AN APPARITION
THE next morning Frieda received a message from her brother-in-law
asking her to give him half an hour of her time, whenever it was
convenient to her.
In a way she had anticipated this request, although it had come sooner
than she expected. Frieda knew that Frank was fond of her and regarded
himself as her brother. She had no other. Also, she held a wise idea
inside her blonde head, believing that men were apt to stand together in
many difficulties of the kind in which she and her husband were now
involved.
However, Frieda did not, of course, anticipate the news of her husband's
having immediately followed her to Europe. She had not written to him or
to any friend in Chicago since her sudden departure. But she had made up
her mind that the last interview between herself and Henry was their
final one. There could be no reason for their ever meeting again. She
supposed, of course, that there were certain matters that would have to
be arranged in the future, but Frieda was not given to troubling herself
over details. Someone else had always attended to such things for her,
in order that she might have her way. Later, Jim Colter, or Frank, or a
lawyer--Frieda was entirely vague as to the method to be employed--would
have to see that she was released from the cause of her unhappiness.
For since arriving at Jack's house not thirty-six hours before, Frieda
had been happier than she had for several months. Therefore, during the
night she had decided for the hundredth time, that her husband must be
the sole cause of all the upsetting emotions which had been recently
troubling her. So soon as she could learn to forget Henry and put the
recollection of him entirely out of her mind, she would again become the
perfectly care free and irresponsible Frieda of the old days at the
Rainbow Ranch.
As she was not fond of getting up in the mornings and usually did pretty
much what she liked in her sister's house, Frieda had not gone down to
breakfast. However, she sent word to her brother-in-law that she would
be glad to see him in her own sitting room between eleven and twelve
o'clock.
Whether it was done intentionally or not, Frieda put on a frock in which
she looked particularly young. It was a simple white muslin, with sprays
of blue flowers and folded kerchief fashion across Frieda's white
throat. Nothing could really make Frieda appear demure; her lips were
too full and crimson; her nose was too retrousee and her hair held too
much pure sunlight. But she could look very innocent and much abused,
and this was the impression she subconsciously wished to make. One must
not believe that Frieda actually thought out matters of this kind, but
she was one of the women who acted on what is supposed to be feminine
instinct.
Frank thought Frieda looked about sixteen instead of twenty-two when he
arrived to talk matters over with her. So at once it struck him as
absurd that he was forced to discuss so serious a question as leaving
her husband with a mere child like Frieda. Instead of argument Frank
began with persuasion. First he invited Frieda to tell her side of the
story, which he had heard in part from Jack. Although he had said at the
time of his wife's confidence, that Frieda had not made much of a case
for herself, on hearing her story from Frieda's own lips he offered no
such criticism.
When Frieda ended she was crying, so that Frank sympathetically took her
hand to console her as any other man would. Then, while holding her
hand, he attempted a mild argument in favor of the Professor, finally
concluding:
"Frieda, your husband is coming to Kent House some time this afternoon.
Since it is really your duty to see him and talk over the
misunderstanding between you, I feel sure you will."
Nevertheless, Frieda gently but obstinately shook her head.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Frank, and Jack too, if she really feels
as you do, but I never mean to see Henry again."
However, until lunch time Frank remained in the blue sitting room
discussing the foolishness of her position with Frieda; afterwards he
felt that he had never presented any subject so skillfully in his career
as a member of Parliament, as he argued her own case with his
sister-in-law. Frieda never questioned him, never contradicted him, only
she continued to shake her head and to repeat gently, "I'm sorry, Frank,
but I can't."
Several times Lord Kent attempted severity because his severity usually
influenced most people. It influenced Frieda, but only to such an
outburst of tears, that he was forced to spend the next five minutes in
apologizing in order to comfort her.
At one o'clock Jack, appearing at the door, immediately recognized the
situation. Both Frank and Frieda appeared exhausted. Frieda announced
that she would not come to lunch, but would prefer to lie down all the
afternoon. As a matter of fact the possibility that her husband might
make his appearance at Kent House was the real reason which kept Frieda
in her own room, although offering the excuse of a headache.
