Mr. Blaisdell having returned to the city that same day, everything
went forward in the same regular routine as prior to Houston's
absence, and evening found the four friends seated on the summit of an
immense rocky pile, watching the grand and rugged scenery surrounding
them illumined by the glowing colors of the sunset sky. They had been
talking of Rutherford's intended trip to the coast, when Miss Gladden
said:
"Mr. Houston, how early can you join us to-morrow afternoon? We are
going to have a little picnic party of four, in honor of your return,
and also to give Mr. Rutherford pleasant memories of his last days
among the mountains."
"Oh," said Rutherford, "now I understand; I've wondered what you
ladies were so mysterious about all day; you've been holding secret
sessions and making cabalistical signs to each other all the
afternoon. Well, as this picnic is partly on my account, I'm sure I
feel flattered and shall be delighted to attend. Houston, old boy,
when can we look for you?"
"I think, considering the importance of the occasion, I can be ready
to join you at three o'clock," replied Houston, while the ladies
expressed their approval.
"There seems to have been a great deal of mysterious consultation
about this affair," remarked Rutherford, "what is the program for
to-morrow?"
"Well," said Miss Gladden, "for one thing, we must have plenty of
music; have neither of you gentlemen any musical instruments with
you?"
"Not I," replied Houston, while Rutherford answered, laughing, "I have
a banjo that I brought along to amuse myself with in case I got
lonesome, but I've had no use for it so far, I've had such good
company here."
"A very graceful compliment, thank you," said Miss Gladden, smiling,
"but bring the banjo by all means, we will have use for it to-morrow,
and I have just thought of something else for the occasion,--but I'm
not going to divulge all my plans, we must keep something for a
surprise, mustn't we, Lyle?"
Lyle laughed merrily; "I'm not going to tell a single plan of mine;
you will all find when we reach the place, what a mountain picnic
means."
"But can we not even know where we are going?" asked Rutherford, with
a tragic air.
"You would not know if I should tell you," responded Lyle, "we are
going to Sunset Park."
"Sunset Park!" they exclaimed, "where is that?"
"Is it in any way connected with the Sunrise mine of recent fame?"
inquired Houston.
"No," replied Lyle, "it is across the lake; you remember the landing I
showed you among the rocks? You follow the broad trail leading up the
mountains, and you will come to a beautiful plateau on the west side,
as level as a floor,--but I'm not going to tell you about it, you must
first see it for yourselves."
The next morning, immediately after breakfast, while Houston still
stood talking with Miss Gladden and Rutherford, the graceful form of
Lyle suddenly darted past them, her face nearly concealed by an
enormous sunbonnet.
"Lyle, you gypsy, where are you going?" called Miss Gladden.
For answer, she turned and waved her hand with a merry laugh, then
ran, fleet-footed as a deer, to the edge of the lake, and unfastening
one of the little boats, was in it and rowing out upon the lake as
dextrously as a professional oarsman, before those watching her could
even guess her intentions.
"Great Cæsar! but that girl can row!" exclaimed Rutherford, with all
the enthusiastic admiration of a newly graduated collegian.
"Where is the child going?" asked Houston.
"Probably to the picnic ground," said Miss Gladden, "but what for, I
cannot imagine."
The sunbonnet was waved saucily in the air, and then instead of
steering for the landing place as they expected, the boat suddenly
disappeared around a corner of the rocks, in the opposite direction,
while there came ringing out on the air, in mocking tones, the words
of the old song:
"I saw the boat go 'round the bend."
No one saw Lyle when she returned, a couple of hours later, and not
even Miss Gladden knew that she was in the house until she made her
appearance at the dinner table, with a very demure face, exceedingly
pink fingers, and wearing an air of deep mystery that no amount of
joking could diminish.
After dinner, Lyle made two or three trips across the lake, carrying
mysterious baskets and dishes. In one of these journeys she was
intercepted by Miss Gladden, who was lying in wait for her, and who,
tempted by the delightful aroma, lifted the cover of one of her
dishes.
"Strawberries!" she exclaimed, "and wild ones! Where did you get them,
Lyle? They are the first I have seen out here."
"They are the first that have ripened," she replied, "I went over to
the gulch for them this morning, but don't say anything about them,"
she added, as she stepped into the boat with her treasures, "I'm going
to cache them until they are needed."
"Going to do what?" said Miss Gladden.
"Going to 'cache' them, hide them away among the rocks," she replied
laughing, and, taking the oars, she was soon speeding across the
lake.
It was a merry party that started out two or three hours later.
Houston carried the banjo, as Rutherford had his precious camera and a
lot of plates, having declared his intention of immortalizing the
occasion by taking a number of views for the benefit of their
posterity. Miss Gladden had her guitar, and to the great astonishment
of the gentlemen, Lyle appeared, carrying a fine old violin. It was
Mike's, which she had borrowed for the occasion at the suggestion of
Miss Gladden, and in reply to the expressions of wonder from the
gentlemen, Miss Gladden said:
"This is the surprise I planned for you, but wait till you have heard
her; I never heard her myself until a day or two ago."
