Chapter XVIII.
In the cool of the following evening we find Clifford swinging dreamilyin a hammock on the porch, while near by is ever-busy Maud, preparing abasket of martynias for the pickle-jar. As she deftly snipped off thecurling ends of the green pods, locally known as "Devil Claws"--a veryappropriate name indeed, when applied to the mature fruit--she cast aglance of suspicion toward her brother, and said:--
"I never like to see you so quiet, Clifford. I have always noticed thatsilent people need watching. Now, here is Rob, for instance:--Just solong as we can hear him whistling or singing, we rest contentedly; butthe very moment he becomes quiet--ah! look out! There is mischief onhand every time; and we are likely to miss pie from the pantry soon, orfind that the rogue has filched a bowl of cream down cellar. No, sir;you have been so suspiciously reticent to-day that I am led to think youhave learned something since we had our talk yesterday."
"I always endeavor to store up some treasure of wisdom daily, mysister," Clifford replied, with lazy evasion, as he swung a polishedboot to and fro over the hammock's side, and turned a feverish facetoward Maud. Then, while a look of sarcasm gleamed in his half-closedeyes, he added, as she continued to glance askance: "Who was thephilosopher, sage, or poet that said--or should have said, atleast--something about the moral obloquy of groping through life with across eye?"
"Whoever that fellow was who strangled on such a proverb, I'll bet myboots he never clanked round of nights, like a loose horse, all thewhile fancying himself sly," said Rob, with a knowing chuckle, as hecocked his head on one side to view the horse-hair bridle-rein which hewas braiding while seated on the edge of the porch.
A loud-mouthed clamor from the dogs precluded an answer to this thrust,and as the group on the porch looked toward the gate, Grace, Ralph, andScott Moreland came into the yard, and they were all soon eagerlydiscussing the plan of holding a picnic in the Warlow pasture, on theopposite side of the river from the colonel's dwelling.
Before their neighbors left it was decided that the event should takeplace the last of the following week; but in the excitement of agreeingon a programme, and the wordy debate as to the propriety of includingdancing in the list of amusements, all the leisure time of the next twodays was consumed; so nothing more was said regarding the greatdiscoveries which the week had revealed.
Verbal and written invitations were sown broadcast throughout thecolony, bidding their friends to the picnic; and not many days hadelapsed before Clifford had ridden down to the Estill Ranch to deliverthe compliment in person to the members of that aristocratic household.
At the door he met Hugh, who was as cordial and genial as ever, andentered into the scheme of the picnic with his customary zest ofpleasure, sharpened now, no doubt, with the desire to meet thefascinating Grace once again.
The call lengthened out astonishingly, as Clifford strolled back andforth on the star-lit terrace with the vivacious heiress of Montelumaand Estill Ranch, who promised to come up with Hugh the next day, topractice, with a dozen others, who were to meet at Moreland's, and agreeon the music for the entertainment.
"What a delightful evening this has been!" said Clifford at a very latehour, as they walked down to the steps, at the base of which his horsewas tied.
"Oh, charming indeed! I And don't you think that we are progressing wellwith our "practicing," for here we have had all the elements of aflirtation without the aid of either a moon or a gate," she said gaily,as he unfastened the chain at the steps, which served to bar the way atthe top of the stairs, which led down from the terrace.
A cool "Good evening, Miss Estill," was all the answer this sallyelicited from young Warlow, as he rode away, thinking gloomily that theproud heiress meant to show him, under the cover of her levity, that shewas only amusing herself or "practicing" the arts of "flirtation" at hisexpense; and he determined that when they met again he would show herthat he understood the hint, and would give her no further opportunityto repulse his advances.
So, accordingly, it was with a great deal of hauteur he met Miss Estillthe following afternoon at Morelands'; but either that young lady wastoo indifferent to notice his behavior or had been gratified at theresult of her light remark, for she was as gay and unchanged as ever.
