Part 37 (1/2)

He rode away into the deserted yard and up to a tangle of neglected shrubbery. He had some difficulty in getting Thunderbolt--who was as restless a beast as his name implied--to stand still long enough to allow him to pick a bunch of the buds; he would have nothing but buds just breaking into bloom. These he presently brought back to Roberta.

She fancied that he had planned to stop here for this very purpose.

Clearly he had the artist's eye for finis.h.i.+ng touches. He watched her fasten the roses upon the breast of the blue-cloth habit, then he turned determinedly away.

”If I don't look at you again,” said he, his eyes straight before him, ”it's because I can't do it--and keep my head. You accused me once of losing it under a winter moon; this is a summer sun--more dangerous yet.... Shall we talk about the crops? This is fine weather for growing things, isn't it?”

”Wonderful. I haven't been out this road this season--as far as this.

I'm beginning to wonder where you are taking us.”

”To the hill where you and Miss Ruth and Ted and I toasted sandwiches last November. Could there be a better place for the end--of our ride?

You haven't been out here this season--are you sure?”

”No, indeed. I've been too busy with the close of school to ride anywhere--much less away out here.”

”You like my choice, then? I hoped you would.”

”Very much.”

It was a queer, breathless sort of talking; Roberta hardly knew what she was saying. She much preferred to ride along in silence. The hour was at hand--so close at hand! And there was now no getting away. She knew perfectly that her agreeing to come at all had told him his answer; none but the most cruel of women would allow a man to bring her upon such a ride, in the company of other interested people, only to refuse him at the end of it. But she had to admit to herself that if he were now exulting in the sure hope of possessing her he was keeping it well out of sight. There was now none of the arrogant self-confidence in his manner toward her which there had been on the February night when he had made a certain prophecy concerning Midsummer. Instead there was that in his every word and look which indicated a fine humility--almost a boyish sort of shyness, as if even while he knew the treasure to be within his grasp he could neither quite believe it nor feel himself fit to take it.

From a young man of the world such as he had been it was the most exquisite tribute to her power to rouse the best in him that he could have given and she felt it to the inmost soul of her.

”Here are the forks,” said Richard suddenly, and Roberta recognized with a start that they were nearly at the end of their journey.

”Which way?” Stephen was shouting back, and Richard was waving toward the road at the left, which led up the steep hill.

”Here is where you dropped the bunch of rose haws,” said he, with a quick glance as they began the ascent. ”I have them yet--brown and dry.

Did you know you dropped them?”

”I remember. But I didn't suppose anybody--”

”Found them? By the greatest luck--and stopped my car in a hurry. They were bright on my desk for a month after that; I cared more for them than for anything I owned. I had the greatest difficulty in keeping my man from throwing them away, though. You see, he hadn't my point of view! Roberta--here we are! Will you forgive what will seem like a piece of the most unwarrantable audacity?” He was speaking fast as they came up over the crown of the hill: ”I didn't do it because I was sure of anything at all, but because--it was something to make myself think I could carry out a wish of yours. Do you remember the '_stout little cabin on the hilltop_', Roberta? Could you--_could_ you care for it, as I do?”

The last words were almost a whisper, but she heard them. Her eyes were riveted on the outlines, two hundred feet away through the trees, of a small brown building at the very crest of the hill over-looking the valley. Very small, very rough, with its unhewn logs--the ”stout little cabin” stood there waiting.

Well! What was she to think? He _had_ been sure, to build this and bring her to it! And yet--it was no house for a home; no expensive bungalow; not even a summer cottage. Only a ”stout little cabin,” such as might house a hunter on a winter's night; the only thing about it which looked like luxury the chimney of cobblestones taken from the hillside below, which meant the possibility of the fire inside without which one could hardly spend an hour in the small shelter on any but a summer day.

Suddenly she understood. It was the sheer romance of the thing which had appealed to him; there was no audacity about it.

He was watching her anxiously as she stared at the cabin; she came suddenly to the realization of that. Then he threw himself off his horse as they neared the rail fence, fastened him, and came back to Roberta.

Near-by, Stephen was taking Rosamond down and she was exclaiming over the charm of the place.

Richard came close, looking straight up into Roberta's face, which was like a wild-rose for colouring, but very sober. Her eyes would not meet his. His own face had paled a little, in spite of all its healthy, outdoor hues.

”Oh, don't misunderstand me,” he whispered. ”Wait--till I can tell you all about it. I was wild to do something--anything--that would make you seem nearer. Don't misunderstand--_dear_!”

Stephen's voice, calling a question about the horses, brought him back to a realization of the fact that his time was not yet, and that he must continue to act the part of the sane and responsible host. He turned, summoning all his social training, and replied to the question in his usual quiet tone. But, as he took her from her horse, Roberta recognized the surge of his feeling, though he controlled his very touch of her, and said not another word in her ear. She had all she could do, herself, to maintain an appearance of coolness under the shock of this extraordinary surprise. She had no doubt that Rosamond and Stephen comprehended the situation, more or less. Let them not be able to guess just how far things had developed, as yet.

Rosamond came to her aid with her own freely manifested pleasure in the place. Clever Rosy! her sister-in-law was grateful to her for expressing that which Roberta could not trust herself to speak.