 Chapter 7 of At the Time Appointed Once fairly started on the road to health, Darrell gained marvelously. Each day marked some new acquisition in physical health and muscular vigor. While his systematic reading, the soothing influence of the music to which he devoted a considerable time each day, and, more than all, his growing intimacy with Mr. Britton were doing much toward restoring a better mental equipoise. The race to which he had challenged Dr. Bradley took place on a frosty morning early in November, Mr. Underwood himself measuring and marking the course for the runners and Mr. Britton acting as starter. The result was a victory for Darrell, who came out more than a yard ahead of his opponent, somewhat to the chagrin of the latter, who had won quite a local reputation as an athlete. "'You'll do,' he said to Darrell, as he took leave a few moments later, but don't pose here as an invalid any longer, or I'll expose you as a fraud. Understand, I crossed your name off my list of patients two days. But not off your list of friends, I hope, Darrell rejoined as the shirkans. When Dr. Bradley had gone, Darrell turned to Mr. Britton, who was standing near, saying as his face grew serious, "'Dr. Bradley is right. I'm no invalid now, and I must quit this idling. I must find what I can do and go to work.'" "'All in good times,' said Mr. Britton pleasantly. "'We'll find something for you before I go from here. Meanwhile, I want to give you a little pleasure trip if you are able to take it. How would you like to go out to the mines tomorrow with Mr. Underwood and myself? Do you think you could rough it with us old fellows for a couple of days? You couldn't have suggested anything that would please me better,' Darrell answered. I would like the change, and it's time I was roughing it. Perhaps when I get out there, I'll decide to take a pick and shovel and start in at the bottom of the ladder and work my way up. Is that necessary?' queried Mr. Britton, regarding the younger man with close but kindly scrutiny. Mr. Underwood tells me that you brought a considerable amount of money with you when you came here, which he has deposited to your credit. Darrell met the penetrating gaze unwaveringly, as he replied, with quiet decision. The money may be mine, or it may not. It may have been given to me to hold in trust. In any event, it belongs to the past, and it will remain where it is intact until the past is unveiled. Mr. Britton looked gratified, as he remarked in a low tone. I don't think you need any assurance, my boy, that I will back you with all the capital you need if you would like to start in business. No, Mr. Britton, said Darrell, deeply touched by the elder man's kindness. I know, without words, that I could have from you whatever I needed, but it is useless for me to think of going into business with as little knowledge of myself as I have at present. The best thing for me is to take whatever work offers itself until I find what I am fitted for or to what I can best adapt myself. The next morning found Darrell at an early hour on his way to the mining camp with Mr. Underwood and Mr. Britton. The ground was white and glistening with frost, and the sun, not yet far above the horizon, shone with a pale, cold light. But Darrell, wrapped in a fur coat of Mr. Underwood's, felt only the exhilarating effect of the thin, keen air, and as the large, double-seated carriage, drawn by two powerful horses, descended the pine-clad mountain and passed down one of the principal streets of the little city, he looked about him with lively interest. Leaving the town behind them, they soon began the ascent of a winding canyon. After two or three turns, to Darrell's surprise, every sign of human habitation vanished, and only the rocky walls were visible, at first low and receding, but gradually growing higher and steeper. On they went, steadily ascending, till a turn suddenly brought the distant mountains into closer proximity, and Mr. Britton, pointing to a lofty rugged range on Darrell's right, said, There lies the great divide. For two hours they wound steadily upward, the massive rocks towering on all sides, barren, grotesque in form, but beautiful in coloring, dull reds, pale greens, and lovely blues and purples staining the somber greys and browns. Darrell had grown silent, and his companions, supposing him absorbed in the grandeur and beauty of the scenery, left him to his own reflections, while they talked on matters of interest to themselves. But to Darrell, the surrounding rocks were full of a strange, deep significance. The colorings and markings in the gray granite were to him what the insignia of the secret orders are to the initiated, replete with mystical meaning. To him had come the sudden realization that he was in nature's laboratory, and in the hieroglyphics traced on the granite walls, he read the symbols of the mysterious alchemy silently and secretly wrought beneath their surface. The vastness of the scale of nature's work, the multiplicity of her symbols, bewildered him, but in his own mind he knew that he still held the key to this mysterious code, and the knowledge thrilled him with delight. He gazed about him, fascinated, saying nothing, but trembling with joy and with eagerness to put himself to the test, and it was with difficulty that he controlled his impatience till a long ride should come to an end. At last they left the canyon and followed a steep road winding up the side of a mountain, which, after an hour's hard climbing, brought them to the mining camp. As the carriage stopped, Darrell was the first to alight, springing quickly to the ground and looking eagerly about him. At a short distance beyond them the road was terminated by the large milling plant, above which the mountain rose abruptly, its sides dotted with shaft houses, and crossed and recrossed with trestle work almost to the summit. A wooden flume clung like a huge serpent to the steep slopes and a tramway descended from near the summit to the mill below. At a little distance from the mill were the boarding house and bunk houses, while in the foreground near the road was the office building to which the party adjourned after exchanging greetings with Mr. Hathaway, the superintendent, who had come out to meet them and to whom Darrell was duly introduced. The room they first entered was the superintendent's office. Beyond that was a pleasant reception room, while in the rear were the private rooms of the superintendent and the assayer who were not expected to share the bunk houses with the miners. Mr. Underwood and the superintendent had once proceeded to business, but Mr. Britton, mindful of Darrell's comfort, ushered him into the reception room. A coal fire was glowing in a small grate, a couch, three or four comfortable chairs, and a few books and magazines contributed to give the room a cozy appearance. But the object which instantly riveted Darrell's attention was a large case extending nearly across one side of the room, filled with rare mineralogical and geological specimens. There were quartz crystals gleaming with lumps of free milling gold curling masses of silver and copper wired direct from the mines, gold nuggets of unusual size and brilliancy, and specimens of ores from the principal mines not only of that vicinity but of the West. Observing Darrell's keen interest in the contents of the case, Mr. Britton threw open the doors for a closer inspection and began calling his attention to some of the finest specimens. But at Darrell's first remarks he paused, astonished, listening a few moments, then stepping to the next room called Mr. Underwood. That gentleman looked somewhat perturbed at the interruption, but at a signal from Mr. Britton followed the latter quietly across the room to where Darrell was standing. Here they stood, silently listening, while Darrell, unconscious of their presence, went rapidly through the specimens, classifying the different ores, stating the condition which had contributed to their individual characteristics, giving the approximate value of each and the mode of treatment required for its reduction, all after the manner of a student rehearsing to himself a well-conned lesson. At last, catching sight of the astonished faces of his listeners, his own lighted with pleasure as he exclaimed joyously, I wanted to test myself to see if it would come back to me, and it has. I believed it would, and it has. What has come back to you, queried Mr. Underwood, to bewildered himself to catch the drifter of Darrell's meaning? The knowledge of all this, Darrell answered, indicating the collection with a swift gesture, it began to come to me as soon as I saw the rocks on our way up. It confused me at first, but it is all clear now. Take me to your mill, Mr. Underwood, I want to see what I can do with the oars there. At that moment Mr. Hathaway entered to summon the party to dinner, and seeing Darrell standing by the case, his hands filled with specimens he said, addressing Mr. Underwood with a pleasant tone of inquiry, Mr. Darrell is a mining man? But Mr. Underwood was still too confused to answer intelligibly, and it was Mr. Britton who replied as he linked his arm within Darrell's on turning to leave the room. Mr. Darrell is a mineralogist. At dinner Darrell found himself too excited to eat. So overjoyed was he at the discovery of attainments he had not dreamed he possessed, and so eager to put them to every test possible. It had been Mr. Underwood's intention to visit the mines that afternoon, but at Darrell's urgent request they went first to the mill. Here he found ample scope for his abilities. He fairly reveled in the various oars, separating, assorting, and classifying them with the rapidity and accuracy of an expert, and at once proceeded to assay some samples taken from a new lead recently struck, and report of which had occasioned this particular trip to the camp. He worked with a dexterity and skill surprising in one of his years, producing the most accurate results to the astonishment and delight of both Mr. Underwood and Mr. Britton. After an extended inspection of the different departments of the large milling plant, he was taken into a small laboratory where the assayer in charge was testing some of the recently discovered ore for the presence of certain metals. After watching for a while in silence Darrell said, turning to Mr. Underwood, I can give you a quicker and sureer test than that. The assayer and himself at once exchanged places, and, unheeding the many eyes fixed upon him, Darrell seated himself before the long table and deftly began operations. Not a word broke the