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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mountain Girl, by Payne Erskine
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Mountain Girl
+
+Author: Payne Erskine
+
+Illustrator: J. Duncan Gleason
+
+Release Date: May 19, 2010 [EBook #32429]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOUNTAIN GIRL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Garcia, Martin Pettit and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE MOUNTAIN GIRL
+
+[Illustration: _"We will go home--to my home--just like this,
+together."_
+
+FRONTISPIECE. _See Page 311._]
+
+
+The Mountain Girl
+
+By PAYNE ERSKINE
+
+Author of "When the Gates Lift Up Their Heads."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. DUNCAN GLEASON
+
+A. L. BURT COMPANY
+PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1911, 1912, BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
+
+_All rights reserved._
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+CHAPTER                                                            PAGE
+
+     I. In which David Thryng arrives at Carew's Crossing             1
+
+    II. In which David Thryng experiences the Hospitality of
+          the Mountain People                                        10
+
+   III. In which Aunt Sally takes her Departure and meets Frale      25
+
+    IV. David spends his First Day at his Cabin, and Frale makes
+          his Confession                                             35
+
+     V. In which Cassandra goes to David with her Trouble, and
+          gives Frale her Promise                                    47
+
+    VI. In which David aids Frale to make his Escape                 59
+
+   VII. In which Frale goes down to Farington in his own Way         68
+
+  VIII. In which David Thryng makes a Discovery                      76
+
+    IX. In which David accompanies Cassandra on an Errand of Mercy   86
+
+     X. In which Cassandra and David visit the Home of Decatur
+          Irwin                                                      94
+
+    XI. In which Spring comes to the Mountains, and Cassandra
+          tells David of her Father                                 103
+
+   XII. In which Cassandra hears the Voices, and David leases
+          a Farm                                                    111
+
+  XIII. In which David discovers Cassandra's Trouble                120
+
+   XIV. In which David visits the Bishop, and Frale sees his Enemy  131
+
+    XV. In which Jerry Carew gives David his Views on Future
+          Punishment, and Little Hoyle pays him a Visit and is
+          made Happy                                                144
+
+   XVI. In which Frale returns and listens to the Complaints of
+          Decatur Irwin's Wife                                      152
+
+  XVII. In which David Thryng meets an Enemy                        164
+
+ XVIII. In which David Thryng Awakes                                172
+
+   XIX. In which David sends Hoke Belew on a Commission, and
+          Cassandra makes a Confession                              180
+
+    XX. In which the Bishop and his Wife pass an Eventful Day at
+          the Fall Place                                            189
+
+   XXI. In which the Summer Passes                                  198
+
+  XXII. In which David takes little Hoyle to Canada                 207
+
+ XXIII. In which Doctor Hoyle speaks his Mind                       212
+
+  XXIV. In which David Thryng has News from England                 218
+
+   XXV. In which David Thryng visits his Mother                     224
+
+  XXVI. In which David Thryng adjusts his Life to New Conditions    234
+
+ XXVII. In which the Old Doctor and Little Hoyle come back to
+          the Mountains                                             244
+
+XXVIII. In which Frale returns to the Mountains                     253
+
+  XXIX. In which Cassandra visits David Thryng's Ancestors          265
+
+   XXX. In which Cassandra goes to Queensderry and takes a Drive
+          in a Pony Carriage                                        276
+
+  XXXI. In which David and his Mother do not Agree                  288
+
+ XXXII. In which Cassandra brings the Heir of Daneshead Castle
+          back to her Hilltop, and the Shadow Lifts                 300
+
+
+
+
+THE MOUNTAIN GIRL
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG ARRIVES AT CAREW'S CROSSING
+
+
+The snow had ceased falling. No wind stirred among the trees that
+covered the hillsides, and every shrub, every leaf and twig, still bore
+its feathery, white load. Slowly the train labored upward, with two
+engines to take it the steepest part of the climb from the valley below.
+David Thryng gazed out into the quiet, white wilderness and was glad. He
+hoped Carew's Crossing was not beyond all this, where the ragged edge of
+civilization, out of which the toiling train had so lately lifted them,
+would begin again.
+
+He glanced from time to time at the young woman near the door who sat as
+the bishop had left her, one slight hand grasping the handle of her
+basket, and with an expression on her face as placid and fraught with
+mystery as the scene without. The train began to crawl more heavily,
+and, looking down, Thryng saw that they were crossing a trestle over a
+deep gorge before skirting the mountain on the other side. Suddenly it
+occurred to him that he might be carried beyond his station. He stopped
+the smiling young brakeman who was passing with his flag.
+
+"Let me know when we come to Carew's Crossing, will you?"
+
+"Next stop, suh. Are you foh there, suh?"
+
+"Yes. How soon?"
+
+"Half an houh mo', suh. I'll be back d'rectly and help you off, suh.
+It's a flag station. We don't stop there in winter 'thout we're called
+to, suh. Hotel's closed now."
+
+"Hotel? Is there a hotel?" Thryng's voice betokened dismay.
