She dropped the horseshoe at her feet, and, pressing her hands to her eyes as if to shut out a sight that was unwelcome, she ran the remaining distance to the door, pulled herself into her saddle and rode quickly away.
She did not come back, as some might have done, to view the havoc she had wrought. She did not know even that she had wrought havoc; but three hours later, faithful, dumb, little Smiler found the man he so much adored lying on a pile of horseshoes, breathing scarcely at all, and strangely huddled.
That was the day that big, happy Sol Hanson came back to bear his share of the load––and, for the week that followed, he had to bear all of it, for Phil’s overtaxed brain refused to awaken for seventy-two hours and his overworked body declined to limber up for seventy-two hours more.
On the morning of Phil’s return to the smithy, at a moment when Sol’s back was turned, the little perfumed note––which had brought the message from Fairyland––was dropped on the glowing furnace fire and thrust with an iron deep into the red coals.
With it, Phil fancied he was thrusting the little fairy dream, and he felt ever so glad of it. But he did not know, foolish man, that the fires have never been kindled that can burn dreams from Fairyland; that nothing can keep them from whispering back, at unexpected moments, and beckoning to the dreamer through 208 the flames; ay, even through the cold, grey, dead ashes, when these are all that remain of the dancing passion-fires that have revelled and rioted themselves to exhaustion and oblivion.
On the evening of the reception at John Royce Pederstone’s, Phil failed to land home from work at his usual time, and, as the hour drew near when they should be leaving, Jim Langford worried himself not a little, for he knew that Phil had received an invitation––the same as he had done––and he had noticed also how happy his friend had seemed over it. Of course, of the recognition at the smithy between Eileen and Phil he knew nothing, and even if he had known he would not have understood, for, so far, he had not even guessed at Phil’s previous history nor at the connection there was between Phil and Graham Brenchfield.
Before going up to Pederstone’s, Jim called at the smithy, but found the place closed up for the night. He hurried along to Sol Hanson’s little home, but the lovebirds there could tell him no more than that Phil had quit work at the accustomed hour, that Smiler was also a truant; which made it possible that the two had gone off together on some boyish adventure. There was nothing left for Jim to do after that but to go to Royce Pederstone’s alone, in the hope that Phil would be there or would show up later.
Everyone in Vernock of any importance was at the reception, in the company of his wife or sweetheart; but there was no sign of Phil. And the hours wore quickly on without his appearing.
Eileen––bright, blushing, buoyant and busy––found time to corner Jim.
“What has happened to Mr. Ralston? I––I thought he would be sure to be here.”