His visitors took Layson by surprise, next morning. They had started
from the valley long before he had supposed they would.
Holton saw him first and nudged his daughter, who was with him. They
were well ahead of Miss Alathea and the Colonel, who had been unable to
keep up with them upon the final sharp ascent of the foot-journey from
the wagon-road. The old man grinned unpleasantly. He had rather vulgar
manners, often annoying to his daughter, who had had all the advantages
which, in his rough, mysterious youth, he had been denied.
"Thar he is, Barb; thar he is," he said, not loudly. Miss Alathea and
the Colonel, following close behind, were a restraint on him.
The girl's face was full of eagerness as she saw the man they sought. He
was busy polishing a gun, but that his thoughts were occupied with
something less mechanical and not wholly pleasant the slight frown upon
his face made evident. "Mr. Layson! Frank!" she cried.
The young man turned, on hearing her, and hurried toward her and her
father with his hands outstretched in welcome. He was not overjoyed to
have the old man visit him, just then; he was even doubtful of the
welcome which his heart had for the daughter; but he was a southerner
and in the gentle-born southerner real hospitality is quite instinctive.
"Mr. Holton--Barbara," said he. "I am delighted. Welcome to the
mountains." He grasped their hands in hearty greeting. "But where are
Aunt Alathea and the Colonel?"
Holton tried to be as cordial as his host. That he was very anxious to
appear agreeable was evident. "Oh, them slow-pokes?" he said, laughing.
"We didn't wait for them. We pushed on ahead. We reckoned as you would
be glad to see us."
"And so I am."
"One in particular, maybe," Holton answered, with a crude attempt at
badinage. He glanced archly from the young man to his daughter.
"Father!" she exclaimed, a bit annoyed, and yet not too unwilling that
the fact that she and Layson were acknowledged sweethearts should be at
once established.
"Oh, I ain't been blind," said Holton, gaily, going much farther than
she wished him to. "I've cut _my_ eye-teeth!"
Then he turned to Layson with an awkward lightness. "Barbara told me
what passed between you two young folks afore you come up to the
mountings," he explained. And then, with further elephantine airyness:
"I say, jest excuse me--reckon I'm in the way." He made a move as if to
hurry off.
Layson was not pleased. The old man was annoying, always, and now, after
the long revery of the night before about Madge Brierly, this attitude
was doubly disconcerting. "Not at all, Mr. Holton," he said, somewhat
hastily. "I'm sure we'd rather you'd remain. Are you sure the others are
all right?"
"Close behind us."
"I'll go and make sure that they do not lose their way."
Holton looked at his daughter in a blank dismay after the youth had
started down the hill. "I say, gal," said he, "there's somethin' wrong
here!"
She was inclined to blame him for the deep discomforture she felt. "Why
couldn't you let us alone?" she answered angrily. "You've spoiled
everything!"
The old man looked at her, with worry on his face. "Didn't you tell me
't was as good as settled? You said you were dead sure he meant to make
you his wife."
She was still petulant, blaming him for Layson's unexpected lack of
warmth. "Yes, but you needn't have interfered!"
Holton was intensely puzzled, worried, almost frightened. He was as
anxious to have this young man for a son-in-law as his daughter was to
have him for a husband. Her marriage into such a celebrated bluegrass
family as the Laysons were, would firmly fix her social status, no
matter how precarious it might be now, and the match would be of great
advantage to him in a business way, as well. He stood there, thinking
deeply, very much displeased.
"There's somethin' more nor me has come between you," he said finally,
his face flushing with a deep resentment. "I tell you, gal, what I
believed at first, deep in my heart, air true. He was only triflin' with
you. Them aristocrats down in the bluegrass don't hold us no better than
the dust beneath their feet, even if we have got money. It's _family_
that counts with them. Didn't he lay his whip acrost my face, once, as
if I was a nigger?" His wrath was rising. "And now he shows that he was
only triflin' with you with no real intentions of doin' as we thought he
would!" The man was tremulous with wrath. "Oh, I'll be even with him!"
Barbara was greatly worried by the situation. All her life, despite the
fact that she was beautiful, despite the fact that her father was a rich
man--richer, by a dozen times, than many of the people for whose
friendship she longed vainly--she had vaguely felt that there was an
invisible gulf between her and the girls with whom she came in contact
at the exclusive schools to which she had been sent, between her and
the gentlefolk with whom, in some measure, she had mixed since she had
left school-walls. "Father," she asked anxiously, "why do people look
down on us so?"
