“If you will do me the honor to enter—all of you!” and Armitage came out quickly and smiled upon them.
“We had started off to look for Dick when we met your man,” said Shirley, standing on the steps, rein in hand.
“What has happened, and how was Armitage injured?” demanded Judge Claiborne.
“There was a battle,” replied Dick, grinning, “and Mr. Armitage got in the way of a bullet.”
Her ride through the keen morning air had flooded Shirley’s cheeks with color. She wore a dark blue skirt and a mackintosh with the collar turned up about her neck, and a red scarf at her throat matched the band of her soft felt hat. She drew off her gauntlets and felt in her pocket for a handkerchief with which to brush some splashes of mud that had dried on her cheek, and the action was so feminine, and marked so abrupt a transition from the strange business of the night and morning, that Armitage and Dick laughed and Judge Claiborne turned upon them frowningly.
Shirley had been awake much of the night. On returning from the ball at the inn she found Dick still absent, and when at six o’clock he had not returned she called her father and they had set off together for the hills, toward which, the stablemen reported, Dick had ridden. They had met Oscar just outside the Springs, and had returned to the hotel for Baron von Marhof. Having performed her office as guide and satisfied herself that Dick was safe, she felt her conscience eased, and could see no reason why she should not ride home and leave the men to their council. Armitage saw her turn to her horse, whose nose was exploring her mackintosh pockets, and he stepped quickly toward her.
“You see, Miss Claiborne, your brother is quite safe, but I very much hope you will not run away. There are some things to be explained which it is only fair you should hear.”
“Wait, Shirley, and we will all go down together,” said Judge Claiborne reluctantly.
Baron von Marhof, very handsome and distinguished, but mud-splashed, had tied his horse to a post in the driveway, and stood on the veranda steps, his hat in his hand, staring, a look of bewilderment on his face. Armitage, bareheaded, still in his riding leggings, his trousers splashed with mud, his left arm sleeveless and supported by a handkerchief swung from his neck, shook hands with Judge Claiborne.
“Baron von Marhof, allow me to present Mr. Armitage,” said Dick, and Armitage walked to the steps and bowed. The Ambassador did not offer his hand.