Summer had merged into autumn. Crisp, exhilarating mornings ushered in
glorious days flooded with sunshine, followed by sparkling, frosty
nights.
The strike at the mining camp had been adjusted; the union
boarding-house after two months was found a failure and abandoned, and
the strikers gradually returned to their work. Mr. Underwood, during the
shut-down, had improved the time to enlarge the mill and add
considerable new machinery; this work was now nearly completed; in two
weeks the mill would again be running, and he offered Darrell his old
position as assayer in charge, which the latter, somewhat to Mr.
Underwood's surprise, accepted.
Although his city business was now quite well established, Darrell felt
that life at The Pines was becoming unendurable. Walcott's visits were
now so frequent it was impossible longer to avoid him. The latter's air
of easy self-assurance, the terms of endearment which fell so flippantly
from his lips, and his bold, passionate glances which never failed to
bring the rich, warm blood to Kate's cheeks and brow, all to one
possessing Darrell's fine chivalric nature and his delicacy of feeling
were intolerable. In addition, the growing indications of Kate's
unhappiness, the silent appeal in her eyes, the pathetic curves forming
about her mouth, and the touch of pathos in the voice whose every tone
was music to his ear, seemed at times more than he could bear.
There were hours--silent, brooding hours of the night--when he was
sorely tempted to defy past and future alike, and, despite the
conditions surrounding himself, to rescue her from a life which could
have in store for her nothing but bitterness and sorrow. But with the
dawn his better judgment returned; conscience, inexorable as ever, still
held sway; he kept his own counsel as in duty bound, going his way with
a heart that grew heavier day by day, and was hence glad of an
opportunity to return once more to the seclusion of the mountains.
Kate, realizing that all further appeal to her father was useless, as a
last resort trusted to Walcott's sense of honor, that, when he should
fully understand her feelings towards himself, he would discontinue his
attentions. But in this she found herself mistaken. Taking advantage of
the courtesy which she extended to him in accordance with the promise
given her father, he pressed his suit more ardently than ever.
"Why do you persist in annoying me in this manner?" she demanded one
day, indignantly withdrawing from his attempted caresses. "The fact that
my father has given you his permission to pay attention to me does not
warrant any such familiarity on your part."
"Perhaps not," Walcott replied, in his low, musical tones, "but stolen
waters are often sweetest. If I have offended, pardon. I supposed my
love for you would justify me in offering any expression of it, but
since you say I have no right to do so, I beg of you, my dear Miss
Underwood, to give me that right."
"That is impossible," Kate answered, firmly.
"Why impossible?" he asked.
"Because I will not accept any expressions of a love that I cannot
reciprocate."
"Love begets love," he argued, softly; "so long as you keep me at arm's
length you have no means of knowing whether or not you could reciprocate
my affection. Mr. Underwood has done me the great honor to consent to
bestow his daughter's hand upon me, and I have no doubt of yet winning
the consent of the lady herself if she will but give me a fair chance."
"Mr. Walcott," said Kate, her eyes ablaze with indignation, "would you
make a woman your wife who did not love you--who never could, under any
circumstances, love you?"
Walcott suddenly seized her hands in his, looking down into her eyes
with his steady, dominant gaze.
"If I loved her as I love you," he said, slowly, "I would make her my
wife though she hated me,--and win her love afterwards! I can win it,
and I will!"
"Never!" Kate exclaimed, passionately, but he had kissed her hands and
was gone before she could recover herself.
In that look she had for the first time comprehended something of the
man's real nature, of the powerful brute force concealed beneath the
smooth, smiling exterior. Her heart seemed seized and held in a
vise-like grip, while a cold, benumbing despair settled upon her like an
incubus, which she was unable to throw off for days.
It lacked only two days of the time set for Darrell's return to the
mining camp when he and Kate set out one afternoon accompanied by Duke
for a ride up the familiar canyon road. At first their ponies cantered
briskly, but as the road grew more rough and steep they were finally
content to walk quietly side by side.
