Ranching For Sylvia Volume-554, Harold Bindloss [ink book reader .txt] 📗

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It Was Evening Of Early Summer.  George Lansing Sat By A Window Of The

Library At Brantholme.  The House Belonged To His Cousin; And George,

Having Lately Reached It After Traveling In Haste From Norway, Awaited

The Coming Of Mrs. Sylvia Marston In An Eagerly Expectant Mood.  It Was

Characteristic Of Him That His Expression Conveyed Little Hint Of His

Feelings, For George Was A Quiet, Self-Contained Man; But He Had Not

Been So Troubled By Confused Emotions Since Sylvia Married Marston

Three Years Earlier.  Marston Had Taken Her To Canada; But Now He Was

Dead, And Sylvia, Returning To England, Had Summoned George, Who Had

Been Appointed Executor Of Her Husband's Will.

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Outside, Beyond The Broad Sweep Of Lawn, The Quiet English Countryside

Lay Bathed In The Evening Light: A River Gleaming In The Foreground,

Woods Clothed In Freshest Verdure, And Rugged Hills Running Back

Through Gradations Of Softening Color Into The Distance.  Inside, A Ray

Of Sunlight Stretched Across The Polished Floor, And Gleams Of

Brightness Rested On The Rows Of Books And Somber Paneling.  Brantholme

Was Old, But Modern Art Had Added Comfort And Toned Down Its Austerity;

And George, Fresh From The Northern Snow Peaks, Was Conscious Of Its

Restful Atmosphere.

 

In The Meanwhile, He Was Listening For A Footstep.  Sylvia, He Had Been

Told, Would Be With Him In Two Or Three Minutes; He Had Already Been

Expecting Her For A Quarter Of An Hour.  This, However, Did Not

Surprise Him: Sylvia Was Rarely Punctual, And Until She Married

Marston, He Had Been Accustomed To Await Her Pleasure.

 

She Came At Length, Clad In A Thin Black Dress That Fitted Her

Perfectly; And He Rose And Stood Looking At Her While His Heart Beat

Fast.  Sylvia Was Slight Of Figure, But Curiously Graceful, And Her

Normal Expression Was One Of Innocent Candor.  The Somber Garments

Emphasized The Colorless Purity Of Her Complexion; Her Hair Was Fair,

And She Had Large, Pathetic Blue Eyes.  Her Beauty Was Somehow

Heightened By A Hint Of Fragility: In Her Widow's Dress She Looked Very

Forlorn And Helpless; And The Man Yearned To Comfort And Protect Her.

It Did Not Strike Him That She Had Stood For Some Moments Enduring His

Compassionate Scrutiny With Exemplary Patience.

 

"It's So Nice To See You, George," She Said.  "I Knew You Would Come."

 

He Thrilled At The Assurance; But He Was Not An Effusive Person.  He

Brought A Chair For Her.

 

"I Started As Soon As I Got Your Note," He Answered Simply.  "I'm Glad

You're Back Again."

 

He Did Not Think It Worth While To Mention That He Had With Difficulty

Crossed A Snow-Barred Pass In Order To Save Time, And Had Left A

Companion, Who Resented His Desertion, In The Wilds; But Sylvia Guessed

That He Had Spared No Effort, And She Answered Him With A Smile.

 

"Your Welcome's Worth Having, Because It's Sincere."

 

Those Who Understood Sylvia Best Occasionally Said That When She Was

Unusually Gracious It Was A Sign That She Wanted Something; But George

Would Have Denied This With Indignation.

 

"If It Wouldn't Be Too Painful, You Might Tell Me A Little About Your

Stay In Canada," He Said By And By.  "You Never Wrote, And"--He

Hesitated--"I Heard Only Once From Dick."

 

Dick Was Her Dead Husband's Name, And She Sat Silent A Few Moments

Musing, And Glancing Unobtrusively At George.  He Had Not Changed Much

Since She Last Saw Him, On Her Wedding-Day, Though He Looked A Little

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Older, And Rather More Serious.  There Were Faint Signs Of Weariness

Which She Did Not Remember In His Sunburned Face.  On The Whole,

However, It Was A Reposeful Face, With Something In It That Suggested A

Steadfast Disposition.  His Gray Eyes Met One Calmly And Directly; His

Brown Hair Was Short And Stiff; The Set Of His Lips And The Contour Of

His Jaw Were Firm.  George Had Entered On His Thirtieth Year.  Though

He Was Strongly Made, His Appearance Was In No Way Striking, And It Was

Seldom That His Conversation Was Characterized By Brilliancy.  But His

Friends Trusted Him.

 

"It's Difficult To Speak Of," Sylvia Began.  "When, Soon After Our

Wedding, Dick Lost Most Of His Money, And Said That We Must Go To

Canada, I Felt Almost Crushed; But I Thought He Was Right."  She Paused

And Glanced At George.  "He Told Me What You Wished To Do, And I'm Glad

That, Generous As You Are, He Wouldn't Hear Of It."

 

George Looked Embarrassed.

 

"I Felt His Refusal A Little," He Said.  "I Could Have Spared The

Money, And I Was A Friend Of His."

