It was now nearly the first of August and the hot sun on the paved streets made him recall the cool-looking rice paddies and the river that had flowed so near the camp. Sickening memories came back, and some sorrow; he remembered dying faces and the clinging of chilly hands. He hurried through the city without even a visit to his club and therefore he heard nothing. The calm of midsummer had settled on the place and he saw no one he knew, except at the War Department, and there he received his promotion. Afterwards, he went over to the White House and the President himself spoke a few words to him, so full of appreciation and kindness that John blushed like a girl. When he was finally through with this ordeal, for it was an ordeal to him, he walked down Pennsylvania Avenue, where even the gay chatter of people about him sounded cheerful and homelike. He walked on, unaware that many glanced curiously at the tall, soldierly figure, the bronzed face, the straight-looking, blue eyes. He was not handsome, but he was distinguished looking, with that crisp blond hair that seldom shows a streak of white until the approach of extreme old age. People thought him absorbed and happy, but, in reality, his spirit was traveling ahead of him, and it continued to journey ahead of the trolley which carried him the rest of the way.
He knew that Rachel was usually with the Astrys in July and August and he had started without hesitation for the Astry place. He had sent no word ahead of him; he longed to see the glad surprise in Rachel's eyes, for he knew that, in any case, she would be glad to see him, and her eyes were wonderful when she was pleased. Charter was quite unaware that they had a look for him that they had for no other in the world; but he was at peace with himself, no premonition stirred in his own heart, no shadow fell before him upon the perfect sunshine of the day. At last he would see Rachel! He believed in her; his large, simple nature centered itself on that one thing, his belief in her.
It was late afternoon when he got off at the end of the avenue and set off across country; purposely he walked, for it was no great distance now, and he could think. Besides, he loved the hedgerows where the wild carrot was riotously abloom and the wild grapevine was heavy with green fruit. He broke off a spray of wild flowers and pressed them against his face. It was good to be home again; down in that lane there used to be swamp magnolias; he looked across a golden field of rye and saw the deep blue of the Virginia hills; another bend of the road would bring him to a little wood below the Astry meadows. He climbed the stile and struck through the wood path. Ferns grew about his feet, the afternoon sunshine made glorious vistas between the tall trunks of pines and hemlocks. A solitary silver birch caught the light on its slender stem far ahead.
Below the wood, another path crossed the Astry estate; it led to the old tavern that belonged to Van Citters' aunt. John knew all about it; Pamela was his first cousin and she had written him a humorous account of Paul's architectural madness and his aunt's wrath. A grove of trees shielded its old gables from sight, but John felt its presence; he even thought he saw the highest chimney. He had come past the silver birch now; below him lay the meadow, and the path, diverging from his own, was fringed with a tall, plume-like growth of sumach. He descended the slope, crossed the stream on the old stepping-stones, and looked up. On the further bank stood Rachel.
She had seen him coming and had had that brief interval to recover her self-control. Of course he knew, Pamela must have told him, and it would be soon over; he would say something conventional, she had only to play her part. It was almost a relief to her to feel that Pamela must have given him all the details, but she was startled at the look on his face, the joy that flashed into his eyes when he saw her. It was disconcerting, but she held out her hand mechanically and made her trite little speech.
"I'm so glad to see you home again."
His speech was not quite so ready, but his hand closed warmly over hers and his eyes were eloquent. There was nothing wanting now in his world, with Rachel in it. The joy of seeing her again blinded him to the change in her, the shyness and constraint of her manner; he was occupied, instead, with the delicate oval of her face, the dusky hair, the clear, gray tint of her eyes. She had on a clinging, creamy gown and a wide-brimmed hat that shaded her forehead, and he took in every detail of the slender, graceful figure, holding her hand a good deal longer than even such an occasion warranted.
"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you!" he said finally, his eyes deeply kindled with happiness. "It seems a thousand years since I saw you last, but you're unchanged!"
Was it possible that Pamela had not told him? She withdrew her hand gently.
"Am I?" her lips trembled; "it's a long time, everything has happened."