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.