Several days had elapsed since the eastern party, accompanied by Mr.
Blaisdell and Mr. Rivers, had returned to the city, and, as yet,
nothing had been learned of their decision regarding the mine. The
extra force of men on the Sunrise had returned to their regular
shifts, and the work at the mining camp was going forward in the old
routine, with the monotonous precision of clock-work.
Houston was quietly pursuing his own way, conscious that the task
before him involved difficulty and danger. He was aware that Haight,
notwithstanding his obsequious politeness, was one of his worst
enemies, and would injure him in every underhanded way within his
power, as, beneath the smooth, smiling exterior, Houston could detect
a deep, subtle malignity toward himself; and he rightly judged that
Jim Maverick, the tool of the mining company, would be the instrument
Haight would use when he was ready to work his revenge.
Maverick, from the first, had hated Houston with that instinctive
hatred which such vile natures, groveling in their own degradation,
always feel toward those moving on a higher plane, in an atmosphere
untainted by the putrescence which is their natural element. Maverick
knew that, to a man like Houston, his own baseness and villainy were
written in his face, and even in his slouching, cringing gait, as
plainly as though branded in letters of fire, and this was sufficient
to kindle his anger against him, and Haight, by his talk, added fuel
to the slowly smoldering fire. At home, but more particularly among
the miners, in the camp or at the Y, Maverick expressed his views
regarding Houston in language abounding with profanity and obscenity,
and many were the muttered threats of what he would do should the
object of his hatred ever cross his path.
Houston, meanwhile, was quick to discern the danger signals, and was
laying his plans wisely and well. His own work in the office of the
mining camp was nearly completed; there remained yet the information
to be gathered from the Silver City office, to which he was now
expecting to be called any day, and then the work of familiarizing
himself with the mines. When this should be accomplished, the end, for
which he was working and waiting, would be very near.
As he sat in the office one afternoon, reviewing the past few weeks,
he felt that he had succeeded thus far, even beyond his hopes. The
coming of Van Dorn and the acquaintance formed with Lindlay would be
of untold value to him in his work. A little later, Van Dorn would
come to his assistance without arousing suspicion, not being known as
a mining expert, and when the time came for the final denouement,
Lindlay would accompany Mr. Cameron to the mines, as he was a skilled
expert, and having already visited the mines, could furnish testimony
as to the fraud practiced by the company.
Thus far, everything had gone well, and the weeks of work in a
secluded mining camp, to which he had looked forward with anything but
pleasurable anticipations, had in reality proven,--he was surprised to
admit to himself,--among the pleasantest of his life. He would really
have many regrets on leaving the mountains to return to his old home,
he had formed such pleasant associations; and then, he suddenly became
conscious that, of his life among the mountains, there was little he
would miss, excepting a pair of dark, soulful eyes, in whose depths he
had failed to detect the least shadow of falseness or unworthiness;
mirrors of a sweet, womanly nature, strong, pure and beautiful, which
with a quick, ready sympathy entered into his feelings, and often
seemed to fathom his unspoken thoughts, and clothe them with language
of her own.
Houston started in astonishment, and, locking the office, took a
circuitous and little traveled road, determined to fully understand
his own heart before he again looked into those eyes with their depths
of sincerity and truth.
For many years he had been the recipient of flattering attentions from
fond papas and aspiring mammas. Invitations to club dinners, banquets
and the most recherche lunches, on the one hand, were evenly balanced
by cards to receptions, soirees and afternoon teas, on the other. Had
he passed heart-whole through all these sieges, only to fall a victim,
here and now?
He had admired Miss Gladden from the first; then, in their mutual
sympathy for Lyle, they had been drawn closer together, and since that
time,--yes, he could see it all now.
Of Miss Gladden herself he knew very little, except that she was a
true, noble woman; he needed no words to tell him that. Rutherford had
learned from conversation with her, that she was an orphan, and had
been traveling with friends because her home was made unpleasant by
some of her relatives; and both had judged that she was probably, in
a measure, dependent upon wealthy relatives.
This much Houston did know, however, that he loved Leslie Gladden,
that she was worthy of his love, and that life without her would not
seem worth the living. He believed that she loved him, and his heart
thrilled with the thought, that if so, it was for himself, not his
wealth, that she cared. Before he reached the house, his mind was
fully decided:
"I love her for herself," he soliloquized, "not caring whether she is
rich or poor, and I believe she does, or will, love me in like manner.
In any event, I must learn my fate before the arrival of my uncle."
As Houston approached the house, Miss Gladden and Lyle were standing
together in the porch. He greeted both ladies with even more than his
usual courtesy, but as his eyes met those of Miss Gladden, there was
that in his glance, which in itself, was a declaration of his love for
her. Lyle, with her quick intuition, read the meaning, and with her
natural sense of delicacy, as quickly withdrew, leaving them together.
