No more was said, and as Bloxsome departed the next morning he was soon forgotten by our friends. Mordaunt set off the same day for his old brother-officer's ranch, not more than a hundred miles distant, whence he was to visit Pueblo, leaving his aunt and sister at "Falcon's Nest" for a week.
It was a pleasant, tranquil one to the small party, reinforced once or twice by visitors from Denver or Colorado Springs. But towards the end of that time, Grace watched eagerly for the arrival of each mail. She counted the days, the chances of delays and accidents; it was just possible, during the three weeks which had elapsed since she wrote to Ivor Lawrence, for an answer to have reached her. But none came. It was true she had given him no address, but he must have known that anything sent to her home would be forwarded. His name was never mentioned between her aunt and herself, and she had so schooled herself as not to betray the anxiety she felt. Mrs. Frampton was of course ignorant that her niece had written to Lawrence, and did not suspect the torture of "hope deferred" which Grace suffered.
She rambled alone up the cañon sometimes, when she could slip out of the house unperceived by Doreen, who was generally her companion; and sitting down there among the rocks, her face dropped its mask, and her heart called aloud to the one man on earth for whom she felt she would make any sacrifice. Yes, though "the world" should henceforward eject him from its portals and brand him with infamy, though her kindred should refuse to receive one stained with so deep a dye, she would not hesitate to go to him, to share his obloquy, if only he would come to her with open arms and say, "You have believed in me hitherto; will you continue to believe in me, till death us do part?"
It was strange he should not write. Common courtesy demanded that he should answer her letter. But perhaps he was waiting to do so till he could tell her the result of the trial. She rarely saw an English newspaper. Mordaunt had one sent him, but it arrived very irregularly; and, whether intentionally or not, he generally kept it to himself, or took it to his aunt's room to discuss the financial article. But now he was gone, and his papers were sent after him; and any chance of learning a decision in the law courts was at an end.
He wrote from his friend's ranch, fairly pleased with the life, "Charington is doing very well; and if a man sets himself, body and soul, to work here, on this gigantic farming scale, he may make a good thing of it. If I married, and gave up English politics, and was content to lead a purely pastoral life, I am sure I could make it answer. But Charington advises me strongly not to invest money in a ranch, unless I am prepared to devote myself to raising cattle, and so on. It is an awfully jolly life for a short time—I feel as fit as a four-year-old—but I fancy it would pall after a bit."
Then, from Pueblo, a few days later, he wrote, "'Real estate' in Pueblo! After all, that I believe is the investment that is the most absolutely certain of bringing in very large returns ultimately; for mines are always uncertain, are they not? And railways fluctuate. But in a rising city like this, land must increase rapidly in value, year by year. What do you say?"
"I say," wrote his aunt in reply, "that I can't trust my own judgment here, far less yours, my dear Mordaunt. All these speculations look so lovely on the spot that one must get at a little distance from them to judge if they stand upright and are as solid as they seem. I trust Pierce Caldwell implicitly—he is a fine fellow and a clever fellow, and he has done splendidly so far. But he is young, and naturally sanguine. Leave his mine and your Pueblo building speculation alone for the present. There can be no harm in a few weeks' delay."
And this advice was enforced with strong verbal exhortation when her nephew, drifted hither and thither by the contrary winds of transient enthusiasm, returned to the bosom of his family and held counsel with his aunt. But such counsel was not possible on the night of his arrival, which was coincident with the unexpected appearance of an omnibusful of young folks from Colorado Springs. This "surprise party" brought a fiddler with them, and were greeted by Mrs. Caldwell with a cordiality which indicated unbounded confidence in the resources of her larder. Mrs. Frampton stood aghast. She thought with what consternation the head of an ordinary household in England would view the inroad of a dozen hungry young men and women, prepared to make a night of it, and, if heavy snow should prevent their departure, by no means indisposed to pass two or three under their friends' hospitable roof! Happily, in this case, the snow did not descend till they were gone, when it effectually blocked the mountain roads and the railways, delaying the Ballingers' departure two days. But this night, though dark and windy, was fine, and the heavily laden omnibus with its four horses performed the journey to and fro in safety, depositing its hilarious freight at their respective homes in the dawn of the winter morning.
To the elder Englishwoman, accustomed to the undemonstrative enjoyment of her own country-folk, the boisterous high spirits of these young people, under no conventional restraints but those of propriety, were a revelation. "Could they really all be as much amused as that?" she asked. "And was it necessary to make such a noise about it?" Grace declared that a pleasuring in the days of Queen Bess might have been in this wise, but not later, in England; not when the corrupt manners of the Stuarts, and the buckram and whalebones of the House of Hanover had rendered impossible all frank demonstrations of joyousness among persons "of quality." With what shouts of laughter these young Americans arrived! With what security they claimed their welcome! Did ever the finest stroke of art arouse such tempests of hilarity as did this small and well-worn joke of the "surprise"? They danced with the vigor of Highlanders at a Northern meeting. Mordaunt, of course, led out all the girls in turn, and, Grace, though with no heart for capering, if the truth had been known, waltzed with most of the young men.
For this act of self-sacrifice, let us think, she had her reward, when, on the arrival of the mail, a few hours before the Ballingers were to leave the "Falcon's Nest," a thick packet was placed in her hand.