"Very well," responded Dic. "I don't like that sort of thing, but if you wish, I'll stay till morning rather than leave him with you."
Williams was on hand, and as a result Rita had no words for any one. There was no glorious fireplace in the room, and consequently no cosey ciphering log. In its place was an iron stove, which, according to Rita, made the atmosphere "stuffy."
Toward nine o'clock Mr. and Mrs. Bays retired, and the "sitting-out" tournament began. The most courteous politeness was assumed by the belligerent forces, in accordance with established custom in all tournaments.
The great clock in the corner struck ten, eleven, and twelve o'clock. Still the champions were as fresh as they had been at nine. No one could foretell the victor, though any one could easily have pointed out the poor victim. After ten o'clock the conversation was conducted almost entirely by Williams and Dic, with a low monosyllable now and then from Rita when addressed. She, poor girl, was too sleepy to talk, even to Dic. Soon after twelve o'clock the knight from Blue, pitying her, showed signs of surrender; but she at once awoke and mutely gave him to understand that she would hold him craven should he lower his lance point while life lasted. The clock struck one.
The champions had exhausted all modern topics and were beginning on old Rome. Dic wondered what would be the hour when they should reach Greece and Egypt in their backward flight. But after the downfall of Rome, near the hour of two, Sir Roger was unhorsed, and went off to his castle and to bed. Then Rita bade Dic good-by, after exacting from him a solemn promise to return the next Sunday.
Rita thought Dic's victory was a good omen, and drew much comfort from it. She tried to lie awake to nurse her joy, but her eyes were so heavy that she fell asleep in the midst of her prayer.
Dic saddled his horse and started home. The sharp, crisp air was delicious. The starlit sky was a canopy of never ceasing beauty, and the song in his heart was the ever sweet song of hope. The four hours' ride seemed little more than a journey of as many minutes; and when he stabled his horse at home, just as the east was turning gray and the sun-blinded stars were blinking, he said to himself:—
"A fifty-two-mile ride and twenty-four hours of happiness,—anticipation, realization, and memory,—cheap!"
He slept for two or three hours and hunted all day long. Tuesday's stage brought a letter from Rita, and it is needless to speak of its electrifying effect on Dic. There was a great deal of "I" and "me" and "you" in the letter, together with frequent repetitions; but tautology, under proper conditions, may have beauties of its own, not at all to be despised.
Dic went to town Tuesday evening and sat before Billy Little's fire till ten o'clock, telling our worthy little friend of recent events. They both laughed over the "sitting-out" tournament.