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diff --git a/old/67881-0.txt b/old/67881-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 71f6ad3..0000000 --- a/old/67881-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3141 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Hilda Strafford, by Beatrice Harraden - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Hilda Strafford - A California Story - -Author: Beatrice Harraden - -Illustrator: Eric Pape - -Release Date: April 20, 2022 [eBook #67881] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Carlos Colon, David E. Brown, the University of California, - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images - made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HILDA STRAFFORD *** - - -[Illustration] - - - - - Hilda Strafford - - _A California Story_ - - By - Beatrice Harraden - - Author of “Ships that Pass in the Night” - “In Varying Moods” - - With Illustrations by Eric Pape - - [Illustration] - - New York - Dodd Mead and Company - 1897 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1896 - BY BEATRICE HARRADEN - - University Press - JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. - - - - -Contents - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. WOULD IT SMILE TO HER 13 - - II. HILDA COMES 32 - - III. GROWING REGRETS 51 - - IV. THE STORM 70 - - V. DOWN BY THE RIVER 88 - - VI. ATTRACTION AND REPULSION 119 - - VII. THE GREAT MIRACLE 138 - - VIII. ROBERT TAKES HEART 145 - - IX. SCHUMANN’S NACHTSTÜCK 162 - - X. A STRICKEN MAN 176 - - XI. PASSION AND LOYALTY 196 - - XII. FAREWELL TO CALIFORNIA 217 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - - PORTRAIT _Frontispiece_ - - “Ben lit the lantern, and stationed himself outside with it” _page_ 41 - - “And he heard Robert asking questions” 47 - - “She sat on the little verandah” 61 - - “He lifted a piece of iron piping” 81 - - “There was no talk between them” 93 - - “Hilda could not leave the spot” 105 - - “Hilda at the window” 157 - - “Hilda’s self-control broke down completely” 167 - - “Robert passed noiselessly out of the house” 173 - - “‘Ben,’ he murmured, ‘we must--’ He fainted away” 181 - - “She bent over her husband and looked at his pale face” 193 - - - - -HILDA STRAFFORD - - - - -Hilda Strafford - - - - -CHAPTER I - -WOULD IT SMILE TO HER? - - -The day had come at last. - -Robert Strafford glanced around at the isolated spot which he had -chosen for his ranch, and was seized with more terrible misgivings than -had ever before overwhelmed him in moments of doubt. - -Scores of times he had tried to put himself in her place, and to look -at the country with her eyes. Would it, could it, smile to her? He -had put off her coming until the early spring, so that she might see -this new strange land at its best, when the rains had begun to fall, -and the grass was springing up, and plain and slope were donning a -faint green garment toning each day to a richer hue, when tiny ferns -were thrusting out their heads from the dry ground, and here and there -a wild-flower arose, welcome herald of the bounty which Nature would -soon be dispensing with generous hand, but after a long delay. Such -a long delay, indeed, that a new-comer to Southern California might -well think that Nature, so liberal in her gifts to other lands, had -shown only scant favor to this child of hers, clothing her in dusty and -unattractive attire, and refusing her many of the most usual graces. -But when the long months of summer heat are over, she begins to work -her miracle, and those who have eyes to see and hearts to understand, -will learn how dearly she loves this land of sunshine, and how, in her -own good time, she showers her jewels upon it. - -So just now, when this wonderful change was stealing over the country, -Robert Strafford looked eagerly for the arrival of Hilda Lester, who -had been engaged to him for more than three years, and who was at -length able to break away from her home-ties and marry him; when there -was a mystic glamour in the air, and a most caressing softness; when -the lemon-trees were full of promise, and some of them full of plenty; -when the little ranch, so carefully worked and so faithfully nursed, -seemed at its very best, and well repaid Robert Strafford for his -untiring labor. - -He sat on the bench in front of his barn, smoking his pipe and -glancing with pride at his little estate on the slope of the hill. -He loved it so much, that he had learnt to think it even beautiful, -and it was only now and then that he had any serious misgivings about -the impression it would produce on any one unaccustomed to the South -Californian scenery. But now he was seized with overwhelming doubt, and -he took his pipe from his mouth, and covered his tired-looking face -with his hands. Nellie, the white pointer, stirred uneasily, and then -got up and rubbed herself against him. - -“Dear old girl,” he said, caressing her. “You have such a faithful -heart. I’m all right, old girl; I’m only down in the dumps a little.” - -Suddenly the sound of horse’s hoofs was heard, and Nellie, barking -loudly, darted down the hill, and then returned in triumph, now and -again making jumps of greeting to Ben Overleigh’s pretty little -chestnut mare Fanny. - -Ben Overleigh swung off his horse, hitched her to the post, and turned -quietly to his friend, who had not risen from the bench, but sat in the -same listless position as before. - -“Well, now,” said Ben Overleigh, sinking down beside him, “and I tell -you, Bob, you’ve made a deucèd pretty little garden for her. That deaf -old woman with the ear-trumpet has not grown finer violets than those -yonder; and as for your roses, you could not find any better in Santa -Barbara itself. I can’t say much for the grass-plot at present. It -reminds me rather of a man’s bald head. But the creepers are just first -rate, especially the ones I planted. And there isn’t a bonnier little -ranch than yours in the whole neighbourhood. If my lemons were coming -on as well as yours, nothing on earth should prevent me from stepping -over to the dear old country for a few weeks.” - -Robert Strafford looked up and smiled. - -“The trees certainly are doing splendidly,” he said, with some pride. -“I know I’ve given them the best part of my strength and time these -last three years. There ought to be some return for that, oughtn’t -there, Ben?” - -Ben made no answer, but puffed at his pipe, and Robert Strafford -continued: - -“You see, Hilda and I had been engaged for some time, and things did -not go well with me in the old country,--I couldn’t make my niche for -myself like other fellows seem able to do,--and then there came that -wretched illness of mine, which crippled all my best abilities for the -time. So when at last I set to work again, I felt I must leave no stone -unturned to grasp some kind of a success: here was a new life and a new -material, and I vowed I would contrive something out of it for Hilda -and myself.” - -He paused a moment, and came closer to Ben Overleigh. - -“But I don’t know how I ever dared hope that she would come out here,” -he said, half-dreamily. “I’ve longed for it and dreaded it, and longed -for it and dreaded it. If I were to have a message now to say she -had thrown it up, I don’t suppose I should ever want to smile again. -But that is not the worst thing that would happen to one. I dread -something far more--her disappointment, her scorn; for, when all is -done and said, it is a wretched land, barren and bereft, and you know -yourself how many of the women suffer here. They nearly all hate it. -Something dies down in them. You have only got to look at them to know. -They have lost the power of caring. I’ve seen it over and over again, -and then I have cursed my lemon-trees. And I tell you, Ben, I feel -so played out by work and doubt, and so over-shadowed, that if Hilda -hates the whole thing, it will just be the death of me. It will kill me -outright.” - -Ben Overleigh got up and shook himself, and then relieved his feelings -in a succession of ranch-life expletives, given forth with calm -deliberation and in a particularly musical voice, which was one of -Ben’s most charming characteristics. He had many others too: his strong -manly presence, his innate chivalry to every one and everything, and -his quiet loyalty, made him an attractive personality in the valley; -and his most original and courteous manner of swearing would have -propitiated the very sternest of tract-distributors. He was a good -friend, too, and had long ago attached himself to Robert Strafford, and -looked after him--mothering him up in his own manly tender fashion; and -now he glanced at the young fellow who was going to bring his bride -home on the morrow, and he wondered what words of encouragement he -could speak, so that his comrade might take heart and throw off this -overwhelming depression. - -“That’s enough of this nonsense,” he said cheerily, as he stood and -faced his friend. “Come and show me what you’ve done to make the -house look pretty. And see here, old man, I’ve brought two or three -odd things along with me. I saw them in town the other day, and -thought they might please her ladyship when she arrives. I stake my -reputation particularly on this lamp-shade. And here’s a table-cloth -from the Chinese shop, and here’s a vase for flowers, and here’s a -toasting-fork!” - -They had gone into the house, and Ben Overleigh had laid his treasures -one by one on the table. He looked around, and realised for the first -time that Robert Strafford was offering but a desolate home to his -bride. Outside at least there were flowers and creepers, and ranges -of splendid mountains, and beautiful soft lights and shades changing -constantly, and fragrances in the air born of spring; but inside -this dreary little house, there was nothing to cast a glamour of -cheerfulness. Nothing. For the moment Ben’s heart sank, but when he -glanced at his friend, he forced himself to smile approvingly. - -“You’ve bought a capital little coal-oil stove, Bob,” he said. “That -is the best kind, undoubtedly. I’m going to have scores of cosy meals -off that, I can tell you. I think you could have done with two or three -more saucepans, old man. But that is as nice a little stove as you’ll -see anywhere. A rocking-chair! Good. And a cushion too, by Jove! And a -book-shelf, with six brand-new books on it, including George Meredith’s -last novel and Ibsen’s new play.” - -“Hilda is fond of reading,” said Robert Strafford, gaining courage from -his friend’s approval. - -“And some curtains,” continued Ben. “And a deucèd pretty pattern too.” - -“I chose them myself,” said the other, smiling proudly,--“and, what’s -more, I stitched them myself!” - -So they went on, Ben giving comfort and Bob taking it; and then they -made a few alterations in the arrangement of the furniture, and they -tried the effect of the table-cloth and the lamp-shade, and Bob put a -few flowers in the vase, and stood at the door to see how everything -looked. - -“Will it smile to her, will it smile to her, I wonder?” he said, -anxiously. - -“Of course it will,” said Ben, also stepping back to see the whole -effect. - -“That lamp-shade and that table-cloth and that vase and that -toasting-fork settle the whole matter, in my mind!” - -“If there were only some nice neighbours,” said Robert Strafford. “But -there isn’t a soul within six miles.” - -“You are surely forgetting the deaf lady with the ear-trumpet,” -remarked Ben, mischievously. - -“Don’t be a fool, Ben,” said Robert Strafford, shortly. - -“She is not exactly a stimulating companion,” continued Ben, -composedly, “but she is better than no one at all. And then there’s -myself. I also am better than no one at all. I don’t think you do so -badly after all, in spite of your grumblings. Then eight miles off -live Lauderdale and Holles and Graham. Since Jesse Holles returned from -his travels, they are as merry a little company as you would wish to -see anywhere.” - -“Hilda is so fond of music,” said Robert Strafford, sadly, “and I have -no piano for her as yet.” - -“That is soon remedied,” answered Ben. “But why didn’t you tell me -these things before? The ear-trumpet lady has a piano, and I daresay -with a little coaxing she would lend it to you. I’m rather clever at -coaxing through a trumpet; moreover, she rather likes me. I have such -a gentle voice, you know, and I believe my moustache is the exact -reproduction of one owned by her dead nephew! Her dead nephew certainly -must have had an uncommonly fine moustache! Well, about the piano. -I’ll see what I can do; and meanwhile, for pity’s sake, cheer up.” - -He put his hand kindly on his friend’s shoulders. - -“Yes, Bob, I mean what I say,” he continued; “for pity’s sake, cheer -up, and don’t be receiving her ladyship with the countenance of a -boiled ghost. That will depress her far more than anything in poor old -California. Be your old bright self again, and throw off all these -misgivings. You’ve just worked yourself out, and you ought to have -taken a month’s holiday down the coast. You would have come back as -strong as a jack-rabbit and as chirpy as a little horned toad.” - -“Oh, I shall be all right,” said Robert Strafford; “and you’re such a -brick, Ben. You’ve always been good to me. I’ve been such a sullen cur -lately. But for all that--” - -“But for all that, you’re not a bad fellow at your best,” said Ben, -smiling; “and now come back with me. I can’t have you mooning here by -yourself to-night. Come back with me, and I’ll cook you a splendid -piece of steak, and I’ll send you off in excellent form to meet and -marry her ladyship to-morrow morning. Then whilst you are off on that -errand, I’ll turn in here and make the place as trim as a ship’s cabin, -and serve up a nice little dinner fit for a king and queen. Come on, -old man. I half think there may be rain to-night.” - -“I must just water the horses,” said Robert Strafford, “and then I’m -ready for you.” - -The two friends sauntered down to the stables, the pointer Nellie -following close upon their heels. - -It was the hour of sunset, that hour when the barren scenery can hold -its own for beauty with the loveliest land on earth. The lights changed -and deepened, and faded away and gave place to other colours, until at -last that tender rosy tint so dear to those who watch the Californian -sky, jewelled the mountains and the stones, holding everything, indeed, -in a passing splendour. - -“Her ladyship won’t see anything like that in England,” said Ben; and -he stooped down and picked some wild-flowers which were growing over -the ranch: Mexican primroses and yellow violets. - -“The ear-trumpet lady says this is going to be a splendid year for the -wild-flowers,” he added, “so her ladyship will see California at its -best. But I believe we are in for some rain. I rather wish it would -keep off until she has happily settled down in her new home.” - -“It won’t rain yet,” said Robert Strafford, leading out one of the -horses to the water-trough. Then Ben fetched the other one out; but he -broke loose and hurried up on the hill, and Ben followed after him, -swearing in his usual patent manner in a gentle and musical monotone, -as though he were reciting prayers kneeling by his mother’s side. At -last the horse was caught, and the chickens were fed, and Nellie was -chained up to keep guard over the Californian estate. Robert mounted -his little mare Jinny and said some words of comfort and apology to the -pointer. - -“Poor old Nellie, woman,” he said; “I hate to leave you by yourself. -But you must keep the house and ranch safe for your mistress. And I’ve -given you an extra supply of bones. And we’ll go hunting soon, old -girl, I promise you.” - -Nellie went the full length of her chain, and watched the two men -canter off. - -When she could no longer watch, she listened, every nerve intent; -and when at last the sounds of the horses’ hoofs had died away in -the distance, she heaved a deep sigh, and after the manner of all -philosophers, resigned herself to an extra supply of bones. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -HILDA COMES - - -The next morning after Robert Strafford had gone off to town to meet -Hilda, Ben Overleigh went to his friend’s house and put everything -in order, and after having paid special attention to the arrangement -of his moustache, he set out to visit Miss Dewsbury, the deaf lady, -intending, if possible, to coax her piano out of her. He was a great -favourite of hers, and he was indeed the only person who was not -thoroughly frightened of her. She was quite seventy years of age, but -she had unending strength and vitality, and worked like a navvy on -her ranch, only employing a man when she absolutely must. And when -she did employ any one, she mounted to the top of the house, and kept -watch over him with an opera-glass, so that she might be quite sure -she was having the advantage of every moment of his time. The boys in -the neighbourhood often refused to work for her; for, as Jesse Holles -said, it was bad enough to be watched through an opera-glass, but to -have to put up with all her scoldings, and not be able to say a word of -defence which could reach her, except through a trumpet--no, by Jove, -that wasn’t the job for him! Also there were other complaints against -her: she never gave any one a decent meal, and she never dreamed of -offering anything else but skimmed milk which people did not seem able -to swallow. They swallowed the opera-glass and the trumpet and the -scoldings and the tough beef, but when it came to the skimmed milk, -they felt that they had already endured enough. So the best people in -the valley would not work for Miss Dewsbury--as least, not willingly; -and it had sometimes happened that Ben Overleigh had used his powers of -persuasion to induce some of the young fellows to give her a few days’ -help when she was in special need of it; and on more than one occasion, -when he could not make any one else go to her, he had himself offered -her his services. Thus she owed him some kindness; and moreover his -courtliness and his gentle voice were pleasing to her. He was the only -person, so she said, who did not shout down the trumpet. And yet she -could hear every word he uttered. - -This morning when he arrived at her house, she was vainly trying to -hear what the butcher said, and the butcher was vainly trying to make -himself understood. She was in a state of feverish excitement, and the -butcher looked in the last stage of nervous exhaustion. - -“You’ve just come in time to save my life,” he said to Ben. “For the -love of heaven, tell her through the trumpet, that beef has gone up two -cents a pound, that she can’t have her salted tongue till next week, -and that she has given me seven cents too little.” - -Then Ben of the magic voice spoke these mystic words through the -trumpet, and the butcher went off comforted, and Miss Dewsbury smiled -at her favourite; and when he told her that he had come to ask a -special favour of her, she was so gracious that Ben felt he would have -no difficulty in carrying out his project. But when she understood -what he wanted, things did not go so easily. To be sure, she did not -use the piano, she said, but then that was no reason why any one else -should use it for her. Ben stood waiting patiently until she should -have exhausted all her eloquence, and then he stooped down, and quietly -picked one or two suckers off a lemon-tree, and took his pruning-knife -from his pocket, and snipped off a faded branch. After this, with quiet -deliberation, he twirled his great moustaches. That settled the matter. - -“You may have the piano,” she said, “but you must fetch it yourself.” - -Ben did not think it necessary to add that he had already arranged for -it to be fetched at once, and he lingered a little while with her, -listening to her complaint about the men she employed and about their -laziness, which she observed through the opera-glass. Ben was just -going to suggest that perhaps the opera-glass made the men lazy, when -he remembered that he must be circumspect, and so he contrived some -beautiful speech about the immorality of laziness; he even asked for a -glass of skimmed milk, and off he cantered, raising his hat and bowing -chivalrously to the old lady rancher. Before very long, her piano stood -in Robert Strafford’s little house, and Ben spent a long time in -cleaning and dusting it. - -After he had finished this task, he became very restless, and finally -went down to the workshop and made a rough letter-box, which he fixed -on to a post and placed at the corner of the road leading up to his -friend’s ranch. Two hours were left. He did a little gardening and -watered the tiny grass-plot. He looked at the sky. Blue-black clouds -were hovering over the mountains, obscuring some and trying to envelop -others. - -“We are in for a storm,” he said. “It is making straight for this part -from Grevilles Mountain. But I hope it won’t come to-night. It will be -a poor welcome to Bob’s wife, though it’s about time now for the land -to have a thorough good drenching.” - -He looked at the pretty valley with its belt of trees, seen at its best -from the hill where Robert’s house was built. At all times of the year, -there was that green stretch yonder of clustering trees, nestling near -the foothills, which in their turn seemed to nestle up to the rugged -mountains. - -“Yes,” he said, as he turned away, “those trees make one home-sick -for a wooded country. These wonderful ranges of mountains and these -hills are all very well in their way, and one learns to love them -tremendously, but one longs for the trees. And yet when Jesse Holles -went north and came back again, he said he was glad to see the barren -mountains once more. I wonder what the girl will think of it all, -and how she will take to the life. The women suffer miseries of -home-sickness.” - -He stood thinking a while, and there was an expression of great sadness -on his face. - -“My own little sweetheart would have pined out here,” he said softly; -“I can bear the loneliness, but I could not have borne hers. Poor old -Bob,” he said regretfully, “I almost wish he had not sent for her: it -is such a risk in this land. I don’t wonder he is anxious.” - -He glanced again at the threatening clouds, and went back to the house, -took off his coat, turned up his sleeves, and began the preparations -for the evening meal. He laid the cloth, changed the flowers several -times before they smiled to his satisfaction, and polished the knives -and forks. He brought in some logs of wood and some sumac-roots, made a -fire, and blew it up with the bellows. - -[Illustration: “BEN LIT THE LANTERN, AND STATIONED HIMSELF OUTSIDE WITH -IT.”] - -Suddenly the frail little frame-house was shaken by a heavy gust of -wind; and when the shock had passed, every board creaked and quivered. -Nellie got up from her warm place near the fire, and stalked about -uneasily. - -“Damnation!” said Ben. “The storm is working up. If they’d only come -before it is any worse.” - -It was now seven o’clock and pitch dark. Ben lit the lantern, and -stationed himself outside with it. The time seemed endless to him, but -at last he heard the music of wheels, and in a few minutes the horse -dashed up the hill, and Robert’s voice rang out lustily: - -“Here she is, Ben!” - -“Yes, here I am,” said Robert’s wife. - -“Just in time to escape the storm,” said Ben, coming forward to greet -her, and helping her out of the buggy. “I’ve been awfully anxious about -you both. I’ll take the horse down to the barn, Bob, and then I’ll fly -up to see about the dinner. Leave everything to me.” - -So whilst Ben was unhitching the horse, Robert led his wife into the -little house, and he was transfigured with pride and pleasure when she -glanced round and said: - -“Why, how cosy you’ve made it! And how cheerful the fire looks! And -this dear dog ready to be so friendly. It looks like a real little -home--doesn’t it?” - -In that one moment all Robert’s doubts and misgivings were set at -rest, and when Ben hurried up from the barn, the husband and wife -were kneeling down and toasting themselves before the fire, the dog -nestling up near them, and he heard Robert asking questions about the -dear old country, and Hilda answering in a voice which struck on Ben’s -sensitive ear as being somewhat harsh and strident. He had only time to -glance hastily at her as, intent on serving up a dainty little dinner -as quickly as possible, he passed into the kitchen. At last he brought -it in triumphantly, hot steak cooked as only Ben knew how, and fried -potatoes and chicken salad, and the most fragrant coffee. Finally, -overcome with his exertions and his anxiety and his day’s working and -waiting, with a sigh of relief he sank back in his chair and twirled -his great moustaches. - -“You have been such a good friend to Bob,” said Hilda, smiling at him. -“I know all about it.” - -“No, no,” said Ben, with his easy grace, “I’ve only helped to get him -through the time until you came out to him. The poor wretch needed -cheering up. But he does not look much like a poor wretch now.” - -“No, indeed,” laughed Robert, “and I don’t feel like one.” - -“You’ve often been a great anxiety to me,” said Ben, turning to Hilda. -“When the mails have been delayed and your letters have not come at -their appointed minute, then I have had to suffer. And once you were -ill. During that period I was not allowed any peace of mind.” - -“In fact, you have had bad times on my account,” she said brightly. - -[Illustration: “AND HE HEARD ROBERT ASKING QUESTIONS.”] - -“Well, I could not bear to see him suffer,” Ben said, laying his arm -on Robert’s shoulder. “He is a terrible fellow at taking things to -heart. There is no doing anything at all with him.” - -“He has suffered quite unnecessarily,” Hilda answered, with that -peculiar harsh ring in her voice which again jarred on Ben’s -sensitiveness. “I am one of the strong ones of the earth.” - -And she looked it. Though tired after the long journey from England, -she had the appearance of being in excellent health. Her complexion was -dark, and her eyes were brown, but without any softness in them. She -was decidedly good-looking, almost beautiful indeed, and strikingly -graceful of form and stature. But she impressed Ben as being quite -unsympathetic, and all the time he was washing up the tea things and -tidying the little kitchen, he found himself harping on this note -alone. - -And when he had said good-bye to Robert and Hilda, and was hurrying -home on his pretty little mare Fanny, he gave vent, in his usual -musical fashion, to a vague feeling of disappointment, and kept up a -soft accompaniment of swearing to the howling of the wind. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -GROWING REGRETS - - -It was now three days since Hilda’s arrival; and the storm, which had -been threatening for so long, had not yet broken loose. Like all the -ranchers, Robert was anxious for a good deluge, but he was relieved -that there was a little delay about it, for he wanted Hilda to enjoy a -few days of outdoor life, and see all he had to show her on the ranch -and in the garden. He seemed like a different man now that she had come -out to him; and every tiny mark of appreciation which she gave, made -him lift his head higher, and encouraged him to step more firmly over -the ground. The labour, the anxiety, and the risk of his enterprise -were all forgotten in the intense pride and pleasure with which he -showed her what he had been doing to ensure success. He told her, with -quiet confidence in the ultimate truth of his words, that his lemons -could not possibly be a failure. - -“You will hear many people say that there is no money in -fruit-farming,” he said to her when he was taking her over the ranch -and pointing out to her his pet trees. “But you need not be concerned -about that. The big ranches often fail because they are too unwieldy, -and some of the small ranches fail because they are not properly looked -after, and because their owners have not enough capital to spend money -on them, and to wait patiently for a good return. But a ranch of -twenty-five acres carefully tended in every particular cannot help -being a success. Those are my best trees yonder. They are specially -fine, and I expect to net two dollars a box on them next year. I can’t -tell you how much care I have given to them, but you see for yourself -that it was well worth while.” - -Hilda tried to make some appropriate remark, but the trees did not -really arouse any interest in her: she was bitterly disappointed -with them, for, in spite of all Robert’s letters telling her that -the orchard was only in its infancy, she had expected to see great -groves of trees covered with lemons and oranges. And really until -one learns to take a delight in the quick growth, one may well feel -disappointment and perhaps contempt. Some amusing criticisms, with a -spice of derision in them, rose to her lips, but she managed to shut -them off, and followed her husband silently up the trail which led to -his reservoir, on which he set great store. - -“Yes,” he said, “this is a thoroughly satisfactory piece of work. It -cost a good deal of money and labour, but it is splendidly strong. In -this dry land, it is such an immense advantage to be able to store -water.” - -Hilda praised the reservoir, and suggested they should grow some trees -there. - -“Yes, indeed,” Robert said eagerly, “we will have trees everywhere, and -you shall choose them and settle where they are to be planted.” - -“Why didn’t you plant some shade trees at once?” she asked. “The whole -place is so terribly bare. I could not have believed that such a barren -spot existed anywhere outside a desert.” - -Robert’s face fell, and Hilda added quickly: - -“But these are grand old mountains around us, and I daresay one gets -accustomed to the bareness.” - -“Oh, yes,” he answered, “and in time one almost learns to think it -beautiful.” - -“Beautiful, no,” she replied decidedly, “but perhaps tolerable.” - -“Every day,” he said, almost pleadingly, “you will see a difference in -the scenery. If we have some more rain, as we shall do shortly, you -will see the green springing up everywhere. The most dried-up-looking -corner will suddenly become jewelled with wild-flowers. In about three -weeks’ time that little hill yonder above our ranch will be covered -with scented yellow lilies. Down in the valley you will find green -enough to satisfy the hungriest eye, and up on the mountains where you -must go on horseback, the brushwood is coming on splendidly, and all -sorts of lovely flowers and shrubs are springing up. And there you will -have a grand view of the surrounding mountains, and the Pacific. You -will even feel the sea-breeze, and at times you will hear the sound of -the waves.” - -He paused for a moment, and Hilda said brightly: - -“I shall enjoy the riding immensely. Can I begin soon?” - -“At once,” he answered proudly again. “Come and make friends with -Bessie, and see the side-saddle which I bought for you the other day. -It’s a Mexican one, and I think it is the safest for this country.” - -He had taken thought for her in every way, and she could not but notice -it and be grateful for it; and as the days went on, she grew more -conscious of the evidences of his kindness, and all the more anxious to -do her part conscientiously. She threw herself into work to which she -had been totally unaccustomed all her life, and for which she had no -liking; but because she had a strong will and a satisfaction in doing -everything well, she made astonishing progress, illustrating the truth -sometimes disputed by ungenerous critics, that a good groundwork of -culture and education helps and does not hinder one in the practical -and unpoetical things of life. - -But nevertheless she recognised that she had made a great mistake. -Looking back now she wondered why in the name of heaven she had ever -come out to this distant land, and got herself entangled in a life -which could never be congenial to her; for once there, and having seen -her surroundings and her limitations, she realised that it could never -be attractive to her. She had loved Robert as well as she could love -any one, and when his health broke down and he had to leave England, -she continued her engagement as a matter of course, and his letters -of love and longing were acceptable to her, not involving any strain -on her part, nor any pressing need of arranging definitely for the -future. So she drifted on, and when at last the question arose of -her joining him, her relations and friends used every opposition -to prevent her. It was pointed out to her that after a London life -full of many interests and possibilities and actualities, ranching in -Southern California would be simply madness. She had been accustomed -to companions, men and women of a certain amount of culture and -refinement. How would she manage, bereft of all these advantages? -The strenuous opposition with which she met, and the solid arguments -advanced against her leaving the old country, stimulated her desire -to go; and a sudden wave of loyalty and pity for that lonely rancher -who was counting on her help and companionship, confirmed her in her -intentions. She felt that if she had not been intending