Therefore, about four o'clock, when Professor Henry Tilford Russell
finally did arrive, he was able to see only Lord and Lady Kent, his
brother-in-law and sister-in-law.
Personally, Jack was uncertain how she should greet him. Of what actual
unkindness he was guilty of to Frieda she was not yet certain.
Nevertheless, the fact remaining that he had not made her little sister
happy filled Lady Kent with resentment and dislike. Certainly, Professor
Russell should have realized how much older he was than Frieda and not
expected her to conform to his dullness and routine.
As a matter of fact Jack also would have preferred not to have to come
in contact with her sister's husband until she understood the situation
between them more thoroughly. Yet, when Professor Russell was announced,
it was she who was forced to go first into the drawing room.
There must have been a delay of about five minutes since she had waited
that length of time for her husband, who chanced to have gone out to the
stables to give an order. Then, fearing to appear intentionally rude,
Jack approached their visitor alone.
He could not have heard her as she entered, for he was sitting in a
large chair with his head resting in his hand and looked so exhausted,
possibly from his trip, that Lady Kent forgot for the moment to be
angry. When he aroused himself and later held out his hand, she took it
at once, although a moment before she had not been sure whether she
ought, because of her own loyalty to Frieda.
"Is Frieda well? If you only realized the relief to find she is safe
here with you! At first I did not know where the child had gone,"
Professor Russell began so simply, that any human being would have been
disarmed.
It will be remembered, that in the last volume of the "Ranch Girls At
Home Again," Professor Russell is introduced to the Ranch girls by Ralph
Merritt, who told them of the Professor's intense dislike for girls. At
first he appeared to regard Frieda only as a child and therefore made an
exception of her. Then, later, after his accident at Rainbow Mine when
his leg was broken and Frieda undertook to keep him amused, an amazing
friendship developed between them which finally resulted in their
marriage.
In replying to his question Jack found herself answering as reassuringly
as if Frieda really had been a runaway child, since this seemed to be
the spirit in which her husband thought of her.
"She will see me?" he asked eagerly. But when Jack shook her head he did
not appear surprised, being evidently accustomed to Frieda's vagaries.
Moreover, Lord Kent then came into the room.
Afterwards, Professor Russell related his side of the difficulty between
himself and his wife. His story did not after all differ so much from
Frieda's account, for he put the blame upon himself, as she had done.
"I was too old for her; we ought never to have married. The fault was
all mine," he ended so despondently, that Jack felt as if she could not
accept the very conclusion she had reached the day before.
Professor Russell could not be persuaded to remain long--not even for
tea. It was agreed, however, that he would spend the next few weeks in
London and that later they might reach some decision. In the meantime
Jack promised to do her best to persuade her sister to have at least one
interview with her husband.
Lord Kent followed his brother-in-law to the door.
"Frieda is a spoiled baby; you have simply been too good to her. Some
day she will wake up and find this out for herself," he declared.
But Professor Russell only shook his head sadly and departed.
Even after learning of her husband's departure Frieda still refused to
join her family. What she was thinking about alone in her own apartment
no one knew, since she asked that no one disturb her.
However, at half past five, realizing that her husband then must be
safely on his way back to London, Frieda decided that she could endure
her own rooms no longer. Without a word to anyone, she put on a long,
light weight blue coat and a small, close fitting, blue turban and
passing down through the long halls and through a side entrance vanished
into the outdoors.
It was Frieda's plan merely to walk about in the gardens until she could
persuade herself into a calmer frame of mind. She was sure, of course,
that she cared nothing for her husband and yet all afternoon she had
found herself wondering if he were not worn out by his journey.
Ordinarily he was not a good traveler and he must also have suffered
through being compelled to desert his summer classes at the University
in order to seek her.
Frieda discovered one of the gardeners at work in the flower beds and,
as he persisted in talking with her, she started down one of the shaded
avenues along the edge of the park in order to be alone. She did not
often walk for any distance, since she had never been so fond of
exercise as the other girls.
