Mr. Heath Talks of Becoming a Miner.
The next morning broke fair and beautiful.
Every trace of the storm had passed away, save that the dust was laid and
all nature looked fresher and brighter for the copious bath it had
received.
Virgie Abbot, despite her sleeplessness during the first half of the
night, was up at an early hour, superintending breakfast for her father
and their guest.
If she had been lovely the previous evening she was doubly so now in her
pretty flannel wrapper—for the mornings were chilly in that region, even
in the summer The wrapper was of a light blue tint, wonderfully becoming
to her delicate complexion, and harmonized well with her eyes and the
dainty pink in her cheeks.
Her face wore a brighter, more eager look, than was its wont, this
morning, and she was full of life and energy that was born of her youth
and sunny, hopeful temperament.
The incidents of the previous evening had been a pleasant break in her
hitherto monotonous life, and she was now looking forward, with no small
degree of interest, to meeting by daylight the handsome stranger who had
taken refuge with them.
During all the years that she had been in that rude place she had not seen
one real gentleman, excepting her father; they had never before
entertained a visitor, and there had been nothing but her reading and
studies, her drawing and fancy work, to vary the quiet, almost dull
uniformity of her existence.
Mr. Abbot himself looked brighter and better as he came out from his
chamber and gave Virgie his usual morning greeting and caress.
This visit had evidently done him good also, and Virgie took "heart of
grace" from the fact, and put aside, for the time at least, the anxious
fears that had so burdened her the night before.
Breakfast was served in the simple but clean and cheerful kitchen which
led from the parlor, while the small table, laid for three, had almost an
air of elegance, with its spotless cloth, its few pieces of silver, china,
and cut glass, relics of former glory, and the tiny vase of flowers, with
the dew and rain still on them, which Virgie had gathered from the edge of
the cliff near by.
Mr. Heath's glance expressed something of surprise as it swiftly took in
these appointments; but to him the fairest sight of all was the slim but
perfect figure of the young girl who sat at the head of the table, and
poured his coffee, and waited upon him with all the ease and
self-possession of one who had been long accustomed to the formalities and
etiquette of high life.
The young man wondered at it. There was no other woman in the house, nor
had been since they came there, for Mr. Abbot had mentioned that he lost
his wife more than six years ago; but this girl was a perfect little
hostess, and dainty, to the last degree, in her person. Her hands were
white and delicate, the pretty pink nails without a blemish; her hair
soft and silken, showing a careful wielding of the brush; her linen collar
and cuffs were immaculate, her handkerchief white as snow, and fine and
sheer, while everything about her bespoke lady-like refinement and a high
regard for nicety of toilet.
He could hardly keep his eyes off her, she was so fair a picture; but once
or twice she had looked up and caught his glance, flushed, and fearing to
embarrass her, he turned resolutely to his host and opened a subject upon
which he had been thinking quite, seriously.
"I understood you to say last evening, I believe, sir, that you were
desirous of disposing of your claim," he remarked.
"Yes; my health is too poor to admit of my working it any longer, and I
should be glad to dispose of it to the right person," Mr. Abbot replied.
"I think I know of some one who would like it, if it is still a promising
one," the young man said, but a conscious color flushed his cheek slightly
as he felt Virgie's eyes turned upon him.
"I honestly believe that it is richer to-day than when I began to work
it," Mr. Abbot asserted confidently. "However," he added, "I do not ask
you to take my word for it. If you know a party who would like to
purchase, tell him to bring an expert and examine for himself; and even
then if he is not satisfied to buy outright, he may work it upon shares
until he is convinced of its value."
"That is fair, I am sure," said Mr. Heath.
"Perhaps you would like to take a look at it before you go?" suggested
his host, who was eager to dispose of his property.
"I would, I assure you," was the reply; "but there is hardly time this
morning, for I feel that I must join my party immediately, else they will
be anxious regarding my safety. We are bound upon an excursion through the
northern portion of the State, and intend to be absent a week or more; but
after that, if you will permit me, I will return here and investigate
matters—that is, if you will give me the refusal of the claim until
then."
As the young man said this, his glance involuntarily wandered again to the
beautiful face of Virgie.
There must have been something magnetic in his gaze, for she raised her
white lids just then, and met the earnest, wistful look bent upon her.
A flush leaped to her cheek, and her violet eyes dropped instantly upon
her plate again, while her heart fluttered like a caged wild bird.
"I will gladly wait your time, Mr. Heath," Mr. Abbot responded, in a
satisfied tone. "I begin to think that your losing your way and falling to
our care last evening was providential."
"I have no doubt of it, sir," was the grave and reverent reply. "I believe
that all our ways are ordered for us; that everything is arranged for us
by an All-wise Power."
Something very like a sneer curled the almost colorless lips of his host
at this unexpected assertion.
Mr. Abbot was no believer in the individuality of God, and had spoken both
lightly and at random when he had referred to the young man's visit as
being providential.
"What do you mean by an All-wise Power?" he asked, skeptically.
"I mean God, sir."
"You believe there is a God, then?"
"Certainly; do you not?" and Mr. Heath's kind, grave eyes looked pityingly
into the haggard, sunken face before him.
They seemed almost to say, "If you have not this belief to comfort you,
with the hand of death laid upon your very heart, I grieve inexpressibly
for you."
"If there is, I imagine He must allow Satan to have the control of some of
our lives," was the evasive and bitter retort. "Virgie, Mr. Heath's cup is
empty."
