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Page 5
"The kitchen!" echoed Mrs. Rylands.
"Yes, ma'am, I showed him into the parlor, but he kinder shivered
his shoulders, and reckoned ez how he'd go inter the kitchen. Ye
see, ma'am, he was all wet, and his shiny big boots was sloppy.
But he ain't one o' the stuck-up kind, and he's willin' to make
hisself cowf'ble before the kitchen stove."
"Well, then, he don't want ME," said Mrs. Rylands, with a relieved
voice.
"Yes'm," said Jane, apparently equally relieved. "Only, I thought
I'd just tell you."
A few minutes later, in crossing the upper hall, Mrs. Rylands heard
Jane's voice from the kitchen raised in rustic laughter. Had she
been satirically inclined, she might have understood Jane's
willingness to relieve her mistress of the duty of entertaining the
stranger; had she been philosophical, she might have considered the
girl's dreary, monotonous life at the rancho, and made allowance
for her joy at this rare interruption of it. But I fear that Mrs.
Rylands was neither satirical nor philosophical, and presently,
when Jane reentered, with color in her alkaline face, and light in
her huckleberry eyes, and said she was going over to the cattle-
sheds in the "far pasture," to see if the hired man didn't know of
some horse that could be got for the stranger, Mrs. Rylands felt a
little bitterness in the thought that the girl would have scarcely
volunteered to go all that distance in the rain for HER. Yet, in a
few moments she forgot all about it, and even the presence of her
guest in the house, and in one of her fitful abstracted employments
passed through the dining-room into the kitchen, and had opened the
door with an "Oh, Jane!" before she remembered her absence.
The kitchen, lit by a single candle, could be only partly seen by
her as she stood with her hand on the lock, although she herself
was plainly visible. There was a pause, and then a quiet, self-
possessed, yet amused, voice answered:--
"My name isn't Jane, and if you're the lady of the house, I reckon
yours wasn't ALWAYS Rylands."
At the sound of the voice Mrs. Rylands threw the door wide open,
and as her eyes fell upon the speaker--her unknown guest--she
recoiled with a little cry, and a white, startled face. Yet the
stranger was young and handsome, dressed with a scrupulousness and
elegance which even the stress of travel had not deranged, and he
was looking at her with a smile of recognition, mingled with that
careless audacity and self-possession which seemed to be the
characteristic of his face.
"Jack Hamlin!" she gasped.
"That's me, all the time," he responded easily, "and YOU'RE Nell
Montgomery!"
"How did you know I was here? Who told you?" she said impetuously.
"Nobody! never was so surprised in my life! When you opened that
door just now you might have knocked me down with a feather." Yet
he spoke lazily, with an amused face, and looked at her without
changing his position.
"But you MUST have known SOMETHING! It was no mere accident," she
went on vehemently, glancing around the room.
"That's where you slip up, Nell," said Hamlin imperturbably. "It
WAS an accident and a bad one. My horse lamed himself coming down
the grade. I sighted the nearest shanty, where I thought I might
get another horse. It happened to be this." For the first time he
changed his attitude, and leaned back contemplatively in his chair.
She came towards him quickly. "You didn't use to lie, Jack," she
said hesitatingly.
"Couldn't afford it in my business,--and can't now," said Jack
cheerfully. "But," he added curiously, as if recognizing something
in his companion's agitation, and lifting his brown lashes to her,
the window, and the ceiling, "what's all this about? What's your
little game here?"
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