At the Time Appointed | Page 3

of distant billowy ranges, their summits white with perpetual snow. The
train had now reached a higher altitude, and breezes redolent of pine
and fir fanned his throbbing brow, their fragrance thronging his mind
with memories of other and far-distant scenes, until gradually the bold
outlines of cliff and crag grew dim, and in their place appeared a cool,
dark forest through which flecks of golden sunlight sifted down upon
the moss-grown, flower-strewn earth; a stream singing beneath the
pines, then rippling onward through meadows of waving green; a
wide-spreading house of colonial build half hidden by giant trees and
clinging rose-vines, and, framed among the roses, a face, strong, tender,
sweet, crowned with silvered hair--one of the few which sorrow makes
beautiful--which came nearer and nearer, bending over him with a
mother's blessing; and then he slept.

The face of the sleeper, with its clear-cut, well-moulded features,
formed a pleasing study, reminding one of a bit of unfinished carving,
the strong, bold lines of which reveal the noble design of the
sculptor--the thing of wondrous beauty yet to be--but which still lacks
the finer strokes, the final touch requisite to bring it to perfection.
Strength of character was indicated there; an indomitable will that
would bend the most adverse conditions to serve its own masterful
purpose and make of obstacles the paving-stones to success; a mind
gifted with keen perceptive faculties, but which hitherto had dealt
mostly with externals and knew little of itself or of its own powers.
Young, with splendid health and superabundant vitality, there had been
little opportunity for introspection or for the play of the finer, subtler
faculties; and of the whole gamut of susceptibilities, ranging from
exquisite suffering to ecstatic joy, few had been even awakened. His
was a nature capable of producing the divinest harmonies or the wildest
discords, according to the hand that swept the strings as yet untouched.
For more than an hour Darrell slept. He was awakened by the murmur
of voices near him, confused at first, but growing more distinct as he
gradually recalled his surroundings, until, catching the name of
"Parkinson," he was instantly on the alert.
"Yes," a pleasant voice was saying, "I understand the Ajax is for sale if
the owners can get their price, but they don't want less than a cold
million for it, and it's my opinion they'll find buyers rather scarce at
that figure when it comes to a show down."
"Well, I don't know; that depends," was the reply. "The price won't
stand in the way with my people, if the mine is all right. They can hand
over a million--or two, for that matter--as easily as a thousand, if the
property is what they want, but they've got to know what they're buying.
That's what I'm out here for."
Taking a quiet survey of the situation, Darrell found that the section
opposite his own--which, upon his return from the dining-car, had
contained only a motley collection of coats and grips--was now
occupied by a party of three, two of whom were engaged in animated
conversation. One of the speakers, who sat facing Darrell, was a young

man of about two-and-twenty, whose self-assurance and assumption of
worldly wisdom, combined with a boyish impetuosity, he found vastly
amusing, while at the same time his frank, ingenuous eyes and winning
smile of genuine friendliness, revealing a nature as unsuspecting and
confiding as a child's, appealed to him strangely and drew him
irresistibly towards the young stranger. The other speaker, whom
Darrell surmised to be Parkinson, was considerably older and was
seated facing the younger man, hence his back was towards Darrell;
while the third member of the party, and by far the eldest, of whose
face Darrell had a perfect profile view, although saying little, seemed
an interested listener.
The man whom Darrell supposed to be Parkinson inquired the quickest
way of reaching the Ajax mine.
"Well, you see it's this way," replied the young fellow. "The Ajax is on
a spur that runs out from the main line at Ophir, and the train only runs
between there and Ophir twice a week, Wednesdays and Saturdays.
Let's see, this is Wednesday; we'll get into Ophir to-morrow, and you'll
have to wait over until Saturday, unless you hire a rig to take you out
there, and that's pretty expensive and an awfully rough jaunt besides."
"I don't mind the expense," retorted the other, "but I don't know as I
care to go on any jaunts over your mountain roads when there's no
special necessity for it; I can get exercise enough without that."
"I tell you what, Mr. Parkinson," said the young fellow, cordially, "you
and your friend here, Mr. Hunter,"--Darrell started at the mention of the
latter name,--"had better wait over till Saturday, and in