“No, that is just the comfort of it,” he said. “She came because she cared about me. But, nevertheless, I am anxious the whole time. When anything pleases her, I cheer up a little, and lately she has taken so kindly to the riding. She will soon be a splendid horsewoman. She looks well on a horse.”
“Yes, by Jove!” answered Ben, enthusiastically.
“And the country is coming on beautifully,” continued Bob. “We shall have an abundance of flowers. That will be a pleasure to her. But she does not touch the piano. She sits down beside it, looks at it, and goes away. At home she used to play by the hour.”
“She will play in time,” said Ben, kindly; “just leave her to choose her own moment. Some day when you least expect it, you will hear her touching the notes.”
But he went away with his heart very sore about his friend; for though he believed that Hilda was trying her best to seize hold of the new life and make what she could of it, he remembered his long conversation with her, and felt that she would never be reconciled to the lot which she had deliberately chosen. She had not once referred to her outburst of confidence that afternoon: at first she had seemed a little nervous in his presence; but as the days passed by and she saw him constantly, the slight uneasiness of manner wore off. She trusted to his kindness, and he knew it. He knew, too, that she liked him and looked forward to seeing him, and, for his own part, he could not but admire the brave attempt she was making to adapt herself to these difficult circumstances. It was altogether admirable. But that set expression on her face betrayed to him the real state of her mind, and he trembled for Bob. And yet he had to own that she was good to her husband. Strong as a panther herself, she did not understand much about ill-health, but she tried to save his strength. Only she did not love him. It was this that Ben resented in her. Still he was greatly attracted to her at times, much against his will and against his prejudices. Then he would go home twirling his moustaches, and swearing softly and continuously.
So the weeks slipped away, and Bob began to work at the ruined half of his ranch. He looked very frail, and there was something about his unrelenting doggedness which filled Ben with alarm. Nothing would induce him to spare himself over this difficult task. He might be seen at any hour of the day struggling with that stubborn land, filling up the wash-outs, now and then pausing to rest, and after a few moments returning with redoubled zeal to his tedious occupation. It made no difference to his quiet persistence when the other men came to help him. Ben worked alongside with him, and could not induce him to leave off; Graham, Lauderdale, and Holles rode over constantly and gave him the best of their strength and willingness, but he never relaxed for their presence; indeed they rather stimulated him to further efforts. Holles was in capital form, and kept every one in good spirits.
“I never remembered to have worked as hard as this,” he said once or twice. “It just shows what a beautiful character I am, if people would only believe it. I would not have done it for myself. But I am not really properly appreciated in this neighbourhood.”
Hilda liked him immensely, and was always ready to hear his unique experiences by land and by sea. She laughed till the tears streamed down her cheeks, for Holles had quite his own method of narrating. He told her, too, of his famous feud with the ear-trumpet lady, and how he had refused to work for her because he preferred not to be watched through an opera-glass.
“Ben does not mind being watched through an opera-glass,” he said, “and I believe Bob rather likes it. But, even if I were on the verge of starvation, I would not work on such infamous conditions. No; I still have some lingering sense of dignity, and that wretched old woman will never have the benefit of my valuable services. But there! I forgot she was a friend of yours and had lent you her piano. Does she come and listen to you through an opera-glass?”
“She came once,” answered Hilda, “but she did not ask me to play, and she was particularly kind about the piano, and told me to keep it as long as I pleased. She is away now, but when she returns, I must go and see her.”