CHAPTER XIV.
"From beginning to end it was all undeniable nonsense; but not necessarily the worse for that."--NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.
Heathcote was sitting under a tree by the brook-side, as though he hadnever been anywhere else.
"When did you come?" said Anne, looking down from her perch.
"Fifteen minutes or so ago," he answered, looking up from his couch.
"_Why_ did you come?"
"To see you, of course."
"No; I can not believe that. The day is too warm."
"You, at any rate, look cool enough."
"It is cool up here among the rocks; but it must be intense out on thehigh-road."
"I did not come by the high-road."
"How, then, did you come?"
"Across the fields."
"Why?"
"Miss Douglas, were you born in New Hampshire? As I can not call allthis information you require up hill, I shall be obliged to come upmyself."
As he rose, Anne saw that he was laden with her dinner basket and shawl,her plant case and trowel, and her straw hat and its contents, which hebalanced with exaggerated care. "Oh, leave them all there," she calleddown, laughingly.
But no, Heathcote would not; he preferred to bring them all with him.When he reached her rock, he gravely delivered them into her hands, andtook a seat beside her, fanning himself with his hat.
"And now, how does it happen that you are here?" repeated Anne, placingher possessions in different niches.
"You insist? Why not let it pass for chance? No? Well, then, byhorseback to Powell's: horse loses shoe; blacksmith's shop. Blacksmithtalkative; second customer that morning; old coupe, fat old coachman,and fat brown horse, who also loses shoe. Coachman talkative; tells allabout it; blacksmith tells _me_; young lady left at saw-mill to be takenup on return. I, being acquainted with said saw-mill and young lady,come across by lane through the fields. Find a dinner basket; look in;conclude to bring it on. Find a small tin coffin, and bring that too.Find a hat, ditto. Hat contains--"
"Never mind," said Anne, laughing. "But where is your horse?"
"Tied to a tree."
"And what are you going to do?"
"At present, nothing. By-and-by, if you will permit it, I _may_--smoke acigar."
"I have no idea what time it is," said Anne, after a pause, whileHeathcote, finding a comfortable place with his back against the rocks,seemed disposed to enjoy one of his seasons of silence.
He drew out his watch, and without looking at it held it toward her."You need not tell; _I_ do not want to know," he said.
"In spite of that, I feel it to be my duty to announce that it is nearlyhalf past twelve; you may still reach home in time for lunch."
"Thanks. I know what I shall have for lunch."
"What?"
"One small biscuit, three slices of cake, one long corpulent pickle, andan apple."
"You have left nothing for me," said Anne, laughing over this disclosureof the contents of her basket.
"On the contrary, I have brought you something," said Heathcote, gravelyproducing two potatoes uncooked, a pinch of salt in paper, and a quarterof a loaf of bread, from the pockets of his blue flannel coat.
Anne burst into a peal of laughter, and the last shadow of timidityvanished. Heathcote seemed for the moment as young as Rast himself.
"Where have you been foraging?" she said.
"Foraging? I beg your pardon; nothing of the kind. I bought thesesupplies regularly from a farmer's wife, and paid for them in the coinof the land. I remarked to her that I should be out all day, and hatedhunger; it was so sanguinary."
"But you will not be out all day."
"Until eight minutes of six, precisely; that is the time I have selectedfor my return." Then, seeing that she looked grave, he dropped into hisusual manner, and added, "Of course, Miss Douglas, I shall only remain alittle while--until the noon heat is over. You are looking for a rareflower, I believe?"
"A fern."
"What is the color of its flower?"
Anne laughed again. "A fern has no flower," she explained. "See, it islike this." And plucking a slender leaf, she described the wished-forplant minutely. "It stretches out its long tip--so; touches theearth--so; puts down a new little root from the leaf's end--so; and thenstarts on again--so."
"In a series of little green leaps?"
"Yes."
Heathcote knew as much of ferns as he did of saurians; but no subjectwas too remote for him when he chose to appear interested. He now choseto appear so, and they talked of ferns for some time. Then Anne saidthat she must finish the remaining quarter of the ravine. Heathcotedecided to smoke a cigar where he was first; then he would join her.