to keep her -promise, she ought at least to have let him know the drift of her -mind. This, and a very decided inclination for travel and adventures, -settled the matter. - -So she came. - -[Illustration: “SHE SAT ON THE LITTLE VERANDAH.”] - -And this afternoon, when she sat on the little verandah, resting after -her housework, and watching Robert cultivating the eight-acre piece -on the hill-slope, she realised that she had been mad. He paused for -a moment and waved to her, and she waved back listlessly. She looked -at the rich upturned soil, of chocolate brown, and the formal rows of -lemon-trees; at the stretch of country all around her, with scarcely -a sign of human habitation; at the great mountains, uncompromisingly -stern and barren of everything except stone and brush. She watched -the pointer Nellie going in front of the little grey team and -encouraging them to do their work well. She glanced upwards and -noticed the majestic flight of the turkey buzzards, and now she was -attracted by the noise of a hummingbird who came to visit her fragrant -honeysuckle creeper, and then sped on his way. Everything seemed so -still and lifeless. There were no familiar noises such as greet one -in the tiniest village in the old country. There was no pulsation -nor throb of life. There was nothing to stimulate,--nothing in the -circumstances of everyday life, nor in the scenery. With the exception -of her husband, there was no one with whom to speak all through the -living hours of the day. - -And this was what she had chosen of her own free will. She had -deliberately thrown up a life full of interests and distractions, and -had been mad enough to exchange it for this. - -She was fond of music, and would hear none. - -She was fond of theatres, and she had cut herself off from them. - -As for books--well, she could get them here; but meanwhile Meredith’s -“Lord Ormont and his Aminta” lay unopened by her side, and the current -number of the “Century” was thrown down and carelessly crumpled. But as -she stooped to pick it up, she was ashamed to think how ungrateful she -was for all Robert’s kindness. He had filled a little book-shelf with -new books for her; he had subscribed for several of the best magazines; -he had sent for a tuner from town to tune the ear-trumpet lady’s -piano. She scarcely cared to read, and she had not touched the piano. -A feeling of tenderness and gratitude came over her, and she sprang -up, and trudged over the fields to speak a few words with her husband. -His face brightened when he saw her, and he gave her a joyous welcome. -Nellie ran to greet her, and the horses looked round inquiringly. For -the moment she felt really proud and happy. - -“You must let me help you all I can,” she said gently. “I am so strong, -and able to do so much. You look dreadfully tired.” - -“Oh, that’s nothing,” he said, smiling, and wiping his forehead. -“Everything seems different since you came.” - -“If you teach me, I can do the pruning,” she said; “I believe I could -cultivate too.” - -“I believe you could,” he answered, “and perhaps you think too that I -am going to allow you to dig the basins for the irrigating during the -summer. But you shall do the pruning, and next year, you know, there -will be the curing of the lemons.” - -“_Next year_,” she repeated slowly, and her heart sank once more. - -“I’ve half decided to plant some walnuts,” he said. “They don’t bear -for about nine years, but then they are very profitable.” - -“_Nine years_,” she echoed, and a throb of pain passed through her. - -But at that moment Ben Overleigh came cantering over the ranch, with a -rifle in front of him and some quail which he had just shot. - -“This is my first offering of quail,” he said, turning to Hilda, “and -I’ve shot them with this pretty little rifle which Jesse Holles is -sending as a present to you. He is too shy to give it to you himself. -Though you won’t think him shy when you see him.” - -“And when shall I see him?” asked Hilda, who had brightened up -considerably, and looked beautiful. - -“This evening,” answered Ben, glancing at her admiringly. “The fact is, -I came to tell you that in about an hour’s time you may expect seven -callers. Lauderdale and Graham and Holles and some of the other boys -intend to pay you their respects this evening. They fear lest they -may be prevented later on by the storm which I’ve prophesied for the -last fortnight, and which I shall continue to prophesy with unfailing -persistence until it comes. You will find Holles most amusing if he is -in good form. But he has been quite ill for the last three weeks, and -is only just himself again. He made nine wills and wrote six farewell -letters in twenty-one days, and he said they helped him to recover. -He looked in at my place this morning and asked for a tie, and Graham -pleaded for a collar, and when I heard why they wanted these articles -of luxury, I thought I had better come a little earlier and warn -you, as seven visitors are rather a large bunch of grapes, even in -California.” - -“Then we will go in and get ready for them,” Hilda said, delighted at -the prospect of company. “How nice of Mr. Holles to send the rifle! May -I fire a shot now, Mr. Overleigh? I should so much like to try.” - -He showed her how to use the rifle, loaded it for her, and nodded in -approval to Robert when she took a steady aim at a mark which they had -placed for her, and hit it. - -“She’ll do,” said Ben, cheerily; “we can send her out to shoot the deer -in the mountains, Bob. Perhaps she will have better luck than we do.” - -“Perhaps,” laughed Robert, as he turned the horses homeward. “Be sure -and ask Holles, Hilda, what is the greatest number of deer he has ever -shot!” - -Hilda promised not to forget, and hurried into the house to make her -preparations for the guests. - -“It will rain to-night,” Ben said; “it can’t help itself any longer. -Just look yonder.” - -“Yes, I believe you are right at last,” answered Robert, unhitching the -horses from the cultivator. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE STORM - - -The seven callers came as threatened, and Hilda began to think that -perhaps there was some kind of companionship possible in the wilds -of Southern California. She was delighted with these young English -fellows, and sat in the midst of them, laughing at their fun, listening -to their stories, and answering their eager questions about the dear -old country for which they all longed. - -“How does the Strand look?” asked Graham. - -“Does Tottenham Court Road seem the same as ever?” asked Lauderdale. - -“Has Park Lane changed at all?” asked Holles, putting on airs of great -superiority. - -In spite of his recent illness, he was in capital spirits, and seemed -to be much liked by his companions. “Yes, I’ve been quite ill,” he -said, in answer to Hilda’s inquiries; “but Lauderdale nursed me -beautifully, and made me drink about a dozen bottles of Elliman’s -embrocation, and then I got well enough to write several parting -letters to my friends in England, and to make my will. And that’s a -very puzzling thing to do satisfactorily when you have many valuable -things to leave. I left my pipe first to Lauderdale, then to Graham, -then to Bob, and then to Ben Overleigh, and finally I kept it for -myself!” - -“You ought to have kept your rifle for yourself,” Hilda said -graciously, “though I am glad you did not. I am delighted to have it -from you, and hope to do it justice.” - -“A rifle is a very handy thing to have in this country,” he answered. -“One may want it at any moment for a coyote, or a jack-rabbit, or a -Mexican.” - -“Or perhaps a deer!” suggested Hilda, slyly. - -They all laughed at that, and Jesse Holles as heartily as any one, -and then Ben said he thought they ought to be starting home. It was -evident that none of them wanted to go, and Holles, being particularly -fond of music, was looking at the piano; but Ben seemed anxious about -the weather, and insisted on their leaving at once with him. They -called him the High Binder, explaining to Hilda the exact meaning of a -High Binder, and his mysterious and subtle influence over his Chinese -compatriots, whom he ruled with an iron rod. - -“Just see how we all quail before him,” said Holles, who had been -talking incessantly the whole evening; “and no doubt you’ve observed -how speechless we are in his presence. He has only to wag his pig-tail -and we go flat on our faces at once.” - -“Don’t be such a confounded ass,” said Ben, laughing. “Come along, -boys.” - -“All right, man alive,” said Holles, “but at least let me finish this -piece of cake first. We don’t get cake like this at your place, Ben. Do -you know, Mrs. Strafford, when we want to kill coyotes, we get Ben to -make us some of his best sponge-rusks. That does the trick at once!” - -“Why don’t you give them to the deer also?” suggested Hilda, -mischievously. There was a shout of laughter at this, and Robert lit -the lantern, and opened the door. - -“It’s raining, boys,” he said; “and what’s more, it is coming on -harder.” - -“Hurrah for California!” sang out Graham; “we shall all make our -fortunes.” - -“Yes,” said Robert Strafford, “we shall all be saved if the country -gets a thorough good drenching. But you will be pretty well sprinkled -by the time you reach home.” - -“Never mind,” replied Holles, cheerily. “I’m the only delicate one, you -know, and the others won’t take much harm, being of coarser fibre. And -I have nothing on to spoil except the High Binder’s tie, which I will -put in my pocket. So good-night, Mrs. Strafford, and three cheers for -yourself and Bob and dear old England.” - -The High Binder and the seven other callers gave three ringing cheers -and cantered off to their homes. Long before they reached their -destinations, the storm broke forth with unbridled fury. The rain -poured down in torrents, gaining in force and rage every moment. -The wind suddenly rose, and all but swept away the riders and their -horses, and shook to its very foundation the frail little frame-house -where Robert and Hilda were watching by the log-fire, listening to the -cracking and creaking and groaning of the boards. The wind rose higher -and higher. It seemed as though the little house must assuredly be -caught up and hurled headlong. Now and then Nellie got up and howled, -and Hilda started nervously. - -“It’s all right,” Robert said reassuringly. “The wind will soon drop, -and as for the rain, we have wanted it badly. We should all have been -ruined this year, if the wet season had not set in. It’s all right, -Nell. Lie down, old girl.” - -But the wind did not drop. Hour after hour it raged and threatened, and -together with the tremendous downpouring of the rain, and the rushing -of the water in streams over the ground, made a deafening tumult. - -“I wish we had kept those boys,” Robert said once or twice. “It is not -fit for any one to be out on such a night. When these storms come,” -he added, “I always feel so thankful that Ben urged me to buy land on -the hill-slopes rather than in the valley. Three years ago there was -fearful damage done in the valley. One of the ranchers had eight acres -of olives completely ruined by the floods from the river. You must see -the river to-morrow. You saw it yesterday, didn’t you? Well, you will -not recognise it after a day or two if the rain continues. And from the -verandah you will hear it roaring like the ocean.” - -Later on he said: - -“I rather wish I hadn’t filled up my reservoir so full with -flume-water. It never struck me to make allowances for the rain coming, -idiot that I am. But there is a good deal of seepage going on, and I -thought I might as well fill it up to just below the overflow.” - -“You are not anxious about it?” she asked kindly. - -“No, no,” he said, cheerfully; “but I shall go out early to-morrow -morning, and raise the flood-gate, just to be well on the safe side. -One can’t be too careful about reservoirs. They are the very devil if -the dam bursts. But mine is as solid as a fortress. I’d stake my life -on that. I worked like ten navvies over that earth dam. I used to feel -rather like that man in Victor Hugo’s ‘Toilers of the Sea.’ Do you -remember how he slaved over his self-imposed task?” - -“Poor old Bob,” she said, bending over him, and speaking in a gentler -voice than was her wont, “and you are not in the least fit for such -hard work. I believe you have worn yourself out; and all for me, and I, -if you only knew, so little worthy of it.” - -“I wanted our little ranch to be just as compact as possible,” he said, -“so that I might offer to you the best I could in this distant land. -As for myself, I am perfectly well, now you’ve come out to me: only -I am always wishing that I could have made a home for you in the old -country. I never forget it whatever I am doing.” - -He seemed to be waiting for an answer, but Hilda was silent, and when -at last she spoke, it was about her seven callers, and the next moment -there was a terrible blast of wind, and the door was blown in and -hurled with a crash to the ground. After that, their whole attention -was taken up in trying to keep out the rain, and in securing the -windows, until at last, worn out with their long watch, they slept. - -Hilda dreamed of England, and of everything she had left there. She -dreamed that she heard Robert saying: “_And next year there will be the -lemons to be cured._” “_Next year_,” she answered, and her heart sank. - -Robert dreamed of the eight acres of olives ruined by the floods three -years ago, and of his own ranch situated so safely on the hill-slope, -and of his reservoir. He dreamed he was still working at it, still -strengthening the earth dam, and still scraping out the cañon so as to -have room for about five hundred thousand gallons of water. - -[Illustration: “HE LIFTED A PIECE OF IRON PIPING.”] - -“_It’s nearly done_,” he said; “_about three weeks more, and then -I’m through with it_.” - -At six o’clock he woke up with a start, and found the storm unabated -in strength and fury. Suddenly he remembered about his reservoir, and, -seized with a sudden panic, he flung out of the house, and, fighting -his way through the rain and wind, crossed the ranch, and tore up the -trail which led to the reservoir. - -For one second he stood paralysed. - -The water was just beginning to flow over the earth dam. He had come -too late, and he knew it. He lifted a piece of iron piping which lay -there at hand, and he tried to knock out the flood-gate, but the -mischief was done. In less than ten minutes, the water had cut a hole -five feet deep in the dam, and was rushing down the ranch, carving for -itself a gully which widened and deepened every second. - -In the blinding rain and wind Robert Strafford stood helpless and -watched the whole of the dam give way: he watched the water tearing -madly over the best part of his ranch: he saw numbers of his choicest -lemon-trees rooted up and borne away: he saw the labour of weeks and -months flung, as it were, in his face. And he was helpless. It was all -over in half an hour, and still he lingered there, as though rooted to -the spot,--drenched by the rain, blown by the wind, and unconscious of -everything except this bitter disappointment. But when his mind began -to work again, he thought of Hilda: how it was through him that she had -left her home and her surroundings and all her many interests, and had -come to him to this far-off country, to this loveless land, to this -starved region--yes, to this starved region, where people were longing -and pining for even a passing throb of the old life, for even a glance -at a Devonshire lane or a Surrey hill; for some old familiar scene of -beauty or some former sensation of mental or artistic satisfaction; -for something--no matter what--but just something from the old country -which would feel like the touch of a loved hand on a bowed head. He -was holding out his arms, and his heart and whole being were leaping -towards the blessèd land which had nurtured him: even as tiny children -cry out for their mother, and can be comforted and satisfied by her -alone. Ah, his thoughts of, and his desires for his old home, had -broken down the barrier of control, and were tearing wildly onwards -like that raging torrent yonder. And the more he desired the dear -old country and thought of it, all the more bitterly did he reproach -himself for taking Hilda away from it, for urging her to come and cut -herself off from the things most worth having in life--_and for what_? -To share his exile, and his loneliness, and his failure. That was all -he had to offer her, and he might have known it from the beginning, and -if he could not save himself, at least he might have spared her. - -At last he turned away suddenly, and, battling with the storm, made his -way home. Hilda ran out to meet him. - -“Robert,” she said, seeing his pale face, “I’ve been so anxious--what -has happened?