+
+"Yes, suh. It's a right gay little place in summah, suh." He passed on,
+and Thryng gathered his scattered effects. Ill and weary, he was glad
+to find his long journey so nearly at an end.
+
+On either side of the track, as far as eye could see, was a
+snow-whitened wilderness, seemingly untouched by the hand of man, and he
+felt as if he had been carried back two hundred years. The only hint
+that these fastnesses had been invaded by human beings was an occasional
+rough, deeply red wagon road, winding off among the hills.
+
+The long trestle crossed, the engines labored slowly upward for a time,
+then, turning a sharp curve, began to descend, tearing along the narrow
+track with a speed that caused the coaches to rock and sway; and thus
+they reached Carew's Crossing, dropping down to it like a rushing
+torrent.
+
+Immediately Thryng found himself deposited in the melting snow some
+distance from the station platform, and at the same instant, above the
+noise of the retreating train, he heard a cry: "Oh, suh, help him, help
+him! It's poor little Hoyle!" The girl whom he had watched, and about
+whom he had been wondering, flashed by him and caught at the bridle of a
+fractious colt, that was rearing and plunging near the corner of the
+station.
+
+"Poor little Hoyle! Help him, suh, help him!" she cried, clinging
+desperately, while the frantic animal swung her off her feet, close to
+the flying heels of the kicking mule at his side.
+
+Under the heavy vehicle to which the ill-assorted animals were attached,
+a child lay unconscious, and David sprang forward, his weakness
+forgotten in the demand for action. In an instant he had drawn the
+little chap from his perilous position and, seizing the mule, succeeded
+in backing him to his place. The cause of its fright having by this time
+disappeared, the colt became tractable and stood quivering and snorting,
+as David took the bridle from the girl's hand.
+
+"I'll quiet them now," he said, and she ran to the boy, who had
+recovered sufficiently to sit up and gaze in a dazed way about him. As
+she bent over him, murmuring soothing words, he threw his arms around
+her neck and burst into wild sobbing.
+
+"There, honey, there! No one is hurt. You are not, are you, honey son?"
+
+"I couldn't keep a holt of 'em," he sobbed.
+
+"You shouldn't have done it, honey. You should have let me get home as
+best I could." Her face was one which could express much, passive as it
+had been before. "Where was Frale?"
+
+"He took the othah ho'se and lit out. They was aftah him. They--"
+
+"S-sh. There, hush! You can stand now; try, Hoyle. You are a man now."
+
+The little fellow rose, and, perceiving Thryng for the first time,
+stepped shyly behind his sister. David noticed that he had a deformity
+which caused him to carry his head twisted stiffly to one side, and also
+that he had great, beautiful brown eyes, so like those of a hunted fawn
+as he turned them upon the stranger with wide appeal, that he seemed a
+veritable creature of the wilderness by which they were surrounded.
+
+Then the girl stepped forward and thanked him with voice and eyes; but
+he scarcely understood the words she said, as her tones trailed
+lingeringly over the vowels, and almost eliminated the "r," so lightly
+was it touched, while her accent fell utterly strange upon his English
+ear. She looked to the harness with practised eye, and then laid her
+hand beside Thryng's, on the bridle. It was a strong, shapely hand and
+wrist.
+
+"I can manage now," she said. "Hoyle, get my basket foh me."
+
+But Thryng suggested that she climb in and take the reins first,
+although the animals stood quietly enough now; the mule looked even
+dejected, with hanging head and forward-drooping ears.
+
+The girl spoke gently to the colt, stroking him along the side and
+murmuring to him in a cooing voice as she mounted to the high seat and
+gathered up the reins. Then the two beasts settled themselves to their
+places with a wontedness that assured Thryng they would be perfectly
+manageable under her hand.
+
+David turned to the child, relieved him of the basket, which was heavy
+with unusual weight, and would have lifted him up, but Hoyle eluded his
+grasp, and, scrambling over the wheel with catlike agility, slipped
+shyly into his place close to the girl's side. Then, with more than
+childlike thoughtfulness, the boy looked up into her face and said in a
+low voice:--
+
+"The gen'l'man's things is ovah yandah by the track, Cass. He cyant tote
+'em alone, I reckon. Whar is he goin'?"
+
+Then Thryng remembered himself and his needs. He looked at the line of
+track curving away up the mountain side in one direction, and in the
+other lost in a deep cut in the hills; at the steep red banks rising
+high on each side, arched over by leafy forest growth, with all the
+interlacing branches and smallest twigs bearing their delicate burden of
+white, feathery snow. He caught his breath as a sense of the strange,
+untamed beauty, marvellous and utterly lonely, struck upon him. Beyond
+the tracks, high up on the mountain slope, he thought he spied,
+well-nigh hid from sight by the pines, the gambrel roof of a large
+building--or was it a snow-covered rock?
+
+"Is that a house up there?" he asked, turning to the girl, who sat
+leaning forward and looking steadily down at him.
+
+"That is the hotel."
+
+"A road must lead to it, then. If I could get up there, I could send
+down for my things."
