“O father! my ever dear father! how thankful I am you did not live to realize all this. How thankful that your proud head has not been bowed with shame such knowledge would have brought you,”—and as these thoughts seemed to give new strength her own head would be uplifted, while a look of pride could be read in that high-bred face.
CHAPTER XXIX.
The events recorded in the last chapter had for a while caused to be forced into the background the desire in Imelda’s heart to become acquainted with the sisters of Wilbur. The affair with Frank was of a nature so unpleasant that the remembrance of it seemed to crush out all youth and life in the proud sensitive heart, but as time is wont to heal all wounds so also did the effect of that dark night’s occurrence gradually vanish. As the days and weeks went by on the ceaseless wings of time Imelda again became interested in what was going on around her.
Toward evening of a sunny day in August when Alice had been feeling better, brighter and stronger than usual she expressed the desire for a drive. Accordingly the carriage was ordered. Both little girls, sweet as snowy blossoms, in fresh white dresses, looking dainty and charming as two little fairies, were lifted upon one of the seats, their lively spirits keeping busy the hands and mind of their young governess. Alice leaned languidly back among the cushions and let her eyes rest alternately upon the glowing landscape and upon the two restless little elves. As it had been quite a while since they had the pleasure of driving with their pretty mamma it was really a treat for the little ones—this driving past pretty gardens filled with gorgeous flowers and trees laden with ripening fruit. Soon they were passing through the more thronged streets when suddenly,—no one knew just how it happened but some boys were playing in the streets. Either in their play or because they had been quarreling among themselves a stone was thrown. Then followed a plunge and a rear of one of the horses, a piercing scream from the inmates of the carriage, and then horses and carriage went plunging down one of the busiest streets—the flying figure of a woman as she hastened to get out of the way—a horrified cry at her having been run down—the figure of a man standing in the path of the runaways, a firm hand grasping the reins of the beasts as with an effort almost superhuman they were brought to a standstill. Snorting, trembling, restive, it was no easy matter to hold them, but the young man with the almost boyish face was equal to the task. A crowd soon gathered around. The carriage door was opened and the frightened ladies and children lifted therefrom. Alice could scarcely keep upon her feet. Just then it was remarked that someone had been run over and injured,—a young girl, someone else added. At hearing this Alice would have fallen had not Imelda caught the swaying figure in her arms.
“Oh,” she cried, “I hope she is not killed or seriously injured. We must find out who she is and how badly she has been hurt, and—oh, wait! Where is the young man who so bravely rescued us, periling his own life to save ours. Where is he? Who is he?”
Upon looking round they found that he was still holding the horses, patting and coaxing them, speaking to them as if they were intelligent beings, while the driver was also busy trying to pacify them. Upon request someone spoke to the young stranger, telling him that the ladies whom he had just rescued wished to speak to him. A comic grimace for a moment distorted the handsome face, then a merry smile played about the ripe red lips, then quickly stepping to the sidewalk, he dropped his hat and bowing asked if he could be of any further service. As he stood with uncovered head awaiting the pleasure of the ladies a sensation flashed through Imelda’s mind that somewhere she had seen this face before. The poise of the head, a trick of the hand, even the very smile playing about the lips seemed familiar, but she found it impossible to place the resemblance. Alice in the old impulsive manner held out both small white hands to him.
“You will permit me to thank you, will you not, for the service you have done us today? But for your bravery we might all have been killed.” The boyish face dimpled all over with sunny smiles, as he tossed the fair hair from the heated and damp brow.
“I beg your pardon lady, but I think almost anyone would have done as much. It was not so wonderful a thing for me to do. I am used to the handling of horses, it was only a spicy adventure, that is all, and if I thereby was of any important service, why, I am only too glad, I can assure you.”
“But will you not give us your name? I want to know to whom I am indebted.”
During all this time Imelda was studying the youthful face of this stalwart young stranger. Where had she seen that face, or one like it? Meta was clinging to her skirts, her great dark eyes staring at the handsome boy, for he really was little more than that. Little Norma was clinging to her mother and was still sobbing in childish fright. Ignoring the question of the young mother the young man laid his hand upon the head of the sobbing little one, which action hushed the sobs, while she lifted her blue eyes in wonderment to the smiling face.