For a while neither Darrell nor Kate had much to say. Their hearts were
too oppressed for words. Each realized that this little jaunt into the
mountains was their last together; that it constituted a sort of
farewell to their happy life of the past summer and to each other. Each
was thinking of their first meeting under the pines on that evening
gorgeous with the sunset rays and sweet with the breath of June roses.
At last they turned into a trail which soon grew so steep and narrow
that they dismounted, and, fastening their ponies, proceeded up the
trail on foot. Slowly they wended their way upward, pausing at length on
a broad, projecting ledge a little below the summit, where they seated
themselves on the rocks to rest a while. Kate's eyes wandered afar over
the wonderful scene before them, wrapped in unbroken silence, yet
palpitating in the mellow, golden sunlight with a mysterious life and
beauty all its own.
But Darrell was for once oblivious to the scene; his eyes were fastened
on Kate's face, a look in them of insatiable hunger, as though he were
storing up the memory of every line and lineament against the barren
days to come. He wondered if the silent, calm-faced, self-contained
woman beside him could be the laughing, joyous maiden whom he had seen
flitting among the trees and fountains at their first meeting little
more than three months past. He recalled how he had then thought her
unlike either her father or her aunt, and believed her to be wholly
without their self-restraint and self-repression. Now he saw that the
same stoical blood was in her veins. Already the sensitive, mobile face,
which had mirrored every emotion of the impulsive, sympathetic soul
within, bore something of the impassive calm of the rocks surrounding
them; it might have been chiselled in marble, so devoid was it at that
moment of any trace of feeling.
A faint sigh seemed to break the spell, and she turned facing him with
her old-time sunny smile.
"What a regal day!" she exclaimed.
"It is," he replied; "it was on such a day as this, about a year ago,
that I first met Mr. Britton. He called it, I remember, one of the
'coronation days' of the year. I have been reminded of the phrase and of
him all day."
"Dear Mr. Britton," said Kate, "I have not seen him for more than two
years. He has always been like a second father to me; he used to have me
call him 'papa' when I was little, and I've always loved him next to
papa. You and he correspond, do you not?"
"Yes; he writes rather irregularly, but his letters are precious to me.
He was the first to make me feel that this cramped fettered life of mine
held any good or anything worth living for. He made me ashamed of my
selfish sorrow, and every message from him, no matter how brief, seems
like an inspiration to something higher and nobler."
"He makes us all conscious of our selfishness," Kate answered, "for if
ever there was an unselfish life,--a life devoted to the alleviation of
the sufferings and sorrows of others,--it is his. I wish he were here
now," she added, with a sigh; "he has more influence with papa than all
the rest of us combined, though perhaps nothing even he might say would
be availing in this instance."
In all their friendly intercourse of the last few weeks there had been
one subject tacitly avoided by each, to which, although present in the
mind of each, no reference was ever made. From Kate's last words Darrell
knew that subject must now be met; he must know from her own lips the
worst. He turned sick with dread and remained silent.
A moment later Kate again faced him with a smile, but her eyes glistened
with unshed tears.
"Poor papa!" she said, softly, her lips quivering; "he thinks he is
doing it all for my happiness, and no matter what wretchedness or misery
I suffer, no knowledge of it shall ever pain his dear old heart!"
"Kathie, must it be?" Darrell exclaimed, each word vibrating with
anguish; "is there no hope--no chance of escape for you from such a
fate?"
"I cannot see the slightest reason to hope for escape," she replied,
with the calmness born of despair. She clasped her small hands tightly
and turned a pale, determined face towards Darrell.
"You know, you understand it all, and I know that you do," she said, "so
there is no use in our avoiding this any longer. I want to talk it over
with you and tell you all the truth, so you will not think, by and by,
that I have been false or fickle or weak; but first there is something I
want you to tell me."
She paused a moment, then, looking him full in the eyes, she asked,
earnestly,--
"John Darrell, do you still love me?"
Startled out of his customary self-control, Darrell suddenly clasped her
in his arms, exclaiming,--
"Kathie darling, how can you ask such a question? Do you think my love
for you could ever grow less?"
