CHAPTER XXXIV.
For the next ensuing days there were no more visits to the cabin. According to Lyle’s suggestion, a few notes were quietly exchanged between Houston and Jack; thus their plans were maturing, while there was nothing which outsiders could detect.
Meanwhile, Haight had bestowed considerable attention upon Miss Araminta Bixby, to the unspeakable delight of that individual, and had so ingratiated himself into her favor that she only too gladly consented to play the part of spy on the movements of Houston and Van Dorn. The two Maverick boys had also agreed to report to him whatever they were able to learn concerning these two.
Houston and Van Dorn, however, did not seem quite so intimate of late. They were apparently as good friends as ever, but were not so frequently seen together. Nearly every evening, Van Dorn started out for a stroll, sometimes with Lyle, sometimes alone, often sauntering in the direction of the cabin, but never seen to enter; while Houston, after spending an hour or two with Miss Gladden, would walk down to the mines, and entering the various tunnels, or descending the shafts of one mine and another, would watch the night shift at their work, or inspect the workings, occasionally taking measurements here and there. On one of these trips Jack accompanied him, and on their return, they completed the arrangements for the visit to the Lucky Chance mine, the following night.
On the afternoon of the next day, Houston returned to the house a little earlier than usual, having finished his work for the day at the mines and mills, and as he with Miss Gladden and Lyle, sat in the little porch, they were joined a few moments later by Van Dorn. In low tones the plans for the evening were discussed.
“Of course,” said Houston, “we shall go prepared for trouble, but I do not anticipate that we shall meet with any. Even if we are watched, our course of procedure will differ so slightly from what we have followed for a week past, I think it will not excite suspicion.”
“They have watched me so many evenings to no purpose, they may be off guard to-night,” said Van Dorn.
“Don’t flatter yourself that you will escape ‘Minty’s’ espionage for a single night,” replied Lyle, “she would remain out all night watching you to gain a smile from Haight in the morning.”
Van Dorn laughed. “So it is the charming Miss Bixby whose watchful eye is upon me!” he exclaimed, “I think I will have to enter the lists as Haight’s rival, and see if I cannot win such faithful devotion upon the right side.”
“After you are gone,” said Lyle, “I will soon be able to tell whether there will be men sent out to watch you to-night; and I shall act accordingly,” she added, with a smile at Miss Gladden.
“Why, Miss Maverick, what will you do?” inquired Van Dorn, “you must not expose yourself in any way.”
“I will be in no danger,” she answered smiling.
“I have no idea what Lyle intends to do,” said Houston, “but I have great confidence in her plans, for she knows this class of people better than we, and I have found her judgment to be relied upon, on every occasion so far.”
Lyle’s beautiful eyes spoke her thanks for his words of appreciation, as she asked:
“At what hour will you have completed the examination, and be ready to leave the mine?”
“Probably very near twelve o’clock,” Houston replied, “we cannot accomplish our work much before that time, and I do not wish to be out much later.”
“Well,” said Lyle, merrily, but with a slightly mysterious air, “if you are out at that hour, you may see the phantom horse and his rider.”
“Why, how is that?” inquired Van Dorn wonderingly, while Houston remarked:
“If we see nothing more than phantoms, we shall be very happily disappointed.”
“All right,” she responded, “if the ghost walks to-night, don’t be surprised,” and hearing some one enter the dining room to make preparations for the evening meal, she left them, and the subject of conversation changed immediately.
A few hours later, Houston started as usual for the mines. There was nothing out of the ordinary course of affairs in this, except that the leave-taking between him and Leslie was unusually tender, but of this no one knew but themselves. A little earlier, Van Dorn had left for his customary stroll, giving Lyle an invitation to accompany him, which she declined on the plea of being very busy. She immediately withdrew to the kitchen, and smiled to herself presently, as she saw Minty, with an air of great importance, starting out in the same direction. She had been gone about half an hour, when Lyle, who was again seated in the porch, caught sight of her moon-shaped face peering around the corner of the house in frantic endeavors to attract Haight’s attention. As he was facing in almost an opposite direction, her efforts were unavailing, and Lyle, who could with difficulty restrain a smile, added to her embarrassment by inquiring in the blandest tones:
“What is it, Araminta? do you wish to see me?”
At the mention of her name, Haight turned suddenly, just as the blushing Miss Bixby was stammering out his name, and catching his eye, she began nodding vigorously, to signify the importance of her errand.
For once, Haight’s punctilious suavity upon which he prided himself, deserted him, and exclaiming, partly in anger, and partly as a blind, “Confound it! what does the fool want of me?” he disappeared around the house, while Lyle exchanged glances with Miss Gladden, and the inoffensive young bookkeeper, recently imported from Silver City, looked on in mute astonishment.
