PHILIP WENTWORTH FINDS AMUSEMENT.
Clifford was in fearful danger for one awful moment, as the horse hung
swaying on the brow of the precipice, and, seemingly, about to be dashed
over the edge and down upon the rocks below.
To all appearance horse and rider were doomed—their fate sealed. But with
a dexterous movement the young man drew his bridle taut, his fingers
gripping it like claws of steel, his muscles unyielding as iron, and
thus he held the animal poised in the air for a brief instant, like a
statue, but for his frightened trembling; then, pulling sharply upon the
bit with his left hand, he swung him around and away from the frightful
chasm, and eased him down until one forefoot touched the ground, when
the intelligent creature helped himself farther away from his dangerous
position, though still snorting and quivering in every limb from fear.
“Be quiet, Glory! it’s all right—whoa! stand still!” Clifford called
out in a reassuring voice, as he gathered the bridle into one hand,
and with the other stroked and patted the reeking neck with a gentle,
encouraging touch, and continued to talk soothingly to him, until he was
comparatively calm again.
It had been a hairbreadth escape, and Clifford’s face was absolutely
colorless, but not so white or frozen with fear as that of Philip
Wentworth, who had become conscious that his ungovernable temper had
well-nigh made a murderer of him.
The eyes of the two young men met for one moment, then Clifford spoke
quietly to his horse, bidding him go on, and went his way up the mountain
road.
He was very thoughtful as he pursued his way back to the hotel, and was
deeply thankful. He was almost dazed, and could scarcely realize what
had happened. But for the reaction, the weakness almost amounting to
faintness, that had crept over him, it would have seemed more like a
dream—a horrible nightmare—than a reality.
He drew in long, deep breaths and tried to brace himself up, and,
gradually, he began to feel the strength coming back to him; but the
strain upon him, both mentally and physically, had been something
terrible.
Finally he forgot about himself in thinking of Philip, and wondering what
his sensations could have been while watching that desperate battle for
life.
“What a frightful temper he has!” he mused, as he recalled the young
man’s distorted face when he struck that almost fatal blow. “I am
thankful that I am not so cursed, or rather that I was taught in my
boyhood to govern myself. If he has any conscience he must have suffered
more than I did during that moment of terrible suspense.
“How ridiculous to tell me that he is engaged to that slip of a girl!” he
continued, with a skeptical smile, “and yet,” he added, more soberly, “I
know that such arrangements have been made by parents for their children,
and so what he said is not impossible. But I should be sorry, from the
depths of my heart, for her if she was doomed to spend her life with one
who possesses such a disposition. Still, I do not believe that she is
lacking in spirit, and I imagine it would not be an easy matter to drive
her to do anything regarding which she had conscientious scruples. I am
very sure that there is much strength of character behind those earnest
blue eyes. However, if she loves him she will probably marry him,” he
concluded, with a long sigh of regret and a look of pain in his eyes.
He rode his horse directly to the stable upon his return to the hotel,
and gave orders to have him carefully groomed; then he returned to his
duties in the house, and kept his own counsel regarding his recent
adventure.
It would have involved too many explanations to have talked about it,
and, since no harm had befallen the horse, he felt under no obligation to
speak of the affair to any one.
That evening there were several new arrivals, and among them some people
who were registered as Judge and Mrs. Athol and Miss Gertrude Athol,
from Buffalo, New York. Miss Athol was a remarkably beautiful girl of
about eighteen years, and as Clifford saw her during the disposal of her
trunks in her rooms, he thought that, with one exception, he had never
met one more lovely. She also was a blonde of the purest type, tall and
willowy, and possessing an air of repose and refinement, together with
an unusually sunny smile, that made one feel as if he had come into a
different atmosphere when in her presence.
There was one peculiarity about her that seemed to intensify her
beauty; she had great, soft, almond-shaped brown eyes, which contrasted
exquisitely with her delicate complexion and pale-gold hair, and which
gave marked character to her face.
“She is a true lady,” Clifford said to himself, as he mentally compared
her with some other young people who were guests in the house, and
who appeared to regard every employee as their slave, whose sole duty
consisted in serving their lightest caprice.
