In ten minutes the two women, the young and the older one, were walking home through the winter dusk together, Olive keeping a tight clutch of Miss Winthrop’s arm, for now that she was well away from “The Towers” and the cold woman who was its mistress, she felt frightened and confused, as though the story she had just heard was a ridiculous dream.
“Yes, it is very, very strange,” Miss Winthrop had reiterated over and over again in the course of their walk, “but I cannot believe that the queer accidents of life are accidents at all. I believe that it has always been intended that you should some day know your own people and for that reason you were brought from your home in the West to this very neighborhood.”
After a while when Olive had found her voice she said, “I do not like my grandmother, Miss Winthrop, and I feel sure that we will never like one another. But I am very glad, because if she had cared for me she might have wished me to leave the ranch girls, and not for all the world can I give up them.”
There was another moment of silence and then Miss Winthrop spoke again: “I cared for your father once very deeply, Olive, and I have cared in the same way for no one else since, but I also felt as your grandmother did about the work he chose to do and so here in the old garden at Primrose Hall we said good-bye one afternoon for all time. I suppose my pride was greater than my love for him, but I have been sorry since. Now I care very much for my old friend’s daughter and hope she will let me be her friend.”
“She has been more than that already,” Olive returned fervently; “no one save Jack has ever been so kind.” And then both women talked only of trivial matters until after dinner time that evening.
In Miss Winthrop’s study from eight o’clock until nine Olive sat with her portfolio on her lap writing a long letter to Ruth Drew, disclosing to her the story of the afternoon and asking her to keep the discovery of the secret of her ancestry from Jacqueline Ralston, if she felt it better that Jack be not informed at present. And at her desk during the same hour Miss Winthrop was also engaged in writing Ruth. Carefully she set forth to her how through the efforts of Olive’s former teacher at the Government school and by the payment of a sum of money (which seemed very large to the Indian woman), Laska had been induced to surrender certain papers proving that the old mistress of “The Towers” at Tarry dale was undoubtedly Olive’s grandmother. Though the news had come as an entire surprise to Olive, her grandmother was not so wholly unprepared for the revelation. For it seemed that Mrs. Harmon had known of the existence of a young girl, the daughter of her first cousin, who was being taken care of by an Indian woman somewhere in the state of Wyoming. On meeting Olive at the Rainbow Ranch the summer before and learning of her extraordinary history she had wondered if the girl could have any connection with her own family. Although she had not really believed this possible, knowing that Olive had come as a student to Primrose Hall, she had confided the girl’s story to her aunt and Olive’s first visit to “The Towers” had been of great interest to both women. However, Madame Van Mater’s first survey of Olive had set her mind at rest. This girl, whom Donald believed to resemble his mother, was to her mind wholly unlike her; neither could she catch the faintest resemblance to her son, who had been supposed to be like his cousin, Mrs. Harmon. Then Olive’s quiet beauty and refined appearance had also satisfied Madame Van Mater that this girl could not be her granddaughter, for she believed that Olive’s mother had been of too humble an origin to have had so lovely a daughter. Besides, did not old Laska continue to receive the allowance sent her each month for her granddaughter’s care?
In a few lines at the close of Miss Winthrop’s letter of explanation to Ruth she added the only apology that could ever be made for Madame Van Mater’s behavior. The proud old woman had not understood how ignorant this Indian woman Laska was, nor had she dreamed that Olive was being brought up as an Indian. She had simply told the woman to continue as Olive’s servant until such time as the girl should reach the age of twenty-one, when she intended settling a certain sum of money upon her. She had not wished that this child of her son’s should suffer, only that she should not be troubled with her nor compelled to recognize her as her heiress and the bearer of her name.
By and by, however, both Olive and Miss Winthrop grew weary of their long letter writing and Olive, coming across the room, placed herself on a low stool near her companion, resting her chin on her hands in a fashion she had when interested. Both women talked of her father; they could recall his reading aloud to them hour after hour and Olive believed that she must have learned by rote Washington Irving’s description of Sleepy Hollow valley when she was only a tiny girl and that her first look out of her father’s bedroom window had suddenly brought the lines back to her recollection.
Till a little before midnight there were questions to be asked and answered between the two friends, but just as the old year was dying with the twelve strokes of the clock in the hall, Olive said good night. She was half way out the door when she turned back again and Miss Winthrop could see by the color in her cheeks that there was still another question she wished to ask.