It must have been about eleven o'clock next morning when Serviss rode up and dismounted at the Lambert gate, and in the flaming light of mid-day the sense of mystification, the feeling that the girl was in the coils of some invisible menace, had entirely vanished. The preacher had sunk to the rôle of a conceited clerical ass who regarded science as an enemy to his especial theories and the visible universe as an outlying province of Calvinism; while Viola, who came to the door, was again most humanly charming, delighting his eyes like the morning.
She smiled blithely and spoke collectedly, in response to his greeting; but when he asked her to be his guide to the wonders of the region her face clouded in dismay.
"Oh, I'm sorry; I wish I could; but I must carry a message up to my father at the mine."
"Very well, why not take me? I infer you go on horseback?"
She hesitated. "Yes, but it's a long, hard ride--and you said you were tired of the saddle."
"I was yesterday; but I feel quite rested now. By all means let me accompany you. I should particularly enjoy mounting high to-day. I should also like to meet your father."
"Very well, I will speak to mother," she replied, with shining face, and disappeared within.
The mother, mindful of Serviss's connection with a great university, made no objection to the plan. On the contrary, she was pleased and flattered by his interest in her daughter, and a few moments later the young people rode off up the mountain road side by side and in high spirits.
Serviss winced at times at the childish flatness of Viola's comment, but her voice was musical and her face flower-like--therefore he forgave her. With all his knowledge of the constitution of matter, he was still young and in the mating mood.
They talked of the flowers, of the trails, of the birds to be found on the heights for a time; but soon, inevitably, they came to talk of themselves. Under his questioning she outlined her plans for a musical education, and this led at last to a consideration of the Reverend Mr. Clarke.
At the first mention of his name the girl's face distinctly darkened and her answers became curiously studied, almost evasive--or so it seemed to Serviss.
"Yes, I play in his church," she said, "and he teaches me. He is a splendid musician--don't you think so? I owe a great deal to him. He has helped me so much--especially in my phrasing. He is a wonderful man. We are fortunate in having him with us."