But when, half an hour later, she came into view again beside the brookbelow him, apparently he had not stirred. "Found it?" he said.
"No."
"There is a sort of thin, consumptive, beggarly little leaf up herewhich looks something like your description. Shall I bring him down?"
"No, no; do not touch it," she answered, springing up the rocks towardhim. "If it should be! But--I don't believe you know."
But he did know; for it was there. Very small and slender, creepingclose to the rocks in the shyest way, half lost in the deep moss; butthere! Heathcote had not moved; but the shrinking little plant happenedto have placed itself exactly on a line with his idle eyes.
"It is unfair that you should find it without stirring, while I have hadsuch a hard climb all in vain," said Anne, carefully taking up thelittle plant, with sufficient earth and moss to keep it comfortable.
"It is ever so," replied her companion, lazily, watching the spirals ofcigar smoke above his head: "wait, and in time everything will come toyou. If not in this world, then certainly in the next, which is theworld I have selected for my own best efforts."
When the fern was properly bedded in the tin case, and the cover closed,Anne sat down for a moment to rest.
"When shall we have lunch?" asked the smoker.
"_You?_"
"Yes; I am bitterly hungry."
"But you said you were only going to stay a short time."
"Half an hour longer."
"What time is it now?"
"I have no idea."
"You can look."
"I refuse to look. Amiability has its limit."
"I had intended to walk home, if I found the fern in time," said Anne.
"Ah? But I think we are going to have a storm. Probably athunder-storm," said Heathcote, languidly.
"How do you know? And--what shall we do?"
"I know, because I have been watching that little patch of sky up there.As to what we shall do--we can try the mill."
They rose as he spoke. Anne took the plant case. "I will carry this,"she said; "the walking-leaf must be humored."
"So long as I have the dinner basket I remain sweet-tempered," answeredHeathcote.
She put on her hat, but her neck-tie and cuffs were gone.
"I have them safe," he said. "They are with the potatoes."
Reaching the mill, they tried the door, but found it securely fastened.They tried the house door and windows, with the same result. Unless theybroke several panes of glass they could not gain entrance, and even thenit was a question whether Heathcote would be able to thrust inward thestrong oaken stick above, which held the sash down.
"Do mount your horse and ride home," urged Anne. "I shall be safe here,and in danger of nothing worse than a summer shower. I will go back inthe ravine and find a beech-tree. Its close, strong little leaves willkeep off the rain almost entirely. Why should both of us be drenched?"
"Neither of us shall be. Come with me, and quickly, for the storm isclose upon us. There is a little cave, or rather hollow in the rock, notfar above the road; I think it will shelter us. I, for one, have nodesire to be out in your 'summer shower,' and ride home to Caryl'safterward in a limp, blue-stained condition."
"How long will it take us to reach this cave?" said
Anne, hesitating.
"Three minutes, perhaps."
"I suppose we had better go, then," she said, slowly. "But pray do nottake those things. They will all have to be brought down again."
"They shall be," said Heathcote, leading the way toward the road.
It was not a long climb, but in some places the ascent was steep. Alittle path was their guide to the "cave"--a hollow in the ledge, whichthe boys of the neighborhood considered quite a fortress, a bandit'sretreat. A rude ladder formed the front steps of their rock nest, andAnne was soon ensconced within, her gray shawl making a carpet for themboth. The cave was about seven feet in depth, and four or five inbreadth; the rock roof was high above their heads. Behind there was adark, deep little recess, blackened with smoke, which the boys hadevidently used as an oven. The side of the hill jutted out slightlyabove them, and this, rather than the seven feet of depth possessed bythe niche, made it possible that they would escape the rain.
The cave was in an angle of the hill. From Heathcote's side part of themain road could be seen, and the saw-mill; but Anne, facing the otherway, saw only the fields and forest, the sparkle of the littlemill-stream, and the calmer gleam of the river. One half of the sky wasof the deepest blue, one half of the expanse of field and forest goldenin the sunshine. Over the other half hung a cloud and a shadow of deeppurple-black, which were advancing rapidly, although there was not,where the two gazers sat, so much as a breath of stirred air.
"It will soon be here," said Heathcote. "See that white line across theforest? That is the wind turning over the leaves. In the fields it makesthe grain look suddenly gray as it is bent forward."