About the middle of the next afternoon an elegant equipage dashed up to
the door of the hotel and four people alighted and entered the house.
Clifford instantly recognized Philip Wentworth and his mother, and they
were followed by a stately, rather pompous, gentleman, with iron-gray
hair, a pair of keen, dark eyes, and a shrewd, clear-cut, intelligent
face, while he led by the hand a little girl of about five years, a
charming little fairy, who resembled both Philip and Mrs. Temple, and
who was most daintily clad, and with a great hat set on her sunny head,
framing her bright, laughing face in a most picturesque manner.
The gentleman was William F. Temple, and the child was Miss Minnie
Temple, the pet and idol of the entire household. This quartet were shown
into a reception-room, whereupon they sent cards up to Judge and Mrs.
Athol, who, as it proved, were old friends of Mrs. Temple, Mrs. Athol
having been a chum of hers at Vassar during their school-days. From that
time the two families were also inseparable.
They drove or went fishing and rowing on the lake, or made excursions
to various points of interest almost every morning; the afternoons were
devoted to bowling, golf, or tennis, while they alternated in dining each
other and attended card parties, hops, and receptions at various hotels
in the evening.
During all this time Clifford and Philip Wentworth were continually
coming in contact with each other; but the latter never betrayed, by word
or look, that he had ever met him before, and ordered him around like any
ordinary porter.
Clifford was often galled inexpressibly by his overbearing manner,
particularly so in the presence of Miss Athol, who was always gracious
toward him.
Early one morning Mr. and Mrs. Temple, accompanied by the Judge and Mrs.
Athol, started out on a trip to the summit of Mount Washington, leaving
little Minnie Temple to spend the day with Miss Athol, to whom the child
had become very much attached.
Philip Wentworth put in his appearance at the hotel after luncheon, and
about half an hour later, accompanied by Miss Athol and his young sister,
and armed with books, a lunch-basket, and a rug, started forth again,
evidently to spend the afternoon in the woods.
He had been very devoted to Gertrude Athol ever since her appearance
upon the scene, and had constituted himself her escort upon almost every
occasion, while there were times when his manner toward her bordered
strongly upon that of a lover.
Clifford had been quick to observe this, and was secretly indignant at
the growing intimacy, for he had by no means forgotten the statement
which Wentworth had made to him regarding his relations with a certain
little lady who was traveling in Europe. He watched them this afternoon
as they sauntered slowly down the road in the direction of a pretty
little nook, familiarly known as “The Glen,” Philip carrying Miss Athol’s
sun-umbrella with an air of proprietorship, while little Minnie skipped
on before them, bright and happy as a bird.
“What a sweet little fairy that child is!” Clifford murmured, as his eyes
rested fondly upon her, for, strange as it may seem, a strong friendship
had sprung up between himself and Miss Minnie, who never came to the
hotel without seeking him out to have a social little chat with him.
He continued to watch the trio until they disappeared around a bend in
the road, when he went back into the office, and resumed some clerical
work connected with his duties.
“The Glen” referred to was, in fact, something of a misnomer, for it was
nothing more or less than a quiet nook on a small plateau, carpeted with
moss, almost entirely surrounded by a luxuriant growth of great pines,
and overlooking a picturesque valley and strong, rugged mountains beyond.
It was almost on the edge of a precipice, and not far from the very point
where Clifford came so near losing his life only a short time before.
Upon arriving at their destination, Philip spread the rug he carried
upon the ground, close by a big boulder, and the three sat down, removing
their hats and making themselves generally comfortable. Then Philip
opened one of the books he had brought—a new novel that was creating
quite a sensation—and began reading aloud to his companion.
But Miss Minnie did not relish any such prosaic way of spending her
afternoon, and, becoming lonely and restless, began to wander about to
see what of interest she could find for herself. At first Philip tried
to keep her beside them, but, finding that she would not be quiet, and
fretted constantly at the restraint imposed upon her, finally gave her
permission to play about, provided she would not go beyond a certain
limit.
She soon found amusement in gathering ferns, with here and there a bright
leaf from some sumac bushes growing near the road at a point where she
was perfectly safe, and the two young people returned to their book and
gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the hour.