But his face flushed and his hands trembled as he thus abruptly turned the
topic, showing how deeply the subject moved him; notwithstanding his
pretended unbelief.
"Thanks; no more coffee for me," Mr. Heath said, with a smile and a bow to
his young hostess, as she offered to replenish his cup; but he noticed
that there was a troubled, anxious look in her eyes as they rested upon
her father.
He made no reply to Mr. Abbot's remark, although he looked a trifle hurt.
He simply said, as he folded his napkin and pushed back his plate:
"I must ask you to excuse me and my lack of ceremony if I bid you good
morning, and take French leave. I feel that I ought to get on my way as
soon as possible; and believe me I am very grateful for your hospitality
and courtesy."
Virgie arose as he spoke, and like the true little lady that she was,
assured him that it had been a delight to entertain him, and she should
look forward with pleasure to his return.
He thanked her, shook hands warmly with her, and then left the house,
followed by Mr. Abbot, who watched him depart with a feeling of regret
such as he had not experienced over any one during all the years of his
exile.
Still he pleasantly anticipated his coming again, when he meant to make
him remain several days.
He had been strangely attracted toward him from the moment when he had
first heard his mellow, sympathetic tones, asking to be directed to a
place of shelter. He knew that he possessed a grand character, for he
carried the stamp of true nobility upon his frank, handsome face.
"That is a promising young man, Virgie," he said, as he returned to the
parlor after watching the horse and its rider disappear down the mountain.
"I should like to know where he came from, and more about him."
Virgie did not reply, but she turned away from the window where she, too,
had been watching the receding horseman, with a shy, sweet smile on her
red lips. William Heath's last glance had been for her, as he doffed his
hat and bowed low in his saddle when he turned down the road.
During all the week that followed her step was lighter and her face
brighter than its wont, and she went singing about the house to the
delight of her father, who was now at home all the day long, as he had
given up going to the mine.
Mr. Abbot had appeared very thoughtful after the departure of his young
guest, often falling into a profound reverie, in which he would sit for
hours.
Virgie often wondered what he could be thinking about, but she did not
feel like questioning him, lest he should refer again to the painful topic
of his leaving her.
One day, however, coming into the room suddenly, she saw her mother's
bible in his hands, and she was sure there were tears in his eyes. She
appeared not to notice either his employment or his emotion, but soon
stole softly away again, and went weeping up to her own room.
After that he busied himself with writing a great deal, and she felt sure
that he was making arrangements for her of which he had spoken on that
stormy evening. A great dread came over her at the thought of being left
alone in the world; and yet, in spite of all, she looked forward to the
return of Mr. Heath with more of pleasure and anticipation than she had
known for many a year.
Thus more than a week went by, and one afternoon Virgie, her father being
asleep and the house oppressively still, took her book and went out to a
little nook back of her cottage, where she was in the habit of going to
study, and where Chi Lu had built a rustic seat for her beneath a great
pine tree that grew out of a cleft in the mountain.
But she could not concentrate her thoughts upon the page before her; they
went roving after a coal black steed and its handsome rider, until finally
her book dropped from her hands, her eyes fixed themselves dreamily upon
the lofty, far-off peaks of the Humboldt Mountains, and she was lost to
time and place—everything save her own delightful musings.
So absorbed was she that she was not aware of the approach of any one
until a small but exquisitely arranged bouquet of mountain flowers were
laid upon the seat beside her, and a rich but well remembered voice said:
"Pardon me, Miss Abbot, for intruding upon your solitude, but Chi Lu told
me that Mr. Abbot was resting and could not be disturbed at present, and
that I should find you here."
Virginia sprang to her feet, the tint of the wild rose in her cheeks, her
violet eyes grown black with repressed excitement.
"Mr. Heath?" she cried, her scarlet lips parting in a bewildering smile.
"Yes; forgive me for having startled you so," he said, gently, then adding
with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "You were surely in a very brown
study."
"I am afraid I was," she returned, laughing. "But what lovely flowers!"
she continued, taking them up and bending to inhale their fragrance. "How
kind of you to gather them for me."
The young man's eyes lingered about her in a delighted gaze, for she made
the fairest picture imaginable standing there in her soft gray dress with
its collar and cuffs of black velvet, a knot of scarlet ribbon at her
throat, the brilliant flowers in her hands, and a fleecy white shawl
wrapped about her shoulders. Her shining hair was gathered into a satiny
brown coil at the back of her head and pinned with a silver arrow, while a
few naturally curling locks lay lightly on her forehead. The dark,
moss-grown rock was behind her; the softly waving plumy boughs of the
pine tree above her, a carpet of tender green beneath her feet.
"You are still trembling from the shock that I have given you," he said in
a tone of self-reproach, and noticing how the flowers quivered in her
grasp, "pray, pardon me and give me a handshake of welcome, or I shall
almost regret that I came."
She looked up frankly into his dark eyes, and laid her small hand
unhesitatingly in his.
"You are very welcome, Mr. Heath," she said, "and I am sure that papa will
be very glad to see you."
William Heath smiled at her words.
He felt sure that she, too, was glad to see him—that his coming was a
pleasant break in the monotony of her life; her varying color, the bright,
happy gleam of her eyes told him this.
Her wonderful beauty, so out of place in that wild region, thrilled him
strangely. Her queenly manner, her delicacy and refinement astonished him,
and he wondered more and more what mysterious circumstances could have
combined to drive two such cultivated people so far from civilization to
hide themselves in the rugged fastnesses of those dreary mountains.