With song and laughter they crossed the lake, and having reached the
landing place among the rocks and fastened their boats, proceeded up
the mountain. Here they found a flight of natural stone steps, at the
head of which a broad trail wound around the mountain, until, having
passed a huge, shelving rock, they suddenly found themselves on a
plateau, broad, grassy, and, as Lyle had said, "as level as a floor."
Groups of large evergreens afforded a refreshing shade. Underneath the
trees an immense, flat rock, covered with a snowy table-cloth and
trimmed with vines and flowers, gave hint of some of the more
substantial pleasures to be looked for later. At a distance gleamed
the silvery cascades, their rainbow-tinted spray rising in a perpetual
cloud of beauty. Far below could be seen the winding, canyon road,
while above and beyond, on all sides, the mountains reared their
glistening crests against the sky.
For a time they gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the scene,
till, at Miss Gladden's suggestion, the tuning of the various
instruments began, interspersed with jokes and merry, rippling
laughter. Amidst the general merriment, Houston, with an air of great
gravity, produced from his pocket the different parts of a flute,
which he proceeded to fit together, saying:
"When you were speaking last evening about the music for to-day I had
entirely forgotten the existence of this flute, but after we went to
our room, Ned persisted in practicing on that unmusical instrument of
his, and in searching in my trunk for a weapon of self defense, I
found this, and it answered my purpose so well then, I brought it with
me to-day."
The music was a success, and it seemed as though the musicians would
never grow weary, but when, at Miss Gladden's request, Lyle sang
"Kathleen Mavourneen," her sweet, rich tones blending with the wild,
plaintive notes of the violin, her listeners again seemed entranced by
the witchery of the music, as on the night when first they heard her
sing, and were only aroused by the sound of hearty, prolonged cheering
from the canyon below.
Looking over the edge of the plateau, they discovered a party of about
a dozen people, in a wagon drawn by six horses, who had stopped to
listen to the music, and give their panting animals a chance to rest.
Behind them was a line of three or four pack mules, laden with tents,
cooking utensils and bedding.
"A camping party!" exclaimed Lyle, "the first of the season; they are
on their way to Strawberry gulch."
On catching sight of the group above on the plateau, the ladies below
began waving their handkerchiefs, and the gentlemen were loud in their
cheers and calls for more music.
"Give them another song, Miss Maverick," said Rutherford, "that is a
decided encore."
Once more raising her violin, Lyle sang "The Maid of Dundee," and
never did song or singer meet with nobler applause, for the cheers
from below in the canyon were joined with those from above on the
plateau, and were echoed and re-echoed among the rocks, the last
reverberations dying away and mingling with the roar of the distant
cascades.
As the camping party seemed in no haste to continue their journey,
Miss Gladden with the gentlemen then came forward to the edge of the
plateau, and all joined in singing a few familiar songs, some of them
accompanied by the guitar and the violin, after which, the party in
the canyon, with much waving of hats and handkerchiefs, and many
cheers in token of their appreciation, passed on their way.
After this little episode, a gypsy fire was kindled, and in a short
time the rock table was spread with a dainty feast; chicken
sandwiches, mountain trout, which Lyle had caught in the morning,
delicately broiled, and the sweet, wild strawberries served in various
ways, all equally tempting and delicious. After the feast, Houston
proved himself an adept upon the violin, and he and Rutherford gave a
number of college songs, and old plantation songs and dances,
accompanied by the violin and banjo.
At last, as the long, gray twilight was slowly deepening, and the
stars silently marshaling their forces in the evening sky, the two
boats drifted across the lake, only guided, not propelled, by the
oars, and the air, for a while, was filled with song. As they slowly
approached the shore, however, the singing gradually ceased. For a
while Rutherford talked of the coming of his brother; then he and Lyle
were silent, but from the other boat, at a little distance, came low,
murmuring tones. They had just entered upon the first pages of that
beautiful story, old as eternity itself, and as enduring; the only one
of earth's stories upon whose closing page, as we gaze with eyes dim
with the approaching shadows of death, we find no "finis" written, for
it is to be continued in the shadowless life beyond.
Rutherford was thinking of some one far away, under European skies,
and wishing that she were present with him there, to make his
happiness complete.
And Lyle, with that face of wondrous beauty, yet calm and inscrutable
as that of the sphinx, had any power as yet passed over the hidden
depths of her woman's nature, and troubled the waters? Were those
eyes, with their far-away look, gazing into the past with its strange
darkness and mystery, or striving to pierce the dim, impenetrable veil
of the future? No one could say; perhaps she herself was scarcely
conscious, but as they landed, Miss Gladden noted the new expression
dawning in her eyes, and as the friends and lovers separated for the
night, each one avowing that day to have been one of the most
delightful of their whole lives, she wound her arm about Lyle in
sisterly fashion, and drew her into her own room. Lyle, as was her
custom, dropped upon a low seat beside her friend, but was silent.