He faced her with a worried look, as if he feared that she might guess
at something which he wished should remain hidden. "They say I made my
money tradin' in niggers," he replied, at length. "Well, what of it?
Didn't I have the right?"
"Are you sure there's nothing else?"
He seemed definitely startled. "Girl, what makes you ask?"
"Because sometimes memories come to me."
"Memories of what?"
"Of--my childhood," she said slowly, "of passes among
mountains--mountains much like these."
He regarded her uneasily. "Oh, sho, gal!" he exclaimed, trying to make
light of it. "Reckon you've been dreamin'. You were never hyar before."
But she looked about her, unconvinced, and, when she spoke, spoke
slowly, evidently trying to recall with definite clarity certain things
which flitted through her mind as vague impressions only. "Why does
everything seem so familiar, here, then, as if I had just wakened in my
true surroundings after a long sleep in which I had had dreams?" There
was, suddenly, a definite accusation in her eyes. "Father, you are
trying to deceive me! I was once a child, here in these very
mountains!" She stared about intently.
The speech had an amazing effect on the old man. He stepped close to
her. "Hush!" said he, imperatively. "Don't you dare speak such a word
ag'in!"
She peered into his eyes. "There _is_ a secret, then! We lived here,
long ago!"
"Stop, I tell you!" he commanded. "Don't hint at such things, for your
life." He dropped his voice to hoarse whisper. "Suppose I did live hyar,
once. I was a smooth-faced youngster, then; my own mother wouldn't know
me, now."
The sound of voices coming up the mountain-trail interrupted the
dramatic scene.
"Sh!" said he. "They're comin'!"
Frank was piloting his Aunt and Colonel Doolittle. "This way, Aunt
'Lethe," they could hear him say.
An instant later he appeared, leading the way up the steep trail. His
Aunt, Neb and the Colonel followed him.
"Now, Aunt 'Lethe," he said gaily, "you can rest at last. Colonel, I can
welcome you in earnest. This is, indeed, a pleasure."
The Colonel was puffing fiercely from the hard work of the climb, but
his broad face glowed with pleasure. He took a long, full breath of the
exhilerating mountain air. "Pleasure? It's a derby-day, sir,
metaphorically speaking." As he rested he eyed the youngster with
approval. "Frank," said he, "you've grown to be the very image of my old
friend, Judge Layson. Ah, five years have made their changes in us
all--except Miss 'Lethe." He bowed gallantly in her direction, and she
gaily answered the salute.
Barbara advanced, enthusiastically, looking at the Colonel with arch
envy in her eyes. "Five years you've been in Europe, surrounded by the
nobility. Oh, Colonel, what happiness!"
He shook his head. "Happiness away from old Kentucky, surrounded by a
lot of numb-skulls who couldn't mix a fancy drink to save their lives,
who know nothing of that prismatic, rainbow-hued fountain of youth, a
mint-julep? Ah!"
"But, Colonel," said the girl, "the masterpieces of art!"
"Give me," said he, "the masterpieces of Mother Nature--the bright-eyed,
rose-cheeked, cherry-lipped girls of old Kentucky!"
There was a general laugh. The Colonel's gallantry was ever-blooming.
Frank applauded and the ladies bowed.
"By the way, Frank," said the Colonel, after they had been made
comfortable in a merry group before the cabin-door, "where is that
particular masterpiece of Nature which you've written us so much about?
Where is the--Diana?"
Miss Alathea smiled at her somewhat worried nephew. "The 'phenomenon,'"
said she.
"According to Neb, who told us of her as we worked up that steep
trail," said Barbara, "the 'deer.'" She laughed, not too good naturedly
Neb, who was standing waiting orders near, grinned broadly.
"Neb, you rascal!" exclaimed Frank.
"Come, where is she, Frank; where is she?" asked the Colonel.
The youth was not too much embarrassed, but he gave a quick, side-glance
at Barbara. "She is probably getting ready to receive you," he replied.
"I told her I expected you and she's been very much excited over it."
"Adding to nature's charms the mysteries of art," the Colonel said,
approvingly. "We shall expect to be overwhelmed. And, meantime, while
we're waiting, we might as well explain to you the business which has
brought us up here."