"I should not have known it was the wind," said Anne. "I have only seenstorms on the water."
"That yellow line is the Mellport plank-road; all the dust is whirling.Are you afraid of lightning?"
"Shall we have it?"
"Yes; here it is." And, with a flash, the wind was upon them. A cloud ofdust rose from the road below; they bent their heads until the whirlwindhad passed by on its wild career down the valley. When, laughing andbreathless, Anne opened her eyes again, her hair, swept out of its loosebraids, was in a wild mass round her shoulders, and she barely saved herstraw hat, which was starting out to follow the whirlwind. And now thelightning was vivid and beautiful, cutting the blue-black clouds withfierce golden darts, while the thunder followed, peal after peal, untilthe hill itself seemed to tremble. A moment later came the rain, hidingboth the valley and sky with its thick gray veil: they were shut in.
As Heathcote had thought, the drops only grazed their doorway. Theymoved slightly back from the entrance; he took off his hat, hung it on arock knob, and inquired meekly if they might not _now_ have lunch. Anne,who, between the peals, had been endeavoring to recapture her hair, andhad now one long thick braid in comparative order, smiled, and advisedhim to stay his hunger with the provisions in his own pockets. He tookthem out and looked at them.
"If the boys who use this hole for an oven have left us some wood, wewill roast and toast these, and have a hot lunch yet," he said,stretching back to search. Lighting a match, he examined the hole; thedraught that blew the flame proved that it had an outlet above. "Boysknow something, after all. And here is their wood-pile," he said,showing Anne, by the light of a second match, a cranny in the rock atone side neatly filled with small sticks and twigs. The rain fell in athick dark sheet outside straight down from the sky to the ground with alow rushing sound. In a minute or two a tiny blue flame flickered ontheir miniature hearth, went out, started again, turned golden, caughtat the twigs, and grew at last into a brisk little fire. Heathcote,leaning on his elbow, his hands and cuffs grimed, watched and tended itcarefully. He next cut his quarter loaf into slices, and toasted--orrather heated--them on the point of his knife-blade; he put his twopotatoes under hot ashes, like two Indian mounds, arranged his pinch ofsalt ceremoniously upon a stone, and then announced that he had prepareda meal to which all persons present were generously invited, with apolite unconsciousness as to any covered baskets they might have intheir possession, or the supposed contents of said receptacles. Anne,having finished the other long braid and thrown it behind her, was nowendeavoring to wash her hands in the rain. In this attempt Heathcotejoined her, but only succeeded in broadening the grimy spots. The girl'sneck-tie and cuffs were still confiscated. She was aware that a linencollar, fastened only with a white pin, is not what custom requires atthe base of a chin, and that wrists bare for three inches above the handare considered indecorous. At least in the morning, certain qualities inevening air making the same exposure, even to a much greater extent,quite different. But she was not much troubled; island life had made herindifferent even to these enormities.
The rain did not swerve from its work; it came down steadily; they couldnot see through the swift lead-colored drops. But, within, the littlecave was cheery in the fire-light, and the toasted bread had anappetizing fragrance. At least Heathcote said so; Anne thought it wasburned. She opened her basket, and they divided the contentsimpartially--half a biscuit, half a pickle, half an apple, and a sliceand a half of cake for each. The potatoes were hardly warmed through,but Heathcote insisted that they should be tasted, "in order not towickedly waste the salt." Being really hungry, they finished everything,he stoutly refusing to give up even a crumb of his last half-slice ofcake, which Anne begged for on the plea of being still in school. Bythis time they were full of merriment, laughing and paying no attentionto what they said, talking nonsense and enjoying it. Anne's cheeksglowed, her eyes were bright as stars, her brown hair, more looselyfastened than usual, lay in little waves round her face; her beautifularched lips were half the time parted in laughter, and her rounded armsand hands seemed to fall into charming poses of their own, whichever wayshe turned.
About three o'clock the veil of rain grew less dense; they could see thefields again; from where he sat, Heathcote could see the road and themill.
"Can we not go now?" said Anne.
