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<h2>108CHAPTER XIV</h2> The big touring car skirted the edge of the town, avoiding as usual the narrower streets, and turning as soon as possible into a wide, elm-bordered avenue. “We have to climb to reach Hilcrest,” called Frank over his shoulder, as the car began a steep ascent. “Then you must have a view as a reward,” rejoined Margaret. “We do,” declared Mrs. Merideth,—“but not here,” she laughed, as the car plunged into the depths of a miniature forest. It was a silent drive, in the main. The man in front had the car to guide. The two women in the tonneau dropped an occasional word, but for the most part their eyes were fixed on bird or flower, or on the shifting gleams of sunlight through the trees. The very fact that there was no constraint in this silence argued well for the place the orphan girl had already found in the hearts of her two companions. 109 Not until the top of the hill was reached, and the car swung around the broad curve of the driveway, did the full beauty of the panorama before her burst on Margaret’s eyes. She gave a low cry of delight. “Oh, how beautiful—how wonderfully, wonderfully beautiful!” she exclaimed. Her eyes were on the silver sheen of the river trailing along the green velvet of the valley far below—she had turned her back on the red-roofed town with its smoking chimneys. The sun was just setting when a little later she walked across the lawn to where a rustic seat marked the abrupt descent of the hill. Far below the river turned sharply. On the left it flowed through a cañon of many-windowed walls, and under a pall of smoke. On the right it washed the shores of flowering meadows, and mirrored the sunset sky in its depths. So absorbed was Margaret in the beauty of the scene that she did not notice the figure of a man coming up the winding path at her left. Even Ned Spencer himself did not see the girl until he was almost upon her. Then he stopped short, his lips breaking into a noiseless “Well, by Jove!” 110 A twig snapped under his foot at his next step, and the girl turned. “Oh, it’s you,” she said absorbedly. “I couldn’t wait. I came right out to see it,” she finished, her eyes once more on the valley below. The brothers, at first glance, looked wonderfully alike, and Margaret had unhesitatingly taken Ned to be Frank. Ned did not speak. He, too, like his sister an hour before, had fallen under the spell of a pair of wondrous blue eyes. “It seems to me,” said the girl, slowly, “that nothing in the world would ever trouble me if I had that to look at.” “It seems so to me, too,” agreed Ned—but he was not looking at the view. The girl turned sharply. She gave a little cry of dismay. The embarrassed red flew to her cheeks. “Oh, you—you are not Uncle Frank at all!” she stammered. A sudden light of comprehension broke over Ned’s face. And so this was Margaret. How stupid of him not to have known at once! He laughed lightly and made a low bow. 111 “I have not that honor,” he confessed. “But you—you must be Miss Kendall.” “And you?” “I?” Ned smiled quizzically. “I? Oh, I am—your Uncle Ned!” he announced; and his voice and his emphasis told her that he fully appreciated his privilege in being twenty-five—and uncle to a niece of twenty-three. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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