For an instant, Miss Gladden's eyes dropped before Houston's glance,
while a lovely color suffused her cheek; then she raised her eyes,
meeting his with an answering glance, and in that mutual recognition,
though no word was spoken, they knew that they were lovers, and that
was enough for the present.
Of late, the four friends had spent much time together; sometimes
climbing the mountains, to watch from their lofty summits the setting
sun, slowly descending amid clouds of flame, whose glowing colors were
reflected from the surrounding peaks in ever varying tints; the rose
changing to amethyst and violet, and the violet deepening to purple;
while far below, the canyon lay wrapped in soft, gray twilight. Or,
sometimes, taking one or two boats from the little boat-house built
for the accommodation of summer tourists, they rowed about the lake in
the moonlight.
On this particular night, Rutherford proposed a row, in one of the
larger boats, the entire length of the lake, to the cascades, to which
the rest readily acceded. The ladies soon appeared in light, fleecy
wraps, Miss Gladden carrying a fine guitar, which called forth
exclamations of pleasure from the gentlemen.
"Good!" said Rutherford, "that will be just the thing; now we will
have some music."
"Miss Gladden," said Houston, "why have we not been favored in this
way earlier?"
"Oh," she replied, archly, "it has never been a necessity until
to-night, but a long row in the moonlight would not be perfect without
music."
This was their first trip to the end of the lakes, and they found
the scene beautiful beyond description. On one side an almost
perpendicular wall of rock; in the opposite direction, the mountain
ranges stretching far away in the distance, with snowy peaks gleaming
here and there, like watch towers; while just before them, the
shimmering cascades in the wondrous beauty of the moonlight, the deep,
unceasing roar seeming to rise and fall with a rhythm of its own.
For the first few moments, they sat in silent admiration of the beauty
around them; then Miss Gladden touched the strings of the guitar, and
began singing in a rich contralto, in which Houston joined with a fine
baritone, while Rutherford added a clear, sweet tenor. Their voices
blended perfectly, and accompanied by the sweet notes of the guitar,
the music floated out over the lake, the lingering echoes dying away,
in the distance.
Lyle took no part in the song, but sat listening with parted lips and
dreamy eyes. When the song was finished, she exclaimed:
"Oh, please do not stop, I love to listen to you; it reminds me of
something I have heard long ago, I don't know when or where."
"Do you never sing, Miss Maverick?" asked Rutherford.
"Only sometimes for myself," she said, "I know only two or three songs
that I have heard others sing."
"But you have a sweet voice," said Houston, "will you not sing for
us?"
"If you will overlook any mistakes, I may," answered Lyle, "for I
probably do not sing correctly, as I know nothing of music."
"Certainly, Lyle, we would like to hear you," said Miss Gladden.
As simply, and as free from self-consciousness as a child, Lyle began
her song, her eyes fixed on the distant shining peaks, and her only
accompaniment the music of the cascades.
"Love is come with a song and a smile,
Welcome love with a smile and a song;
Love can stay but a little while:
Why can not he stay?
They call him away;
Ye do him wrong, ye do him wrong,
Love will stay for a whole life long."
Whether Lyle sang correctly that night was never known; even the
beautiful words of the old song that seemed so appropriate to the
occasion, were forgotten before she had sung more than two or three
lines, and her listeners sat entranced, spell-bound, by the voice of
the singer; a voice of such exquisite sweetness and clearness, and yet
possessing such power and depth of expression, that it thrilled the
hearts of her listeners, seeming to lift them out of all consciousness
of their surroundings, and to transport them to another world; a
world
"Where the singers, whose names are deathless,
One with another make music, unheard of men."
As the last note died away, a long, deep sigh from Houston seemed to
break the spell, and Miss Gladden looking up, her eyes shining with
unshed tears, said, as she pressed Lyle's hand:
"My dear, we have found our song-queen, our nightingale. We can all
learn of you, and never equal you."
Houston had been strangely moved, and as he spoke, there was a slight
tremor in his voice.
"I have heard, in all my life, but one voice like that, and that was
one who died when I was a child."
Lyle looked surprised.
"Has no one ever told you you could sing?" asked Miss Gladden.
"I never sang for any one, excepting once, for Jack," answered Lyle.
"What did he say of your voice?" inquired Miss Gladden.
"He said, like Mr. Houston, that he had heard but one voice like mine,
but that he did not like to hear me, so I have never sung since,
excepting by myself."
"Lyle," said Miss Gladden suddenly, "how old is this man whom you call
Jack?"
"Possibly forty, perhaps a little less," she answered indifferently.
