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Aunt Mary had died very suddenly and her only son, Dorinda's cousin, had gone to Japan. There was nothing for Dorinda to do save to come home, to enter again into her old unfilled place in her mother's heart, and win a new place in the hearts of the brothers and sisters who barely remembered her at all.
I walked as far as the corner with Lute and Dorinda. Dorinda's eyes were red and her husband commented upon it. "I thought a weddin' was supposed to be a joyful sort of thing," he said, disgustedly. "It's usually cal'lated to be. Yet you and the rest of the women folks set and cried through the whole of it. What in time was there to cry about?"
It is true they had been of the same household only a few months; but months and years are the same betwixt us and the people who solve not for us this riddle of ourselves. Antonia thought little of Lady Dorinda's opinions, but her saying about the dignity of marriage rites had the force of unexpected truth. Arendt Van Corlaer had used up his patience in courtship.
"It would be better," murmured Antonia, breaking the stately silence by Lady Dorinda's fire, "if Mynheer Van Corlaer journeyed on to Montreal and returned here before any marriage takes place." "Think of the labor you will thereby put upon him," exclaimed Marie. "I speak for Monsieur Corlaer and not for myself," she added; "for by that delay I should happily keep you until summer.
The crash of cannon-shot was forever associated with her first reception in Acadia. Therefore this siege was a torture to her memory as well as a peril to her body. The tower had no more sheltered place, however, than Lady Dorinda's room. Zélie had orders to wait upon her with strict attention.
"You don't need to work, and I've sort of took a pride in your not doin' it. If I was well-off, same as you be, I bet George Taylor'd have to whistle afore I wore out MY brains in his old bank." "He wouldn't have time to whistle more'n once," was Dorinda's comment. "Now, Dorinda, what kind of talk is that? Wouldn't have time to whistle? You do say more things without any sense to 'em!
But these memories are all foggy and mixed with dreams and nightmares. As I say, the next thing that I remember distinctly after staggering from the Colton library is Dorinda's knocking at the door of my bedroom. "Ros! Roscoe!" she was calling. "Can you get up now? There is somebody downstairs waitin' to see you." I turned over in bed and began to collect my senses. "What time is it, Dorinda?"
He was red-faced and panting, but there was a curious air of dignified importance in his bearing. Dorinda's lips shut tightly. "Well, Lute," said I, "where have you been?" Lute struggled for breath. "Don't ask me where I've been!" he gasped. "Don't waste no time askin' ME questions. Get your hat on, Ros! Get your hat on this minute! Where did I put that? Where in time did I put it?"
Come to think of it, "glacier" isn't a good word; glaciers move slowly and that wasn't Dorinda's way. "What are you going to do?" I asked. "Work," snapped Dorinda, unfurling the dust cloth. "It's a good mornin' for that, too." I went out, turned the corner of the house and found Lute sound asleep on the wash bench behind the kitchen.
Her baby, hid in a case like a bolster, hung across her shoulder. Lady Dorinda's belongings, numbered among the goods of the household, were also placed near the gate. She sat within the hall, wrapped for her journey, composed and silent. For when the evil day actually overtook Lady Dorinda, she was too thorough a Briton to cringe.
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