Chapter XIX

The breath of the roses on her pillow and the fresh ones on the stand near the bed wakened Jean softly in the early morning, and she lay still, thinking joyously that she was to see Jasper once more before she left. She would have some word, some glance to carry with her on the way. She would have all the beautiful day that was past to put with their other experience together and keep, and she would have that good-bye. It was the knowledge that he had promised to see her again that brought the smile to her lips and the eternal hope of youth to her eyes, when she remembered that this was her last day in Hawk Valley, perhaps forever.

There were not many minutes for such happy thoughts. Her trunk was packed, save a few little things, but they must be put in; and the children were already clamoring for her to come downstairs, they could not spare her any longer on this, her last morning.

Before she was entirely ready to go down people began to come to the house to say good-bye and attend her to the station, and when she was finally ready she had gathered quite an escort so that her going through the street seemed quite like a little triumphal procession, a fit continuation of the festivities of the day before.

Eleanor was proud and pleased and weeping all in one, and there was laughing and chatter and banter and many invitations for her to return.

There had been more flowers sent this morning, and boxes of candy and books for her to read on the way. Just before she had left the house Eleanor brought to her more orchids that the Captain had sent, and begged her to wear them just this one last time, but she was already wearing a glorious mass of fresh Golden Sunset roses that she had saved at home the day before for this purpose. Eleanor tried to make her take them off, but Harrington interfered unexpectedly.

"What do you do that for?" he said. "It's all right if she wants to wear them. People will sort of expect it. It's a piece of her triumph of yesterday. It won't do her any harm."

Jean looked up surprised, caught a shifty, uneasy glance in her brother's eye, and read his mean, cringing little soul. He would sacrifice her readily to his worst enemy if it suited his needs, and she had always felt it--now she knew it. He colored under her glance, and tried to affect an elderly air of petting her, but Jean was not deceived.

The train was twenty minutes late. There was laughter and chatter and a renewal of yesterday's merriment around the station while they waited. Jean was enthroned on a pile of packing cases with her flowers about her like some queen, and her admirers at her feet. But though her eyes searched the landscape in every direction, from her vantage height, she could nowhere see Holt, and when the train at last was sighted, a mere speck down the track, she felt her heart sinking in dismay. He had promised and he had not come! It seemed as though she could not go without that last look from his eyes that she had known would be there for her, the covenant for the lonely future.

She tried to smile at the last and say all the bright things that were expected of her, but she could not keep her eyes away from the road that led to Holt's house. When the train finally pulled out, amid the waving multitude of friends, and the shouting of last messages and fond good-byes, the tears sprang into her eyes unbidden and dimmed the faces of those on the platform into a great blur.

"Well, I'm glad she's safely off," sighed Eleanor, climbing into the car beside the children, "and I must say that man behaved pretty well not to come down to the train. I didn't think he had that much sense!"

But her husband answered not a word. He drove his car with grim silence. He was wishing Holt had come, and wondering if his absence portended evil for himself.

The travellers on the Eastern Express watched with delight the beautiful girl surrounded by her bank of flowers who had come to brighten the monotony of their long trip. They wondered where she was going, and if she had left a lover behind, that she wiped the tears away furtively and kept her head turned, looking out of the window at the landscape, which she could not see for tears.

Captain Wetherill had assumed the care of putting Jean on the train, and had turned over a seat, giving her plenty of room to pile the flowers the other men brought on board, in the empty seat. She seemed like a young queen in her garden, with roses and lilies and violets all about her; but at none of them did she look. Her lips were touching the petals of the golden rose on her breast and her thoughts were with its giver. His fine bearing as he skimmed the ground on his black steed, the touch of his soft, bright hair as she laid the wreath on his brow, the look of homage in his eyes as he raised her hand and led her to her horse, the thrill of his voice when he promised to see her again to say good-bye; and then the leaden fact that he had not come! Over and over she went the round and always came back to that, with the choke in her throat and the tears in her eyes. Excuse after excuse for his not coming were conjured in her mind and rejected; and vague fear for his safety mingled with them too. But the fact remained--he had not--and now she would see him no more!

