Early on the morning of the third day after Mr. Britton's arrival at
camp he and Darrell set forth for The Pines. But little snow had fallen
within the last two days, and the trip was made without much difficulty,
though progress was slow. Late in the day, as they neared The Pines, the
clouds, which for hours had been more or less broken, suddenly
dispersed, and the setting sun sank in a flood of gold and crimson light
which gave promise of glorious weather for the morrow.
Arriving at the house, they found it filled with guests invited to the
wedding from different parts of the State, the rooms resounding with
light badinage and laughter, the very atmosphere charged with excitement
as messengers came and went and servants hurried to and fro, busied with
preparations for the following day.
Kate herself hastened forward to meet them, a trifle pale, but calm and
wearing the faint, inscrutable smile which of late was becoming habitual
with her. At sight of Darrell and his friend, however, her face lighted
with the old-time, sunny smile and her cheeks flushed with pleasure. She
bestowed upon Mr. Britton the same affectionate greeting with which she
had been accustomed to meet him since her childhood's days. He was
visibly affected, and though he returned her greeting, kissing her on
brow and cheek, he was unable to speak. Her color deepened and her eyes
grew luminous as she turned to welcome Darrell, but she only said,-"I am inexpressibly glad that you came. It will be good to feel there is
one amid all the crowd who knows."
"He knows also, Kathie," Darrell replied, in low tones, indicating Mr.
Britton with a slight motion of his head.
"Does he know all?" she asked, quickly.
"Yes; I thought you could have no objection."
"No," she answered, after a brief pause; "I am glad that it is so."
There was no opportunity for further speech, as Mr. Underwood came
forward to welcome his old friend and Darrell, and they were hurried off
to their rooms to prepare for dinner.
Mr. Underwood was not a man to do things by halves, and the elaborate
but informal dinner to which he and his guests sat down was all that
could be desired as a gastronomic success. He himself, despite his
brusque manners, was a genial host, and Walcott speedily ingratiated
himself into the favor of the guests by his quiet, unobtrusive
attentions, his punctilious courtesy to each and all alike.
Darrell and his friend felt ill at ease and out of place amid the gayety
that filled the house that evening, and at an early hour they retired to
their rooms.
"It is awful!" Darrell exclaimed, as they stood for a moment together at
the door of his room listening to the sounds of merriment from below;
"it is all so hollow, such a mockery; it seems like dancing over a
hidden sepulchre!"