CHAPTER XXVII
"You must think me rude," apologized Hope, entering the tent as quicklyas she had left it, and seating herself directly beside Livingston. "Isurely didn't intend to be gone so long."
"So _long_!" exclaimed Mrs. Van Rensselaer. "Why, I hadn't missed you!Where in the world have you been?"
"Oh, _now_ I'll not tell you!" laughed the girl, while her face flusheddeeply.
"But you were missed," said Livingston. "You've been gone just tenminutes."
She looked at him and smiled at her own mistake. It seemed to her thatshe had been gone an hour. He was dazzled by the unusual brilliancy ofher face, the strange light in her eyes. The smile, he thought, was forhimself. "Did the moonlight transform you?" he asked. She only laughedin reply. Her heart was bounding in very joy of life now that she sawher way clear through the grave difficulty that had confronted her. Agreat tragedy would be averted, a lot of unscrupulous men brought tojustice, and more than this--the boy beside her was safe. What matteredit to her at this moment that he possessed somewhere in the universe awife, which irrevocably separated her from him by every social law andmoral rule? This was nothing to her now in view of the great sense ofhis personal safety that lifted such a weight of fear from her heart.Nothing mattered much since he was safe. How desperate the chance hadseemed, and now how easily the danger averted!
Livingston knew little of the thoughts that played wildly in her brainwhile she, to all intents, was listening with eager, brilliant face toClarice's light chatter. But Mrs. Van Rensselaer was tired. Her chatterbegan to fag. Outside the shadows settled down about the tents, untilthe moon rose above the mountain like a great ball of fire, casting overeverything the soft radiance of its white light. The night was almostas bright as day. Livingston reluctantly said good-night, and went outwith Sydney to get his horse, which was staked some little distanceaway. When they returned to saddle up a movement on the opposite side ofthe brush attracted Sydney's attention, and borrowing the horse he rodeover to investigate. Livingston, wondering vaguely what had taken himaway so abruptly, seated himself upon the tongue of the camp wagon andlistened to the soft tones of women's voices from the white tent nearthe bank. Quite without warning a hand was laid upon his shoulder."Where did Syd go?" asked Hope.
"Over there," replied Livingston, rising quickly beside her, andpointing across the brush. "He took my horse to drive out some cattle, Ithink, and so I am waiting. I thought you had retired. Did you come tosay good-night to me?"
"Yes," said the girl softly, "what of it?"
"Everything! That you should care that much--that you----"
"But I wouldn't need to care--so _very_ much--to come to bid yougood-night--would I?" she interrupted.
"No--perhaps; but you _do_ care! I seem to feel that you care forme--Hope!"
"No! I don't care for you a bit! Not at all--I mean----You haven't anyright to talk to me like that! Certainly, I don't care for you, Mr.Livingston. Oh, I didn't mean to hurt you! I mean----This is no time forsuch things!"
"Hope!"
"Wait, listen! They will hear. See, Syd is coming!" She stepped backfrom him, pointing.
"What of it! You shall tell me! Look at me!" he commanded. "Do you knowwhat you are making me believe--what you are telling me?"
"Nothing!" she insisted. "I am telling you nothing--only--_wait_!" Shespoke hurriedly, catching her breath. "Before day-break I will be onthat hill over there between your ranch and here--there above Fritz'sgrave, to watch the dawn of day--and the sunrise and----"
"And I will be waiting for you! God bless you, dear." He kissed thebrown hand, which was snatched hurriedly from his clasp just as Sydneyrode up beside them.
"You mustn't believe _anything_," she gasped under her breath.
"_Everything!_" he insisted.
"Your horse is loose, pard," said Sydney, "I thought I caught sight ofit over there, but couldn't see anything of it when I rode over. You'reafoot! Now what are you going to do about it?"
"Walk," replied the girl, darting a quick look at Livingston. "Half amile is _nothing_."
"Half a mile," laughed her cousin. "You mean two miles and a half, don'tyou?"
"Oh, the horse isn't far! We'll find it the first thing in the morning.Good-night, you two! It's time school-teachers were in bed--and everyoneelse. Good-night!" She turned around and waved her hand at them justbefore the flap of the white tent closed upon her.