But Frieda felt unexplainably restless and out of sorts. This was
foolish because, having made up her mind that she wanted her freedom
and being determined to gain it, there was no point in worrying.
Frieda kept walking hurriedly on. It was a beautiful, soft afternoon,
with the first hint of twilight in the sky and in the atmosphere.
Kent Park covered several acres and Frieda wandered further from the
house than she knew. After a time the road which she had taken curved
into a path leading into the woods. There was a fairly heavy forest near
by, which was a part of the Kent estate and she strolled into this.
Later, Frieda sat down for a few minutes. She was in no hurry to return
home, except in time for dinner which was at a late hour, according to
the English custom. Not that she meant to appear at dinner, but that
Jack or Olive would be sure to seek her at that time.
Frieda made rather a charming picture amid the scene she had
unconsciously chosen for herself. She was sitting on the trunk of a tree
which had fallen from the weight of years and infirmities. There was a
little clearing behind her and, as she had taken off her hat, the sun
shone on her bowed head and shoulders. She wished very much that she
could stop thinking about a number of things, for Frieda was one of the
people who resent having to grow up and there are more of them in this
world than we realize.
Then, suddenly, Frieda heard an odd noise, which at least startled her
sufficiently to bring the result she had been wishing for, since it made
her stop thinking of unpleasant things. The noise was not loud and it
would have been difficult to have explained exactly what the sound was.
Only Frieda for the first time realized that she had been unwise in
having come so far away from the house without mentioning to anyone
where she was going.
The woods in which she was resting was a portion of the game preserves
belonging to the Kent Estate, or a portion of land set apart for hunting
at certain times of the year on English estates. But no one is supposed
to hunt on this land except the owner of the estate and the friends whom
he may care to invite.
Frieda, of course, had stayed long enough in England on other visits to
understand that poachers are more or less frequent. She thought perhaps
the noise she had heard was a man in hiding, who had been hunting and
feared she might report him. The fact that it was summer time, when
hunting was infrequent, made no impression upon her.
[Illustration: IN A FEW MOMENTS SHE WAS IN A PANIC]
At first, however, she was not seriously frightened, although she
concluded to hurry back to Kent House as quickly as possible.
But when she started back through the woods, whoever it was in hiding
evidently attempted to follow her. The faster she walked, the faster the
footsteps came on behind.
However, Frieda did not turn her head to discover her pursuer. She had
been nervous and worried all day, or she might not have become so
alarmed. Instead of looking back she continued hurrying on faster and
faster until, in a few moments, she was in a panic. Then she started to
run and to her horror realized that a man was also running with long,
easy strides behind her.
Frieda was totally unaccustomed to looking after herself in any
emergency, and had never been compelled to do so--even in small
adversities. Now she had a sudden impulse to call out for someone, but
had only sufficient breath to increase her speed. If she could get a
little nearer the house, one of the servants could be sure to come to
her assistance.
But Frieda had run only a few yards when, as a perfectly natural result
of her panic, she tripped over some roots hidden in the underbrush and
fell forward with her face amid the leaves and twigs and with one leg
crumpled under her.
She must have struck her chin for she felt a dull pain and a queer
numbness in her side. However, when she tried to disentangle herself and
jump up quickly the pain became more acute. Nevertheless, for one
instant Frieda struggled and then lay still, for her pursuer had already
reached her and was bending over her, for what purpose Frieda did not
know.
Then she heard a slow, inexpressibly familiar voice say:
"I am afraid I have frightened you, my dear. I do trust you have not
injured yourself." Then a pair of strong, gentle hands attempted to lift
her.
Naturally, Frieda's first sensation was one of amazement; the second,
relief; and the third, anger.
She managed, however, with assistance to sit in an upright position.
Then she began brushing off the twigs and dirt which she felt had been
ground into her face. Finally she recovered sufficient breath and self
control to be able to speak.
