The Delafield Affair Part 26

"Will you go to ride with me this afternoon up the canyon? I have something particular I want to say. Please send me word by the boy if I may come up at once."

She devoured it with shining eyes, and pressed it to her face, her lips, her heart. Her woman's instinct divined what the "something particular"

must be, and she laughed softly and joyously, while the color mounted to her brow. But presently, as she donned her riding habit, her look grew serious and grave. For a few minutes she had forgotten what it was she had to do.

"I must tell him," she thought, "and then that will be the end of everything." The brown eyes filled with tears, and she choked back a little sob. "But I've got to do it," she repeated with determination.

"He won't love me then, but poor daddy will be safe. And I wouldn't marry him anyway, because I'm not going to marry anybody. I won't let him say anything to me about--about anything; I'll tell him about daddy before he has a chance. But I won't have to tell him right away--when we are coming back, maybe." Her fingers were busy with her collar in front of the mirror. "Dear me, I'm dreadfully tanned! But he told me once he liked the healthy brown skins the girls all get down here. No; I shall not let him have the least idea that I care anything about him; but--"

and the smiles and dimples were chasing each other across her face as she started down the stairs. On her way she slipped softly into Miss Dent's darkened room. Louise was awake, and Lucy stood beside her bed, stroking her forehead with affectionate fingers.

"Poor Dearie! Can't I do something for you before I go out? Do you think you can sleep? Then you won't mind my going, will you? Mr. Conrad has come to take me to ride. We are going up the canyon. Wasn't it jolly of him to think of it this stupid, yellow afternoon?"

"Yes; certainly, dear, I'm glad you're going, and I hope you'll have a delightful ride. Don Homer is always so thoughtful."

Lucy was settling her hat in front of the mirror. "Oh, it isn't Don Homer! It's his brother."

Miss Dent started up. "Curtis Conrad! You're not going with him!"

Lucy looked at her with surprise. "Why, yes, Dearie. Why not?"

"Lucy, darling! You must not go!"

Louise was sitting up now, her hands at her temples. Lucy bent over her with an arm about her neck. "You surprise me very much, Dearie. I thought you liked him."

"Yes; of course. But you must not go with him this afternoon. It will not do."

The girl sat down on the bed beside her. "But I've said I would, Dearie, and he's already here, waiting for me with the horses. And I must go, Dearie. It would be awfully rude and horrid to try to get out of it now."

Sudden apprehension filled Miss Dent's mind. It was not like Lucy to hold so persistently to anything that was against her wish. Her intense feeling against Curtis Conrad swept over her excited, tingling nerves and filled her mind with the conviction that she must keep Lucy away from him. Things jigged and swam before her eyes, as her thoughts whirled dizzily through her brain. "Lucy, dear child!" she exclaimed, "I wish you would not go. Indeed, you must not go!"

Lucy arose, clad in a new womanly dignity that sent a half-realized dismay through the turmoil of Miss Dent's mind. Vaguely, with an aching sense of loss, she felt that Lucy had become a woman who would henceforth direct her life for herself. With her hands holding her throbbing head, through which excruciating pains were darting, Louise strove to steady her thoughts.

"I don't understand," said Lucy, gently, "why you speak in this way, or why you wish me to be rude to Mr. Conrad. If there is any good reason why I should not go to ride with him this afternoon, and you will tell me what it is, so that I can judge for myself, I can beg him to excuse me, because you are not well--and--ask him to stay to dinner instead."

New alarm seized Miss Dent. In her excitement she tried to rise, only to drop back trembling upon the bed. For the moment her one thought was that this man must be kept out of the house. "Lucy," she pleaded, despair in her voice, "you do not understand. He is not our friend now.

He is your father's enemy--and is trying to kill him."

She stopped in sudden panic at having said so much, and Lucy started back amazed.

"Oh, Dearie--you don't know, do you--and daddy--you don't know about daddy?"

Louise looked up, her face white and drawn, astonishment veiling the pain in her eyes.

