CHAPTER XXXIX
MY TRUE FRIEND
They found that Mr. Muir had arrived, and no family party in the longsupper-room appeared more free from disturbing thoughts and memoriesthan the one gathered at the banker's table. In Madge the keen-eyedman could detect nothing that was unusual, and in Graydon only a traceof the dignity and seriousness which would inevitably follow somedeep experience or earnest purpose. They all spent the evening and thegreater part of the following day together, and Madge was touched morethan once by observing that Graydon sought unobtrusively to complywith even her imagined wishes and to enhance the point and interest ofher spoken thoughts.
In answer to his direct question she had acknowledged the absolutetruth, and yet it had proved more misleading than all the disguiseswhich her maidenly reserve had compelled her to adopt. It seemed nowthat she would have no further trouble with him--that he had definedhis purpose, and would abide by it. She was glad that she had notyielded to his appeal and rewarded him in the first consciousnessof his new regard for her. This feeling had seemed too recent,tumultuous, and full of impulse, and did not accord with her earnest,chastened spirit, that had attained the goal of its hope by suchpatient endeavor. She preferred that the first strong outflow fromhis heart should find wide, deep channels, and that his love for hershould take the same recognized place in his life that her love hadoccupied so long in her own. She also had a genuine and femininereluctance that the suitor of Stella Wildmere should be known as herlover so speedily, and something more and deeper than good taste wasthe cause of her aversion.
Yet she was exceedingly happy. The hope that had sustained her solong, that had been so nearly lost, now seemed certain of fulfilment,and no one but she and God knew how much this truth meant. Only He hadbeen her confidant, and she felt that she had been sustained in herstruggle from weakness to strength by a Power that was not human, andguided during the past weeks by a wisdom beyond her own.
"He has proved to me a good Father," was her simple belief. "He ledme to do the best I could for myself, and then did the rest. I alsoam sure He would have sustained me had I failed utterly. That my lifewould not have been vain and useless was shown when I saved littleNellie Wilder."
Thus it may be seen that she was quite unlike many good people. In herconsciousness God was not a being to be worshipped decorously and thencounted out from that which made her real life and hope.
The future now stretched away full of rest and glad assurance.Graydon's manner already began to fulfil his promise. He would quietlyaccept the situation as he understood it, and she saw already thesteadying power of an unselfish, unfaltering purpose. He appeared byyears an older and a graver man, and when he sat by her during theservice in the wide parlor, there was not a trace of his old flippantirreverence. Whatever he now believed, he had attained the higherbreeding which respects what is sacred to others.
She had but little compunction over his self-sacrificing mood. Itwas perfectly clear that by quiet, manly devotion he proposed to help"time heal the wound" made by that "idiot" at Santa Barbara, andshe that she could gradually reveal to him so much improvement thatequanimity and at last hope would find a place in his mind.
They parted Monday morning with a brief, strong pressure ofhands, which Graydon felt conveyed volumes of sympathy and mutualunderstanding. She had said that he could write to her, and he foundhe had so much to say that he had to put a strong constraint uponhimself.
Mr. Muir had watched them curiously during his stay in the mountains,and felt that something had occurred which he could not fathom.Graydon's manner at parting and since, during business hours, hadconfirmed this impression. He was almost as grave and reticent as thebanker himself, and the latter began to chafe and grow irritable overthe problem which he was bent on seeing solved in but one way. Helooked askance and discontentedly at Graydon during dinner in theevening. When they were alone he was fidgety and rather curt in hisremarks. At last he burst out, "Confound it! What has happened betweenyou and Madge?"
"She has refused me, that's all," was the quiet reply.
Mr. Muir gave a low whistle.
"Oh, I understood you the other evening," resumed Graydon. "Thephenomenal penetration on which you so pride yourself is at fault foronce."
The banker was so nonplused that he permitted his cigar to go out, buthe soon reached the conclusion, "He has bungled." "Well," he asked atlast, "what do you propose to do?"
"To be to her all that she will ever permit, and die a bachelor forher sake if I must."
Mr. Muir lighted his Havana again and puffed in silence for a while,then said, "I like that. Your purpose is clearly defined. In businessand everything else there is solid comfort in knowing what you candepend upon."
