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Page 32
"Far from it, but I have my work. I was thinking of you."
"I can work, too," the Colonel replied. "I think as soon as the ground
thaws out, I'll make a garden. A floral catalogue came yesterday and the
pictures are very inspiring."
"Does it give any directions for distinguishing between the flowers and
weeds?"
"No," laughed the Colonel, "but I've thought of trying the ingenious
plan of the man who pulled up the plants and carefully watered the
weeds, expecting the usual contrary results."
Luncheon was announced and they went out together, shivering at the
change in temperature between the library and the dining-room, where
there would be no cheerful open fire until the dinner hour.
"What are you going to do this afternoon?" queried the Colonel.
"Why, work, I suppose--at least until I get too tired to work any more."
"You seem to believe in an eight-hour day."
Something in the tone gave Allison an inkling of the fact that his
father was lonely and restless in the big house. When they were abroad,
he had managed to occupy himself pleasantly while Allison was busy, and,
for the first time, the young man wondered whether it had been wise to
come back.
The loneliness of the great rooms was evident, if one looked for it, and
the silence was literally to be felt, everywhere. It is difficult for
two people to be happy in a large house; they need the cosiness
established by walls not too far apart, ceilings not too high, and the
necessary furniture not too widely separated. A single row of books,
within easy reach, may hint of companionship not possible to the great
bookcase across a large room.
"I think," said Allison, "that perhaps this house is too large for us.
Why should we need fifteen rooms?"
"We don't, but what's the use of moving again just now, when we're all
settled."
"It's no trouble to move," returned the young man.
"It might be, if we did it ourselves. I fancy that Miss Rose could give
us a few pointers on the subject of opening an old house."
"There may be something in that," admitted Allison. "What charming
neighbours they are!" he added, in a burst of enthusiasm.
"Madame Bernard," replied the Colonel, with emphasis, "is one of the
finest women I have ever had the good fortune to meet. Miss Rose is like
her, but I have known only one other of the same sort."
"And the other was--"
"Your mother."
The Colonel pushed back his plate and went to the window. Beyond the
mountains, somewhere in "God's acre," was the little sunken grave still
enfolding a handful of sacred dust. With a sudden throb of pain, Allison
realised, for the first time in his life, that his father was an old
man. The fine, strong face, outlined clearly by the pitiless afternoon
sun, was deeply lined: the broad shoulders were stooped a little, and
the serene eyes dimmed as though by mist. In the moment he seemed to
have crossed the dividing line between maturity and age.
Allison was about to suggest that they take a walk after luncheon,
having Madame Bernard's household in mind as the ultimate object, but,
before he could speak, the Colonel had turned away from the window.
"Some day you'll marry, lad," he said, in a strange tone.
Allison smiled and shrugged his shoulders doubtfully.
"And then," the Colonel continued, with a little catch in his voice,
"the house will be none too large for two--for you two."
Very rarely, and for a moment only, Allison looked like his mother. For
an instant she lived again in her son's eyes, then vanished.
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