Chapter XThe Communion of Two Souls
Gradually the springtide crept upward into the heart of the mountains, quickening the pulses of the rocks themselves until even the mosses and lichens slumbering at their feet awakened to renewed life. Bits of green appeared wherever a grass root could push its way through the rocky soil, and fragile wild flowers gleamed, starlike, here and there, fed by tiny rivulets which trickled from slowly melting snows on the summits far above.
With the earliest warm days Darrell had started forth to explore the surrounding mountains, eager to learn the secrets which they seemed ever challenging him to discover. New conditions confronted him, sometimes baffling him, but always inciting to renewed effort. His enthusiasm was so aroused that often, when his day's work was done, taking a light lunch with him, he pursued his studies while the daylight lasted, walking back in the long twilight, and in the solitude of his room making full notes of the results of that day's research before retiring for the night.
Returning one evening from one of these expeditions he saw, pacing back and forth before the office building, a figure which he at once recognized as that of Mr. Britton. Instantly all thought of work or weariness was forgotten, and he hastened forward, while Mr. Britton, catching sight of Darrell rapidly approaching, turned and came down the road to meet him.
"A thousand welcomes!" Darrell cried, as soon as they were within speaking distance; "say, but this is glorious to see you here! How long have I kept you waiting?"
"A few hours, but that does not matter; it does us good to have to stop and call a halt on ourselves once in a while. How are you, my son?" And as the two grasped hands the elder man looked searchingly through the gathering dusk into the face of the younger. Even in the dim twilight, Darrell could feel that penetrating glance reading his inmost soul.
"I am well and doing well," he answered; "my physical health is perfect; as for the rest—your coming is the very best thing that could have happened. Are you alone?" he asked, eagerly, "or did Mr. Underwood come with you?"
"I came alone," Mr. Britton replied, with quiet emphasis, linking his arm within Darrell's as they ascended the road together.
"How long have you been in town?"
"But two days. I am on my way to the coast, and only stopped off for a few days. I shall spend to-morrow with you, go back with you Saturday to The Pines, and go on my way Monday."
Having made his guest as comfortable as possible in his own room, Darrell laid aside his working paraphernalia, his hammer, and bag of rock specimens, and donning a house coat and pair of slippers seated himself near Mr. Britton, all the time conscious of the close but kindly scrutiny with which the latter was regarding him.
"This is delightful!" he exclaimed; "but it is past my comprehension how Mr. Underwood ever let you slip off alone!"
Mr. Britton looked amused. "I told him I wascoming to see you, and I think he intended coming with me till he heard me order my saddle-horse for the trip. I think that settled the matter. I believe there can be no perfect interchange of confidence except between two. The presence of a third party—even though a mutual friend—breaks the magnetic circuit and weakens the current of sympathy. Our interviews are necessarily rare, and I want to make the most of them; therefore I would come to you alone or not at all."
"Yes," Darrell replied; "your visits are so rare that every moment is precious to me, and think of the hours I lost by my absence to-day!"
"Do you court Dame Nature so assiduously every day, subsisting on cold lunches and tramping the mountains till nightfall?"
"Not every day, but as often as possible," Darrell replied, smiling.
"And I suppose if I were not here you would now be burrowing into that pile over there?" Mr. Britton said, glancing significantly towards the table covered to a considerable depth with books of reference, note-books, writing-pads, and sheets of closely written manuscript.
"Let me show you what I am doing; it will take but a moment," said Darrell, springing to his feet.
He drew forth several sets of extensive notes on researches and experiments he was making along various lines of study, in which Mr. Britton became at once deeply interested.
"You have a good thing here; stick to it!" he said at length, looking up from the perusal of Darrell's geological notes, gathered from his studies of the rock formations in that vicinity. "You have a fine field in which to pursue this branch, and with the knowledge you already have on this subject and the discoveriesyou are likely to make, you may be able to make some very valuable contributions to the science one of these days."
"That is just what I hope to do!" exclaimed Darrell eagerly; "just what I am studying for day and night!"
"But you must use moderation," said Mr. Britton, smiling at the younger man's enthusiasm; "you are young, you have years before you in which to do this work, and this constant study, night and day, added to your regular routine work, is too much for you. You are looking fagged already."
"If I am, it is not the work that is fagging me," Darrell replied, quickly, his tones becoming excited; "Mr. Britton, I must work; I must accomplish all I can for two reasons. You say I have years before me in which to do this work. God knows I hope I haven't got to work years like this,—only half alive, you might say,—and when the change comes, if it ever does, you know, of course, I cannot and would not remain here."