Madge's replies to Graydon's letters were scarcely more than notes,but they were breezy little affairs, fragrant with the breath of themountains, and had an excellent tonic effect in the hot city. Theyusually contained a description of what she had seen or of somelocality visited. On one occasion she wrote:
"Late in the afternoon there had been a shower, not gentle andpattering, but one of those frightful, passionate outbursts which arenot infrequent in these mountains. The wind appeared to drive blackmasses of clouds from all directions save one, which, meeting over theheight occupied by the hotel, discharged torrents of rain. At lastthe wind left the writhing trees in peace, and carried the deeplyshadowing cloud away beyond the hills. The sun broke forth, andnature began some magic work. Calling the mist fairies to her aid,she gathered from every ravine and clove delicate airy clouds, whichformed a large and rapidly increasing mass of vapor. Soon the plainbelow--the wide Hudson valley--was entirely shut out, as though agreat white curtain had dropped from the sky to the mountain's base.Just then the setting sun, which had been temporarily obscured, shoneforth in glorious brightness, casting on the beautiful cloud-curtainthe dark, clearly defined shadow of the mountain-top, with its crownof buildings, even the towers and turrets showing with startlingdistinctness. It was like a mammoth, well-cut cameo, or a giganticmagic lantern effect, with the sun as a calcium light.
"The spectacle lasted only a few moments. Then the cloudy curtainparted, and the valley of the Hudson was seen again, spanned by arainbow."
The days lengthened into weeks, Graydon coming every Friday afternoon,and wondering slightly at the demurely radiant face that greetedhim. "Truly," he thought, "in the words of the old hymn she 'puts acheerful courage on.'"
At times, however, she would be a little pensive. Then his tones wouldhave a greater depth and gentleness, and his sympathy was very sweet,although she felt a little guilty because she was in no need of it.She could stifle her compunction by thinking:
"There was such a long, weary time when I did need it, and wasdesolate because of its absence, that I must have a little now tooffset those gray, lonely days."
She had thought she loved him before, but as she saw him patiently andunselfishly seeking to brighten her life in every possible way, withno better hope than that at some time in the indefinite future shemight give him what was left of her heart after the old fire haddied out, her former affection seemed as pale and shadowy as she washerself when first she learned that she had a woman's heart.
Late one Friday afternoon he startled her by asking abruptly, "Madge,what has become of that fellow out West?"
"Please don't speak about that again," she faltered.
"Oh, well, certainly not, if you don't wish me to; but I thought ifthere was any chance--"
"Chance for what, Graydon?"
"Confound him! I don't suppose I could do anything. I want to make youhappy, Madge. I feel just like taking the idiot by the ear, bringinghim to you, and saying, 'There, you unconscionable fool, look atthat girl--' You know what I mean. I'm suggesting the spirit, not theletter of my action. But, Madge, believe me, if I could help you atany cost to myself--"
"Is your regard for me, of which you spoke, so slight that you couldgo to work deliberately to bring that man to me?"
"Madge," called the voice of Mrs. Muir, who was following them withher husband, "where are you and Graydon?"
"Here!" cried Madge, springing up. Then she gave her hand to him,and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. "Graydon," she said,"I couldn't ask a stronger test than that. I can't tell you how Iappreciate it. I shall never impose any such task upon you."
"Don't hesitate on my account. I admit that it would be harder thanone of the labors of Hercules, but you command me now and always.Nothing is so bad as to know that you are unhappy."
"Do I seem very unhappy?"
"No, you brave little woman! but who could guess the truth if youwere? My knowledge is not derived from your usual manner."
"It is a pity if I cannot be patient when you set me so good anexample," she said, as Mr. and Mrs. Muir approached.
When they were alone again for a brief time during the ramble, Graydonresumed: "I wish to make sure of your confidence, Madge; I wish you totake me at my word. I don't think you have been quite just to me. I amnot a cold-blooded fellow, and, no doubt, am given to impressions andimpulses; but I think constancy is one of my traits. I never waveredin my affection for you until I misunderstood you immediately aftermy return, and then that very misapprehension kept me worried andperplexed much of the time. I was true to Miss Wildmere as longas there was anything to be constant to, and yet for years she wasscarcely anything more than a fancy, a preference. Since my returnyou know just what she was to me. Nothing is more certain than that Inever loved her. I did not know what the word meant then. There is achapter in your history that I don't know much about, but I am sureI could make good my word to do anything within my power to bring youhappiness. I have imagined that a little management, guided by tactand absolute fidelity--"
"Don't say anything more about that, Graydon," she said, firmly. "Notif my heart broke a thousand times would I seek a man or permit him tobe sought for me in any such way as you suggest."
"That's settled, then."
"That's settled forever."
"Well, in that case," he said, with a short, nervous laugh, "there maybe a chance for me within the next hundred years."
"Are you so willing to take a woman who had once given her heart toanother?"
"I don't know anything about '_a_ woman.' I would take _you_, Madge,under any circumstances that I can imagine."
