"You didn't find that very easy to say, I reckon."
"I'm quite satisfied." And then Gertie had dared to add: "Let this be a lesson to you, my girl!"
That was the last straw. The men had turned to go. In a flash she had made up her mind. Her brother's house was no longer possible. Gertie had, in a moment of passion, confessed that she hated her; had always hated her in her secret heart ever since she had read that protesting letter. What daily humiliations would she not have to endure now that she had matched her strength against Gertie and lost! It meant one long crucifixion of all pride and self-respect. No, it was not to be borne!
There was one avenue of escape open, and only one. He had said that he was willing to offer a home to a woman who was willing to assume her share of the burden of making one. It was even possible that he would be both kind and considerate, no matter how many mistakes she made at first, to a woman who tried to learn. Of one thing she was certain, he would know how to see that his wife was treated with respect by all the world. For the moment, her bleeding pride cried to her that that was the only thing in life that was absolutely necessary. Nothing else mattered.
"Frank, will you wait a minute?"
"Sure. What can I do for you?"
"I've understood that I'm not wanted here. I'm in the way. You said just now you wanted a woman to cook and bake for you, wash and mend your clothes, and keep your shack clean and tidy. Will I do?"
"Sure."
"Nora!" Her brother was shaking her by the shoulder.
"I'm afraid you'll have to marry me."
"I guess it would be more respectable."
"Nora, you can't mean it: you're in a temper! See here, Frank, you mustn't pay any attention to her."
"Shameless, that's what I call it." That was Gertie.
"He wants a woman to look after him. He practically proposed to me half an hour ago--didn't you?"
"Practically."
"Nora! You've been like cat and dog with Frank ever since you came. My dear, you don't know what you're in for."
"If he's willing to risk it, I am."
"It ain't an easy life you're coming to. This farm is a palace compared with my shack."
"I'm not wanted here and you say you want me. If you'll take me, I'll come."
For what seemed an interminable moment, he had looked at her with more gravity than she had ever seen in his face.
"I'll take you, all right. When will you be ready? Will an hour do for you?"
"An hour! You're in a great hurry." She had had a funny sensation that her knees were giving way. She had never fainted in her life. Was she going to faint now before them all? Before Gertie? Never! Somehow she must get out of the room and be alone a minute.
"Why, yes. Then we can catch the three-thirty into Winnipeg. You can go to the Y. W. C. A. for the night and we'll be buckled up in the morning. You meant it, didn't you? You weren't just saying it as a bluff?"
"I shall be ready in an hour."
She had pushed Eddie gently aside and, without a glance at anyone had walked steadily from the room.
Once seated on the side of the bed in the room that had been hers, she had been seized with a chill so violent that her teeth had chattered in her head. To prevent anyone who might follow her from hearing them,--and it was probable that her brother might come for a final remonstrance; it was even conceivable that Gertie, herself, might be sorry for what she had done; but no, it was she who had said she was shameless!--she got up and locked her door and then threw herself full length on the little bed and crammed the corner of the pillow into her mouth.
Perhaps she was going to die. She had never really been ill in her life and the violence of the chill frightened her. In her present overwrought state, the thought of death was not disquieting. But supposing she was only going to be very ill, with some long and tedious illness that would make her a care and a burden for weeks? She recalled the unremitting care which she had had to give Miss Wickham, and pictured Gertie's grudging ministrations at her sick-bed. Anything rather than that! She must manage to get to Winnipeg. Once away from the house, nothing mattered.
But after a few moments the violence of the chill, which was of course purely nervous in its origin, subsided perceptibly. Nora rose and began to busy herself with her packing. Fortunately her wardrobe was small. She had no idea how long she had been lying on the bed.
She had just folded the last garment and was about to close the lid of her trunk, when there came a knock at the door.
"Who is it?"
"It's me," said Frank's voice. "The team is at the door. Are you ready?"
For reply, Nora threw open the door and pointed to her box.
"I have only to put on my hat. Will you be good enough to fasten that for me? Here is the key."
While he knelt on the floor, locking and strapping it, she gave a careful look at herself in the mirror, while putting on her hat. She congratulated herself that she had not been crying. Aside from the fact that she looked pale and tired, there was nothing in her face to suggest that she had had a crisis of the nerves: certainly no look of defeat for Gertie to gloat over. Would they all be there to witness her retreat? Well, let them: no one could say that she had not gone out with flying colors. She turned, with a smile to meet Frank's gaze.
"That's right," he said approvingly. "You look fine. Say," he added, "I'm afraid I'll have to have Reggie up to give me a lift with this trunk of yours. I don't know what you can have in it unless it's a stove, and we've got one at home already. It'll be all right once I get it on my back."
He had taken just the right tone. His easy reference to 'home' and to their common possession of even so humble a piece of furniture as a stove, as if they were an old married couple returning home after paying a visit, had a restorative effect on nerves still a little jangly. That was the only way to look at it: In a thoroughly commonplace manner. As he had said himself, it was a business undertaking. She gave a perfectly natural little laugh.
"No, I haven't a stove; only a few books. I didn't realize how heavy they were. I'm sorry."
"I'm not," he said heartily. "You can read to me evenings. I guess a little more book-learning'll polish me up a bit and I'll be right glad of the chance. You're not afraid to stand at the horses' heads, are you, while Reg runs up here?"
"No, of course not."
She could hear Gertie in the pantry as she crossed the living-room. She was grateful to her for not coming out to make any show of leave-taking. Having sent Reggie on his errand, she stood stroking the horses' soft noses while waiting for the men to return. Just as they reached the door, Eddie came slowly over to her from the barn. His face was haggard. He looked older than she had ever seen him.
"Nora," he said in a low tone, "I beg you, before it is too late----"
"Please, dear," she whispered, her hand on his, "you only make it harder."
"I'll write, Eddie, oh, in a few days, and tell you all about my new home," she called gayly, as Frank, having disposed of her trunk in the back of the wagon, lifted her in. Her brother turned without a word to the others and went into the house.
As she felt herself for the second time in those arms, the reaction came.
"Eddie, Eddie!"
But, strangled by sobs, her voice hardly carried to the man on the seat in front of her.
As he sprang in, Frank gave the horses a flick with the whip. The afternoon air was keen and the high-spirited team needed no further urging. They swung out of the farm gate at a pace that made Reggie cling to the seat.
When he had them once more in hand, Taylor turned his head slightly.
"All right back there?" he called, without looking at her.
She managed a "Yes."
She had only just recovered her self-control as they drove into Winnipeg. As they drew up in front of the principal hotel, Taylor turned the reins once more over to Reggie, and, vaulting lightly from his seat, held out his hand and helped her to alight.