His face showed him to be the bearer of good news. He rose, excitedly,
and went to Frank, to put his hand upon his shoulder. "Now, my boy, keep
cool, keep cool! I tell you, Frank, it's the biggest thing out. It'll
make a millionaire of you as sure as Fate before the next five years
have passed!"
Layson was taken wholly by surprise. No one had in the least prepared
him for anything of this sort. He had supposed the party had come up to
see him merely for the pleasure of the trip. "I don't understand," said
he.
"Keep cool, keep cool!" the Colonel urged. "It is colossal,
metaphorically. You see, I was over there in Europe, promoting a South
American mine, when I happened to see in a Kentucky paper that the
Georgetown Midland was to be put through these mountains near the land
your father bought. That land, my boy, is rich in coal and iron!"
The young man's face shone with delight. "He always said so!" he
exclaimed. "I meant, sometime, to investigate."
"I've saved you the trouble. I came back on the next steamer, organized
a syndicate in New York City, sent an expert out to carefully look into
things, and, on his report, a company is willing to put in a $200,000
plant to develop your land. All you've got to do is to take $25,000
worth of stock and let your coal-land stand for as much more."
The youth's face fell. "Twenty-five thousand dollars!" he exclaimed.
"Why, Colonel, I have not one fifth of it!"
"Ah," said the Colonel, smiling, "but here, like a good angel, comes in
your dear Aunt 'Lethe!" He smiled at her. "Isn't it so, Miss 'Lethe?"
Frank spoke up quickly. "Surely," he exclaimed to her as she advanced
toward him, with smiles, "you know I'd never take your money!"
"You must, Frank," she insisted. "The Colonel says it is the chance of a
lifetime."
"Why, Auntie, it's your whole fortune. I wouldn't risk it."
"But you could pay it all back in a month."
"How?" he asked, not understanding in the least.
"By selling Queen Bess."
He flinched. The thought had not occurred to him. "Sell Queen Bess!"
said he. "The prettiest, the fastest mare in all Kentucky! Never!"
"My boy," said the Colonel, "the odds are far too heavy--a million
against the mare. You can't stand 'em."
"Oh, Frank," said his Aunt, impulsively, "if you'll only take the money
and give up racing!"
He laughed. Miss Alathea's strong prejudice against the race-tracks was
proverbial. "So that's what you're after!" he exclaimed. "You dear old
schemer!"
"With your impulsive, generous nature, racing is sure to ruin you."
The Colonel looked first at Frank with ardent sympathy aglow in his
eyes; then, after a hasty glance at Miss Alathea, he quickly changed the
meaning of his look and spoke admonishingly. "The voice of wisdom!" he
exclaimed. "Ah, Frank, from what I hear I judge you're too much of a
plunger--like a young fellow I once knew who thought he could win a
fortune on the race-track." He began, now, to speak very seriously. "He
was in love with the prettiest and sweetest girl in old Kentucky, but
he wished to wait till he could get that fortune, and he chased it here
and there, looking for it mostly on the race-tracks, until he had more
grey hairs than he had ever hoped to have dollars; he chased it till his
dream of happiness had slipped by, perhaps forever. My boy, the
race-track is a delusion and a snare."
Miss Alathea looked at him with pleased surprise. "Colonel, your
sentiments astonish and delight me."
"How can you refuse," the Colonel said, "when such a woman asks? For one
who loves you, you should give those pleasures up without a pang."
In the pause that followed he reflected on the history of the youth to
whom he had referred, for that young man was himself. He had loved Miss
Alathea twenty years, but the Goddess Chance had kept him, all that
time, too poor to ask her hand in marriage. His heart beat with elation
as he realized that, possibly, the scheme which he had come there to the
mountains to propose to Frank, might remedy the evils of the situation.
Frank had been thinking deeply. "But what certainty is there," he
inquired, "that I can sell Queen Bess at such a price?"
Now the Colonel spoke with animation. "Absolute. I've a written offer
from the Dyer brothers to take her for twenty-five thousand dollars, if
she is delivered, safe and sound, on the morning she's to run in the
Ashland Oaks. It's a dead sure thing, my boy. You can't refuse."
The young man hesitated, still. "I'll investigate, and--well, I'll see."
He walked away, deep in thought.
The Colonel turned from him to Miss Alathea. "Miss 'Lethe, congratulate
yourself. The victory is won."
Frank turned upon his heel and spoke to Holton. "What do you think of
this investment?" he inquired.
