"To fold up the rug in the box and make some kind of saddle for you," I said, and proceeded to do so, cutting up the gear, which was almost new, so recklessly that my companion seemed even then surprised.
"Do you know that you are destroying a good many dollars' worth of harness?" she asked.
"It would not greatly matter if I spoiled a dozen sets so long as you reached home safely, and it is a very small fine for my carelessness," I answered. "I should never have forgiven myself if you had been injured; but are you—quite—sure that you are none the worse?"
"I do not think I am much the better," said the girl. "Still, I am not badly hurt, and it was not your fault."
Though still languid in her movements, she seemed chary of accepting much assistance when I helped her into the improvised saddle, and then, because the other horse was useless, I waded through the ford with my hand on the bridle. It was some distance to Bonaventure, and my companion was not communicative, but I did not find the silence irksome. Conflicting emotions would have made me slow of speech, and I was content with the fact that she rode beside me whole in limb and unspoiled in beauty. Indeed, so much had the sight of her lying white and apparently lifeless impressed me that I cast many apprehensive glances in her direction before I could convince myself that all was well.
Haldane, who overtook us, desired me to remain at Bonaventure; but every pair of hands was needed at Crane Valley, and I wished for solitude. So, stiffly mounting a borrowed horse, I set off homeward across the prairie. I had risen at three that morning, after an insufficient rest, and was worn out in body, but clear in mind, for a time, at least, while the brilliancy of the starshine and the silence of the waste helped me to think. I was by turns thankful, ashamed, dejected, and eager to clutch at an elusive hope. Illumination had followed disillusion, and I knew at last that even while I was uplifted by vain imaginings, Lucille Haldane had, little by little, and unwittingly, extended her dominion over my heart. I had, it seemed, spent the best years of my life striving after an unattainable and shadowy ideal, while perhaps the real living substance, endowed with the best of all pertaining to flesh and blood, lay within my grasp. It was true that the mistress of Bonaventure was much too good for me; but with all her graces she was of like fiber to us, and her few weaknesses rendered her more desirable in proof of the fact. That Beatrice Haldane was worthy of all adulation remained equally true; but it was hard to comprehend how, blinded by folly, I had mistaken the respect I paid her for the warm tide of passion which now pulsed through me. Neither was the latter of sudden origin, for, looking back, I could see how, little by little, and imperceptibly, admiration, gratitude, and tenderness, had merged into it until terror opened my eyes and full understanding came at last.
There remained, however, one burning question—did Lucille Haldane, in any degree, reciprocate what I felt?—and this lacked an answer. Knowing her generous nature, it was clear that what she had done for me had not been done wittingly for a lover; but, on the other hand, I could recall many trifles which may have had their significance. Thus alternate hopes and fears surged through my brain until, when I had decided that, being yet a poor man, I must wait the advent of the railroad, at least, before putting my fate to the test, my thoughts commenced to wander, and I must have guided the horse mechanically, for his sudden stopping roused me with a jerk to recognize the corral at Crane Valley. There is a limit beyond which no emotion may galvanize into continued activity the exhausted body, and we not infrequently reach it on the prairie. I do not know whether I was asleep or awake when I led the beast into the stable, but the sun was high when Sally Steel roused me from a couch of trampled hay unpleasantly near his feet.
"You have had a tolerable sleep, and don't seem particular where you camp," she said. "Come right along, and do your best with the second breakfast I've got waiting."
I glanced with consternation at my watch. "Why didn't one of the others waken me? Do you know it's ten o'clock, Sally?" I asked.
"Just because I wouldn't let them! You've got to last through harvest, anyway, and I guess Miss Haldane wouldn't have much use for a dead man," said Sally, and was retiring with mischievous laughter, when I recalled her.