The hermit thrush kept up its deep and tender song, but Azalea was certain that the words being spoken in that room were more beautiful and wonderful by far.
CHAPTER XIV
THE REBEL
Azalea never forgot how quietly and sweetly that night came down. The mountain, so old—older than the peaks of the Rockies or the Sierras—lay beneath the stars with an air of placidity as comforting to the spirit as great music or great words.
Within the room where Keefe rested, the shadows deepened till Azalea and the others could no longer see his long form on the sofa, nor the little dark head of Mary Cecily bent to touch his.
“To think of finding some one on the earth who really, really belongs to you,” said Azalea. “Oh, Carin, how happy they are!”
“Aren’t they!” sighed Carin sympathetically. “Oh, dear, Azalea, it makes me homesick for papa and mamma. Yet here we are, only half through the term of school we promised to teach.”
“You can’t say that it’s been dull,” replied Azalea with a fluttering little laugh. “Just think of all that has happened these short three weeks.”
“I ought,” murmured Mr. Rowantree, who had supped with them, and who sat with them now on the porch, “to be riding home to Constance and the other children. Paralee kindly promised that she would look in on them and help them get a bit of something to eat, but now I really must be getting along. They’ve never been alone before after nightfall.”
“You’re going to leave Mrs. Rowantree here then?” asked Aunt Zillah. “Oh, that’s good of you. I don’t believe those two could bear to be separated. I know I couldn’t bear to have them.”
“Of course they must stay together,” answered Mr. Rowantree. “Ah, what a brave, bright little creature my Mary Cecily is, Miss Pace! Folks think I don’t appreciate her because I’m a lazy, dreamy fool who hasn’t found out how to take hold of life over here, but perhaps some day I’ll be able to show them that I’m not quite such a useless creature as they think me. I know my faults better than anyone else knows them; and the worst fault of them all is not being properly ashamed of myself. I always was too indifferent to what others thought; but since you came, Miss Pace, with these fine unselfish girls, I—well, I’ve seen myself pretty much as others must see me and I confess I don’t like the picture.”