"I understand you would not remain here," said Mr. Britton slowly, and laying his hand soothingly on the arm of his agitated companion, "but you can readily see that not only your education, but your natural trend of thought, is along these lines; therefore, when you are fully restored to your normal self you will be the more—not the less—interested in these things, and I predict that no matter when the time comes for you to leave, you will, after a while, return to continue this same line of work amid the same surroundings, but, we hope, under far happier conditions."
Darrell shook his head slowly. "It does not seem to me that I would ever wish to return to a place where I had suffered as I have here."
Mr. Britton smiled, one of his slow, sad, sweet smiles that Darrell loved to watch, that seemed to dawn in his eyes and gradually to spread until every feature was irradiated with a tender, beneficent light.
"I once thought as you do," he said, gently, "but after years of wandering, I find that the place most sacred to me now is that hallowed by the bitterest agony of my life."
Without replying Darrell unconsciously drew nearer to his friend, and a brief silence followed, broken by Mr. Britton, who inquired, in a lighter tone,—
"What is the other reason for your constant application to your work? You said there were two."
Darrell bowed his head upon his hands as he answered in a low, despairing tone,—
"To stop thinking, thinking, thinking; it will drive me mad!"
"I have been there, my boy; I know," Mr. Britton responded; then, after a pause, he continued:
"Something in the tenor of your last letter made me anxious to come to you. I thought I detected something of the old restlessness. Has the coming of spring, quickening the life forces all around you, stirred the life currents in your own veins till your spirit is again tugging at its fetters in its struggles for release?"
With a startled movement Darrell raised his head, meeting the clear eyes fixed upon him.
"How could you know?" he demanded.
"Because, as Emerson says, 'the heart in thee is the heart of all.' There are few hearts whose pulses are not stirred by the magic influence of the springtide, and under its potent spell I knew you would feel your present limitations even more keenly than ever before."
"Thank God, you understand!" Darrell exclaimed; then continued, passionately: "The last three weekshave been torture to me if I but allowed myself one moment's thought. Wherever I look I see life—life, perfect and complete in all its myriad forms—the life that is denied to me! This is not living,—this existence of mine,—with brain shackled, fettered, in many ways helpless as a child, knowing less than a child, and not even mercifully wrapped in oblivion, but compelled to feel the constant goading and galling of the fetters, to be reminded of them at every turn! My God! if it were not for constant work and study I would go mad!"
In the silence which followed Darrell's mind reverted to that autumn day on which he had first met John Britton and confided to him his trouble; and now, as then, he was soothed and strengthened by the presence beside him, by the magnetism of that touch, although no word was spoken.
As he reviewed their friendship of the past months he became conscious for the first time of its one-sidedness. He had often unburdened himself to his friend, confiding to him his griefs, and receiving in turn sympathy and counsel; but of the great, unknown sorrow that had wrought such havoc in his own life, what word had John Britton ever spoken? As Darrell recalled the bearing of his friend through all their acquaintance and his silence regarding his own sufferings, his eyes grew dim. The man at his side seemed, in the light of that revelation, stronger, grander, nobler than ever before; not unlike to the giant peaks whose hoary heads then loomed darkly against the starlit sky, calm, silent, majestic, giving no token of the throes of agony which, ages agone, had rent them asunder except in the mystic symbols graven on their furrowed brows. In that light his own complaints seemed puerile. At that moment Darrell was conscious of a new fortitude bornwithin his soul; a new purpose, henceforth to dominate his life.
A heavy sigh from Mr. Britton broke the silence. "I know the fetters are galling," he said, "but have patience and hope, for, at the time appointed, the shackles will be loosened, the fetters broken."
Darrell faced his companion, a new light in his eyes but recently so dark with despair, as he asked, earnestly and tenderly,—
"Dearest and best of friends, is there no time appointed for the lifting of the burden borne so nobly and uncomplainingly, 'lo, these many years?'"
With a grave, sweet smile the elder man shook his head, and, rising, began pacing up and down the room. "There are some burdens, my son, that time cannot lift; they can only be laid down at the gates of eternity."
With a strange, choking sensation in his throat Darrell rose, and, going to the window, stood looking out at the dim outlines of the neighboring peaks. Their vast solitude no longer oppressed him as at the first; it calmed and soothed him in his restless moods, and to-night those grim monarchs dwelling in silent fellowship seemed to him the embodiment of peace and rest.
After a time Mr. Britton paused beside him, and, throwing his arm about his shoulders, asked,—
"What are your thoughts, my son?"
