“You must always do as your mother wish,” she said softly. And at this continued evidence of her sweetness, the mother’s last regret vanished. Going to the door she called the others. “Come in, girls, congratulations are in order. I wish to announce the engagement of my son, Blythe Van Dorn, to Miss Lolita Garcia.” She could not have chosen a moment more fortunate if she had wished the matter quickly to be noised abroad, for Hannah Maria had seen Laura riding by, had stopped and had learned of the disaster. So, gathering together her most notable remedies, she started forth at once, appearing in her dun-colored costume just in time to hear the announcement. “Well, now,” she exclaimed, “ain’t I lucky? I started out to nurse the sick and I git in jest in time for a love story. Ain’t it jest my good luck? My, my! I certainly am glad I come.” She beamed happily on Blythe, offered him her snuffy fingers, and kissed Lolita with expansive affection. “It’s wonderful,” she said, “how love gits its way. I reckon that’s for why the Marster made rattlers,” for Mrs. Van Dorn had not hesitated to confess that she had attempted the rôle of cruel parent and that she had failed in the face of Lolita’s lovely behavior. “I’ll jest hev to hurry back an’ tell Bud,” Hannah Maria went on. “Come over soon, gals, an’ you bring Loliter, Blythe. You hear me, gals, your time’s a-comin’. Jest look how love is a workin’ out. Thar’s John and Laury, and Lou and Iry, and now these two. Jest keep on a-lookin’ fur your Mr. Right, Allie; he’s comin’ along. An’ you, too, Tina, don’t give up a-hopin’. Folks has come back after twenty year.” And she rode away on her old white mule, enveloped in an atmosphere of romance. CHAPTER XIX THE RETURN OF SIR ARTEGALL Spring had expanded into summer, the magnolias had given place to gaudier blooms, and still came no word from Alison’s knight. She had kept the secret of his quest well, but because of his long absence and the continued silence Christine began to fear that he, like many another, had been ready to love and ride away, and she noted the sober moods of her sister with the sympathy born of her own experience. Christine was listless, this hot summer weather, her usual alertness of manner had left her, and there were days when she rested a great deal, when a sharp headache would send her to a darkened room’s seclusion and quiet. It was one of these times when Alison left her sister to procure possible sleep, and stole softly down-stairs. The day’s greatest heat was over, for the sun had set. Alison walked slowly down the path to the gate and stood there looking westward. Many, many times had she turned her eyes in that direction to see but the waving grass of the prairie against a line of cloudless sky. This evening the west was gorgeous with piled up masses of purple and red. Along the horizon a flaming yellow burned. “It is like a fire,” thought Alison, “a fiery furnace.”