"Graydon," said Mrs. Muir, suddenly appearing around a turn in thewalk, "what is the matter with you? Why can't you and Madge keep withus more? For some reason we are getting separated all the time. Thisis a lovely spot. Let us sit down here like a family party and have alittle music. I just long to get back home, so that Madge may singfor us as much as we wish. Here she would attract the attention ofstrangers, and that ends the matter; and so I feel as if I had a raresinging bird, but never a song. In this secluded place no others willhear you, Madge."
"Very well. What do you wish? I feel like singing."
"Make your own choice."
"I'll give you an old song, then, about friendship;" and with notesrivalling those of a hermit-thrush that had been chanting vespers inthe dense woods near by, she sang a quaint melody, her voice wakeningfaint echoes from the adjacent rocks. When she came to the last linesshe gave Graydon a shy glance, which seemed to signify, "These wordsare for you."
"Kinder than Love is my true friend. He'd die for me if that would end My sorrow. Yes, would live for me-- Suffer and live unselfishly, And that for him would harder be Than at my feet to die for me."
As she ceased she again encountered his steadfast gaze with a glancewhich said, "Have I not done you justice?"
He was satisfied, and felt that the presence of his relatives hadsecured a sweeter answer than might otherwise have been given--ananswer that contained all he could hope for then.
"Humph!" ejaculated Mr. Muir, very discontentedly.
"What an appreciative remark, Henry!" said Madge, laughing.
"It was; and it expressed my views," said the banker, dryly. "Come,Mary, let us go home to supper."
"Now, I think the song very pretty," said Mary, "only there are nosuch people nowadays."
As Madge followed with Graydon she continued laughing softly toherself.
"You are not hiding vexation at Henry?" Graydon asked.
"Oh, no, I understand Henry. You think I am always hiding something.You at least should have understood my song."
"Yes, Madge," he said, gravely, "and you also made it clear that youunderstood me. I am content."
She laughed, imitating the ejaculation.
"Henry's 'humph!' was too rich for anything. It meant volumes. Whatsentimental fools he thinks us to be!"
"Henry could no more understand such a song than sing it," wasGraydon's somewhat irritable response.
"No matter. Such men are invaluable in the world. My nature is verymuch in accord with Henry's, and so far as he has had experience, heis very sound."
"With your saving clause in mind, I agree with you perfectly aboutHenry, but not about yourself. Your nature, Madge, like your voice,has a wide compass."
With this one exception there was no other spoken reference duringthe remainder of the summer to the attitude toward her which he nowmaintained in thought and action. The season was drawing to a close,and she had enjoyed the latter part of it beyond her fondest hopes andexpectations. She made a few congenial acquaintances at the hotel, andwith them never wearied in exploring the paths that converged at thegreat caravansary, and in visiting the various outlooks from whichthe same wide landscapes presented ever-changing aspects. Chief amongthese friends was a middle-aged artist, who was deeply imbued with thegenius of the mountains, and who had no little skill in catching andidealizing the lovely effects he saw. He proved her best guide, for hehad long haunted the region, and the majority of the paths were due tohis taste and explorations. In such congenial tasks he acted as agentfor the sagacious and liberal owner of the vast property, who was sowise that in his dealings with nature he employed one that loved andunderstood her. To Madge the artist showed his favorite nooks andhaunts, where the wild beauty of the hills dwelt like a livingpresence, and the scenery not yet painted which, from certainstandpoints, almost composed itself on the canvas. Thus he taughther to see the region somewhat as he did, and to find in the generalbeauty definite, natural pictures that were like flowers in thewilderness. She greatly enjoyed watching with him the wonderfulmoonlight effects on the vast shaggy sides and summit of High Peak,that reared its almost untrodden solitudes opposite the hotel. Thismountain was the favorite haunt of fantastic clouds. Sometimes in theform of detached mists they would pass up rapidly like white spectresfrom the vast chasm of the Kaaterskill. Again a heavy mass wouldsettle on the whole length of the mountain, the outlines of whichwould be lost, and the whole take the semblance of one vast heightcrowned with the moon's radiance. Nothing fascinated Madge more thanto observe how the artist caught the essential elements of beauty inthe changing cloud scenery and reproduced the effects on a fewinches of canvas, and in her better appreciation of similar scenerythereafter, she saw how true it is that art may be the interpreter ofnature.
The fine music and varied entertainments at the house served also tobeguile her time. On one occasion the young people were arranging aseries of tableaux, and she was asked to personate Jephtha's daughter.When the curtain rose on her lovely face and large, dark eyes, theHebrew maiden and her pathetic history grew into vivid reality againstthe dim background of the past.
