The day preceding Darrell's departure found him busily engaged in
"breaking camp," as he termed it. The assayer's outfit which he had
brought from the mill was to be packed, as were also his books, and
quantities of carefully written notes, the results of his explorations
and experiments, to be embodied later in the work which he had in
preparation, were to be sorted and filed.
Late in the afternoon Kate and her aunt, down town on a shopping tour,
looked in upon him.
"Buried up to his ears!" Kate announced at the door, as she caught a
glimpse of Darrell's head over a table piled high with books and
manuscripts; "it's well we came when we did, auntie; a few minutes later
and he would have been invisible!"
"Don't take the trouble to look for seats, Mr. Darrell," she added, her
eyes dancing with mischief as he hastily emerged and began a futile
search for vacant chairs, "we only dropped in for a minute, and
'standing room only' will be sufficient."
"Yes, don't let us hinder you, Mr. Darrell," said Mrs. Dean; "we just
came in to see how you were getting on, and to tell you not to trouble
yourself about the things from the house; we will send and get them
whenever we want them."
"I was thinking of those a while ago," Darrell answered, glancing at the
pictures and hangings which had not yet been removed; "I was wondering
if I ought not to send them up to the house."
"No," said Mrs. Dean, "we do not need them there at present, and any
time we should want them we can send Bennett down after them."
"We will not send for them at all, auntie," said Kate, in her impulsive
way; "I shall keep the room looking as much as possible as when Mr.
Darrell had it, and I shall use it as a waiting-room whenever I have to
wait for papa; it will be much pleasanter than waiting in that dusty,
musty old office of his."
"My room at the camp will look very bare and plain now," said Darrell,
"after all the luxuries with which you have surrounded me; though I
will, of course, get accustomed to it in a few days."
Kate and her aunt slyly exchanged smiles, which Darrell in his momentary
abstraction failed to observe. They chatted pleasantly for a few
moments, but underneath the light words and manner was a sadness that
could not be disguised, and it was with a still heavier heart that
Darrell returned to his work after Kate and her aunt had gone.
At last all was done, the last package was stowed away in the large
wagon which was to carry the goods to camp, and the team moved up the
street in the direction of The Pines, where it was to remain over night
ready for an early start the next morning. Darrell, after a farewell
survey of the little room, followed on foot, heartsick and weary, going
directly to the stables to see the wagon safely stored for the night. He
was surprised to see a second wagon, loaded with furniture, rugs, and
pictures, all of which looked strangely familiar, and which on closer
inspection he recognized as belonging to the room which he had always
occupied at The Pines. He turned to Bennett, who was standing at a
little distance, ostensibly cleaning some harness, but quietly enjoying
the scene.
"Bennett, what does this mean?" he inquired. "Where are these goods
going?"
"To the camp, sir."
"Surely not to the mining camp, Bennett; you must be mistaken."
"No mistake about it, sir; they goes to Camp Bird to-morrow morning;
them's Mrs. Dean's orders."
Darrell was more touched than he cared to betray. He went at once to the
house, and in the hall, dim with the early twilight, was met by Mrs.
Dean herself.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Darrell," she began, "but you can't occupy your room
to-night; you'll have to take the one adjoining on the south. Your room
was torn up to-day, and we haven't got it put to rights yet."
"Mrs. Dean," Darrell answered, his voice slightly unsteady, "you are too
kind; it breaks a fellow all up and makes this sort of thing the
harder!"
Mrs. Dean turned on the light as though for a better understanding.
"I don't see any special kindness in turning you out of your room on
your last night here," she remarked, quietly, "but we couldn't get it
settled."
Darrell could not restrain a smile as he replied, "I'm afraid it will be
some time before it is settled with the furniture packed out there in
the stables."
"Have you been to the stables?" she exclaimed, in dismay.
A smile was sufficient answer.
"If that isn't too bad!" she continued; "I was going to have that wagon
sent ahead in the morning before you were up and have it for a surprise
when you got there, and now it's all spoiled. I declare, I'm too
disappointed to say a word!"
"But, Mrs. Dean," Darrell interposed, hastily, as she turned to leave,
"you need not feel like that; the surprise was just as genuine and as
pleasant as though it had been as you intended; besides, I can thank you
now, whereas I couldn't then."
"That's just what I didn't want, and don't want now," she answered,
quickly; "if there is anything I can do for you, God knows I'll do it
the same as though you were my own son, and I want no thanks for it,
either." And with these words she left the room before Darrell could
reply.
