The breath of the roses on her pillow and the fresh ones on the stand
near the bed wakened Jean softly in the early morning, and she lay
still, thinking joyously that she was to see Jasper once more before
she left. She would have some word, some glance to carry with her on
the way. She would have all the beautiful day that was past to put
with their other experience together and keep, and she would have
that good-bye. It was the knowledge that he had promised to see her
again that brought the smile to her lips and the eternal hope of
youth to her eyes, when she remembered that this was her last day in
Hawk Valley, perhaps forever.
There were not many minutes for such happy thoughts. Her trunk was
packed, save a few little things, but they must be put in; and the
children were already clamoring for her to come downstairs, they
could not spare her any longer on this, her last morning.
Before she was entirely ready to go down people began to come to the
house to say good-bye and attend her to the station, and when she was
finally ready she had gathered quite an escort so that her going
through the street seemed quite like a little triumphal procession, a
fit continuation of the festivities of the day before.
Eleanor was proud and pleased and weeping all in one, and there was
laughing and chatter and banter and many invitations for her to
return.
There had been more flowers sent this morning, and boxes of candy and
books for her to read on the way. Just before she had left the house
Eleanor brought to her more orchids that the Captain had sent, and
begged her to wear them just this one last time, but she was already
wearing a glorious mass of fresh Golden Sunset roses that she had
saved at home the day before for this purpose. Eleanor tried to make
her take them off, but Harrington interfered unexpectedly.
"What do you do that for?" he said. "It's all right if she wants to
wear them. People will sort of expect it. It's a piece of her
triumph of yesterday. It won't do her any harm."
Jean looked up surprised, caught a shifty, uneasy glance in her
brother's eye, and read his mean, cringing little soul. He would
sacrifice her readily to his worst enemy if it suited his needs, and
she had always felt it--now she knew it. He colored under her
glance, and tried to affect an elderly air of petting her, but Jean
was not deceived.
The train was twenty minutes late. There was laughter and chatter
and a renewal of yesterday's merriment around the station while they
waited. Jean was enthroned on a pile of packing cases with her
flowers about her like some queen, and her admirers at her feet. But
though her eyes searched the landscape in every direction, from her
vantage height, she could nowhere see Holt, and when the train at
last was sighted, a mere speck down the track, she felt her heart
sinking in dismay. He had promised and he had not come! It seemed
as though she could not go without that last look from his eyes that
she had known would be there for her, the covenant for the lonely
future.
She tried to smile at the last and say all the bright things that
were expected of her, but she could not keep her eyes away from the
road that led to Holt's house. When the train finally pulled out,
amid the waving multitude of friends, and the shouting of last
messages and fond good-byes, the tears sprang into her eyes unbidden
and dimmed the faces of those on the platform into a great blur.
"Well, I'm glad she's safely off," sighed Eleanor, climbing into the
car beside the children, "and I must say that man behaved pretty well
not to come down to the train. I didn't think he had that much
sense!"
But her husband answered not a word. He drove his car with grim
silence. He was wishing Holt had come, and wondering if his absence
portended evil for himself.
The travellers on the Eastern Express watched with delight the
beautiful girl surrounded by her bank of flowers who had come to
brighten the monotony of their long trip. They wondered where she
was going, and if she had left a lover behind, that she wiped the
tears away furtively and kept her head turned, looking out of the
window at the landscape, which she could not see for tears.
Captain Wetherill had assumed the care of putting Jean on the train,
and had turned over a seat, giving her plenty of room to pile the
flowers the other men brought on board, in the empty seat. She
seemed like a young queen in her garden, with roses and lilies and
violets all about her; but at none of them did she look. Her lips
were touching the petals of the golden rose on her breast and her
thoughts were with its giver. His fine bearing as he skimmed the
ground on his black steed, the touch of his soft, bright hair as she
laid the wreath on his brow, the look of homage in his eyes as he
raised her hand and led her to her horse, the thrill of his voice
when he promised to see her again to say good-bye; and then the
leaden fact that he had not come! Over and over she went the round
and always came back to that, with the choke in her throat and the
tears in her eyes. Excuse after excuse for his not coming were
conjured in her mind and rejected; and vague fear for his safety
mingled with them too. But the fact remained--he had not--and now
she would see him no more!