"Only a whim, a fancy that has taken possession of me the last few days, since my wanderings among the mountains," he answered, lightly; "a longing to bury myself in some sort of a retreat on one of these old peaks and devote myself to study."
"And live a hermit's life?" Mr. Britton queried, with a peculiar smile.
"For a while, yes," Darrell replied, more seriously;"until I have learned to fight these battles out by myself, and to conquer myself."
"There are battles," said the other, speaking thoughtfully, "which are waged best in solitude, but self is conquered only by association with one's fellows. Solitude breeds selfishness."
Mr. Britton had resumed his pacing up and down, but a few moments later, as he approached Darrell, the latter turned, suddenly confronting him.
"My dear friend," he said, "you have been everything to me; you have done everything for me; I ask you to do one thing more,—forgive and answer this question: How have you conquered?"
The look of pain that crossed his companion's face filled Darrell with regret for what he had said, but before he could speak again Mr. Britton replied gently, with his old smile,—
"I doubt whether I have yet wholly conquered; but whatever victory is mine, I have won, not in solitude and seclusion, but in association with the sorrowing, the suffering, the sinning, and in sharing their burdens I found rest from my own."
He paused a moment, then continued, his glowing eyes holding Darrell as though under a spell:
"I know not why, but since our first meeting you have given me a new interest, a new joy in life. I have been drawn to you and I have loved you as I thought never again to love any human being, and some day I will tell you what I have told no other human being,—the story of my life."
On Saturday Mr. Britton and Darrell returned to The Pines. The increasing intimacy between them was evident even there. For the last day or so Mr. Britton had fallen into the habit of addressing Darrell by his Christian name, much to the latter's delight.For this Mrs. Dean laughingly called him to account, compelling Mr. Britton to come to his own defence.
"'John,'" he exclaimed; "of course I'll call him 'John.' It seems wonderfully pleasant to me. I've always wanted a namesake, and I can consider him one."
"A namesake!" ejaculated Mrs. Dean, smiling broadly; "I wonder if there's a poor family or one that's seen trouble of any kind anywhere around here that hasn't a 'John Britton' among its children! I should think you had namesakes enough now!"
"One might possibly like to have one of his own selection," he replied, dryly.
As Darrell took leave of Mr. Britton the following Monday morning the latter said,—
"By the way, John, whenever you are ready to enter upon that hermit life let me know; I'll provide the hermitage."
"Are you joking?" Darrell queried, unable to catch his meaning.
"Never more serious in my life," he replied, with such unusual gravity that Darrell forbore to question further.
Chapter XIImpending Trouble
The five or six weeks following Mr. Britton's visit passed so swiftly that Darrell was scarcely conscious of their flight. His work at the mill, which had been increased by valuable strikes recently made in the mines, in addition to considerable outside work in the way of attests and assays, had left him little time for study or experiment. For nearly three weeks he had not left the mining camp, the last two Saturdays having found him too weary with the preceding week's work to undertake the long ride to Ophir.
During this time Mr. Underwood had been a frequent visitor at the camp, led not only by his interest in the mining developments, but also by his curiosity regarding the progress made by the union in the construction of its boarding-house, and also to watch the effect on his own employees.
Entering the laboratory one day after one of his rounds of the camp, he stood for some time silently watching Darrell at his work.
"In case of a shut-down here," he said at length, speaking abruptly, "how would you like a clerical position in my office down there at Ophir,—book-keeping or something of the sort,—just temporarily, you know?"
Darrell looked up from his work in surprise. "Do you regard a shut-down as imminent?" he inquired, smiling.
"Well, yes; there's no half-way measures with me.No man that works for me will go off the grounds for his meals. But that isn't answering my question."
Darrell's face grew serious. "You forget, Mr. Underwood, that until I am put to the test, I have no means of knowing whether or not I can do the work you wish done."
"By George! I never once thought of that!" Mr. Underwood exclaimed, somewhat embarrassed, adding, hastily, "but then, I didn't mean book-keeping in particular, but clerical work generally; copying instruments, looking up records, and so on. You see, it's like this," he continued, seating himself near Darrell; "I'm thinking of taking in a partner—not in this mining business, it has nothing to do with that, but just in my mortgage-loan business down there; and in case I do, we'll need two or three additional clerks and book-keepers, and I thought you might like to come in just temporarily until we resume operations here. Of course, the salary wouldn't be so very much, but I thought it might be better than nothing to bridge over."
"How long do you expect to be closed down here, Mr. Underwood?"
