Ladies Must Live | Page 9

and with this object she always made
the process look as difficult and dangerous as possible at the very
beginning.
She looked back at him and smiled with irritating calm.
"I shall be just as long as is necessary," she replied, and so saying, she
turned, or rather attempted to turn, the key.
But disuse, or cold, or her own lack of strength prevented and she was
presently reduced to asking Riatt to help her. He did not volunteer his
assistance. She had definitely and directly to ask for it. Then he was
friendliness itself.
"Just stand by the horse's head, will you?" he said, and when he saw her
stationed there, he sprang out, and with an almost insulting ease opened
the door.

Just as he did so, however, a gust of wind, fiercer than any other, swept
round the corner of the house and carried away Christine's hat. She
made a quick gesture to catch it, and as she did so, struck the horse
under the chin. The animal reared, and Christine jumped aside to avoid
being struck by its hoofs; the next instant, it had thrown its head in the
air, and started at full speed down the road, dragging the empty sleigh
after it. Riatt, who had his back turned, did not see the beginning of the
incident, but a cry from Christine soon roused his attention, and he
started in pursuit, calling to the animal to stop, in the hope that the
human voice might succeed when all other methods were quite
obviously useless. But the horse, now thoroughly excited by the
hanging reins, the bells, and the sense of its own power, went only
faster and faster, and finally disappeared at full speed.
Riatt came slowly back; he was sinking in the snow to his waist at
every step. Christine was watching him with some anxiety.
"Is there a telephone in the house?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"No, it's disconnected when we leave in the autumn."
There was a moment's silence, then she said questioningly: "What shall
we do?"
"There's only one thing we can do," he returned; "go into the house and
light a fire."
But Christine hesitated.
"I don't think it will be wise to waste time doing that," she said, "if you
have to go back on foot to the Usshers'--"
"Go back on foot!" Riatt interrupted. "My dear Miss Fenimer, that is
quite impossible. It must be every inch of ten miles, it's dark, a blizzard
is blowing, I don't know the way, and we haven't passed a house."

"But, but," said she, "suppose they don't rescue us to-night?"
"They probably will to-morrow," answered Riatt, and he walked past
her into the house.

CHAPTER II
Christine was glad to get out of the wind, but the damp chill of the
deserted house was not much of an improvement. Ahead of her in the
darkness, she could hear Riatt snapping electric switches which
produced nothing.
"Isn't the light connected?" he called.
"I don't know."
"Aren't there lamps in the house?"
"I don't know."
"Where could I find some candles?"
"What a tiresome man!" she thought; and for the third time she
answered: "I don't know."
A rather unappreciative grunt was his only reply, and then he called
back: "You'd better stay where you are, till I find something to make a
light."
She asked nothing better. She was oppressed with a sense of crisis. An
inner voice seemed to be saying, in parody of Charles Francis Adams's
historic words: "I need hardly point out to your ladyship that this means
marriage."
She had thought, lightly enough, that everything was settled the
evening before on the stairs when she had made up her mind that he
would do. But with all her belief in herself, she was not unaware even

then that unforeseen obstacles might arise. He might be secretly
engaged for all she knew to the contrary. But now she felt quite sure of
him. With Fate playing into her hands like this--with romance and
adventure and the possibilities of an uninterrupted tête-à-tête, she knew
she could have him if she wanted him. And the point was that she did.
At least she supposed she did. She felt as many a young man feels
when he lands his first job--triumphant, but conscious of lost freedoms.
Marriage, she knew, was the only possible solution of her problems.
Her life with her father was barely possible. As a matter of fact they
were but rarely together. The tiny apartment in New York did not
attract Fred Fenimer as a winter residence, when he had an opportunity
of going to Aiken or Florida or California at the expense of some more
fortunate friend. In summer it was much the same. "My dear," he would