silence, as, by methods wholly new to his spectators, he subjected the ore to successive chemical changes until, within an incredibly short time, the presence of the suspected metals was demonstrated beyond the shadow of a doubt. Mineralogist and metallurgist exclaimed Mr. Britton delightedly as he congratulated Darrell upon his success. The short November day had now nearly drawn to a close, and after supper the gentlemen adjourned to the office building where they spent an hour or more around the open fire. Darrell, who was quite weary with the unusual exertion and excitement of the day, retired early. The superintendent and assayer had gone out on some business at the mill, and Mr. Underwood and Mr. Britton were left together. No sooner were they by themselves than Mr. Britton, who was walking up and down the room, stopped beside his partner as he sat smoking and gazing abstractedly into the fire and, laying a hand on his shoulder, said, Well, David, what do you think? After what we've seen today, can't you make a place over there at the mill for the boy? Hang it all, answered the other, somewhat testily, secretly a little jealous of the growing intimacy between his partner and Darrell. Supposing I can, is there any need of your dipping in your ore about it? Do you think I need any suggestion from you in the way of befriending him or standing by him? No, David, said Mr. Britton pleasantly, dropping into a chair by Mr. Underwood's side. I did not put my question with the view of making any suggestions. I know, and Darrell knows, that he hasn't a better friend than you. And because I know this, and also because I am a friend to you both, I was interested to ask you what you intended doing for him. What I intended doing for him and what I probably will actually do for him are two altogether different propositions. All on account of his own pigheadedness was the rather surly response. How's that, Mr. Britton inquired? Why, confound the fellow. I took a liking to him from the first, coming here the way he did, and after what he did for Harry there was nothing I wouldn't have done for him. Then, after his sickness, when we found his memory had gone back on him and left him helpless as a child in some ways, I knew he'd stand no show among strangers, and my idea was to take him in, in Harry's place, give him a small interest in the business until he got accustomed to it, and then, after a while, let him in as partner. But when I broached the subject to him a week ago or so, he wouldn't hear of it. Said he'd rather find some work for which he was adapted and stick to that, at a regular salary. I told him he was missing a good thing, but nothing I could say would make any difference. Well, said Mr. Britton slowly, I'm not sure, but his is the wiser plan. You must remember, Dave, that his stay with us will probably be but temporary. Whenever that portion of his brain, which is now dormant, does awaken, you can rest assured he will not remain here long. He no doubt realizes this and wishes to be absolutely foot loose, ready to leave at short notice. And as to the financial side of the question, if you give him the place in your mill for which he is eminently fitted, it will be fully as renominative in the long run as the interest in this business which you intended to give him. What place in the mill do you refer to, Mr. Underwood asked quickly? Oh, I'm not making any suggestions, Dave. You don't need them. And Mr. Britton smiled quietly into the fire. Go ahead and say your say, Jack, said the other, his own face relaxing into a grim smile. That was only a bit of my crankiness, and you know me well enough to know it. Give him the position of assayer in charge. Great Scott! And Fire Benson, who's been there for five years? It makes no difference how long he's been there. Daryl is a better man every way. Quicker, more accurate, more scientific. You can put Benson to sorting and weighing or as down at the ore bins. After brief silence, Mr. Britton continued, you couldn't find a better man for the place or a better position for the man. The work is evidently right in the line of his profession and therefore congenial. And even though you should pay him no more salary than Benson, that with outside work in the way of assays for neighboring camps, would be better than any business interest you would give him short of 12 or 18 months at least. I guess you're right, and I'll give him the place. But hang it all, I did want to put him in Harry's place. You and I are getting along in years, Jack, and it's time we had some young man getting broke to the harness so that after a while he could take the brunt of things and let us old fellows slack up a bit. We could not expect that of Daryl, said Mr. Britton. He is neither kith nor kin of ours, and when once nature's ties begin to assert themselves in his mind, we may find our hold upon him very slight. Both men sighed deeply, as though the thought had in some way touched an unpleasant chord. After a pause, Mr. Britton inquired, you have no clue whatever as to Daryl's identity, have you? Mr. Underwood shook his head. Queerest case I ever saw. There wasn't a scrap of paper nor a pen mark to show who he was. Parkinson, the mine expert who was on the same train, said he didn't remember seeing him until Harry introduced him. He said he supposed he was some friend of Harry's. Since the sickness, I've looked up the conductor on that train and questioned him, but all he could remember was that he boarded the train a little this side of Galena, and that he had a ticket through from St. Paul. You say the Parkinson was a mine expert? What was he doing out here? He was one of three or four that were here at that time, looking up the Ajax for Eastern parties. In all probability, said Mr. Britton musingly, Daryl was here on the same business. If that was his business, he said nothing about it to me, and I would have thought he would. Under the circumstances, I wonder whether we could ascertain from the owners of the Ajax what experts were out here were expected out here at that time. Mr. Underwood smiled grimly, not from the former owners, for nobody knows where they are, though there are some people quite anxious to know, and not from the present owners, for they are too busy looking for their predecessors in interest to think of anything else. Why has the Ajax really changed owners? Did they find anyone to buy it? Yes, a Scotch syndicate bought it. They sent over a man, one of their own number, I believe, and authorized to act for them, that I guess knew more about sampling liquors than ores. The Ajax people worked him accordingly, with the result that the mine was sold at the figure named one million, half down, you know. The man rushed back to New York to meet a partner whom he had cabled to come over. About 10 days later, they arrived on the ground and began operations at the Ajax. The mill ran for just 10 days when they discovered the condition of affairs and shut down, and they had been looking for the former owners ever since. Both men laughed and relapsed into silence. A little later, as Mr. Britton stirred the fire to a brighter glow, he said, while the tender curves about his mouth deepened, I cannot help feeling that the coming to us of this young man, whose identity is wrapped in so much mystery, has some peculiar significance to each of us. I believe that in some way, whether for good or ill, I cannot tell. His life is to be henceforth inseparably linked with our own lives. He already holds, as you know, a place in each of our hearts, which no stranger has held before, and I have only this to say, David, old friend, that our mutual regard for him, our mutual efforts for his well-being, must never lead to any estrangement between ourselves. We have been staunch friends for too many years for any one at this late date to come between us, and you must never envy me, my little share in this boy's friendship. The two men had risen and now stood before the fire with clapped hands. I was an old fool tonight, Jack. That was all, said Mr. Underwood, rather gruffly. I haven't the knack of saying things that you have. Never had, but I'm with you all the time. On the forenoon of the following day, Darrell was shown the underground workings of the various mines, not accepting the bird mine, located almost at the summit of the mountain. This was the newest mine in camp, but in proportion to its development, the best producer of all. After an early dinner, there was a private meeting in the reception room beyond the office, at which were present only Mr. Underwood, Mr. Britton, and Darrell, and at which Mr. Underwood duly tendered to Darrell the position of assayer in charge at the Camp Bird Mill, which the latter accepted with a frank and manly gratitude, which more than ever endeared him to the hearts of his two friends. In this little proceeding, Mr. Britton purposely took no part, standing before the grate, his back toward the others, gazing into the fire as though absorbed in his own thoughts. When all was over, however, he congratulated Darrell with a warmth and tenderness which filled both the heart and the eyes of the latter to overflowing. That night, after their arrival at the pines, as Mr. Britton and Darrell took their accustomed stroll, the latter said, Mr. Britton, I feel that I have you to thank for my good fortune of today. You had nothing to say when Mr. Underwood offered me that position, but nevertheless I believe the offer was made at your suggestion. It was, in reality, your kindness, not his. You are partly right and partly wrong, replied Mr. Britton, smiling. Never doubt Mr. Underwood's kindness of heart toward yourself. If I had any part in that affair, it was only to indicate the channel in which that kindness should flow. Together they talked of the strange course of events which had finally brought him and the work for which he was especially adapted together. Do you know, said Mr. Britton, as they paused on the veranda before entering the house, I am no believer in accident. I believe that of the so-called happenings in our lives, each has its appointed time and mission. And it is not for us to say which is trivial or which is important until, knowing as we are known, we look back upon life as God sees it. End of chapter seven, recording by George Elto San Antonio, Texas. Chapter eight of At the Time Appointed. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Richard Kilmer. At the time appointed by A. Maynard Barber, chapter eight, until the day break. A week later, Daryl was duly installed at the mining camp. Mr. Britton had already left, called on private business to another part of the state. After his departure, life at the pines did not seem the same to Daryl. He sorely missed the companionship, a mountain almost to Conrad's ship, notwithstanding the disparity of their years, which had existed between them from their first meeting. And he was not sorry when the day came for him to exchange the comfort and luxury with which the kindness of Mr. Underwood and his sister had surrounded him for the rough fare and plain quarters of the mining camp. Mrs. Dean, when informed of Daryl's position at the camp, had most strenuously objected to his going and had immediately stipulated that he was to return to the pines every Saturday and remain until Monday. Of course he's coming home every Saturday, and as much oftener as he likes, her brother had interposed. This is his home, and he understands it without any word from us. On the morning of his departure, he realized as never before the depth of the affection of his host and hostess for himself, manifesting itself, as it did, in silent, unobtrusive acts of homely, but heartfelt kindness. As the story of Daryl's belongings in the wagon, which was to convey him to the camp, was about completed, Mrs. Dean appeared, carrying a large covered basket with snow-white linen visible between the gapping edges of the lids. This she deposited it within the wagon, saying, as she turned to Daryl, there's a few things to last you through the week, just so you don't forget how home cooking tastes. And at the last moment, they was brought from the stables at Mr. Underwood's orders, for Daryl's use in going back and forth between the pines in the camp, a beautiful bay mayor, which had belonged to Harry Whitcomb, and which, having sadly missed her young master, greeted Daryl with a low whinny, muzzling his cheek and nosing his pockets for sugar with the most affectionate familiarity. It was a cold, bleak morning. The ground had frozen after a heavy rain, and the wagon jolted roughly over the ruts in the canyon road, making slow progress. The sky was overcast, and straggling snowflakes wandered aimlessly up and down in the still air. Daryl, from his seat beside the driver, turned occasionally to speak to tricks the mayor, fastened to the rear end of the wagon, and daintily picking her way along the rough road. Sometimes he hummed a bit of half-remembered song, but for the most part he was silent, while not attempting any definite analysis of his feelings. He was distinctly conscious of conflicting emotions. He was deeply touched by the kindness of Mr. Underwood and Mrs. Dean, and felt a sort of self-condemnation that he was not more responsive to their affection. He knew that their home and hearts were alike open to him, that he was as welcome as one of their own flesh and blood. Yet he experienced a sense of relief at having escaped from the unvarying kindness for which, at heart, he was profoundly grateful. Even late that night in the solitude of his plainly furnished room, with the wind moaning outside and the snow tapping with muffled fingers against the windowpane, he yet exalted in a sense of freedom and happiness, hitherto unknown in the brief period, which held all he recalled of life. The ensuing days and weeks passed pleasantly and swiftly for Daryl. He quickly familiarized himself with the work which he had in charge, and frequently found leisure when his routine work was done for experiments and tests of his own, as well as for outside work which came to him as his skill became known in neighboring camps. His evenings were well filled, as he had taken up his old studies along the lines of mineralogy and metallurgy, pushing ahead into new fields of research and discovery, studying by night and experimenting by day. Meanwhile, the rocky peaks around him seemed beckoning him with their talismatic signs, as though silently challenging him to learn the mighty secrets of ages hidden within their breasts. And he promised himself that with the return of lengthening days, he would start forth a humble learner to sit at the feet of those great teachers of the centuries. He had occasional letters from Mr. Britton, cheering, inspiring, helpful, much as his presence had been, and in return he wrote freely of his present work and his plans for future work. Sometimes when books were closed or the plaintiff tone of the violin had died away in silence, he would sit for hours pondering the strange problem of his own life, watching, listening for some sign from out of the past, but neither ray of light nor wave of sound came to him. His physician had told him that someday the past would return, and that the intervening months or years as the case might be would then doubtless be in turn forgotten. And as he revolved this in his mind, he formed the plan, which he at once proceeded to put into execution. On his return one night from a special trip to Ophir, he went to his room with more than usual haste, opening a package in which he seemed greatly interested, drew forth what appeared to be a book about 11 by 15 inches in size, bound in flexible Morocco and containing some five or 600 pages. The pages were blank, however, and bound according to an ingenious device which he had planned and given the binder by which they could be removed and replaced at will, and if necessary, extra pages could be added. For some time he stood by the light, turning the volume over and over with an expression of mingled pleasure and sadness, and then removing some of the pages. He sat down and prepared to write. The new task to which he set himself was the writing of a complete record day by day of this present life of his, beginning with the first glimmerings of memory, faint and confused in the earliest days of his convalescence at the pines. He dipped his pen, then hesitated. How should this strange volume be inscribed? Only for a moment, then his pen was gliding rapidly over the spotless surface, and the first page when laid aside bore the following inscription. To one from the outer world whose identity is hidden among the secrets of the past, with the hope that when the veil is lifted, these pages may assist him in uniting into one perfect whole, the strangely disjointed portions of his life. They are inscribed by John Darrell. Below was the date, and then followed the words until the daybreak and the shadows flee away. After penning the last words he paused, repeating them, vainly trying to recall when or where he had heard them. They seemed to ring in his ears like a strain of melody, waved from some invisible shore, and blending with the minor undertone, he caught a note of triumph. They had come to him like a voice from out of the past, but ringing with joyful assurance for the future. The assurance that the night, however dark, must end in a glorious dawning, in which no haunting shadow would have an abiding place. End of chapter eight, recording by Richard Kilmer, Rio Medina, Texas. Chapter nine of At the Time Appointed. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Richard Kilmer. At the Time Appointed by A. Maynard Babour. Chapter nine. Two portraits. The winter proved to be mild and open, so that Daryl's weekly visits to the pines were made with almost unbroken regularity, and to his surprise he discovered, as the months slipped away, that instead of a mere obligation in which he felt bound to perform, they were becoming a source of pleasure. After a week of unremitting toil and study, and contact with the rough edges of human nature, there was something unspeakably restful in the atmosphere of that quiet home, something soothing in the silent, steadfast affection, the depth of which he was only beginning to phantom. One Saturday evening in the latter part of April, Daryl was, as usual, descending the canyon road on his way to the pines. For weeks the winter had lingered, as though loathed to leave, and Daryl, absorbed in his work and study, had gone his way, hiding his loneliness and suffering so deeply, as to be off times forgotten, even by himself, and at all times unsuspected by those about him. Then, in one night had come the warm breath of the west winds, and within a few hours the earth was transformed, as though by magic, and the restless longing within his breast awoke with tenfold intensity. As he rode along, he was astounded at the changes wrought in one week. From the southern slopes of the mountains, the snow had almost disappeared, and the sunny exposure of the ranges was fast brightening into vivid green. The mountain streams had burst their icy fetters, and, augmented by the melting snows, were roaring tumultuously down their channels, tumbling and plunging over rocky ledges in sheets of shimmering silver or foaming cascades. Then their mad frolic ended, flowing peacefully through distant valleys onward to the rivers, ever chanting the song, which would one day blend in the great ocean harmonies. The frail flowers clinging to the rocks and smiling fearlessly up into the face of the sun. The silvery sheen of the willows along the distant water-courses, the softened outlines and pale green of budding cottonwoods in the valleys far below, all told of the newly released life currents bounding through the veins of every living thing. From the lower part of the canyon, the wild, ecstatic song of a robin came to him on the evening breeze, and in the slanting sunbeams, myriads of tiny midges held high carnival. The whole earth seemed pulsating with new life, and tree and flower, bird and insect were filled anew with the unspeakable joy of living. Amid this universal baptism of life, what wonder that he felt his own pulse quicken and the warm life-blood leaping swiftly within his veins. His heart but throbbed in unison with a great heart of nature, but its very beating stifled him as the sense of his own restrictions came back upon him with crushing weight. For one moment he paused, his spirit struggling wildly against the bars and prisoning it. Then, with a look toward the skies of dumb, appealing anguish, he rode onward, his head bowed, his heart sick with unutterable longing. Arriving at the pines, he received the usual welcome, but neither its undemonstrative affection nor the restful quiet of the old home could soothe or satisfy him that night. But if his host and hostess noted the gloom on his face or his restless manner, they made no comments and asked no questions. On going upstairs at a late hour, he went across the hall to the libraries in search of a book with which to pass away the time as he was unable to sleep. He had no definite book in mind and wondered aimlessly through both rooms, reading titles in an