"By no means, unless you covet the drenching we have taken so much careto escape. But by four I think it will be over." He lit a cigar, andleaning back against the rock, said, "Tell me some more about thatisland; about the dogs and the ice."
"No," said Anne, coloring a little; "you are laughing at me. I shalltell you no more."
Then he demanded autocratically that she should sing. "I choose the songyou sang on New-Year's night; the ballad."
And Anne sang the little chanson, sang it softly and clearly, the lowsound of the rain forming an accompaniment.
"Do you know any Italian songs?"
"Yes."
"Please sing me one."
She sang one of Belzini's selections, and remembered to sing it as Tantehad directed.
"You do not sing that as well as the other; there is no expression.However, that could hardly be expected, I suppose."
"Yes, it could, and I know how. Only Tante told me not to do it," saidthe girl, with a touch of annoyance.
"Tante not being here, I propose that you disobey."
And Anne, not unwillingly, began; it had always been hard for her tofollow Tante's little rule. She had heard the song more than once in theopera to which it belonged, and she knew the Italian words. She put herwhole heart into it, and when she ended, her eyes were dimmed withemotion.
Heathcote looked at her now, and guardedly. This was not the school-girlof the hour before. But it was, and he soon discovered that it was.Anne's emotion had been impersonal; she had identified herself for thetime being with the song, but once ended, its love and grief were nomore to her--her own personality as Anne Douglas--than the opera itself.
"Curious!" thought the man beside her.
And then his attention was diverted by a moving object advancing alongthe main road below. Through the rain he distinguished the light buggyof Gregory Dexter and his pair of fine black horses. They had evidentlybeen under shelter during the heaviest rain-fall, and had now venturedforth again. Heathcote made no sign, but watched. Anne could
not see theroad. Dexter stopped at the mill, tied his horses to a post, and thentried the doors, and also the door of the miller's little cottage,peering through the windows as they had done. Then he went up the ravineout of sight, as if searching for some one. After five minutes hereturned, and waited, hesitating, under a tree, which partiallyprotected him from the still falling drops. Heathcote was now roused toamusement. Dexter was evidently searching for Anne. He lit anothercigar, leaned back against the rock in a comfortable position, and begana desultory conversation, at the same time watching the movements ofhis rival below. A sudden after-shower had now come up--one of thoseshort but heavy bursts of rain on the departing edge of a thunder-storm,by which the unwary are often overtaken. Dexter, leaving his tree, andseizing the cushions of the buggy, hurried up the tramway to the milldoor again, intending to force an entrance. But the solid oak stood firmin spite of his efforts, and the rain poured fiercely down. Heathcotecould see him look upward to the sky, still holding the heavy cushions,and his sense of enjoyment was so great that he leaned forward andwarmly shook hands with Anne.
"Why do you do that?" she asked, in surprise.
"I remembered that I had not shaken hands with you all day. If weneglect our privileges, the gods take them from us," he answered. Andthen, he had the exquisite pleasure of seeing the man below attempt toclimb up to one of the small mill windows, slip down twice, and at lastsucceed so far as to find footing on a projecting edge, and endeavor toopen the stubborn sash, which plainly would not yield. He was exertingall his strength. But without avail. It was a true dog-day afternoon,the rain having made the air more close and lifeless than before. Thestrong draught up the chimney of their cave had taken the heat of thesmall fire away from them; yet even there among the cool rocks they hadfound it necessary to put out the little blaze, as making their nichetoo warm. Down below in the open valley the heat was unbroken; and to bewet and warm, and obliged to exert all one's strength at the same time,is hard for a large man like Gregory Dexter. The rain dripped from theroof directly down upon his hat, and probably, the looker-on thoughtwith glee, was stealing down his back also. At any rate he was becomingimpatient, for he broke a pane of glass and put his hand through to tryand reach the sash-spring. But the spring was broken; it would not move.And now he must be growing angry, for he shivered all the panes, brokethe frame, and then tried to clamber in; the cushions were alreadysacrificed down on the wet boards below. But it is difficult for abroad-shouldered heavy man to climb through a small window, especiallyif he have no firm foot-hold as a beginning. Heathcote laughed out aloudnow, and Anne leaned forward to look also.
"Who is it?" she said, as she caught sight of the struggling figure. Atthis moment Dexter had one knee on the sill and his head inside, but hewas too broad for the space.