+
+"They is no one thar," piped the boy; and Thryng remembered the
+brakeman's words, and how he had rebelled at the thought of a hotel
+incongruously set amid this primeval beauty; but now he longed for the
+comfort of a warm room and tea at a hospitable table. He wished he had
+accepted the bishop's invitation. It was a predicament to be dropped in
+this wild spot, without a store, a cabin, or even a thread of blue smoke
+to be seen as indicating a human habitation, and no soul near save these
+two children.
+
+The sun was sinking toward the western hilltops, and a chillness began
+creeping about him as the shadows lengthened across the base of the
+mountain, leaving only the heights in the glowing light.
+
+"Really, you know, I can't say what I am to do. I'm a stranger here--"
+
+It seemed odd to him at the moment, but her face, framed in the huge
+sunbonnet,--a delicate flower set in a rough calyx,--suddenly lost all
+expression. She did not move nor open her lips. Thryng thought he
+detected a look of fear in the boy's eyes, as he crept closer to her.
+
+In a flash came to him the realization of the difficulty. His friend had
+told him of these people,--their occupations, their fear of the world
+outside and below their fastnesses, and how zealously they guarded their
+homes and their rights from outside intrusion, yet how hospitable and
+generous they were to all who could not be considered their hereditary
+enemies.
+
+He hastened to speak reassuring words, and, bethinking himself that she
+had called the boy Hoyle, he explained how one Adam Hoyle had sent him.
+
+"The doctor is my friend, you know. He built a cabin somewhere within a
+day's walk, he told me, of Carew's Crossing, on a mountain top. Maybe
+you knew him?"
+
+A slight smile crept about the girl's lips, and her eyes brightened.
+"Yes, suh, we-all know Doctah Hoyle."
+
+"I am to have the cabin--if I can find it--live there as he did, and see
+what your hills will do for me." He laughed a little as he spoke,
+deprecating his evident weakness, and, lifting his cap, wiped the cold
+moisture from his forehead.
+
+She noted his fatigue and hesitated. The boy's questioning eyes were
+fixed on her face, and she glanced down into them an answering look. Her
+lips parted, and her eyes glowed as she turned them again on David, but
+she spoke still in the same passive monotone.
+
+"Oh, yes. My little brothah was named foh him,--Adam Hoyle,--but we only
+call him Hoyle. It's a right long spell since the Doctah was heah. His
+cabin is right nigh us, a little highah up. Theah is no place wheah you
+could stop nighah than ouahs. Hoyle, jump out and help fetch his things
+ovah. You can put them in the back of the wagon, suh, and ride up with
+us. I have a sight of room foh them."
+
+The child was out and across the tracks in an instant, seizing a valise
+much too heavy for him, and Thryng cut his thanks short to go to his
+relief.
+
+"I kin tote it," said the boy shrilly.
+
+"No, no. I am the biggest, so I'll take the big ones. You bring the
+bundle with the strap around it--so. Now we shall get on, shan't we?
+But you are pretty strong for a little chap;" and the child's face
+radiated smiles at the praise.
+
+Then David tossed in valise and rug, without which last no Englishman
+ever goes on a journey, and with much effort they managed to pull the
+box along and hoist it also into the wagon, the body of which was filled
+with corn fodder, covered with an old patchwork quilt.
+
+The wagon was of the rudest, clumsiest construction, the heavy box set
+on axles without springs, but the young physician was thankful for any
+kind of a conveyance. He had been used to life in the wild, taking
+things as he found them--bunking in a tent, a board shanty, or out under
+the open sky; with men brought heterogeneously together, some merely
+rough woodsmen in their natural environment, others the scum of the
+cities to whom crime was become first nature, decency second, and
+others, fleeing from justice and civilized law, hiding ofttimes a fine
+nature delicately reared. During this time he had seldom seen a woman
+other than an occasional camp follower of the most degraded sort.
+
+Inured thus, he did not find his ride, embedded with good corn fodder,
+much of a hardship, even in a springless wagon over mountain roads.
+Wrapped in his rug, he braced himself against his box, with his face
+toward the rear of the wagon, and gazed out from under its arching
+canvas hood at the wild way, as it slowly unrolled behind them, and was
+pleased that he did not have to spend the night under the lee of the
+station.
+
+The lingering sunlight made flaming banners of the snow clouds now
+slowly drifting across the sky above the white world, and touched the
+highest peaks with rose and gold. The shadows, ever changing, deepened
+from faintest pink-mauve through heliotrope tints, to the richest violet
+in the heart of the gorges. Over and through all was the witching
+mystery of fairy-like, snow-wreathed branches and twigs, interwoven and
+arching up and up in faint perspective to the heights above, and down,
+far down, to the depths of the regions below them; and all the time,
+mingled with the murmur of the voices behind him, and the creaking of
+the vehicle in which they rode, and the tramp of the animals when they
+came to a hard roadbed with rock foundation,--noises which were not
+loud, but which seemed to be covered and subdued by the soft snow even
+as it covered everything,--could be heard a light dropping and
+pattering, as the overladen last year's leaves and twigs dropped their
+white burden to the ground. Sometimes the great hood of the wagon struck
+an overhanging bough and sent the snow down in showers as they passed.
