Part 35 (1/2)
”Have you look, how I use but the one crutch, 'Arry King? Soon will I again walk on my foot, very well. I have so many times to thank you.
Now of mamma we must speak. She thinks only, every day, every hour, of my father. If we shall speak the truth to her--I do not know. What she will do--we cannot tell. No. And it is well to keep her heart from too much sorrow. For Sir Kildene, he must not be afflicted by us--my mamma and I. We have take from him his house, and he is banish--all for us, to make pleasant, and what we can do is little, so little--and if my mamma sit always silent when we should be gay to each other and make happy the days, is not good, and all his peace will be gone. Now talk to me a little of your thoughts, 'Arry King.”
”My thoughts must be like yours, Amalia, if I would have them wise.
It's best to leave her as undisturbed as possible until spring. The months will go by rapidly. He will not be troubled. Then we can take her to some place, where I will see to it that you are cared for--”
The horse suddenly stopped and settled back on his haunches and lifted his head, looking wildly about. Harry sprang to the bridle, but he did not try to get away, and only stood quivering and breathing loudly as if in the direst fear, and leaned close to Harry for protection.
”What ails you? Good horse.” Harry petted and coaxed, but he refused to move on, and showed every sign of frantic fear. ”I can't think what possesses him. He's afraid, but of what?”
”There! There!” cried Amalia, pointing to the top of the trail at the cliff. ”It's the beast. I have read of it--so terrible! Ah!”
”Surely. That's a mountain lion; Goldbug scented him before he rounded the cliff. They're cowards; never fear.” He shouted and flung his arm in the air, but did not dare let the bridle rein go for fear the horse would bolt with her. For a moment the beast stood regarding them, then turned and trotted off in a leisurely fas.h.i.+on.
”'Arry, take my hand one minute. I am like the horse, afraid. If that animal had come when we were alone on the mountain in that night--it is my heart that will not stand still.”
”Don't be afraid now. He's gone. He was hunting there where I was last night, and no doubt he smells the horses that came up the mountain early this morning. It is the snow that has driven him out of the canon to hunt for food.” He let her cling to his hand and stood quietly, petting and soothing the horse.
”All night? 'Arry King, you were there all night? Why?” she s.h.i.+vered, and, bending down, looked steadily in his eyes.
”I had a fire. There was no danger. There is more danger for me in--”
he cut his words short. ”Shall we go on now? Or would you rather turn back?”
She drew herself up and released his hand; still she trembled. ”I will be brave like you are brave. If you so desire, we go on.”
”You are really braver than I. Then we'll go a few steps farther.” But the horse would not go on. He snorted and quivered and pulled back.
Harry looked up at Amalia. She sat calmly waiting, but was very pale.
Then he yielded to the horse, and, turning, led him back toward the cabin. She drew a long sigh of relief then, and glanced at him, and they both laughed.
”You see I am the coward, to only make believe I am not afraid. I am very afraid, and now more than always will I be afraid when that you go to hunt. 'Arry King, go no more alone.” Her voice was low and pleading. ”There is much to do. I will teach you to speak the French, like you have once said you wish to learn. Then is the book to write.
Is much to do that is very pleasant. But of those wild lions on the hills, they are not for a man to fight alone.” He restrained the horse, and walked slowly at her side, his hand on the pommel of the saddle, but did not speak. ”You promise not? All night you stay in the cold, where is danger, and how may I know you will not again do such a thing? All is beautiful here, and great happiness may be if--if that you do no tragedy.” So sweetly did she plead he could no longer remain silent.
”There is only one happiness for me in life, Amalia, and that is forbidden me. I have expiation to make before I may ask happiness of heaven. You have been most patient with my silences--always--will you be patient still--and--understand?”
She drew in her breath sharply and turned her face away from him, and for a moment was silent; then she spoke. Her voice was very low, and very sweet. ”What is right, that must be. Always.”
Then they spoke again of Madam Manovska, and Amalia opened her heart to him as never before. It seemed as if she would turn his thoughts from whatever sorrow might be hanging over him, and impress him with the feeling that no matter what might be the cause of his reserve, or what wrong he might have done, her faith in him remained unshaken. It was a sweet return for his stammered confession.
CHAPTER XXIII
A DISCOURSE ON LYING
All day Larry Kildene slept, hardly waking long enough toward nightfall to drink his broth, but the next day he was refreshed and merry.
”Leave Madam Manovska alone,” he admonished Harry. ”Take Amalia off for another ride, and I'll go down to the cabin, and if there's a way to set her mind at rest about her husband, I'll find it. I'd not be willing to take an oath on what I may tell her, but it will be satisfying, never fear.”
The ride was a short one, for the air was chill, and there were more signs of snow, but when they returned to the cabin, they found Larry seated by the fire, drinking a brew of Madam's tea and conversing with her joyously about his trip and what he had seen of the new railroad. It was curious how he had succeeded in bringing her to take an interest in things quite alien to her. The very atmosphere of the cabin seemed to be cleared by his presence, big, genial, and all-embracing. Certainly nothing of the recluse appeared in his demeanor. Only when they were alone in their own quarters did he show occasionally a longing for the old condition of unmolested tranquillity. To go to his dinner at a set hour, no matter how well prepared it might be, annoyed him.