Was she--could she be--the same
Rilla Blythe who had danced at Four Winds Light six days ago--only six
days ago? It seemed to Rilla that she had lived as much in those six
days as in all her previous life--and if it be true that we should count
time by heart-throbs she had. That evening, with its hopes and fears and
triumphs and humiliations, seemed like ancient history now. Could she
really ever have cried just because she had been forgotten and had to
walk home with Mary Vance? Ah, thought Rilla sadly, how trivial and
absurd such a cause of tears now appeared to her. She could cry now with
a right good will--but she would not--she must not. What was it mother
had said, looking, with her white lips and stricken eyes, as Rilla had
never seen her mother look before,
"When our women fail in courage,
Shall our men be fearless still?"
Yes, that was it. She must be brave--like mother--and Nan--and Faith
--Faith, who had cried with flashing eyes, "Oh, if I were only a man, to
go too!" Only, when her eyes ached and her throat burned like this she
had to hide herself in Rainbow Valley for a little, just to think things
out and remember that she wasn't a child any longer--she was grown-up
and women had to face things like this. But it was--nice--to get away
alone now and then, where nobody could see her and where she needn't
feel that people thought her a little coward if some tears came in spite
of her.
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