"Until the men come to their senses or we find others to take their places," the elder man answered, decidedly; "it may be six weeks or it may be six months. I was talking with Dwight, from the Buckeye Camp, this morning. He says they've been to too much expense to put up with the proposition for a moment; they simply can't stand it, and won't; they'll shut down and pull out first. I don't believe that mine is paying very well, anyway."
"Mr. Underwood," said Darrell, slowly, "if this were a question of accommodation to yourself, of coming into your office and helping you out personally,I would gladly do it; salary would be no object; but to take a merely clerical position for an indefinite time when I have a good, lucrative profession does not seem to me a very wise policy. There must be plenty of assaying to be done in Ophir; why couldn't I temporarily open an office there?"
"I guess there's no reason why you couldn't if you want to," Mr. Underwood replied, evidently disappointed by Darrell's reply and eying him sharply, "and if you want to open up an office of your own there's plenty of room for you in our building. You know the building was formerly occupied by one of Ophir's wildcat banks that collapsed in the general crash six years ago, and there's a fine lot of private offices in the rear, opening on the side street; one of those rooms fitted up would be just the place for you."
"Much obliged," said Darrell, smiling; "we'll see about it if the time comes that I need it. Possibly your prospective partner will have use for all the private offices."
"I guess I'll have some say about that," Mr. Underwood returned, gruffly; then, after a short pause, he continued: "I haven't fully decided about this partnership business. I talked it over with Jack when he was here, but he didn't seem to favor the idea; told me that at my age I had better let well enough alone. I told him that I didn't see what my age had to do with it, that I was capable of looking after my own interests, partner or no partner, but that I'd no objection to having some one else take the brunt of the work while I looked on."
"Is the man a stranger or an acquaintance?" Darrell inquired.
"I'm not personally acquainted with him, but he's not exactly a stranger, for he's lived in Ophir, off andon, for the last five years. His name is Walcott. He says his father is an Englishman and very wealthy; he himself, I should judge, has some Spanish blood in his veins. He spends part of his time in Texas, where he has heavy cattle interests; in fact, has been there for the greater part of the past year. He wants to go into the mortgage-loan business, and offers to put in seventy-five thousand and give his personal attention to the business for thirty-three and a third per cent. of the profits."
"What has been his business in Ophir all these years?"
"Life insurance mostly, I believe; had two offices, one in Ophir and one at Galena, and has also done some private loan business."
"What sort of a reputation has he?"
"First-rate. I've made a number of inquiries about him in both places, and nobody has a word to say against him; very quiet, minds his own business, a man of few words; just about my sort of a man, I should judge," Mr. Underwood concluded as he rose from his chair.
"Well, Mr. Underwood," said Darrell, "whatever arrangements you decide to make, I wish you success."
"No more than I do you, my boy, in anything your pig-headedness leads you into," Mr. Underwood replied, brusquely, but with a humorous twinkle in his eyes. "Confound you!" he added; "I'd help you if you'd give me a chance, but maybe it's best to let you 'gang your ain gait.'" And he walked out of the room before Darrell could reply.
A moment later he looked in at the door. "By the way, if you're not at The Pines by five o'clock sharp next Saturday afternoon, Marcia says she's going tosend an officer up here after you with a writ of habeas corpus, or something of the sort."
"All right; I'll be there," Darrell laughed.
"You'll find the old place a bit brighter than you've seen it yet, for we had a letter from Puss this morning that she'll be home to-morrow."
With the last words the door closed and Darrell was left alone with his thoughts, to which, however, he could then give little time. But when the day's work was done he went for a stroll, and, seating himself upon a large rock, carefully reviewed the situation.
Hitherto he had given little thought to the impending trouble at the camp, supposing it would affect himself but slightly; but he now realized that a suspension of operations there would mean an entire change in his mode of living. The prospective change weighed on his sensitive spirits like an incubus. Even The Pines, he dismally reflected, would no longer seem the same quiet, homelike retreat, since it was to be invaded and dominated by a youthful presence between whom and himself there would probably be little congeniality.
But finally telling himself that these reflections were childish, he rose as the last sunset rays were sinking behind the western ranges and the rosy flush on the summits was fading, and, walking swiftly to his room, resolutely buried himself in his studies.
