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, you see 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, with her 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 such precision: 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 boutonnieres 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 the former, 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 took me 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.
_Chapter XIII_