"Wal," said Holton, "I think it's a blamed good thing. I'd only like the
chance to go into it, myself." He went closer to the youth and spoke in
an instinctively low tone. "By the way, this gal, hyar, Madge Brierly,
owns fifty acres o' land down there in the valley, that's bound to be
wuth money. Like enough, with your help, I could buy it for a song. I'll
make it all right with you. What do you say? Is it a bargain, Layson?"
He held out his hand, evidently with no thought but that the
questionable offer would be snapped up at once.
Layson drew back angrily. "No," he replied.
Holton, seeing that he had made a serious mistake, tried to correct it.
"Oh, shucks, now! I didn't mean no harm. That's only business."
Layson was intensely angered. "I won't waste words on you," he said,
"but think twice before you make me such a proposition again."
Holton's wrath rose vividly. "Damn him!" he muttered as he walked away.
"I'll pay him back for that! I'll get that gal's land in spite of him,
and I won't stop at that. I'll pay him back for ... everythin'! I'll
teach him what it air to stir the hate o' hell in a man's heart!"
Barbara, distressed anew by this unpleasant episode, had started to go
after him, when the weird cry of an owl, a long drawn, tremulous:
"Hoo-oo-oo!" came from somewhere in the forest, close at hand. It
startled her. "Heavens!" said she. "What's that?"
Neb, who also had been startled at the first penetrating, weird call,
bethought himself, now, and answered her: "It's de deah."
"The phenomenon!" exclaimed Miss Alathea.
"The Diana!" said the Colonel, looking at Frank slyly.
"Yes; she's coming," Frank said gaily, and then, looking down the path,
started violently. "Heavens, she's coming!"
The Colonel, who also had looked down the path, hurriedly approached
him, feigning worry. "Frank, I haven't got 'em again, have I?"
Madge approached them slowly in the quaint, old-fashioned costume she
had resurrected from the chests of her dead mother's finery and re-made,
very crudely, in accordance with the fashion-plates which she had found
down at the cross-roads store. The result of her contriving was a
startling mixture of fashions widely separated as to periods. Her
untutored taste had mixed colors clashingly. Her unskilled fingers had
sewed very bunchy seams.
The girl was much embarrassed: it required the last ounce of her bravery
to advance. Before she actually reached the little group, she half hid,
indeed, behind a tree. It was from this shelter that she called her
greeting: "Howdy, folks, howdy!"
Frank went toward her with an outstretched hand. "Come, Madge," said he,
encouragingly.
"Reckon I'll have to," she assented, with a bashful smile and took a
step or two reluctantly. But she had never seen folk dressed at all as
were these visitors from the famed bluegrass, and her courage again
faltered. Instantly she realized how wholly her own efforts to be
elegant had failed. She hung back awkwardly, pathetically.
"Don't be nervous, Madge; just be yourself," Frank urged her.
"Free and easy? Well, I'll try; but I'm skeered enough to make me wild
and reckless."
Frank led her forward, while she made a mighty effort to accept the
situation coolly. "These are my friends, Madge. Let me introduce you."
She got some grip upon herself and smiled. "Ain't no need. Know 'em all
by your prescription." With a mighty effort she approached the Colonel.
"Colonel Sandusky Doolittle, howdy!"
The Colonel was delighted. Her knowledge of his name was flattering. He
had forgotten her strange costume the moment his glance had caught her
wonderful, deep eyes. "Howdy, howdy!" he said heartily, shaking her hand
vigorously. "Why, this is real Kentucky style!" It won't take _us_ long
to get acquainted."
"Know all about you now," she said. "Great hossman. Colonel, I'll have a
race with you, sometime."
"What, you ride?" said the delighted Colonel.
"Ride! Dellaw!" said she, with, now, unembarrassed animation. The
subject was that one, of all, which made her most quickly forget
everything beside. "Why, me and my pony takes to racin' like a pig to
carrots. Before he lamed himself, whenever th' boys heard us clatterin'
down th' mounting, they laid to race us back. Away we went, then,
clickity-clip, up th' hills and around th' curves--an' I allus won."
The Colonel realized with a great joy that he had found a kindred
spirit. "Shake again!" he said to her, after further most congenial
talk, and then turned to Frank. "My boy, you're right. She _is_ a
phenomenon--a thoroughbred, even if she hasn't any pedigree."
