The days came and went after this, with pain, pleasure, work, and
mingled hopes and fears. Life was just now full of exciting plans,
forecasts, and prophecies.
Dian Winthrop went on her own sensible yet self-contained way. As her
friend Ellen seemed able to do without her, she was content to be left
alone. She worked and laughed and dressed and thought her own, serious,
deep thoughts about life and her own being upon the earth, untroubled
by fears, and full of the common trust in the God of her fathers,
knowing that she would be well taken care of by her friends and family,
no matter what might happen.
She "kept company" in an eminently sensible way with Charlie Rose,
whenever he sought her out. While congratulating herself on the
invariable frankness with which she showed the young man that good as
he might be he was not her ideal, yet she allowed him to spend all his
spare means in taking her to their simple picnics and visits with which
the young people whiled away their leisure time of waiting.
She did not allow the least attempt at a flirtation with Tom Allen. She
had not enough regard for him to make herself agreeable to him. But she
herself was such a fine, handsome, superior looking and acting girl,
and so admired by everybody, that Tom could not resist the temptation
once in awhile of taking her out and thereby giving her a chance of
understanding and appreciating him at his own advanced valuation.
Poor little Ellie, starved for her friend's confidence, shrinking with
dread of what the future might bring her, and yet longing to meet and
greet that danger, was half the time full of an unnatural gaiety, half
the time moody and preternaturally grave and silent. One night, when
she and Aunt Clara sat in the front door of the hut, watching the
moonrise in unequaled splendor over the gap in Rock Canyon, they heard
a horseman coming up the street, and in a moment he appeared in front
of their gate. His cheery "whoa" to his animal caused Ellen to run
hastily out, exclaiming,
"Why, it's John Stevens! Oh you dear old John, how glad I am to see
you!" and as John sprang from his horse, she threw her arms around his
neck, as if he were her own dear brother, and thus she sobbed out her
joy and her vague fears on his friendly shoulder.
The tall, silent man allowed her to cry until she was calmed, and while
he felt every throb of her tenderness in his own responsive soul, he
felt, too, that underneath it all, there was something deeper and more
serious than he could at present fathom. He left that to a future,
better understanding, however, and contented himself with gently
stroking her soft brown braids, while he chatted with Aunt Clara about
matters of interest to both.
Once inside the house, and John's supper over, Ellen seemed a very
spirit of mischievous attraction. She fluttered around her great, big,
red-bearded friend; and with the sweetest smiles and most coaxing
fascination, seemed a very magnet of charm. John did not try to resist
this unconscious effort of Ellie's to be winsome and loving as he sat
with his eyes bent gravely upon her, occasionally answering her witty
sallies; inwardly, however, he was anxious to unravel the whole of this
perplexing, if delightful, mystery.
Aunt Clara noted all these things, for when did she ever fail to see
all there was to be seen when she was present? But she wisely left the
young people to arrange their own affairs, discreetly proceeding with
her knitting, and putting in a remark now and then, only as occasion
seemed to require.
Was Ellen in love with him? This was the question which forced itself
upon John's mind, in spite of his modesty. Or, was there something else
which caused all this excitement?