At the kitchen door, Haight found his agent and spy, her face shining with delight that she at last had some news to impart.
“He’s went in there to-night, Mr. Haight,” she cried breathlessly, “I seen him; I’ve watched him every night, but he’s never went in till to-night.”
“You fool!” exclaimed Haight, angrily, “why couldn’t you come around and give me the tip on the quiet, instead of standing there grimacing like an idiot, making a fool of yourself and me, too? Where are the boys?”
Such a greeting was too much for Minty, after her faithfulness; her anger was too great even for words, she was speechless and without deigning even a look at Haight, she went into the house, and rushing to her room, burst into a storm of tears, vowing then and there, between her sobs, that she would tell Mr. Van Dorn every word that Haight had said about him.
Meanwhile, Lyle, from her post of observation in the kitchen, saw Haight call Jim Maverick out from among a group of miners who had congregated for an evening’s visit, and after a few words, Maverick signaled to one of the miners, who, with his two companions, came over and joined them. A few moments later the three started down the road, and Lyle heard Haight’s final instructions to them:
“Get onto what those fellows are about, if you have to stay till morning, and if you want any help, send Jake back.”
She knew the men; they were cruel and treacherous, and she was confident that they were well armed, but they were at the same time, cowards, and returning to Miss Gladden, she whispered:
“I shall try my little experiment to-night, and I do not believe there will be any trouble.”
It was quite dark when the men who had been sent to watch for Van Dorn reached the little cabin. A lamp was burning within, as could be told by the lines of light around the edge of the dark shade at the window, but beyond this, there was neither sign nor sound. Having assured themselves that there was no way by which they could ascertain what was going on within, the men sat down behind a little clump of evergreens, and filling their pipes, prepared to await developments. Scarcely had they done so, however, when the light suddenly went out.
“What the divil do they think they’re givin’ us?” said one of the men, with an oath.
“They seen us mos’ likely, and they’re tryin’ to fool us that there’s nobody there.”
“They can’t play no such trick on us as that, damn ’em,” said the first speaker, but at that instant the cabin door opened, and two figures came out. The men sprang quickly to their feet, making no sound, and listening intently. They heard the lock click in the door, and Jack’s voice bidding Rex take care of the house, to which he barked in reply; and then came Mike’s broad voice:
“The saints presarve us! but the baste knows more than mony a mon, I’m afther thinkin’.”
“That he does,” replied Jack, “and he is far more faithful.”
The men, astonished, slunk back into the brush, their keen eyes watching every movement of the two as they passed; there was no mistaking those figures, or the rough clothes which they wore; it was Jack and Mike, and their powerful muscle was too well known throughout the camp, for any man, even the most brutal, to have the slightest wish to tackle either of them.
As Jack and his companion passed out of hearing, the men dropped to the ground, and for a moment the air resounded with their profanity, while they held a brief consultation.
“They’ve tricked us, and that feller’s hidin’ ’round here,” said the leader, “or else he went on ahead to the mines; he hadn’t no time to go back to the house, for we’d ’a met ’im. There’s somethin’ in the wind to-night,” he added with an oath, “and I’m goin’ to find out what ’tis. You fellers git after them two and keep ’em in sight; the boss is down there, and mebbe the other feller, too; if ye see ’im, send Jake to me, and I’ll come ’round there and we’ll lay for ’em. If he ain’t there, he’s here, hidin’ somewhere, and I’ll watch and settle his hash for ’im all right when he does show up.”
“We’d better git some more of the boys,” said Jake, “if we’re goin’ to tackle them fellers with Jack and Mike along; that ain’t no kind of a job I’m hankerin’ after.”
“You damned fool!” said the first speaker, “who’s said anything ’bout Jack and Mike? They’ll come back the way they’ve went, and them others will start up the canyon for the house, and if we three can’t hold ’em up, my name ain’t Pete Brody; now git!”
Jack and his partner had met Houston in the Yankee Boy mine. As they emerged from the shaft a little later, the piercing eyes of Jack and Houston caught a glimpse of two figures skulking among the rocks at a distance. Van Dorn was at a slight disadvantage, being somewhat near-sighted, and having been obliged to take off his glasses when donning Mike’s costume.
“I know them,” said Jack, “they are two of the three that were outside the cabin, and one of them is about the biggest coward that breathes; we could dispose of a regiment of such men, but I prefer to get along without trouble if we can.”
They started for the other mine, Houston taking the lead and Van Dorn following, while Jack brought up the rear.
“They are following us,” said Jack, after two or three quick glances behind him, “but at a distance; we will probably have a nearer view of them later, when we leave the mine.”