A new thought had flashed into Miss Gladden's mind. For some time she
had doubted whether Lyle were really a child of Maverick and his wife,
she was so utterly unlike them; could it be possible that Jack, whose
life seemed so much a mystery, was the father of Lyle? Was that the
reason for his interest in her? and had Lyle had some beautiful
mother,--unfortunate perhaps,--whose life had suddenly gone out, as
the little life had just begun, and whose memory was recalled too
vividly by Lyle's song? Miss Gladden determined, if possible, to find
a clue to this mystery.
The boat was now on its homeward way, and a song with which all were
familiar having been found, the four voices blended in exquisite
harmony.
"It seems to me there are some rare treats in store for us," was
Rutherford's comment, as the friends separated for the night; then, a
few moments later, when alone with Houston, he exclaimed:
"By Jove, Houston! but what a voice that girl has! I never heard
anything like it in my life. I didn't say much before Miss Gladden,
for fear she might think I didn't appreciate her singing, and I
certainly did, for she sings magnificently."
"You need have no fear of any sensitiveness on Miss Gladden's part,"
said Houston quickly, "in the first place, their voices are altogether
different, there is no comparison between them; and in addition, Miss
Gladden's regard for Lyle is so disinterested and unselfish, there
would be no room for any feeling of that kind. We must all acknowledge
that Lyle certainly has a wonderful voice; as I said before, I have
heard but one like it."
"Great Heavens!" said Rutherford, with more feeling than Houston had
ever seen him manifest, "I'm sorry for that girl, Houston."
"Why?" asked Houston quietly.
"Why, only to think of her beauty and intellect, and such a voice as
that, and then think of her parents, and the life to which she is tied
down here."
"Granting the parents and present life," said Houston, "is that any
argument that she will always be 'tied down here' as you say?"
"I think it would always fetter her in a measure; it will leave its
imprint upon her mind, or at least her memory, and although she is
not in her proper sphere here, yet her life here, and all its
associations, would be likely to make her feel out of place in a
higher sphere,"
"I think not," said Houston, watching Rutherford closely, "I think if
she could be removed from here, and given a thorough education, there
would remain no trace whatever of the early life."
"But what about the question of heredity?" asked Rutherford,
"there must be bad blood there, when and where would it make its
appearance?"
"That would be a serious question," replied Houston, "providing she is
the child of these people; I have always had grave doubts of that, and
Miss Gladden has often expressed the same."
"By Jove! I never thought of that! It seems likely enough, too. What
do you think, that she was stolen?"
"No," said Houston slowly, "that does not seem so probable as that she
may have been some child that they were hired to take."
"In that case," said Rutherford, "I should think the uncertainty
regarding her family and origin, would be almost as bad as the
certainty in the other case."
"It might seem so to some people," Houston replied, adding with a
smile, "especially to a Bostonian, who prided himself upon his 'blue
blood'."
"Oh," said Rutherford, coloring, "I'm not pursuing this inquiry on my
own account at all, I was only thinking of her prospects generally.
I'm not interested in that direction."
"In what direction are you interested, if I may ask?" said Houston,
experiencing, for the first time, a little twinge of jealousy.
"In the direction of the 'Hub,' my dear boy," Rutherford replied, with
another blush.
"Spoken like a true Bostonian!" said Houston approvingly.
"Yes, sir," continued Rutherford, "there's a little girl belongs back
there in Boston, that's more to me than all the ladies you can produce
in this part of the country, or any other, no matter how beautiful
they may be; and she's not bad looking either. Her parents took her to
Europe for a little trip this spring, and Boston seemed so lonesome,
that was the reason I came west."
"Good for you, Ned, you have my best wishes," said Houston, shaking
hands with his friend, "but really, you and Lyle had seemed so fond of
each other's society lately, that I thought perhaps it was to be your
destiny to rescue her from her unhappy fate."
"Well, as to each other's society," said Rutherford, very slowly, "of
late we have been restricted to that or none, for you and Miss Gladden
have been growing so unconscious of us, that we've had to console with
each other; but then, I understood how 'twas, for I've been there
myself, you know, and I'm ready to offer congratulations and all that
sort of thing, whenever they are in order."
Houston appeared very unconscious of Rutherford's meaning, as he
inquired, "How does Lyle herself regard your attentions? There must be
no trifling with her, I have too much regard for her myself, for
that."
"Miss Maverick is not a girl to be trifled with," replied Rutherford,
"I think a good deal of her, since I am better acquainted with her,
and respect her and she knows it, but I think she realizes the sort of
anomalous position that she occupies, and that is why I say I am sorry
for her. She is far too brilliant for her surroundings, and yet not
fitted for a much higher place."
"Not at present," replied Houston, "but with her natural endowments
and her innate delicacy and refinement, comparatively little training
and culture would be necessary to fit her for almost any position in
life."
"I wonder what will be her fate."
"Time will tell," replied Houston, who had his own plans.