Up to this time the ladies had remained somewhat in the background,
watching the young mountain girl as the Colonel drew her out.
Madge now turned to Frank, but looked at Barbara. "Is that the young
lady from the bluegrass?" The girl was hurt and really offended by the
stranger's aloof manner. "Looks like she can't see common folks."
"That is Miss Barbara." He led the mountain girl toward her. "Barbara,
this is my friend--er--Madge." He was, himself, a little disconcerted.
The maiden from the lowlands bowed, but said no word. For an instant
Madge shrank back, but then she advanced with an unusual boldness. Her
spirit was aroused.
"Howdy, Miss Barbarous, howdy!" she exclaimed and held her hand out to
the handsomely dressed girl.
But Miss Barbara was annoyed by the whole happening. She felt that this
uncultivated country girl was getting far too much attention. The
child's unconscious pun upon her name infuriated her. She did not answer
her, but raised a lorgnette and stared at her.
Madge was ready with an instant sympathy. "Oh, that's why you couldn't
see, poor thing! Spectacles at your age!" Whether she really thought
this was the case, not even Frank could tell by looking at her.
Miss Holton was incensed. The haughty treatment she had planned to, give
the mountain girl had not had the results she had expected. "There's
nothing whatever the matter with my eyes!" she exclaimed hastily.
"Wouldn't think you'd need a machine to help you star-gaze at folks,
then," said the mountain girl. "But maybe it's the fashion in the
bluegrass."
Frank hurried up with Holton, planning a diversion. "This is Mr. Holton,
Madge."
"Howdy, sir," said she, and then started in astonishment. "Ain't I seen
your face before, sir?"
"Wal, I reckon not," said Holton most uneasily. "I was never hyar in
these hyar mountings afore."
She stepped closer to him, gazing straight at his grey eyes. They seemed
strangely to recall the very distant past, she knew not how. There were
other things about him which seemed much more immediately familiar,
although his more elaborate garb prevented her, for the moment, from
recognizing him as the stranger with the hammer, who had, that day of
the forest-fire, been tap-tapping on the rocks upon her pasture-land.
"Your eyes seem to bring something back." She plainly paled. She knew
that their suggestion was a dreadful one, but could not make it
definite.
Miss Alathea noted her agitation instantly, and hurried to her side.
"Poor child, what is the matter?"
Madge had regained control of her features, which, for an instant, had
shown plain horror. "Tain't nothin', ma'am. It couldn't be. It's all
over now." She smiled gratefully at Miss Alathea. "An' you're his aunt,
ain't you? I'd know you for his kin, anywhere. Why, somehow, you remind
me of my lost mother."
"Thank you, my dear. You must be very lonely, up here all alone."
"I am, sometimes," said the girl, "but I have lots of fun, too. The
woods are full of friends. Th' birds an' squirrels ain't afraid o' me.
They seem to think I'm a wild thing, like 'em."
"It's true," said Frank, with an admiring, cheering look at the little
country girl. "Their confidence in her is wonderful."
The bluegrass girl's annoyance was increasing. She had come up to the
mountains thinking that, among such crude surroundings, her gowns and
the undoubted beauty they adorned, would hold the center of the stage,
and by contrast, hold Layson quite enthralled; but here, instead, was a
brown-faced country maid in grotesque, homemade costume, attracting most
of his attention. She was conscious that by showing her discomfiture she
was not strengthening her own position, but she could not hide it, could
not curb her tongue.
"A rider of races," said she; "a tamer of animals! What accomplishments!
Do you actually live here, all alone?"
"Come," said Madge, determined to be pleasant, "and I'll show you." She
led the bluegrass girl to a convenient point from which her cabin was in
sight.
"In that little hut!" said Barbara, not impressed as Madge had
innocently thought she would be. "Shocking!"
The girl was angered, now. "So sorry I didn't have your opinion afore!
But, maybe, you wouldn't think it were so awful, if you knowed how
'twere I come to live there."
Frank had written something of the poor girl's tragic story to his aunt.
She was all interest. "Won't you tell us, please?" she asked.
Holton seemed to show a strange disinclination to listen to the
narrative. "Ain't got no time for stories," he objected. "Gettin' late."
"We'll take time, then," said Frank.
"Go on, little one," urged Colonel Doolittle. "We're listening."
