edwindvinas/testdataset · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 72
Montreal. Who was the right wife for a rich and famous man. Barney
would marry her, of course, when he got his divorce. How Valancy hated
her! And envied her! Barney had said, “I love you,” to _her_. Valancy
had wondered what tone Barney would say “I love you” in—how his
dark-blue eyes would look when he said it. Ethel Traverse knew. Valancy
hated her for the knowledge—hated and envied her.

“She can never have those hours in the Blue Castle. They are _mine_,”
thought Valancy savagely. Ethel would never make strawberry jam or
dance to old Abel’s fiddle or fry bacon for Barney over a camp-fire.
She would never come to the little Mistawis shack at all.

What was Barney doing—thinking—feeling now? Had he come home and found
her letter? Was he still angry with her? Or a little pitiful. Was he
lying on their bed looking out on stormy Mistawis and listening to the
rain streaming down on the roof? Or was he still wandering in the
wilderness, raging at the predicament in which he found himself? Hating
her? Pain took her and wrung her like some great pitiless giant. She
got up and walked the floor. Would morning never come to end this
hideous night? And yet what could morning bring her? The old life
without the old stagnation that was at least bearable. The old life
with the new memories, the new longings, the new anguish.

“Oh, why can’t I die?” moaned Valancy.




CHAPTER XLII


It was not until early afternoon the next day that a dreadful old car
clanked up Elm Street and stopped in front of the brick house. A
hatless man sprang from it and rushed up the steps. The bell was rung
as it had never been rung before—vehemently, intensely. The ringer was
demanding entrance, not asking it. Uncle Benjamin chuckled as he
hurried to the door. Uncle Benjamin had “just dropped in” to enquire
how dear Doss—Valancy was. Dear Doss—Valancy, he had been informed, was
just the same. She had come down for breakfast—which she didn’t
eat—gone back to her room, come down for dinner—which she didn’t
eat—gone back to her room. That was all. She had not talked. And she
had been let, kindly, considerately, alone.

“Very good. Redfern will be here today,” said Uncle Benjamin. And now
Uncle Benjamin’s reputation as a prophet was made. Redfern was
here—unmistakably so.

“Is my wife here?” he demanded of Uncle Benjamin without preface.

Uncle Benjamin smiled expressively.

“Mr. Redfern, I believe? Very glad to meet you, sir. Yes, that naughty
little girl of yours is here. We have been——”

“I must see her,” Barney cut Uncle Benjamin ruthlessly short.

“Certainly, Mr. Redfern. Just step in here. Valancy will be down in a
minute.”

He ushered Barney into the parlour and betook himself to the
sitting-room and Mrs. Frederick.

“Go up and tell Valancy to come down. Her husband is here.”

But so dubious was Uncle Benjamin as to whether Valancy could really
come down in a minute—or at all—that he followed Mrs. Frederick on
tiptoe up the stairs and listened in the hall.

“Valancy dear,” said Mrs. Frederick tenderly, “your husband is in the
parlour, asking for you.”

“Oh, Mother.” Valancy got up from the window and wrung her hands. “I
cannot see him—I cannot! Tell him to go away—_ask_ him to go away. I
can’t see him!”

“Tell her,” hissed Uncle Benjamin through the keyhole, “that Redfern
says he won’t go away until he _has_ seen her.”

Redfern had not said anything of the kind, but Uncle Benjamin thought
he was that sort of a fellow. Valancy knew he was. She understood that
she might as well go down first as last.

She did not even look at Uncle Benjamin as she passed him on the
landing. Uncle Benjamin did not mind. Rubbing his hands and chuckling,
he retreated to the kitchen, where he genially demanded of Cousin
Stickles:

“Why are good husbands like bread?”

Cousin Stickles asked why.

“Because women need them,” beamed Uncle Benjamin.

Valancy was looking anything but beautiful when she entered the
parlour. Her white night had played fearful havoc with her face. She
wore an ugly old brown-and-blue gingham, having left all her pretty
dresses in the Blue Castle. But Barney dashed across the room and
caught her in his arms.