"Are you looking backward or forward, to-night, Lyle?" asked Miss
Gladden, taking the lovely face in both her hands, and gazing into the
beautiful eyes.
Lyle's color deepened slightly, as she replied:
"I hardly know; it seems sometimes as if I were looking into an
altogether different life from this, a different world from that in
which I have lived."
"How so, my dear?" inquired her friend.
"I scarcely know how to describe it myself," she replied; then asked
abruptly, "Miss Gladden, do you believe we have ever had an existence
prior to this? that we have lived on earth before, only amid different
surroundings?"
"No," answered Miss Gladden, "I can see no reason for such a belief as
that; but why do you ask?"
"Only because it seems sometimes as if that were the only way in which
I could account for some of my strange impressions and feelings."
"Tell me about them," said Miss Gladden, interested.
"They are so vague," Lyle replied, "I hardly know how to describe
them, but I have always felt them, more or less. When I read of life
amid scenes of refinement and beauty, there is always an indefinable
sense of familiarity about it all; and since you and Mr. Houston have
been here, and I have lived such a different life,--especially since
we have sung together so much,--the impression is much more vivid
than before; even the music seems familiar, as if I had heard it all,
or something like it, long ago, and yet it is utterly impossible,
living the life I have. It must have been only in my dreams, those
strange dreams I used to have so often, and which come to me even
now."
"And what are these dreams, dear? You have never before spoken to me
of them."
"No," Lyle answered, "I have never spoken of them to any one; they
have always been rather vague and indefinite, like the rest of my
strange impressions and fancies; only they are all alike, it is almost
precisely the same dream, no matter when it comes to me. There is only
one feature that is very clear or distinct, and that is a beautiful
face that is always bending over me, and always seems full of love and
tenderness. Sometimes there are other faces in the background, but
they are confused and indistinct,--I can only recall this one that is
so beautiful. Then there is always a general sense of light and
beauty, and sometimes I seem to hear music; and then it is all
suddenly succeeded by an indescribable terror, in which the face
vanishes, and from which I awake trembling with fright."
"And you say you have had this dream always?" queried Miss Gladden.
"Yes, ever since I could remember. I don't seem to be able to recall
much about my early childhood, before I was five or six years old, but
these dreams are among my earliest recollections, and I would
sometimes awake crying with fright. After I met Jack, and he began
teaching me, my mind was so taken up with study, that the dreams
became less frequent, and for the last two or three years, I had
almost forgotten them, till something seemed to recall them, and now
it occurs often, especially after we have had an evening of song. I
know I shall see that beautiful face to-night."
"But whose face is it, Lyle?" questioned Miss Gladden; "surely, it
must resemble some one you have seen."
Lyle shook her head; "I have never seen any living person whom it
resembled. That, together with all these strange impressions of which
I have told you, is what seems so mysterious, and leads me to half
believe I have lived another life, sometime, somewhere."
Miss Gladden sat silently caressing the golden head. Her suspicions
that Lyle had had other parents than those whom she knew as such, were
almost confirmed, but would it be best, with no tangible proof, to
hint such a thought to Lyle herself? While she was thus musing, Lyle
continued:
"What seemed to me strangest of all, is, that though I cannot remember
ever seeing a living face like the one in my dream, I have seen what I
believe is a photograph of it."
"When? and where?" asked Miss Gladden quickly, hoping to find some key
to the problem she was trying to solve.
"A few weeks after your coming, and at Jack's cabin," Lyle replied.
"Did Jack show you the picture?"
"No, I do not know that he intended me to see it, but it was lying on
the table that evening; I took it up and looked at it, but he did not
seem to want to talk about it. I have never seen it since, and he told
me that until that evening, he had not seen it for a long time."
"And did you recognize it as the face of your dreams?"
"Not then; it seemed familiar, but it was not until after I reached
home that I remembered my dream, and from that time, the dream
returned. I see the face often now, and it is just like the picture,
only possibly a little older and sweeter."
"And you have never spoken to Jack about the picture since?"
"No, for I have not seen it, and he has never alluded to it. He
admitted that evening it was the picture of some one he had loved
dearly, and I have since thought perhaps he would rather I had not
seen it."
Miss Gladden was silent; her old theory regarding Jack's being the
father of Lyle, seemed to her now more probable than ever. She
believed the picture to be that of Lyle's own mother, who, it seemed
evident, had lived long enough that her child remembered her in her
dreams, though unable to recall her face at other times.
Very tenderly she bade Lyle good-night, determined that her next call
at the little cabin should be made as early as possible.