abstract manner until he came at last face to face with the picture of Kate Underwood. He had seen it many times without especially observing it, but in his present mood it appealed to him as never before. The dark eyes seemed fixed upon his face with the look of entreaty from which he could not escape. And, drawing a chair in front of the easel, he sat down and became absorbed in the study of the picture. Here to fore he had considered it merely the portrait of a very young and somewhat plain girl. Now he was surprised to find that the more it was studied in detail, the more favorable was the impression produced. Though childish and immature, there was not a weak line in the face. The nose and mouth were especially fine, the former denoting distinct individuality, the latter mark strength and sweetness of character. And while the upper part of the face indicated keen perceptions and quick sympathies, the general contour showed a nature strong either to do or to endure. The eyes were large and beautiful, but it was not their beauty which riveted Daryl's attention. It was their look a wistful appeal of unsatisfied longing, which led him to at last murmur while his eyes moistened. You dear child, how is it that in your short life, surrounded by all that love can provide, you have come to know such heart hunger as that? Long after he had returned to his room, those eyes still haunted him, nor could he banish the conviction that some time, somewhere, in that young life, there had been an unfulfilled void, which in some degree, however slight, corresponded to the blank emptiness of his own. The next morning Daryl attended church with Mrs. Dean. The latter was a strict church woman, and Daryl, by way of showing equal courtesy to host and hostess, usually accompanied her in the morning, devoting the afternoon to Mr. Underwood. After lunch he and Mr. Underwood seated themselves in one of the sunny bay windows for their customary chat. Mrs. Dean, having gone to her room for the afternoon nap, which was as much part of her Sunday program as the morning sermon. For a while they talked of the latest developments at the mines, but Mr. Underwood seemed preoccupied, gazing out of the window and frowning heavily. At last, after a long silence, he said, slowly, "'I expect we're going to have trouble at the camp this season.' "'How is that?' asked Daryl quickly, in a tone of surprise. "'Oh, at some of this union business,' the owner answered, with a gesture of impatience, "'and about the most foolish proposition I ever heard of at that. "'But,' he added decidedly, "'they know my position. "'They know they'll get no quarter from me. "'I've steered clear of them so far. "'They've let me alone, and I've let them alone. "'But when it comes to a parcel of union bosses, undertaking to run my business or make terms to me, "'I'll fight them to a finish, and they know it.'" Daryl, watching the face of the speaker, saw the lines about his mouth harden, and his lips settle into a grim smile that bolded no good to his opponents. "'What do they want? "'Higher wages or shorter hours,' he inquired. "'Neither,' said Mr. Underwood shortly, as he relighted his pipe. "'After a few puffs,' he continued. "'As I said before, it's the most foolish proposition "'I ever heard of. "'You see, there's five or six camps, old told, "'in the neighborhood of our camp up there. "'One or two of the lot, like the Buckeye Group, for instance, "'are run by men that haven't much capital, "'and I suppose are working as economically as they can. "'Anyhow, there's been some kicking over there "'among the miners about the grub, "'and the upshot of the whole thing is "'that the union has taken the matter in hand, "'and is going to open a union boarding-house "'and taken the men from all the camps "'at six bits a day for each man, "'instead of the regular rate of a dollar a day "'charged by the mining companies.' "'The scale of wage to remain the same, I suppose,' said Daryl. "'So that means a gain to each man of twenty-five cents a day.' "'Exactly,' said Mr. Underwood. "'It means a gain of two bits a day to each man. "'It means loss and inconvenience to the companies, "'and it means a big pile of money in the pockets of the bosses "'who are running the thing.' "'There are not many of the owners up there "'that can stand that sort of thing,' said Daryl, reflectively. "'Of course they can't stand it, "'and they won't stand it if they've got any backbone. "'Take Dwight and Huntley. "'They've been too heavy expense in enlarging their mill "'and have just put up a new boarding-house, "'and they're in debt. "'They can't afford to have all that work and expenditure "'for nothing. "'Now with us, the loss wouldn't be so great as with the others, "'for we don't make so much out of our boarding-house. "'My motto has always been, Live and Let Live, "'and I give my men a good table, "'just what I'd want for myself if I were in their places.' "'It isn't the financial part that troubles me. "'What I object to is this. "'I won't have my men tramping three-quarters of a mile for meals "'that won't be as good as they can get right on their own grounds. "'More than that, I've got a good, likely set of men, "'and I won't have them demoralized "'by herding them in with the tough gangs from those other camps. "'And above all, and once for all, "'here Mr. Underwood's tone became excited "'as he exclaimed with an oath. "'I've always been capable of running my own business "'and I'll run it yet, and no damned Union boss "'will ever run it for me.' "'How do the men feel about it? "'Have you talked with them?' Daryl inquired. "'There isn't one of them that's dissatisfied "'or would leave of his own free will,' Mr. Underwood replied. "'But I don't suppose they would dare "'to stand out against the bosses. "'Why, man, if the working men only knew it, "'there are ten times worse slaves to the Union bosses "'than ever they were to the corporations. "'They have to pay over their wages "'to let those fellows live like nebobs. "'They have to come and go at their beck and call "'and throw up good positions and live in enforced idleness "'because of some other fellows' grievances. "'They don't dare express an opinion "'or say their souls are their own.' "'Humph!' "'Mr. Underwood said, Daryl, "'who had been smilingly listening to the other's triad, "'what will you do if this comes to a strike?' "'Strike,' he exclaimed, in tones of skating contempt. "'Strike? I'll strike, too. "'And they'll find I can strike just as hard as they can "'and a little harder.' "'Will you close down?' "'The shrewd face grew a bit shrewder. "'If it is necessary to close down,' he remarked evasively, "'I'll close down. "'I guess I can stand it, as long as they can. "'Those minds have lain there in those rocks idle for centuries. "'For ought that I know, "'twon't hurt them to lie idle a few weeks or months now. "'Nobody'll run off with them, I guess.' Daryl laughed aloud. "'Well, one thing is certain, Mr. Underwood. "'I, for one, wouldn't want to quarrel with you.' "'Mr. Underwood slowly shook his head. "'You'd better not try it, my boy. You'd better not.' "'When do you expect this trouble to come to a head?' Daryl asked at length. "'Some time in the early part of July, probably. "'They expect to get their arrangements completed by that time.' A long silence followed. Mrs. Dean came softly into the room and took her a custom seat. And, as Mr. Underwood made it a point never to talk of business matters in his sister's presence, nothing more was said regarding the prospective disturbance at the mines. After dinner, the beauty of the sunset brought them out upon the veranda. The air was warm and fragrant with the breath of spring. The buds were swelling on the lilocks near the house. And out on the lawn, beyond the driveway, millions of tiny spears of living green trembled in the light breeze. "'David,' said Mrs. Dean presently, "'have you shown Mr. Daryl the picture of Catherine that came yesterday?' "'I declare no. I had forgotten it,' Mr. Underwood exclaimed. "'It is well for you. She isn't here to hear you say that,' Mrs. Dean remarked, as smilingly. "'Puss knows her old father well enough to know he wouldn't forget her very long. Bring the picture out, Marcy.' Daryl heard Mrs. Dean approaching and turned with the glory of the sunset in his eyes. "'Don't you want to see Catherine's new picture?' She inquired. Her words instantly recalled the portrait he had studied the preceding night. And with that in mind, he took the picture she handed him and silently compared the two. Ah, the beauty of spring everywhere confronting him was in that face also. The joy of a life as yet pure, untainted, and untrammeled. It was like looking into the face of the spring flowers, which reflect only the sunshine, the purity, and the sweetness of earth. There was a touch of womanly dignity, too, in the poise of the head. But the beautiful eyes, though lighted with the faint dawn of coming womanhood, were the same as those that had appealed to him the night before, with their wistful longing. It is a fine portrait, but as I do not remember her I cannot judge whether it is like herself or not, he said, handing the picture to Mr. Underwood, who seemed almost to devour it with his eyes, though he spoke no word and not a muscle moved in his stern immobile face. "'She is getting to be such a young lady,' remarked Mrs. Dean. "'That I expect, when she comes home, we will feel as though she has grown away from us all.' "'She will never do that, Marcy. Never,' said Mr. Underwood brusquely. As he abruptly left the group and went into the house. There was a moment's silence. Then Mrs. Dean said, in a low tone, "'She is getting to look just like her mother. I haven't seen David so affected since his wife died, as he was when the picture came yesterday.' Daryl bowed silently, entoken that he understood. She was a lovely woman, but she was very different from any of our folks. She had it with a sigh. And I guess Catherine is going to be just like her.' "'When is Miss Underwood expected home?' Daryl inquired. About the last of June was the reply. Long after the sun had set, Daryl paced up and down the veranda, pausing at intervals the gaze with unseen eyes out over the peaceful scene below him. His only companions his own troubled thoughts. The young moon was shining. And in its pale radiance his set face gleamed white like marble. Like and yet unlike, it was to the face of the sleeper journeying westward on that summer afternoon eight months before. Experience, the mighty sculptor, was doing his work and doing it well. Only a few lines as yet, here and there. And the face was already stronger, finer. It was the face of one hardened by his own sufferings, not softened by the sufferings of others. The sculptor's work was as yet only begun. CHAPTER X of AT THE TIME APPOINTED This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Richard Kilmer. At the time appointed by A. Maynard Barbour, CHAPTER X. THE COMMUNION OF TWO SOULS. Gradually the spring tide crept upward into the heart of the mountains, quickening the pulses of the rocks themselves, until even the mosses and lichens slumbering at their feet awakened to a renewed life. Bits of green appeared wherever a grass-root could push its way through the rocky soil, and fragile wildflowers gleamed star-like, here and there, fed by tiny rivulets which trickled from slowly melting snows on the summits far above. With earliest warm days, Daryl had started forth to explore the surrounding mountains, eager to learn the secrets which they seemed ever challenging him to discover. New conditions confronted him, sometimes baffling him, but always inciting to renewed effort. His enthusiasm was so aroused that often when his day's work was done, taking a light lunch with him, he pursued his studies while the daylight lasted, walking back in the long twilight and in the solitude of his room, making full notes of the results of that day's research, before retiring for the night. Returning one evening from one of these expeditions, he saw, pacing back and forth before the office building, a figure which he had once recognized as that of Mr. Britain. Instantly all thought of work or weariness was forgotten, and he hastened forward, while Mr. Britain, catching sight of Daryl, rapidly approaching, turned and came down the road to meet him. A thousand welcomes, Daryl cried, as soon as they were within speaking distance. Say, but this is glorious to see you here. How long have I kept you waiting? A few hours, but that does not matter. It does us good to have to stop and call a halt on ourselves once in a while. How are you, my son? And as the two grasped hands, the older man looked searchingly through the gathering dusk into the face of the younger. Even in the dim twilight, Daryl could feel that penetrating glance, reading his inmost soul. I am well and doing well, he answered. My physical health is perfect, as for the rest, your coming is the very best thing that could have happened. Are you alone, he asked, eagerly, or did Mr. Underwood come with you? I came alone, Mr. Britain replied, with quiet emphasis, linking his arm with Daryl's as they ascend at the road together. How long have you been in town? But two days. I am on my way to the coast, and only stopped off for a few days. I shall spend tomorrow with you, go back with you Saturday to the pines, and go on my way Monday. Having made his guest as comfortable as possible in his own room, Daryl laid aside his working paraphernalia, his hammer and bag of rock specimens, and donning a housecoat and a pair of slippers seated himself near Mr. Britain, all the time conscious of the close but kindly scrutiny with which the latter was regarding him. This is delightful, he exclaimed, but it has passed my comprehension how Mr. Underwood ever let you slip off alone. Mr. Britain looked amused. I told him I was coming to see you, and I think he intended coming with me till he heard me order my saddle-horse for the trip. I think that settled the matter. I believe there can be no perfect interchange of confidence except between two. The presence of a third party, even though a mutual friend, breaks the magnetic circuit and weakens the current of sympathy. Our interviews are necessarily rare, and I want to make the most of them, therefore I would come to you alone or not at all. Yes, Daryl replied, your visits are so rare that every moment is precious to me, and think of the hours I lost by my absence today. Do you court dame nature so assidiously every day, subsisting on cold lunches and tramping the mountains till nightfall? Not every day, but as often as possible, Daryl replied, smiling. And I suppose if I were not here you would now be burrowing into that pile over there. Mr. Britton said glancing significantly towards the table covered to a considerable depth with books of reference, notebooks, writing pads, and sheets of closely written manuscript. Let me show you what I am doing. It will take but a moment, said Daryl, springing to his feet. He drew forth several sets of extensive notes on researches and experiments he was making along various lines of study in which Mr. Britton became at once deeply interested. You have a good thing here, stick to it, he said at length, looking up from the perusal of Daryl's geological notes gathered from his studies of the rock formations in that vicinity. You have a fine field in which to pursue this branch, and with the knowledge you already have on this subject and the discoveries you are likely to make, you may be able to make some very valuable contributions to the science one of these days. That is just what I hope to do, exclaimed Daryl eagerly. Just what I am studying for, day and night. But you must use moderation, said Mr. Britton, smiling at the younger man's enthusiasm. You are young. You have years before you in which to do this work. And this constant study, night and day, add it to your regular routine work, is too much for you. You are looking fagged already. If I am, it is not the work that is fagging me, Daryl replied quickly. His tones become inexited. Mr. Britton, I must work. I must accomplish all I can for two reasons. You say I have years before me in which to do this work. God knows I hope I haven't got to work years like this, only half alive, you might say. And when the change comes, if it ever does, you know of course I cannot and would not remain here. I understand you would not remain here, said Mr. Britton slowly, and lay in his hand soothingly on the arm of his agitated companion. But you can readily see that not only your education, but your natural trend of thought is along these lines. Therefore, when you are fully restored to your normal self, you will be the more, not the less interested in these things. And I predict that no matter when the time comes for you to leave, you will, after a while, return to continue the same line of work amid the same surroundings, but we hope under far happier conditions. Daryl shook his head slowly. It does not seem to me that I would ever wish to return to a place where I have suffered as I have here. Mr. Britton smiled, one of his slow, sad, sweet smiles, that Daryl loved to watch, that seemed to dawn in his eyes and gradually to spread until every feature was irradiated with a tender, beneficent light. I once thought as you do, he said gently, but after years of wandering I find the place most sacred to me now is that hallowed by the bitterest agony of my life. Without replying, Daryl unconsciously drew nearer to his friend, and a brief silence followed, broken by Mr. Britton, who inquired in a lighter tone. What is the other reason for your constant application to your work? You said there were two. Daryl bowed his head upon his hands as he answered in a low, despairing tone. To stop thinking, thinking, thinking, it will drive me mad. I have been there, my boy, I know, Mr. Britton responded. Then after a pause he continued, something in the tenor of your last letter made me anxious to come to you. I thought I detected something of the old restlessness. As the coming of spring, quickening the life forces all around you, stirred the life currents in your own veins, till your spirit is again tugging at its feathers in its struggles for release. With a startled movement, Daryl raised his head, meeting the clear eyes fixed upon him. How could you know he demanded? Because, as Emerson says, the heart in thee is the heart of all. There are few hearts whose pulses are not stirred by the magic influence of the spring tide, and under its potent spell I knew you would feel your present limitations even more keenly than ever before. Thank God you understand, Daryl exclaimed, then continued passionately. The last three weeks have been torture to me. If I but allowed myself one moment's thought. Wherever I look I say life, life perfect and complete. In all its myriad forms, the life that is denied to me. This is not living. This existence of mine with brains shackled, fettered in many ways helpless as a child, knowing less than a child, and not even mercifully wrapped in oblivion, but compelled to feel the constant goading and galling of the fetters, to be reminded of them at every turn. My God, if it were not for constant work and study I would go mad. In the silence which followed Daryl's mind reverted to that autumn day on which he had first met John Britain, and confided to him his trouble. And now, as then, he was soothed and strengthened by the presence beside him, by the magnetism of that touch, although no word was spoken. As he reviewed their friendship of the past months, he became conscious for the first time of its one-sidedness. He had often unburdened himself to his friend, confiding to him his griefs, and receiving in turn sympathy and counsel. But of the great unknown sorrow that had wrought such havoc in his own life, what word had John Britain ever spoken? As Daryl recalled the bearing of his friend through all their acquaintance and his silence regarding his own sufferings, his eyes grew dim. The man had aside, seemed, in the light of that revelation, stronger, grander, nobler than ever before, not unlike the giant peaks whose hoary heads then loomed at darkly against the starlit sky, calm, silent, majestic, giving no token of the throes of agony, which, ages agon, had rent them asunder, except in the mystic cymbals graven on their furrowed brows. In that light his own complaints seemed curial. At that moment Daryl was conscious of a new fortitude born within his soul, a new purpose, henceforth to dominate his life. A heavy sigh from Mr. Britain broke the silence. I know the fetters are galling, he said, but have patience in hope. For, at the time appointed, the shackles will be loosened. The fetters broken. Daryl faced his companion, a new light in his eyes, but recently so dark with despair. He asked, earnestly and tenderly, dearest and best of friends, is there no time appointed for the lifting of burdens born so nobly and uncomplainingly, low these many years? With a grave sweet smile the elder man shook his head, and rising began pacing up and down the room. There are some burdens, my son, that time cannot lift. They can only be laid down at the gates of eternity. With a strange choking sensation in his throat, Daryl rose, and going to the window stood looking out at the dim outlines of the neighbouring peaks. Their vast solitude no longer oppressed him, as at the first. It calmed and soothed him in his restless moods, and tonight those grim monarchs, dwelling in silent fellowship, seemed to him the embodiment of peace and rest. After a time Mr. Britain paused beside him, and, throwing his arm about his shoulders, asked, What are your thoughts, my son? A whim, a fancy that has taken possession of me, the last few days, since my wanderings among the mountains, he answered lightly. A longing to bury myself in some sort of retreat of one of those old peaks, and devote myself to study. And live a hermit's life, Mr. Britain queried, with a peculiar smile. For a while, yes, Daryl replied more seriously, until I have learned to fight these battles out by myself, and to conquer myself. There are battles, said the others, speaking thoughtfully, which are waged best in solitude. But self is conquered only by association with one's fellows. Solitude breeds selfishness. Mr. Britain had resumed his pacing up and down, but a few moments later, as he approached Daryl, the latter turned suddenly confronting him. My dear friend, he said, You have been everything to me. You have done everything for me. I ask you to do one thing more. Forgive and answer this question. How have you conquered? The look of pain that crossed his companion's face filled Daryl with regret for what he had said. But before he could speak again, Mr. Britain replied gently, with his old smile. I doubt whether I have yet wholly conquered, but whatever victory is mine I have won, not in solitude and seclusion, but in association with the sorrowing, the suffering, the sinning, and in sharing their burdens I found rest from my own. He paused a moment, then continued, his glowing eyes, holding Daryl as though under his spell. I know not why, but since our first meeting you have given me a new interest, a new joy in life. I have been drawn to you, and I have loved you, as I thought never again to love any human being, and some day I will tell you what I have told no other human being, the story of my life. On Saturday Mr. Britain and Daryl returned to the pines. The increasing intimacy between them was evident even there. For the last day or so Mr. Britain had fallen into the habit of addressing Daryl by his Christian name, much to the latter's delight. For this Mrs. Dean laughingly called him to account, compelling Mr. Britain to come to his own defense. John he exclaimed, of course I'll call him John. It seems wonderfully pleasant to me. I've always wanted a namesake, and I can consider him one. A namesake ejaculated Mrs. Dean, smiling broadly. I wonder if there's a poor family, or one that's in trouble of any kind anywhere around here, that hasn't a John Britain among its children. I should think you had namesakes enough now. One might possibly like to have one of his own selection, he replied dryly. As Daryl took leave of Mr. Britain the following Monday morning, the latter said, by the way John, whenever you are ready to enter upon that hermit life, let me know, I'll provide the hermitage. Are you joking, Daryl queried, unable to catch his meaning? For more serious in my life, he replied, with such unusual gravity, that Daryl forbore to question further. Chapter 11 of At the Time Appointed This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Richard Kilmer At the Time Appointed by A. Maynard Babour Chapter 11 Impending Trouble The five or six weeks following Mr. Britain's visit passed so swiftly that Daryl was scarcely conscious of their flight. His work at the mill, which had been increased by the valuable strikes recently made in the mines, in addition to considerable outside work in the way of attests and assays, had left him little time for study or experiment. For nearly three weeks he had not left the mining camp. The last two Saturdays, having found him too weary with the preceding week's work to undertake the long ride to O'Fear. During this time Mr. Underwood had been a frequent visitor at the camp, led not only by his interest in the mining developments, but also by his curiosity regarding the progress made by the union and the construction of its boarding house, and also to watch the effect on his own employees. Entering the laboratory one day after one of his rounds of the camp, he stood for some time silently watching Daryl at his work. In case of a shutdown here, he said at length, speaking abruptly, how would you like a clerical position in my office down there at O'Fear, bookkeeping or something of a sort? Just temporarily, you know. Daryl looked up from his work in surprise. Do regard a shutdown as eminent, he inquired, smiling. Well, yes. There's no half-way measure with me. No man that works for me will go off to grounds for his meals. But that isn't answering my question. Daryl's face grew serious. You forget, Mr. Underwood, that until I am put to the test, I have no means of knowing whether or not I can do the work you wish done. By George, I never once thought of that, Mr. Underwood exclaimed. Somewhat embarrassed, adding hastily, but then I didn't mean bookkeeping in particular, but clerical work generally, copying instruments, looking up records and so on. You see it's like this, he continued, seeding himself near Daryl. I'm thinking of taking in a partner. Not in this mining business. It has nothing to do with that. But just in my mortgage loan business down there. And in case I do, we'll need two or three additional clerks and bookkeepers. And I thought you might like to come in just temporarily until we resume operations here. Of course the salary wouldn't be very much, but I thought it might be better than nothing to bridge over. How long do you expect to be closed down here, Mr. Underwood? Until the men come to their senses, or we find others to take their places, the elder man answered decidedly. It may be six weeks, or it may be six months. I was talking with Dwight from the Buckeye camp this morning. He says they've been too much expense to put up with the proposition for the moment. They simply can't stand it and won't. They'll shut down and pull out first. I don't believe that mine is paying very well anyway. Mr. Underwood said Daryl slowly, if this were a question of accommodation to yourself, of coming into your office and helping you out personally, I would gladly do it. Salary would be no object. But to take a merely clerical position for an indefinite time, when I have a good lucrative profession does not seem to me a very wise policy. There must be plenty of assaying to be done and no fear. Why couldn't I temporarily open an office there? I guess there's no reason why you couldn't, if you want to, Mr. Underwood replied, evidently disappointed, by Daryl's reply and eyeing him sharply. And if you want to open up an office of your own, there's plenty of room for you in our building. We know the building was formerly occupied by one of Ophir's Wildcat Banks that collapsed in the general crash six years ago. And there's a fine lot of private offices in the rear, opening on the side street. One of those rooms fitted up would be just a place for you. Much obliged, said Daryl smiling, we'll see about it if the time comes that I need it. Possibly your prospective partner will have use of all the private offices. I guess I'll have some say about that, Mr. Underwood returned, roughly. Then, after a short pause, he continued, I haven't fully decided about this partnership business. I talked it over with Jack when he was here. But he didn't seem to favor the idea. Told me that at my age I had better let well enough alone. I told him that I didn't see what my age had to do with it, that I was capable of looking after my own interests, partner or no partner. But that I had no objection to having someone else take the brunt of the work while I looked on. Is the man a stranger or an acquaintance, Daryl inquired? I'm not personally acquainted with him. But he's not exactly a stranger, for he has lived in Ophir off and on for the last five years. His name is Walcott. He says his father is an Englishman and very wealthy. He himself, I should judge, has some Spanish blood in his veins. He spends part of his time in Texas, where he has heavy cattle interests. In fact, he has been there for the greater part of the past year. He wants to go into the mortgage loan business and offers to put in seventy-five thousand and give his personal attention to the business for thirty-three and a third percent of the profits. That has been his business in Ophir all these years. Life insurance, mostly, I believe, had two offices, one in Ophir and one in Galena, and has done some private loan business. What sort of reputation has he? First rate, I've made a number of inquiries about him in both places and nobody has a word to say against him. Very quiet, minds his own business, a man a few words, just about my sort of man I should judge. Mr. Underwood concluded as he rose from his chair. Well, Mr. Underwood said, Darryl, whatever arrangements you decide to make, I wish you success. No more than I do you, my boy. In anything your pig-headedness leads you into, Mr. Underwood replied brusquely, but with a humorous twinkle in his eyes. Confound you, he added. I'd help you if you'd give me a chance. But maybe it's best to let you gang your own gait, and he walked out of the room before Darryl could reply. A moment later he looked in at the door. By the way, if you're not at the pines by five o'clock sharp next Saturday afternoon, Marcy says she's going to send an officer up here after you with a writ of habeas corpus or something of the sort. All right, I'll be there, Darryl laughed. You'll find the old place a bit brighter than you've seen it yet, for we had a letter from Puss this morning that she'll be home tomorrow. With the last words the door closed, and Darryl was left alone with his thoughts, to which, however, he could give little time. But when the day's work was done he went for a stroll, and seating himself upon a large rock carefully reviewed the situation. Hitherto he had given little thought to the impending trouble at the camp, supposing it would affect himself but slightly. But now he realized that a suspension of operations there would mean an entire change in his mode of living. The prospective change weighed on his sensitive spirit like an incubus. Even the pines he dismally reflected would no longer seem the same quiet, home-like retreat since it was to be invaded and dominated by a youthful presence between whom and himself there would probably be little congeniality. But finally telling himself that these reflections were childish, he rose as the last sunset rays were sinking behind the western ranges, and the rosy flush of the summits was fading, and walking swiftly to his room, resolutely buried himself in his studies. CHAPTER XII New Life in the Old Home On the following Saturday, as Daryl ascended the long driveway leading to the pines, he was startled at the transformation which the place had undergone since last he was there. The rolling lawn seemed carpeted with green velvet, and livened here and there with a group of beautiful foliage plants. Fountains were playing in the sunlight, their glistening spray tinted with rainbow lights. Flowers bloomed in profusion, their colors set off by the gray background of the stone walls of the house. The syringas by the bay windows were bent to the ground with their burden of snowy blossoms, whose fragrance, mingled with that of the June roses, greeted him as he approached. He forgot his three weeks absence and the rapid growth in that high altitude. The change seemed simply magical. Then as he caught a glimpse through the pines of a slender, girly figure, dressed in white, darting hither and tither, he wondered no longer. It was but the fit accompaniment of the young, joyous life which had come to the old place. As he came out into the open, he saw a young girl romping up and down before the house with a fine scotch collie, and he could not restrain a smile as he recalled Mrs. Dean's oft-repeated declaration that there was one thing she would never tolerate, and that was a dog or a cat about the house. She had not yet seen him, but when she did, the frolic ceased and she started towards the house. Then suddenly she stopped, as though she recognized some one or something, and stood awaiting his approach, her lips parted in a smile, two small shapely hands shading her eyes from the sun. As he came nearer, he had time to note the lith, supple figure just rounding into the graceful outlines of womanhood. The full smiling lips, the flushed cheeks, and the glint of gold in her brown hair, and the light, the beauty, the fragrance surrounding her seemed an appropriate setting to the picture. She was a part of the scene. Daryl, of course, had no knowledge of his own age, but at that moment he felt very remote from the embodiment of youth before him. He seemed to himself to have been suddenly relegated to the background among the elder members of the family. The collie had been standing beside his mistress with his head on one side, regarding Daryl with a sharp inquisitive look, and he now broke the silence, which threatened to prove rather embarrassing, with a short bark. Hush, Duke, said the girl in the low tone. Then, as Daryl dismounted, she came swiftly towards him, extending her hand. This is Mr. Daryl, I know, she said, speaking quite rapidly in a clear musical voice, without a shade of affectation, and you probably know who I am, so we will need note introduction. Yes, Miss Underwood, said Daryl, smiling into the beautiful brown eyes. I would have recognized you anywhere from your picture. And you have tricks, haven't you, she exclaimed, turning to caress the mare. Dear old Tricks, just let her go, Mr. Daryl. She will go to the stables of her own accord, and Bennett will take care of her. That was the way Harry taught her. Go find Bennett, Tricks. They watched Tricks follow the driveway and disappear around the corner, then both turned toward the house. Auntie is out just now, said the girl. She had to go downtown, but I am expecting her back every minute. Will you go into the house, Mr. Daryl, or do you prefer a seat on the veranda? The veranda looks inviting. Suppose we sit here, Daryl suggested. They had reached the steps leading to the entrance. On the top step the collie had seated himself and was now awaiting the reproach with the air of one expecting due recognition. Mr. Daryl, said the young girl, with a very little laugh, allow me to present you to his highness, the Duke of Argyle. The collie gave his head a slight backward toss, and with great dignity extended his right paw to Daryl, which the latter, instantly entering into the spirit of the joke, took, saying with much gravity, I am pleased to meet his highness. The girl's brown eyes danced with enjoyment. You have made a friend of him for life now, she said, as they seated themselves, Duke stationing himself at her side in such a manner as to show his snow-white vest and great double-ruff to the best possible advantage. He is a very aristocratic dog, and if anyone fails to show him what he considers proper respect, he is greatly affronted. He certainly is a royal-looking fellow, said Daryl, but I cannot imagine how you ever gain Mrs. Dean's consent to his presence here. You must possess even more than the ordinary powers of feminine persuasion. Aunt Marsha, laughed the girl, oh well, you see, it was a case of love me, love my dog. Wherever I go, Duke must go, so auntie had to submit to the inevitable. Daryl found the situation far less embarrassing than he had expected. His young companion, with keen womanly intuition, had divine something of his feeling, and tactfully avoided any allusion to their previous meeting, of which he had no recollection, kept the conversation on subjects within the brief span of his memory. She seemed altogether unconscious of the peculiar condition surrounding himself, and the brown eyes, meeting his own so frankly, had in their depths nothing of the curiosity or the pity he had so often encountered, and had grown to dread. She appeared so childlike and unaffected, and her joyous, rippling laughter proved so contagious that unconsciously the extra years which had a few minutes before seemed to have been added to his life dropped away. The grave, tense lines of his face, relaxed, and before he was aware he was laughing heartily at the account of some school girl escapade, were at some tricks performed by Duke for his special entertainment. In the midst of their merriment they heard the sound of hoop beats, and, turning, saw the family carriage approaching, containing both Mr. Underwood and his sister. You two children seemed to be enjoying yourselves, was Mr. Underwood's comment as the carriage stopped. Daryl sprang to Mrs. Dean's assistance as she alighted, while Kate Underwood ran down the steps to meet her father. Both greeted Daryl warmly, but Mrs. Dean retained his hand a moment as she looked at him with genuine motherly interest. I'm glad the truant has returned, she said, with her quiet smile. I only hope it seems as good to you to come home as it does to us to have you here. Daryl was touched by her unusual kindness. You can rest assured that it does, mother," he said earnestly. He was astonished at the effect of his words. Her face flushed, her lips trembled, and as she passed on into the house her eyes glistened with tears. Daryl looked about him and bewilderment. What have I said, he questioned. How did I wound her feelings? She lost the son years ago, and she's never got over it, Mr. Underwood explained briefly. You did not hurt her feelings. She was pleased, Kate hastened to reassure him, but did she never speak to you about it? Never, Daryl replied. Well, that is not to be wondered at, for she seldom eludes to it. He died years ago, before I can remember, but she always grieves for him. That was the reason, she added, reflectively, half to herself, that she always loved Harry better than she did me. Better than you, you jealous little puss at her father, pinching her cheek. Don't you have love enough, I'd like to know? I can never have too much, you know, Papa, she answered very seriously, and Daryl, watching, saw in the brown eyes for the first time the wistful look he had seen in the two portraits. She soon followed her aunt, but her father and Daryl remained outside, talking of business matters, until someone to dinner. On entering the house, Daryl saw, on every hand, evidence of the young life in the old home. There was just a pleasant touch of disorder in the rooms he had always seen kept with such precision. Here a bit of unfinished embroidery. There a book open, face down, just where the fair reader had let it. The piano was open and sheets of music lay scattered over it. From every side came the fragrance of flowers, and in the usually somber dining room, Daryl noted the fireplace nearly concealed by palms and potted plants, the chandelier trimmed with trailing vines, the pern of roses and ferns on the table, and the tiny boutonniers at his plate, and Mr. Underwood's. With a smile of thanks at the happy young face opposite, he appropriated the one intended for himself, but Mr. Underwood, picking up the one beside his plate, sat twirling it in his fingers with a look of mock perplexity. Pusas introduced so many of her falderals, I haven't gotten used to them yet, he said. How is this to be taken, before eating or after, he inquired, looking at her from under heavy frowning brows. To be taken, oh, papa, she ejaculated. Why don't you put it on as Mr. Daryl has his. Here, I'll fix it for you. With an arrow of resignation, he waited while she fastened the flowers in the lapel of his coat, giving the latter an approving little pat as she finished. There, she exclaimed, you ought to see how nice you look. Hmm, I'm glad you hear it, he grunted. I feel like a prized steer at a county fair. In the laughter which followed, Kate joined as merrily as the rest, and no one but Daryl observed the deepening flush on her cheek or heard the tremulous sigh when the laughter was ended. After dinner, they adjourned to the large sitting-room, Mr. Underwood with his pipe, Mrs. Dean with her knitting, and Daryl, while conversing with the former, watched with a new interest the latter's placid face, wondering at the depth of feeling concealed beneath the calm exterior. As the twilight deepened, and conversation began to flag, that came from the piano a few sweet chords followed by one of Chopin's dreamy nocturns. Mr. Underwood began to doze in his chair, and Daryl sat silent, his eyes closed, his whole soul given up to the spell of the music. Unconscious of the pleasure she was giving, Kate played till the room was veiled in darkness. Then going to the fireplace, he lighted the fire already laid, for the nights were still somewhat chilly, and sat down on a low seat before the fire, while Duke came and lay at her feet. It was a pretty picture, the young girl in white, her eyes fixed dreamily on the glowing embers, the firelight