Everything that could be done to make the rooms look cheerful and
homelike as possible had been done for that night. The dining-room was
decorated with flowers, and when, after dinner, the family adjourned to
the sitting-room, a fire was burning in the grate, and around it had
been drawn the most comfortable seats in the room.
But to Darrell the extra touches of brightness and beauty seemed only to
emphasize the fact that this was the last night of anything like home
life that he would know for some time to come.
It had been agreed that he and Kate were to have some music that
evening, and on the piano he saw the violin which he had not used since
the summer's happy days. He lifted it with the tender, caressing manner
with which he always handled it, as though it were something living and
human. Turning it lovingly in his hands, he caught the gleam of
something in the fire-light, and, bending over it, saw a richly engraved
gold plate, on which he read the words:
TO JOHN DARRELL
A SOUVENIR OF "THE PINES"
FROM "KATHIE"
A mist rose before his eyes--he could not see, he could not trust
himself to speak, but, raising the violin, his pent-up feelings burst
forth in a flood of liquid music of such commingled sweetness and
sadness as to hold his listeners entranced. Mr. Underwood, for once
forgetful of his pipe, looked into the fire with a troubled gaze; he
understood little of the power of expression, but even he comprehended
dimly the sorrow that surged and ebbed in those wild harmonies. Mrs.
Dean, her hands folded idly above her work, sat with eyes closed, a
solitary tear occasionally rolling down her cheek, while in the shadows
Kate, her face buried on Duke's head and neck, was sobbing quietly.
Gradually the wild strains subsided, as the summer tempest dies away
till nothing is heard but the patter of the rain-drops, and, after a few
bars from a love-song, a favorite of Kate's, the music glided into the
simple strains of "Home, Sweet Home." And as the oppressed and
overheated atmosphere is cleared by the brief storm, so the overwrought
feelings of those present were relieved by this little outburst of
emotion.
A pleasant evening followed, and, except that the "good-nights"
exchanged on parting were tenderer, more heartfelt than usual, there
were no indications that this was their last night together as a family
circle.
Darrell had been in his room but a short time, however, when he heard a
light tap at his door, and, opening it, Mrs. Dean entered.
"You seem like a son to me, Mr. Darrell," she said, with quiet dignity,
"so I have taken the liberty to come to your room for a few minutes the
same as I would to a son's."
"That is right, Mrs. Dean," Darrell replied, escorting her to a large
arm-chair; "my own mother could not be more welcome."
"You know us pretty well by this time, Mr. Darrell," she said, as she
seated herself, "and you know that we're not given to expressing our
feelings very much, but I felt that I couldn't let you go away without a
few words with you first. I sometimes think that those who can't express
themselves are the ones that feel the deepest, though I guess we often
get the credit of not having any feelings at all."
"If I ever had such an impression of you or your brother, I found out my
error long ago," Darrell remarked, gravely, as she paused.
"Yes, I think you understand us; I think you will understand me, Mr.
Darrell, when I say to you that I haven't felt anything so deeply in
years as I do your leaving us now--not so much the mere fact of your
going away as the real reason of your going. I felt bad when you left
for camp a year ago, but this is altogether different; then you felt,
and we felt, that you were one of us, that your home was with us, and I
hoped that as long as you remained in the West your home would be with
us. Now, although there is no change in our love for you, or yours for
us, I know that the place is no longer a home to you, that you do not
care to stay; and about the hardest part of it all is, that, knowing the
circumstances as I do, I myself would not ask you to stay."
"You seem to understand the situation, Mrs. Dean; how did you learn the
circumstances?" Darrell asked, wonderingly.
She regarded him a moment with a motherly smile. "Did you think I was
blind? I could see for myself. Katherine has told me nothing," she
added, in answer to the unspoken inquiry which she read in his eyes;
"she has told me no more than you, but I saw what was coming long before
either you or she realized it."
"Oh, Mrs. Dean, why didn't you warn me in time?" Darrell exclaimed.
"The time for warning was when you two first met," Mrs. Dean replied;
"for two as congenial to be thrown together so constantly would
naturally result just as it has; it is no more than was to be expected,
and neither of you can be blamed. And," she added, slowly, "that is not
the phase of the affair which I most regret. I think such love as you
two bear each other would work little harm or sorrow to either of you in
the end, if matters could only be left to take their own course. I may
as well tell you that I think no good will come of this scheme of
David's. Mr. Walcott is not a suitable man for Katherine, even if she
were heart free, and loving you as she does--as she always will, for I
understand the child--it would have been much better to have waited a
year or two; I have no doubt that everything would come out all right.