She tried again and again to gather herself together, and finally succeeded in mastering the tears so that there was only a bright suspicion of them in her eyes, but the sense of sadness and something dear, unfinished and now impossible, pervaded her entire thoughts.

Fifty miles from Hawk Valley the train came to a halt at a tiny flag station, and a young man entered, tall, handsome, eager, wearing a dark blue suit and a soft Panama hat--a perfect gentleman in every detail; a light in his eyes and a smile of welcome on his lips.

Jean did not look up until he was almost beside her seat, and then her heart leaped with a light of welcome in her eyes, when she saw that it was Holt!

With a soft little cry she hustled the overflow of flowers that lay on the seat beside her into the opposite one and made room for him. The car looked and was satisfied. Her lover had not been left behind after all, and he was good to look upon. All was as it should be. They settled back to watch the world-old look on the two young faces, with a contentment and zest that never flags for the sweetest story of all. And there were no unkind critics here, for none of them had ever heard of Jasper Holt.

In the still dark of the evening before, Holt had ridden forth in the opposite direction from that he intended to take, and skirting the town in a wide trail well known to himself, he had taken his way across country to the little flag station, where he left his horse to be cared for until he should return.

Very quietly they sat together, after the first wonderful greetings, and talked. There was over them the sadness of a coming separation which each felt might be forever; and they spoke no word of hope that it might be otherwise. The day before them was a precious treasure they meant to have and keep for life. Many things they learned in that brief time, of each other's hopes, longings and desires. Quietly Holt drew from her many thoughts of her own pure heart wherewith to build his ideal for the future.

Once he looked meaningly at the great bank of flowers before him and then down at the golden roses on her gown. They did not need to talk much about such things, for their eyes could say it all, and Holt read thoughts quickly, keenly, and spoke the language of a glance to perfection. The words that he felt he had not a right to speak she might read in his face if she chose.

And she chose.

Once, as the afternoon was drawing to a close, he said suddenly: "Harrington sent the papers back to me last evening."

Jean looked up startled, questioning, and met amusement in Holt's eyes.

"He didn't dare to keep them. He professes that he sent them the minute he knew I was at home, and that he has been much disturbed by their presence in his house lest his possession of them might be misunderstood by me."

A little cloud of apprehension came into Jean's eyes.

"Don't be afraid to trust me," Holt said softly, with gentleness in his eyes, "I'm not going to make any trouble for your sister. You know that."

Then a great light of joy came into her face, and the tears which had caused her so much annoyance earlier in the day came rushing back for very joy.

It was in the late afternoon that they reached the city where Jean was to change to the sleeper.

Holt gathered up the flowers to take with her, but she put out a protesting hand:

"Oh, please, I don't want any of them but these," and she laid her hand tenderly over the golden roses at her waist.

A look of love and appreciation came into Holt's eyes, and he dropped the flowers quite happily, to gather up her suit case and umbrella.

"Let the brakeman take them home to his wife, then," he said joyously.

He left her, at last, in the sleeper, and as he stood beside the train until it moved out of the station, their eyes made promises of trust and loyalty long after their lips were forced to remain silent.

Jean did not weep when she saw the last glimpse of his splendid figure on the dim station platform. She had entered upon her desert, but she had the light of his look to shine in her heart, and her courage rose. Her eyes were bright and undaunted. No tears should break her down now. He had kept tryst and she was content. He would be true and she would trust him always, even if she never saw him again.

Just what the future would hold for her she did not care to think. This strange vow she had made with a man she could not hope to marry with her parents' consent, and whom she would not marry without, she had made on trust and on trust she would keep it.

She did not mean to trouble her dear ones with the story. They had been far away and they could not understand. She would not have them looking at her pityingly, nor thinking of him unworthily. She would trust and live her life, and know that somewhere, somehow he was being true also.

Most unpractical, of course, but dear and ideal. Her sister Eleanor would have said it was foolish, and been glad it was no worse, hoping, of course, that now when she saw no more of him she would get over it very soon. But Jean was not made like that. She knew the heartache that was before her, and knowing, dared to rejoice in it.