For a moment her head nestled against his breast with a little movement
of ineffable content, as she replied,--
"No; it was not that I doubted your love, but I wanted an assurance of
it to carry with me through the coming days."
Then, gently withdrawing herself from his embrace, she continued, in the
same calm, even tones:
"You ask if there is no chance of escape; I can see absolutely none;
but I want you to understand, if I am forced into this marriage which
papa has planned for me, that it is not through any weakness or
cowardice on my part; that if I yield, it will be simply because of the
love and reverence I bear my father."
Though her face was slightly averted, Darrell could see the tear-drops
falling, but after a slight pause she proceeded as calmly as before:
"In all these years he has tried to be both father and mother to me, and
even in this he thinks he is acting for my good. I have never disobeyed
him, and were I to do so now I believe it would break his heart. I am
all that he has left, and after what he has suffered in his silent,
Spartan way, I must bring joy--not sorrow--to his declining years. And
this will be my only reason for yielding."
"But, Kathie, dear child," Darrell interposed, "have you considered what
such a life means to you--what is involved in such a sacrifice?"
She met his troubled gaze with a smile. "Yes, I know," she replied;
"there is not a phase of this affair which I have not considered. I am
years older than when we met three months ago, and I have thought of
everything that a woman can think of."
She watched him a moment, the smile on her lips deepening. "Have you
considered this?" she asked. "Only those whom we love have the power to
wound us deeply; one whom I do not love will have little power to hurt
me; he can never reach my heart; that will be safe in your keeping."
Darrell bowed his head upon his hands with a low moan. Kate, laying her
hand lightly upon his shoulder, continued:
"What I particularly wanted you to know before our parting and to
remember is this: that come what may, I shall never be false to my love
for you. No matter what the future may bring to you or to me, my heart
will be yours."
Darrell raised his head, his face tense and rigid with emotion; she had
risen and was standing beside him.
"I can never forgive myself for having won your heart, Kathie," he said,
gravely; "It is the most precious gift that I could ask or you could
bestow, but one to which I have no right."
"Then hold it in trust," she said, softly, "until such time as I have
the right to bestow it upon you and you have the right to accept it."
Startled not only by her words but by the gravity of her tone and
manner, Darrell glanced swiftly towards Kate, but she had turned and was
slowly climbing the mountain path. Springing to his feet he was quickly
at her side. Drawing her arm within his own he assisted her up the rocky
trail, scanning her face as he did so for some clew to the words she had
just spoken. But, excepting a faint flush which deepened under his
scrutiny, she gave no sign, and, the trail for the next half-hour being
too difficult to admit of conversation, they made the ascent in silence.
On reaching the summit an involuntary exclamation burst from Darrell at
the grandeur of the scene. North, west, and south, far as the eye could
reach, stretched the vast mountain ranges, unbroken, with here and there
gigantic peaks, snow-crowned, standing in bold relief against the sky;
while far to the eastward lay the valleys, threaded with silver streams,
and beyond them in the purple distance outlines of other ranges scarcely
distinguishable from the clouds against which they seemed to rest.
Kate watched Darrell, silently enjoying his surprise. "This is my
favorite resort,--on the summit of the 'divide,'" she said; "I thought
you would appreciate it. It involves hard climbing, but it is worth the
effort."
"Worth the effort! Yes, a thousand times! What must it be to see the
sunrise here!"
Lifted out of themselves, they wandered over the rocks, picking the late
flowers which still lingered in the crevices, watching the shifting
beauty of the scene from various points, for a time forgetful of their
trouble, till, looking in each other's eyes, they read the final
farewell underlying all, and the old pain returned with tenfold
intensity.
Seating themselves on the highest point accessible, they talked of the
future, ignoring so far as possible the one dreaded subject, speaking of
Darrell's life in the mining camp, of his studies, and of what he hoped
to accomplish, and of certain plans of her own.
