A Mountain Ramble.
"You were reading," he remarked, stooping to pick up the book that had
fallen to the ground as she arose. "Tacitus!" he added, in a tone of
astonishment, as his eye fell upon the title page.
"Yes, I am reviewing; papa likes me to study a little every day, still,"
Virgie returned, quietly, while she examined her flowers with a critical
eye, and wondered that a gentleman could have arranged them so well.
He must be an artist, she thought, for no one save an artist, or a lover
of art, could have taken such pains to harmonize colors like that.
"I should suppose you would labor under serious difficulties in trying to
pursue your studies in such a place as this," Mr. Heath remarked.
"Oh, no, papa is a fine scholar, and he makes a most delightful teacher."
"And have you pursued a regular course under him?"
"Yes, partly. I left school when I was fifteen, but I have kept right on
the same as I should have done if I had remained, and I graduated two
years ago," she concluded, smiling archly at the idea of graduating in
that wild country.
"And with high honors, of course," said her companion in the same vein.
"Certainly; with all the honors, since there was no one to compete with
me or to bear away the palm from me. But, Mr. Heath, you must be both
weary and hungry after your ride over the mountains; come in, and let me
get you a lunch," Virgie concluded, on hospitable thoughts intent.
"No, indeed, thank you; I will eat nothing until tea time, when, if you
will permit me, I will gladly join you. I should much prefer to sit here
and enjoy this magnificent view with you to going indoors."
He seated himself, as he spoke, upon the rustic seat, and Virgie,
following his example, they fell into a pleasant chat, which lasted more
than an hour.
Virgie never forgot that delicious hour, neither did her companion, who
was every moment growing more deeply interested in the beautiful mountain
maiden.
He talked upon many themes, and was surprised to find how fluently she
could converse with him, showing how much and how thoroughly she had read,
and how wisely and carefully her father had superintended her education.
She was far above the average woman in point of intellect and culture, he
told himself and it was a pity that her life should be wasted in that
wretched place.
But they were at length interrupted by Chi Lu, who came to tell them that
Mr. Abbot was awake, and had asked for them.
They immediately arose to go to him, and found him sitting upon the tiny
porch in front of the cottage.
He was looking thinner and more worn, Mr. Heath thought, than when he had
last seen him, and his cough was far from troublesome, even though the
weather was milder. It was evident, to him, at least, that the man was in
the last stages of consumption, and could not live many months, if weeks,
although, as the weather grew warmer, he might rally somewhat.
He greeted the young man warmly, and made many inquiries regarding his
trip and the success which he and his party had met with in their sport.
"Very good," Mr. Heath told him, adding, "And now my friends have gone to
Salt Lake City, while I have retraced my steps hither to talk with you
about that claim of yours."
Virgie looked up quickly at this, a lovely flush rising to her cheek. If
only he would become its purchaser.
The eyes of the two young people met, and held each other in a glance that
sent the blood coursing more rapidly than usual through their veins.
Mr. Abbot's face, brightened.
"Then you still think that you know some one who will purchase it?" he
said, eagerly.
"Yes, sir—if—if it proves all that you have described it, I think I may
like to buy it myself," Mr. Heath answered quietly, but with rising color.
"You! you don't look like a person who would care to take to mining for a
living," returned his host, in a surprised tone.
"I might say the same of you, sir," said the young man, smiling.
Mr. Abbot flushed, and for a moment appeared considerably agitated and
unable to speak.
Then he said, with something of hauteur in his manner:
"Sometimes a person is compelled by circumstances, over which he has no
control, to adopt a pursuit, which under other conditions he would shun as
both unfitting and obnoxious."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Abbot," Mr. Heath hastened to say, in a
deprecatory tone. "I had no intention of calling to mind anything of an
unpleasant nature; my reply was lightly and thoughtlessly given. However,
I have always had a desire to see something of mining, and although I may
not attempt to work at it myself, I think I should like to own a claim."
"Very well; then to-morrow I will show you over the premises; and explain
all that you may wish to know; perhaps, though you may not be quite so
much in favor of a miner's life when you come to realize the difficulties
attending it."
Chi Lu now interrupted with the information that tea was ready, and Mr.
Abbot repeated the invitation that Virgie had already given to their new
friend, insisting further, that he should remain their guest until he
should decide regarding the purchase of the claim.