As they proceeded through the tunnel of the Lucky Chance mine, they met very few of the miners; they touched their caps to Houston with a sort of sullen civility, and greeted his companions with rough jests, which Jack received with his usual taciturn manner, but to which Van Dorn, from underneath his disguise, responded with bits of Irish blarney and wit, which greatly amused his associates.
Meanwhile, Pete Brody, as he kept his solitary watch before the cabin, was surprised by the sudden return of Jake.
“Have ye found ’im?” he inquired eagerly, “Is he down there with the boss?”
“No, he’s not there.”
“Then, what in hell are you back here for?”
“Bud sent me,” answered Jake; “he said to tell ye they’ve gone into the Lucky Chance, and what do ye be thinkin’ o’ that?”
“The Lucky Chance!” exclaimed Pete, “then there’s some diviltry a goin’ sure, for the old man, he don’t let nobody into that mine ’thout he’s along; and if that Van-what’s-his-name ain’t down there he’s right here, that’s all, and here I stays.”
“And me and Bud, we’re to watch out for the boss?”
“Yes, lay for ’im and overhaul ’im, and find out what the divil is goin’ on.”
“I guess he’s a pretty tough feller to handle, from all I’ve heerd,” remarked Jake reflectively.
Pete responded with an oath. “Knock ’im silly, he’ll be easy ’nough handlin’ then.”
“Ye don’t mean for to do ’im up, do ye Pete?”
“Well, I guess nobody’d feel very bad if ye did.”
Jake went down the road, and Pete was alone once more. After waiting a while, he determined to ascertain, if possible, whether there was any one within the cabin. As he approached the door, there was a low savage growl from the faithful watcher within. Very stealthily he tried to open the door, but it was locked, and in response there was such a furious onset upon the other side, accompanied by such fierce growls, that he started back involuntarily.
It was nearly twelve o’clock, and Pete was growing desperate, and anxious to put an end to his long watch. He retreated to the road, and stood looking at the cabin, trying to decide whether he should break in the window and shoot the dog, and run the risk of being shot in return by whoever might be concealed within, when his attention was suddenly arrested by a strange sound, as of heavily muffled footsteps close behind him. He turned quickly, and in the starlight beheld a sight that seemed to chill the blood in his veins. Not more than fifty feet distant, and slowly approaching him, were the spotted horse and his ghostly rider.
Every detail was perfect, like the description he had often heard given by others who had seen the frightful apparition: the man dressed in his miner’s clothes, carrying the empty bag from which the gold had been stolen; his face ghastly white, and the blood streaming from his breast, while horse and rider were partially shrouded by a white covering which floated from behind them.
Nearer and nearer came those strange footsteps, closer and closer the fearful sight, and still Pete stood, as if turned to stone, his eyes starting from their sockets, his hair rising, but unable to move or speak.
Suddenly a long, low groan issuing from the ghastly lips seemed to break the spell, and with one terrible shriek, Pete gave two or three bounds out of the road, and ran for his life, jumping and leaping over the rocks and through the brush, like a wild man.
The ghost gave a low, rippling laugh of satisfaction, and turning the horse, rode rapidly back in the direction from which it had come, until striking the road from the house to the mines, where the horse trotted briskly for some distance, but on nearing the mines, once more resumed his funereal pace.
The two men concealed in the brush along the road had no warning of the approaching phantom, until they caught the sound of the strange footsteps, and peered cautiously out, only to see the fearful sight that Pete beheld shortly before.
“Holy Moses!” exclaimed Jake, with a yell, “it’s the ghost!” The men jumped simultaneously into the road, and started for the miners’ quarters, screaming like maniacs. The ghost followed in swift pursuit until they were some distance past the mines; the men then being safely disposed of with no danger of their return, it turned slowly in the direction of the Lucky Chance mine.
Houston and his friends, having accomplished their task, stepped forth from the tunnel into the starlight, looking carefully and searchingly in every direction.
“There is no one to be seen at present,” said Houston in low tones, “they may be concealed about here, or we may meet them on the road to the house.”
“Very probably,” Jack replied, “we must now proceed with the utmost caution. Mr. Van Dorn and I will accompany you to the house, and he had better then go with me to the cabin, in case there should be spies watching for our return, and it will be safer for him to remain there until nearly daylight, as none of the men will be out at that time, and he can return to the house unobserved.”
They had gone but a short distance, however, when, passing around a curve in the road, they beheld a sight that filled them with astonishment.
“Shades of the departed!” exclaimed Houston, “what kind of an apparition is this?”
Jack studied the approaching figures for an instant, a smile of amusement lighting up his usually stern features, while Van Dorn hastily slipped on his glasses for a better view.
“That,” said Jack, “is evidently the famous phantom of Spotted Horse gulch, but who has originated the idea?”
“It must be Lyle,” said Houston, “she said the ghost would walk to-night.”
