"Come," said Margaret, "let us go out into the open air, into God's sunlight. We shall feel better there. Come, ****, let us go and see the Goat cavort." She took him by the arm and lifted him up.
At the door she met Ben. "I won't be gone long, Ben," she explained.
"Stay as long as yeh like, Miss Margaret," replied Ben graciously.
"An' the longer yeh stay the better fer the hinstitution."
"That's an extremely doubtful compliment," laughed Margaret, as they passed down the winding path that made its way through the tall red pines to the rocky bank of the Goat River. There on a broad ledge of rock that jutted out over the boiling water, Margaret seated herself with her back against the big red polished bole of a pine tree, while at her feet **** threw himself, reclining against a huge pine root that threw great clinging arms here and there about the rocky ledges. It was a sweet May day.
All the scents and sounds of spring filled up the fragrant spaces of the woods. Far up through the great feathering branches gleamed patches of blue sky. On every side stretched long aisles pillared with the clean red trunks of the pine trees wrought in network pattern. At their feet raged the Goat, foaming out his futile fury at the unmoved black rocks. Up the rocky sides from the water's edge, bravely clinging to nook and cranny, running along ledges, hanging trembling to ragged edges, boldly climbing up to the forest, were all spring's myriad tender things wherewith she redeems Nature from winter's ugliness. From the river below came gusts of misty wind, waves of sound of the water's many voices. It was a spot where Nature's kindly ministries got about the spirit, healing, soothing, resting.
With hardly a word, **** lay for an hour, watching the pine branches wave about him and listening to the voices that came from the woods around and from the waters below, till the fever and the doubt passed from his heart and he grew strong and ready for the road again.
"You don't know how good this is, Margaret," he said, "all this about me. No, it's you. It's you, Margaret. If I could see you oftener I could bear it better. You shame me and you make me a man again. Oh, Margaret! if only you could let me hope that some day--"
"Look, ****!" she cried, springing to her feet, "there's the train."
It was still a novelty to see the long line of cars wind its way like some great jointed reptile through the woods below.
"Tell me, Margaret," continued ****, "is it quite impossible?"
"Oh, ****!" cried the girl, her face full of pain, "don't ask me!"
"Can it never be, Margaret, in the years to come?"
She clasped her hands above her heart. "****," she cried piteously, "I can't see how it can be. My heart is not my own.
While Barney lives I could not be true and be another's wife."
"While Barney lives!" echoed **** blankly. "Then God grant you may never be mine!" He stood straight for a moment, then with a shake of his shoulders, as if adjusting a load, he stepped into the path.
"Come, let us go," he said. "There will be letters and I must get to work."
"Yes, **** dear," said Margaret, her voice full of tender pity, "there's always our work, thank God!"
Together they entered the shady path, going back to the work which was to them, as to many others, God's salvation.
There were a number of letters lying on the office desk that day, but one among them made Margaret's heart beat quick. It was from Iola. She caught it up and tore it open. It might hold a word of Barney. She was not mistaken. Hurriedly she read through Iola's glowing accounts of her season's triumph with Wagner. "It has been a great, a glorious experience," wrote Iola. "I cannot be far from the top now. The critics actually classed me with the great Malten. Oh, it was glorious. But I am tired out. The doctors say there is something wrong, but I think it is only that I am tired to death. They say I cannot sing for a year, but I don't want to sing for a long, long time. I want you, Margaret, and I want--oh, fool that I was!--I may as well out with it--I want Barney. I have no shame at all. If I knew where to find him I would ask him to come.
But he would not. He loathes me, I know. If I were only with you at the manse or at the Old Mill I should soon be strong. Sometimes I am afraid I shall never be. But if I could see you! I think that is it. I am weary for those I love. Love! Love! Love!
That is the best. If you have your chance, Margaret, don't throw away love! There, this letter has tired me out. My face is hot as I read it and my heart is sore. But I must let it go." The tears were streaming down Margaret's face as she read.
"Read it, ****," she said brokenly, thrusting the letter into his hands.
**** read it and gave it back to her without a word.
"Oh, where is he?" cried Margaret, wringing her hands. "If we only knew!"
"The date is a month old," said ****. "I think one of us must go.
You must go, Margaret."
"No, ****, it must be you."
"Oh, not I, Margaret! Not I! You remember--"
"Yes, you, ****. For Barney's sake you must go."
"For Barney's sake," said ****, with a sob in his throat. "Yes, I'll go. I'll go to-night. No, I must go to see a man dying in the Big Horn Canyon. Next day I'll be off. I'll bring her back to him. Oh! if I could only bring her back for him, dear old boy!
God give me this!"
"Amen," said Margaret with white lips. For hope lives long and dies hard.
