CHAPTER 11. Sir Redmond Waits His Answer.
Beatrice felt distinctly out of sorts the next day, and chose an hourfor her ride when she felt reasonably secure from unwelcome company. Butwhen she went out into the sunshine there was Sir Redmond waiting withRex and his big gray. Beatrice was not exactly elated at the sight, butshe saw nothing to do but smile and make the best of it. She wantedto be alone, so that she could dream along through the hills she hadlearned to love, and think out some things which troubled her, anddecide just how she had best go about winning Rex for herself; it hadbecome quite necessary to her peace of mind that she should teach Dickand Keith Cameron a much-needed lesson.
"It has been so long since we rode together," he apologized. "I hope youdon't mind my coming along."
"Oh, no! Why should I mind?" Beatrice smiled upon him in friendlyfashion. She liked Sir Redmond very much--only she hoped he wasnot going to make love. Somehow, she did not feel in the mood forlove-making just then.
"I don't know why, I'm sure. But you seem rather fond of riding aboutthese hills by yourself. One should never ask why women do things, Ifancy. It seems always to invite disaster."
"Does it?" Beatrice was not half-listening. They were passing, justthen, the suburbs of a "dog town," and she was never tired of watchingthe prairie-dogs stand upon their burrows, chip-chip defiance until fearovertook their impertinence, and then dive headlong deep into the earth."I do think a prairie-dog is the most impudent creature alive and themost shrewish. I never pass but I am scolded by these little scoundrelstill my ears burn. What do you think they say?"
"They're probably inviting you to stop with them and be their queen, andare scolding because your heart is hard and you only laugh and ride on."
"Queen of a prairie-dog town! Dear me! Why this plaintive mood?"
"Am I plaintive? I do not mean to be, I'm sure."
"You don't appear exactly hilarious," she told him. "I can't see what isgetting the matter with us all. Mama and your sister are poor company,even for each other, and Dick is like a bear. One can't get a civil wordout of him. I'm not exactly amiable, myself, either; but I relied uponyou to keep the mental temperature up to normal, Sir Redmond."
"Perhaps it's a good thing we shall not stop here much longer. I mustconfess I don't fancy the country--and Mary is downright homesick. Shewants to get back to her parish affairs; she's afraid some rheumatic oldwoman needs coddling with jelly and wine, and that sort of thing. I'vepromised to hurry through the business here, and take her home. But Imean to see that Pine Ridge fence in place before I go; or, at least,see it well under way."
"I'm sure Dick will attend to it properly," Beatrice remarked, with pinkcheeks. If she remembered what she had threatened to tell Sir Redmond,she certainly could not have asked for a better opportunity. She wasreminding herself at that moment that she always detested a tale bearer.
"Your brother Dick is a fine fellow, and I have every confidence inhim; but you must see yourself that he is swayed, more or less, byhis friendship for--his neighbors. It is only a kindness to take theresponsibility off his shoulders till the thing is done. I'm sure hewill feel better to have it so."
"Yes," she agreed; "I think you're right. Dick always was verysoft-hearted, and, right or wrong, he clings to his friends."Then, rather hastily, as though anxious to change the trend of theconversation: "Of course, your sister will insist on keeping Dorman withher. I shall miss that little scamp dreadfully, I'm afraid." The nextminute she saw that she had only opened a subject she dreaded even more.
"It is something to know that there is even one of us that you willmiss," Sir Redmond observed. Something in his tone hurt.
"I shall miss you all," she said hastily. "It has been a delightfulsummer."
"I wish I might know just what element made it delightful. I wish--"
"I scarcely think it has been any particular element," she broke in,trying desperately to stave off what she felt in his tone. "I love thewild, where I can ride, and ride, and never meet a human being--whereI can dream and dally and feast my eyes on a landscape man has nottouched. I have lived most of my life in New York, and I love natureso well that I'm inclined to be jealous of her. I want her left free towork out all her whims in her own way. She has a keen sense of humor, Ithink. The way she modeled some of these hills proves that she lovesher little jokes. I have seen where she cut deep, fearsome gashes, withsides precipitous, as though she had some priceless treasure hidden awayin the deep, where man cannot despoil it. And if you plot and plan,and try very hard, you may reach the bottom at last and find thetreasure--nothing. Or, perhaps, a tiny little stream, as jealouslyguarded as though each drop were priceless."
Sir Richmond rode for a few minutes in silence. When he spoke, it wasabruptly.
"And is that all? Is there nothing to this delightful summer, after all,but your hills?"
"Oh, of course, I--it has all been delightful. I shall hate to go backhome, I think." Beatrice was a bit startled to find just how much shewould hate to go back and wrap herself once more in the conventions ofsociety life. For the first time since she could remember, she wantedher world to stand still.
Sir Redmond went doggedly to the point he had in mind and heart.
"I hoped, Beatrice, you would count me, too. I've tried to be patient.You know, don't you, that I love you?"
"You've certainly told me often enough," she retorted, in a miserableattempt at her old manner.
"And you've put me off, and laughed at me, and did everything underheaven but answer me fairly. And I've acted the fool, no doubt. I knowit. I've no courage before a woman. A curl of your lip, and I was readyto cut and run. But I can't go on this way forever--I've got to know.I wish I could talk as easy as I can fight; I'd have settled the thinglong ago. Where other men can plead their cause, I can say just the onething--I love you, Beatrice. When I saw you first, in the carriage Iloved you then. You had some fur--brown fur--snuggled under your chin,and the pink of your cheeks, and your dear, brown eyes shining andsmiling above--Good God! I've always loved you! From the beginning ofthe world, I think! I'd be good to you, Beatrice, and I believe I couldmake you happy--if you give me the chance."
