“But she told me particularly,” repeated the woman. “And she is not here anyhow. She has gone over the hill. She likes to be among the pines. She is not well, either. I am sorry, miss, but she is not here, and she would not see you if she were.”
“How far is it to the hill? And does she stay long?”
“It is not far,” said the woman, with a wave of her hand toward the east. “But she will not come home for luncheon. She has no appetite. And the boys are out, so I have no one to send for her. I am sorry, miss.”
“You think there is no use to wait, then?”
“Oh, no use at all, miss. She will be gone for hours, and she would not see you if she were here.”
“Tell her I came, won’t you? Eveley Ainsworth. Thank you.”
And with another disarming smile Eveley turned back to the path. But as soon as she was out of sight of the house, she slipped off through the trees, and started on a light run for the pine grove on the hill to the east.
“As Lem says, poor thing, she has to,” she said to herself, with a smile. And very soon she was among the big pines, looking eagerly back and forth, quite determined not to return to Lem until she had seen Miriam and talked her into reason. And so at last she came upon her, sitting somberly under the big trees, her back against a huge boulder, staring away down the mountains into the haze of the sea in the west, where her husband lived in the city by the bay.
“Miriam,” Eveley called in a ringing voice, and ran joyously down the path.
Miriam sprang up to meet her. “Eveley!” she cried, catching her hands eagerly. And then, “Have you seen—Lem? Is he—all right?”