Chapter XIINew Life in the Old Home
On the following Saturday, as Darrell ascended the long driveway leading to The Pines, he was startled at the transformation which the place had undergone since last he was there. The rolling lawn seemed carpeted with green velvet, enlivened here and there with groups of beautiful foliage plants. Fountains were playing in the sunlight, their glistening spray tinted with rainbow lights. Flowers bloomed in profusion, their colors set off by the gray background of the stone walls of the house. The syringas by the bay-windows were bent to the ground with their burden of snowy blossoms, whose fragrance, mingled with that of the June roses, greeted him as he approached. He forgot his three weeks' absence and the rapid growth in that high altitude; the change seemed simply magical. Then, as he caught a glimpse through the pines of a slender, girlish figure, dressed in white, darting hither and thither, he wondered no longer; it was but the fit accompaniment of the young, joyous life which had come to the old place.
As he came out into the open, he saw a young girl romping up and down before the house with a fine Scotch collie, and he could not restrain a smile as he recalled Mrs. Dean's oft-repeated declaration that there was one thing she would never tolerate, and that was a dog or a cat about the house. She had not yet seen him; but when she did, the frolic ceased and she started towards the house. Then suddenly she stopped,as though she recognized some one or something, and stood awaiting his approach, her lips parted in a smile, two small, shapely hands shading her eyes from the sun. As he came nearer, he had time to note the lithe, supple figure, just rounding into the graceful outlines of womanhood; the full, smiling lips, the flushed cheeks, and the glint of gold in her brown hair; and the light, the beauty, the fragrance surrounding her seemed an appropriate setting to the picture. She was a part of the scene.
Darrell, of course, had no knowledge of his own age, but at that moment he felt very remote from the embodiment of youth before him; he seemed to himself to have been suddenly relegated to the background, among the elder members of the family.
The collie had been standing beside his mistress with his head on one side, regarding Darrell with a sharp, inquisitive look, and he now broke the silence, which threatened to prove rather embarrassing, with a short bark.
"Hush, Duke!" said the girl, in a low tone; then, as Darrell dismounted, she came swiftly towards him, extending her hand.
"This is Mr. Darrell, I know," she said, speaking quite rapidly in a clear, musical voice, without a shade of affectation, "and you probably know who I am, so we will need no introduction."
"Yes, Miss Underwood," said Darrell, smiling into the beautiful brown eyes, "I would have recognized you anywhere from your picture."
"And you have Trix, haven't you?" she exclaimed, turning to caress the mare. "Dear old Trix! Just let her go, Mr. Darrell; she will go to the stables of her own accord and Bennett will take care of her; that was the way Harry taught her. Go find Bennett, Trix!"
They watched Trix follow the driveway and disappear around the corner, then both turned towards the house.
"Auntie is out just now," said the girl; "she had to go down town, but I am expecting her back every minute. Will you go into the house, Mr. Darrell, or do you prefer a seat on the veranda?"
"The veranda looks inviting; suppose we sit here," Darrell suggested.
They had reached the steps leading to the entrance. On the top step the collie had seated himself and was now awaiting their approach with the air of one expecting due recognition.
"Mr. Darrell," said the young girl, with a merry little laugh, "allow me to present you to His Highness, the Duke of Argyle!"
The collie gave his head a slight backward toss, and, with great dignity, extended his right paw to Darrell, which the latter, instantly entering into the spirit of the joke, took, saying, with much gravity,—
"I am pleased to meet His Highness!"
The girl's brown eyes danced with enjoyment.
"You have made a friend of him for life, now," she said as they seated themselves, Duke stationing himself at her side in such a manner as to show his snow-white vest and great double ruff to the best possible advantage. "He is a very aristocratic dog, and if any one fails to show him what he considers proper respect, he is greatly affronted."
"He certainly is a royal-looking fellow," said Darrell, "but I cannot imagine how you ever gained Mrs. Dean's consent to his presence here. You must possess even more than the ordinary powers of feminine persuasion."
"Aunt Marcia?" laughed the girl; "oh, well, yousee it was a case of 'love me, love my dog.' Wherever I go, Duke must go, so auntie had to submit to the inevitable."
Darrell found the situation far less embarrassing than he had expected. His young companion, with keen, womanly intuition, had divined something of his feeling, and tactfully avoiding any allusion to their previous meeting, of which he had no recollection, kept the conversation on subjects within the brief span of his memory. She seemed altogether unconscious of the peculiar conditions surrounding himself, and the brown eyes, meeting his own so frankly, had in their depths nothing of the curiosity or the pity he had so often encountered, and had grown to dread. She appeared so childlike and unaffected, and her joyous, rippling laughter proved so contagious, that unconsciously the extra years which a few moments before seemed to have been added to his life dropped away; the grave, tense lines of his face relaxed, and before he was aware he was laughing heartily at the account of some school-girl escapade or at some tricks performed by Duke for his especial entertainment.