After all, the time that intervened between Monday and Fridayafternoon was spent in waiting, and even the hours toward the lastwere counted. The expression in Graydon's dark blue eyes was alwaysthe same when he greeted her, and recalled the line:
"Kinder than Love is my true friend."
On Saturdays they took long tramps, seeking objective points farbeyond the range of ordinary ramblers.
CHAPTER XL
THE END OF THE WOOING
Madge had often turned wistful eyes toward High Peak, and on the lastSaturday before their final return to the city she said to Graydon,"Dare we attempt it? Perhaps if we gave the day to the climb, and tookit leisurely--"
"There's no 'perhaps' about it. We'll go if you wish. I should likenothing better than to get lost with you."
"There is no danger of getting lost," she replied, hastily. "The hotelmust be visible from the whole line of its summit, and I am told thatthere is a path to the top of the mountain."
"I will be ready in half an hour," he said.
It was a lovely day in early September. The air was soft, yet cool andbracing enough to make climbing agreeable. Graydon had a lunch basket,which he could sling over his shoulder, well filled, and ordered acarriage. "There is no need of our tramping over the intervening milesof dusty roads which must be passed before we begin our climb," hesaid, "and the distance we ride will make a pleasant drive for Maryand the children."
Madge and Graydon reached the summit without any great difficulty,Mary having returned with the assurance that they would find their ownway back to the hotel.
As the hours passed, Graydon began to gather more hope than he haddared to entertain since his shattered theory had so disheartened him.In spite of his fancied knowledge about Madge, it was hard to believeshe was very unhappy that morning. There was an elasticity to herstep, a ring of genuine gladness in her tones and laugh, which did notsuggest that she was consciously carrying a heavy burden.
"She certainly is the bravest and most unselfish girl I everimagined," he thought, as they left the highest point after enjoyingthe view. "With an art so inimitable as to be artless, she has triedto give me enjoyment. Instead of regarding herself as one to beentertained, she has been pouring forth words, fancies, snatchesof song like sparkling wine, and I am exhilarated instead of beingwearied."
When at last they found a spring at which to eat their lunch, he toldher so, concluding, "This mountain air does you good, Madge."
"So do you," she replied, with a piquant nod. "Don't be conceited whenI tell you that you are good company."
"No; but I can't help being happy."
"Oh, indeed! It doesn't seem to take much to make you happy."
"Not very much from you."
"Pass me a biscuit, Graydon; I want something more substantial thanfine speeches after our climb. Isn't all this truly Arcadian--thismossy rug on which we have placed our lunch, the trees whisperingabout us overhead, and the spring there bubbling over with somethingconcerning which it murmurs so contentedly?"
"I wonder what they think of us! I can imagine one thing."
"You are always imagining. The idea of your being a banker! Well,there is a loud whisper from the trees. What was remarked?"
"That yonder little girl doesn't look so very unhappy."
"No, Graydon," she said, earnestly, "you make Saturdays and Sundaysvery bright to me. No girl ever had a truer friend than you arebecoming."
"Have become, Madge."
"Graydon," she said, eagerly, as if hastening from dangerous ground,"the hotel is there just opposite to us. Don't you think we couldscramble down the mountain here, and return by Kaaterskill Clove andthe Falls? It would be such fun, and save such a very long distance!"
"We'll try it," he said.
"Come," she resumed, brusquely, "you are spoiling me. You say yes toeverything. If you don't think it safe or best you must not humor me."
"We can soon learn whether it's safe and practicable, and there is nodanger of losing our way. We have only to return over the mountain inorder to strike the path somewhere at right angles."
"Let us hasten, then. I am in the mood to end our sojourn in theCatskills by an hour or two of contact with nature absolutelyprimitive. The scenes we shall pass through will be so pleasant tothink of by a winter fire."
"Winter fire? That's capital! You are not going back to Santa Barbara,Madge?"
"I haven't promised that--I haven't promised anything."
"No; I have done all the promising."
"You did so of your own free will."
"And of my own free will shall keep my promises. No, don't let usleave any remnants of our lunch. Should we get lost you will wantsomething more substantial than fine speeches."
"I shall indeed."
Graydon filled from the spring the bottle which had contained milk;and then packing his little hamper he led the way downward, overand through obstacles which often involved no little difficulty, andsometimes almost danger.
"May I help you all I please?" he asked.
"Yes, when I can't help myself."
Then he began to rejoice over the ruggedness of the way, which made itproper to take her hand so often, and at times even to lift her over afallen tree.
"What fun it is!" cried Madge.