All of our hero's stern resolves dissolved into smiles and admirationwhile he stood talking with the charming young lady; but when thewealthy, dissolute aristocrat, Major Stork, of Devondale, came up, andproceeded to monopolize Miss Estill, Clifford froze up completely, andbecame so polite and attentive to Grace that she at length declared shewould box his ears if he did not quit persecuting her so; whichpersecutions consisted merely in keeping Hugh Estill away from herside--a crime which Clifford told her, hotly, was worse than murder inher eyes.
"Cliff Warlow, you are a booby!" said Miss Grace, with astonishingcandor; "and you needn't come round me with any of your second-handattentions; for I've got a pair of eyes in my head, and know how to usethem too. The idea of your being jealous of that hawk-billed oldreprobate. Why, it's perfectly absurd," she continued, casting a glanceof scorn toward the spot where the stately major and Miss Estill weretalking. "Oh, you should remember, Cliff, that a girl who is worthhaving is not going to fall into a fellow's mouth like a ripe persimmonwhenever he shakes the tree."
Then in a tone of confidence she continued, with a look of wisdom, whichClifford thought, with an ill-concealed smile, resembled that of aprairie-owl: "Girls are very apt to pretend a great coldness toward afellow that they want to catch; that is, after they see they have made asafe impression on him; and to see such a girl begin manoeuvringaround another fellow, one too that you know she can't care a straw for,why, it always shows plain enough that it is only to decoy fellow numberone."
"There you are now far beyond my comprehension," Clifford interrupted,with returning good humor; and as Hugh Estill joined them he added: "Iwill now retire in favor of number one."
Emboldened by Grace's homily, young Warlow sought Miss Estill's side,and in her vivacious friendliness he soon found the happiness that hadtaken flight on the appearance of the major; but the returning bud ofconfidence, which her smiles had called forth, was nipped by a mostuntimely frost in the appearance of a new rival--John Downels, ofDiamond Springs.
Mr. Downels was a _debonair_, graceful specimen of the gilded youth ofNew York, from whose make-up the last remaining trace of effeminacy hadbeen eliminated by a stern course of ranch-life in the West. He appearedto be an old friend of Miss Estill, who presented him to Clifford; butafter a moment's civility, young Warlow took his leave and retired,while the late comer devoted himself to the heiress.
While pretending to discuss music with Mrs. Warfield, Clifford watchedthe pair furtively. He began to realize that now he had just cause foruneasiness; for there was an air of culture and polished ease about theblonde-haired young ranchman which made him very attractive, and youngWarlow became so absorbed and miserable that he only half realized whathe was saying.
"Do you think we shall have time at the picnic to sing all the songs onthe programme before dinner?" Mrs. Warfield inquired.
"Why, no; I believe it would be a better plan to dish it out by thequart to the individual tables," he replied, absently; then seeing apuzzled look sweep over her face, he hastened to add: "You know it wouldbe more liable to melt if it was in such small quantities."
The situation flashed at once upon the keen-eyed lady, and althoughflirtation, jealousy, music, and ice-cream was a combination sufficientto upset the gravity of a sexton, yet she replied in a tone of perfectsuavity while toying with her bracelet of jet and gold:
"A very good plan indeed, Mr. Warlow."
When evening came, and with its brooding shadows the company dispersed,our hero returned home with a heavy heart. As he pondered over each wordand action of Miss Estill, he had to confess that there was nothing inher demeanor towards him but friendly courtesy at all times. The onlyway that he could interpret her remark on the terrace, regarding their"flirtation" and "practicing,
" was that she had seen his growingattachment for herself, and she had in that way shown him that it wasonly a flirtation, and that his case was hopeless. "Yes; she was toogenuinely a lady to encourage his suit, then discard him at the lastmoment," he concluded, despondently.
A miserable day followed a sleepless night, and Clifford busied himselfwith the farm duties, trying vainly to forget the bewitching voice thatwas ever haunting him, and which, as he drove the reaper over the wildmeadow, seemed to be singing above the clang and ring of the sickle thesweet refrain,--
"There blooms no rose upon the plain But costs the night a thousand tears,"--
in the tones of luscious melody that he never--no, never--could forget.