"Lucy, Lucy! Do you know--about your father--and this man--and yet you will go with him?"

Lucy's curly head was high as she answered deliberately: "Yes, Dearie! I am going so that I can save daddy from any further trouble. I shall tell Mr. Conrad who daddy is."

Miss Dent gasped and her mouth worked for a moment before she could speak. "Oh, child, you don't know what you are doing! I beg of you, Lucy, don't go--don't do it! If you love me, if you love your father, don't tell him! He will kill--"

The girl drew herself up proudly. "Indeed, Dearie, you don't know Curtis Conrad as well as I do, if you think he will do the least thing to hurt daddy, after he knows. That's why I'm going to tell him--to save daddy.

I love him, Dearie, but I shall not let him know that I do. And I want to hear him say, just once, that he loves me--and then I shall tell him--who I am and who daddy is." She turned half away, then rushed back to throw her arms around her friend's neck. "Darling Dearie, I know I am hurting you! But won't you trust me about this, and love me just the same? I know I am doing the best thing for daddy--and--after to-day, I'm never going to see Curtis Conrad again!"

Louise fell back, exhausted, as Lucy kissed her forehead and ran from the room.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE HEAVENS OPEN

Conrad and Lucy rode along a street skirting the brow of the _mesa_ until the houses of the town in the valley below became few and straggling. Down the last roadway cut across the sides of the canyon they descended to the bottom of the ravine. Thence upward it was so narrow that the bed of the creek and the road left only scant margins of rocky soil. In these grew cottonwoods, willows, and a few other trees, whose overarching branches made a green and pleasant vista. The creek wound crookedly down the valley, frequently crossing the road, while here and there the walls of the gulch drew so close together that the track was forced into the bed of the stream. Notwithstanding the recent rains, the water was too shallow to reach above their horses' knees.

The way was quite deserted, and after leaving the town they saw no other travellers. A cool, damp wind came down the ravine and Lucy took off her hat and let it toss back her brown curls. They had grown longer since the early Spring, and now cl.u.s.tered in soft rings around her ears and neck. A touch of sadness lingered upon her spirits, because of the distressing scene with Miss Dent. It was the first difference that had ever arisen between them. A poignant longing filled her heart, also, because this was to be her final interview with the man she loved. The painful duty she had set herself filled the background of her consciousness and laid upon her manner an unusual reserve.

But these more sombre emotions mingled with the gladness of the knowledge that she was beloved, and all combined to invest her with a new maturity of womanliness, a sweet dignity that sent filtering through Conrad's eager love a sensation of wonder and reverence. It could not be possible that this lovely, this adorable being would receive his homage, would consent to love him! But he would try. She was willing to ride with him, and there was hope in that. And, yes, he would not forget that he must tell her about his unworthy life--he must tell her even before he asked her to marry him. But oh, how beautiful she was, how sweet!

Every movement of her head, her arm, her body, every twinkling smile, every fleeting dimple, poured fresh wine into his blood. A torrent of love and admiration was sweeping through him, and from it were constantly breaking off and flowing over their friendly talk little cascades of compliment, of admiring speech, of sentences glowing with hints of his feeling.

But Lucy quickly caught the trend of every one and turned it back with laughing retort and merry speech. He could not get within her guard, and every deft turn of her jesting, foiling replies made him only the more eager. He forgot that he was going to make confession, forgot to watch the dark clouds that were rising above the mountain tops, forgot everything but this alluring creature, who grew more alluring every moment, and yet would not let him loose the torrents of loving speech.

And Lucy, in the sweet excitement of letting him say a little, and again a little, and then a little more, yet keeping up her guard and never letting him reach the danger point, Lucy also forgot what she had meant to keep constantly in mind. Now and then duty put out a warning hand.

But--the exhilaration of the present moment, the precious consciousness of his love, the thrilling pleasure of this Cupid's dance--she could not give it up so quickly. Presently she would tell him.

Thus has it been Love's habit, ever since Love came to live in this world, to dance with happy and forgetful foot over volcanoes ready to engulf him in their fires, beneath clouds ready to drown him with their pouring sorrows. No matter what the dangers, when the maid lures and the man pursues, Love knows only his own delight. So went Lucy and Curtis up the beautiful canyon road, thrilling with the happiness that can be but once,--before the first kiss has brushed away the exquisite bloom of love,--forgetting alike the bonds they had put upon themselves and the dangers that lurked in the threatening storm.

At last the darkening atmosphere caused Conrad to notice how high the clouds had risen. "I'm afraid there's going to be a bad storm, Miss Bancroft," he said, "and perhaps we'd better turn back. When we started I didn't think it would rain before night, but those clouds are piling up fast and they look as if they meant business. I'm sorry, for a little ways above here there's a beautiful place, where the walls of the canyon spread out and you get a splendid view. I wanted to take you there, and tell you--" It was not so easy after all, to loose the torrents of speech, and for a bare instant he hesitated. It was enough to give Lucy her chance.

She shot at him a single sparkling glance, and broke in with, "Oh, I'll race you there!" As she spoke she touched her horse and darted ahead, leaving him alone in the middle of the road at the very beginning of his declaration. The wind blew her curls into a tangled frame for her laughing face as she looked back over her shoulder. He quickly spurred Brown Betty forward, but she had got so much the start that it was some moments before he was again at her side.

"You took me by surprise," he said as they slowed their horses at the foot of a steeper incline, "and handicapped me, or you wouldn't have got so far away. When we go back I'll race you all the way down the canyon, if you like."

"Agreed!" she laughed. "Wouldn't it be jolly to go at a gallop all the way down the canyon, from the mountains to Golden? But the poor horses!"

"I think we'd better turn back, Miss Bancroft. I don't like the look of those clouds. It's going to be a regular deluge, I'm afraid. But first, I want to tell you--"

"Oh, my hat! I've dropped it!" she exclaimed. Curtis leaned over easily, picked it up, and hung it on his own pommel. Her eyes were twinkling and the dimples were playing hide-and-seek with a wilful little smile that hovered around her mouth. "So awkward of me," she said apologetically, "and how readily you picked it up! I wish I could do that! Do you know, Mr. Conrad, you've never given me those lessons in the cowboy's art, roping and riding and all that, you promised ever so long ago."

"We'll begin them whenever you say the word. After I tell you--"

"About that beautiful place? Oh, yes! Can't we go that far? I'd love to see it!" She was bounding ahead again, but he was quickly beside her. A quizzical look was on his face and a touch of mastery in his manner as he leaned toward her and rested his hand upon her horse's neck.

"Now, if you try to run away again," he said banteringly, "it's you who will have the handicap!" She gathered up her bridle and with a touch of her quirt wheeled her horse half way around and away from his detaining hand. The whim had seized her to start flying back down the road, "just a little way," she thought, "just to tease him." But as she turned she met a glowing look that checked her impulse.

"Lucy!" he was saying, and his voice lingered over her name like a soft and warm caress, "Lucy! I love you. Will you be my wife?"

It had come, the question she had meant not to let him ask, and at once it sobered her spirits and brought back the remembrance of what she must tell him. Her head drooped until her brown curls half hid her crimsoning face, and her voice was low and troubled. "Indeed, Mr. Conrad, I can never be any man's wife. My father needs me. I shall never marry, and I shall stay with him as long as he lives."

"I know how devoted you are to your father, Lucy--" he stopped, and repeated her name as if he loved the sound of it it--"Lucy, and it is so sweet and beautiful that it makes me love you even more. Tell me, Lucy, do you love me?"

The question took her unawares, and he saw her hand tremble. She hesitated for a moment before replying, with dignity: "I have told you I could not marry you. Isn't that enough?" Unconsciously they had again headed their horses toward the mountains and were walking slowly up the canyon.