girl's heart was full of a heavyrestlessness. Each time she heard a punt-pole striking on the bed of theriver she raised her head to look.He came at last--the man for whom her heart waited. He was puntingrapidly down-stream, and she could not see his face. Yet she knew him,by the swing of his arms, the goodly strength of his muscles,--and by thesuffocating beating of her heart. She saw that one hand was bandaged, anda passionate feeling that was almost rapture thrilled through and throughher at the sight. Then he shot beyond her vision, and she heard the puntbump against the house-boat."It's a gentleman to see you, miss," said the Badger, thrusting a greyand grinning visage up the stairs."Ask him to come up!" said Hilary, steadying her voice with an effort.A moment later she rose to receive the man she loved. And her heartsuddenly ceased to beat."You!" she gasped, in a choked whisper.He came straight forward. The last light of the day shone on his smoothbrown face, with its steady eyes and strong mouth."Yes," he said, and still through his quiet tones she seemed to hear afaint echo of the subdued twang which dwellers in the Far West sometimesacquire. "I, John Merrivale, late of California, beg to render to you,Hilary St. Orme, in addition to my respectful homage, that freedom forwhich you have not deigned to ask."She stared at him dumbly, one hand pressed against her breast. The rippleof the river ran softly through the silence. Slowly at last Merrivaleturned to go.And then sharply, uncertainly, she spoke."Wait, please!" she said.She moved close to him and laid her hand on the flower-bedeckedbalustrade, trembling very much."Why have you done this?" Her quivering voice sounded like a prayer.He hesitated, then answered her quietly through the gloom."I did it because I loved you.""And what did you hope to gain by it?" breathed Hilary.He did not answer, and she drew a little nearer as though his silencereassured her."Wouldn't it have saved a lot of trouble," she said, her voice very lowbut no longer uncertain, "if you had given me my freedom in the firstplace? Don't you think you ought to have done that?""I don't know," Merrivale said. "That fellow spoilt my game. So I offerit to you now--with apologies.""I should have appreciated it--in the first place," said Hilary, andsuddenly there was a ripple of laughter in her voice like an echo of thewater below them. "But now I--I--have no use for it. It's too late. Doyou know, Jack, I'm not sure he did spoil your game after all!"He turned towards her swiftly, and she thrust out her hands to him with aquick sob that became a laugh as she felt his arms about her."You hairless monster!" she said. "What woman ever wanted freedom whenshe could have--Love?"* * * * *Two days later Viscount Merrivale's friends at the club read withinterest and some amusement the announcement that his marriage to MissHilary St. Orme had been fixed to take place on the last day of themonth.

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