THE HAND OF FATE
For a few days Winn Hardy was the busiest man on Rockhaven. What with
setting up the steam drill that had been sent him, finding a man to work
it, adjusting the derricks, and laying out work for the dozen men Jess
had secured, he had no more time than occasionally to think of who the
mysterious violin-playing maid might be. He arose early, worked late,
and evenings wrote his firm a detailed statement of his progress, or
discussed matters with Jess at the store. By tacit consent that had
become a sort of office for the Rockhaven Granite Company, and evening
lounging place for not only the men who were at work for Winn, but
others interested in the new enterprise, and, in fact, all who were not
away on fishing trips.
Here, also, Winn met the Rev. Jason Bush, a worthy, if attenuated,
parson and pedagogue, who had so astonished Winn that first Sunday and
who seemed more interested than any one else in the quarry. It was all
the more pleasant experience to Winn, thus to feel that he was bringing
a business blessing to these hard-working and needy people, and the
barometer of his hopes and spirits was at top notch when Friday came and
with it funds from the firm to pay the men. He felt, indeed, that his
mission was bearing excellent fruit.
Then, too, he received a letter of praise from his employers,
congratulating him on the progress he was making, and reminding him
that, as soon as advisable, he should endeavor to interest those who had
means and induce them to invest in Rockhaven stock. It was all right, of
course, and a part of his mission there; and Winn, guileless of the
cloven hoof hidden beneath it, assured himself that he must carry out
their wishes as soon as possible.
It was while speculating on this part of his duty the next afternoon,
and wondering who except Jess was likely to have money to invest in this
stock, that he felt an unaccountable impulse to visit the gorge again
and at once. It was as if some invisible voice was calling him and must
be answered, and yet he could not explain what it was and how his
thought, at that particular moment, had turned to this spot. He was not
a believer in fate; he was just an ambitious and practical young man,
with good common sense and wholesome ideas, and though a little
embittered by the treatment he had received at the hands of Ethel
Sherman and not likely to fall in love easily with another girl, yet he
was the last person who would admit that fate was playing, or would
play, any part in his movements, as it did; and more than that, it led
him that balmy June afternoon, when the sea and sky were in perfect
accord, to the gorge and to the very spot where, ten days before, he had
been mystified. And now he was more so, for not only did he hear the
same low, sweet strains mingling with the ocean's murmur, but he began
to realize that some invisible influence, quite beyond his
understanding, had brought him hither. What it was he could not tell, or
where, or from whence it came, only that he felt it and obeyed.
And so forcibly did this uncanny sense of helplessness oppress him, that
the weird strains of music, issuing from the rocks below, seemed ten
times more so. For one instant he could not help feeling almost scared,
and thought it well to pinch himself to see if he were awake, and the
music and his presence there not a dream. Then he sat down. Surely, if
it were a dream, it was a most exquisite one, for away to the eastward
and all around, a half-circle, the boundless ocean, with here and there
a white-winged vessel, and white-crested waves flashing in the
sunlight, lay before; while beneath him and sloping V-shaped a hundred
feet below, and to where the billows leaped over the weed-clad rocks,
lay this chasm. Back of him, and casting their conical shadows over the
chaos of boulders in the gorge, was a thicket of spruce, and to add a
touch of heaven to this desolate but grand vision, the faint whisper of
music mingling with the monotone of the waves and the sighing of winds
in the spruces.
And then the wonder of it all, and what a romantic and singular fancy of
this fisher maid to thus hide herself where only the mermaids of old
might have come to sing sad ditties while they combed their sea-green
tresses. That it was Mona Hutton he felt almost certain, and his first
impulse was to descend into the chasm at once and surprise her. Then he
thought, if perchance it were not, would that be the act of a gentleman?