“Well, by George!” exclaimed Van Dorn, “that is pretty good anyway.”
Slowly the ghost approached, giving the interested observers an opportunity to note the details of the make-up; the ghastly face, the heavy beard of dark colored wool, the narrow strips of red flannel streaming from breast and side, and even the heavy woolen socks upon the horse’s feet, muffling the sound of his steps. Suddenly the slouch hat was raised, and the shining eyes of Lyle looked out from the strange disguise, as she announced in triumphant tones:
“The road is clear, and you are safe!”
“Lyle,” said Houston, “how did you ever think of this? Did you devise this masquerade?”
“The idea was mine,” she answered, “it occurred to me the other night while listening to their talk, but Miss Gladden helped me to carry it out.”
“And was it a success?” asked Van Dorn wonderingly, having more practical knowledge of mines than of miners, “Were the men frightened?”
“You would have thought so, could you have seen Pete Brody,” Lyle replied, with a low laugh, “I believe he is running yet, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Jake has lost what few wits he ever possessed.”
“It was one of the best schemes that could have been devised,” said Jack, gravely, adding, “We probably owe you more than we know.”
Quietly and safely the little party proceeded up the winding road, and having reached their several destinations, all were soon at rest. Even the spotted horse, securely stabled in his accustomed place, gravely munched his wisp of hay without a thought of the ghostly escapade in which he had borne so prominent a part.
But in the miners’ quarters consternation reigned, as Pete and Bud related their experiences, Jake being utterly incapacitated for speech. Even to Jack and Van Dorn, Mike had a fearful tale to tell of the sight he had witnessed, while alone with Rex in the cabin, and it was some time before his perturbed Irish fancies could be soothed; and “the night that the ghost walked,” was one long remembered and frequently recalled by many of the denizens of the little mining camp.
CHAPTER XXXV.
After the events leading up to the examination of the Lucky Chance mine, it was considered best for a while to pursue very nearly the same line of conduct that had been followed for the last ten days, carefully avoiding any abrupt change which might attract attention. All necessary data had now been secured, and Houston felt that he could better afford to remain quiet for a brief time and reconnoiter the situation, than by any hasty move to excite further suspicion at the present time.
At the breakfast table the next morning, however, the thoughts of all present were partially diverted into different channels, by the arrival of a telegram for Houston which proved to be a message from Ned Rutherford, to the effect that he and his brother were on their way to Silver City, and would be at the mining camp within the next twenty-four or thirty-six hours.
Haight had been exceedingly angry on learning from Maverick, early in the morning, of the failure of the men to report anything definite concerning the movements of those whom they had been sent out to watch. He had accomplished nothing, and was uncertain what course next to pursue, and he too, decided to remain quiet for the present. He continued to watch Houston and Van Dorn, his ugly suspicions only half concealed by the smiling exterior which he tried to assume. He had hastened to make peace with Minty, as he feared the results which might follow should his plottings become known to Houston, not dreaming that the latter had woven such a web around, not the mining company alone, but including also its principal employes, that in remaining where he was, a fate far worse than his fears awaited him.
During the day, Miss Gladden and Lyle busied themselves with preparations for the expected guests. A room on the ground floor, adjoining and connecting with the one occupied by Houston and Van Dorn, and with a view of the lake and cascades, was put in readiness; and books, sketches and bric-a-brac contributed by Houston and Miss Gladden, and tastefully arranged by Lyle, relieved the blank walls and plain furniture, and made the place look quite attractive.
Houston was jubilant over the information acquired by their expedition of the previous night; nothing out of the usual course occurred that day, and returning earlier from his customary visit to the mines than he had done of late, the remainder of the evening was devoted to music and song.
After Miss Gladden and Lyle had gone up-stairs, they sat for some time talking over the events of the last few days, and anticipating the coming of Rutherford and his brother on the morrow. Many were Miss Gladden’s surmises regarding the stranger, and Lyle then learned for the first time that he was an intimate friend of Houston’s.
“Everard tells me that though Ned is a pleasant fellow and good hearted, yet he is not in the least like his brother. He says Morton, as he always calls him, is a most perfect gentleman in every sense of the word, and a scholar of rare intellectual attainments, fond of scientific research, and a brilliant writer.”
“I judged from his picture that the two brothers were very unlike,” said Lyle, “and from your description he will be in many respects a new specimen to come under my limited observation; I will have to make a study of him, and see if he is at all like my idea of a literary person. I would not suppose, though, there would be much to interest him here; the only rarities he will find are possibly new phases of ignorance and coarseness and crime.”
Miss Gladden thought, as she looked at Lyle, that if the new-comer did not find rare beauty of mind and soul, as well as of form and face, in that secluded region, he certainly must be very unappreciative; but she only said:
“You seem to have forgotten what Ned said of his brother, that his love of the beautiful was so intense, he doubted whether he would ever want to leave the scenery and surroundings here.”
