"I declare! No; I had forgotten it!" Mr. Underwood exclaimed.
"It"s well for you she isn"t here to hear you say that!" Mrs. Dean remarked, smiling.
"Puss knows her old father well enough to know he wouldn"t forget her very long. Bring the picture out, Marcia."
Darrell heard Mrs. Dean approaching, and turned, with the glory of the sunset in his eyes.
"Don"t you want to see Katherine"s new picture?" she inquired.
Her words instantly recalled the portrait he had studied the preceding night, and with that in his mind he took the picture she handed him and silently compared the two.
Ah, the beauty of the spring, everywhere confronting him, was in that face also; the joy of a life as yet pure, untainted, and untrammelled.
It was like looking into the faces of the spring flowers which reflect only the sunshine, the purity and the sweetness of earth. There was a touch of womanly dignity, too, in the poise of the head, but the beautiful eyes, though lighted with the faint dawn of coming womanhood, were the same as those that had appealed to him the night before with their wistful longing.
"It is a fine portrait, but as I do not remember her, I cannot judge whether it is like herself or not," he said, handing the picture to Mr.
Underwood, who seemed almost to devour it with his eyes, though he spoke no word and not a muscle moved in his stern, immobile face.
"She is getting to be such a young lady," remarked Mrs. Dean, "that I expect when she comes home we will feel as though she had grown away from us all."
"She will never do that, Marcia, never!" said Mr. Underwood, brusquely, as he abruptly left the group and went into the house.
There was a moment"s silence, then Mrs. Dean said, in a low tone,--
"She is getting to look just like her mother. I haven"t seen David so affected since his wife died as he was when that picture came yesterday."
Darrell bowed silently, in token that he understood.
"She was a lovely woman, but she was very different from any of our folks," she added, with a sigh, "and I guess Katherine is going to be just like her."
"When is Miss Underwood expected home?" Darrell inquired.
"About the last of June," was the reply.
Long after the sun had set Darrell paced up and down the veranda, pausing at intervals to gaze with unseeing eyes out over the peaceful scene below him, his only companions his own troubled thoughts. The young moon was shining, and in its pale radiance his set face gleamed white like marble.
Like, and yet unlike, it was to the face of the sleeper journeying westward on that summer afternoon eight months before. Experience, the mighty sculptor, was doing his work, and doing it well; only a few lines as yet, here and there, and the face was already stronger, finer. But it was the face of one hardened by his own sufferings, not softened by the sufferings of others. The sculptor"s work was as yet only begun.
_Chapter X_
THE COMMUNION OF TWO SOULS
Gradually the springtide crept upward into the heart of the mountains, quickening the pulses of the rocks themselves until even the mosses and lichens slumbering at their feet awakened to renewed life. Bits of green appeared wherever a gra.s.s root could push its way through the rocky soil, and fragile wild flowers gleamed, starlike, here and there, fed by tiny rivulets which trickled from slowly melting snows on the summits far above.
With the earliest warm days Darrell had started forth to explore the surrounding mountains, eager to learn the secrets which they seemed ever challenging him to discover. New conditions confronted him, sometimes baffling him, but always inciting to renewed effort. His enthusiasm was so aroused that often, when his day"s work was done, taking a light lunch with him, he pursued his studies while the daylight lasted, walking back in the long twilight, and in the solitude of his room making full notes of the results of that day"s research before retiring for the night.
Returning one evening from one of these expeditions he saw, pacing back and forth before the office building, a figure which he at once recognized as that of Mr. Britton. Instantly all thought of work or weariness was forgotten, and he hastened forward, while Mr. Britton, catching sight of Darrell rapidly approaching, turned and came down the road to meet him.
"A thousand welcomes!" Darrell cried, as soon as they were within speaking distance; "say, but this is glorious to see you here! How long have I kept you waiting?"
"A few hours, but that does not matter; it does us good to have to stop and call a halt on ourselves once in a while. How are you, my son?" And as the two grasped hands the elder man looked searchingly through the gathering dusk into the face of the younger. Even in the dim twilight, Darrell could feel that penetrating glance reading his inmost soul.
