The Ranch Girls and Their Great Adventure Part 6

Frieda, of course, had stayed long enough in England on other visits to understand that poachers are more or less frequent. She thought perhaps the noise she had heard was a man in hiding, who had been hunting and feared she might report him. The fact that it was summer time, when hunting was infrequent, made no impression upon her.

[Ill.u.s.tration: IN A FEW MOMENTS SHE WAS IN A PANIC]

At first, however, she was not seriously frightened, although she concluded to hurry back to Kent House as quickly as possible.

But when she started back through the woods, whoever it was in hiding evidently attempted to follow her. The faster she walked, the faster the footsteps came on behind.

However, Frieda did not turn her head to discover her pursuer. She had been nervous and worried all day, or she might not have become so alarmed. Instead of looking back she continued hurrying on faster and faster until, in a few moments, she was in a panic. Then she started to run and to her horror realized that a man was also running with long, easy strides behind her.

Frieda was totally unaccustomed to looking after herself in any emergency, and had never been compelled to do so--even in small adversities. Now she had a sudden impulse to call out for someone, but had only sufficient breath to increase her speed. If she could get a little nearer the house, one of the servants could be sure to come to her a.s.sistance.

But Frieda had run only a few yards when, as a perfectly natural result of her panic, she tripped over some roots hidden in the underbrush and fell forward with her face amid the leaves and twigs and with one leg crumpled under her.

She must have struck her chin for she felt a dull pain and a queer numbness in her side. However, when she tried to disentangle herself and jump up quickly the pain became more acute. Nevertheless, for one instant Frieda struggled and then lay still, for her pursuer had already reached her and was bending over her, for what purpose Frieda did not know.

Then she heard a slow, inexpressibly familiar voice say:

"I am afraid I have frightened you, my dear. I do trust you have not injured yourself." Then a pair of strong, gentle hands attempted to lift her.

Naturally, Frieda's first sensation was one of amazement; the second, relief; and the third, anger.

She managed, however, with a.s.sistance to sit in an upright position.

Then she began brus.h.i.+ng off the twigs and dirt which she felt had been ground into her face. Finally she recovered sufficient breath and self control to be able to speak.

"Henry Russell!" she exclaimed, trying to reveal both dignity and disdain, in spite of her ridiculous position, "will you please tell me why you are hiding in Frank's woods like a thief, and why, when I refused to see you, you terrified the life out of me by chasing me until I nearly killed myself. I think, at least, I have broken my leg," she ended petulantly.

Professor Henry Tilford Russell flushed all over his fair, scholarly face. Taking off his soft grey hat, he ran his hand over the top of his head, where the hair was already beginning to grow thin.

"My dear Frieda, you do me an injustice," he began, "although I know my actions do appear as you have just stated them. The truth is I found myself unable to go away at once from Kent House. I am not fond of London. I dreaded the loneliness there; also I longed for a sight of you to know for myself that you were well. So I wandered about through the grounds at some distance from the house and finally entered these woods.

When you came into them alone and so unexpectedly, it seemed as if I must speak to you. I started toward you and you ran. I did not think my pursuit would alarm you. It was one of the many things, Frieda, I should have understood and did not."

In spite of the fact that the fault of the present situation was undoubtedly Professor Russell's, there was an unconscious dignity and graciousness about him as he made his apology, which Frieda recognized was undoubtedly lacking both in her appearance and emotions. She felt extremely cross and her leg hurt. She could not go up to the house a.s.sisted by a husband whom she had just scornfully refused to see, and yet she did not believe she could walk alone.

"Very well, Henry; now that you have accomplished your purpose, I hope you will be good enough to leave me," Frieda demanded, believing that she would rather suffer anything than a continuance of her present humiliation.

But Professor Russell did not stir.

"I prefer to see you safely through the woods. When we are nearer the house I may be able to find someone to take my place."

Professor Russell then leaned over and lifted Frieda to her feet. As a result she found that her leg was not broken or sprained, but only bruised, and that walking was possible if she moved slowly.

However, Frieda suffered considerable pain and she was not accustomed to bodily discomfort. At first she tried not to rest her weight upon the Professor's arm, for he had put his arm under hers and was attempting to support her almost entirely. But, by and by, as the pain grew worse, she found herself growing more dependent and, as a matter of fact, her dependence seemed perfectly natural. Once it occurred to her that, during her first acquaintance with Professor Russell, he had been hurt and in more ways than one had leaned upon her. No one ever had asked any kind of care from her before, and in those days she had at least thought that she had fallen in love with the Professor. At least she had insisted upon marrying him, when her entire family had opposed the union.

There was no conversation between the husband and wife, except that several times Professor Russell, without waiting to be asked, stopped for Frieda to rest.

Then, by and by, when they had reached the edge of the woods, he saw one of the men servants at a little distance off and signalled to him.

"There are many things I would like to talk over with you, Frieda, but this is not the time. Neither do I want you to think I meant to take an unfair advantage of you by forcing myself upon you without your knowledge. I think I scarcely realized myself just what I was doing. I am sorry you felt compelled to run away from home because we sometimes quarreled. I do not know just how much I was in the wrong at those times, but I fear you were not happy with me or you would not have let the fact that we differed about a good many things have made you wish to leave me. Please remember, Frieda, if there is ever a time when you wish to talk matters over with me, I shall be glad to come to you. I will not come again unless you summon me."

Then, as the man servant had by this time reached them, Professor Russell gave Frieda into the man's charge.