dancing over her form and face, and lighting up her hair with gleams of gold. The dog at her feet, his head thrown proudly back, and his eyes fastened on her face with a look of loyal devotion, seldom seen, even in human eyes. Happening in a glance in Mr. Underwood's direction, Daryl saw pride, pleasure and pain, struggling for the mastery in the father's face as he watched the picture in the firelight. Pain won, and with a sudden gesture of impatience, he covered his eyes with his hand, as though to shut out the scene. It was but a little thing, but taken in connection with the incident before dinner, it appealed to Daryl, showing, as it did, a stoic manner in which these people bore their grief. Mrs. Dean's quiet voice interrupted his musings and broke the spell which the music seemed to have thrown around them. You will have someone now, Catherine, to accompany you on the violin, as you have always wanted. Mr. Daryl is a fine violinist. Kate was instantly all animation. Oh, that would be delightful, Mr. Daryl, she exclaimed eagerly. There is nothing I enjoy so much as a violin accompaniment. It adds so much expression to the music. I think a piano alone is so unsympathetic. You can't get any feeling out of it. I'm afraid, Miss Underwood, I will prove a disappointment to you, Daryl replied. I have never yet attempted any new music, or even to play by note, and don't know what success I would have, if any. So far I have only played what drifts to me. Some way I don't know how, from out of the past. The unconscious sadness in his voice stirred the depths of Kate's tender heart. Oh, that is too bad, she exclaimed quickly, thinking not of her own disappointment, but of his trouble of which she had unwittingly reminded him. Then she added, gently, almost timidly, but you will at any rate let me hear you play, won't you? Certainly, if it'll give you any pleasure, he replied with a slight smile. Very well, then we will arrange it this way, she continued, her cheerful manner restored. If you will play your music, and if I am familiar with it, I will accompany you on the piano. I will get out Harry's violin tomorrow, and while Auntie is taking her nap and Papa is engaged, we will see what we can accomplish in a musical way. Before Daryl could reply, Mr. Underwood, who had started from his reverie, demanded, what engagement are you talking about, you chatterbox? I can't say, Papa, she replied, playfully seating herself on the arm of his chair. I only know that when I asked your company for a walk tomorrow afternoon, you pleaded a very important engagement. Now how is that, she asked archly, have you an engagement, really, or didn't you care for my society? Yes, to be sure. It had escaped my mind for the moment. Her father answered rather vaguely, she thought. Then, looking at Daryl, he said, Walcott is coming tomorrow for my final decision on that matter. Daryl bowed in token that he understood, but did not feel that liberty to inquire whether the decision was to be favorable to Mr. Walcott or otherwise. Kate glanced quickly further, but before she could speak her father continued. I rather think if he consents to two or three conditions which I shall insist upon that my answer will be in the affirmative. I thought that quite probable from your conversation the other day, Daryl replied. See here, Papa," Kate exclaimed mischievously. You needn't talk over my head. You used to do so when I was little, but who is this Mr. Walcott and what is this important decision about? Mr. Underwood, who did not believe in taking what he called the womenfolk into his confidence regarding business affairs, looked quizzically into the laughing face beside him. Didn't I hear you arranging some sort of a musical program with Mr. Daryl, he inquired? Yes. What has that to do with your engagement? she queried. Nothing whatever. You carry out your engagement and I will mine and will compare notes afterwards. For an instant her face sobered. Then, catching sight of her father's eyes twinkling under their beatling brows, she laughingly withdrew from his side, saying, That's all very well. You can score one this time, Papa, but don't you think we won't come out pretty near even in the end? Upon learning from Daryl the violin she expected him to use was in his room at the mining camp, she then proposed a stroll to the summit of the Pineclad Mountain for the following afternoon and having secured his promise that he would bring the violin with him on his next visit, she waltzed gaily across the floor, turned on the light and seating herself at the piano soon had the room ringing with music and laughter while she sang a number of college songs. To Daryl she seemed more child than woman and he was constantly impressed with her unlikeness to her father or aunt. She seemed to have absolutely none of their self repression. Warm-hearted, sympathetic and demonstrative, every shade of feeling betrayed itself in her sensitive, mobile face and in the brown eyes. One moment pensive and wistful, the next luminous with sympathy or dancing with merriment. As Daryl took leave of Mrs. Dean that night, he said, looking frankly into her calm, kindly face, I am very sorry if I wounded your feelings this afternoon. It was wholly unintentional, I assure you. You did not in the least, she answered, it is so long since I have been called by that name, it took me by surprise, but it sounded very pleasant to me. My boy, if he had lived, it would have been just about your age. It seemed pleasant to me to call you mother, said Daryl. It made me feel less like an outsider. You can call me so as often as you wish. You are no outsider here. We consider you one of ourselves, she responded, with more warmth in her tones than he had ever heard before. The following morning, Daryl accompanied the ladies to church. After lunch, he launched for an hour in one of the hammocks on the veranda, listening alternately to Mr. Underwood's comments as he leisurely smoked his pipe and to the faint tones of a mandolin coming from some remote part of the house. Mr. Underwood grew more and more abstracted. The mandolin ceased and Daryl, soothed by his surmountings to a temporary forgetfulness of his troubles, swung gently back and forth in a sort of dreamy content. After a while, Kate Underwood appeared, dressed for a walk and accompanied by Duke, the two set forth with their mountain ramble for the time as light-hearted as two children. Upon their return, two or three hours later, while still at a little distance from the house, they saw Mr. Underwood and a stranger standing together on the veranda. A latter who was apparently about to take his departure and whom Daryl would be Mr. Walcott was about 30 years of age, of medium height, with a finely proportioned and rather muscular form, erect and dignified in his bearing with a lith suppleness and grace in all his movements. He was standing with his hat in his hand and Daryl, who had time to observe him closely, noting his jet-black hair close-cut except where it curled slightly over his forehead, his mustache, and the oval contour of his olive face remembered Mr. Underwood's remark of the probability of Spanish blood in his veins. As they came near, Duke gave a low growl, but Kate instantly hushed him, chiding him for his rudeness. At the sound, the stranger turned toward them and Mr. Underwood at once introduced Mr. Walcott to his daughter and Mr. Daryl. They were both with the most punctilious courtesy. But as he faced Daryl, the latter saw for an instant in the half-closed, blue-black eyes the pity tinged with contempt to which he had long since become accustomed, yet which, as often as he met it, thrilled him anew with pain. The look past, however, and Mr. Walcott in low, well-modulated tones conversed pleasantly for a few moments with the newcomers, the three young people forming a striking trio as they stood there in the bright sunshine amid the June roses. Then, with a graceful adieu, he walked swiftly away. As soon as he was out of hearing, Mr. Underwood, turning to Daryl, said, It is decided the papers will be drawn tomorrow. Then, taking his daughter's flushed, perplexed face between his hands, he said, I am going into partnership. How do you like the looks of my partner, Puss? She looked incredulous. That young man, your partner, she exclaimed. Why, he seems the very last man I should ever expect you to fancy. Then she added, laughing, Oh, Papa, I think he must have hypnotized you. Does Aunt Marsha know? May I tell her? And having gained his consent, Mrs. Dean. That's the woman of it, said Mr. Underwood Grimly. They always want to immediately tell some other woman. But what do you think of my partner, he asked, looking searchingly at Daryl who had not yet spoken? Daryl did not reply at once. He felt somewhat bewildered. All the content, the joy, the sunshine of the last few hours seemed to have been gone today. The remembrance of that glance still stung him. But aside from that, he felt his whole soul filled with an inexplicable antagonism toward this man. I hardly know yet just what I do think of him, he answered slowly. I have not formed a definite opinion of him, but I think, as your daughter says, he somehow seems Mr. Underwood frowned. I don't generally make mistakes in people, he said rather gruffly. If I'm mistaken in this man, it will be the first time. Nothing further was said on the subject, though it remained uppermost in the minds of both, with the result that their conversation was rather spasmodic and desultory. At the dinner table, Kate was quick to observe the unusual silence and intuitively connecting it in some way with the new partnership, refrained a like from question or comment regarding either that subject or Mr. Walcott, while it was a rule with Mrs. Dean never to refer to her brother's business affairs unless he first alluded to them himself. The evening passed more pleasantly, as Kate coaxed her father into telling some reminiscence of his early western life, which greatly interested Darrell. Something of the old restlessness had returned to him, however. He spent a wakeful night and was glad when the morning came and he could return to his work. As he came out of the house at an early hour to set forth on his long ride, he found Kate engaged in feeding tricks with lumps of sugar. She greeted him merrily and as he started down the avenue he was followed by a rippling laugh and a shower of roses, one of which he caught and fastened in his buttonhole. But on looking back over his shoulder she had vanished and only Duke was visible. End of Chapter 12 Recording by George Elto San Antonio, Texas