"It came in a flash. Jalna, I said to myself! Then Mr. Wilmott came running with it in his mouth. But I said it first".
IX. The Foundation
The woodsmen’s blows resounded on the trunks of the trees. With axe and with long-handled bill-hook they cut away the saplings and the undergrowth. Then they attacked the trees. Now the axes were whetted to extraordinary sharpness. The man swung the axe and brought it down in a deft, slanting stroke on the proud bole. Then he struck upward, meeting the first incision, and a clean chip sprang out. So, down and up, down and up, till the hole was cut half-way through. Next he attacked it from the other side. The blows rang. The sweat ran down the man’s face. The tree gave a little tremor, as though of surprise. The tremor ran through all its boughs, even to the smallest twig. At the next stroke an agitation swept among its leaves. As though in a fury he struck. Then the beech fell. At first without haste, then in a panic it flung to the ground, moaning, cracking, swinging its boughs in a storm of green leaves.
The woodsmen were orderly, making no chaos of trunks and severed branches. The great stumps and long-reaching roots were dug up. The brush-heaps grew. The trees which were left to ornament the grounds spread their branches in proud security. The bright axe had passed them by. You could have driven a carriage and pair between them. The grounds took on the aspect of a park. But later, fields would stretch about the park, they would be ploughed and sown, orchards planted.
Adeline saw Philip in a new light. He who had always been fastidious in his dress, a bit of a dandy in fact, would return to Vaughanlands with muddy boots, with clothes wrinkled and hands scratched by thorns. He who had even sent his best shirts to England to be laundered because they could not be done to his satisfaction in India now appeared with crumpled linen and seemed not to care, even to rejoice in his condition. He had taken an axe into his hands but he was chagrined by his own efforts as compared with the performance of these practised, tobacco-chewing woodsmen. But he spent his days in watching their progress, in lending a hand where he could. He was bitten by black flies and mosquitoes. He grew deeply tanned. All his exercise and polo-playing in India had not toughened him as this life was doing. But in the evening he again presented himself as the dashing Captain of Hussars, agreeable to the neighbourhood, properly attentive to Mrs. Vaughan. Before going to bed he would remove himself to the verandah and there smoke a last cigar.
A competent architect was recommended by David Vaughan. Simplicity in design was the order of the neighbourhood, but the Whiteoaks wanted their house to be the most impressive. Not pretentious but one worth looking at, with good gables and large chimneys. It was a thrilling moment when the first sod was turned for the foundation. A sharp spade was placed in Adeline’s hands by the foreman. The sod already had been marked out and loosened. She rubbed her palms together, took a grip of the handle, placed her foot on the spade, gave an arch look at the assembled workmen and drove it deep into the loam. She bent, she heaved, the sod resisted.
"It’s pretty tough, I’m afraid", said the foreman. "I’ll loosen it some more".
"No", said Adeline, her colour bright.
"Put your back into it", adjured Philip.
She did. The sod released its hold, came up. She held it triumphantly on the spade, then turned it over. The house had its first foothold on the land.
Philip admired the way these men worked. They worked with might and good heart, in fierce heat, in enervating humidity. Only during the electrical storm or the downpour of rain did they crowd into the wooden shelter they had made themselves. The Newfoundland dog, Nero, came each morning to the scene of the building with Philip. He so greatly felt the heat that Philip one day put him between his knees and clipped his fur to the shoulders so that he looked like an immense poodle.
Wilmott kept his promise and shaved his whiskers. When he appeared before Adeline clean-shaven she scarcely knew him. He had been interesting, dignified. Now the contour of his face was visible she found him with a hungry, haunted look that was almost romantic. The bones in his face were fine. The hollows of his cheeks showed odd planes of light.
"How you have changed!" she exclaimed.
"It is well not to look always the same", he answered laconically. "I suppose I look even less attractive. Handsome looks are not my strong point".
"Who wants handsome looks in a man!"
"You do".
"I? Philip would be the same to me if he had a snub nose and no chin".
"Now you are talking nonsense, Mrs. Whiteoak".
"How rigid you are! Surely you might call me Adeline".
"It wouldn’t be the thing at all".
"Not in this wilderness?"
"This is already a close conventional community".
"What about your log house and swamp?"
"That’s my own corner… In it I have always called you Adeline".
"Please don’t say Adelyne. I am accustomed to Adeleen".
"I suppose that is why I pronounce it Adelyne".
"How cantankerous you are!" she exclaimed. "I declare I think it’s a good thing you are not married".
He reddened a little.
"But perhaps you are", she smiled.
"I am not", he answered stiffly, "and I thank God for it".
"You would be a more amiable man if you were".
"Should I? I doubt it".
She gave her happy smile. "I’m glad you aren’t", she said. "Because I should dislike your wife. You are the sort of man who would choose a woman I’d dislike".
"I’d have chosen you-if I’d had the chance".
They were sitting on a pile of freshly cut, sappy logs, within sight and sound of the workmen. But his words created a separate space for them, an isolation as of a portrait of two, in a picture-frame. They sat listening to the sound of the axe, the thud of spade, their nostrils drew in the resinous scent of the logs, but they were no longer a part of the scene. Their eyes looked straight ahead and, if they had been, in fact, figures in a portrait, it would have been said that the eyes followed you everywhere.
Nero was lying at Adeline’s feet. She put a hand on his crown and grasping a handful of thick curly hair, rocked his head gently. He suffered the indignity of the caress with inviolable majesty.
"You say that", she murmured, "because of this place. It makes one more emotional".
He turned his eyes steadily on her but she saw his lips tremble. He asked:
"Do you doubt my sincerity?"
"You can’t deny that you sometimes put things-oddly".
"Well, there’s nothing odd about that. Most men would say it".
"And you’ve seen me in real tempers!"
"I am not saying you’re perfect", he replied testily. "I am saying-" He broke off.
"It’s very sweet of you, Mr. Wilmott-after seeing me at my worst for over a year".
"Now, you’re talking nonsense".
"It’s better to talk nonsense".
"You mean in order to cover up what I said? Don’t worry. I’m not going to plague you. I just had an irrational wish to let you know".
Adeline’s lips curved. She looked at him almost tenderly.
"You are laughing at me!" exclaimed Wilmott hotly. "You are going to make me sorry I told you".
"I was just smiling to see you so-impulsive. I like you all the better for it".
"If you think Philip wouldn’t mind my calling you by your Christian name-it would give me great pleasure".
"I’ll ask him".
"No, don’t… I’d rather not".
Philip was coming toward them, striding in riding-breeches across the broken ground where each day flowers opened, fern fronds uncurled, only to be crushed. He said as he drew near: