Part 23 (1/2)
”Dear old d.i.c.k!” and she dropped the letter into a drawer and went out into the suns.h.i.+ne, mounted her horse and turned toward the hills.
She had spent the intermediate seasons of the year at Storm Springs ever since she could remember, and had climbed the surrounding hills and dipped into the valleys with a boy's zest and freedom. The Virginia mountains were linked in her mind to the dreams of her youth, to her earliest hopes and aspirations, and to the books she had read, and she galloped happily out of the valley to the tune of an old ballad. She rode as a woman should, astride her horse and not madly clinging to it in the preposterous ancient fas.h.i.+on. She had known horses from early years, in which she had tumbled from her pony's back in the stable-yard, and she knew how to train a horse to a gait and how to master a beast's fear; and even some of the tricks of the troopers in the Fort Myer drill she had surrept.i.tiously practised in the meadow back of the Claiborne stable.
It was on Tuesday that John Armitage had appeared before her in the pergola. It was now Thursday afternoon, and Chauvenet had been to see her twice since, and she had met him the night before at a dance at one of the cottages.
Judge Claiborne was distinguished for his acute and sinewy mind; but he had, too, a strong feeling for art in all its expressions, and it was his gift of imagination,--the ability to forecast the enemy's strategy and then strike his weakest point,--that had made him a great lawyer and diplomat. s.h.i.+rley had played chess with her father until she had learned to see around corners as he did, and she liked a problem, a test of wit, a contest of powers. She knew how to wait and ponder in silence, and therein lay the joy of the saddle, when she could ride alone with no groom to bother her, and watch enchantments unfold on the hilltops.
Once free of the settlement she rode far and fast, until she was quite beyond the usual routes of the Springs excursionists; then in mountain byways she enjoyed the luxury of leisure and dismounted now and then to delight in the green of the laurel and question the rhododendrons.
Jules Chauvenet had scoured the hills all day and explored many mountain paths and inquired cautiously of the natives. The telegraph operator at the Storm Springs inn was a woman, and the despatch and receipt by Jules Chauvenet of long messages, many of them in cipher, piqued her curiosity. No member of the Was.h.i.+ngton diplomatic circle who came to the Springs,--not even the shrewd and secretive Russian Amba.s.sador,--received longer or more cryptic cables. With the social diversions of the Springs and the necessity for making a show of having some legitimate business in America, Jules Chauvenet was pretty well occupied; and now the presence of John Armitage in Virginia added to his burdens.
He was tired and perplexed, and it was with unaffected pleasure that he rode out of an obscure hill-path into a bit of open wood overhanging a curious defile and came upon s.h.i.+rley Claiborne.
The soil was soft and his horse carried him quite near before she heard him. A broad sheet of water flashed down the farther side of the narrow pa.s.s, sending up a pretty spurt of spray wherever it struck the jutting rock. As s.h.i.+rley turned toward him he urged his horse over the springy turf.
”A pity to disturb the picture, Miss Claiborne! A thousand pardons! But I really wished to see whether the figure could come out of the canvas. Now that I have dared to make the test, pray do not send me away.”
Her horse turned restlessly and brought her face to face with Chauvenet.
”Steady, f.a.n.n.y! Don't come near her, please--” this last to Chauvenet, who had leaped down and put out his hand to her horse's bridle. She had the true horsewoman's pride in caring for herself and her eyes flashed angrily for a moment at Chauvenet's proffered aid. A man might open a door for her or pick up her handkerchief, but to touch her horse was an altogether different business. The pretty, graceful mare was calm in a moment and arched her neck contentedly under the stroke of s.h.i.+rley's hand.
”Beautiful! The picture is even more perfect, Mademoiselle!”
”f.a.n.n.y is best in action, and splendid when she runs away. She hasn't run away to-day, but I think she is likely to before I get home.”
She was thinking of the long ride which she had no intention of taking in Chauvenet's company. He stood uncovered beside her, holding his horse.
”But the danger, Mademoiselle! You should not hazard your life with a runaway horse on these roads. It is not fair to your friends.”
”You are a conservative, Monsieur. I should be ashamed to have a runaway in a city park, but what does one come to the country for?”
”What, indeed, but for excitement? You are not of those tame young women across the sea who come out into the world from a convent, frightened at all they see and whisper 'Yes, Sister,' 'No, Sister,' to everything they hear.”
”Yes; we Americans are deficient in shyness and humility. I have often heard it remarked, Monsieur Chauvenet.”
”No! No! You misunderstand! Those deficiencies, as you term them, are delightful; they are what give the charm to the American woman. I hope you would not believe me capable of speaking in disparagement, Mademoiselle,--you must know--”
The water tumbled down the rock into the vale; the soft air was sweet with the scent of pines. An eagle cruised high against the blue overhead.
s.h.i.+rley's hand tightened on the rein, and f.a.n.n.y lifted her head expectantly.
Chauvenet went on rapidly in French:
”You must know why I am here--why I have crossed the sea to seek you in your own home. I have loved you, Mademoiselle, from the moment I first saw you in Florence. Here, with only the mountains, the sky, the wood, I must speak. You must hear--you must believe, that I love you! I offer you my life, my poor attainments--”
”Monsieur, you do me a great honor, but I can not listen. What you ask is impossible, quite impossible. But, Monsieur--”
Her eyes had fallen upon a thicket behind him where something had stirred. She thought at first that it was an animal of some sort; but she saw now quite distinctly a man's shabby felt hat that rose slowly until the bearded face of its wearer was disclosed.
”Monsieur!” cried s.h.i.+rley in a low tone; ”look behind you and be careful what you say or do. Leave the man to me.”