--what is the matter?” - -“Do you hear that noise?” he said excitedly; “do you hear the roar of -that torrent? It is our reservoir let loose over our ranch. How do you -like having married a man who has failed in everything?” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -DOWN BY THE RIVER - - -All through that most miserable day Hilda gave him the best of her -sympathy and kindness; but even her best was poor of quality and scant -of quantity, and it did not avail to rouse him from his despair. She -was too new to Californian life to understand the whole meaning of the -morning’s misfortune, and apart from this, her power of comforting -lacked the glow and warmth of passionate attachment. Still, she gave to -her uttermost farthing, but nothing she could do or say had the effect -of helping him. He crouched by the fire, a broken man seemingly, now -and again piling on the sumac-roots, and sometimes glancing at her as -she passed to and fro busy with the affairs of their little household. -She served the mid-day meal and urged him to break his fast, but he -shook his head, and drew nearer to the fire. At about three o’clock, -there was a lull in the storm, and the rain ceased. - -Hilda, who was feeling utterly wretched and perplexed, went out to -the verandah and listened to the roar of the river, and saw a silver -streak in the valley which two days before had been perfectly dry. -She had laughed when she was told that the sandy waste yonder was the -great river. Now, looking at it, she was seized with a strong desire -to go down and stand near it, and she was just debating in her mind -whether she could leave Robert, and whether she could get through the -day without some kind of distraction,--no matter what, but something -to brace her up a little,--when she saw a figure coming up the hill, -and at once recognised Ben Overleigh. A strong feeling of relief and -hope took possession of her. Ben would stay with Robert whilst she went -out and saw what there was to be seen, and then she would come back -refreshed in mind and body. He would know how to comfort Robert, and -as for herself, she was quite conscious that she brightened up in his -presence, and felt less hopeless too about this lonely ranch life when -she remembered that he was a neighbor and their friend. - -“Well,” he said, greeting her, “and so you’ve seen a typical -Californian rain-storm. I tell you, you are lucky to be on the hill. -I shouldn’t wonder if there was a great deal of damage done in the -valley. And the storm is not over yet. This is only a lull, but I -thought I would just come over to see how things have been going with -you. Where is Bob?” - -“Bob is inside, crouching over the fire,” she said. - -“He should take you down to see the river,” Ben said. “It is a -tremendous sight.” - -“I half thought of going by myself,” she said gloomily, “if only for -the sake of a little distraction. Bob is in trouble; we are both in -trouble. The reservoir burst this morning.” - -“Good heavens!” said Ben, “and you talk of it as though your band-box -had burst, and that was all.” - -She darted an indignant glance at him as he opened the door hastily -and went into the house. He laid his hands heavily on Bob’s shoulders -and said: “Cheer up, old man. I’ve come to smoke a pipe with you.” - -“Ben, old fellow,” Robert Strafford said, looking up, and feeling at -once the comfort of his presence. - -There was no talk between them: they sat together by the fireside, -whilst Hilda lingered outside on the verandah. - -At last Robert spoke. - -“My best trees are gone,” he said half-dreamily; “the best part of my -ranch is ruined.” - -“We’ll redeem it,” Ben answered, “you and I together.” - -Robert shook his head. - -[Illustration: “THERE WAS NO TALK BETWEEN THEM.”] - -“There’s no redeeming it,” he said quietly; “I’ve made another -failure of my life, and dragged the girl into it this time. And I can’t -forgive myself. And she has been so good and patient all through this -wretched day. She has not come out to anything very gay, has she?” - -For the moment Ben’s thoughts turned sympathetically to Hilda, and he -regretted his hasty words. No; Bob was right: she had not come out -to anything very gay: a barren life, a worn-out worker, and a ruined -ranch,--not a particularly sumptuous marriage portion for any one. - -“I think I shall take her down to the river,” he said suddenly. “She -half wanted to go, and it is not safe for her alone.” - -Robert nodded as though in approval, and showed no further interest in -outside things. Ben saw that it was better to leave him alone, and -slipped out quietly, having asked no questions about the reservoir. But -he soon saw for himself that the finest part of Robert’s ranch was a -scene of desolation, and his heart ached for his friend. Then he came -round to the honeysuckle verandah, and saw Hilda still standing there. -She looked utterly listless and depressed. - -“May I take you down to the river?” he asked, in his own kind way. -“Bob is better alone, and the walk will do you good. Put on some thick -boots, for the mud is something awful. You don’t mind heavy walking?” - -“No, indeed,” she answered eagerly, “I shall be glad to come.” - -In a few minutes they were making their way down to the valley, -now sticking in the mud, and now going valiantly onwards without -interruption. At first Ben could not bring himself to speak of the -trouble which had befallen his friend; he felt as though Hilda did not -understand, or as though she did not care. Yet it was impossible that -she did not care. No, she was, so he argued, probably one of those -reserved characters, who keep their emotions in an iron safe, proof -against all attacks. But at last he could no longer keep silent on the -subject which was uppermost in his thoughts. - -“It is a most disastrous affair, this bursting of the reservoir,” he -said. “Bob slaved like a nigger at that earth dam. I never saw any -fellow work so hard. And there never was a doubt in our minds about it -being as firm as a rock. He has not told me a word about it yet, and I -did not like to ask. He will tell me in his own time.” - -“He had filled the reservoir too full,” Hilda said, in her grating -voice. “I can’t imagine why he did such a ridiculous thing when he -knew the rain was coming. And then there was some trouble about the -flood-gate. It would not act properly. That is how it has occurred: -at least so he told me. Day after day he put off looking after that -flood-gate, until it was too late. I am dreadfully sorry about it all, -but I cannot think why he did not take proper precautions. I would not -say that to him, of course, but it seems to me that it might have been -prevented if--” - -“If Bob had not been utterly worn out,” said Ben, brusquely. - -“Well, it is altogether most unfortunate,” she said indifferently. - -Ben glanced at her keenly, scarcely knowing how to control his -indignation at her cold criticism of his friend. He was trying to make -out what manner of woman she really was, trying to divine what kind of -heart she had, and what degree of intelligence; for she apparently did -not realise the seriousness of the disaster, and talked of it as though -it were something outside her, in the consequences of which she had no -part. - -“I scarcely think this is the moment for criticism,” he said suddenly; -“it is the moment for generous sympathy. Bob will need everything we -can give him of help and kindness.” - -“Do you suppose I don’t know that?” she asked coldly. “Do you imagine -that I am intending to make things harder for him? What do you suppose -I am?” - -“I suppose you are what you are,” Ben answered, in his quiet deliberate -way, “a new-comer to California, ignorant of our lives out here, our -struggles, our weeks and months and years of unaccustomed toil, and our -great anxieties, and our great disasters. Your ranch is practically -ruined. All those trees would have borne splendid lemons next year. Bob -has tended them with special care. Now they are swept away. The part of -your ranch which is left uninjured by the bursting of the reservoir, is -the newly planted part. About two or three months ago, I myself helped -Bob to put in the trees. Now he will have to begin all over again. And -it is just crushing.” - -He paused for a moment, and even in the midst of his exasperation at -her indifference, and in spite of his sympathy with Bob, he felt a -rush of kindly feeling towards her. There she was amongst them in -a foreign land, with none of her own people and none of her former -interests,--no, she had not come out to anything very cheerful: and at -twenty-four, and three weeks married, one has a right to expect some -satisfaction out of life. - -“But I am not a very gay companion,” he said, with sudden cheeriness. -“You have had enough sadness for one day, and here am I doing my level -best to add to it. Holles always says that if I had chosen, I could -have written an admirable Book of Lamentations.” - -“He is a most amusing boy,” Hilda said, smiling in spite of herself. - -“One day when he is in good form you must make him tell you his -adventures on a fishing expedition,” said Ben. “And some day you must -ask him about his famous quarrel with the ear-trumpet lady, your -only neighbour. He does just what he likes with us all, and we’re -ridiculously fond of him. That is his place right over there, across -the river. And now what do you think of the river? Stay, let me go -first and test the way across the meadows, and you must follow exactly -in my footsteps, and we will get up to the very bank of the torrent. -Don’t choose your own path. The ground is fearfully soft, and you may -be mired if you’re not careful. Would you rather not go?” - -“Indeed not,” she said eagerly; “I am ready for anything.” - -She had forgotten all her troubles and depression, and, buoyant with -vitality and eagerness, followed after him, calling out sometimes when -he looked back, “I’m all right, Mr. Overleigh.” - -At last they stood together by the side of the river, and were able -to see the wholesale destruction which the storm had wrought. Three -days ago there had been no water in the river; now there was a raging -torrent, which was cutting down the banks, tearing up the trees, and -bearing them away in fierce triumph. - -First the topmost branches of a fine sycamore shuddered slightly; then -they trembled, and those who were watching them, knew that the tree was -doomed. The roots cracked and groaned, and something snapped. And the -tree fell. Perhaps there was a moment of resistance even then--but -all in vain. The torrent rushed with redoubled fury on its victim, and -whirled it away. - -[Illustration: “HILDA COULD NOT LEAVE THE SPOT.”] - -There is a sad fascination in watching such a scene as this. You feel -you must wait to see whether that tree yonder will be spared. You -do not think it possible that it too will yield to the enemy. The -others went, but they were fragile and unstable. This one surely will -have the strength to withstand all attacks. You watch, and you turn -away perhaps to see the bank a few yards farther down, cave in and -disappear; or it may be that you yourself have to step back and save -yourself from slipping down with the ground which has given way. You -hear a crash--and there is your tree fallen! You feel like holding -out your arms to help a friend. You feel the despair of knowing -that you cannot help. The torrent seizes your tree, attacks it with -overwhelming force, and sweeps it onwards, onwards. And you linger -there, remembering sadly that there is one tree less in a barren land, -where every green branch is dearly prized; one tree less in that belt -of green in the valley, so soothing and restful to the eye through all -the months of the year. - -Hilda could not leave the spot. She was so excited and interested, and -so concerned at seeing the trees rooted up, that Ben began to wonder -whether he would ever get her home again; and indeed every moment -something fresh was occurring to attract their attention. Now a window -and now a door tore past, and now a great olive-tree, and now a pig, -and now a pump. - -“We must be starting for home,” he said at last. “The storm will be -coming on again. Do you see those threatening clouds yonder? My word, -there has been a tremendous deal of damage done already, and we’ve -not finished with it yet. I hope to goodness none of those boys have -suffered. Their land lies low, and this river is cutting away the -country right and left.” - -She turned to him with sudden eagerness. - -“It’s tremendously exciting,” she said, clasping her hands over her -head, and drawing a long breath. “If you have not seen anything of the -kind before, it works you up to a terrible pitch. I don’t know exactly -what it makes one feel like: one does not think of oneself or one’s own -concerns: one just watches and wonders.” - -“Come,” he said, looking at her with fresh interest, for her eagerness -and animation were giving an added charm to her personality. “Come, -before we are caught by the rain. Robert will be anxious.” - -“Robert will be anxious,” she echoed dreamily, and at once the -brightness faded from her face. It was as though some sudden -remembrance had quenched her vitality and her interest. She followed -Ben over the meadows, and when they had gained the road safely, -she glanced at the scene which they had left, and then turned -slowly homewards. There was something in her manner which forbade -conversation, and Ben walked by her side, twirling his great -moustaches, and wondering how things would eventually work themselves -out between Robert and herself. His own feelings towards her this -afternoon were a curious mixture of resentment and attraction. He was -almost angry with himself for being attracted towards her, but he could -not help admiring her face and her strength and her whole bearing. She -stalked by his side like a young panther. She was as strong as he was, -stronger perhaps, and with more vitality in her little finger than poor -old Bob in his whole tired body. - -At last she spoke. - -“Mr. Overleigh,” she said, “you and Robert have been great friends -together for a long time now?” - -“Why, yes,” he answered brightly. “This is the land of friendships, you -know.” - -“I am glad to hear it is the land of something beautiful,” she said -bitterly. - -“Does it frown to you so very much?” he asked kindly. - -“Yes,” she answered almost fiercely. “Terribly.” - -“But if we have a beautiful spring, you will think differently of it,” -he said. - -“No, no,” she replied, standing still for the moment; “nothing could -make me like it. It isn’t only the scenery--it’s everything: the -isolation, the fearful distance from home, the absence of stimulus. One -doesn’t realise this at home. If one only realised it, one would not -come. Nothing would make one come,” she continued excitedly, “neither -love nor friendship, nor duty nor regret; and as for ambition to carve -out a new career for oneself--good heavens! if I were a man, I would -rather starve in my old career.” - -Her thoughts, till now locked in her heart, were leaping into freedom. - -“Oh,” she said, “if you only knew what a relief it is to me to speak -out to some one. I have been suffocated these last days, and every hour -it has been getting worse. I’ve written letters--oh, yes, I’ve written -letters and torn them up in despair. The distance is so great, that it -paralyses one. You can’t send a chronicle of misery six thousand miles. -It’s just absurd mockery to do it. It’s only a caricature of your -depression. It helps you a little to write it, and then you must tear -it up at once, and that is all the comfort you will have out of it. Oh, -it is better than nothing: anything is better than nothing, when you -have to keep silent, and when some one near you is watching constantly -for your look of approval and waiting for your word of approbation, -and you cannot give either. You are simply forced to be silent. But -when you are able to speak out your real thoughts to a human being, -then you breathe again, as I’m breathing now.” - -She paused, and Ben was silent too. He did not know what to say. - -“But why, why do people come here?” she continued; “what do they find -here to like? What do they get in exchange for all they’ve lost? -Why, in the name of heaven, did Robert settle in such a place?