Duke, after an extended tour among the rocks, came and lay at their
feet, watching their faces with anxious solicitude, quick to read their
unspoken sorrow though unable to divine its cause.
At last the little that could be said had been spoken; they paused,
their hearts oppressed with the burden of what remained unsaid, which no
words could express. Duke, perplexed by the long silence, rose and,
coming to Kate's side, stood looking into her eyes with mute inquiry. As
Kate caressed the noble head she turned suddenly to Darrell:
"John, would you like to have Duke with you? Will you take him as a
parting gift from me?"
"I would like to have him above anything you could give me, Kathie," he
replied; "but you must not think of giving him up to me."
"I will have to give him up," she said, simply; "Papa dislikes him
already, he is so unfriendly to Mr. Walcott, and he himself absolutely
hates Duke; I believe he would kill him if he dared; so you understand I
could not keep him much longer. He will be happy with you, for he loves
you, and I will be happy in remembering that you have him."
"In that case," said Darrell, "I shall be only too glad to take him, and
you can rest assured I will never part with him."
The sinking sun warned them that it was time to return, and, after one
farewell look about them, they prepared to descend. As they picked their
way back to the trail they came upon two tiny streams flowing from some
secret spring above them. Side by side, separated by only a few inches,
they rippled over their rocky bed, murmuring to each other in tones so
low that only an attentive ear could catch them, sparkling in the
sunlight as though for very joy. Suddenly, near the edge of the narrow
plateau over which they ran, they turned, and, with a tinkling plash of
farewell, plunged in opposite directions,--the one eastward, hastening
on its way to the Great Father of Waters, the other westward bound,
towards the land of the setting sun.
Silently Kate and Darrell watched them; as their eyes met, his face had
grown white, but Kate smiled, though the tears trembled on the golden
lashes.
"A fit emblem of our loves, Kathie!" Darrell said, sadly.
"Yes," she replied, but her clear voice had a ring of triumph; "a fit
emblem, dear, for though parted now, they will meet in the commingling
of the oceans, just as by and by our loves will mingle in the great
ocean of love. I can imagine how those two little streams will go on
their way, as we must go, each joining in the labor and song of the
rivers as they meet them, but each preserving its own individuality
until they find one another in the ocean currents, as we shall find one
another some day!"
"Kathie," said Darrell, earnestly, drawing nearer to her, "have you such
a hope as that?"
"It is more than hope," she answered, "it is assurance; an assurance
that came to me, I know not whence or how, out of the darkness of
despair."
They had reached the trail, and here Kate paused for a moment. It was a
picture for an artist, the pair standing on that solitary height! The
young girl, fair and slender as the wild flowers clinging to the rocks
at their feet, yet with a poise of conscious strength; the man at her
side, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, strong-limbed; his face dark with
despair, hers lighted with hope.
Suddenly a small white hand swept the horizon with a swift, undulatory
motion that reminded Darrell of the flight of some white-winged bird,
and Kate cried,--
"Did we think of the roughness and steepness of the path below when we
stood here two hours ago and looked on the glory of this scene? Did we
stop to think of the bruises and scratches of the ascent, of how many
times we had stumbled, or of the weariness of the way? No, it was all
forgotten. And so, when we come to stand together, by and by, upon the
heights of love,--such love as we have not even dreamed of yet,--will we
then look back upon the tears, the pain, the heartache of to-day? Will
we stop to recount the sorrows through which we climbed to the shining
heights? No, they will be forgotten in the excess of joy!"
Darrell gazed at Kate in astonishment; her head was uncovered and the
rays of the sinking sun touched with gleams of gold the curling locks
which the breeze had blown about her face, till they seemed like a
golden halo; she had the look of one who sees within the veil which
covers mortal faces; she seemed at that moment something apart from
earth.
Taking her hand in his, he asked, brokenly, "Sweetheart, will that day
ever come, and when?"
Her eyes, luminous with love and hope, rested tenderly upon his shadowed
face as she replied,--
"At the time appointed,
"'And that will be
God's own good time, for you and me.'"
_Chapter XIX_