Stephen stood for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the mystic skyline. Then he turned to her as if about to speak. But there was only the silent message of his longing eyes. Finally he turned away and, as if unconsciously, fell to stroking the horse.
He had nothing to say, and he knew it. The girl was right, and he knew that. She had pointed out to him only what others at different times had mildly tried to make him see. He was a rich young man, or would be after a death or two in his family. But that in itself was no excuse for his inertia. Many had told him that. But he had never taken it seriously. It had remained for the little woman beside him to make him fully realize it. She alone had driven it home so that it hurt. Yet between this girl and the others who had taken him mildly to task there was the difference between day and darkness. For he loved this girl, and if she would not marry him for reasons which he knew he could remedy, then it was up to him to accept her criticism, which was perhaps a challenge, and go forth and do something and be something, and reveal his love to her through that effort. What it would be he did not know. He did know he must get out of the town–get out of the Territory, if needs be–but he must go somewhere in this country of worthy aspiration and live as he knew she would have him live, do something, be something, something that for its very worth to her as well as to all mankind would awaken her ready response. Such a move he realized, as he stood beside her, would be as decent in him as she in her criticism had been eloquently truthful. The vigor, the relentless certainty, with which she had pointed out his weakness–no one before had had the courage to deal with him like this. And reviewing it all, and then casting grimly forward into his future, he suddenly awoke, as he gently stroked this mettled horse, to a strange likeness between the spirit of horse and mistress. He turned to Helen.
“You are very much alike,” he declared–“you and your horse.” Then he paused as if in thought. “The spirit of the desert,” he went on, absently, “shows itself through all the phases of its life.”
Helen brightened “I am glad you think that of us, Stephen,” she answered, as if relieved by this unexpected turn. “Pat is truly of the desert. He was born and bred in this land of amole and cactus.”
“And you?” he asked.
“I also,” she replied, gravely. “I too was born and bred in this land of amole and cactus.” Suddenly she turned her head. “I am afraid they are looking for us.”
They returned to the house. Helen’s guests were preparing to depart. There was much high humor, and when the last but one was gone, and this one, Stephen, standing on the porch with hat in hand, Helen found that for the moment she had forgotten her distress. At sight of him, however, it all returned to her, and she faced him with earnest solicitude.
“Tell me, Stephen,” she burst out, “that you forgive me my unkind words, and that you will try to forget them. But whether you succeed in that or not, Stephen,” she hastily added, her voice breaking, “tell me that you will continue to be friendly. We want you, all of us–I want you! I have enjoyed our rides together so much! They have meant much to me, and I hope they have been enjoyable to you. So let us go on, on this accepted basis, and be friends. Tell me you will, Stephen!”
He was silent a long time. Then he told her of his hastily made plans. He was going away from town, of course. He could not remain, under the circumstances. Yet where he was going he didn’t know. He would go farther West, probably–go somewhere and try to make good–try to do something worth while, to be something worth while. Saying which, he then thanked her fervently for everything–for her society, for her frank criticism, for having awakened him to an understanding of himself.
Helen stood speechless. She had not anticipated this, that he would go away, that he would leave her. A deep-surging bitterness gripped her, and for a moment she almost relented. But only for a moment. The spell passed, and she looked at him with frank, level eyes.