Part 25 (1/2)
It lacked only two days of the time set for Darrell's return to the mining camp when he and Kate set out one afternoon accompanied by Duke for a ride up the familiar canyon road. At first their ponies cantered briskly, but as the road grew more rough and steep they were finally content to walk quietly side by side.
For a while neither Darrell nor Kate had much to say. Their hearts were too oppressed for words. Each realized that this little jaunt into the mountains was their last together; that it const.i.tuted a sort of farewell to their happy life of the past summer and to each other. Each was thinking of their first meeting under the pines on that evening gorgeous with the sunset rays and sweet with the breath of June roses.
At last they turned into a trail which soon grew so steep and narrow that they dismounted, and, fastening their ponies, proceeded up the trail on foot. Slowly they wended their way upward, pausing at length on a broad, projecting ledge a little below the summit, where they seated themselves on the rocks to rest a while. Kate's eyes wandered afar over the wonderful scene before them, wrapped in unbroken silence, yet palpitating in the mellow, golden sunlight with a mysterious life and beauty all its own.
But Darrell was for once oblivious to the scene; his eyes were fastened on Kate's face, a look in them of insatiable hunger, as though he were storing up the memory of every line and lineament against the barren days to come. He wondered if the silent, calm-faced, self-contained woman beside him could be the laughing, joyous maiden whom he had seen flitting among the trees and fountains at their first meeting little more than three months past. He recalled how he had then thought her unlike either her father or her aunt, and believed her to be wholly without their self-restraint and self-repression. Now he saw that the same stoical blood was in her veins. Already the sensitive, mobile face, which had mirrored every emotion of the impulsive, sympathetic soul within, bore something of the impa.s.sive calm of the rocks surrounding them; it might have been chiselled in marble, so devoid was it at that moment of any trace of feeling.
A faint sigh seemed to break the spell, and she turned facing him with her old-time sunny smile.
”What a regal day!” she exclaimed.
”It is,” he replied; ”it was on such a day as this, about a year ago, that I first met Mr. Britton. He called it, I remember, one of the 'coronation days' of the year. I have been reminded of the phrase and of him all day.”
”Dear Mr. Britton,” said Kate, ”I have not seen him for more than two years. He has always been like a second father to me; he used to have me call him 'papa' when I was little, and I've always loved him next to papa. You and he correspond, do you not?”
”Yes; he writes rather irregularly, but his letters are precious to me.
He was the first to make me feel that this cramped fettered life of mine held any good or anything worth living for. He made me ashamed of my selfish sorrow, and every message from him, no matter how brief, seems like an inspiration to something higher and n.o.bler.”
”He makes us all conscious of our selfishness,” Kate answered, ”for if ever there was an unselfish life,--a life devoted to the alleviation of the sufferings and sorrows of others,--it is his. I wish he were here now,” she added, with a sigh; ”he has more influence with papa than all the rest of us combined, though perhaps nothing even he might say would be availing in this instance.”
In all their friendly intercourse of the last few weeks there had been one subject tacitly avoided by each, to which, although present in the mind of each, no reference was ever made. From Kate's last words Darrell knew that subject must now be met; he must know from her own lips the worst. He turned sick with dread and remained silent.
A moment later Kate again faced him with a smile, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
”Poor papa!” she said, softly, her lips quivering; ”he thinks he is doing it all for my happiness, and no matter what wretchedness or misery I suffer, no knowledge of it shall ever pain his dear old heart!”
”Kathie, must it be?” Darrell exclaimed, each word vibrating with anguish; ”is there no hope--no chance of escape for you from such a fate?”
”I cannot see the slightest reason to hope for escape,” she replied, with the calmness born of despair. She clasped her small hands tightly and turned a pale, determined face towards Darrell.
”You know, you understand it all, and I know that you do,” she said, ”so there is no use in our avoiding this any longer. I want to talk it over with you and tell you all the truth, so you will not think, by and by, that I have been false or fickle or weak; but first there is something I want you to tell me.”
She paused a moment, then, looking him full in the eyes, she asked, earnestly,--
”John Darrell, do you still love me?”
Startled out of his customary self-control, Darrell suddenly clasped her in his arms, exclaiming,--
”Kathie darling, how can you ask such a question? Do you think my love for you could ever grow less?”
For a moment her head nestled against his breast with a little movement of ineffable content, as she replied,--
”No; it was not that I doubted your love, but I wanted an a.s.surance of it to carry with me through the coming days.”
Then, gently withdrawing herself from his embrace, she continued, in the same calm, even tones:
”You ask if there is no chance of escape; I can see absolutely none; but I want you to understand, if I am forced into this marriage which papa has planned for me, that it is not through any weakness or cowardice on my part; that if I yield, it will be simply because of the love and reverence I bear my father.”
Though her face was slightly averted, Darrell could see the tear-drops falling, but after a slight pause she proceeded as calmly as before: