Hope remained silent for some time, but the rigidity of her attitude, and the tightness with which she pressed her lips together, showed that her mind was deeply occupied.They both sat silent for some few moments, looking down toward the distant lights of the city.At the farther end of the double row of bushes that lined the avenue they could see one of King's sentries passing to and fro across the roadway, a long black shadow on the moonlit road.
``You are very unfair to yourself,'' the girl said at last, ``and Alice does not represent the opinion of the world, only of a very small part of it--her own little world.She does not know how little it is.And you are wrong as to what they will ask you at the end.What will they care whether you built railroads or painted impressionist pictures? They will ask you `What have you made of yourself? Have you been fine, and strong, and sincere?'
That is what they will ask.And we like you because you are all of these things, and because you look at life so cheerfully, and are unafraid.We do not like men because they build railroads, or because they are prime ministers.We like them for what they are themselves.And as to your work!'' Hope added, and then paused in eloquent silence.``I think it is a grand work, and a noble work, full of hardships and self-sacrifices.I do not know of any man who has done more with his life than you have done with yours.'' She stopped and controlled her voice before she spoke again.``You should be very proud,'' she said.
Clay lowered his eyes and sat silent, looking down the roadway.
The thought that the girl felt what she said so deeply, and that the fact that she had said it meant more to him than anything else in the world could mean, left him thrilled and trembling.
He wanted to reach out his hand and seize both of hers, and tell her how much she was to him, but it seemed like taking advantage of the truths of a confessional, or of a child's innocent confidences.
``No, Miss Hope,'' he answered, with an effort to speak lightly, ``I wish I could believe you, but I know myself better than any one else can, and I know that while my bridges may stand examination--_I_ can't.''
Hope turned and looked at him with eyes full of such sweet meaning that he was forced to turn his own away.
``I could trust both, I think,'' the girl said.
Clay drew a quick, deep breath, and started to his feet, as though he had thrown off the restraint under which he had held himself.
It was not a girl, but a woman who had spoken then, but, though he turned eagerly toward her, he stood with his head bowed, and did not dare to read the verdict in her eyes.
The clatter of horses' hoofs coming toward them at a gallop broke in rudely upon the tense stillness of the moment, but neither noticed it.``How far,'' Clay began, in a strained voice, ``how far,'' he asked, more steadily, ``could you trust me?''
Hope's eyes had closed for an instant, and opened again, and she smiled upon him with a look of perfect confidence and content.
The beat of the horses' hoofs came now from the end of the driveway, and they could hear the men at the rear of the house pushing back their chairs and hurrying toward them.Hope raised her head, and Clay moved toward her eagerly.The horses were within a hundred yards.Before Hope could speak, the sentry's voice rang out in a hoarse, sharp challenge, like an alarm of fire on the silent night.``Halt!'' they heard him cry.
And as the horses tore past him, and their riders did not turn to look, he shouted again, ``Halt, damn you!'' and fired.The flash showed a splash of red and yellow in the moonlight, and the report started into life hundreds of echoes which carried it far out over the waters of the harbor, and tossed it into sharp angles, and distant corners, and in an instant a myriad of sounds answered it; the frightened cry of night-birds, the barking of dogs in the village below, and the footsteps of men running.
Clay glanced angrily down the avenue, and turned beseechingly to Hope.
``Go,'' she said.``See what is wrong,'' and moved away as though she already felt that he could act more freely when she was not near him.
The two horses fell back on their haunches before the steps, and MacWilliams and Stuart tumbled out of their saddles, and started, running back on foot in the direction from which the shot had come, tugging at their revolvers.
``Come back,'' Clay shouted to them.``That's all right.He was only obeying orders.That's one of King's sentries.''
``Oh, is that it?'' said Stuart, in matter-of-fact tones, as he turned again to the house.``Good idea.Tell him to fire lower next time.And, I say,'' he went on, as he bowed curtly to the assembled company on the veranda, ``since you have got a picket out, you had better double it.And, Clay, see that no one leaves here without permission--no one.That's more important, even, than keeping them out.''
``King, will you--'' Clay began.
``All right, General,'' laughed King, and walked away to meet his sailors, who came running up the hill in great anxiety.
MacWilliams had not opened his lips, but he was bristling with importance, and his effort to appear calm and soldierly, like Stuart, told more plainly than speech that he was the bearer of some invaluable secret.The sight filled young Langham with a disquieting fear that he had missed something.
Stuart looked about him, and pulled briskly at his gauntlets.
King and his sailors were grouped together on the grass before the house.Mr.Langham and his daughters, and Clay, were standing on the steps, and the servants were peering around the corners of the house.
Stuart saluted Mr.Langham, as though to attract his especial attention, and then addressed himself in a low tone to Clay.