+
+Heavily they climbed up, and warily made their descent of rocky steeps,
+passing through boggy places or splashing in clear streams which issued
+from springs in the mountain side or fell from some distant height, then
+climbing again only to wind about and again descend. Often the way was
+rough with boulders that had never been blasted out,--sometimes steeply
+shelving where the gorge was deepest and the precipice sheerest. Past
+all dangers the girl drove with skilful hand, now encouraging her team
+with her low voice, now restraining them, where their load crowded upon
+them over slippery, shelving rocks, with strong pulls and sharp command.
+David marvelled at her serenity under the strain, and at her courage and
+deftness. With the calmness of the boy nestling at her side, he resigned
+himself to the sweet witchery of the time and place. Glancing up at the
+high seat behind him, he saw the child's feet dangling, and knew they
+must be cold.
+
+"Why can't your little brother sit back here with me?" he said; "I'll
+cover him with my rug, and we'll keep each other warm."
+
+He saw the small hunched back stiffen, and try to appear big and manly,
+but she checked the team at a level dip in the road.
+
+"Yes, sonny, get ovah theah with the gentleman. It'll be some coldah now
+the sun's gone." But the little man was shyly reluctant to move. "Come,
+honey. Sistah'd a heap rathah you would."
+
+Then David reached up and gently lifted the atom of manhood, of pride,
+sensitiveness, and affection, over where he caused him to snuggle down
+in the fodder close to his side.
+
+For a while the child sat stiffly aloof, but gradually his little form
+relaxed, and his head drooped sideways in the hollow of the stranger's
+shoulder, held comfortably by Thryng's kindly encircling arm. Soon,
+with his small feet wrapped in the warm, soft rug, he slept soundly and
+sweetly, rocked, albeit rather roughly, in the jolting wagon.
+
+Thryng also dreamed, but not in sleep. His mind was stirred to unusual
+depths by his strange surroundings--the silence, the mystery, the beauty
+of the night, and the suggestions of grandeur and power dimly revealed
+by the moonlight which bathed the world in a flood of glory.
+
+He was uplifted and drawn out of himself, and at the same time he was
+thrown back to review his life and to see his most inward self, and to
+marvel and question the wherefore of it all. Why was he here, away from
+the active, practical affairs which interest other men? Was he a
+creature of ideals only, or was he also a practical man, taking the
+wisest means of reaching and achieving results most worth while? He saw
+himself in his childhood--in his youth--in his young manhood--even to
+the present moment, jogging slowly along in a far country, rough and
+wild, utterly dependent on the courtesy of a slight girl, who held, for
+the moment, his life in her hands; for often, as he gazed into the void
+of darkness over narrow ledges, he knew that only the skill of those two
+small hands kept them from sliding into eternity: yet there was about
+her such an air of wontedness to the situation that he was stirred by no
+sense of anxiety for himself or for her.
+
+He took out his pipe and smoked, still dreaming, comparing, and
+questioning. Of ancient family, yet the younger son of three generations
+of younger sons, all probability of great inheritance or title so far
+removed from him, it behooved that he build for himself--what? Fortune,
+name, everything. Character? Ah, that was his heritage, all the heritage
+the laws of England allowed him, and that not by right of English law,
+but because, fixed in the immutable, eternal Will, some laws there are
+beyond the power of man to supersede. With an involuntary stiffening of
+his body, he disturbed for an instant the slumbering child, and quite as
+involuntarily he drew him closer and soothed him back to forgetfulness;
+and they both dreamed on, the child in his sleep, and the man in his
+wide wakefulness and intense searching.
+
+His uncle, it is true, would have boosted him far toward creating both
+name and fame for himself, in either army or navy, but he would none of
+it. There was his older brother to be advanced, and the younger son of
+this same uncle to be placed in life, or married to wealth. This also he
+might have done; well married he might have been ere now, and could be
+still, for she was waiting--only--an ideal stood in his way. Whom he
+would marry he would love. Not merely respect or like,--not even
+both,--but love he must; and in order to hold to this ideal he must fly
+the country, or remain to be unduly urged to his own discomfiture and
+possibly to their mutual undoing.
+
+As for the alternatives, the army or the navy, again his ideals had
+formed for him impassable bars. He would found his career on the saving
+rather than the taking of life. Perhaps he might yet follow in the wake
+of armies to mend bodies they have torn and cut and maimed, and heal
+diseases they have engendered--yes--perhaps--the ideals loomed big. But
+what had he done? Fled his country and deftly avoided the most
+heart-satisfying of human delights--children to call him father, and
+wife to make him a home; peace and wealth; thrust aside the helping hand
+to power and a career considered most worthy of a strong and resourceful
+man, and thrown personal ambition to the winds. Why? Because of his
+ideals--preferring to mend rather than to mar his neighbor.