"The best I ever had," he replied, promptly. But they had not realizedthe difficulty of their attempt; for when little more than half-wayto the foot of the mountain they came to a ledge down which thereappeared no place for safe descent. As they were skirting thisprecipice perilously near the edge, he holding Madge's hand, someloose debris gave way beneath his feet.
Instead of instinctively clinging to Madge's hand, even in the act offalling he threw it up and around a small tree, which she grasped, andregained her footing, while he went down and disappeared.
At first she was so appalled that she could do no more than clutch thetree convulsively and look with blank horror at the spot where she hadseen him last. Then came the thought, "His life may now depend uponme."
The distance he had fallen would not be necessarily fatal, and belowthe ledge there were low scrubby trees that might have broken theimpetus of his descent. She called in tones that might have evokedan answer even from the lips of death; then, with a resolution in herpallid face which nothing could daunt, she sought to reach her side.
At first Graydon was utterly unconscious. At last, like a dim lightentering a darkened room, thought and memory began to revive. Heremembered that he had been at Madge's side, and had fallen; he hadgrasped at branches of trees as he passed through them, and then allhad become dark. He tried to speak, to call his companion, but foundbe could not. He almost doubted whether he was alive in the flesh. Ifhe were he must have received some terrible injury that had caused astrange paralysis.
His confused thoughts finally centred wholly on Madge. Had she fallen?The thought of her, perhaps injured, possibly lying unconscious ordead near him, and he helpless, caused a dull, vague dread, like acold tide, to overwhelm his very soul. He tried to move, to springup, but only his mind appeared free. Then he thought he recognizedher voice calling in the distance. Soon, with alternations of hopeand fear, he heard her steps and voice draw nearer. She had evidentlyfound a way down the ledge, and was coming along its base towardhim--coming swiftly, almost recklessly.
She was at his side. Her low, terror-stricken cry chilled his heart.Was he dead? and was it his soul only, lingering in the body, that wascognizant of all this?
Her hand was on his pulse, then inside his vest against his heart.
"Oh," she moaned, "can he be dying or dead? I can't find his pulse,nor does his heart seem to beat. He is so pale, so deathly pale, evento his lips."
He knew that she was lifting him into a different and easier position,and wondered at the muscular power she exerted, even under excitement.
"Why, why," she exclaimed in horror, "he is cold, strangely cold! Hishands and brow are almost like ice, and wet with the dew of death."
She was not aware of the fact that extreme coldness and a clammyperspiration would be among the results of such a severe shock.
"Graydon," she gasped, "Graydon!" Then after a moment: "O God, if heshould never know!"
She chafed his hands and wrists, opened the lunch basket, and foundthat the bottle containing water was not broken, for he felt dropsdashed on his face, and his lips moistened; but the same stonyparalysis enchained him. Then sh
e sent out her voice for help, andthere was agony, terror, and heart-break in her cry.
Realizing the futility of this on the lonely mountainside, she soonceased, and again sought, with almost desperate energy, to restorehim, crying and moaning meanwhile in a way that smote his heart. Atlast she threw herself on his breast with the bitter cry:
"Oh, Graydon, Graydon, are you dying? Will you _never_ know? Oh, myheart's true love, shall I never have a chance to tell you that itwas you I loved--you only! It was for you I went away alone to die, Ifeared. For you I struggled back to life, and toiled and prayed thatI might be your fair ideal; and now you may never know. Graydon,Graydon, I would give you the very blood out of my heart--O God, Ican't restore him!" she moaned, in a choking voice, and then he knewfrom her dead weight upon his breast that she had fainted.
This mental anguish and the effort he put forth to respond tothese words caused great beads of sweat to start out upon his face.Suddenly, as if a giant hand was lifted, the effects of the shockresulting from his fall passed away. He opened his eyes, and there wasMadge, with her face buried upon his breast, in brief oblivion fromfears that threatened to crush at once hope and life.
To his great joy he found that he could move. Feebly, and with greatdifficulty, he lifted her head and tried to regain his feet. He foundthis impossible, and soon realized that his leg was broken. He nowsaw that he must act wisely and carefully, or their plight would beserious indeed; and yet his mind was in such a tumult of immeasurablejoy at his discovery that he would not in the least regret theaccident, if assured of her safety.
At last, in response to his efforts, she began to revive. The senseof responsibility, the necessity for action on her part, had beenso great immediately before she had fainted under the stress of oneoverwhelming fear, that her mind, even during unconsciousness, mayhave put forth effort to regain its hold upon sense. She found herselfleaning against a prostrate tree, and Graydon sitting near, speakingto her in soothing and encouraging tones.