“That was simply one of Mr. Rutherford’s extravagant expressions,” Lyle replied, “the natural surroundings here are certainly beautiful, but their beauty only makes the conditions mentally and morally the more painfully conspicuous, and if I can see the contrast so plainly, who have always lived here and known no other life, how must it look to one such as he!”
“Why do you always insist upon it so strongly that you have never known any other life than this?” inquired Miss Gladden.
“Why?” asked Lyle, in surprise, “I suppose simply because it is a fact, the one hateful truth that I despise, and so I say it over and over to myself, to check these foolish dream-fancies of mine, that seem as if I had known something better sometime.”
Lyle spoke with more bitterness than Miss Gladden had ever heard before, and the latter answered gently:
“If I were in your place, Lyle dear, I would not try to check these fancies; I would encourage them.”
Lyle gazed at her friend in astonishment. “Encourage them!” she repeated, “I don’t understand your meaning, why would you advise that?”
“To see to what they would lead, my dear.” Then, as Lyle looked bewildered, she continued:
“Did it never occur to you, Lyle, that these fancies, as you call them, might possibly be an effort on the part of memory to recall something, long ago forgotten?”
“I never thought of such a possibility,” she replied, slowly.
Miss Gladden threw one arm about her caressingly.
“If these were mere fancies why should they occur so persistently, and why should there be this sense of familiarity, of which you have spoken, with other and far different associations than these, unless there is some distinct image hidden away in the recesses of your brain, which your mind is trying to recall?”
Lyle had grown very pale; she had caught the idea which Miss Gladden was trying to convey, and her form trembled, while her lips and delicate nostrils quivered with suppressed agitation.
“Leslie,” she cried, “do you mean that you think it possible there is any reality in it,––that I have ever known a different life from this,––a life anything like that which seems to come back to me?”
“I think it not only possible, but probable,” said her friend, drawing the trembling girl closer to herself, “and that is why I want you to encourage these impressions, and see if you will not, after a time, be able to recall the past more definitely.”
“But why do you believe this?” questioned Lyle, “How did you ever think of it?”
“When you first told me of your fancies, as you called them, and of your dreams, constantly recurring since your earliest childhood, I felt that they must be produced by something that had really occurred, some time in the past, but perhaps so long ago that only the faintest impression was left upon your mind; but however faint, to me it seemed proof that the reality had existed. The more I have questioned you, the more I have become convinced of this, and I find I am not alone in my opinion.”
“Have you talked with Jack, and does he think as you do?” Lyle questioned. Miss Gladden answered in the affirmative.
“Is that the reason he has asked me so often regarding my early life?”
“Yes, he has questioned you, hoping you might be able to recall something of those years which you say seem to you only a blank. We can only surmise regarding your early life, but if you could recall some slight incident, or some individual, it might prove whether our surmises were correct.” Then, as Lyle remained silent, Miss Gladden continued:
“That face which you always see in your dreams, must be the face of some one you have really seen and known.”
“Yes,” Lyle answered dreamily, “I have often thought of that, and have tried to remember when, or where, it could have been.”
For a few moments, both were silent; Lyle, in her abstraction, loosened her hair, and it fell around her like a veil of fine-spun gold. An idea suddenly occurred to Miss Gladden, and rising from her chair, she gathered up the golden mass, and began to rearrange and fasten it, Lyle scarcely heeding her action, so absorbed was she in thought.
When she had completed her work, she looked critically at Lyle for a moment, and seeming satisfied with the result, asked her to look in the glass. Half mechanically, Lyle did as requested, but at the first glance at the face reflected there, she uttered a low cry, and stood as if transfixed. Miss Gladden had arranged her hair in a style worn nearly twenty years before, and in imitation of the photograph which Jack had shown her. The effect was magical, as it showed Lyle’s face to be an exact counterpart of the beautiful pictured face.
To Lyle it revealed much more, for to her astonished gaze there was brought back, with life-like distinctness and realism, the face of her dreams; the one which she had seen bending tenderly over her since her earliest recollection, and which had seemed so often to comfort her in the days of her childish griefs when she had sobbed herself to sleep.
Suddenly, Miss Gladden saw the face in the glass grow deathly white, and Lyle, quickly turning toward her friend, exclaimed:
“I see it now! That is my mother’s face that I have seen in my dreams! And I have seen it living some time, somewhere, but not here. These people are not my parents; I am no child of theirs. Oh, Leslie, tell me, is this true?”
Very gently Miss Gladden soothed the excited girl, telling her that while her friends knew nothing as yet, for a certainty, regarding her parentage, they felt that she, in her early life, had had a home and surroundings far different from those she knew here, and that they hoped ere long, with her help, to arrive at the whole truth.