She tried again and again to gather herself together, and finally
succeeded in mastering the tears so that there was only a bright
suspicion of them in her eyes, but the sense of sadness and something
dear, unfinished and now impossible, pervaded her entire thoughts.
Fifty miles from Hawk Valley the train came to a halt at a tiny flag
station, and a young man entered, tall, handsome, eager, wearing a
dark blue suit and a soft Panama hat--a perfect gentleman in every
detail; a light in his eyes and a smile of welcome on his lips.
Jean did not look up until he was almost beside her seat, and then
her heart leaped with a light of welcome in her eyes, when she saw
that it was Holt!
With a soft little cry she hustled the overflow of flowers that lay
on the seat beside her into the opposite one and made room for him.
The car looked and was satisfied. Her lover had not been left behind
after all, and he was good to look upon. All was as it should be.
They settled back to watch the world-old look on the two young faces,
with a contentment and zest that never flags for the sweetest story
of all. And there were no unkind critics here, for none of them had
ever heard of Jasper Holt.
In the still dark of the evening before, Holt had ridden forth in the
opposite direction from that he intended to take, and skirting the
town in a wide trail well known to himself, he had taken his way
across country to the little flag station, where he left his horse to
be cared for until he should return.
Very quietly they sat together, after the first wonderful greetings,
and talked. There was over them the sadness of a coming separation
which each felt might be forever; and they spoke no word of hope that
it might be otherwise. The day before them was a precious treasure
they meant to have and keep for life. Many things they learned in
that brief time, of each other's hopes, longings and desires.
Quietly Holt drew from her many thoughts of her own pure heart
wherewith to build his ideal for the future.
Once he looked meaningly at the great bank of flowers before him and
then down at the golden roses on her gown. They did not need to talk
much about such things, for their eyes could say it all, and Holt
read thoughts quickly, keenly, and spoke the language of a glance to
perfection. The words that he felt he had not a right to speak she
might read in his face if she chose.
And she chose.
Once, as the afternoon was drawing to a close, he said suddenly:
"Harrington sent the papers back to me last evening."
Jean looked up startled, questioning, and met amusement in Holt's
eyes.
"He didn't dare to keep them. He professes that he sent them the
minute he knew I was at home, and that he has been much disturbed by
their presence in his house lest his possession of them might be
misunderstood by me."
A little cloud of apprehension came into Jean's eyes.
"Don't be afraid to trust me," Holt said softly, with gentleness in
his eyes, "I'm not going to make any trouble for your sister. You
know that."
Then a great light of joy came into her face, and the tears which had
caused her so much annoyance earlier in the day came rushing back for
very joy.
It was in the late afternoon that they reached the city where Jean
was to change to the sleeper.
Holt gathered up the flowers to take with her, but she put out a
protesting hand:
"Oh, please, I don't want any of them but these," and she laid her
hand tenderly over the golden roses at her waist.
A look of love and appreciation came into Holt's eyes, and he dropped
the flowers quite happily, to gather up her suit case and umbrella.
"Let the brakeman take them home to his wife, then," he said joyously.
He left her, at last, in the sleeper, and as he stood beside the
train until it moved out of the station, their eyes made promises of
trust and loyalty long after their lips were forced to remain silent.
Jean did not weep when she saw the last glimpse of his splendid
figure on the dim station platform. She had entered upon her desert,
but she had the light of his look to shine in her heart, and her
courage rose. Her eyes were bright and undaunted. No tears should
break her down now. He had kept tryst and she was content. He would
be true and she would trust him always, even if she never saw him
again.
Just what the future would hold for her she did not care to think.
This strange vow she had made with a man she could not hope to marry
with her parents' consent, and whom she would not marry without, she
had made on trust and on trust she would keep it.
She did not mean to trouble her dear ones with the story. They had
been far away and they could not understand. She would not have them
looking at her pityingly, nor thinking of him unworthily. She would
trust and live her life, and know that somewhere, somehow he was
being true also.
Most unpractical, of course, but dear and ideal. Her sister Eleanor
would have said it was foolish, and been glad it was no worse,
hoping, of course, that now when she saw no more of him she would get
over it very soon. But Jean was not made like that. She knew the
heartache that was before her, and knowing, dared to rejoice in it.