The Thirteenth Man

In what the Kingdom of Heaven consists there are wide and varied opinions, but it is reserved to those who have retained, or attained, the heart of a little child to see it.

Eweretta Alvin, despite her twenty-one years, had still the heart of a little child. Her up-bringing had something to do with this.

As a small child, under the care of a singularly pure-minded mother, she had dwelt in a simple prairie home, and the miles and miles of landscape stretching out before her childish eyes had filled her with veneration. She had even then, though she could not have expressed it, been awed by the smallness of herself and the stupendous greatness of the Creator. This feeling had been fostered later on in the peaceful convent school at Montreal, where the gentle Sisters of the Sacred Heart had recognized that Eweretta Alvin was an unusually “spiritual” child.

People outside the convent had called Eweretta foolishly optimistic. Whatever happened, she would declare, had good as its ultimate result. Her mother’s death, which had been a great sorrow, had been far less of an anguish than the knowledge of her father’s sin. Of the loss of her mother, she had said: “She is in Heaven and happy.” Of her father, she had said to herself: “God will make him repent. He has a good heart; God will see to it.”

Of the wrong done her by her Uncle Thomas, she told herself: “God permitted it that I might help a man who never had a chance.”

Of the loss of her lover, she told herself that God had mercifully let her find out in time that his love was a reed on which she could not lean.

Eweretta had been brought up in her mother’s religion, which was also that of Mrs. Le Breton. Both these women were of French Canadian stock, and naturally Roman Catholics.

Now that Eweretta was allowed her freedom, she went to church again, and Mrs. Le Breton went too. It was a long journey for them to “St. Mary, Star of the Sea,” but that was of little moment to these two women. They had both lived in the prairie where a monthly Mass had alone been possible, as the little church both had attended had been served by a priest who had to travel far. They themselves had covered twenty miles to reach it.

It so chanced that Dan Webster was a Roman Catholic, so he, too, when at Hastings, went to “St. Mary, Star of the Sea,” which is situated in the High Street of the Old Town.

On the first Sunday after Dan had come to Hawk’s Nest, he went to the eight-o’clock Mass, and immediately in front of him sat Mrs. Le Breton and Eweretta.

Dan, who had a keen eye for beauty, was filled with an emotion at sight of this girl, which made him completely forget himself—and the Mass.

He never took his eyes from the girl, lest he should lose the sight of the exquisite profile which a chance movement of Eweretta’s gave him. He was quite certain, from the slight description Philip Barrimore had given of her, that this was Miss Le Breton.

It was with a sense of downright good luck that he noticed that one of them had left her prayer-book behind, when the two women left their seat.

He could easily have followed them and restored the book before they had left the church. But Dan had no such intention.

He waited till everyone had gone, then he pounced upon the prayer-book, and opened it, and saw therein “Andrée Le Breton.” It was evidently the property of the elder woman. The other—the beautiful Madonna-like girl—was then, Aimée.

Dan made up his mind at once. He would go over to Gissing in the afternoon, and leave the book at the White House.

He confided a secret to Mrs. Barrimore when he found her alone on his return. Somehow Mrs. Barrimore was a woman in whom men easily confide. Colonel Lane had once described her grey eyes as “wells of sympathy.”

First of all, Dan told her that he had seen Miss Le Breton at “St. Mary, Star of the Sea.”

Then came the secret.

“You know, Mrs. Barrimore,” he began, with a certain shyness of manner, “it was when my eyes went wrong I vowed that, if they got well, I would paint a picture of ‘Our Lady’ for the little church where I went as a boy, and that it should be my thank-offering. To-day, when I saw the face of Miss Le Breton, I knew that she was the model I wanted. I must paint her. Oh, Mrs. Barrimore, the love and sorrow—yet peace, in those wonderful eyes of hers! Well, fortune favored me. Mrs. Le Breton left her prayer-book behind her. Here it is! I am going to take it to her this afternoon, and I hope they will ask me to go in. If they do, I shall try to make myself charming.”

“My dear boy,” said Mrs. Barrimore, “you will not need to try to be charming; you need only be yourself!”

“You darling!” cried the impulsive boy. “I want to kiss you for that!”

Mrs. Barrimore held up her face. “You may have your kiss, Dan! You are almost like another son!”

When breakfast was over, Mrs. Barrimore, Mr. Burns and Phyllis went to Blacklands Church, and Dan passed the time smoking in a wicker chair on the terrace, and in thinking of the girl he hoped to paint.

After luncheon he dressed himself with some care, and started to walk to Gissing.

To reach the White House, Dan had to pass Philip’s bungalow.

Philip was lying in his hammock in the verandah, consuming cigarettes.

Hearing brisk footsteps, he leaned up and saw Dan. Then he sprang out of the hammock and ran down the garden-path.

Dan was waiting at the gate.

“Can’t you open it?” inquired Philip.

“I’ll come in later,” explained Dan. “I am going to deliver some lost property at the White House.”

“Wait a minute and I will come too,” said Philip. “Old Alvin gave me a lift the other day. I had been intending to call.”

A shade—only a shade of disappointment crossed Dan’s sunny face for a moment. He had wanted to make the very most of this opportunity, and he knew from experience that other men had but a small “show in” when Philip was present.

“They are all in the garden,” Philip said, as the two men walked towards the White House. “Perhaps they will offer us tea.”

Nearing a spot where the little wood became visible, Dan remarked on its being wired in.

“Does Mr. Alvin keep some colonial pets in there?” he asked.

