Townsend quite forgave him that remark, jest or earnest, for he saw the new sparkle in his eye, remembered how likely he was to have had his mind a little disordered by all that sweet wealth of auburn hair lying for so many minutes on his breast, and formed his own opinions as to the result. If those opinions were favorable, well; if they were unfavorable, he was taking a world of trouble that did not belong to him; for there is always a "sweet little cherub" sitting "up aloft" to keep watch over the fortunes of such rattle-pates and dare-devils as Halstead Rowan—to supervise their getting into scrapes and out of them!
But there was nothing of jest, he thought, in the air with which Clara Vanderlyn, when re-mounting her horse, replying to an earnest expression of regret that one moment of inattention on his part should have allowed her to be placed in serious peril,—very kindly denied that he had been guilty of any neglect whatever, threw the whole blame upon her horse, thanked him for the promptness with which he was coming to her relief when forestalled, but then said, looking at Rowan with a glance which came near setting that enthusiastic equestrian entirely wild:
"It seems that I am a very difficult person to take care of; and if you have no objection to my having two esquires, and will allow Mr. Rowan to ride with me as well as yourself, and if he is willing to do so, I think that I shall feel" (she did not say "safer", but) "a little more like keeping up my spirits."
Frank Vanderlyn had looked somewhat sullenly on and scarcely said a word, since his coming up. But at this speech of his sister's he must have felt that the dignity of the Vanderlyn family was again in serious peril, for he put his mouth close to her ear and spoke some words that were heard by no other than herself. They could not have been very satisfactory or convincing, for Horace Townsend, and others as well, heard her say in reply:
"Brother, your horse is dangerous—you said so yourself; so just be good enough to ride as you did before, and my friends here will take care of me."
Whereupon the young man went back to his horse, looking a little discomfited and by no means in the best of humors. Such little accidents will occur, sometimes, to mar the best-laid schemes of careful mothers or anxious brothers, for preserving the ultra-respectability of a family; and whether the origin of the intervention is in heaven or its opposite, there is nothing to be done in such cases but to look wronged and unhappy, as did Frank Vanderlyn, or smile over the accomplished mischief and pretend that the event is rather agreeable than otherwise, as persons of more experience than Frank have often had occasion to do at different periods during the current century.
The result of all this was that Horace Townsend really rode down with Clara Vanderlyn in the mere capacity of an esquire, while Halstead Rowan assumed the spurs and the authority of the knight. The latter rode in advance of her, as near her bridle-rein as the roughness of the path would allow; and no one need to question the fact that he kept his eyes on the young girl quite steadily enough to secure her safety! What difficulty was there in his doing so, when he had already proved that he could ride backward nearly as well as forward and that the footing of his horse was the least thought in his mind? They seemed to be conversing, too, a large proportion of the time; and there is no doubt that Halstead Rowan, carried away by the events of the day, uttered words that he might have long delayed or never spoken under other circumstances,—and that Clara Vanderlyn wore that sweet flush upon her face and kept that timid but happy trembling of the dewy under-lip, much more constantly than she had ever before done in her young life. Horace Townsend, who rode behind the lady, did not hear any of those peculiar words which passed between her and her companion; and had we heard them they would certainly not be made public in this connection.
The lawyer, as has been said, rode behind; and, as has not been said, he did so in no enviable state of feeling. He had done nothing—been accused of nothing—in any manner calculated to degrade him; but one casual event had thrown a shadow across his path, not easily recognized without some recollection of characteristics before developed. The reader has had abundant reason to believe that this man, profiting by some intelligence obtained in a manner not open to the outer world, of the peculiar madness of Margaret Hayley after that abstraction, courage,—had more or less firmly determined to win her through the exhibition of certain qualities which he believed that he possessed in a peculiar degree. One opportunity had been given him (that at the Pool), and he had succeeded in interesting her to an extent not a little flattering and hopeful; but envious fate could not allow a week to pass without throwing him again into disadvantageous comparison with a man who had no occasion whatever of making any exhibition of such qualities!
That Margaret Hayley would yet remain for some days and perhaps weeks in the mountains, and that she would probably visit the Crawford before her departure, he had at least every reason to believe; and he had quite as much cause for confidence that the story of the adventure over the Gulf of Mexico, roundly exaggerated to place himself in a false position and to deify the Illinoisan, would reach her ears, whether at the Profile or the Crawford, through stage-drivers or migratory passengers, within the next forty-eight hours. This (for reasons partially hinted at and others which will develop themselves in due time) was precisely that state of affairs which he would have given more to avoid than any other that could have been named; and this it was that made a dark red flush of mortification rise at times to his dusky cheek and give an expression any thing but pleasant to his eyes, as he rode silently behind the two who were now so indubitably linked as lovers, once more over the top of Prospect and down the rugged declivities of Clinton. Those who have ever been placed in circumstances approaching to these in character, can best decide whether the lawyer was sulking for nothing or indulging in gloomy anticipations with quite sufficient reason.
It was nearly sunset and the light had some time disappeared from the valleys lying in the shade of the western peaks, when the last stony trough and the last corduroy road of Mount Clinton was finally repassed, and the whole cavalcade, each member of it perhaps moved by the one idea of showing that neither horse nor rider was wearied out—broke once more into a trot as they caught the first glimpse of the Crawford through the trees, dashed merrily out from the edge of the woods, and came up in straggling but picturesque order to the door of the great caravanserai. The difficult ride of eighteen miles had been accomplished; the golden day (with its one drawback of momentary peril) was over; and more than half a score who had before only thought of the ascent of Mount Washington as a future possibility, suddenly found that they could look back upon it as a remembrance.