To Gertrude Athol the companionship of Philip Wentworth evidently meant
a great deal, if one could judge from the coming and going of her color,
the tender light within her eyes whenever they met those of the young
man, and the shy, happy smiles that hovered about her mouth.
The story which they were reading, and pausing every now and then to
discuss, had for its heroine a young girl who had been sent into the
country one summer to recuperate after a long illness, and while there
had met a young man of the world, who, after becoming acquainted with
her, monopolized her time, and made love to her in an indefinite kind of
way, yet never committing himself beyond a certain point. He completely
won the girl’s heart, and she poured out all the wealth of her nature
upon this suppositious lover, only to awake from her blissful dream at
the end of the season, when he came to bid her a stereotyped farewell,
and then drifted out of her life forever. The blow was more than the
girl could bear in her delicate state of health, while the shame she
experienced upon realizing that she had been systematically fooled, just
for the amusement of an idler, who found no better entertainment at hand,
almost turned her brain. She could not rally from it, and quietly folding
her hands in submission to the inevitable she drooped and died before the
year was out.
“Oh, what a sad, sad story!” Gertrude exclaimed, when Philip reached this
point, and her red lips quivered in sympathy with the unfortunate girl;
“and what a wicked thing it was for Gerald Frost to do! It is heartless
for any man to play with a woman’s affections in any such way.”
“It was simply a summer idyl,” replied Philip, lifting his eyes from
the book and feasting them upon his companion’s beauty, “and there are
thousands of such incidents occurring every year.”
“But it is atrocious—it is a crime!” retorted the girl spiritedly, “and
a man who will deliberately set himself at work to do such a deed is at
heart as bad as a murderer.”
“Oh, Gertrude! Miss Athol! your language is very severe,” laughed Philip.
“Yes, it sounds harsh, but it is true, all the same,” she persisted, “and
if Gerald Frost is a fair type of the summer male flirt, too much cannot
be said in condemnation of him.”
“And what about the summer girl flirt?” questioned her companion
laughingly.
“She is even worse, for one expects sincerity and sympathy from a
woman, and she shames and degrades her sex when she descends to such
ignoble pastime,” she gravely returned. “At the same time, a man has the
advantage over a woman in such a case, for it rests with him to put the
all-important question, and it is inhuman to win a young girl’s heart,
and then cast it from him as worthless. I am glad to think, however, that
there are comparatively few Amy Linders in the world. I would never have
finished the book like that—I think the author has spoiled it.”
“How would you have finished it? What would you have done if you had
been in Amy Linder’s place?” Philip inquired, and shooting a glance of
curiosity at the flushed, earnest face beside him.
“I certainly would not have drooped and died,” she returned, with a
scornful curl of her lips. “I never would have given the man who had so
wronged me the satisfaction of knowing how thoroughly he had fooled me.”
“Ah, you tell what you would not have done; but, on the other hand, what
would have been your course of action?”
Miss Athol drew her willowy figure proudly erect, and her fine eyes
blazed with the dauntless spirit within her.
“I would have lived it down,” she said, her voice vibrating with intense
feeling. “I would have risen above it, and some day, later on, I would
have caused that man to wonder if he had not made the greatest mistake
of his life; he should have learned to despise himself for having so
belittled himself and dishonored his manhood by trying to wreck the
happiness of a defenseless girl simply for amusement.”
She was glorious as she gave utterance to these animated sentences and
Philip was, for the moment, carried beyond himself by the magnetic
influence of her beauty and her spirit. He caught the white hand that lay
nearest him, and impulsively pressed it to his lips.
“Ah! no one could ever meet, play the part of lover to you, and then
leave you,” he cried, with a thrill of passion in his tones. “I——”
“Oh, I wonder where Minnie is!” Gertrude interposed, and withdrawing her
hand before he could complete what he was about to say. “Great heavens,
what was that?”
Both sprang to their feet as a frightened scream at that instant fell
upon their ears, and turned their terrified faces toward the sound just
in season to see the flutter of white garments as they disappeared over
the edge of the plateau, not a dozen yards from where they stood.