"He is caught! He can neither get in nor out," said Heathcote, in anecstasy of mirth.
"Who is it?" said Anne again.
"Dexter, of course; he is here looking for you. There! he hasslipped--he is in real danger! No; he has firm hold with his hands. Seehim try to find the edge with his feet. Oh, this is too good!" Andthrowing back his head, Heathcote laughed until his brown eyes shone.
But Anne, really alarmed, held her breath; then, when the strugglingfigure at last found its former foot-hold, she gave a sigh of relief."We must go down," she said.
"And why, Miss Douglas?"
"Did you not say he had come for me?"
"That was a supposition merely. And did not I come for you too?"
"But as he is there, would it not be better for us to go down?"
"Have we not done well enough by ourselves so far? And besides, at thislate hour, I see no object in getting a wetting merely for his sake."
"It is not raining hard now."
"But it is still raining."
She leaned forward and looked down at Dexter again; he was standingunder a tree wiping his hat with his handkerchief.
"Please let me go down," she said, entreatingly, like a child.
"No," said Heathcote, smiling back, and taking her hand as if to makesure. "Do you remember the evening after the quarry affair, Anne? andthat I took your hand, and held it as I am doing now? Did you think meimpertinent?"
"I thought you very kind. After that I did not mind what grandaunt hadsaid."
"And what had she said? But no matter; something disagreeable, withoutdoubt. Even the boys who frequent this retreat could not well havegrimier hands than we have now: look at them. No, you can not bereleased, unless you promise."
"What?"
"Not to go down until I give you leave: I will give it soon."
"I promise."
With a quiet pressure, and one rather long look, he relinquished herhand, and leaned back against the rock again.
"I wonder how Dexter knew that you were here?"
"Perhaps he met grandaunt. I heard him say that he was going to Mellportto-day."
"That is it. The roads cross, and he must have met her. Probably, then,he has her permission to take you home. Miss Douglas, will you acceptadvice?"
"I will at least listen to it," said Anne, smiling.
"When the rain stops, as it will in a few minutes, go down alone. Andsay nothing to Mr. Dexter about me. Now do not begin to batter me withthat aggressive truthfulness of yours. You can, of course, tell MissVanhorn the whole; but certainly you are not accountable to GregoryDexter."
"But why should I not tell him?"
"Because it is as well that he should not know I have been here with youall day," said Heathcote, quietly, but curious to hear what she wouldanswer.
"Was it wrong?"
"It was a chance. But he would think I planned it. Of course I supposedthe miller and his family were here."
"But if it was wrong for you to be here when you found them absent, whydid you stay?" said Anne, looking at him gravely.
"The storm came up, you know; of course I could not leave you. Do notlook so serious; all is well if we keep it to ourselves. And MissVanhorn's first command to you will be the same. She will look blacklyat me for a day or two, but I shall be able to bear that. Take myadvice; to Dexter, at least, say nothing." Then, seeing her stillunconvinced, he added, "On my own account, too, I wish you would nottell him."
"You mean it?"
"Yes."
"Then I will not," she answered, raising her sincere eyes to his.
Heathcote laughed, lightly lifted her hand, and touched the blue-veinedwrist with his lips. "You true-hearted little girl!" he said. "I wasonly joking. As far as I am concerned, you may tell Dexter and the wholeworld. But seriously, on your own account, I beg you to refrain. Promiseme not to tell him until you have seen Miss Vanhorn."
"Very well; I promise that," said Anne.
"Good-by, then. The rain is over, and he will be going. I will not showmyself until I see you drive away. What good fortune that my horse wastied out of sight! Must you carry all those things, basket, tin case,and all? Why not let me try to smuggle some of them home on horseback?You would rather not? I submit. There, your hat has fallen off; I willtie it on."
"But the strings do not belong there," said Anne, laughing merrily as heknotted the two blue ribbons with great strength (as a man always ties aribbon) under her chin.
"Never mind; they look charming."
"And my cuffs?"
"You can not have them; I shall keep them as souvenirs. And now--haveyou had a pleasant day, Anne?"
"Very," replied the girl, frankly.