Upon being assured that it would inconvenience the household in no way, he
consented, nothing loath at the prospect of being allowed to bask in
Virgie's presence, and to have an opportunity to study her character more
fully.
After tea, which was really a dainty meal, far better and more acceptably
served than any the young traveler had eaten since leaving San Francisco
three weeks previous, Mr. Heath, seeing that Mr. Abbot was weary and more
inclined to rest upon the lounge than to converse, asked Virgie if she
would allow him to be her escort and go out for a ramble.
The young girl flushed with pleasure at the request, and cordially
assented.
She wrapped her fleecy shawl once more about her shoulders, and tying a
dainty hat—which Chi Lu's skillful fingers had woven from mountain
grasses, and her own fair hands had trimmed—upon her pretty brown head,
they sauntered forth.
The sun had gone down, but the western sky was all ablaze with crimson and
orange, which gradually faded into soft purple and deeper blue in the
upper sky. There were mountains all about them, some darkly green with
fir, spruce, and pine, others of brighter and tenderer tints in their
dress of oak, maple, and birch, while here and there arose one bald and
gray, all of solid rock, with now and then a patch of moss clinging to its
time worn sides, but giving variety to the scene and enhancing by contrast
the whole picture.
"Where would you like to go?" Virgie asked, as they passed out of the
little gate into the rough road.
"Wherever you will take me," Mr. Heath replied, as he looked smilingly
down into the beautiful face upraised to his.
"Then I will take you up to the Bare Ledge; the finest view can be
obtained from there," the girl replied as she moved on to hide the blush
which his look had called to her face.
It moved her strangely whenever she met the gaze of the grand man, for
grand her soul told her he was, with that magnificent head, that
intelligent face, and that quiet, yet high-bred dignity of manner which
she had never seen in any other save her father.
"The Bear Ledge?" repeated Mr. Heath. "Why is it called that? Is it
haunted by wild beasts? If it is, I shall certainly object to your going
there."
"Oh, no; it is not that kind of a bear at all," laughed Virgie, the
silver ripple of amusement breaking like music upon the evening air. "It
is called so because it is a mass of rock entirely barren; nothing will
grow upon it; it seems to be the one spot in all this region that is
absolutely desolate, and yet from it you may view a world of beauty."
On they went up the mountain, conversing now upon one topic, now upon
another, yet both conscious of but one prominent fact—that they were
together, and supremely happy in each other's society.
At last, however, their climb was over, and following a rough path that
led along the side of the mountain for some distance, they at length came
out upon a broad ledge or table rock, which was indeed barren to
desolation.
But the vista that opened out before them was beautiful beyond
description.
Mountains everywhere—above, below, and on either hand; but between them
were fertile little valleys, with here and there glittering lakes with
tiny streamlets trickling into them, that seemed like silver brooches and
chains garnishing nature's emerald vestments.
The youthful couple stood wrapt in silence for several minutes, viewing
the varied landscape. To Virgie the scene was familiar as an oft-repeated
tale, and yet she was never weary of it. To her companion it was one of
the loveliest views that he had ever gazed upon, even though he had
visited many lands and climbed many a mountain.
"It is grand!" said Mr. Heath, at last.
"It is grand!" echoed Virgie, drawing in a deep breath of pure air, and
sweeping a delighted glance over all the fair scene.
"I thank you very much for bringing me here," her companion continued. "I
would hardly have believed there could be such an exquisite view in this
region; my disagreeable ride, when I came here before, rather prejudiced
me against the locality. Do you come here often?"
"I used to, before papa's health failed him," Virgie answered, with a
regretful sigh, as she remembered how little her father had been able to
go about of late. "We used to come here almost every Sabbath in fine
weather, with our books and papers, and spend half the day—it is all the
church we have had—and I shall always love the spot."
"No doubt you do, and yet——"
Virgie looked up inquiringly as he paused abruptly.
"I was thinking," he continued, in reply to her glance, "that this
mountain must be a wild and lonely place for one like you to spend your
life in."
"Yes, it is lonely," the young girl responded, with a wistful gleam in her
violent eyes.
"Have you lived here long, Miss Abbot?"
"Five years—a little more."
"So long? Surely you cannot have had much congenial society," Mr. Heath
remarked, as he contemplated with no favoring eye the rude hamlet far
below them on their right.
