The Award of Justice; Or, Told in the Rockies: A Pen Picture of the West. Barbour Anna Maynard
annoyance on his usually immobile face.
“Bookkeeper for the mining company!” he exclaimed, “are you sure you are correct?”
“I can only quote for my authority the Honorable J. O. Blaisdell,” she replied archly, “you surely wouldn’t doubt his word under any circumstances, would you? You look surprised; did you consider Mr. Houston one of the ‘lilies’?”
Jack looked at her inquiringly.
“One of the ‘lilies’ like Mr. Rutherford,” she explained, “who ‘toil not neither do they spin,’ I supposed him one at first, but I think differently now; I believe he would always be a worker of some kind, whether it were necessary or not; at the same time I don’t believe it is exactly necessary for him to be a bookkeeper.”
“You seem to have made a study of him,” remarked Jack, quietly.
“Of course,” answered Lyle, “what else are my eyes and my small stock of brains for, but to study everybody and everything that comes in my way? Besides, it’s rather interesting to find a person of some depth, after such shallow people as Mr. Blaisdell and Haight, and that class.”
“Sometimes, Lyle,” said Jack, slowly, “these deep people make a dangerous study; they are likely to become too interesting.”
“Never you fear for me, Jack,” said the girl, with considerable spirit, but kindly, “I know too well how the world would look upon old Jim Maverick’s daughter, to carry my heart on my sleeve.”
Both were silent for a moment, Jack watching her face intently. Mike had left the room. Lyle continued, in a gentler tone,
“Mr. Houston is a perfect gentleman; he would make a safe study for me, even if I didn’t realize my position. He reminds me of you, Jack, in some ways.”
“Of me!” said Jack sarcastically, “your Mr. Houston would doubtless feel nattered at being compared to a weather-beaten miner.”
“You were not always a miner,” retorted Lyle quickly, “and you are a gentleman, and always will be.”
“In your opinion, child,” said Jack pleasantly; then turning the subject, he asked, “What do you think of the ‘lily’ as you styled him, Mr. Rutherford, I think you called his name?”
“Oh, he is a gentlemanly fellow, not so ridiculous as he looks; good-hearted, but not deep like the other,–not half so interesting to study.”
“Very well,” replied Jack, “go on with your ‘study,’ but I wish you would make a little more of a study of yourself and of your own life,” and as he spoke, he carelessly took up a magazine and began turning the pages.
“I don’t know why,” answered Lyle slowly, at the same time going over to the table where she had caught sight of a photograph which had evidently been concealed by the magazine, “my life before you became my friend and teacher would not make an interesting study for any one.–Oh, Jack, whose picture is this? and when did you get it?”
“That?” said Jack, answering indifferently, but watching her face keenly, “Oh, that is a picture I’ve had a great while.”
“But, Jack, I never saw it, did I?”
“No, Lyle, I haven’t seen it myself for years, until to-night.”
“Not for years? how strange!” said Lyle in a low tone; then looking wistfully at the picture, she said, half to herself, “She must have been some one you loved some time.”
“She was very dear to me,” he replied, so quietly that Lyle said nothing, but remained looking long and earnestly at the photograph. It was the picture of a young girl, a few years older than herself, but much more matured, and wondrously beautiful. The features were almost perfect, and the eyes, even there, seemed so radiant and tender. There seemed a wealth of love and sympathy in those eyes that touched Lyle’s lonely heart, and her own eyes filled with tears, while she gazed as if under a spell; then she asked in a sort of bewildered tone:
“Jack, I never saw her, did I?”
“Certainly not while you have been here,” he replied, “I cannot say whom you may have seen before that.”
“Before I came here,” repeated Lyle dreamily, laying down the picture and preparing to go, “that is a sort of blank for the most part. It seems as though this hateful life had obliterated everything before it; the early years of my life seem buried out of sight.”
“Try to resurrect them,” said Jack, adding, “Keep your eyes and ears open, and let me know results. Had I not better go home with you?”
“Oh, no, thank you,” said Lyle, smiling brightly, “it isn’t late.”
“Then Rex must go,” and Rex who was only waiting for the word bounded to the door to signify his readiness.
After Lyle had gone, Jack took the picture, and after looking at it sadly for a moment, replaced it in the little case in his trunk where it had lain so long, and then sat down by the fire, muttering, “Strange she did not see the resemblance! I hoped she would; there could not be two faces more alike.”
All the way home, Lyle was thinking of the beautiful face, wondering where she had seen it, that it should seem so familiar, and after dismissing Rex with a caress, she sat for some time in the low porch, trying to solve the mystery.
“It is no use,” she said to herself at length, “it is no face I have ever seen, unless in some of those strange dreams I used to have.”
Going into the house, she found her parents had retired. Rutherford sat in his room reading, waiting for Houston, who was working late that night, Mr. Blaisdell having gone back to the city for a day or two. Miss Gladden was writing in her room, but Lyle would not disturb her, and going quietly to her own little room, she was soon sleeping peacefully, and the beautiful face was for a time forgotten.
CHAPTER X
The next morning was several degrees colder, and there were indications of a snow-storm. Within doors, the atmosphere betokened a coming storm, as old Jim Maverick was several degrees more quarrelsome and ugly-tempered than usual. He glared sullenly at Lyle, as she stepped quietly about the kitchen, preparing the early breakfast that he and the boys took before starting for their work.
Finally he growled, “What was you doin’ out so late last night? Pretty time ’twas when you come in, where’d you been?”
Lyle seemed to take no notice of his questions for a moment, then replied, without a glance at him:
“I was not out late; I went out for a walk early in the evening, and came back early, but I staid out on the porch.”
“Oh,” he replied with a sneer, “so you was settin’ out there waitin’ for the new clerk to come home, wasn’t you?”
“I didn’t even know he was out of the house,” said Lyle, indifferent to his sneers, so long as he did not mistrust where she had really spent the evening.
“Oh, no, of course not! I understand you pretty well, and don’t you forgit it, always puttin’ on your damned airs round here, too nice for any of your own folks; I’d like to see you made a fool of by some of the dudes you’re so stuck on.”
“You never will have that pleasure,” replied Lyle, coolly, “I know too well the opinion that people have of you and your family, to ever be in any danger of being made a fool of.”
Old Jim’s face grew livid with rage, and he clenched his hand with an oath, but hearing some of the boarders coming in to breakfast in the next room, he only hissed, with a terrible leer:
“Never mind, even if you are my child, with that doll-face o’ yourn, you might rope in that rich young feller for a few thousands.”
Lyle staggered under the insult as if she had received a blow, and pale and trembling, went into the next room to wait on the guests. She was relieved to see that Rutherford was not there; she felt she could not have faced him while those words of her father’s were ringing in her ears. There was only Mr. Houston,