Superb she was, though her close-fitting travelling gown of green cloth was frayed and torn by the briers, and the beauty of her face enhanced by the marks of I know not what trials and emotions.Little, dark-pencilled lines under the eyes were nigh robbing these of the haughtiness I had once seen and hated.Set high on her hair was a curving, green hat with a feather, ill-suited to the wilderness.
I looked on the man.He was as ill-equipped as she.
A London tailor must have cut his suit of gray.A single band of linen, soiled by the journey, was wound about his throat, and I remember oddly the buttons stuck on his knees and cuffs, and these silk-embroidered in a criss-cross pattern of lighter gray.Some had been torn off.As for his face, 'twas as handsome as ever, for dissipation sat well upon it.
My thoughts flew back to that day long gone when a friendless boy rode up a long drive to a pillared mansion.
I saw again the picture.The horse with the craning neck, the liveried servant at the bridle, the listless young gentleman with the shiny boots reclining on the horse-block, and above him, under the portico, the grand lady whose laugh had made me sad.And I remembered, too, the wild, neglected lad who had been to me as a brother, warm-hearted and generous, who had shared what he had with a foundling, who had wept with me in my first great sorrow.Where was he?
For I was face to face once more with Mrs.Temple and Mr.Harry Riddle!
The lady started as she gazed at me, and her tired eyes widened.She clutched Mr.Riddle's arm.
``Harry!'' she cried, ``Harry, he puts me in mind of--of some one--I cannot think.''
Mr.Riddle laughed nervously.
``There, there, Sally,'' says he, ``all brats resemble somebody.I have heard you say so a dozen times.''
She turned upon him an appealing glance.
``Oh!'' she said, with a little catch of her breath, ``is there no such thing as oblivion? Is there a place in the world that is not haunted? I am cursed with memory.''
``Or the lack of it,'' answered Mr.Riddle, pulling out a silver snuff-box from his pocket and staring at it ruefully.``Damme, the snuff I fetched from Paris is gone, all but a pinch.Here is a real tragedy.''
``It was the same in Rome,'' the lady continued, unheeding, ``when we met the Izards, and at Venice that nasty Colonel Tarleton saw us at the opera.In London we must needs run into the Manners from Maryland.In Paris--''
``In Paris we were safe enough,'' Mr.Riddle threw in hastily.
``And why?'' she flashed back at him.
He did not answer that.
``A truce with your fancies, madam,'' said he.
``Behold a soul of good nature! I have followed you through half the civilized countries of the globe--none of them are good enough.You must needs cross the ocean again, and come to the wilds.We nearly die on the trail, are picked up by a Samaritan in buckskin and taken into the bosom of his worthy family.And forsooth, you look at a backwoods urchin, and are nigh to swooning.''
``Hush, Harry,'' she cried, starting forward and peering into my face; ``he will hear you.''
``Tut!'' said Harry, ``what if he does? London and Paris are words to him.We might as well be speaking French.And I'll take my oath he's sleeping.''
The corner where I lay was dark, for the cabin had no windows.And if my life had depended upon speaking, Icould have found no fit words then.
She turned from me, and her mood changed swiftly.
For she laughed lightly, musically, and put a hand on his shoulder.
``Perchance I am ghost-ridden,'' she said.
``They are not ghosts of a past happiness, at all events,''
he answered.
She sat down on a stool before the hearth, and clasping her fingers upon her knee looked thoughtfully into the embers of the fire.Presently she began to speak in a low, even voice, he looking down at her, his feet apart, his hand thrust backward towards the heat.
``Harry,'' she said, ``do you remember all our contrivances? How you used to hold my hand in the garden under the table, while I talked brazenly to Mr.Mason?
And how jealous Jack Temple used to get?'' She laughed again, softly, always looking at the fire.
``Damnably jealous!'' agreed Mr.Riddle, and yawned.
``Served him devilish right for marrying you.And he was a blind fool for five long years.''
``Yes, blind,'' the lady agreed.``How could he have been so blind? How well I recall the day he rode after us in the woods.''
`` 'Twas the parson told, curse him!'' said Mr.Riddle.
``We should have gone that night, if your courage had held.''
``My courage!'' she cried, flashing a look upwards, ``my foresight.A pretty mess we had made of it without my inheritance.'Tis small enough, the Lord knows.In Europe we should have been dregs.We should have starved in the wilderness with you a-farming.''
He looked down at her curiously.
``Devilish queer talk,'' said he, ``but while we are in it, I wonder where Temple is now.He got aboard the King's frigate with a price on his head.Williams told me he saw him in London, at White's.Have--have you ever heard, Sarah?''
She shook her head, her glance returning to the ashes.
``No,'' she answered.
``Faith,'' says Mr.Riddle, ``he'll scarce turn up here.''
She did not answer that, but sat motionless.
``He'll scarce turn up here, in these wilds,'' Mr.Riddle repeated, ``and what I am wondering, Sarah, is how the devil we are to live here.''
``How do these good people live, who helped us when we were starving?''
Mr.Riddle flung his hand eloquently around the cabin.
There was something of disgust in the gesture.
``You see!'' he said, ``love in a cottage.''
``But it is love,'' said the lady, in a low tone.
He broke into laughter.
``Sally,'' he cried, ``I have visions of you gracing the board at which we sat to-day, patting journey-cakes on the hearth, stewing squirrel broth with the same pride that you once planned a rout.Cleaning the pots and pans, and standing anxious at the doorway staring through a sunbonnet for your lord and master.''
``My lord and master!'' said the lady, and there was so much of scorn in the words that Mr.Riddle winced.