+
+Surely he was right--and yet--and yet. What had he accomplished? Taken
+the making of his life into his own hands and lost--all--if health were
+really gone. One thing remained to him--the last rag and remnant of his
+cherished ideals--to live long enough to triumph over his own disease
+and take up work again. Why should he succumb? Was it fate? Was there
+the guidance of a higher will? Might he reach out and partake of the
+Divine power? But one thing he knew; but one thing could he do. As the
+glory of white light around him served to reveal a few feet only of the
+way, even as the density beyond seemed impenetrable, still it was but
+seeming. There was a beyond--vast--mysterious--which he must search out,
+slowly, painfully, if need be, seeing a little way only, but seeing that
+little clearly, revealed by the white light of spirit. His own or God's?
+Into the infinite he must search--search--and at last surely find.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG EXPERIENCES THE HOSPITALITY OF THE MOUNTAIN
+PEOPLE.
+
+
+Suddenly the jolting ceased. The deep stillness of the night seemed only
+intensified by the low panting of the animals and the soft dropping of
+the wet snow from the trees.
+
+"What is it?" said Thryng, peering from under the canvas cover.
+"Anything the matter?"
+
+The beasts stood with low-swung heads, the vapor rising white from their
+warm bodies, wet with the melting snow. His question fell unheard, and
+the girl who was climbing down over the front wheel began to unhitch the
+team in silence. He rolled the sleeping child in his rug and leaped out.
+
+"Let me help you. What is the trouble? Oh, are you at home?"
+
+"I can do this, suh. I have done it a heap of times. Don't go nigh Pete,
+suh. He's mighty quick, and he's mean." The beast laid back his ears
+viciously as David approached.
+
+"You ought not go near him yourself," he said, taking a firm grip of the
+bridle.
+
+"Oh, he's safe enough with me--or Frale. Hold him tight, suh, now you
+have him, till I get round there. Keep his head towa'ds you. He
+certainly is mean."
+
+The colt walked off to a low stack of corn fodder, as she turned him
+loose with a light slap on the flank; and the mule, impatient, stamping
+and sidling about, stretched forth his nose and let out his raucous and
+hideous cry. While he was thus occupied, the girl slipped off his
+harness and, taking the bridle, led the beast away to a small railed
+enclosure on the far side of the stack; and David stood alone in the
+snow and looked about him.
+
+He saw a low, rambling house, which, although one structure, appeared to
+be a series of houses, built of logs plastered with clay in the chinks.
+It stood in a tangle of wild growth, on what seemed to be a wide ledge
+jutting out from the side of the mountain, which loomed dark and high
+behind it. An incessant, rushing sound pervaded the place, as it were a
+part of the silence or a breathing of the mountain itself. Was it wind
+among the trees, or the rushing of water? No wind stirred now, and yet
+the sound never ceased. It must be a torrent swollen by the melting
+snow.
+
+He saw the girl moving in and out among the shadows, about the open log
+stable, like a wraith. The braying of the mule had disturbed the
+occupants of the house, for a candle was placed in a window, and its
+little ray streamed forth and was swallowed up in the moonlight and
+black shades. The child, awakened by the horrible noise of the beast,
+rustled in the corn fodder where Thryng had left him. Dazed and
+wondering, he peered out at the young man for some moments, too shy to
+descend until his sister should return. Now she came, and he scrambled
+down and stood close to her side, looking up weirdly, his twisted little
+form shivering and quaking.
+
+"Run in, Hoyle," she said, looking kindly down upon him. "Tell mothah
+we're all right, son."
+
+A woman came to the door holding a candle, which she shaded with a
+gnarled and bony hand.
+
+"That you, Cass?" she quavered. "Who aire ye talkin' to?"
+
+"Yes, Aunt Sally, we'll be there directly. Don't let mothah get cold."
+She turned again to David. "I reckon you'll have to stop with us
+to-night. It's a right smart way to the cabin, and it'll be cold, and
+nothing to eat. We'll bring in your things now, and in the morning we
+can tote them up to your place with the mule, and Hoyle can go with you
+to show you the way."
+
+She turned toward the wagon as if all were settled, and Thryng could not
+be effusive in the face of her direct and conclusive manner; but he took
+the basket from her hand.
+
+"Let me--no, no--I will bring in everything. Thank you very much. I can
+do it quite easily, taking one at a time." Then she left him, but at the
+door she met him and helped to lift his heavy belongings into the house.
+
+The room he entered was warm and brightly lighted by a pile of blazing
+logs in the great chimneyplace. He walked toward it and stretched his
+hands to the fire--a generous fire--the mountain home's luxury.
+
+Something was cooking in the ashes on the hearth which sent up a savory
+odor most pleasant and appealing to the hungry man. The meagre boy stood
+near, also warming his little body, on which his coarse garments hung
+limply. He kept his great eyes fixed on David's face in a manner
+disconcerting, even in a child, had Thryng given his attention to it,
+but at the moment he was interested in other things. Dropped thus
+suddenly into this utterly alien environment, he was observing the girl
+and the old woman as intently, though less openly, as the boy was
+watching him.
+
+Presently he felt himself uncannily the object of a scrutiny far
+different from the child's wide-eyed gaze, and glancing over his
+shoulder toward the corner from which the sensation seemed to emanate,
+he saw in the depths of an old four-posted bed, set in their hollow
+sockets and roofed over by projecting light eyebrows, a pair of keen,
+glittering eyes.