In response to her bewildered, troubled look of inquiry, he said,cheerfully, and in natural tones, "Don't worry, Madge, or befrightened."
"What has happened, Graydon?"
"I'll tell you what I know, and you must supply the rest. We wereproceeding along that ledge above us, and trying to find a safe placeto climb down."
A slow deep color began to take the place of her pallor, showing thather own memory was supplying all that had occurred.
"You know I fell, Madge. Thank God, I did not carry you down with me!"
"Any other man would," she said, almost brusquely. "You threw my handback around a tree."
"Did I?" exclaimed Graydon, very innocently and gladly. "Well,everything became very confused after that. I must have beenunconscious. I do remember grasping at the branches as I passedthrough these low trees above us--"
"You must have caught one of them, Graydon," she said, eagerly,turning toward him again, "for a large limb had broken off and waslying upon you."
"Was it so? Perhaps I owe it a good turn, for it may have so brokenmy fall as to have saved my life. Well, in some way, you, true, bravelittle girl, you must have reached me, and, finding that you could notrestore me, and imagining I was dead or dying, you fainted yourselffrom the nervous shock of it all. When I recovered the use of mysenses I found evidence that you had been trying to revive me. Now,Madge, we must both be brave and sensible. We must regain the fullpossession of our wits as soon as possible. Can you be very brave andsensible (to use your favorite word) if I tell you something?"
"Yes, Graydon," she said. "I can do anything, now that I know you aregoing to live."
"I am very much alive, and shall be thoroughly conscious of the factfor some time to come. You must keep perfectly cool and rational, forwhat has happened is a very serious affair under the circumstances."Her scarlet face was turned from him again. "Madge," he concluded, inquiet tones, "I've broken my leg."
"Is that all?" she said, with a look of intense relief.
"Isn't that enough? I'm helpless."
"I'm not," and she sprang to her feet "Why, Graydon, it might havebeen a hundred-fold worse. I thought it was immeasurably worse," shesaid, suppressing a sob. "You might have been killed. See how faryou fell! I feared you might have received some terrible internalinjury--"
"I have; but that's a chronic affair, as you know," he interrupted,laughing.
"SO YOU IMAGINE I SHALL SOON BE MAKING LOVE TO ANOTHERGIRL."]
His mirth and allusion did more to restore her than all else, for heappeared the same friend that she thought she had lost.
"Now that it is so evident that you will survive all your injuries,"she resumed, with an answering laugh, "I am myself again. You directme what to do."
"I shall, indeed, have to depend on you almost wholly; and the factthat another must look to you in such a strait will do more tokeep you up than all cordials and stimulants. I can do very littlemyself--"
"Forgive me, Graydon. You know I am not indifferent. Are you in muchpain?" and her voice was very gentle.
"Not yet. You must act contrary to your instincts for once, and exertall your ingenuity to attract attention. First, we must have a fire;meanwhile I shall light a cigar, which will help me to think andbanish the impression that we are lost babes in the woods. The smoke,you see, will draw eyes to this spot--the smoke of the fire, I mean."
"I'm following you correctly."
"You must have followed me very bravely, heroic little woman that youare! You are indeed unlike other girls, who would never have reachedme except by tumbling after--"
"Come, no more reminiscences till you are safe at the hotel, and yourleg mended."
"Very well. I direct, but you command. As soon as we have a columnof smoke ascending from this point you must try to find an open spacenear here, and wave something white as a signal of distress."
He had scarcely concluded before she was at work. The prostrate treeagainst which he had managed to place her at such pain to his brokenlimb served as a back-log, and soon a column of smoke was ascending.At times she would turn a shy, half-doubting, half-questioning glanceat him, but he would smile so naturally and speak so frankly that thesuspicion that he had heard her words almost passed from her mind.
"Madge," he said, "in finding an outlook toward the hotel or valley,don't go far away, if possible. It makes me awfully nervous to thinkof you climbing alone."
She found a projecting rock beneath them within calling distance, andon an extemporized pole she fastened the napkins. At his suggestionshe waved them only downward and upward, at the same time sending outher powerful voice from time to time in a cry for help.
He, left alone, sometimes groaned from an unusually severe twinge ofpain, and again laughed softly to himself over the situation. He knewthat the question of their being sought and found was only one oftime, and he would have been willing to have had all his bones brokenshould this have been needful to secure the knowledge which nowthrilled his very soul with gladness. The past grew perfectly clear,and the pearl of a woman who had given herself to him so long agogained a more priceless value with every moment's thought, "Ah,sweet Madge! I'm the blessed idiot you loved and toiled for at SantaBarbara! I shouldn't have believed that such a thing could happen inthis humdrum world."
