Of a sudden Mrs. Rickards started up in bed. For one moment she severely eyed the girl’s laughing face. Then her anger died out, and she dropped back on the pillow.
“For the moment I thought you meant it,” she said.
“And so I do,” was the girl’s swift retort. “But there,” as a horrified exclamation came from the bed, “he won’t ask me, auntie,” the girl went on, with a dash of angry impatience in her voice, “so you needn’t worry. Seth has a sense of honor which I call quixotic, and one that might reasonably shame the impecunious fortune-hunters I’ve met since I have 247 lived in England. No, I’m afraid if I were to marry Seth it wouldn’t be his doing.”
“This Seth said you were a savage—and he’s right.”
With this parting shot Mrs. Rickards turned over, and, a moment later, was comfortably asleep, as her heavy breathing indicated. Rosebud remained a long time at the dressing-table, but her hair didn’t trouble her. Her head was bowed on her arms, and she was quietly weeping. Nor could she have explained her tears. They were the result of a blending of both joy and sorrow. Joy at returning to the farm and at finding Seth on the highroad to recovery; and sorrow—who shall attempt to probe the depths of this maiden’s heart?
The day following Rosebud’s return was a momentous one. True to her impulsive character the girl, unknown to anybody, saddled her own mare and rode off on a visit to Wanaha. Seth was away from the farm, or he would probably have stopped her. Rube knew nothing of her going, and Ma had her time too much occupied with Mrs. Rickards and her maid to attend to anything but her household duties. So Rosebud was left to her own devices, which, as might have been expected, led her to do the one thing least desirable.
Wanaha was overjoyed at the girl’s return. The good Indian woman had experienced a very real sense of loss, when, without even a farewell, Rosebud suddenly departed from their midst. Added to 248 this Wanaha had had a pretty bad time with her husband after the affair in the river woods. Abnormally shrewd where all others were concerned, she was utterly blind in her husband’s favor. His temper suddenly soured with Rosebud’s going, and the loyal wife suffered in consequence. Yet she failed to appreciate the significance of the change.
There was no suspicion in her mind of the manner in which she had foiled his plans, or even of the nature of them. The attempt to kidnap the white girl she put down to the enterprise of her brother’s fierce, lawless nature, and as having nothing whatever to do with her husband. In fact she still believed it was of that very danger which Nevil had wanted to warn Rosebud.
Now, when the girl suddenly burst in upon her, Wanaha was overjoyed, for she thought she had surely left the prairie world forever. They spent the best part of the morning together. Then Nevil came in for his dinner. When he beheld the girl, fair and deliciously fresh in her old prairie habit, sitting on the bed in the hut, a wave of devilish joy swept over him. He already knew that she had returned to the farm—how, it would have been impossible to say—but that she should still come to his shack seemed incredible.
Evidently Seth had held his tongue. Though he wondered a little uneasily at the reason, he was quick to see his advantage and the possibilities opening before him. He had passed from the stage when he 249 was content to avail himself of chance opportunities. Now he would seek them—he would make opportunities.