CHAPTER XIX

Of course, the Stirlings had not left the poor maniac alone all this time or refrained from heroic efforts to rescue her perishing soul and reputation. Uncle James, whose lawyer had helped him as little as his doctor, came one day and, finding Valancy alone in the kitchen, as he supposed, gave her a terrible talking-to—told her she was breaking her mother’s heart and disgracing her family. “But _why_?” said Valancy, not ceasing to scour her porridge pot decently. “I’m doing honest work for honest pay. What is there in that that is disgraceful?” “Don’t quibble, Valancy,” said Uncle James solemnly. “This is no fit place for you to be, and you know it. Why, I’m told that that jail-bird, Snaith, is hanging around here every evening.” “Not _every_ evening,” said Valancy reflectively. “No, not quite every evening.” “It’s—it’s insufferable!” said Uncle James violently. “Valancy, you _must_ come home. We won’t judge you harshly. I assure you we won’t. We will overlook all this.” “Thank you,” said Valancy. “Have you no sense of shame?” demanded Uncle James. “Oh, yes. But the things _I_ am ashamed of are not the things _you_ are ashamed of.” Valancy proceeded to rinse her dishcloth meticulously. Still was Uncle James patient. He gripped the sides of his chair and ground his teeth. “We know your mind isn’t just right. We’ll make allowances. But you _must_ come home. You shall not stay here with that drunken, blasphemous old scoundrel——” “Were you by any chance referring to _me_, _Mister_ Stirling?” demanded Roaring Abel, suddenly appearing in the doorway of the back verandah where he had been smoking a peaceful pipe and listening to “old Jim Stirling’s” tirade with huge enjoyment. His red beard fairly bristled with indignation and his huge eyebrows quivered. But cowardice was not among James Stirling’s shortcomings. “I was. And, furthermore, I want to tell you that you have acted an iniquitous part in luring this weak and unfortunate girl away from her home and friends, and I will have you punished yet for it——” James Stirling got no further. Roaring Abel crossed the kitchen at a bound, caught him by his collar and his trousers, and hurled him through the doorway and over the garden paling with as little apparent effort as he might have employed in whisking a troublesome kitten out of the way. “The next time you come back here,” he bellowed, “I’ll throw you through the window—and all the better if the window is shut! Coming here, thinking yourself God to put the world to rights!” Valancy candidly and unashamedly owned to herself that she had seen few more satisfying sights than Uncle James’ coat-tails flying out into the asparagus bed. She had once been afraid of this man’s judgment. Now she saw clearly that he was nothing but a rather stupid little village tin-god. Roaring Abel turned with his great broad laugh. “He’ll think of that for years when he wakes up in the night. The Almighty made a mistake in making so many Stirlings. But since they are made, we’ve got to reckon with them. Too many to kill out. But if they come here bothering you I’ll shoo ’em off before a cat could lick its ear.” The next time they sent Dr. Stalling. Surely Roaring Abel would not throw him into asparagus beds. Dr. Stalling was not so sure of this and had no great liking for the task. He did not believe Valancy Stirling was out of her mind. She had always been queer. He, Dr. Stalling, had never been able to understand her. Therefore, beyond doubt, she was queer. She was only just a little queerer than usual now. And Dr. Stalling had his own reasons for disliking Roaring Abel. When Dr. Stalling had first come to Deerwood he had had a liking for long hikes around Mistawis and Muskoka. On one of these occasions he had got lost and after much wandering had fallen in with Roaring Abel with his gun over his shoulder. Dr. Stalling had contrived to ask his question in about the most idiotic manner possible. He said, “Can you tell me where I’m going?” “How the devil should I know where you’re going, gosling?” retorted Abel contemptuously. Dr. Stalling was so enraged that he could not speak for a moment or two and in that moment Abel had disappeared in the woods. Dr. Stalling had eventually found his way home, but he had never hankered to encounter Abel Gay again. Nevertheless he came now to do his duty. Valancy greeted him with a sinking heart. She had to own to herself that she was terribly afraid of Dr. Stalling still. She had a miserable conviction that if he shook his long, bony finger at her and told her to go home, she dared not disobey. “Mr. Gay,” said Dr. Stalling politely and condescendingly, “may I see Miss Stirling alone for a few minutes?” Roaring Abel was a little drunk—just drunk enough to be excessively polite and very cunning. He had been on the point of going away when Dr. Stalling arrived, but now he sat down in a corner of the parlour and folded his arms. “No, no, mister,” he said solemnly. “That wouldn’t do—wouldn’t do at all. I’ve got the reputation of my household to keep up. I’ve got to chaperone this young lady. Can’t have any sparkin’ going on here behind my back.” Outraged Dr. Stalling looked so terrible that Valancy wondered how Abel could endure his aspect. But Abel was not worried at all. “D’ye know anything about it, anyway?” he asked genially. “About _what_?” “Sparking,” said Abel coolly. Poor Dr. Stalling, who had never married because he believed in a celibate clergy, would