“I am curious to know myself,” replied Philip. “Alvin has constructed a high wall round a clearing inside. This much I know. He is a funny old fellow. He did most of the work at night.”

Thomas Alvin received the guests with a show of genuine friendliness. He had seen them coming, and had walked to the garden gate to meet them.

“Come in,” he said cordially to Philip, and then glanced at Dan.

“This is Mr. Webster, the painter, of whom I think you have heard,” said Philip. “He has brought some lost property of Mrs. Le Breton’s.”

Alvin shook hands with Dan, and led the way to a shady spot in the garden, where Mrs. Le Breton and Eweretta were sitting.

Eweretta’s face turned a shade paler as Philip greeted her. He could not but observe this, but thought it only natural that “Aimée Le Breton” should be shy and nervous.

Dan, who had given the prayer-book to Mrs. Le Breton, fell into conversation with her, so Philip began to talk to Eweretta.

“You must find England a great change from Canada, Miss Le Breton,” he said, as he took the chair Alvin had purposely placed for him near Eweretta.

“Yes,” she replied; “but this place is very beautiful.”

How startlingly like her voice was to her sister’s, thought Philip. It awoke a tender memory, not deep enough to be actual pain, but still tender.

“It is rather lonely, though, out here,” went on Philip. “I mean for you. I chose it on account of the solitude. I can work better away from people.”

“You are writing a new book, are you not?” asked Eweretta.

“Yes, I am nearing the end,” he answered. “I have grown so fond of one or two of my puppets that I shall grieve to say good-bye.”

“I suppose the characters in stories do become very real to an author,” she said.

“Very real indeed,” he answered. “More real sometimes than people of flesh and blood.”

“I can understand that,” she rejoined. “They are all your own, and you can sift them at your will.”

Philip was amazed that Aimée Le Breton, whom he had always understood to be uneducated, could talk in this way.

He caught himself staring at her and instantly looked away.

“And this book of yours,” she hazarded. “What is it about? Or perhaps you would rather not talk about it?”

“Ah, Miss Le Breton, do not so tempt me! Was there ever yet an author who was not willing—too willing to talk of his books? My book is a love story, but possibly some readers will rebel against the doctrines on love therein put forth. Do you believe that love is eternal, Miss Le Breton? I mean, of course, the love of a man for a maid, or a maid for a man. The great fact of Love must be eternal; the love that is not of the earth earthy.”

He spoke eagerly and watched to see the effect of his words.

Her answer came in her slow, full contralto.

“No, I cannot think all human love eternal,” she said.

“And perhaps it is best so,” he rejoined. “For instance, when a man is young he sometimes loves—or thinks he loves—the woman who would not in the least suit him as a life-companion. You would not think it best that that love should be eternal, would you, Miss Le Breton? The man in my book spoils his life because he fell in love too young, and with the wrong woman. I am boring you, Miss Le Breton?”

“No, I am much—oh, very much interested,” she assured him.

“Well, my hero found out the mistake that he had made.”

“I hope it was in time to prevent the marriage?” put in Eweretta. “The real tragedy would have been their marriage.”

“How well you realize?” he exclaimed admiringly. “Really I don’t often find anyone to understand as you do. But I am a terrible egotist. Let us talk of something else. What interests you chiefly?”

“Oh, many things—everything almost,” she made answer.

“How contented you must be!” he said musingly.

“Yes, I am content,” she answered.

“I am, too,” Philip told her, “for I have passed my romantic period, when I thought youthful sorrows could be everlasting. You know, Miss Le Breton, the young always think sorrow eternal. I have grown old in a few months, and have passed from one stage of experience to another at express speed. It is a curious feeling to look back over a few months, and to feel them to be years.”

He paused, and she regarded him with strange intentness.

“I understand that too,” she said at last.

Dan, who had been growing impatient to have a chance to speak with his beautiful Madonna, deliberately interrupted Philip and Eweretta at this point.

“You like Hastings, I hope, Miss Le Breton? Your mother and I have been lauding it so well that I think the town ought to give us a testimonial.”

“It is lovely,” said Eweretta. “There is so fine a sea and such wonderful country too. I think the view from the West Hill quite wonderful. It reminds me a little of Quebec. Were you ever in Canada, Mr. Webster?”

“No, to my loss,” acknowledged Dan. “But I mean to see it one day. I mean to go everywhere. A nice statement for an impecunious painter to make, you will say! But I am an optimistic beggar, and I have wonderful castles in Spain.”

Mattie brought out tea at this point and conversation became general.

Alvin was in good spirits. Evidently Barrimore had been getting on very well with Eweretta.

But how incredible it seemed that he should not recognize her!

Yet he had always known that the half-sisters were like as twins, and he was sure that his old love was dead. An accepted fact wants some upsetting!

But how romantic it would be if Philip should again fall in love with Eweretta, believing her to be Aimée!

When the young men rose to go, Alvin begged them to repeat their visit, which they promised to do at an early date.

“I figure that we shall be friends,” he added.

On the way back to the bungalow Philip said:

“It is a most amazing thing, Dan, that Aimée Le Breton should have so completely recovered her reason. It was quite uncanny to hear her talk. ’Pon my word, at times I felt I must be hearing her dead sister speak! But she is, after all, very different from Eweretta. Eweretta was joyous as a child. I cannot imagine Aimée Le Breton as joyous at any time. She does not seem unhappy; on the contrary, she is content. But she struck me as a woman incapable of joy.”