"Never. She’ll never trace you. But-I wish you had changed your name".
"Somehow I could not think of myself except as James Wilmott". He got up and paced the room. "If you knew the pleasure I’ve had in this new life! In being free and alone! Sometimes I deliberately leave the place in complete disorder-just to prove to myself that I’m free. I’m like a prisoner released. I no longer have to concentrate. As I sit fishing in my river my mind is a delicious blank-for hours at a time. My past begins to seem like a dream".
"We all are going to be happy here", said Adeline. "I love this country. Come and show me your cow. And the young Indian who is working for you. I must see him-and the pigs-and the great fish you caught".
X. The Walls
As the summer sped on, the walls of the house rose from the foundation in solid strength. Philip, acting on the advice of David Vaughan, had offered wages which had attracted good masons and carpenters. The best quality of brick had been ordered, built on a foundation of stone. The brick was of a fine red that would mellow to the colour of a dark dahlia. The basement was paved with bricks and contained the large kitchen, two servants’ bedrooms, pantries, coal and wine cellars. Not a house in the neighbourhood had a wine-cellar and Philip affirmed that this was to be well stocked. He had studied the catalogues of dealers and had already placed a respectable order with the most reliable firm. Not that he was a hard drinker. He had never drunk himself under the table as some of his ancestors had done, in a day when it was quite the thing for a gentleman to do. Philip, in fact, was careful of his health and had no wish to become gouty and irascible as his grandfather had been.
While the walls were rising from the foundation, an army of axe-men were clearing the land. Noble timber was being swept away to make room for fields of grain. As there was no space in which to preserve all this timber or use for it if it were preserved, much of it was to be burned. It lay awaiting this end which would be accomplished in the autumn when danger of forest fires was past. The great green branches were struck from the trunks and mounded in piles by themselves, birds’ nests flying in all directions, leaves crushed, the vines which had draped themselves in profligate luxuriance along the boughs torn up by the roots and going down to disaster with the rest. Honeysuckle and wild grapes with clinging tendrils wilted and sank in the heat. As for the great trunks of the trees, their wounds bled resin, filling the air with pungent odour, while woodpeckers ran up and down them glutting themselves on the myriad insects that had made their home in the bark. Rabbits and ground-hogs hid in the mounded boughs and at the noon hour the workmen amused themselves by discovering these and killing them. Some made catapults and became expert at shooting birds and squirrels, though if caught by Adeline in this pastime they tasted the sting of her anger. So, building up, tearing down, killing for the lust of killing, the days passed in bright succession.
The red plumes of the sumach turned to brown, the clusters of choke-cherries ripened to blackness but still hung secure from birds because of their bitter flavour. Mushrooms sprang up in hordes on the cleared ground: meaty meadow mushrooms of a delicate brownish pink beneath; pretty parasol mushrooms with fringed edges; the destroying angel, set in its snow-white cup; and in the woods mushrooms of crimson and purple, pretty as flowers. Of the meadow mushrooms many a good dish was made for the table at Vaughanlands. Adeline never before had had such an appetite.
In early September young Robert Vaughan and Adeline set out together along the path which that summer had been made from Vaughanlands to the new estate. It led across a level field, red with the stubble of a fine crop of barley, through a wood of oaks and pines, then down steeply into the ravine where the stream which, in those days, almost merited the name of river, ran swiftly over shimmering sand and flat stones. In one place it narrowed between its banks and here a temporary bridge of logs had been thrown across. The pungent smell from their resin-oozing wood mingled with the cool damp earthy smell from the ravine. Adeline never set her foot on this path without a sense of adventure. She had pride in realising that this path, now well cleared of undergrowth and showing a decided depression where feet had many times trodden it, was the print of her own and Philip’s passage. It had been virgin, untouched, but she and Philip had, as it were, made it a link between their old life and the new. She had trodden it in all sorts of weather and often alone. Now on this September day she thought she had never seen it so inviting. The season of mosquitoes was past, the air was of almost palpable sweetness and full of renewed bird-song, for now the young could fly. The stream made a steady murmuring.
As they crossed the bridge of logs young Vaughan took her arm to guide her. Adeline was well able to cross the logs unaided and had done so many a time when they were slippery with rain. But now she leant against Robert’s shoulder as though timidly and her fingers clasped his.
"We shall have a rustic bridge here, later on", she said.
He pressed her arm a little. "Then you won’t need my help", he said.
"Now I’m very glad of it".
"If you knew what it has been to me", he said, flushing, "to have you here. Before you came I never knew what to do with myself. You know, I’m not really acquainted with my parents yet. The truth is I feel that I know you better than I do them".
"Ah, I’m easy to get on with".
"It’s not that. But I feel you understand me and you are the only one who does".
"You are very sweet, Bobbie".
It was a real irritation to Robert’s parents to hear Adeline call him Bobbie. They tried to intimate their disapproval by pronouncing his name very distinctly when they addressed him. But Adeline was oblivious to this or took, as they thought, pleasure in opposing them. The two began to mount the opposite side of the ravine.
"My mother is rather upset this morning", said the boy.
"I hope it’s nothing I’ve done-or Philip or the children-or our dog or our goat".
"No-nothing of that sort. It’s about a cousin of mine, Daisy Vaughan. She’s coming to visit us and Mother wishes she wouldn’t, just now".
"Then why doesn’t she write and tell her not to?" asked Adeline.
"She can’t very well, as Father thinks we should have Daisy. She is his only brother’s child and an orphan. She’s been staying with relatives on her mother’s side, in Montreal. She’s had a falling-out with them and written a pathetic letter to Father and he’s inviting her to spend some months with us".
"I declare", said Adeline, "this is a nuisance! The house is full enough already, what with me and mine. No wonder your mother is vexed".
"Oh, she’ll manage. Mother always does".
"Do you know this Daisy?"
"Yes, I’ve been to her aunt’s house in Montreal. There were daughters in the house. I don’t think she got on very well with them".
"Is she forward, then-or pert? If she is, I’ll take her down".
"She’s almost as old as you. About twenty-five. Quite dashing, too, but not at all interesting to me. In fact, the thought of her coming bores me excessively. I hate the thought that college will soon open and I must go". He looked into her eyes, his sensitive boy’s face troubled.
"Don’t worry, Bobbie. We’re friends and always shall be".
"I am not thinking of the future", he said. "It’s the present that interests me. You make light of my feelings. You don’t care tuppence, really".