The next instant, bowing to her as if he had been a stranger, he turned and started in the opposite direction.

Frieda did not remember whether she even said good-bye. She did think, however, that she would have liked to have reminded Henry to hold his shoulders straighter. Really he was not so old--only something over thirty. He seemed to have been one of the persons born old, caring always more for books than people--more for study than an active life.

Frieda actually felt a little sorry for him. Always she must have been a disturbing influence in his life. Perhaps in his way he had been good to her, or at least had intended to be. She wished that she had told him to go back home because she could write to him there, or in case she ever wished to see him, she could also go home. She intended to go to the Rainbow ranch in the autumn.

CHAPTER VI

THE CLOUD

THE next weeks in July were extraordinarily beautiful ones in England.

The summer was warmer than usual and the sun shone with greater radiance. The English country was hauntingly lovely and serene.

In spite of Frieda's trouble, the three Ranch girls enjoyed one another, as they had had no opportunity of doing since Jack's marriage and coming abroad to live.

There were long walks and rides and exchanges of visits with their country neighbors. Now and then Lady Kent and Olive went up to London for a few days of the theatre and the last part of the social season.

They were Lord Kent's guests in the Ladies' Gallery in the House of Parliament and drank tea on the wonderful old balcony that overlooks the Thames river. But Frieda preferred not to accompany them.

London was never more filled with tourists, the greater number Americans intending to leave later for the continent.

But so far as Professor Russell was concerned, no word had been heard from him since his unceremonious meeting with his wife. However, he had sent his banker's address to Lord Kent, saying that all mail would be forwarded to him from there. Then he appeared to have dropped completely out of sight for, in spite of his brother-in-law's effort toward friendliness, he had not called upon him a second time.

In discussing the matter between themselves, Jack and Frank decided that this was possibly the best arrangement for the present. Frieda had never mentioned her unexpected discovery of her husband; nor did she ever voluntarily refer to her married life. Therefore, whatever was going on inside her mind, no one had any knowledge of it. As is often the case with women and girls of Frieda's temperament, she was better able to keep her own counsel than the women who are supposed to be strong minded and who are more apt to be frank.

So far as Jack was concerned she had never reopened with Frank the question of her rides with Captain MacDonnell, because the latter had been away and he had not asked her to ride since his return.

However, neither of these facts were so important as the feeling Jack had, that no propitious moment had arrived for a second discussion of the subject with her husband. She did not intend to defy him, but to make him see that he had no right to be so arbitrary and--more than that--so domineering. This had been Jack's usual method in any difference of opinion between herself and Frank, or in any unlikeness between the American and English point of view concerning marriage. As a matter of fact, more than half the time Jack had been successful.

But, during the past few weeks she had seen that Frank was worried and unlike himself--that his attention was engaged on matters which were not personal. For if the weather and the climate appeared serene in these particular July weeks in England the state of English politics was not.

For the country was being hara.s.sed by the questions of Home Rule for Ireland and by the Militant Suffrage movement.

The Suffrage question was one which Lord and Lady Kent had agreed not to discuss with each other. To Jack, who had been brought up in Wyoming--the first of the Suffrage states in the United States--and who had seen the success of it there, the fact that the English nation held the idea of women voting in such abhorrence and with such narrow mindedness, was more a matter of surprise than anything else. The fact that her husband, who had also lived for a short time in Wyoming, should also oppose woman's suffrage was beyond her comprehension, except that Frank had the Englishman's love for the established order and disliked any change. Jack would not confess to herself that he also had the Englishman's idea that a woman should be subservient to her husband and that he should be master of his own house. To give women the freedom, which the ballot would bring, might be to allow them an independence in which the larger majority of the men of the British Isles did not then believe. Neither did they realize--nor did the suffragists themselves--how near their women were to being able to prove their fitness.

One Sat.u.r.day afternoon at the close of July, Captain MacDonnell invited Jack and Olive and Frieda and a number of his other neighbors and friends to tea at his place. He had no near relatives, and when he was in Kent county lived alone, except for his housekeeper and servants, in an odd little house, perhaps a century old, which had been left him by his guardian.

The girls drove over together in a pony carriage, usually devoted to Jack's children. But at the gate they gave it into the charge of a boy in order that they might walk up to the house, which was of a kind found only in England.

The house was built of rough plaster which the years had toned to a soft grey. Captain MacDonnell had the good taste to allow the roof with its deep overhanging eaves to remain thatched as it had been in early days.

The building was small and one walked up to the front door through two long rows of hollyhocks. On either side of the hollyhock sentinels the earth was a thick carpet of flowers, and the little house seemed to rise out of its own flower beds.

There were no steps leading to the front door except a single one, so the visitor entered directly into the hall which divided the downstairs.

On the left side was a long room with a raftered ceiling and high narrow windows, and on the right Captain MacDonnell's den--a small room littered with a young soldier's belongings. Beyond were the dining room and kitchen and upstairs four bedrooms. As the house was so small Captain MacDonnell had turned his great, old-fas.h.i.+oned barn into extra quarters for guests. Between the house and the flower beds and the barn was an open s.p.a.ce of green lawn with an occasional tree, and beyond was a tennis court. The place was tiny and simple compared to Kent House and yet had great charm.

Jack and Olive and Frieda arrived before the other guests. They soon discovered that Mrs. Naxie--Captain MacDonnell's housekeeper--had arranged to serve tea in his living room.