“But how did I ever come to live here with these people?” inquired Lyle, a new fear dawning in her eyes, “do you suppose they were hired to take me?”
“No, never,” said Miss Gladden, “as nearly as we can judge, you must have been stolen.”
“And do you think my own parents are now living?” she asked.
So far as she was able to do so, Miss Gladden explained the situation, as Jack had told it to her, making no reference, however, to what he had said regarding the possibility of Lyle’s friends coming to the mountains, where they would be likely to recognize her. Of this, Miss Gladden herself understood so little, she thought best not to allude to it now.
“But why has Jack never told me of this, and of my mother? He must have known her,” said Lyle.
“You must remember, dear, that he had no proof that any such relation really existed; as I understood him, he with others, supposed that this child was not living, but he was struck with the resemblance between you and the mother of this child, and the relationship occurred to him at first as the merest possibility, but grew almost to a certainty, as the resemblance between you increased; and yet, you can see that under the circumstances, while you were under the control and in the power of these people, it would not be best to say anything until he had some proof as to your identity.”
“I see,” Lyle answered, thoughtfully, “but now that I remember her as my mother, do you suppose that he would talk with me about her, or help me to find my true relatives?”
“I hardly know how to answer you,” said Miss Gladden slowly, “there is some mystery about it all, dear, that I do not understand; he might perhaps talk more freely with you, but with me he appeared willing to say very little regarding your mother, or your friends. Still, he gave me a hint, so vague and shadowy I scarcely understood it, but to the effect that he thought there might, before long, be an opportunity for a meeting between you and those whom he believed to be your friends.”
“Well,” said Lyle, after a pause, “Jack is a true friend to me, he knows what is best, and I can afford to wait with even such a possibility to look forward to. I will not wait in idleness either, I shall try to find some clue, some evidence as to who I really am, and something tells me I will succeed.” Then she added tenderly, “Do you know, I believe, whoever my mother may have been, Jack must have loved her.”
“She certainly was very dear to him,” replied Miss Gladden.
They talked till far into the morning hours, and as they finally separated for the night, Lyle approached her friend, and throwing her arms about her neck, she exclaimed, almost in tears:
“Oh, Leslie, you can never know how glad I am that you have shown me this, and shown it to me to-night! I have felt so disgraced, so degraded by the life here, it seemed as if I were a part of it all, a part of my own hateful surroundings but now, I know I am not; now,” she continued, lifting her head proudly and raising her arms slowly with a beautiful gesture, “they can fetter me no longer! The chains that have held me so long and so cruelly are already bursting; even now, I can rise above them; soon, I shall be free!”
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Do coming events cast their shadows before? Did the silently-waving pinions of the angel who “troubled the waters” give any hint of his beneficent approach? However that may be, certain it is that on the morning of the day in which the hitherto untroubled depths of Lyle’s womanly nature were to be stirred by the mightiest of influences, there came to her a prescience, thrilling and vibrating through her whole being, that this day was to be the crisis, the turning point of her life. On that day, she was to meet one whose influence upon her own life she felt would be far greater than that of any human being she could recall.
Lyle was not in love. As yet, she knew nothing of what love might be, but she possessed rare depth of feeling. In her lonely, secluded life, she had known few emotions, but those few were deep and lasting; and when, a few months before, she had incidentally seen the photograph of Morton Rutherford,––only one among many, all unknown to her,––it had left an impression upon her heart and brain, never to be effaced.
His was no ordinary face; it would attract the most casual observer, and to one gifted with Lyle’s wonderful insight and perception, and possessing her fine susceptibilities, there would be revealed such rare strength and beauty of mind and character combined, that, once seen, it might not be easily forgotten.
To Lyle, in her isolation, it seemed a glimpse of a kindred soul, and she had often wondered what the living face itself might be, and what acquaintance and friendship with such a soul might mean. She had looked forward to his coming to the camp with mingled pleasure and dread. She thoroughly understood the position which she held in the estimation of the younger Mr. Rutherford; would his brother regard her with the same half pitying, half patronizing admiration? Would her narrow, restricted life seem so small and poor to him, with his superior attainments, that he would altogether ignore her? Or would he be able, like Mr. Houston and Miss Gladden, to overlook her hateful and hated environment, and help her rise above it?
These were the questions which for the past few weeks had perplexed and troubled her; but the revelation which had come to her on the previous night had changed the whole current of her thought. What matter now, how mean or debasing her surroundings, since no taint from them could attach itself to her? What matter if her life had been cramped and restricted, since she was soon to rise above it into the life for which she had been created? Perhaps her natural sphere was not, after all, so unlike that in which her friends moved, to which even he was accustomed, the stranger, whose coming she now anticipated with a strange, unaccountable thrill of expectation. Would he, with that wonderful power which she felt he possessed, to elevate or to crush the souls with whom he came in contact, would he recognize her true sphere, as her other friends had done, or would he be blinded by her surroundings?