Nor would it seem that the attention of even a fraction of that greatworld could be obtained. The shadows of evening began to gather, andMadge, at Graydon's call, returned, wearied and somewhat discouraged.
"Cheer up," he said. "It is only a question of time. We shall soon bemissed, and our signals will be more effective when it is dark. See,we shall not starve. I have been getting supper for you. Keeping theremnants of our lunch wasn't a bad idea, was it?"
"Keeping up your courage and mine is a better one. Graydon, I fear youare suffering very much."
"Oh, Madge, armies of men have broken their legs! That's nothing but alittle disagreeable prose, while this adventure with you is somethingto talk and laugh over all our lives. I've cut my boo
t off andbandaged my leg as well as I could, and am now hungry. That's a goodsign. I shall be positively hilarious if you make as good supper asthis meagre spread permits. Take a little water, for your throat mustbe parched. You will have to drink it from the bottle, Pat's fashion,for my rubber cup is broken."
"Indeed, a little water is all I want at present, and I must gatherwood for the fire before it is darker."
"Very well," he said, laughing; "supper shall wait for you."
The vicinity appeared as if never before visited, and there was anabundance of dead and decaying wood lying about. When she had secureda large quantity of this she came and sat down by the fire, and said,"I will take a little supper now, and then it will be so dark that wecan signal in some other way."
"Madge," said Graydon, earnestly, "it has cut me to the heart to liehelplessly here and see you doing work so unsuitable."
"Nothing could be more suitable under the circumstances. You do thinkwe shall be found soon? Oh, I'm so worried about you!"
"More, then, than I am about myself. I shall have to play invalid forsome time. Won't you be my nurse occasionally?"
"Yes, Graydon, all I can."
"Why, then, don't worry about me at all. The prospect makes me fairlyhappy. Come, now, eat the whole of that sandwich."
She complied, looking thoughtfully into the fire meanwhile. By thelight of the flickering blaze he saw the trouble and worry pass fromher brow and the expression of her face grow as quiet and contented asthat of a child's. At last she said, "Well, this does seem cosey andcompanionable, in spite of everything. There, forgive me, Graydon; Iforgot for the moment that you were in pain."
"Was I? I forgot it, too. Sitting there in the firelight, yousuggested the sweetest picture I ever hope to see."
"You can't be _in extremis_ when you begin to compliment."
"Don't you wish to know what the picture was?"
"Oh, yes, if it will help you pass the time!"
"I saw you sitting by a hearth, and I thought, 'If that hearth weremine it would be the loveliest picture the world had known.' Now yousee what an egotist I am. You look so enchanting in that firelightthat I cannot resist--I would try so hard to be worthy of you, Madge.Make your own terms again, as I said once to you before."
"My own terms?" she repeated, turning a sudden and searching glanceupon him. "Then tell me, did you hear what I said this afternoon whenI first found you?"
He hesitated a moment, and then said, firmly: "Yes, every word; but,Madge, you must not punish me for what I could not help. It would notbe right."
"Could you hear me and yet--"
"I could hear you and yet could not move a muscle until you fainted,and then my intense mental excitement and solicitude must have brokenthe paralysis caused by the shock of my fall. Oh, Madge, look at me!Only a false pride can come between us now. My love is not worthy tobe compared with yours, but it is genuine, and it will--it _will_ lastas long as I do. I shall bless this accident and all the pain I mustsuffer if they bring you to me."
She sprang to his side, and putting her arm around his neck said,"Graydon, on the evening after your return I told you I couldn't beyour sister. You know why now, and you uttered these words, 'I shallhave to take you as you are if I ever find out.' I meant to win youif I could, but only by being such a girl as I thought you would love.Now you know the mystery of the little ghost, and you can bring to methat 'idiot' who didn't return my love, as often as you choose."
"Thank Heaven for what I escaped! Thank God for what I have won!" heexclaimed.
"Won? Nonsense! _You_ have been won, not I. Oh, Graydon, wouldn't youhave been amazed and horrified if you had been told, years ago, thatthe little ghost would go deliberately to work to woo a man and takehim from another girl? Think how dreadful it sounds! but you shall nowknow the worst."
"It's music that will fill my life with gladness. How exquisitely fineyour nature is, that you could do this with such absolute maidenlyreserve! Suppose I had become Stella Wildmere's bondman?"
"I should have gone back to Santa Barbara, and kept my secret."
"Horrible!"