"None, save my father."
"And have you never been lonely, and yearned for youthful companionship?"
"Oh, yes, often," and the bright tears sprang quickly into Virgie's blue
eyes, as she thought of the nights she had wept herself to sleep from
sheer homesickness and a feeling of utter desolation. "But," she continued
more brightly, and winking rapidly to keep the tell-tale drops from
falling. "I can bear loneliness, or almost anything else, for my father's
sake."
"Poor child! brave little woman!" thought the man by her side, "it must
have been very much like being buried alive, and she has borne it like a
heroine; but she will not have to endure it much longer 'for her father.'
I wonder what will become of her when he is gone."
"Mr. Abbot seems very feeble," he said aloud, "do you not think a change
would be beneficial to him?"
"I—do not know," Virgie began wistfully; then added, more to herself than
to him, "Where could we go?"
"I would advise the sea-shore. I should think the salt air would do him
good. Santa Cruz, Monterey, or any of those places on the California
coast, would be both pleasant and healthful."
A startled look came into Virgie's eyes, and her face grew pale.
She had often been to Santa Cruz and Monterey, in the old delightful days
when her mother was living, where she had reigned like a little queen, and
they had all been so happy, with no suspicion of the black shadow that was
creeping upon them so surely.
"No, no, we could not go there; I—I do not believe that papa could be
persuaded to leave home," she faltered with evident nervousness and
embarrassment.
"There is a sad history and a secret here," said Mr. Heath to himself, and
he wondered more than ever what cruel misfortune could have driven these
people thus into exile.
"Has Mr. Abbot ever consulted a physician?" he asked.
"No; there is no physician near us. But papa understands something of
medicine himself," Virgie answered, sighing, for her heart was very heavy
whenever she thought of her father's condition, and it was evident to her
that Mr. Heath considered him to be in a very critical state.
He saw that it troubled her to talk about it, and resolved that he would
not refer to the subject again.
As they stood there the gorgeous tints faded out of the western sky, a
purplish haze settled over mountain and valley, like a gauzy vail
softening all their outlines, and a mist was beginning to rise from the
depths below.
"The dew is falling, Miss Abbot. I fear you will take cold in this
dampness. Shall I take you back now?" Mr. Heath asked.
"Yes. I think it will be hardly safe for us to linger longer," she
replied. "But, Mr. Heath, be careful as you go down; the path is not
altogether safe."
The young man laughed lightly.
"I have scaled greater heights, climbed steeper and more rugged paths than
these, Miss Abbot," he said. "The Alps, the Pyrenees, the Caucasus, are
all familiar ground, and this is but child's play compared with them."
"Oh, then you have been in Europe?" Virgie cried, with animation.
"Yes, in almost every portion of it," he answered, watching her kindly
face with admiration.
"How favored you are," she sighed wistfully. "I have longed with a mighty
longing to visit foreign lands."
"Have you? Perhaps some time your wish may be gratified. I hope it may
be," he returned, in an earnest tone. "Now give me your hand, and let me
assist you down this slippery path."
"No, no. Please care for yourself, Mr. Heath, and let me follow you," the
young girl pleaded. "I know every step of the way, and it is all strange
to you."
But he stood still in the way, with his hand outstretched to her, resolute
yet smiling. He would not yield his point, and without another word she
laid her own within his, and together they went down the mountain path, he
guiding her steps as carefully as if she had never been over the ground
before, and she finding it very pleasant to be so shielded and attended.
When they reached more level ground he drew the hand he held within his
arm, and they slowly wended their way back in the gloaming to the cottage,
Virgie feeling strangely light-hearted and happy, and almost as if a new
and beautiful life was about opening before her, while William Heath, with
a twinkle of amusement in his fine eyes, wondered what his aristocratic
mother and sister would say; what another brilliantly beautiful woman
would think to see him thus playing the devoted cavalier to this simple
and unpretending mountain maiden whom he thought so lovely.
He had at that moment in his pocket, letters from two of them, begging him
to "quit his wanderings," to "come home and settle down to the real
business of life. The property needed his care, and—Sadie had not been
like herself since his departure."
These words came to him now, but they did not change in the least the
purposes that were taking root in his mind—the determination to remain in
that isolated hamlet as long as <i>Virginia Abbot's father should live</i>.