 

He Had Proved A Staunch Friend, Though He Had Been Hardly Tried.  For

Several Years He Had Been Sylvia's Devoted Servant, And An Admirer Of

The More Accomplished Marston.  When The Girl Chose The Latter It Was A

Cruel Blow To George, For He Had Never Regarded His Comrade As A

Possible Rival; But After A Few Weeks Of Passionate Bitterness, He Had

Quietly Acquiesced.  He Had Endeavored To Blame Neither; Though There

Were Some Who Did Not Hold Sylvia Guiltless.  George Was, As She Well

Knew, Her Faithful Servant Still; And This Was Largely Why She Meant To

Tell Him Her Tragic Story.

 

"Well," She Said, "When I First Went Out To The Prairie, I Was Almost

Appalled.  Everything Was So Crude And Barbarous--But You Know The

Country."

 

George Merely Nodded.  He Had Spent A Few Years In A Wheat-Growing

Settlement, Inhabited By Well-Bred Young Englishmen.  The Colony,

However, Was Not Conducted On Economic Lines; And When It Came To

Grief, George, Having Come Into Some Property On The Death Of A

Relative, Returned To England.

 

"Still," Continued Sylvia, "I Tried To Be Content, And Blamed Myself

When I Found It Difficult.  There Was Always So Much To Do--Cooking,

Washing, Baking--One Could Seldom Get Any Help.  I Often Felt Worn Out

And Longed To Lie Down And Sleep."

 

"I Can Understand That," Said George, With Grave Sympathy.  "It's A

Very Hard Country For A Woman."

 

He Was Troubled By The Thought Of What She Must Have Borne For It Was

Difficult To Imagine Sylvia Engaged In Laborious Domestic Toil.  It Had

Never Occurred To Him That Her Delicate Appearance Was Deceptive.

 

"Dick," She Went On, "Was Out At Work All Day; There Was Nobody To Talk

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To--Our Nearest Neighbor Lived Some Miles Off.  I Think Now That Dick

Was Hardly Strong Enough For His Task.  He Got Restless And Moody After

He Lost His First Crop By Frost.  During That Long, Cruel Winter We

Were Both Unhappy: I Never Think Without A Shudder Of The Bitter Nights

We Spent Sitting Beside The Stove, Silent And Anxious About The Future.

But We Persevered; The Next Harvest Was Good, And We Were Brighter When

Winter Set In.  I Shall Always Be Glad Of That In View Of What Came

After."  She Paused, And Added In A Lower Voice:

 

"You Heard, Of Course?"

 

"Very Little; I Was Away.  It Was A Heavy Blow."

 

"I Couldn't Write Much," Explained Sylvia.  "Even Now, I Can Hardly

Talk Of It--But You Were A Dear Friend Of Dick's.  We Had To Burn Wood;

The Nearest Bluff Where It Could Be Cut Was Several Miles Away; And

Dick Didn't Keep A Hired Man Through The Winter.  It Was Often Very

Cold, And I Got Frightened When He Drove Off If There Was Any Wind.  It

Was Trying To Wait In The Quiet House, Wondering If He Could Stand The

Exposure.  Then One Day Something Kept Him So That He Couldn't Start

For The Bluff Until Noon; And Near Dusk The Wind Got Up And The Snow

Began To Fall.  It Got Thicker, And I Could Not Sit Still.  I Went Out

Now And Then And Called, And Was Driven Back, Almost Frozen, By The

Storm.  I Could Scarcely See The Lights A Few Yards Away; The House

Shook.  The Memory Of That Awful Night Will Haunt Me All My Life!"

 

She Broke Off With A Shiver, And George Looked Very Compassionate.

 

"I Think," He Said Gently, "You Had Better Not Go On." "Ah!" Replied

Sylvia, "I Must Grapple With The Horror And Not Yield To It; With The

Future To Be Faced, I Can't Be A Coward.  At Last I Heard The Team And

Opened The Door.  The Snow Was Blinding, But I Could Dimly See The

Horses Standing In It.  I Called, But Dick Didn't Answer, And I Ran Out

And Found Him Lying Upon The Load Of Logs.  He Was Very Still, And Made

No Sign, But I Reached Up And Shook Him--I Couldn't Believe The

Dreadful Thing.  I Think I Screamed; The Team Started Suddenly, And

Dick Fell At My Feet.  Then The Truth Was Clear To Me."

 

A Half-Choked Sob Broke From Her, But She Went On.

 

"I Couldn't Move Him; I Must Have Gone Nearly Mad, For I Tried To Run

To Peterson's, Three Miles Away.  The Snow Blinded Me, And I Came Back

Again; And By And By Another Team Arrived.  Peterson Had Got Lost

Driving Home From The Settlement.  After That, I Can't Remember

Anything; I'm Thankful It Is So--I Couldn't Bear It!"

 

Then There Was Silence For A Few Moments Until George Rose And Gently

Laid His Hand On Her Shoulder.

 

"My Sympathy's Not Worth Much, Sylvia, But It's Yours," He Said.  "Can

I Help In Any Practical Way?"

 

Growing Calmer, She Glanced Up At Him With Tearful Eyes.

 

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