She could not rest; she rose and looked forth upon the glorious dawn of the new day, and was impressed as never before, with the beauty of the vision which met her eyes. To her, it seemed like the dawning of a new epoch in her life; nay, more than that, like the dawning of a new life itself.
Impatient of restraint, she left the house, and went out into the morning fresh from the hand of the Creator, as yet undefiled by contact with human life. Hastily climbing a series of rocky ledges, she reached a broad plateau, and looked about her. The life which she had so hated and despised seemed suddenly to have dropped forever out of sight, and she was conscious only of a new beauty, a new glory surrounding her.
The mountains, blushing in the first rosy light, lifted their gleaming, glory-crowned spires heavenward; the cascades chanted in thunderous, yet rhythmic tones, their unceasing anthem of praise, their snow-white spray ascending skyward, like clouds of incense, while the little flowers, clinging to rock and ledge and mountain-side, turned their sweet faces upward in silent adoration. The place seemed pervaded by a spirit of universal adoration and praise, and instinctively, Lyle bowed her head in silent worship; and as she did so, there came to her, as though revealed by the lightning’s flash, the vision of her mother kneeling beside her, in those dim days so long ago, clasping her tiny hands within her own, and teaching her baby lips to lisp the words of prayer.
For a long time she knelt in that temple made without hands, till mountain and valley were bathed in glorious sunlight; and when at last, she descended the rocky footpath, she felt, as she looked forth upon the new life opening before her, no fear, no shrinking, but strong to go forward and meet her destiny, whatever it might be.
All were impressed that morning by Lyle’s manner, the added dignity of bearing, the new expression that looked forth from her soulful eyes, though none but Miss Gladden understood the cause.
At the breakfast table, the final plans were made for the reception of the guests to arrive that day. Word had been received that they were already in Silver City, and would come out on the noon train. Houston had telegraphed to the Y for the best team there to be in readiness to bring them up to the camp, and an hour or so before noon, he and Van Dorn were to take two horses and ride to the Y to meet them, and accompany them on their ride up the canyon. A late dinner was to be served upon their arrival, when the two ladies would be present, as Lyle no longer acted in the capacity of waiter, Miss Gladden having some time before insisted that she should preside at the table, and the blushing Miss Bixby, after much painstaking effort, having been finally educated up to the point of performing that ceremony very creditably.
“Everard,” said Miss Gladden after breakfast, as Houston stopped for his customary chat with her before starting out on his daily routine, “did you observe Lyle this morning? I never saw her look so lovely;” adding playfully, “I wonder you did not fall in love with her, she is far more beautiful than I.”
“Allow me to be judge,” he replied, “though I will admit that I think she grows more beautiful every day. But as to falling in love with her, I doubt if I would have done that even had I not met you. From the first she has seemed to me unaccountably like a sister; I cannot explain why, unless it was because of that child-like, almost appealing manner she had at that time. She has none of it now, however, she is developing very rapidly into a noble womanhood, and yet I still have the same feeling toward her, and I think she regards me as a brother.”
“That is true,” said Miss Gladden, “she cares for you more than for any of the others, but only, as you say, as a brother. Her heart does not seem to be very susceptible.”
“She may be none the less susceptible,” Houston replied, “but she realizes her position here, and she is far too proud spirited to carry her heart upon her sleeve.”
Miss Gladden then related to Houston the events oi the preceding night, and Lyle’s sudden recollection of her own mother. He was much interested.
“I am more than glad,” he replied, “doubtless the memory of her early childhood will gradually come back to her, and we may be able to ascertain her true parentage. I hope so, at least, for I believe Maverick to be an out and out scoundrel, capable of any villainy, and I would like to see him brought to justice.”
The room set apart for the expected guests, as well as the dining-room, was decorated with wild flowers and trailing vines, and in this pleasant employment, and the preparation of a few dainty dishes for the table, the forenoon passed swiftly.
The noon train had scarcely come to a stop at the little station at the Y, when Ned Rutherford was seen rushing impetuously from the car, his camera case as usual in one hand, at sight of which the two young men waiting on the platform burst into a hearty laugh.
“There he is,” said Houston, “the same old Ned!”
“The very same old boy!” added Van Dorn, as they hastened to meet him.
“Hullo, Everard!” cried Ned, jumping upon the platform, “I say, but it seems mighty good to see you again! How are you, Van Dorn?”
“How are you, Ned?” said Van Dorn, extending his hand, “we wouldn’t have known you if it hadn’t been for that camera box of yours!”