Impressed and touched by the sympathy in the horseman's tone and the
interest in Miss Alathea's eyes, Madge told with even greater force and
more effect than when she had related it to Layson the story of the
tragedy which had robbed her at a blow of father and of mother, the
black, dreadful tale of merciless assassination which had left her
orphaned in the mountains. Her audience attended, spellbound, even the
disgruntled and unsympathetic Barbara listening with unwilling
fascination. Only Holton turned away, with a gesture of impatience. He
plainly did not wish to waste time on the girl. Or was it that? He
seemed to be uneasy as he walked to and fro upon the rock-ledge near
them, whence, had he cared for it, he could have had a gorgeous view of
mountain scenery. But, although he said, as plainly as he could without
actual rudeness, that the girl and her sad tale of tragedy were not
worth attention, he was not successful in his efforts wholly to refuse
to listen to her.
"Infamous!" said Miss Alathea, when the child had finished.
"And that scoundrel has gone free!" exclaimed the Colonel, in disgust.
"_That's_ how I come to live alone, here," Madge went on, addressing
Barbara, particularly. The girl had made her feel it necessary to offer
some defense. "After my mammy died I didn't have no place to go, an' so
I just stayed on here, an' th' bridge my daddy built for his protection
I have kept for mine. Maybe he has told you of it." She indicated Frank.
They nodded.
"And nothing has been heard of the infernal traitor, all these years?"
the Colonel asked.
"He left the mountings when he found how folks was feelin'--they'd have
shot him, like a dog, on sight. But it don't make no differ where he
goes; it don't make a bit of differ where he goes."
"What do you mean by that?" the Colonel asked, and as he spoke, Holton,
suddenly intent, paused in his pacing of the ledge to listen.
"I mean, no matter where he goes he'll have to pay for it, come soon,
come late. Th' day air sure to come when Joe, Ben Lorey's son, 'll meet
him face to face an' make him answer for his crime!"
"God-speed to him!" exclaimed the Colonel, fervently.
Madge, in a gesture full of drama, although quite unconscious, raised
her head, looking off into the vastness of the mountains, her hands
thrust straight down at her sides and clenched, her shoulders squared,
her chest heaving with a mighty intake. The little mountain-girl, as she
stood there, thrilling with her longing for revenge, with prayers that
some day the sinner might be punished for his dreadful crime, made an
impressive figure.
"Come soon or late!" she sighed. "Come soon or late!"
The party watched her, fascinated, till Holton took his daughter's arm
and urged her, uneasily, out of the little group.
Later Madge asked the Colonel to go with her to the pasture lot and take
a look at Little Hawss. Gladly he went with her, tenderly this expert in
Kentucky racers, the finest horses in the world, examined the shaggy
little pony's hoof. He told Madge what to do for him and promised to
send up a lotion with which to bathe the injured foot, although he
gently warned her that she must not hope that Little Hawss would ever do
much racing up and down the mountain trails again. She choked, when he
said this, and the horseman's heart went out to her.
"Little one," said the Colonel, as the party was preparing to go down
the mountain, "you're a thoroughbred, and Colonel Sandusky Doolittle is
your friend from the word 'go.'" He took her hand in his and smiled down
into her eyes.
Then, turning to Miss 'Lethe: "Do you know, Miss 'Lethe, there's
something about this little girl that puts me in mind of you, when I
first met you? You remember?"
"Ah, Colonel, that was twenty years ago--the day I was eighteen."
"And I was twenty-five. Now I'm forty-five and you--"
"Colonel!"
"Are still eighteen.' He bowed, impressively, with that charming,
gallant smile which was peculiar to him.
"Aren't you going down with us, Frank?" asked Barbara, looking at the
youth with plain surprise when she noted that he lingered when she and
her father were ready for the start.
"I wish to speak to Madge, a moment. I'll overtake you."
The bluegrass beauty looked at him, wrath blazing in her eyes, then
turned away with tossing head.
"Good-bye," said Madge, and held her hand out to her.
Barbara paid no attention to the small, brown hand, but, instead, opened
her parasol almost in the face of the astonished mountain-girl, who
jumped back, startled. "Oh, very well," said Barbara to Frank.
Madge turned to him, the softness of the mood engendered by her talk
with the Colonel and Miss 'Lethe all gone, now. Her face was flushed
with anger. "Dellaw!" said she. "Thought she was goin' to shoot!"
Now Barbara spoke haughtily. "Good afternoon, Miss Madge. You have
entertained us wonderfully, wonderfully."