As he swung in the hammock again that evening, while Maud's guitar andthe sweet strains of "Silver Threads" lulled him into a drowsy reverie,he remembered suddenly the incident of the "Moated Grange" which, Moralaughingly said, had secured her such "a round scolding" because she hadneglected her household duties through too much reading of thataffecting poem. Why should she have felt such sympathy for the forlornMariana, unless the pathetic cry,
"'He cometh not--he cometh not,' she said,"
had found an echo in her heart also?
"Yes; she was heart-free, and waiting for some one to come and fill itsempty chambers with the treasures of his love," mentally concluded ourhero in a flash of joyful conviction. But again the doubt anddespondency prevailed; and in no very enviable mood he rode down toEstill's ranch alone the next day, to join the company that were tomeet and practice for the coming musical festival, which now was theall-absorbing theme of the colony.
As he rode slowly along, Maud and Ralph passed him in a gallop, flingingback some gay badinage--something about "a laggard in love"--which heaffected not to understand; then, as he saw Hugh and Grace cantering upthe road behind, he put spurs to his horse, and arrived at the imposingmansion just in time to see young Downels and the military Stork alightfrom the latter's carriage, and, in the most amicable manner imaginable,both seek the young hostess and rain a shower of compliments upon hergracious head.
While these two devoted cavaliers, or rather charioteers--for they hadridden over in the barouche of Devondale, a vehicle sumptuous andcostly--were engaged in a graceful skirmish of wit and verbiage withMiss Estill, our hero, after bowing coldly, passed on to the piano,where Mrs. Estill was chatting in a good-natured strain with a group offriends.
"You are late, Mr. Warlow, and we have been waiting for some one to'break the ice' at the piano," she said, with her pleasing smile, as sheshook hands with Clifford. "Let's see," she continued, "the quartette,'My Native Hills,' is the first on the programme, I am very eager tohear your tenor since Mrs. Warfield said you made her home-sick when yousang it at the Moreland rehearsal," concluded the hostess, innocently.
"It would require a large bump of self-esteem to construe that into acompliment," thought Clifford; but meeting Mrs. Warfield's amused look,he said, with a smile:--
"I hope her longing for home was not of the same nature as that which ahand-organ inspires, Mrs. Estill."
"No, indeed, Mr. Warlow; but you will excuse my faulty compliment, andonly remember that I've been totally isolated from society for a quarterof a century, and am apt to say the wrong thing in the right place."
"There she goes again!" the face of Mrs. Warfield seemed to say; butClifford only answered with polite gravity:--
"Thank you, Mrs. Estill. I shall never forget that you are very kind;and if Mrs. Warfield will promise not to leave at once we will proceedwith the singing," he added, with a twinkle of humor in his blue eyes.
"I will promise to stay as long as you are singing a tenor like analpine horn," replied Mrs. Warfield, graciously.
"Well! good-bye, then?" said Clifford, as he joined the singers; andsoon his voice was heard, clear and ringing, like the soft tones of achurch-bell in some quiet mountain valley--pealing out with soaring,crystal notes, or floating down the wind with a vibrant, thrillingsweetness, that caused even the garrulous major to pause and say at theend:--
"Why, pon honah, Miss Estill, this young Warlow is a wonderful singah;indeed he quite reminds me of Mario, the enchanting, velvet-tonedtennah, you know, whom I often have heard at the grand opera--aw--indelightful Paree. What a pity that he is--aw--only a pooah homesteadah,or was until of late, I heah."
"I am certain he is an earnest, industrious gentleman at all times,Major," said Miss Estill, with just enough reproof in her tone to causethe dissolute aristocrat to wince; then, pausing, only to see that herarrow had hit the mark, she continued:--
"His father was a wealthy planter who was ruined financially by the war;but we certainly respect the energy that has enabled him to repair hisfortunes and found such a delightful home, as you will find the Warlowhomestead to be. His example should encourage others to a similarcourse, instead of remaining in the overcrowded East or South tostruggle along, hopelessly, amid the scenes of their misfortune."