Clarice yawned dismally. "Will you never settle down, Hope? Isn't thislovely and comfortable? So cool after the hot, fatiguing day, I justlove it! Whom were you talking to--Livingston? What a shame he'smarried! He's such a dear boy, why, I'd almost be tempted, _if_ hewasn't married----But pshaw! Lady Helene Livingston is one of thosefrizzy-haired blondes that suggest curl papers and peroxide, and sheaffects velvet dresses, black or purple--but always _velvet_--and afeather! I've seen her loads of times, but she doesn't go in our set,because she's taken up with those Grandons. You know Harriet married anEnglish peer, with a title, _nobody_ over there recognizes. She was sucha pretty girl that she might have done something for her family, but Idon't think the poor man fared as well as he expected, for it's wellknown that old Grandon hasn't a half a million in his own name. ButHarriet lives well, and entertains a lot of English people nobody elsecares to have. Lady Helene Livingston is pretty enough in spite of hervelvet and feathers to get on anywhere, if only she didn't follow inthe train of Harriet's crowd. I wonder how it happens that she nevercomes out here?"
"The curl papers and velvet may have something to do with that," saidHope, settling down beside Louisa, on the opposite side of the tent,with a motion as weary as if the only thought she possessed was tosecure a good night's sleep. "Velvet and feathers," she yawned."Clarice, do you know that it's nearly eleven o'clock?"
"Really!" exclaimed Mrs. Van Rensselaer. "I'd never have thought it. Seehow bright it is in here--almost like day."
"Full moon," observed Hope. "It will be light like this until almostmorning, and then darkness for a little while before daylight."
"How well you understand such things, Hope! I should think it would bevery difficult to keep track of the moon."
"Yes," yawned the girl, "it is. We'd better go to sleep, Clarice,because as soon as the sun is up it will be too warm to stay in here,so you won't get your morning nap. That's the worst of a tent."
"What a shame!" sighed Mrs. Van Rensselaer. Then after ten minutes ofsilence: "Hope, I want you to go back to New York with me next week.Now, no joking, dear, I mean it."
"No," replied Hope. "It's too roasting hot there at this season. Icouldn't think of it, Clarice."
"But we're going by way of the Lakes, and take in a lot of those coolsummer resorts. Then I must get to Newport for the last of the season,and after that, you know, it will be decent weather in New York, and wecan have no end of good times. Come now, Hope, just make up your mind togo!"
"You forget, I must teach my school for several weeks yet, so thatsettles it. Good-night, Clarice! Go to sleep like a good girl."
"What does this little school amount to, to you?" insisted Mrs. VanRensselaer. "Not a thing, and you know it! You just don't want to gowith us. Come on, please do go, that's a dear girlie!"
"Impossible, Clarice," replied Hope. "There are many good reasons why Ireally couldn't. This school up here, and my little Louisa, and, anyway,I don't want to go. Aren't you very tired and sleepy, Clarice?" Shethought Mrs. Van Rensselaer bid fair to remain awake all night, and wasdevising various schemes in her mind for getting away from her. But Mrs.Van Rensselaer had an object in view, and disliked exceedingly to giveit up.
"I really don't think you ought to stay up here, Hope. To be candid, Idon't just like your position. Of course, in this country,conventionalities don't count for much, but honestly I think thisLivingston is caring for you."
"What in the world put such an idea into your head?" asked the girl,flushing beneath her cover of blankets.
"Hope!" reproved Mrs. Van Rensselaer. "You know it, a
nd I know it, sowhat's the use of denying it? But, of course, if you think it'sright----Really, I have nothing further to say except that I wish youwould return with me, and bring your little Louisa along."
The girl was silent for a moment, forgetting her anxiety to get away, inthoughts Clarice had suggested.
"Has he any family?" she suddenly asked. "I mean--_children_, Clarice."
"I don't think so. But what difference would that make?"
"No difference in reality--but a heap of difference in my thoughts. Ifhe had a family,--children,--it would seem more natural to think of himas being a married man, a family man. As it is, I will remember him as atrue-hearted, free young Englishman."
"I think, Hopie, his being married has spoiled a very pretty romance. Iwish it might have been different, dear!"
"You are too sleepy to know what you think. Go to sleep and dream that Ishall join you in New York as soon as the school is ended."