“Valancy, darling—oh, you darling little idiot! Whatever possessed you

Montreal. Who was the right wife for a rich and famous man. Barney

would marry her, of course, when he got his divorce. How Valancy hated

her! And envied her! Barney had said, “I love you,” to _her_. Valancy

had wondered what tone Barney would say “I love you” in—how his

dark-blue eyes would look when he said it. Ethel Traverse knew. Valancy

hated her for the knowledge—hated and envied her.

“She can never have those hours in the Blue Castle. They are _mine_,”

thought Valancy savagely. Ethel would never make strawberry jam or

dance to old Abel’s fiddle or fry bacon for Barney over a camp-fire.

She would never come to the little Mistawis shack at all.

What was Barney doing—thinking—feeling now? Had he come home and found

her letter? Was he still angry with her? Or a little pitiful. Was he

lying on their bed looking out on stormy Mistawis and listening to the

rain streaming down on the roof? Or was he still wandering in the

wilderness, raging at the predicament in which he found himself? Hating

her? Pain took her and wrung her like some great pitiless giant. She

got up and walked the floor. Would morning never come to end this

hideous night? And yet what could morning bring her? The old life

without the old stagnation that was at least bearable. The old life

with the new memories, the new longings, the new anguish.

“Oh, why can’t I die?” moaned Valancy.

CHAPTER XLII

It was not until early afternoon the next day that a dreadful old car

clanked up Elm Street and stopped in front of the brick house. A

hatless man sprang from it and rushed up the steps. The bell was rung

as it had never been rung before—vehemently, intensely. The ringer was

demanding entrance, not asking it. Uncle Benjamin chuckled as he

hurried to the door. Uncle Benjamin had “just dropped in” to enquire

how dear Doss—Valancy was. Dear Doss—Valancy, he had been informed, was

just the same. She had come down for breakfast—which she didn’t

eat—gone back to her room, come down for dinner—which she didn’t

eat—gone back to her room. That was all. She had not talked. And she

had been let, kindly, considerately, alone.

“Very good. Redfern will be here today,” said Uncle Benjamin. And now

Uncle Benjamin’s reputation as a prophet was made. Redfern was

here—unmistakably so.

“Is my wife here?” he demanded of Uncle Benjamin without preface.

Uncle Benjamin smiled expressively.

“Mr. Redfern, I believe? Very glad to meet you, sir. Yes, that naughty

little girl of yours is here. We have been——”

“I must see her,” Barney cut Uncle Benjamin ruthlessly short.

“Certainly, Mr. Redfern. Just step in here. Valancy will be down in a

minute.”

He ushered Barney into the parlour and betook himself to the

sitting-room and Mrs. Frederick.

“Go up and tell Valancy to come down. Her husband is here.”

But so dubious was Uncle Benjamin as to whether Valancy could really

come down in a minute—or at all—that he followed Mrs. Frederick on

tiptoe up the stairs and listened in the hall.

“Valancy dear,” said Mrs. Frederick tenderly, “your husband is in the

parlour, asking for you.”

“Oh, Mother.” Valancy got up from the window and wrung her hands. “I

cannot see him—I cannot! Tell him to go away—_ask_ him to go away. I

can’t see him!”

“Tell her,” hissed Uncle Benjamin through the keyhole, “that Redfern

says he won’t go away until he _has_ seen her.”

Redfern had not said anything of the kind, but Uncle Benjamin thought

he was that sort of a fellow. Valancy knew he was. She understood that

she might as well go down first as last.

She did not even look at Uncle Benjamin as she passed him on the

landing. Uncle Benjamin did not mind. Rubbing his hands and chuckling,

he retreated to the kitchen, where he genially demanded of Cousin

Stickles:

“Why are good husbands like bread?”

Cousin Stickles asked why.

“Because women need them,” beamed Uncle Benjamin.

Valancy was looking anything but beautiful when she entered the

parlour. Her white night had played fearful havoc with her face. She

wore an ugly old brown-and-blue gingham, having left all her pretty

dresses in the Blue Castle. But Barney dashed across the room and

caught her in his arms.

“Valancy, darling—oh, you darling little idiot! Whatever possessed you