--why -did _you_ choose to come here? Are you going to stay here all your -lives? Tell me what it all means. Tell me frankly and honestly whether -you care for your life here, and whether you would not throw it up -to-morrow if you could.” - -“I will tell you what it all means,” said Ben, slowly; “it means that -it’s a land and a life for men, and not for women. We men gain in every -particular: no more small clerkships for us, no more imprisonment -in airless offices; but out-of-door freedom, and our own lives to -ourselves, and our own land. That is what it all means to us. To you -women--well--” - -“Well?” she said impatiently. - -“To you women it is altogether something different,” he continued, -“and unless you all know how to love desperately, there is not much to -redeem the life out here for you.” - -She laughed bitterly. - -“No, apparently not much,” she said. “So here, as everywhere, the women -come off the worst.” - -“It seems to be so,” he answered reluctantly. - -“Unless we can manage to love desperately,” she said, in bitter scorn, -“and then even Southern California can become a paradise to us. Is that -what you think?” - -“I think that love and friendship can make things easier, even on a -lonely ranch in Southern California,” Ben replied. - -“The men are to have eternal freedom from airless offices and small -clerkships, and to enjoy out-of-door lives, and revel in the possession -of their ranches,” Hilda continued; “and the women are to do work to -which they have never been accustomed at home, are to drudge and drudge -day after day in an isolated place without a soul to talk to, and their -only compensation is to love desperately. A pretty picture indeed! Oh, -well, it is folly of me to talk of it, perfect folly, and to you of -all people, Bob’s friend.” - -“Better to Bob’s friend than to Bob himself,” Ben said quietly. - -She glanced up at him. There was something so soft in his voice -whenever he spoke of Robert. Hilda was touched. - -“You are anxious on Robert’s behalf?” she said. - -“Yes,” he answered simply. “I am.” - -They walked on in silence for a few minutes. - -“You see, we have been such close friends,” he said, “and I nursed him -through a bad illness, and learned to look upon him as my own property. -He came into my life, too, at a time when I was desolate. The world -seemed a desert to me. But Bob held out his hand, and helped me along -to a green place. I have found many green places since then.” - -“With such a close friendship as that, you must surely resent my -presence out here,” Hilda said tentatively. - -“Yes,” he said staunchly, “I resent it most deeply, if you do not make -him happy.” - -Hilda smiled. She liked his candour; she liked everything about him. - -They had reached the road which led up to her house. - -“Good-bye,” he said; “I won’t come in just now. I must make my way back -whilst it is still fine. Tell Bob I’ll be in to-morrow.” - -She stood watching him for a moment, and then she went home. - -As she opened the door, her husband came forward to greet her, with a -smile of love and welcome on his face. Everything was ready for her: -the cloth was laid, the food was cooked, the kettle was boiling, there -were fresh flowers on the table. - -“Oh, Robert,” she said warmly, “and you’ve done everything for me, and -you so tired with the day’s trouble.” - -“Hush,” he said, smiling sadly, “the day’s trouble is past.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -ATTRACTION AND REPULSION - - -There were three days more of incessant rain and wind, and then the -storm ceased, and the sun shone brightly. On the morning of the second -fine day, a waggon drove up to Hilda’s house, and Holles got off, -leaving Ben in charge of the horses. - -“We called in to see if we could do anything for you in the village,” -he said, when Hilda opened the door to him. - -“I should be ever so much obliged if you would bring me a sack of -flour,” she said; “I have just come to the end of my supply. Robert -did not want to send our horses in yet. He says the roads are not safe.” - -“No, I don’t suppose they are,” said Holles. “But if you had been -living on preserved pine-apples and empty coal-oil tins for the last -week or ten days, you would be willing to risk a good deal for the sake -of some flour or a piece of Porter House steak. We fellows over the -river have been starving. Empty coal-oil tins and preserved pine-apples -are not very fattening, are they? But there, I mustn’t grumble. We -managed to get over to Ben one day, and he gave us one of his skinniest -fowls in exchange for a large jar of my best marmalade. There was -nothing on the fowl; but there never is anything on Ben’s fowls, so we -weren’t disappointed. Only for goodness’ sake don’t tell that to him. -He’s awfully touchy on the subject!” - -Hilda laughed, and asked about the damages done by the storm on the -other side of the river. - -“Graham has come off very badly,” Holles answered. “His house was taken -clean away, and three acres of his best olives are completely ruined. -We have some fearful cuts on our land, and the poor devil of a Chinaman -who had his kitchen-garden half a mile away from our place has lost -everything, cabbages, asparagus, pig-tail, and all. Graham is living -with us just now, and he says he must have something to eat to keep -up his spirits. So I said I would risk my valuable life for the good -of the whole community. The waggon and horses are Ben’s. After I got -across the river, I went and stormed at him until he hitched up. He did -not want to come with me, and began swearing at me in that poetical -fashion of his, until I referred casually to the skinny fowls raised on -his ranch, and then he said: ‘Hold hard, Jesse, I’ll come with you.’ So -we are off together, and if you do not hear anything more of us, you -will know that we have found a muddy grave!” - -“Good-bye,” Hilda said. “I hope you will come safely back, bringing -my flour, and the mail. And some day I want you to tell me about your -experiences with the ear-trumpet lady.” - -“All right,” sang out Holles, cheerily. “Good-bye.” - -He stood for a moment, looking down like a shy boy. - -“We fellows are all so sorry about the reservoir,” he said kindly. -“If there is anything we can do to help old Bob, we’re all ready and -willing.” - -He was off quickly after that, and Hilda watched him jump into the -waggon and take possession of the reins. Then he cracked the big black -snake, and started away in grand style. - -“Confound you, Holles!” Ben said, as they rattled over the roads. “Do -drive carefully. You will be landing us in one of those holes; I’ll -take the lines. I don’t want the waggon smashed up, and the horses -lamed.” - -“I’m sorry, old man,” Holles replied cheerfully. “I’ll promise to be -careful, but I cannot possibly let you drive. I always feel like going -to my own funeral when you handle the whip. Here, get up, boys. Don’t -be frightened of the mud. We’re not going to stick yet. Get up, boys! -But, by Jove, Ben, the roads are heavy.” - -“They are not fit for travelling yet,” Ben answered. “But you worried -me into coming. It is better to give in to you and have peace.” - -“Grumble away as much as you like,” Holles answered; “I would rather -have any amount of your grumblings than one of your fowls. What on -earth do you do to your fowls to turn them out so thin? You might make -your fortune by exhibiting them. They’re quite unique!” - -“Don’t chatter so much, and look out where you are going,” said Ben, -pretending not to notice Jesse’s chaff. - -Holles laughed, and drove on silently for a few minutes. Then he said: - -“That’s a bad piece of luck about Bob Strafford’s reservoir. Poor -fellow! He will take it dreadfully to heart. And I am sorry for her -too. It must be lonely for her in this part of the country.” - -Ben made no answer. - -“I can’t for the life of me understand about women,” Holles continued. -“If I were a fine girl like that, nothing on earth would induce me to -come out to this kind of existence. Any one can see that she is out of -place here.” - -“The women have a bad time of it in a new country,” Ben said slowly. -“If you talk to any one of them, it is nearly always the same story, -home-sickness and desolation, desolation and home-sickness. I remember -last year up north meeting such a handsome woman. Her husband had made -quite a good thing out of Lima beans, and they had everything they -wanted. But she told me that she did not know how to live through the -first ten years of home-sickness.” - -“That’s a cheerful prospect for Mrs. Strafford,” said Holles. - -“She will probably work her way through, as they all do,” answered Ben. -“Women are wonderful creatures.” - -“You always have something to say for women,” said Holles. “You ought -to go back to the old country, and help them get the suffrage and all -that sort of thing. You are lost to them out here. How my maiden aunt, -who only lives for the Cause, as she calls it, would adore you!” - -Ben smiled, and then said quietly: - -“Robert’s ranch has been put back at least three years. I don’t -suppose Mrs. Strafford realises that yet. But it is very hard on her, -and cruel for him. He has worked untiringly, poor chap, and used every -means in his power to reach success. Well, I simply cannot speak of it, -Jesse. It chokes me. Look out now. There’s something ahead. Don’t go an -inch out of the road, or we shall get mired.” - -As they came nearer, they saw that a cart, heavily laden with large -bales of hay, had stuck in the mud. Two men were leading the horses -away. - -“Can we pass?” Ben asked of them. - -“There’s just enough room to manage it,” one of them answered. - -“We’ll try for it,” said Holles. “Get up, boys!” - -They might have been able to creep past in safety, but that one of -the team shied at the bales of hay, and swerved about three feet from -the road. In an instant, the horses were plunging in the mud, and the -spring-waggon had sunk up to the hubs. Ben took the black snake, and -whipped up the poor brutes, and, together with Holles, shouted, coaxed, -and swore. - -But they had gone down so deep that they could not free themselves. -They plunged and paddled and struggled hard to drag out the waggon, -until at last one of them, more faint-hearted than the other, gave up -trying, and began nibbling the grass. - -Ben and Holles jumped down, and walked very gingerly over the soft -ground, which, in the neighbourhood of the horses’ hoofs, was precisely -like pea-soup. They unhitched the animals, who then sprang forward -and gained firm footing once more. There they stood tired and panting, -their long tails looking like house-painter’s brushes steeped in rich -brown colouring. - -“I won’t be worried again into bringing my team out so soon after a -storm,” said Ben, half humorously, as he stroked both the horses. “They -don’t care about a mud bath.” - -“It won’t hurt them,” answered Holles. “In fact it is a capital thing -for the health. My maiden aunt used to go every year to Karlsbad for -the mud baths, and after the tenth season she really began to feel the -benefit of them. All the same, Ben, I am glad we had not to dig out the -horses. That is the very devil. Now for the waggon. I have a brilliant -idea.” - -He saw a rope in the hay cart, and at once possessed himself of it. He -fastened it to the pole of their own waggon, and attached it to the -horses. Then once more Ben cracked the black snake, and the horses, -being now on solid ground, tugged and tugged, and at last pulled out -the waggon. - -“You ought to thank your stars you had me with you,” said Holles, as -they started on their way again. “I’m so wonderfully ingenious.” - -He drove into the village in grand style, much elated that he and Ben -had come off so easily. A great many men were gathered together at the -grocery-store, which was also the post-office, and horses and buggies -of every description were crowding the road: most of the horses looked -as though they had been mired, and several of them wore an air of -depression born of wounded pride. Others obviously did not care whether -or not their appearance was changed for the worse, and received with -stolid indifference the various uncomplimentary remarks bestowed on -their tails. - -This was the first time of meeting since the great storm, and every -one had something to tell about his own experiences. There was anxiety -expressed about the enormous earth dam of the Nagales reservoir which -supplied the Flume. If it had burst, as some one reported, untold-of -damage would have been done; and moreover, the whole water-supply -for the summer months’ irrigating would have been wasted. This was -a terrible prospect, and especially so after a long drought of -exceptional severity. But the postmaster, who was busy distributing -the accumulation of several days’ mail, said there was no truth in the -report. - -“I wish there was no truth in the news about poor old Strafford’s dam,” -said some one. “Can’t you contradict it, Overleigh?” - -Ben shook his head. - -“It is only too true,” he said sorrowfully. - -“Well, it’s a miserable thing to happen, and so soon after his -marriage,” said the postmaster. “Are you taking his mail, Mr. Holles?” - -“Yes,” answered Holles. “Great powers! Is this cart-load for him? Oh, I -see, it’s mostly for his wife. What a stunning lot of papers! By Jove! -I wish my people would send me some. The only thing I ever get from the -old country is ‘The Young Christian at Home.’ And Lauderdale gets ‘The -Christian Household.’ No wonder we are always depressed. Here, stay a -moment, Ben. I’m not through with the shopping. I’ve nearly forgotten -Mrs. Strafford’s sack of flour. And I want a tin of oysters. Graham is -so upset about losing his three acres of olives, that he says the only -possible thing to help him is _boiled oysters on toast_. Well, now I am -about ready.” - -With a greeting here and a nod there, the two friends drove off. -Ben took the reins, and Holles sorted the mail, and seemed greatly -interested in the outsides of Mrs. Strafford’s newspapers and -magazines, and in their insides too, for he held each one up to the -light, looking through it as though through a telescope. - -“Well, I wish they were for me,” he said, as he pushed them away -and lit his pipe. “But I don’t grudge them to her. I daresay she is -terribly home-sick for old England: and the mail will cheer her up. -Somehow or other I feel sorry for her--don’t you, Ben? What do you -think of her?” - -“I don’t know,” said Ben, slowly. - -And he spoke the truth. He had thought of her constantly ever since -his long walk and talk with her. He recalled her fierce distress, her -sudden breaking down of the barrier of reserve, her cry of relief at -being able to speak openly about the isolation and unattractiveness of -the life and land. He remembered every word she had said; he remembered -every gesture. In turning the whole matter over in his mind, he was -torn by several conflicting feelings: sympathy with her suffering, -indignation with himself for being able to sympathise at all with -her, resentment against her for her cold criticism of Robert in the -very midst of his distress, a growing suspicion that her nature had -nothing to offer of tender love and passionate devotion, and an uneasy -consciousness that in spite of all this, and in spite of his loyal -and long attachment to poor old Bob, there was something about her -personality which attracted him immensely, something gallant in her -bearing, and something irresistible in her appearance. He could not but -admire her, and he hated himself for it. - -He did not listen to Jesse Holles’s chatter, and he looked with -indifference at the country smiling now in serene sunshine, and at the -softened lights on the mountains. Holles tried to draw his attention -to a few blades of grass springing up on the roadside, and as they -neared Robert’s house, he glanced down into the valley and exclaimed -with delight when he saw the river glistening like gold. But Ben, -usually so susceptible to the beauties of nature, and so enthusiastic -about the varying charms of this wild expanse of scenery which he -greatly loved, noticed nothing. - -Then the sound of a harsh voice recalled him from his musings, and -there stood Hilda. - -“So you are back safely,” she said brightly. - -“Yes,” said Holles, as he handed out her letters and papers. “We were -badly mired going; but the marvel is that we did not sink up to our -very eyes coming back, owing to the heavy weight of your mail. But, -oh, how I envy it! How I should enjoy those papers! This is not a hint. -It is merely an emotional observation, which I regret already.” - -“You need not regret it,” laughed Hilda. “I hope you will all read my -papers.” - -“We will try,” said Holles, quaintly. “And here is the sack of flour. I -will just lift it into the house. It is a perfectly lovely day. Spring -has come!” - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE GREAT MIRACLE - - -To enjoy and appreciate to its fullest possibilities a Californian -spring, let me choose, for one, to live first through a Californian -summer. Then I can see the great miracle with my own eyes, watch it in -its tiniest and swiftest workings, and follow it with loving wonder. - -Now those plains and slopes yonder lay bare and brown for many months: -everything on them was scorched up and covered with thickening dust. -The sumac, to be sure, kept its greenness, and even sent out tender -shoots, just to remind us perhaps that Nature was not really dead, but -slumbering beneath her ugly garment of dust and withered growth, even -as elsewhere she takes her time of rest beneath a lovelier covering of -purest white. The foothills were barren of any kind of beauty: the very -stones and rocks wore an uncompromising air of ugliness, and the whole -country seemed to be without a single charm until the hour of sunset, -and then the mountains were tinged with purple light, and the great -boulders themselves appeared to have donned for the moment a suit of -purple heather. - -Ah, for the green pastures in other countries then, for the deep lanes, -and forests of trees, for the brooks and rivers, for the grass and -ferns and mosses, and for everything in Nature soothing to the eye and -comforting to the spirit! - -But as time went on, my friends, regret and longing crept stealthily -away, and curiosity and wonder took their place, for some change was -coming over the country, almost imperceptible and most mysterious. -There was no rain, but the night-fogs cast their moisture on the -dried-up bush and starved-looking chaparral. Tiny leaves broke forth -and gave the first sure sign that the long summer sleep was over. And -surely those hills had lost their former crude brown colouring, and -had mellowed into tenderer tints. There was a softening spell over -everything, and a strange sense of unrest. The heavens looked troubled, -and threatened rain at last. But still no rain came, and yet one might -see how the fresh growth was struggling to assert itself unaided. Then, -after many days of waiting, the rains fell. - -And Nature began to work her beautiful miracle. She had delayed so long -that she had to work quickly; but those who cared enough, could follow -her in every detail. - -A few faint signs of grass on the roadside, the palest shimmer of green -on the slopes, fine little leaves springing from the ground, a tiny -flower here and there, and in the cañons frail ferns. - -Then a luxuriance of green: vast expanses of young fresh grain on the -foothills and in the great plain yonder: stretches of emerald grass -almost dazzling in its intensity, with a dash of even brighter colour, -matched only by the sea-moss on the rocks: green fields of pasture in -the valley, and on the heights green brushwood spread like a soft -velvet mantle over the distant ridges. - -And then the flowers springing up in places where neither growth nor -life seems possible. - -Carpets of the little pink blossom of the alfilaria, the first spring -flower: carpets of the golden violets charged with delicious fragrance, -and of the shooting-stars, so dainty with petals of white and delicate -purple, and so generous of sweetest perfume. - -Colours of every hue: masses of wild hyacinths, pale lavender in -shade, thousands of yellow flowers varying from a faint tint to a deep -orange: blue, pink, red, purple flowers, any you will, and amongst them -delicate white ones of many lovely designs. - -And the splendid poppy flaming and flashing in the sunlight, and the -rich indigo larkspur, and the vetches and lupins and the lilies--how -can one tell of them all, and how can one describe the gladness and -gratitude and wonder which their presence calls forth? - -And then in cañons and timbered hiding-places, known only to those -who pry and probe, many a curious and lovely flower. And as the weeks -go on, fresh treasures, revealing themselves in place of those which -have passed out of sight: glorious monster poppies of crinkled white -satin, and yellow hairy mariposa lilies, just like luscious yellow -butterflies. Vines and creepers trailing on the ground, and festooning -shrubs and rocks; sweet scents wafted now from here and now from there, -and now mingling together in fragrant accord. - -And all these wonders tenfold more wonderful because of that burnt and -dried-up soil from which nothing beautiful seemed possible. - -But stay! The summer is here once more. The foothills are brown again: -the slopes and plains where the grain has been grown and cut, have -chosen for themselves the colour of old gold plush. Brown and old gold: -surely a charming combination. - -Is it that familiar scenes take on an ever-increasing beauty? Is it -that the more intently we look, all the more surely do we see fresh -loveliness; just as when gazing into the heavens at eventide, first -one star reveals itself to us, and then another? Or is it that we know -spring will come indeed, bringing those treasures which enchanted us? - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -ROBERT TAKES HEART - - -So every day the country put on fresh beauties, and Robert was a little -comforted to see that Hilda took pleasure in watching the quick growth -and marking the constant change in the scenery. - -“When the wild-flowers are at their best,” he said, “you will begin -to think that Southern California is a beautiful land after all. That -foot-hill yonder will be aglow with orange-coloured poppies, and those -other slopes over there across the river will be covered with brightest -mustard. I admire the mustard more than anything.” - -She smiled at him, and found something kind to say about all the -wonderful surprises in store for her, and she seemed so appreciative -of the fresh charms of the country, which were unfolding themselves to -her one by one, that he began to hope she might yet learn to care for -the new life and the new land. He put his troubles bravely on one side, -and went back to work. Hilda saw him contemplating his ruined ranch; -and when he came in, although he tried to conceal his feelings, yet his -thin face wore a peculiar look of pain, which softened her almost into -tenderness. He said very little about the disaster, and spoke only of -filling up the wash, levelling the land, ploughing and cultivating it, -and getting it in good condition for the planting of fresh lemon-trees. -All this meant terribly hard work, and he looked really quite unfit to -take the slightest exertion. Ben was anxious about him, and came over -every day to help with the cultivating of that part of the ranch which -had escaped damage. He pushed Bob quietly away, and took possession of -the cultivator. - -“Sit down and smoke, old man,” he said. “You’re about as fit as a -kitten to do this kind of job.” - -Bob was glad enough to rest. He watched Ben, smoked his pipe, and -smiled to hear his friend swearing at the horses. - -“I’m so fearfully tired, Ben,” he said. “I suppose it is the worry and -the disappointment and all that. But I shall be rested in a day or two, -and then I must tackle that waste land. I daresay in a fortnight’s -time, if we don’t have any more rain, the ground will be solid enough -to be worked.” - -“It will be a big business,” Ben said, glancing in that direction. - -“I shall have no peace until I have started it,” Bob said doggedly. - -“Well, we are all coming to help,” Ben answered. “All the fellows are -sorry, and you will have quite a little gang round you. Holles is a -splendid worker when he chooses, and he will go ahead like a ship on -fire for your sake.” - -“You boys are good to me,” Bob said gratefully. “I know you will help -me.” - -Then he added half-shyly: - -“The little wife is ever so kind about the whole affair. And I do -believe she is beginning to like the life out here better than she -ever thought she would. I’ve been terribly worried about her, Ben. In -spite of my great happiness, I feel it was selfish of me to ask her to -leave England and her people, and the many pleasures and interests she -has always had in her life over there.” - -“She needn’t have come,” Ben answered stoutly. - -Bob smiled happily. - -“No, that is just the comfort of it,” he said. “She came because she -cared about me. But, nevertheless, I am anxious the whole time. When -anything pleases her, I cheer up a little, and lately she has taken so -kindly to the riding. She will soon be a splendid horsewoman. She looks -well on a horse.” - -“Yes, by Jove!” answered Ben, enthusiastically. - -“And the country is coming on beautifully,” continued Bob. “We shall -have an abundance of flowers. That will be a pleasure to her. But she -does not touch the piano. She sits down beside it, looks at it, and -goes away. At home she used to play by the hour.” - -“She will play in time,” said Ben, kindly; “just leave her to choose -her own moment. Some day when you least expect it, you will hear her -touching the notes.” - -But he went away with his heart very sore about his friend; for though -he believed that Hilda was trying her best to seize hold of the new -life and make what she could of it, he remembered his long conversation -with her, and felt that she would never be reconciled to the lot which -she had deliberately chosen. She had not once referred to her outburst -of confidence that afternoon: at first she had seemed a little nervous -in his presence; but as the days passed by and she saw him constantly, -the slight uneasiness of manner wore off. She trusted to his kindness, -and he knew it. He knew, too, that she liked him and looked forward -to seeing him, and, for his own part, he could not but admire the -brave attempt she was making to adapt herself to these difficult -circumstances. It was altogether admirable. But that set expression on -her face betrayed to him the real state of her mind, and he trembled -for Bob. And yet he had to own that she was good to her husband. Strong -as a panther herself, she did not understand much about ill-health, -but she tried to save his strength. Only she did not love him. It was -this that Ben resented in her. Still he was greatly attracted to her at -times, much against his will and against his prejudices. Then he would -go home twirling his moustaches, and swearing softly and continuously. - -So the weeks slipped away, and Bob began to work at the ruined half -of his ranch. He looked very frail, and there was something about his -unrelenting doggedness which filled Ben with alarm. Nothing would -induce him to spare himself over this difficult task. He might be seen -at any hour of the day struggling with that stubborn land, filling up -the wash-outs, now and then pausing to rest, and after a few moments -returning with redoubled zeal to his tedious occupation. It made no -difference to his quiet persistence when the other men came to help -him. Ben worked alongside with him, and could not induce him to leave -off; Graham, Lauderdale, and Holles rode over constantly and gave him -the best of their strength and willingness, but he never relaxed for -their presence; indeed they rather stimulated him to further efforts. -Holles was in capital form, and kept every one in good spirits. - -“I never remembered to have worked as hard as this,” he said once or -twice. “It just shows what a beautiful character I am, if people would -only believe it. I would not have done it for myself. But I am not -really properly appreciated in this neighbourhood.” - -Hilda liked him immensely, and was always ready to hear his unique -experiences by land and by sea. She laughed till the tears streamed -down her cheeks, for Holles had quite his own method of narrating. He -told her, too, of his famous feud with the ear-trumpet lady, and how -he had refused to work for her because he preferred not to be watched -through an opera-glass. - -“Ben does not mind being watched through an opera-glass,” he said, “and -I believe Bob rather likes it. But, even if I were on the verge of -starvation, I would not work on such infamous conditions. No; I still -have some lingering sense of dignity, and that wretched old woman will -never have the benefit of my valuable services. But there! I forgot she -was a friend of yours and had lent you her piano. Does she come and -listen to you through an opera-glass?” - -“She came once,” answered Hilda, “but she did not ask me to play, and -she was particularly kind about the piano, and told me to keep it as -long as I pleased. She is away now, but when she returns, I must go and -see her.” - -“Well, I think all the better of her,” said Holles, brightly. “Perhaps -I will work for her.” - -Then he told Hilda he was passionately fond of music, and he asked her -to play for him. - -“I have never cared for anything so much as for music,” he said -gently. “It always had a mysterious influence over me. Do you know, I -believe it appeals to the best part of us. Sometimes when I’ve been -in the back-country knocking about and not knowing where I was going -next, a most painful yearning for music has come over me, and I have -positively suffered from the deprivation. At moments like that, it -is an awful thing to be cut off from all possibility of easing one’s -longing.” - -Hilda made no answer. She touched the key-board, and after hesitating, -she played some dainty old French gavotte. She followed it up with a -mazurka by Godard. - -“Did you like that?” she asked. - -Jesse’s face had fallen. He looked unsatisfied. - -“Play me something sad now,” he said. “That is the music one cares for -most, because it is the truest, I suppose.” - -Her fingers wandered aimlessly over the notes. - -“I don’t know that I can play anything sad to you,” she said quietly. - -[Illustration: “HILDA AT THE WINDOW.”] - -“Why not?” he asked shyly, for her manner had suddenly intimidated him. - -“Because I don’t believe I dare trust myself,” she said, more to -herself than to him. - -She struck a few chords and began one of Chopin’s Nocturnes. She broke -off abruptly, rose from the piano, and went to the window. When she -turned round again Holles had gone. He had understood. - -But out on the ranch, Ben and Bob looked at each other when they heard -the strains of music, and Bob’s face was aglow with pleasure. Ben was -glad too. - -“My little wife has gone back to her music,” Bob said. “Now all will be -well with her. I feel as though things were going on better, and as -though she were not fretting so much for the old country.” - -Then the music ceased abruptly. - -“She did not finish that melody,” he said, a little uneasily. - -“I daresay she is tired,” Ben said reassuringly. - -Meanwhile Hilda rested on the honeysuckle verandah, and looked at the -distant ranges of mountains, and the foothills nestling up to them -as children to their parents; she listened to the sweet notes of the -mocking-bird who had lately taken up his quarters on the barn; she -watched the flight of a company of wild ducks; and she glanced at the -garden, where the flowers were growing apace. - -The camphor-trees were coming on bravely, and she was glad to see -that the grass was sprouting up. She tried to give her mind to each -separate thing which attracted her attention; and as the sun sank, and -the tender rosy glow spread over hill and mountain, she stared fixedly -at the beautiful sight until it faded into a tender vagueness. And then -once more Chopin’s Nocturne stole on her remembrance, overwhelming her -with regret and longing. - - - - -[Illustration: NACHTSTÜCK, No. 4.] - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -SCHUMANN’S NACHTSTÜCK - - -Everything went on as usual in the little community. Robert Strafford -worked incessantly, and, in addition to the help he received from his -friends, had engaged the services of a Chinaman, and had made great -strides with the redeeming of his land. His father had sent him some -money, and told him that he should remit a further sum in a month or -two, and Robert went to a lemon-nursery at once and bought five hundred -Lisbons, budded on the sour root. He was so engrossed in his ranch -that he did not notice how little interest Hilda was taking in all his -schemes. She seemed cheerful, and was busy from morning till night, -had learnt to milk the cow, and even helped on the ranch; but Ben, -who observed her closely, believed that her cheerfulness was assumed, -and that her ready conversation came from the lips only, and that her -eagerness for work arose merely