“That so?” answered Ned, good-naturedly, “well, I always considered it indispensable, but I didn’t suppose my identity would be lost without it.”
Meanwhile, Houston had hastened to meet the elder brother, and it could readily be seen that they were more than ordinary friends.
“Everard, old fellow!” he exclaimed, in response to Houston’s greeting, “this is the greatest pleasure I’ve had in many a day. I never dreamed that the Houston of whom Ned wrote such glowing accounts was my old friend.”
“I used to think sometimes,” said Houston, “when Ned was writing you, that I would like to send you some reminder of old times, a college password or signal that you would understand; but at that time, I didn’t know Ned very well, and of course I was anxious to conceal my identity here.”
“That was right,” said the elder Rutherford, with a comical glance at his brother, “Ned is rather injudicious, he belongs to that unfortunate class of people, with the best of intentions, who usually succeed in doing as much mischief as others with the worst.”
“Right you are there,” said Ned, “I’m always putting my foot in it one way or another; I wouldn’t advise anybody to make a confidant of me, I’d give them away sure. I say, Everard,” he continued, while his brother and Van Dorn exchanged cordial greetings, “how are you getting on, and how is the Buncombe-Boomerang combination?”
“We have been very successful so far, everything is nearly in readiness, and the combination as you call it, cannot exist much longer; we will give you full particulars later.”
“And how are the ladies?” Ned inquired further.
“They are well, and waiting to give you and your brother a royal welcome.”
“Thank you,” Morton Rutherford replied, “I am quite anxious to meet them, Ned, of course, can speak for himself.”
“That he can, and generally does when the right time comes,” responded that individual, “you will find I am a universal favorite here, in the camp of the Philistines.”
In a little while they were on their way to camp, Houston and Morton Rutherford occupying the back seat of the light, canopy-top wagon, while Van Dorn and Ned took the forward seat with the driver, the horses and baggage following with one of the mining teams.
Morton Rutherford gave his friend a glowing account of his journey through the west, dwelling at considerable length on his enjoyment of the scenic routes. As they wound upward through the canyon, he grew ecstatic over the wild beauty and rugged grandeur extending in every direction, and when they finally drew rein before the long, low boarding house, nestling at the foot of the mountain, with its rustic, vine-covered porch, and surrounded on all sides by the wild scenery of that region, his admiration knew no bounds.
“What a delightful retreat!” he exclaimed, “what a study for an artist!”
Within the porch, among the vines, the ladies awaited their coming, and Lyle, looking forth from her shady retreat, saw the face whose image had been imprinted on heart and brain, and at a glance she read all she had expected to find, and more. There were the fine features, expressing such depth and power, and yet such delicacy of thought and feeling, the intellectual brow, the dark, expressive eyes, all as she had seen them in the picture; but what picture could convey the living beauty of the whole? It was the face of one whom women would worship, and men would follow even to death.
The gentlemen approached the house, Houston and his friend leading the way. Miss Gladden advanced to meet them, and as Houston introduced Mr. Rutherford, she extended to him a most gracious and graceful welcome, and also to Ned. Her gown was white, of soft, clinging material, trimmed with quantities of rich, rare lace, and brightened here and there with touches of crimson and gold. She wore a few costly jewels, and the diamond hilt of a tiny dagger glistened and scintillated in her auburn-tinted hair. She looked very beautiful, and as Mr. Rutherford paused to respond to her welcome with a few courteous words, he thought his friend was surely to be congratulated on the prize he had won.
Meanwhile, Ned had discovered Lyle, as she stood partially hidden among the vines, awaiting her turn, and hastened to greet her in his impetuous fashion.
“How do you do, Miss Maverick? I’m awfully glad to see you. I want you to know my brother,” and his cheerful voice sounded on his brother’s ear, as he replied to some remark of Miss Gladden’s.
“Morton, I want to introduce you to our nightingale; Miss Maverick, allow me to make you acquainted with my brother.”
With a rare smile lighting up his face, Morton Rutherford turned toward the speaker, and as he did so, saw a vision of the most royal young womanhood his eyes had ever beheld. She, too, was dressed in white, but it was a filmy, cloud-like mass, with trimmings of ethereal blue. She wore no jewels, but a crown of golden hair gleamed like a coronet above her head, and her delicately molded face had a spirituelle beauty and radiance unlike any living face he had ever seen, and which he could only compare to the exquisite Madonna faces, painted by artists of the old world, and of the olden time.
And Lyle, coming forward with unconscious, queenly grace, looked for an instant into that face whose subtle power she already felt, her wondrous, starry eyes, luminous with a new, strange light, meeting his with their depth of meaning, their powerful magnetism, and from that brief instant, life for each was changed, wholly and completely; whether for good or ill, for weal or woe, neither as yet could say.