"Ah! indeed--a plantah before the wah? Why, really, that is anothermattah, Miss Estill. My fathah was also a plantah; but when the wahbegan he sold his niggahs and left Kentuckah, but finally returned andlocated thah again."
"You appear so sad, Mr. Downels, that I fear you are not enjoying ourrehearsal," said Mora, ignoring the transaction in "niggahs," andturning with a questioning look to young Downels, who stood by her sideyet, but seemingly lost in reverie since the music had ceased.
"Pardon the ungallantry, Miss Estill; but that song carried me back tothe Hudson, and I almost fancied myself rambling over the hills anddales of my boyhood's home once again." But his sadness was seen to meltinto an amused smile as Grace sang in a rich brogue:--
"Ould bachelor's hall--what a quare luking place it is! Kape me from sich all the days of me loife; Och! sure an' methinks what a burnin' disgrace it is, Niver at all to be takin a woife.
Pots, dishes, and pans, and sich greasy commodities-- Ashes and tater-skins kiver the floor; His cupboard's a store-house of comical oddities-- Things that were niver heard tell of before!"
Several glees followed; then Miss Estill took her place at therich-toned piano, which was banked in a bed of wild-flowers, where theflame-colored blossoms of the desert-sage and the golden sunflowers wererelieved by sprays of snow-powdered lace-plant and rose-coloredconvolvuli, mingled with tufts of white and purple mignonette, whichgrew in fragrant profusion over all the surrounding hills. As the grandstrains of Schubert's "Serenade" floated out through the open windows,or reverberated along the arched and frescoed ceiling of the elegantapartment, the listeners preserved an appreciative silence,--all themore flattering when we remember that not a baker's dozen of theaudience understood a word of German.
"It was all very fine and grand, no doubt, but still perfect Greek, orDutch--which is about the same--to my poor, untutored ears," said Graceat the close of the celebrated song, as she turned to Rob and spoke inan undertone.
"Well, it was not all quite plain," returned that youth, with a drollgrimace; "but it was certainly p-r-r-r-r-rrretty." Then, as Gracestrangled and recovered from an effort at swallowing her own chin, headded facetiously: "Didn't you recognize the place where the old fellowshuffled out in his wooden shoes, and, after threatening the serenaderwith 'a schlock on the coop,' finally turned the bull-dog loose?"
"No, I just did nothing of the kind; and I don't believe you understoodone word of that heathen gibberish either," said Grace, with a sniff ofsuspicion.
"Oh, that only shows you can't interpret operatic music," Rob replied,with a derisive grin.
"Rob Warlow, you horrible creature! I never know when you are inearnest," she retorted, with a puzzled look, as she smoothed down thefluffy ruffles of her white muslin gown.
"Why, no--honest injun!--any one can learn to understand this classicmusic. It only requires a sufficient stretch of imagination, and thenall is clear as--mud. Now, when Maud is playing Mendelssohn's 'WeddingMarch,' I can hear the cat s
quall like a panther when the baby pulls itstail; and she--that is Mrs. 'Sohn--takes an awful tantrum when 'Sohnwants her to get up of a cold morning and make a fire; and the way theyshout and gabble--all in Dutch--would scare a krout-barrel," said Rob,with perfect gravity.
"Oh, humbug!" she replied with a shrug, as she flounced away to whereMaud stood examining a book of engravings.
"Cliff and Mora are acting like a couple of idiots, Maud," whisperedGrace, as she surveyed the elegant and finished picture, "The Carnivalin Venice," with a critical glance that reminded one of a wren; but asMaud failed to reply to this personal comment, she continued in anundaunted undertone:--
"I don't pretend to understand flirtations, but if I did, I'd say thatMora Estill was a pronounced coquette. She bears all the ear-marks of aborn flirt, and the way she throws herself at the head of youngDownels--the sophisticated creature!--is just shameful. But still myfingers itch none the less to pull Cliff's ears; for there he goes, withhis lip hanging so low you could step on it--and all on her account,too."