"I am well and doing well," he answered; "my physical health is perfect; as for the rest--your coming is the very best thing that could have happened. Are you alone?" he asked, eagerly, "or did Mr. Underwood come with you?"
"I came alone," Mr. Britton replied, with quiet emphasis, linking his arm within Darrell"s as they ascended the road together.
"How long have you been in town?"
"But two days. I am on my way to the coast, and only stopped off for a few days. I shall spend to-morrow with you, go back with you Sat.u.r.day to The Pines, and go on my way Monday."
Having made his guest as comfortable as possible in his own room, Darrell laid aside his working paraphernalia, his hammer, and bag of rock specimens, and donning a house coat and pair of slippers seated himself near Mr. Britton, all the time conscious of the close but kindly scrutiny with which the latter was regarding him.
"This is delightful!" he exclaimed; "but it is past my comprehension how Mr. Underwood ever let you slip off alone!"
Mr. Britton looked amused. "I told him I was coming to see you, and I think he intended coming with me till he heard me order my saddle-horse for the trip. I think that settled the matter. I believe there can be no perfect interchange of confidence except between two. The presence of a third party--even though a mutual friend--breaks the magnetic circuit and weakens the current of sympathy. Our interviews are necessarily rare, and I want to make the most of them; therefore I would come to you alone or not at all."
"Yes," Darrell replied; "your visits are so rare that every moment is precious to me, and think of the hours I lost by my absence to-day!"
"Do you court Dame Nature so a.s.siduously every day, subsisting on cold lunches and tramping the mountains till nightfall?"
"Not every day, but as often as possible," Darrell replied, smiling.
"And I suppose if I were not here you would now be burrowing into that pile over there?" Mr. Britton said, glancing significantly towards the table covered to a considerable depth with books of reference, note-books, writing-pads, and sheets of closely written ma.n.u.script.
"Let me show you what I am doing; it will take but a moment," said Darrell, springing to his feet.
He drew forth several sets of extensive notes on researches and experiments he was making along various lines of study, in which Mr.
Britton became at once deeply interested.
"You have a good thing here; stick to it!" he said at length, looking up from the perusal of Darrell"s geological notes, gathered from his studies of the rock formations in that vicinity. "You have a fine field in which to pursue this branch, and with the knowledge you already have on this subject and the discoveries you are likely to make, you may be able to make some very valuable contributions to the science one of these days."
"That is just what I hope to do!" exclaimed Darrell eagerly; "just what I am studying for day and night!"
"But you must use moderation," said Mr. Britton, smiling at the younger man"s enthusiasm; "you are young, you have years before you in which to do this work, and this constant study, night and day, added to your regular routine work, is too much for you. You are looking f.a.gged already."
"If I am, it is not the work that is f.a.gging me," Darrell replied, quickly, his tones becoming excited; "Mr. Britton, I must work; I must accomplish all I can for two reasons. You say I have years before me in which to do this work. G.o.d knows I hope I haven"t got to work years like this,--only half alive, you might say,--and when the change comes, if it ever does, you know, of course, I cannot and would not remain here."
"I understand you would not remain here," said Mr. Britton slowly, and laying his hand soothingly on the arm of his agitated companion, "but you can readily see that not only your education, but your natural trend of thought, is along these lines; therefore, when you are fully restored to your normal self you will be the more--not the less--interested in these things, and I predict that no matter when the time comes for you to leave, you will, after a while, return to continue this same line of work amid the same surroundings, but, we hope, under far happier conditions."
Darrell shook his head slowly. "It does not seem to me that I would ever wish to return to a place where I had suffered as I have here."
Mr. Britton smiled, one of his slow, sad, sweet smiles that Darrell loved to watch, that seemed to dawn in his eyes and gradually to spread until every feature was irradiated with a tender, beneficent light.
"I once thought as you do," he said, gently, "but after years of wandering, I find that the place most sacred to me now is that hallowed by the bitterest agony of my life."