In the midst of their merriment they heard the sound of hoof-beats, and, turning, saw the family carriage approaching, containing both Mr. Underwood and his sister.
"You two children seem to be enjoying yourselves!" was Mr. Underwood's comment as the carriage stopped.
Darrell sprang to Mrs. Dean's assistance as she alighted, while Kate Underwood ran down the steps to meet her father. Both greeted Darrell warmly, but Mrs. Dean retained his hand a moment as she looked at him with genuine motherly interest.
"I'm glad the truant has returned," she said, withher quiet smile; "I only hope it seems as good to you to come home as it does to us to have you here!"
Darrell was touched by her unusual kindness. "You can rest assured that it does, mother," he said, earnestly. He was astonished at the effect of his words: her face flushed, her lips trembled, and as she passed on into the house her eyes glistened with tears.
Darrell looked about him in bewilderment. "What have I said?" he questioned; "how did I wound her feelings?"
"She lost a son years ago, and she's never got over it," Mr. Underwood explained, briefly.
"You did not hurt her feelings—she was pleased," Kate hastened to reassure him; "but did she never speak to you about it?"
"Never," Darrell replied.
"Well, that is not to be wondered at, for she seldom alludes to it. He died years ago, before I can remember, but she always grieves for him; that was the reason," she added, reflectively, half to herself, "that she always loved Harry better than she did me."
"Better than you, you jealous little Puss!" said her father, pinching her cheek; "don't you have love enough, I'd like to know?"
"I can never have too much, you know, papa," she answered, very seriously, and Darrell, watching, saw in the brown eyes for the first time the wistful look he had seen in the two portraits.
She soon followed her aunt, but her father and Darrell remained outside talking of business matters until summoned to dinner. On entering the house Darrell saw on every hand evidences of the young life in the old home. There was just a pleasant touch of disorder in the rooms he had always seen kept with suchprecision: here a bit of unfinished embroidery; there a book open, face down, just where the fair reader had left it; the piano was open and sheets of music lay scattered over it. From every side came the fragrance of flowers, and in the usually sombre dining-room Darrell noted the fireplace nearly concealed by palms and potted plants, the chandelier trimmed with trailing vines, the epergne of roses and ferns on the table, and the tiny boutonnières at his plate and Mr. Underwood's. With a smile of thanks at the happy young face opposite, he appropriated the one intended for himself, but Mr. Underwood, picking up the one beside his plate, sat twirling it in his fingers with a look of mock perplexity.
"Puss has introduced so many of her folderols I haven't got used to them yet," he said. "How is this to be taken,—before eating, or after?" he inquired, looking at her from under heavy, frowning brows.
"To be taken! Oh, papa!" she ejaculated; "why don't you put it on as Mr. Darrell has his? Here, I'll fix it for you!"
With an air of resignation he waited while she fastened the flowers in the lapel of his coat, giving the latter an approving little pat as she finished.
"There!" she exclaimed; "you ought to see how nice you look!"
"H'm! I'm glad to hear it," he grunted; "I feel like a prize steer at a county fair!"
In the laughter which followed Kate joined as merrily as the rest, and no one but Darrell observed the deepening flush on her cheek or heard the tremulous sigh when the laughter was ended.
After dinner they adjourned to the large sitting-room, Mr. Underwood with his pipe, Mrs. Dean with her knitting, and Darrell, while conversing with theformer, watched with a new interest the latter's placid face, wondering at the depth of feeling concealed beneath that calm exterior.
As the twilight deepened and conversation began to flag, there came from the piano a few sweet chords, followed by one of Chopin's dreamy nocturnes. Mr. Underwood began to doze in his chair, and Darrell sat silent, his eyes closed, his whole soul given up to the spell of the music. Unconscious of the pleasure she was giving, Kate played till the room was veiled in darkness; then going to the fireplace she lighted the fire already laid—for the nights were still somewhat chilly—and sat down on a low seat before the fire, while Duke came and lay at her feet. It was a pretty picture; the young girl in white, her eyes fixed dreamily on the glowing embers, the firelight dancing over her form and face and lighting up her hair with gleams of gold; the dog at her feet, his head thrown proudly back, and his eyes fastened on her face with a look of loyal devotion seldom seen even in human eyes.