+
+"Yas, you see me now, do ye?" said a high, thin voice in toothless
+speech. "Who be ye?"
+
+His physician's feeling instantly alert, he stepped to the bedside and
+bent over the wasted form, which seemed hardly to raise the clothing
+from its level smoothness, as if she had lain motionless since some
+careful hand had arranged it.
+
+"No, ye don't know me, I reckon. 'Tain't likely. Who be ye?" she
+iterated, still looking unflinchingly in his eyes.
+
+"Hit's a gentleman who knows Doctah Hoyle, mothah. He sent him. Don't
+fret you'se'f," said the girl soothingly.
+
+"I'm not one of the frettin' kind," retorted the mother, never taking
+her eyes from his face, and again speaking in a weak monotone. "Who be
+ye?"
+
+"My name is David Thryng, and I am a doctor," he said quietly.
+
+"Where be ye from?"
+
+"I came from Canada, the country where Doctor Hoyle lives."
+
+"I reckon so. He used to tell 'at his home was thar." A pallid hand was
+reached slowly out to him. "I'm right glad to see ye. Take a cheer and
+set. Bring a cheer, Sally."
+
+But the girl had already placed him a chair, which he drew close to the
+bedside. He took the feeble old hand and slipped his fingers along to
+rest lightly on the wrist.
+
+"You needn't stan' watchin' me, Cass. You 'n' Sally set suthin' fer th'
+doctah to eat. I reckon ye're all about gone fer hunger."
+
+"Yes, mothah, right soon. Fry a little pork to go with the pone, Aunt
+Sally. Is any coffee left in the pot?"
+
+"I done put in a leetle mo' when I heered the mule hollah. I knowed ye'd
+want it. Might throw in a mite mo' now th' gentleman's come."
+
+The two women resumed their preparations for supper, the boy continued
+to stand and gaze, and the high voice of the frail occupant of the bed
+began again to talk and question.
+
+"When did you come down f'om that thar country whar Doctah Hoyle lives
+at?" she said, in her monotonous wail.
+
+"Four days ago. I travelled slowly, for I have been ill myself."
+
+"Hit's right quare now; 'pears like ef I was a doctah I wouldn't 'low
+myself fer to get sick. An' you seed Doctah Hoyle fo' days back!"
+
+"No, he has gone to England on a visit. I saw his wife, though, and his
+daughter. She is a young lady--is to be married soon."
+
+"They do grow up--the leetle ones. Hit don't seem mo'n yestahday 'at
+Cass was like leetle Hoyle yandah, an' hit don't seem that since Doctah
+Hoyle was here an' leetle Hoyle came. We named him fer th' doctah. Waal,
+I reckon ef th' doctah was here now 'at he could he'p me some. Maybe ef
+he'd 'a' stayed here I nevah would 'a' got down whar I be now. He was a
+right good doctah, bettah'n a yarb doctah--most--I reckon so."
+
+David smiled. "I think so myself," he said. "Are there many herb doctors
+here about?"
+
+"Not rightly doctahs, so to speak, but they is some 'at knows a heap
+about yarbs."
+
+"Good. Perhaps they can teach me something."
+
+The old face was feebly lifted a bit from the pillow, and the dark eyes
+grew suddenly sharp in their scrutiny.
+
+"Who be ye, anyhow? What aire ye here fer? Sech as you knows a heap
+a'ready 'thout makin' out to larn o' we-uns."
+
+David saw his mistake and hastened to allay the suspicion which gleamed
+out at him almost malignantly.
+
+"I am just what I said, a doctor like Adam Hoyle, only that I don't know
+as much as he--not yet. The wisest man in the world can learn more if he
+watches out to do so. Your herb doctors might be able to teach me a good
+many things."
+
+"I 'spect ye're right thar, on'y a heap o' folks thinks they knows it
+all fust."
+
+There was a pause, and Thryng leaned back in his stiff, splint-bottomed
+chair and glanced around him. He saw that the girl, although moving
+about setting to rights and brushing here and there with an unique,
+home-made broom, was at the same time intently listening.
+
+Presently the old woman spoke again, her threadlike voice penetrating
+far.
+
+"What do you 'low to do here in ouah mountains? They hain't no
+settlement nighabouts here, an' them what's sick hain't no money to pay
+doctahs with. I reckon they'll hev to stay sick fer all o' you-uns."
+
+David looked into her eyes a moment quietly; then he smiled. The way to
+her heart he saw was through the magic of one name.
+
+"What did Doctor Hoyle do when he was down here?"
+
+"Him? They hain't no one livin' like he was."
+
+Then David laughed outright, a gay, contagious laugh, and after an
+instant she laughed also.
+
+"I agree with you," he said. "But you see, I am a countryman of his, and
+he sent me here--he knows me well--and I mean to do as he did, if--I
+can."
+
+He drew in a deep breath of utter weariness, and leaned forward, his
+elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, and gazed into the blazing
+fire. The memories which had taken possession of his soul during the
+long ride seemed to envelop him so that in a moment the present was
+swept away into oblivion and his spirit was, as it were, suddenly
+withdrawn from the body and projected into the past. He had been unable
+to touch any of the greasy cold stuff which had been offered him during
+the latter part of his journey, and the heat brought a drowsiness on him
+and a faintness from lack of food.