from her desire to do battle with her -regrets. But Bob had taken heart and courage about her; and now eased -in monetary matters by his father’s generous help, felt that he was at -last coming out into the sunlight of life. So great was his confidence -in his ultimate success, and so convincing was his dogged persistence, -that, in spite of his misfortunes and his frail health, the minds of -his companions leapt forward, as it were, three or four years, and the -picture of a flourishing little ranch, more prosperous than any other -in the neighbourhood, forced itself upon their attention. - -It was nearly six weeks now since Hilda had touched the piano. But -to-day Robert had gone with the waggon into the village, and she was -alone on the ranch. She had been reading some of her home letters, -and looking at some photographs of Canterbury and Winchester, half -deciding to frame them, and finally concluding to put them away. She -opened the piano, and placed her music on the stand. She chose a -volume of Chopin, another of Schumann, and some pieces by Brahms and -Grieg. She played well. Her touch was firm and virile, but wanting -in tenderness. She played one of Chopin’s Impromptus and one of his -Ballades, and after that she passed on to his Nocturnes. She stopped -now and again and covered her face with her hands. She was quite -tearless. Then she played both of Brahms’ Rhapsodies, and some numbers -out of Schumann’s Carnèval. She leaned back in her chair, looking -almost like a statue. Her fingers sought the notes once more, and she -played Grieg’s _Einsamer Wanderer_, which is so intensely sad. - -“Jesse Holles would like that,” she said to herself; “but I could never -play it to him.” - -She paused, and her hands rested insensibly on the keys. - -“Oh, I must have been mad,” she said, with something like a sob, “to -have so much and to give it all up, _and for what_? Ah, if one could -only free oneself!” - -She drifted into Schumann’s Kinderscenen, choosing unconsciously the -saddest numbers, and then she struck the arpeggio chords and began his -most wonderful Nachtstück. - -[Illustration: “HILDA’S SELF-CONTROL BROKE DOWN COMPLETELY.”] - -It is fraught with melancholy, regret, longing, pity--and what else -besides? But surely it is idle work to describe beautiful music. As we -play and as we listen, if we are lovers of music, we use our own -interpretation; we weave our own feelings, our own emotions, our own -aspirations and regrets into it, and lo! for the moment we have made -it our own language.... Before Hilda had reached the closing phrases -of the Nachtstück, her self-control broke down completely. She nestled -up to the piano, her arms resting on the finger-board, her head bowed -over them. She sobbed unceasingly. The tears streamed unheeded from her -eyes. There seemed to be no end to the sobbing, no end to the tears. - -But at last she raised herself, and clasped her hands together at -the back of her neck, and looked up. Her husband was standing in the -doorway. - -“Hilda!” he cried, and he advanced a step, his arms extended. - -“No, no!” she cried, turning from him. “I want to be alone, I must -be alone, I’m too utterly wretched for words. It’s all of no use, I -can’t stand this life out here; it will just kill me--it isn’t life, -it is only existence, and such an existence too! I must have been mad -to come--I was mad, every one was against it--my mother and father -and friends, all of them. But I didn’t know what I was coming to--how -could any one know?--how could I picture to myself the desolation and -the deadness and the dull monotony, and the absence of everything -picturesque, and the barren country, which at its best can never be -comforting? I hate those mountains there, I could shake them, and I -could go out and tread down all those wretched rows of wretched little -trees--it’s all an absurd mockery of a life, it’s starvation from -beginning to end. You just feel that there is nothing to live for, and -you cry out the whole time to be done with it. Yes, I was mad, mad to -leave everything and come--I can see it well enough now, when it is -too late. But it was little enough you told me in your letters. Why -didn’t you make me understand clearly what I was coming to? And yet you -did try--I remember you tried; but how could any one ever describe the -awful desolation? Oh, it’s simply heartbreaking. And to think it has to -continue month after month, and year after year, and that there is no -escape from it. How shall I ever bear myself? How can I possibly go on, -drudging all the day long? For that is what the life out here means to -a woman--drudgery and desolation, and it is wickedly cruel.” - -Robert Strafford stood there paralysed. - -[Illustration: “ROBERT PASSED NOISELESSLY OUT OF THE HOUSE.”] - -“And such an unattractive place to settle in,” she continued wildly, -“when there are entrancing parts of the country near at hand: I saw -them myself on the journey. If you had to come, why not have chosen a -spot worth living in, where some kind of social existence was possible, -instead of burying yourself in a wilderness like this? But nothing -could ever make up to one for all one had lost, and if I were a man, -I would rather starve at home in my old career than cut myself off -from the throb and pulsation of a fuller life. Yes, indeed I would, -and to-morrow I would turn my face homewards and thank God that I had -freed myself at last, in spite of every one and everything, freed -myself at last--oh God! when I think of it all....” - -Robert’s face was ashen. Twice he tried to speak, and his voice failed -him. - -Then he said, quite quietly: - -“Never fear, Hilda, you shall have your freedom.” - -He opened the door, and passed noiselessly out of the house. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -A STRICKEN MAN - - -He chose the road which led to Ben’s ranch, and he went along at an -almost feverish pace, not stopping to rest for a single moment, during -all those seven miles. When Ben saw him, he knew at once from the -terrible expression on his face that some trouble had befallen him. He -led him silently into the house, pushed him gently into the arm-chair, -and, with a tenderness all his own, forced him to take some food and -stimulant; and then drawing his chair alongside, and lighting his pipe -afresh, he waited, as close friends know how to wait, for the moment -when the heart desires to ease itself. At last Robert spoke, but so -quietly that his very manner would have awed any listener, and it -filled Ben with apprehension. - -“Ben,” he said, “Hilda has told me to-night how she hates the whole -life. She bitterly regrets having come, she bitterly reproaches me for -having settled in the country, and I recognise the truth of everything -she says. She yearns to be free again, and she shall have her freedom. -It is the very least I can do for her. But I’m a stricken man. I’ve -been fool enough to think she cared for me--I’ve loved her so much -myself, that it did not seem possible she could not care a little for -me--and I’ve been fool enough to try and make myself believe that in -time she might get reconciled to this Californian life. I might have -known it was never at any moment possible. I’ve made a wretched failure -of my life and career over in England and over here, and I’ve earned -for myself not her love, nor her tenderness, nor even her sympathy, -but her scorn. Ben, I felt it in every word she said. I can never -forget my humiliation, I can never forget her contempt. I could have -fought through other things, but not that. If that is all one gets -for all one’s years of longing and labour, then the game is not worth -the candle. Do you remember me telling you that the worst thing which -could happen to me would be, not her changing her mind and throwing me -over, but her disappointment and her scorn? Do you remember that? You -laughed at me, and tried to chase away my misgivings, but it seems to -me now that our misgivings are about the only things in our lives which -cannot be called failures.” - -Ben drew nearer to his friend. - -“Dear old man,” he said, “take heart again. She was home-sick perhaps, -and all the home-longings came leaping out. She could not have meant -to be hard. She will bitterly regret her words, and all will be well -between you again. You will forgive her, and the wound will be healed.” - -“There is nothing to forgive,” Robert said quietly. “I don’t blame her -at all, but I blame myself bitterly, bitterly.” - -“But I blame her,” said Ben, fiercely, “and face to face I shall tell -her so.” - -“The only thing I have against her is that she has not cared in the -very least for me,” Robert said, “and words cannot mend that, Ben.” - -He leaned back wearily in the chair, looking almost as though he had -ceased to be of this world. The silence was broken only by the note of -the mocking-bird, and the noise of the brown mare knocking impatiently -against the stall. - -“She must go home to the life which she gave up for me,” Robert said, -after a long pause. “I don’t want her sacrifices: they are not worth -anything to me. I think I have enough money left for her passage, and -if not, I know you will help me out. I must give her her freedom at -once.” - -He rose abruptly, but sank back with a groan, his hand to his heart. - -[Illustration: “‘BEN,’ HE MURMURED, ‘WE MUST--’ HE FAINTED AWAY.”] - -“Ben,” he murmured, “we must--” - -He fainted away. - -Ben got him on the ground, loosened his shirt, tended him as he had so -often done before in similar attacks, and he came back to life once -more. After a time Ben put him to bed like a little tired child. He -held Ben’s hand, and looked into his kind face and smiled. - -“Dear old fellow,” he said tenderly, “dear old fellow. We must send her -home, Ben,” he said, as he turned his face to the wall. - -Then he raised himself for a moment. - -“She was mistaken about one thing,” he said. “She had seen some of -those settled-up parts on her way out here, and they seemed attractive -to her, and she reproached me for not having bought land there. But -you know, Ben, I had not the money for that sort of thing; you know I -could not have afforded to pay fancy prices for my ranch. But it was -only that she did not understand.” - -After that he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, and Ben crept back -into the living-room, half beside himself with indignation and anxiety. -He felt he ought to let Hilda know that Robert was with him, and yet -it was quite impossible for him to leave his friend. He longed to see -her, and speak his mind to her about her cruelty. His whole being was -at feud with her. A torrent of words rushed to his lips, and broke off -into impotent silence. - -There was a knock at the door. When he opened it, he found Hilda -outside. - -“Robert is here?” she asked breathlessly. - -“Robert is here,” he answered coldly. - -He had stood barring the door as it were, and now he stepped back to -let her pass in. - -“I must see him at once,” she said, turning round defiantly to Ben. - -“He is sleeping,” Ben said sternly. “At least let him rest awhile.” - -He lit the lamp, and placed it on the table, and then looked her -straight in the face. - -“You have heard everything from Robert,” she said, shrinking back -almost imperceptibly. - -“Robert has told me of his trouble,” Ben answered, trying manfully -to restrain his anger. But he thought of his friend stricken to the -heart, and his indignation could no longer be smothered. - -“I blame you bitterly,” he said, folding his arms together tightly and -towering before her. “Yes, you shall hear what I think of you. He says -he has nothing against you, but I have everything against you! If you -had not a heart to bring with you, and some kind of tenderness, why did -you come out here? No one made you come. You could have stayed at home -if you had chosen. That would have been better than this. But to come -and give him nothing but scorn, and throw his failure in his face, and -make him feel that you despise him for not having done better in the -old country--I tell you that you are the one to be despised.” - -“It is not your part to talk to me like this,” she said, interrupting -him fiercely. “You are not my judge.” - -“And yet I do judge you,” he flung out fearlessly, and then he glanced -at her, and stopped short in the very heat of his anger and resentment, -for her face wore a terribly strained expression of pain, and his -gentler feelings were aroused even at that moment. “Ah, well,” he said, -“words are not of much use after all. I am so deeply sorry for him, and -for you too--there is nothing I would not do to set things right for -you both.” - -His kinder manner softened her at once. - -“I never meant to speak to him as I did this afternoon,” she said. “I -don’t know how it was that I could not control myself better, but I was -just wild with regret, and the music had stirred me up to such a pitch -that the words came tumbling out of their own accord; and after it was -all over, and he had gone, I stood there horrified with myself, and -terrified for him, because I knew he cared so much. And that has been -the awful part of it all through: he has cared so much, and I seemed -to have cared so little. Oh, you don’t realise how I’ve tried to take -up this life. Day after day I’ve begun over again and struggled to put -from me the dull feeling of depression, but it came back ten times -worse, until I’ve been in despair. Naturally enough you have only seen -the one side, but you would not think so harshly of me if you’d known -how I have tried, and how everything has been against the grain.” - -He turned to her with something of his old kind bearing. - -“I know you have tried,” he said slowly; and some of the pain passed -from her face when he spoke these words. - -“I think I would like to see if he is still sleeping,” she said, almost -pleadingly. - -Ben pointed to the bedroom door. - -“Don’t rouse him,” he said. “If he sleeps long and heavily, he may -wake refreshed. But I think he is very ill. He has just had one of his -fainting fits, and an obstinate one too, and his state of exhaustion -afterwards has made me horribly anxious.” - -She turned pale, and went softly into the bedroom. She came back in -a few minutes, and found Ben preparing supper. He looked up at her -eagerly, and was relieved when she told him that Robert was still -sleeping soundly, and that she had not lingered lest she might disturb -him. - -“He was murmuring something about not being able to pay a fancy price -for land,” she said. “I wonder what he meant.” - -“He took it greatly to heart that you thought he might have bought land -in a more settled part of the country,” Ben replied. “But he could not -have afforded to do that.” - -“He looks very ill,” Hilda said, half dreamily. - -“I have been anxious for him these many months,” Ben said quietly. “He -never had much strength, and he has overtaxed it with his ranch and his -reservoir. It is the story of many a rancher in California.” - -“And I have not helped him,” Hilda said. - -Ben was silent. - -“I would give anything on earth to undo this afternoon’s work,” she -said, with painful eagerness. “And it’s so awful to sit here, and not -be able to tell him that. I long for him to rest, and yet I long for -him to wake. I don’t know how to bear myself.” - -“You must wait,” Ben said, gently. - -So they waited and watched together. It was a lovely night, and the -country was bathed in moonlight. The mountains were darkly outlined -against the silvery sky. The world seemed to be one vast fairy-land, -wrapt in mystery and peace. On such a night, a poet might have woven -dreams, an idealist might have seen bright visions, and to them the -hours would have faded imperceptibly like the moonlight into dawn. - -But to Hilda that time of waiting seemed endless. She looked out -on the fairy scene, and then came back gratefully to the fire which -Ben had built up directly the night turned chilly. He sat near her, -smoking his pipe, and twirling his great moustaches. Once when he saw -her shiver, he rose and fetched a rug for her, and wrapped it around -her, and threw a few more logs on the fire. They did not attempt -conversation now: they sat rigidly upright, waiting for the morning to -dawn. Once she drowsed a little, and when she opened her eyes again, -Ben told her that Robert had called out loudly in his sleep, but was -now resting quietly. - -“The morning is almost here,” he said; “it is half-past three.” - -[Illustration: “SHE BENT OVER HER HUSBAND AND LOOKED AT HIS PALE FACE.”] - -She drowsed once more, and the clock was striking five, when she -suddenly started up and stole into the bedroom. She bent over her -husband and looked at his pale face. He lay there absolutely still: -there was no sound of breathing--no movement of the limbs. A sudden -fear seized her. - -“Ben!” she cried, “Ben!” - -Ben Overleigh heard his name, and felt a thrill of terror in her voice, -and knew by the answering terror in his own heart that the dreaded -trouble had come at last. Together they raised that quiet form, and -strove by every means they knew to bring it back to consciousness and -life. But in vain. - -Then he shrank back from her, and his fiercest anger took possession of -him. - -“So you have your freedom,” he said. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -PASSION AND LOYALTY - - -There was great sorrow felt when the news spread about that Robert -Strafford had died, but there was no surprise, for his friends had long -since seen that he was slipping away from them, having reduced himself -to the last inch of his strength through overwork and anxiety. It was -an old story in Southern California, and one not rightly understood in -the old country, but Ben Overleigh explained it in the letter which he -wrote to Robert’s father. - -“We buried him yesterday,” he wrote, “and his wife and we fellows -who had known him and loved him, stood by the grave. He never had -much strength, but what he had, he taxed to the uttermost. These last -months he worked like one possessed. No delicate frame could stand it, -and then he was unhappy about his wife, seeing her so home-sick. That -finished matters for him. I remember when I first met him about four -years ago, I thought it sheer madness for a frail young fellow like -that to come out to a life of physical toil. Ranching is not child’s -play, and if you want to succeed, you don’t sit down and watch your -trees; you work at them the whole time, and it isn’t light work. To -leave a city office, and come and be in the open air during the whole -day sounds inviting, but some of those who try it, and have not much -physical strength, go under. I wish this could be better understood -in the old country. But I expect no one realises, until he tries for -himself, what hard work manual labour really is, when one has never -been accustomed to it, and knows nothing about it. Two years ago a -young English doctor here died in the same way. He knew he had drained -himself of strength, and that his heart was worn out. I want you to -know we all loved your son, and as for myself, he leaves me bereft -indeed. I shall buy his ranch, and work it together with mine. His -wife will no doubt return as soon as she can, but at present there is -a tremendous railway strike going on, and we are entirely cut off from -the Eastern States. But some of the mails get through, and so I will -risk it, and send this letter.” - -Ben seemed to be quite a broken man, and went about his work as one -seeing nothing and caring for nothing. Graham and Lauderdale and Holles -tried their best to reach him with their kindness and sympathy; but he -seemed unreachable, as though he had climbed to some distant mountain, -and had cut himself off from human aid. But he liked to have Jesse -Holles near him, remembering always that Jesse had been fond of Robert, -and had given him many an hour of willing help. He looked after his -ranch as usual, and rode over to Hilda every day without fail. He spent -very little of his time with her personally, but worked on Robert’s -ranch, finding a melancholy satisfaction in continuing what his friend -had begun. He tended the horses, and helped Hilda in many ways. He -cultivated, he pruned, and then he came up to the house, and sat down -quietly with her, watching her as she prepared tea, watching and -wondering and turning over many things in his mind. He was intensely -sorry for her, but he had not told her that in words, although he knew -she understood it from his deeds. In spite of all that had occurred, -he could not help being strongly attracted to her, and sometimes when -he was alone at home, he found himself torn in pieces by his great -bereavement, by his sympathy with Hilda’s remorse, by his attraction to -her, and his repulsion from her. Thus the storm swept furiously over -Ben Overleigh. He told her once or twice that he would like to buy -Robert’s ranch, and he thought they would not have any difficulty in -arranging the matter. She did not make any definite reply, nor did she -show any interest in his suggestion. She seemed strangely indifferent -about the fate of the ranch, and about her own affairs and plans, -which were being held in abeyance by the great railway strike. It was -obvious, of course, that she would return home as soon as she could, -but she never once spoke of home, and never once referred to the strike -as interfering in any way with her own intentions. But she did speak of -Robert, and then there was no mistaking the remorse in her manner, and -the awe in her voice. - -“I can never forget how I wounded him,” she said. - -Ben did not answer her on these occasions; and his silence always stung -her. - -“You condemn me utterly,” she said, almost pleadingly, and she showed -by her intensity how much she cared for what this man thought of her. -She showed it all the more as the days went on, and, after all, it was -natural enough that she should turn to him as her only friend in this -distant country, where she was a complete stranger. But the matter did -not end there. She was strongly attracted to him, and either she could -not or would not hide it. At one moment a thrill of contempt would pass -through Ben, and he could have turned from her as from something which -soiled his soul; and at another moment a throb of passion would possess -him, and he could have thrown up everything for her, his loyalty to -his friend, his sense of dignity and fitness, his own estimate of her -character--everything he could have swept to the winds. He noticed, -too, that as the time went on, she seemed to become more reconciled -to the scenery; and indeed the country was looking entrancingly -beautiful. All Robert’s promises to her had come true: the foothills -were powdered with gold; some of the slopes were arrayed in bright -attire of orange-coloured poppies, and others had chosen for themselves -a luxurious garment of wild mustard. Then there was the dazzling green -grass, and the vast expanse of grain-fields, and in the distance yonder -there were patches of purple and yellow flowers, reminding one of -the gorse and heather in the old country. The grim barren mountains -looked down indulgently on all this finery, like old people who have -had their days of vanity, and are content to watch the young bedeck -themselves so gaily. And the air was laden with the heavy fragrances of -the flowers and the orange and lemon blossoms. Hilda drove out every -day, and brought back endless treasures: wild lilac, wild azalea, and -maiden-hair from some distant cañon. Her one consolation was to be -out of the house: she drove, or she rode the pretty little mare which -Robert had chosen so lovingly for her, and sometimes she strolled, -taking with her a stout stick in case she came across any snakes. -Nellie, the pointer, who had fretted piteously since Robert’s death, -went with her, and whatever she did, the dog was always to be seen -following her. Hilda’s health had not suffered from the shock which -she had sustained, but she often looked anxious and desolate, and some -of the people who saw her, thought she had changed sadly. They said -that was not to be wondered at, considering the sad circumstances of -her husband’s death, and the long continuance of the railway strike, -which made it impossible for her to join her friends. - -But one evening whilst she was sitting on the honeysuckle porch, Holles -rode up waving a paper in his hands. - -“Such good news!” he cried; “the strike is over. There has been some -kind of a compromise between the company and the men, and some of the -mails are through. I’ve got a ton-load for you in this gunny-sack. -Nothing for me, of course, except my religious paper. That never gets -lost.” - -She put the magazines on one side, and opened her home letters. They -were the first she had received in answer to her own letter telling of -Robert’s death. Her father wrote most kindly, enclosing an order on one -of the banks to cover her passage-money. - -“Of course you will come back at once,” he said, “and take up your life -where you left it.” - -The letter fell from her hands. - -The old life was offered to her again. There it was waiting for her, -and she was free to go and accept it, and taste once more of the things -for which she had been starving. - -She was free. There was no one and nothing to hinder her. She could go -back, and put these sad events and her remorse and her great mistake -away from her remembrance. She argued that one had not to suffer all -through one’s life for a mistake. She had not meant to be cruel to poor -Robert, but she ought never to have come at all. And now she was free -to go, and once at home again these months would seem to her as a time -of which she had dreamed during an uneasy night. - -But no sense of gladness or thankfulness came over her. She sat there, -and bit her lips. - -Home? What did she want with home? - -She rose and went into the living-room, carelessly throwing her letters -and papers on the table. The bank bill fell down, and she stooped and -picked it up, and her fingers moved as though they were being impelled -to tear it in shreds. - -But she tossed it whole on to the table. She struck a match to light -the lamp, but changed her mind and let the darkness creep on unrelieved. - -Ben Overleigh rode up half an hour afterwards, and found her thus. - -“I have come to tell you that the strike is over, and the train service -begins to-morrow,” he said. - -“I have heard,” she said rigidly. - -“You must be glad to hear the news,” he said. “This time of waiting -must have been very trying for you.” - -She did not answer. - -“And now at last you will be able to go home to your friends,” he said. - -She was silent. - -“I wanted to speak to you about the ranch,” he continued, a little -nervously. “I have set my mind on buying the place, and carrying out -Robert’s ideas. I hope you will give me the opportunity. If you look -over his papers, you will find at what figure he valued his property. -I only speak of it, because I thought that the certainty of being able -to sell the ranch and receive money down at once, might make it all the -easier for you, now that the line is open, to arrange your plans, and -return home.” - -“Home?” she echoed, as though in sudden pain. - -Ben started. - -“Yes,” he said quickly, “back to the life for which you have been -hungering ever since you came, back to all those interests which you -threw away, and then so bitterly regretted. Now your path is clear -before you, and you can go straight on, and forget that you ever took a -side-turning which led you to uncongenial pastures. Not every one can -do that.” - -“The old life!” she said wildly, “what does one want with the old life? -What do I care about returning? Why should I go home?” - -For a moment Ben Overleigh’s heart leapt within him. _Why should she -go home?_ These words were on his very lips, and others came rushing -afterwards, struggling and wrestling for utterance. The storm raging -around and within him for so many weeks, now assailed him with all its -fury--and left him standing as firm as those mountains yonder. - -“Why should you stay?” he said calmly; “you have said all along that -this Californian life was detestable to you, and that you could never -reconcile yourself to it. Have you forgotten that afternoon when you -poured out your confidences to me, and eased your mind of your misery? -Do you remember how you spoke of the isolation, the fearful distance -from home, and the absence of stimulus, and the daily drudgery, and the -mistake you had made in coming out to such a wretched land, and to such -a starved existence?” - -“Oh, I have not forgotten,” she said excitedly; “that was the first -long breath I’d taken since I left England.” - -“And do you remember how you said that if you’d only realised what -you were coming to, nothing would have made you come,” he continued -deliberately,--“neither love nor friendship, nor duty nor regret; and -that if you had been a man, you would have preferred to starve in your -old career rather than settle in such a land as this?” - -“Yes, yes,” she broke in, “and I meant every word I said.” - -“And do you remember how you asked me what it was we found to like -in the life,” he continued, “and whether we would not throw it up -to-morrow if we could, and what in the name of heaven we got in -exchange for all we had lost?” - -“Yes, yes, I remember,” she said breathlessly; “and do you remember -what you said then about the women?” - -“I said that we men gained in every particular, and that it was a life -for men and not for women,” he answered. - -“Ah, but there was something else,” she said, almost desperately. “You -said they came off badly here, but that their one salvation was to love -passionately, desperately--” - -“And if I did say so,” he said, turning to her fiercely, “what has that -to do with you and me?” - -There was no mistaking the ring of contempt in his voice. She smarted -in every fibre of her, and instantly gathered herself together. - -“No, you are right,” she said, with a quick nervous laugh. “It has not -anything to do with you and me.” - -He had struck a match as she spoke, and lit the lamp, and she came from -the window where she had been standing, and pushed into a heap the -letters and papers which were scattered over the table. - -“That railway strike has lasted a terribly long time,” she said, in a -tone of voice utterly different from her trembling accents of a few -minutes past. “But now, thank goodness, it is all over, and I can -arrange my plans at last. My father has sent the money for my return. -But it is good of you to wish to make things easy for my journey. I -shall not, however, need any more ready money, you see, for the cheque -is large enough to pay my expenses twice over to England.” - -Ben stood there half stunned by her sudden change of manner, and by the -consummate way in which she swept from her horizon the whole of this -incident between them. - -“And now about the ranch,” she continued, with the dignity of a queen. -“I will look out the papers to-morrow, and then we will settle it as -you wish. I do not know any one to whom I could sell dear Robert’s -ranch with greater pleasure than to you. But you must pay me at your -leisure. There is no hurry.” - -“Good God!” thought Ben. “A few minutes ago this woman was all but -throwing herself at my feet, and now she stands there and patronises -me.” - -He could scarcely control his anger and scorn, but he mastered himself, -and said quietly: - -“I shall be very grateful to have old Robert’s ranch. It will be some -consolation to me to take care of it and make it my own. You know we -loved each other, he and I. But as for payment, I shall prefer to give -the money down, at once.” - -“That shall be just as you please,” she said, with gracious -condescension. “And now good-night. I am very tired.” - -She held out her hand to him, but he looked her straight in the face, -bowed slightly, and left her. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -FAREWELL TO CALIFORNIA - - -A fortnight afterwards, Ben Overleigh and Jesse Holles saw Hilda -Strafford off at the station. She looked very pale, and glanced at Ben -uneasily from time to time. There was neither scorn nor anger in his -manner now, but just the old gentle chivalry, which was the outcome -of his best self. His face, too, had lost its expression of restless -anxiety, and there was a dignity about his whole bearing, which might -well have been the outward and visible sign of the quiet dignity of his -mind, won after a fierce struggle. - -“You shall have news of the ranch,” he said. “When the lemons come into -bearing, you shall know.” - -She smiled her thanks, and turning to Jesse, she asked whether she -could do anything for him in England. - -“Yes,” he said sadly, “kiss the dear ground for me.” And he added more -cheerfully: “And send me an illustrated paper sometimes.” - -“And for you?” she asked of Ben, hesitatingly. - -“Kiss the dear ground for me, too,” he answered. - -And this time he held out his hand to her, and she grasped it. - -Then the train moved off. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HILDA STRAFFORD *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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