Something in Beatrice's throat ached cruelly. It was the truth, and sheknew it. He did love her, and the love of a brave man is not a thingto be thrust lightly aside. But it demanded such a lot in return!More, perhaps, than she could give. A love like that--a love that giveseverything--demands everything in return. Anything less insults it.
She stole a glance at him. Sir Redmond was looking straight before him,with the fixed gaze that sees nothing. There was the white line aroundhis mouth which Beatrice had seen once before. Again that griping achewas in her throat, till she could have cried out with the pain of it.She wanted to speak, to say something--anything--which would drive thatlook from his face.
While her mind groped among the jumble of words that danced upon hertongue, and that seemed, all of them, so pitifully weak and inadequate,she heard the galloping hoofs of a horse pounding close behind. Achoking cloud of dust swept down upon them, and Keith, riding in themidst, reined out to pass. He lifted his hat. His eyes challengedBeatrice, swept coldly the face of her companion, and turned again tothe trail. He swung his heels backward, and Redcloud broke again intothe tireless lope that carried him far ahead, until there was only abrown dot speeding over the prairie.
Sir Redmond waited until Keith was far beyond hearing, then he filledhis lungs deeply and looked at Beatrice. "Don't you feel you could trustme--and love me a little?"
Beatrice was deadly afraid she was going to cry, and she hated weepingwomen above all things. "A little wouldn't do," she said, with whatfirmness she could muster. "I should want to love you as much--quite asmuch as you deserve, Sir Redmond, or not at all. I'm afraid I can't. Iwish I could, though. I--I think I should like to love you; but perhapsI haven't much heart. I like you very much--better than I ever likedany one before; but oh, I wish you wouldn't insist on an answer! I don'tknow, myself, how
I feel. I wish you had not asked me--yet. I tried notto let you."
"A man can keep his heart still for a certain time, Beatrice, but notfor always. Some time he will say what his heart commands, if thechance is given him; the woman can't hold him back. I did wait and wait,because I thought you weren't ready for me to speak. And--you don't carefor anybody else?"
"Of course I don't. But I hate to give up my freedom to any one, SirRedmond. I want to be free--free as the wind that blows here always,and changes and changes, and blows from any point that suits its whim,without being bound to any rule."
"Do you think I'm an ogre, that will lock you in a dungeon, Beatrice?Can't you see that I am not threatening your freedom? I only want theright to love you, and make you happy. I should not ask you to go orstay where you did not please, and I'd be good to you, Beatrice!"
"I don't think it would matter," cried Beatrice, "if you weren't. Ishould love you because I couldn't help myself. I hate doing things byrule, I tell you. I couldn't care for you because you were good to me,and I ought to care; it must be because I can't help myself. And I--"She stopped and shut her teeth hard together; she felt sure she shouldcry in another minute if this went on.
"I believe you do love me, Beatrice, and your rebellious young Americannature dreads surrender." He tried to look into her eyes and smile,but she kept her eyes looking straight ahead. Then Sir Redmond madethe biggest blunder of his life, out of the goodness of his heart, andbecause he hated to tease her into promising anything.
"I won't ask you to tell me now, Beatrice," he said gently. "I want youto be sure; I never could forgive myself if you ever felt you had made amistake. A week from to-night I shall ask you once more--and it will befor the last time. After that--But I won't think--I daren't think whatit would be like if you say no. Will you tell me then, Beatrice?"
The heart of Beatrice jumped into her throat. At that minute she wasvery near to saying yes, and having done with it. She was quite sure sheknew, then, what her answer would be in a week. The smile she gave himstarted Sir Redmond's blood to racing exultantly. Her lips parted alittle, as if a word were there, ready to be spoken; but she caughtherself back from the decision. Sir Redmond had voluntarily given her aweek; well, then, she would take it, to the last minute.
"Yes, I'll tell you a week from to-night, after dinner. I'll race youhome, Sir Redmond--the first one through the big gate by the stablewins!" She struck Rex a blow that made him jump, and darted off downthe trail that led home, and her teasing laugh was the last Sir Redmondheard of her that day; for she whipped into a narrow gulch when thefirst turn hid her from him, and waited until he had thundered by. Afterthat she rode complacently, deep into the hills, wickedly pleased at thetrick she had played him.
Every day during the week that followed she slipped away from him androde away by herself, resolved to enjoy her freedom to the full whileshe had it; for after that, she felt, things would never be quite thesame.
Every day, when Dick had chance for a quiet word with her, he wantedto know who owned Rex--till at last she lost her temper and told himplainly that, in her opinion, Keith Cameron had left the country fortwo reasons, instead of one. (For Keith, be it known, had not been seensince the day he passed her and Sir Redmond on the trail.) Beatriceaverred that she had a poor opinion of a man who would not stay and facewhatever was coming.
There was just one day left in her week of freedom, and Dick still ownedRex, with the chances all in his favor for continuing to do so. Still,Beatrice was vindictively determined upon one point. Let Keith Cameroncross her path, and she would do something she had never done before;she would deliberately lead him on to propose--if the fellow had nerveenough to do so, which, she told Dick, she doubted.