Of course, as I'm not her mother, I have no say in the matter and no
right to interfere; but mark my words: David will regret this, and at no
very distant day, either."
"I know that nothing but unhappiness can come of it for Kate, and that
is what troubles me far more than any sorrow of my own," said Darrell,
in a low voice.
"It will bring unhappiness and evil all around, but to no one so much as
David Underwood himself," said Mrs. Dean, impressively, as she rose.
"Mrs. Dean," said Darrell, springing quickly to his feet, "you don't
know the good this little interview has done me! I thank you for it and
for your sympathy from the bottom of my heart."
"I wish I could give you something more practical than sympathy," said
Mrs. Dean, with a smile, "and I will if I ever have the opportunity. And
one thing in particular I want to say to you, Mr. Darrell: so long as
you are in the West, whether your home is with us or not, I want you to
feel that you have a mother in me, and should you ever be sick or in
trouble and need a mother's care and love, no matter where you are, I
will come to you as I would to my own son."
They had reached the door; Darrell, too deeply moved for speech and
knowing her aversion to many words, bent over her and kissed her on the
forehead.
"Thank you, mother; good-night!" he said.
She turned and looked at him with glistening eyes, as she replied,
calmly,--
"Good-night, my son!"
The household was astir at an early hour the next morning. There were
forced smiles and some desultory conversation at the breakfast-table,
but it was a silent group which gathered outside in the early morning
sunlight as Darrell was about taking his departure. He dreaded the
parting, and, as he glanced at the faces of the waiting group, he
determined to make it as brief as possible for their sakes as well as
his own.
The heavy teams came slowly around from the stables, and behind them
came Trix, daintily picking her steps along the driveway. With a word or
two of instructions to the drivers Darrell sent the teams ahead; then,
having adjusted saddle and bridle to his satisfaction, he turned to Mr.
Underwood, who stood nearest.
"My boy," said the latter, extending his hand, "we hate to spare you
from the old home, but I don't know where I would have got a man to
take your place; with you up there I feel just as safe as though I were
there myself."
"Much obliged, Mr. Underwood," Darrell replied, looking straight into
the elder man's eyes; "I think you'll find me worthy of any trust you
may repose in me--at the camp or elsewhere."
"Every time, my boy, every time!" exclaimed the old gentleman, wringing
his hand.
Mrs. Dean's usually placid face was stern from her effort to repress her
feelings, but there was a glance of mother-love in her eyes and a slight
quivering of her lips as she bade him a quiet good-by.
But it was Kate's pale, sweet face that nearly broke his own composure
as he turned to her, last of all. Their hands clasped and they looked
silently into each other's eyes for an instant.
"Good-by, John; God bless you!" she said, in tones audible only to his
ear.
"God bless and help you, Kathie!" he replied, and turned quickly to Trix
waiting at his side.
"Look at Duke," said Kate, a moment later, as Darrell sprang into the
saddle; "he doesn't know what to make of it that you haven't bade him
good-by."
Duke, who had shown considerable excitement over the unusual
proceedings, had bounded to Kate's side as Darrell approached her,
expecting his usual recognition; not having received it, he sat
regarding Darrell with an evident sense of personal injury quite
pathetic.
Darrell looked at the drooping head and smiled. "Come, Duke," he said,
slowly starting down the driveway.
Kate bent quickly for a final caress. "Go on, Duke!" she whispered.
Nothing loath to follow Darrell, he bounded forward, but after a few
leaps, on discovering that his beloved mistress was not accompanying
them, he stopped, looking back in great perplexity. At a signal from her
and a word from Darrell he again started onward, but his backward
glances were more than Kate could bear, and she turned to go into the
house.
"What are you sending the dog after him for, anyway?" inquired her
father, himself somewhat puzzled.
"I have given Duke to Mr. Darrell, papa," she replied.
Something in the unnatural calmness of her tone startled him; he turned
to question her. She had gone, but in the glimpse which he had of her
face he read a little of the anguish which at that moment wrung her
young heart, and happening at the same time to catch his sister's eye,
he walked away, silent and uncomfortable.
_Chapter XX_