"Well, Grace, let's reserve our sympathy and censure for the future,"said Maud, in a tone meant to discourage any further discussion of thesubject; and as the supper-bell announced the unfashionable hour of six,and the guests were preparing to follow Mrs. Estill and Major Stork intothe long, fresco-paneled dining-room, Grace ceased her comments, andsoon forgot all about her friends while leaning on the arm of HughEstill and hurrying into the damask-draped and luxury-laden table.
However, she noticed that Clifford and Mrs. Warfield sat next to Moraand young Downels when they were, at length, all seated, and that whilethe latter couple were silent, the former kept up a semi-animated,constrained run of small talk during the meal; but she soon became soengrossed while listening to Hugh's not over-brilliant wit that allelse was devoid of interest.
When the many luxuries had been discussed, and the guests were loiteringin the parlor or sauntering out upon the terrace in groups of twosand--well, twos also, I believe--Clifford walked out alone to thefountain, and sat down on a stone seat near the basin, which wasbrimming with water. Here the broad-leaved lilies floated, with theirblossoms of pale rose and cream, distilling an odor of entrancingsweetness for yards around the cool, moss-set brim. As he sat lost inbitter meditations, the twilight began to deepen, the cicadas tunedtheir shrill pipes, and Venus shone out with unclouded splendor over thetree-tops of the valley below, followed, as she has ever been, by anardent host of glittering stars and planets. That great midsummerconstellation, the Scorpion, seemed stinging the "milky way" with itsvenomous tail, while the jeweled Sickle sank in the west--an omen thatthe harvest-days were nearly ended. A shrill katydid, overhead in thebranches, heralded the coming frost, while a low ripple of voicesmingled with the faint notes of the piano and snatches of song fromwithin the house.
As Clifford sat, trailing a lily through the water, thinking, alas! ofthe time when he had strolled here with Mora, only two short weeksbefore, and how trustfully she had told him of "the mystery that seemedhaunting the very air of late," he found it hard to realize that anotherhad supplanted him, and that henceforth they were to be as strangers.But slowly it began to dawn upon him that their paths had divergedsince that fatal night upon the star-lit terrace, when she so lightlyremarked upon their "practicing" and "flirtation," until now he feltthey were rapidly and surely becoming totally estranged.
"It is better that I should never, never look upon her fair, proud faceagain; for when I meet her eyes--ah! what can it mean?--there seems sucha look of pleading, mingled with pride and--something that I can neverunderstand--that it totally unmans me, and I can not trust my lips tospeak a word for fear of betraying the secret of my love. No; she willfind that the Warlow pride will be a match for her own; for I wouldrather tear my heart out and fling it at her feet, than have her spurnmy love, as only a proud creature like her can.
"To know that she looks upon me as a fortune hunter, and scans me withthose haughty--oh, lovely--violet eyes, classing me as 'poor and proud,'but far beneath her caste,--oh, Heaven! it is more than I can or willbear!" mentally exclaimed fiery young Warlow with a flash of hotwrath,--which is about the best remedy known for a sore heart, I reallybelieve.
"A fortune hunter? Well, can't a fellow who has yearned all his life tomeet a high-bred, dainty, and elegant woman, dare to love her when hedoes meet such an ideal, for fear of being called by that contemptiblename?" continued our hero, impatiently plucking another water-lily, andbeginning to pace up and down the path in nervous haste, and resuminghis meditations, saying, half audibly:--
"If she had only waited a few more days I could have shown her thatColonel Warlow's son was not the poor homesteader--that pariah of thecattle-king--which she seems to consider me in her high pride. But no;she must throw cold water on a poor devil before he has made too big afool of himself to offend her pride by a declaration of his folly.