Doubtless whoever it was had come there to find seclusion, and for him
to thus intrude would certainly be rude. The next thought, and the one
he acted upon, was to go back a little of the way he came, hide himself,
and, when she appeared, advance to meet her. The way to the village was
over a rounded hill a full mile in length, with scattered clusters of
bayberry bushes between. Back over this a hundred rods Winn retreated,
and not thinking how his presence there would affect this unknown girl,
hid himself behind a rock. He had not long to wait, and soon saw the
same lithe figure, and under her arm the same bundle, emerge from the
gorge, and, as she advanced rapidly, saw that it was Mona. Still
unthinking, he stepped out into view and forward to meet her. In one
instant he saw her halt, turn back a step, then around, facing him, and
stand still; and as he neared her and she saw who it was, she sank to
the earth. Then, as he reached her side and saw her, half reclining
against a small ledge, and looking up at him, her face and lips ashen
white, he realized for the first time what a foolish thing he had done.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Hutton," he said earnestly, and removing his
hat on the instant, "I see that I have scared you half to death and I am
sorry; I didn't mean to."
And as she sat up, still looking at him with pitiful eyes, a realizing
sense of his own idiotic action came to him, and he told her, a little
incoherently, perhaps, but truthfully how he had come there both days,
and for what reason.
Frankness is said to be a virtue, and in this case it was more, for it
saved the reputation of Winn Hardy as a man of honor and a gentleman,
in the eyes of Mona Hutton.
"Yes, I was frightened," she said at last, in response to his repeated
plea for forgiveness, after he had told her his story, "and I almost
fainted. It is foolish of me to go there, I know, for mother has told me
it is not safe."
Then as she picked up the green bag that had fallen at her feet and
started to rise once more, Winn's wits came to his rescue, and in an
instant he grasped her hand and arm and almost lifted her to her feet.
"I shall never forgive myself for this day's stupidity," he said, "but I
have wondered a hundred times since that day who on earth it could be
that hid herself in that forbidding spot. I heard you play only one air
then, and that the sweetest ever composed by mortal man. I have heard it
many, many times, but never once when it reached my heart as it did that
day. What blind intuition brought me here I cannot say; but some impulse
did, and if you will believe what I say and that your playing has
wrought a spell over me, I shall be grateful."
To simple and utterly unsophisticated Mona Hutton words like these were
as new as life to a babe, and while she could not and did not believe he
meant them all, as uttered, nevertheless they were sweet to her. It is
likely, also, they were colored by the plight Winn found himself in and
his desire to set himself right in the eyes of Mona.
"I do not know why it is," she responded, "but when I go there I seem to
enjoy my practice better, and then I feel that no one can hear me.
Mother says that no one will ever want to," she added naively.
Winn smiled.
"But I want to," he said, "I want to go there with you some day and hear
you play 'Annie Laurie' again; will you let me?"
"I won't promise," she replied, and perhaps mindful of her mother's
opinion added: "Mother doesn't approve of my playing a fiddle. She says
it's not graceful."
This time Winn laughed. "I don't believe you could do anything and not
be graceful," he said. "As for that, I have seen Camilla Urso playing
one before an audience of thousands, and no one thought her ungraceful."
"Who is Camilla Urso?" asked Mona.
"She was a wonderful violinist," answered Winn, "and charmed the whole
world, years ago. If you will let me come to this spot with you, I will
tell you all about her."
Mona turned her face away.
"I don't go there very often," she replied evasively; "and if you have
heard such wonderful playing, I wouldn't dare let you hear me. I don't
know anything except what Uncle Jess has taught me." Then as she started
onward she added, "You must ask him to play for you some time; he knows
how."
"But it is you I want to hear," Winn asserted, and then, as an intuition
came to him, he added: "I think it best you go on home alone, Miss
Hutton; it might cause comment if we go on together. I passed a most
delightful hour with you and your mother last Sunday evening, and, with
your permission, I shall repeat it."
And then, having delivered this polite speech, so utterly unlike what
Mona was accustomed to hear, he raised his hat and turned away.
On the brink of the gorge he halted, and, turning again, watched her
rapidly nearing the top of the hill. Reaching its crest, she faced about
and looked back.