For nearly ten miles their road lay through a delightful country, and just at the darkening ended in a plateau among some foothills. A number of white houses were scattered over it, and towards one of these Theodora drove her carriage. They entered an inclosure studded with forest trees, and kept in fine order; and as they neared the dwelling, came into a lovely garden full of all kinds of flowers and fruits. The house was square and large, surrounded by deep piazzas, and covered to the chimney-tops with flowering vines, chiefly with jasmine and passion flowers. On either side of the wide hall there were cool, large parlors, and from its centre rose the white stairway leading to the upper rooms—and everywhere there was an indefinable sense of peace and comfort.
"What a beautiful home! What a heavenly place!" cried Isabel, and Theodora answered:
"My father bought it when we first came. We have lived here ever since. It is beautiful. The sun shines on it, the winds blow through it, in every room there is happiness and peace. You were asking about David," she said in a tone of exultation, "here he comes!" and they went to the window and watched his approach. He was riding a fine, spirited horse, and riding like Jehu the son of Nimshi, who doubtless rode—as well as drove—furiously.
"How wonderfully he rides, Dora."
"David can do anything with a horse, or a rifle, and he is so strong, and tall, you would think him much older than he is. Come, we will go down and have supper, and let unpleasant memories die."
For two weeks the Wyntons stayed with Mr. Newton—two weeks of perfect delight to them. They visited various lovely towns along the coast, they hunted, and fished, and talked, the women of household things, and family affairs—the two men of their college days, and sports, and poetry; Sir Thomas quoting the Greek poets, and Mr. Newton the English, old and new. In the evenings, Theodora played and sang, and David recited stirring lines from "The Lady of the Lake" and other works. Night and day followed each other so happily and so quickly, that the week promised became two weeks, without notice or protest.
No letter during this time had been sent to Robert. Theodora insisted on this point. "I do not like letters, Isabel," she said. "They say too much, or too little. When you see Robert, tell him what your eyes have seen, and your ears heard—just the plain truth—and leave him to act on it, as he wishes."
"Then remember, Dora, that we are not intending to hurry home. We shall remain a few days at Salt Lake City, Denver, St. Louis, Chicago, and of course visit Niagara. It may be a month before we reach New York. You must give us five or six weeks before we reach Liverpool, and so do not lay the blame of our loitering to Robert's indifference. Be patient."
"I have been four years without a word. You see that I am neither impatient nor unhappy."
"Tell me, Dora, who was that dark, handsome man you seemed so much at home with in the hotel? I am curious about him. He appeared to be so familiar with your father and yourself."