not notice this ribald remark. He turned his back on Abel and addressed himself to Valancy. “Miss Stirling, I am here in response to your mother’s wishes. She begged me to come. I am charged with some messages from her. Will you”—he wagged his forefinger—“will you hear them?” “Yes,” said Valancy faintly, eyeing the forefinger. It had a hypnotic effect on her. “The first is this. If you will leave this—this——” “House,” interjected Roaring Abel. “H-o-u-s-e. Troubled with an impediment in your speech, ain’t you, Mister?” “—this _place_ and return to your home, Mr. James Stirling will himself pay for a good nurse to come here and wait on Miss Gay.” Back of her terror Valancy smiled in secret. Uncle James must indeed regard the matter as desperate when he would loosen his purse-strings like that. At any rate, her clan no longer despised her or ignored her. She had become important to them. “That’s _my_ business, Mister,” said Abel. “Miss Stirling can go if she pleases, or stay if she pleases. I made a fair bargain with her, and she’s free to conclude it when she likes. She gives me meals that stick to my ribs. She don’t forget to put salt in the porridge. She never slams doors, and when she has nothing to say she don’t talk. That’s uncanny in a woman, you know, Mister. I’m satisfied. If she isn’t, she’s free to go. But no woman comes here in Jim Stirling’s pay. If any one does”—Abel’s voice was uncannily bland and polite—“I’ll spatter the road with her brains. Tell him that with A. Gay’s compliments.” “Dr. Stalling, a nurse is not what Cissy needs,” said Valancy earnestly. “She isn’t so ill as that, yet. What she wants is companionship—somebody she knows and likes just to live with her. You can understand that, I’m sure.” “I understand that your motive is quite—ahem—commendable.” Dr. Stalling felt that he was very broad-minded indeed—especially as in his secret soul he did not believe Valancy’s motive _was_ commendable. He hadn’t the least idea what she was up to, but he was sure her motive was not commendable. When he could not understand a thing he straightway condemned it. Simplicity itself! “But your first duty is to your mother. _She_ needs you. She implores you to come home—she will forgive everything if you will only come home.” “That’s a pretty little thought,” remarked Abel meditatively, as he ground some tobacco up in his hand. Dr. Stalling ignored him. “She entreats, but I, Miss Stirling,”—Dr. Stalling remembered that he was an ambassador of Jehovah—“_I command._ As your pastor and spiritual guide, I command you to come home with me—this very day. Get your hat and coat and come _now_.” Dr. Stalling shook his finger at Valancy. Before that pitiless finger she drooped and wilted visibly. “She’s giving in,” thought Roaring Abel. “She’ll go with him. Beats all, the power these preacher fellows have over women.” Valancy _was_ on the point of obeying Dr. Stalling. She must go home with him—and give up. She would lapse back to Doss Stirling again and for her few remaining days or weeks be the cowed, futile creature she had always been. It was her fate—typified by that relentless, uplifted forefinger. She could no more escape from it than Roaring Abel from his predestination. She eyed it as the fascinated bird eyes the snake. Another moment— “_Fear is the original sin_,” suddenly said a still, small voice away back—back—back of Valancy’s consciousness. “_Almost all the evil in the world has its origin in the fact that some one is afraid of something._” Valancy stood up. She was still in the clutches of fear, but her soul was her own again. She would not be false to that inner voice. “Dr. Stalling,” she said slowly, “I do not at present owe _any_ duty to my mother. She is quite well; she has all the assistance and companionship she requires; she does not need me at all. I _am_ needed here. I am going to stay here.” “There’s spunk for you,” said Roaring Abel admiringly. Dr. Stalling dropped his forefinger. One could not keep on shaking a finger forever. “Miss Stirling, is there _nothing_ that can influence you? Do you remember your childhood days——” “Perfectly. And hate them.” “Do you realise what people will say? What they _are_ saying?” “I can imagine it,” said Valancy, with a shrug of her shoulders. She was suddenly free of fear again. “I haven’t listened to the gossip of Deerwood teaparties and sewing circles twenty years for nothing. But, Dr. Stalling, it doesn’t matter in the least to me what they say—not in the least.” Dr. Stalling went away then. A girl who cared nothing for public opinion! Over whom sacred family ties had no restraining influence! Who hated her childhood memories! Then Cousin Georgiana came—on her own initiative, for nobody would have thought it worth while to send her. She found Valancy alone, weeding the little vegetable garden she had planted, and she made all the platitudinous pleas she could think of. Valancy heard her patiently. Cousin Georgiana wasn’t such a bad old soul. Then she said: “And now that you have got all that out of your system, Cousin Georgiana, can you tell me how to make creamed codfish so that it will not be as thick as porridge and as salt as the Dead Sea?” * * * * * * * “We’ll just have to _wait_,” said Uncle Benjamin. “After all, Cissy Gay can’t live long. Dr. Marsh tells me she may drop off any day.” Mrs. Frederick wept. It would really have been so much easier to bear if Valancy had died. She could have worn mourning then.