Hope Hathaway Part 15

"I've had my supper,--a nice one, too,--and that's what I came for, Syd, dear," said the girl. "And if I may, I will come again, until you and dear old Jim both get tired of me."

"_Get tired_--fiddlesticks!" exclaimed McCullen, while Sydney laughed a little, and left the tent to saddle her horse. The breed boy followed him; then Livingston, too, was about to leave when McCullen stopped him.

"Just stay in here by the fire and talk to Hopie till we get your horses," he said, abruptly leaving them together.

The girl drew nearer the stove.

"It's quite chilly out this evening," she remarked.

"That is the beauty of the nights in this northern country," he replied, coming near to her.

"Why, we're alone," she observed. "I wonder where William went!"

"I didn't notice his disappearance," he replied. "But we are alone--together. Are you not frightened?"

"Frightened? No!" she said softly. "Why?"

"A senseless remark. Do not notice it--or anything, I beg of you. I am quite too happy to weigh my words."

"Then you have proved the cook's theory correct; providing you have eaten--sufficiently," she replied. They both smiled, and darts of light from the stove played about their faces.

"Will you allow me--this night--to ride home with you?" he asked, watching the fantastic shadows upon her face and catching gleams of her deep eyes as they occasionally sought his own.

She hesitated a moment before replying.

"You think me a strange girl," she said. "I wonder what you will think of me now if I refuse this."

"I think nothing except that you are the sweetest girl I have ever known--and the _n.o.blest_. I thank my Maker for having met you, and spoken with you, and sat here in the firelight beside you! Your ways are your own. I shall not--cannot question you, or impose myself upon you.

Our lives, it seems, lie far apart. But I cannot help it--the words burn themselves out--I love you, _Hope_--I love you! Forgive me!" He raised her hand to his lips and left her standing alone in the firelight.

"He loves me," she thought, far into the quiet hours of the night. "He loves me, and yet he ran away from me!"

CHAPTER XIV

Late one afternoon during the following week Livingston drove up to Harris' ranch and helped from his buggy a small, fair-haired girl who looked with wonderment at the squalid log buildings, the squealing, scurrying pigs and children, and the usual group of roughly dressed men waiting for their supper. The pain in her eyes deepened, and she clasped Livingston's arm like a frightened child.

"_O_, _mein Freund_, I fear!" she cried, drawing back.

"Come," he urged gently. "There is nothing to fear. You must trust me, for I am indeed your friend, little girl. We will find the one who is expecting you--who will love you and be a sister to you."

A look of trustful obedience came into her sweet blue eyes, now disfigured by much weeping, and without hesitation she walked beside him past the group of rough-looking men, dirty, barefooted children, scurrying pigs and dogs, to the kitchen door.

An Indian woman with a baby in her arms stood in the shadow of the room and motioned them to enter.

"Is Miss Hathaway here?" inquired Livingston.

At the sound of his voice the door of an inner room opened and Hope, her slender form gowned as he had first seen her, came quickly across the untidy room toward them.

"I am Hope," she said to the girl, taking both of her soft little hands in her own and looking in wonder at the childish face with its setting of wavy gold hair. Suddenly the broken-hearted girl was in her arms sobbing out her grief upon her shoulder. Hope led her to a seat, removed her hat and coat, and uttered words of endearment to her, soothing her as she would have done a child.

Could this impulsive, loving girl be Hope, wondered Livingston, who still stood in the doorway. She smoothed back the bright hair from the pretty, childish face, exclaiming:

"How beautiful you are! And what a little thing to have such a grief!

Oh, it is cruel, _cruel_! Cry, dear, cry all you want to--it will do you good, and the pain will sooner be gone."

"_O, Gott im Himmel_," sobbed the German girl, "_gieb mir Muth es zu ertragen!_"

"But you are, oh, so much braver than I. Look at me, see what a great, big strong thing I am, and _I_ moaned and cried because the world wasn't made to my liking! Oh, it makes me _ashamed_ now, when I see such a little, frail thing as you suffer such a real sorrow! But I am your friend--your sister, if you will have me."

"How goot you are, _meine liebe Freundin_!" sobbed the girl.

"May you never have reason to change your opinion," replied Hope slowly, in German.

"She speaks my language!" exclaimed the German girl, with something like hopefulness in her voice.

"But very poorly," apologized Hope, looking for the first time at the man standing quietly in the doorway.

"It will comfort her that you speak it at all," he replied. "But without any language you would still be a comfort to her. I will leave her in your hands, Miss Hathaway. She has had a long journey and--must be very tired." He bowed and turned to go, but, recollecting something, came back into the room. "I am going now," he said to the German girl, "but I will come to see you often. You need have no fear when you are with--Hope."

Hope turned to him impulsively.

"You will do as you say," she begged. "You will come often to see her."

Then added, "You know she'll be terribly lonely at first!"

"It will give me great pleasure, if I may," he replied.

She held out her hand to him.

"If you _may_! Are you not master of your own actions? Good-by!"

She took her hand from his firm clasp with something like a jerk, and found herself blus.h.i.+ng furiously as she turned to the little German girl.

As far as anyone could be made comfortable in the Harris home Hope made her little charge so. She shared her room, her bed with her, took her to school each day and kept her constantly at her side.

She was a simple, trusting German girl, bright, and extremely pretty, and her name was Louisa Schulte. From the first she had loved Hope with an affection that was as touching as it was beautiful, and as she came to know her better, day by day her love and admiration grew akin to wors.h.i.+p. She believed her to be the most wonderful girl that ever lived, in some respects fairly superhuman. She marveled at the skill with which she could ride and shoot, and her wisdom in Western lore. And behind every accomplishment, every word and act, Louisa read her heart, which no one before had ever known.

So finding in the bereaved girl, who had so strangely come into her life, the sympathy and love for which she had vainly searched in one of her own s.e.x, Hope gave her in return the true wealth of a sister's heart.

For some time after Louisa's arrival Hope was with her almost constantly, but the inactive life began to tell upon her. Her eyes would light up with an involuntary longing at the sight of the breed boys racing over the hills upon their ponies.

"Why don't you go?" asked the German girl, one morning, reading her friend with observant eyes as the boys started out for a holiday.

It was a beautiful warm Sat.u.r.day morning. The two girls were sitting on a pile of logs by the side of the road sunning themselves, far enough away from the Harris house and its surroundings to enjoy the beauty of a perfect day.