+
+"Cass--Cassandry! Look to him," called the mother shrilly, but the girl
+had already noticed his strange abstraction, and the small Adam Hoyle
+had drawn back, in awe, to his mother.
+
+"Get some whiskey, Sally," said the girl, and David roused himself to
+see her bending over him.
+
+"I must have gone off in a doze," he said weakly. "The long ride and
+then this warmth--" Seeing the anxious faces around him, he laughed
+again. "It's nothing, I assure you, only the comfort and the smell of
+something good to eat;" he sniffed a little. "What is it?" he asked.
+
+Old Sally was tossing and shaking the frying salt pork in the skillet at
+the fireplace, and the odor aggravated his already too keen appetite.
+
+"Ye was more'n sleepy, I reckon," shrilled the woman from the bed.
+"Hain't that pone done, Sally? No, 'tain't liquor he needs; hit's
+suthin' to eat."
+
+Then the girl hastened her slow, gliding movements, drew splint chairs
+to a table of rough pine that stood against the side of the room, and,
+stooping between him and the fire, pulled something from among the hot
+ashes. The fire made the only light in the room, and David never forgot
+the supple grace of her as she bent thus silhouetted--the perfect line
+of chin and throat black against the blaze, contrasted with the weird,
+witchlike old woman with roughly knotted hair, who still squatted in the
+heat, and shook the skillet of frying pork.
+
+"Thar, now hit's done, I reckon," said old Sally, slowly rising and
+straightening her bent back; and the woman from the bed called her
+orders.
+
+"Not that cup," she cried, as Sally began pouring black coffee into a
+cracked white cup. "Git th' chany one. I hid hit yandah in th' cornder
+'hind that tin can, to keep 'em f'om usin' hit every day. I had a hull
+set o' that when I married Farwell. Give hit here." She took the
+precious relic in her work-worn hands and peered into it, then wiped it
+out with the corner of the sheet which covered her. This Thryng did not
+see. He was watching the girl, as she broke open the hot, fragrant
+corn-bread and placed it beside his plate.
+
+"Come," she said. "You sure must be right hungry. Sit here and eat."
+David felt like one drunken with weariness when he rose, and caught at
+the edge of the table to steady himself.
+
+"Aren't you hungry, too?" he asked, "and Hoyle, here? Sit beside me;
+we're going to have a feast, little chap."
+
+The girl placed an earthen crock on the table and took from it honey in
+the broken comb, rich and dark.
+
+"Have a little of this with your pone. It's right good," she said.
+
+"Frale, he found a bee tree," piped the child suddenly, gaining
+confidence as he saw the stranger engaged in the very normal act of
+eating with the relish of an ordinary man. He edged forward and sat
+himself gingerly on the outer corner of the next chair, and accepted a
+huge piece of the pone from David's hand. His sister gave him honey, and
+Sally dropped pieces of the sizzling hot pork on their plates, from the
+skillet.
+
+David sipped his coffee from the flowered "chany cup" contentedly.
+Served without milk or sugar, it was strong, hot, and reviving. The girl
+shyly offered more of the corn-bread as she saw it rapidly disappearing,
+pleased to see him eat so eagerly, yet abashed at having nothing else to
+offer.
+
+"I'm sorry we can give you only such as this. We don't live like you do
+in the no'th. Have a little more of the honey."
+
+"Ah, but this is fine. Good, hey, little chap? You are doing a very
+beneficent thing, do you know, saving a man's life?" He glanced up at
+her flushed face, and she smiled deprecatingly. He fancied her smiles
+were rare.
+
+"But it is quite true. Where would I be now but for you and Hoyle here?
+Lying under the lee side of the station coughing my life away,--and all
+my own fault, too. I should have accepted the bishop's invitation."
+
+"You helped me when the colt was bad." Her soft voice, low and
+monotonous, fell musically on his ear when she spoke.
+
+"Naturally--but how about that, anyway? It's a wonder you weren't
+killed. How came a youngster like you there alone with those beasts?"
+Thryng had an abrupt manner of springing a question which startled the
+child, and he edged away, furtively watching his sister.
+
+[Illustration: _"Casabianca, was it?" said Thryng, smiling. Page 17._]
+
+"Did you hitch that kicking brute alone and drive all that distance?"
+
+"Aunt Sally, she he'ped me to tie up; she give him co'n whilst I th'owed
+on the strops, an' when he's oncet tied up, he goes all right." The atom
+grinned. "Hit's his way. He's mean, but he nevah works both ends to
+oncet."
+
+"Good thing to know; but you're a hero, do you understand that?" The
+child continued to edge away, and David reached out and drew him to his
+side. Holding him by his two sharp little elbows, he gave him a playful
+shake. "I say, do you know what a hero is?"
+
+The startled boy stopped grinning and looked wildly to his sister, but
+receiving only a smile of reassurance from her, he lifted his great eyes
+to Thryng's face, then slowly the little form relaxed, and he was drawn
+within the doctor's encircling arm.