They shook hands in farewell, and then she went down the ladder, hershawl, plant case, and basket on her arm. Heathcote remained in thecave. When she had reached the ground, and was turning to descend thehill, a low voice above said, "Anne."
She glanced up; Heathcote was lying on the floor of the cave with hiseyes looking over the edge. "Shake hands," he said, cautiouslystretching down an arm.
"But I did."
"Once more."
She put down her shawl, plant case, and basket, and, climbing one roundof
the ladder, extended her hand; their finger-tips touched.
"Thanks," said the voice above, and the head was withdrawn.
Dexter, after doing what he could to make the buggy dry, was on thepoint of driving away, when he saw a figure coming toward him, andrecognized Anne. He jumped lightly out over the wheel (he could be lighton occasion), and came to meet her. It was as they had thought; he hadmet Miss Vanhorn, and learning where Anne was, had received permissionto take her home.
"I shall not be disappointed after all," he said, his white teethgleaming as he smiled, and his gray eyes resting upon her with cordialpleasure. He certainly was a fine-looking man. But--too large for a millwindow. Fortunately mill windows are not standards of comparison.
"It has been raining a long time; where did you find shelter?" he asked,as the spirited horses, fretted by standing, started down the moistbrown road at a swift pace.
"In a little cave in the hill-side above us," answered Anne, consciousthat at that very moment Heathcote was probably watching them. Shehesitated, and then, in spite of a distinct determination not to do it,could not help turning her head and glancing backward and upward for asecond behind her companion's broad shoulders. In answer, a handkerchieffluttered from above; he was watching, then. A bright flush rose in hercheeks, and she talked gayly to Dexter during the six-mile drive betweenthe glistening fields, over the wet dark bridge, and up to the piazza ofCaryl's, where almost every one was sitting enjoying the coolness afterthe rain, and the fresh fragrance of the grateful earth. Rachel Bannertcame forward as they alighted, and resting her hand caressingly onAnne's shoulder, hoped that she was not tired--and were they caught inthe rain?--and did they observe the peculiar color of the clouds?--andso forth, and so forth. Rachel was dressed for the evening in black laceover black velvet, with a crimson rose in her hair; the rich draperytrailed round her in royal length, yet in some way failed to concealentirely the little foot in its black slipper. Anne did not hurry away;she stood contentedly where she was while Rachel asked all her littlequestions. Dexter had stepped back into the buggy with the intention ofdriving round himself to the stables; he had no desire to expose thewrinkled condition of his attire to the groups on the piazza. But inthat short interval he noted (as Rachel had intended he should note)every detail of her appearance. Her only failure was that he failed tonote also, by comparison, the deficiencies of Anne.
When he was gone, being released, Anne ran up to her room, placed thefern in water, and then, happening to think of it, looked at herself inthe glass. The result was not cheering. Like most women, she judgedherself by the order of her hair and dress; they were both frightful.
Miss Vanhorn, also caught in the storm, did not return until latetwilight. Anne, not knowing what she would decree when she heard thestory of the day, had attired herself in the thick white school-girldress which had been selected on another occasion of penance--theevening after the adventure at the quarry. It was an inconvenient timeto tell the story. Miss Vanhorn was tired and cross, tea had been sentup to the room, and Bessmer was waiting to arrange her hair. "What haveyou been doing now?" she said. "Climbing trees? Or breaking in colts?"
Anne told her tale briefly. The old woman listened, without comment, butwatching her closely all the time.
"And he said to tell you," said Anne, in conclusion, "but not to tellMr. Dexter, unless you gave me permission."
"Mr. Dexter alone?"
"Mr. Dexter or--any one, I suppose."
"Very well; that will do. And Mr. Heathcote is right; you are not tobreathe a word of this adventure to any one. But what fascination it is,Anne Douglas, which induces you to hang yourself over rocks, and climbup into caves, I can not imagine! Luckily this time you had not a crowdof spectators. Bring me the fern, and--But what, in the name of wonder,are you wearing? Go to your room immediately and put on the lavendersilk."
"Oh, grandaunt, _that_?"
"Do as I bid you. Bessmer, you can come in now. I suppose it is orderedfor the best that young girls should be such hopeless simpletons!"