Happening to glance in Mr. Underwood's direction Darrell saw pride, pleasure, and pain struggling for the mastery in the father's face as he watched the picture in the firelight. Pain won, and with a sudden gesture of impatience he covered his eyes with his hand, as though to shut out the scene. It was but a little thing, but taken in connection with the incident before dinner, it appealed to Darrell, showing, as it did, the silent, stoical manner in which these people bore their grief.
Mrs. Dean's quiet voice interrupted his musings and broke the spell which the music seemed to have thrown around them.
"You will have some one now, Katherine, to accompany you on the violin, as you have always wanted; Mr. Darrell is a fine violinist."
Kate was instantly all animation. "Oh, that will be delightful, Mr. Darrell!" she exclaimed, eagerly; "there is nothing I enjoy so much as a violin accompaniment; it adds so much expression to the music. I think a piano alone is so unsympathetic; you can't get any feeling out of it!"
"I'm afraid, Miss Underwood, I will prove a disappointment to you," Darrell replied; "I have never yet attempted any new music, or even to play by note, and don't know what success I would have, if any. So far I have only played what drifts to me—some way, I don't know how—from out of the past."
The unconscious sadness in his voice stirred the depths of Kate's tender heart. "Oh, that is too bad!" she exclaimed, quickly, thinking, not of her own disappointment, but of his trouble of which she had unwittingly reminded him; then she added, gently, almost timidly,—
"But you will, at any rate, let me hear you play, won't you?"
"Certainly, if it will give you any pleasure," he replied, with a slight smile.
"Very well; then we will arrange it this way," she continued, her cheerful manner restored; "you will play your music, and, if I am familiar with it, I will accompany you on the piano. I will get out Harry's violin to-morrow, and while auntie is taking her nap and papa is engaged, we will see what we can accomplish in a musical way."
Before Darrell could reply, Mr. Underwood, who had started from his revery, demanded,—
"What engagement are you talking about, you chatterbox?"
"I can't say, papa," she replied, playfully seating herself on the arm of his chair; "I only know that when I asked your company for a walk to-morrow afternoon, you pleaded a very important engagement. Now, how is that?" she asked archly; "have you an engagement, really, or didn't you care for my society?"
"Why, yes, to be sure; it had escaped my mind for the moment," her father answered, rather vaguely she thought; then, looking at Darrell, he said,—
"Walcott is coming to-morrow for my final decision in that matter."
Darrell bowed in token that he understood, but did not feel at liberty to inquire whether the decision was to be favorable to Mr. Walcott, or otherwise. Kate glanced quickly from one to the other, but before she could speak her father continued:
"I rather think if he consents to two or three conditions which I shall insist upon, that my answer will be in the affirmative."
"I thought that quite probable from your conversation the other day," Darrell replied.
"See here, papa!" Kate exclaimed, mischievously, "you needn't talk over my head! You used to do so when I was little, but you can't any longer, you know. Who is this 'Walcott,' and what is this important decision about?"
Mr. Underwood, who did not believe in taking what he called the "women folks" into his confidence regarding business affairs, looked quizzically into the laughing face beside him.
"Didn't I hear you arranging some sort of a musical programme with Mr. Darrell?" he inquired.
"Yes; what has that to do with your engagement?" she queried.
"Nothing whatever; only you carry out your engagement and I will mine, and we'll compare notes afterwards."
For an instant her face sobered; then catching sight of her father's eyes twinkling under their beetling brows, she laughingly withdrew from his side, saying,—
"That's all very well; you can score one this time, papa, but don't you think we won't come out pretty near even in the end!"
Upon learning from Darrell that the violin she expected him to use was in his room at the mining camp, she then proposed a stroll to the summit of the pine-clad mountain for the following afternoon, and having secured his promise that he would bring the violin with him on his next visit, she waltzed gayly across the floor, turned on the light, and seating herself at the piano soon had the room ringing with music and laughter while she sang a number of college songs.
To Darrell she seemed more child than woman, and he was constantly impressed with her unlikeness to her father or aunt. She seemed to have absolutely none of their self-repression. Warm-hearted, sympathetic, and demonstrative, every shade of feeling betrayed itself in her sensitive, mobile face and in the brown eyes, one moment pensive and wistful, the next luminous with sympathy or dancing with merriment.
As Darrell took leave of Mrs. Dean that night, he said, looking frankly into her calm, kindly face,—
"I am very sorry if I wounded your feelings this afternoon; it was wholly unintentional, I assure you."
"You did not in the least," she answered; "it is so long since I have been called by that name it tookme by surprise, but it sounded very pleasant to me. My boy, if he had lived, would have been just about your age."
"It seemed pleasant to me to call you 'mother,'" said Darrell; "it made me feel less like an outsider."