"But she has all the refined instincts of her class at any rate, and cansend a disheartened, despairing wretch like me on a life-long journey ofdreary longing, with a sweet graciousness that I must admire, though Icurse it ever so bitterly!" Then, as there rose vividly to his mind apicture of that proud but vivacious face, lit by eyes of violet-blue,and framed by the mass of raven, wavy hair; the coral, tender lips andcreamy, dimpled cheeks so soft and tinted; the graceful form, in itsfilmy, flower-wrought robe of white,--he leaned against the elm-tree,and covered his face with his hands as though to shut the lovely visionfrom his sight, and murmured in tones of deepest agony:--
"Oh, Mora, Mora, my lost love! how can I give you up? It seems as if Ihave loved you from eternity; and to lose you now is like the pangs ofdeath!"
Rousing himself as the sound of retreating wheels was heard below theterrace, Clifford walked back to the hall-way, where he met severaldeparting guests; and as he came into the hall, with a slow leadenstep, he saw, with a start, that Miss Estill was standing alone by thestairs, where she had turned after bidding some of the guestsgood-night! When she saw his face, with its look of white, tense misery,she said quickly:--
"Oh, Mr. Warlow! I have missed you for an hour. You are ill, I fear."
"Yes, Miss Estill, I am--sick of the world; but it is a very slightmatter--only a broken heart," young Warlow replied, in a low, huskytone, while his eyes flashed like purple amethysts.
She turned deadly white, and gave him a look wherein he read a proudpity, that sent a flash of hot indignation to his face; then he bowedand walked away without glancing back.
As he came into the glare of the lighted parlor, Maud met him, and,after giving him a glance of deep sympathy, she said with her accustomedtact:--
"Clifford, you are no better, I fear; so let's return home. Most of theguests are starting already, although it is only nine; but we have, likethem, also a long drive before us to-night."
So, bidding their hostess good-night, the Warlow and Moreland partystarted toward the hall; but at the door Miss Estill met them, lookingpale and _distrait_, though regretful at their early departure.
She tarried a moment at the door, talking to Maud and Grace regardingthe details of the picnic; and as she stood under the full light of alarge lamp, held by a marble statue of Mercury, the wonderful grace andbeauty of her creole face came into dazzling relief, and Cliffordpaused with a look of hungry longing on his face, while the remainder ofthe group hurried on to where the carriage waited, leaving him alonewith Mora.
"I will say farewell here, Miss Estill. We shall meet at the picnic,Friday, but there will be little chance to bid you adieu there. I startfor South America the next morning to stay indefinitely; sogood-bye--forever!"
Even now in this trying moment, while his heart turned cold with anagony that not even death could equal, Clifford was true to theinstincts of a gentleman, and waited immovably for her to offer herhand; but she only stood and toyed with her dainty fan, saying with thesame cold, proud look that she had given him once before that evening:--
"This is very sudden. Indeed you can not
be in earnest; so I shallreserve my adieus until the very last. I will try at the picnic topersuade you to abandon such an unkind course, and remain with us."
"Very well, Miss Estill, but I had forgotten to tell you that I have adisclosure to make at the picnic--one of grave import to you--and begfor an hour of your time while there. I would prefer the morning, if youplease."
"With pleasure, certainly," she replied; but their talk was interruptedby some guests preparing to depart; so young Warlow hurriedly saidgood-night, and joined Maud and the others in the carriage.
Soon they were rapidly whirling homeward up the level, winding road;but as no one seemed to be in a talking mood, the journey was rather asilent one, the monotony only relieved by a scurrying flock ofwild-grouse or the dim and retreating form of a startled jack-rabbit,looming large and indistinct upon the level prairie. In places the tallblue-stem moved in the wind with a rolling, wave-like motion; then againgiving place to vistas of open glades, carpeted by the buffalo-grass,that the rains and sun had bleached almost white.
A forecast of autumn was felt in the rising gales, which moanedthrough the tall cottonwoods along the stream; the water flashed coldand bright under the starlight, and the buffalo-birds--our Westernwhip-poor-will--swooped down with a bellowing roar close to the heads ofour friends as they drove by, indicating that a rain was near at hand.