"I said you knew all, but I am mistaken. Now, don't be shocked backinto your kind of unconsciousness again. I did another horrid thing.I listened and learned about the plot by which Arnault meant tobring Miss Wildmere to a decision against you;" and she told him thecircumstances, and what had passed between herself and Henry.
His arm tightened around her almost convulsively. "Madge," he cried,"you have not only brought me happiness--you have saved me from abitter, lifelong self-reproach far worse than poverty. How can I evershow sufficient devotion in return for all this?"
"By being sensible, and telling me how to make signals, now that it isas dark as it will be this moonlight night."
"Let me lean on you, as I ever shall figuratively hereafter. We willgo down to the outlook you found, build another fire, and wave burningbrands."
This was done. Henry Muir, who had grown very solicitous, saw theirsignals, and promptly organized a rescuing party. A wood-road led wellup toward their position, and with the aid of some employes of thehouse he at last rescued them. Graydon was weak and exhausted frompain by the time he reached the hotel, yet felt that his happiness hadbeen purchased at very slight cost. The next day he was taken to hiscity home, and Madge filled the days of his convalescence with suchvaried entertainment that he threatened to break his leg again. Shehad so trained her voice that she read or sang with almost tirelessease. To furnish home music, to shine in the light of her own hearth,had been the dream of her ambition; and to the man she had won shemade that hearth the centre of the gentle force which controlled andblessed his life.
But little further remains to be said concerning the other charactersof this story. The severe lesson received by Stella Wildmere had apermanent effect upon her character. It did not result in a veryhigh type of womanhood, for the limitations of her nature scarcelypermitted this; but it brought about decided changes for the better.She was endowed with fair abilities and a certain hard, practicalsense, which enabled her to see the folly of her former scheme oflife. Blind, inconsiderate selfishness, which asked only, "What do Iwish the present moment?" had brought humiliation and disaster, and,as her father had suggested, she possessed too much mind to repeatthat blunder. She recognized that she could not ignore naturallaws and duties and go very far in safety. Therefore, instead ofquerulousness and repining, or showing useless resentment towardher father for misfortunes which she had done nothing to avert, shestepped bravely and helpfully to his side, and amid all the chaos ofthe financial storm that was wrecking him he was happier than he hadbeen for years. Her beloved jewelry, and everything that could belegally saved from their dismantled home, was disposed of to the bestadvantage. Then very modest apartments were taken in a suburb, andboth she and her father began again. He obtained a clerkship at asmall salary, and she aided her mother in making every dollar go asfar as possible.
Arnault had thought, under the impulse of his pride, that he couldrenounce her forever, but found himself mistaken. She would not departfrom such heart as he possessed, nor could he break the spell ofher fascination. His interest grew so absorbing that he kept himselfinformed about the changes she was passing through, and her mannerof meeting them. As a result, his practical soul was filled withadmiration, and he felt that she of all others would be the wife fora man embarked on the uncertain tides of Wall Street. At last he wroteto her and renewed his offer. The reply was characteristic.
"Your offer comes too late. If, instead of being one of the principalactors in that humiliating little drama of my life, you had stood byme patiently and faithfully, I would have given you at once my deepestgratitude and, eventually, my love. I did not deserve such constancy,but I would have rewarded it to the extent of my ability. You thoughtI was mercenary. I was, and have been punished; but you forget thatyou made my mercenary spirit your ally, and kept me from becomingengaged to the man whom you well knew that I preferred. My regardfor him is n
ot so deep, however, but that I shall survive and facemy altered fortunes bravely. If you had been kind to me during thosebitter days--if you had kept my father from failure, instead ofdeserting him after he had done his best for you--he did do his bestfor you--I should have valued _you_ more than your wealth, and provedit by my life. I have since learned that I am not afraid of poverty,and that I must find truer friends."
Arnault, like so many others, turned from what "might have been" tohis pursuit of gold, but it had lost its brightness forever.
An old admirer of Stella's, a plain, sturdy business man, to whom shehad scarcely given a thought in her palmy days, eventually renewed hisattentions, and won as much love as the girl probably could have givento any one. By his aid she restored her father's broken fortunes andestablished them on a modest but secure basis, and she proved to herhusband a sensible wife, always recognizing that in promoting his bestinterests and happiness she secured her own.
Dr. Sommers is still the genial physician and the Izaak Walton ofthe Catskills. Mr. and Mrs. Wendall are "plodding toward home" with aresignation that is almost cheerful.
Henry Muir continues devoted to business, and his wife is devotedto him. He rarely permits a suitable opportunity to pass withoutremarking that the two sisters are the "most sensible women in theworld."
A Young Girl's Wooing Page 39