"You can call me so as often as you wish; you are no outsider here; we consider you one of ourselves," she responded, with more warmth in her tones than he had ever heard before.
The following morning Darrell accompanied the ladies to church. After lunch he lounged for an hour or more in one of the hammocks on the veranda, listening alternately to Mr. Underwood's comments as he leisurely smoked his pipe, and to the faint tones of a mandolin coming from some remote part of the house. Mr. Underwood grew more and more abstracted, the mandolin ceased, and Darrell, soothed by his surroundings to a temporary forgetfulness of his troubles, swung gently back and forth in a sort of dreamy content. After a while, Kate Underwood appeared, dressed for a walk, and, accompanied by Duke, the two set forth for their mountain ramble, for the time as light-hearted as two children.
Upon their return, two or three hours later, while still at a little distance from the house, they saw Mr. Underwood and a stranger standing together on the veranda. The latter, who was apparently about to take his departure, and whom Darrell at once assumed to be Mr. Walcott, was about thirty years of age, of medium height, with a finely proportioned and rather muscular form, erect and dignified in his bearing, with a lithe suppleness and grace in all his movements. He was standing with his hat in his hand, and Darrell, who had time to observe him closely, noting his jet-black hair, close cut excepting where it curled slightly over his forehead, his black, silky moustache, and the oval contour of his olive face, remembered Mr. Underwood's remark of the probability of Spanish blood in his veins.
As they came near, Duke gave a low growl, but Kate instantly hushed him, chiding him for his rudeness. At the sound, the stranger turned towards them, and Mr. Underwood at once introduced Mr. Walcott to his daughter and Mr. Darrell. He greeted them both with the most punctilious courtesy, but as he faced Darrell, the latter saw for an instant in the half-closed, blue-black eyes, the pity tinged with contempt to which he had long since become accustomed, yet which, as often as he met it, thrilled him anew with pain. The look passed, however, and Mr. Walcott, in low, well-modulated tones, conversed pleasantly for a few moments with the new-comers, the three young people forming a striking trio as they stood there in the bright sunshine amid the June roses; then, with a graceful adieu, he walked swiftly away.
As soon as he was out of hearing Mr. Underwood, turning to Darrell, said,—
"It is decided; the papers will be drawn to-morrow."
Then taking his daughter's flushed, perplexed face between his hands, he said,—
"Mr. Walcott and I are going into partnership; how do you like the looks of my partner, Puss?"
She looked incredulous. "That young man your partner!" she exclaimed; "why, he seems the very last man I should ever expect you to fancy!" Then she added, laughing,—
"Oh, papa, I think he must have hypnotized you! Does Aunt Marcia know? May I tell her?" And,having gained his consent, she ran into the house to impart the news to Mrs. Dean.
"That's the woman of it!" said Mr. Underwood, grimly; "they always want to immediately tell some other woman! But what do you think of my partner?" he asked, looking searchingly at Darrell, who had not yet spoken.
Darrell did not reply at once; he felt in some way bewildered. All the content, the joy, the sunshine of the last few hours seemed to have been suddenly blotted out, though he could not have told why. The remembrance of that glance still stung him, but aside from that, he felt his whole soul filled with an inexplicable antagonism towards this man.
"I hardly know yet just what I do think of him," he answered, slowly; "I have not formed a definite opinion of him, but I think, as your daughter says, he somehow seems the last man whom I would have expected you to associate yourself with."
Mr. Underwood frowned. "I don't generally make mistakes in people," he said, rather gruffly; "if I'm mistaken in this man, it will be the first time."
Nothing further was said on the subject, though it remained uppermost in the minds of both, with the result that their conversation was rather spasmodic and desultory. At the dinner-table, Kate was quick to observe the unusual silence, and, intuitively connecting it in some way with the new partnership, refrained alike from question or comment regarding either that subject or Mr. Walcott, while it was a rule with Mrs. Dean never to refer to her brother's business affairs unless he first alluded to them himself.
The evening passed more pleasantly, as Kate coaxed her father into telling some reminiscences of his early western life, which greatly interested Darrell. Something of the old restlessness had returned to him, however. He spent a wakeful night, and was glad when morning came and he could return to his work.
As he came out of the house at an early hour to set forth on his long ride he found Kate engaged in feeding Trix with lumps of sugar. She greeted him merrily, and as he started down the avenue he was followed by a rippling laugh and a shower of roses, one of which he caught and fastened in his buttonhole, but on looking back over his shoulder she had vanished, and only Duke was visible.