"Henry Russell!" she exclaimed, trying to reveal both dignity and
disdain, in spite of her ridiculous position, "will you please tell me
why you are hiding in Frank's woods like a thief, and why, when I
refused to see you, you terrified the life out of me by chasing me until
I nearly killed myself. I think, at least, I have broken my leg," she
ended petulantly.
Professor Henry Tilford Russell flushed all over his fair, scholarly
face. Taking off his soft grey hat, he ran his hand over the top of his
head, where the hair was already beginning to grow thin.
"My dear Frieda, you do me an injustice," he began, "although I know my
actions do appear as you have just stated them. The truth is I found
myself unable to go away at once from Kent House. I am not fond of
London. I dreaded the loneliness there; also I longed for a sight of you
to know for myself that you were well. So I wandered about through the
grounds at some distance from the house and finally entered these woods.
When you came into them alone and so unexpectedly, it seemed as if I
must speak to you. I started toward you and you ran. I did not think my
pursuit would alarm you. It was one of the many things, Frieda, I should
have understood and did not."
In spite of the fact that the fault of the present situation was
undoubtedly Professor Russell's, there was an unconscious dignity and
graciousness about him as he made his apology, which Frieda recognized
was undoubtedly lacking both in her appearance and emotions. She felt
extremely cross and her leg hurt. She could not go up to the house
assisted by a husband whom she had just scornfully refused to see, and
yet she did not believe she could walk alone.
"Very well, Henry; now that you have accomplished your purpose, I hope
you will be good enough to leave me," Frieda demanded, believing that
she would rather suffer anything than a continuance of her present
humiliation.
But Professor Russell did not stir.
"I prefer to see you safely through the woods. When we are nearer the
house I may be able to find someone to take my place."
Professor Russell then leaned over and lifted Frieda to her feet. As a
result she found that her leg was not broken or sprained, but only
bruised, and that walking was possible if she moved slowly.
However, Frieda suffered considerable pain and she was not accustomed to
bodily discomfort. At first she tried not to rest her weight upon the
Professor's arm, for he had put his arm under hers and was attempting to
support her almost entirely. But, by and by, as the pain grew worse, she
found herself growing more dependent and, as a matter of fact, her
dependence seemed perfectly natural. Once it occurred to her that,
during her first acquaintance with Professor Russell, he had been hurt
and in more ways than one had leaned upon her. No one ever had asked any
kind of care from her before, and in those days she had at least thought
that she had fallen in love with the Professor. At least she had
insisted upon marrying him, when her entire family had opposed the
union.
There was no conversation between the husband and wife, except that
several times Professor Russell, without waiting to be asked, stopped
for Frieda to rest.
Then, by and by, when they had reached the edge of the woods, he saw one
of the men servants at a little distance off and signalled to him.
"There are many things I would like to talk over with you, Frieda, but
this is not the time. Neither do I want you to think I meant to take an
unfair advantage of you by forcing myself upon you without your
knowledge. I think I scarcely realized myself just what I was doing. I
am sorry you felt compelled to run away from home because we sometimes
quarreled. I do not know just how much I was in the wrong at those
times, but I fear you were not happy with me or you would not have let
the fact that we differed about a good many things have made you wish to
leave me. Please remember, Frieda, if there is ever a time when you wish
to talk matters over with me, I shall be glad to come to you. I will not
come again unless you summon me."
Then, as the man servant had by this time reached them, Professor
Russell gave Frieda into the man's charge.
The next instant, bowing to her as if he had been a stranger, he turned
and started in the opposite direction.
Frieda did not remember whether she even said good-bye. She did think,
however, that she would have liked to have reminded Henry to hold his
shoulders straighter. Really he was not so old--only something over
thirty. He seemed to have been one of the persons born old, caring
always more for books than people--more for study than an active life.
Frieda actually felt a little sorry for him. Always she must have been a
disturbing influence in his life. Perhaps in his way he had been good to
her, or at least had intended to be. She wished that she had told him to
go back home because she could write to him there, or in case she ever
wished to see him, she could also go home. She intended to go to the
Rainbow ranch in the autumn.