Helen perceiving it, rises to the occasion; and, as oft before, in turn becomes the comforter; their happiness and misery like scales vibrating on the beam.
“Don’t cry so, Jess. Be a good girl, now. You’re a little simpleton, and I a big one. ’Twas very wrong of me to say what I did. Be it forgotten, and let’s hope we may yet both be happy.”
“Oh, if I could but think that!”
“Think it, then. You are happy, and I—shall try to be. Who knows what time may do—that and Texas? Now, my little Niobe, dry up your tears. Mine are all gone, and I feel in first rate spirits. I do indeed.”
She is not sincere in what she says, and but counterfeits cheerfulness to restore that of her sister.
She has well-nigh succeeded, when a third personage appears upon the scene, causing a sudden change in their thoughts, turning these into a new and very different channel.
He whose appearance produces such effect—for it is a man—seems wholly unconscious of the influence he has exerted; indeed, is so.
When first observed, he is coming down the central walk; which, though wide, is partially shadowed by trees. And in their shadow he keeps, clinging to it, as if desirous to shun observation. His step declares it; not bold this, nor regardless, but skulking, with tread catlike; while every now and then he casts a backward glance, as if in fear of some one being behind. Just that which hinders him from seeing those who are in front.
The girls are still standing together, with hands joined—luckily on one of the side-walks, and like himself in shadow—though very near to having separated, and one, at least, rushing out into the light at first sound of his footstep. For to Jessie it gave joy, supposing it that of her Luis. Naturally expecting him to join her, she was almost sure of its being he.
Only for an instant. The tread was too light for a man marching with honest intent, and the step too shuffling to be that of the young planter. So whispered Helen.