+
+"I don't reckon," was all his reply, which ambiguous remark caused
+David, in his turn, to look to the sister for elucidation. She held a
+long, lighted candle in her hand, and paused to look back as she was
+leaving the room.
+
+"Yes, you do, honey son. You remembah the boy with the quare long name
+sistah told you about, who stood there when the ship was all afiah and
+wouldn't leave because his fathah had told him to bide? He was a hero."
+But Hoyle was too shy to respond, and David could feel his little heart
+thumping against his arm as he held him.
+
+"Tell the gentleman, Hoyle. He don't bite, I reckon," called the mother
+from her corner.
+
+"His name begun like yourn, Cass, but I cyan't remembah the hull of it."
+
+"Casabianca, was it?" said Thryng, smiling.
+
+"I reckon. Did you-uns know him?"
+
+"When I was a small chap like you, I used to read about him." Then the
+atom yielded entirely, and leaned comfortably against David, and his
+sister left them, carrying the candle with her.
+
+Old Sally threw another log on the fire, and the flames leaped up the
+cavernous chimney, lighting the room with dramatic splendor. Thryng
+took note of its unique furnishing. In the corner opposite the one where
+the mother lay was another immense four-poster bed, and before it hung a
+coarse homespun curtain, half concealing it. At its foot was a huge box
+of dark wood, well-made and strong, with a padlock. This and the beds
+seemed to belong to another time and place, in contrast to the other
+articles, which were evidently mountain made, rude in construction and
+hewn out by hand, the chairs unstained and unpolished, and seated with
+splints.
+
+The walls were the roughly dressed logs of which the house was built,
+the chinks plastered with deep red-brown clay. Depending from nails
+driven in the logs were festoons of dried apple and strips of dried
+pumpkin, and hanging by their braided husks were bunches of Indian corn,
+not yellow like that of the north, but white or purple.
+
+There were bags also, containing Thryng knew not what, although he was
+to learn later, when his own larder came to be eked out by sundry gifts
+of dried fruit and sweet corn, together with the staple of beans and
+peas from the widow's store.
+
+Beside the window of small panes was a shelf, on which were a few worn
+books, and beneath hung an almanac; at the foot of the mother's bed
+stood a small spinning-wheel, with the wool still hanging to the
+spindle. David wondered how long since it had been used. The scrupulous
+cleanliness of the place satisfied his fastidious nature, and gave him a
+sense of comfort in the homely interior. He liked the look of the bed in
+the corner, made up high and round, and covered with marvellous
+patchwork.
+
+As he sat thus, noting all his surroundings, Hoyle still nestled at his
+side, leaning his elbows on the doctor's knees, his chin in his hands,
+and his soft eyes fixed steadily on the doctor's face. Thus they
+advanced rapidly toward an amicable acquaintance, each questioning and
+being questioned.
+
+"What is a 'bee tree'?" said David. "You said somebody found one."
+
+"Hit's a big holler tree, an' hit's plumb full o' bees an' honey. Frale,
+he found this'n."
+
+"Tell me about it. Where was it?"
+
+"Hit war up yandah, highah up th' mountain. They is a hole thar what
+wil' cats live in, Wil' Cat Hole. Frale, he war a hunt'n fer a cat. Some
+men thar at th' hotel, they war plumb mad to hunt a wil' cat with th'
+dogs, an' Frale, he 'lowed to git th' cat fer 'em."
+
+"And when was that?"
+
+"Las' summah, when th' hotel war open. They war a heap o' men at th'
+hotel."
+
+"And now about the bee tree?"
+
+"Frale, he nevah let on like he know'd thar war a bee tree, an' then
+this fall he took me with him, an' we made a big fire, an' then we cut
+down th' tree, an' we stayed thar th' hull day, too, an' eat thar an'
+had ros'n ears by th' fire, too."
+
+"I say, you know. There seem to be a lot of things you will have to
+enlighten me about. After you get through with the bee tree you must
+tell me what 'ros'n ears' are. And then what did you do?"
+
+"Thar war a heap o' honey. That tree, hit war nigh-about plumb full o'
+honey, and th' bees war that mad you couldn't let 'em come nigh ye
+'thout they'd sting you. They stung me, an' I nevah hollered. Frale, he
+'lowed ef you hollered, you wa'n't good fer nothin', goin' bee hunt'n'."
+
+"Is Frale your brother?"
+
+"Yas. He c'n do a heap o' things, Frale can. They war a heap o' honey in
+that thar tree, 'bout a bar'l full, er more'n that. We hev a hull tub o'
+honey out thar in th' loom shed yet, an' maw done sont all th' rest to
+th' neighbors, 'cause maw said they wa'n't no use in humans bein' fool
+hogs like th' bees war, a-keepin' more'n they could eat jes' fer
+therselves."
+
+"Yas," called the mother from her corner, where she had been admiringly
+listening; "they is a heap like that-a-way, but hit ain't our way here
+in th' mountains. Let th' doctah tell you suthin' now, Hoyle,--ye mount
+larn a heap if ye'd hark to him right smart, 'thout talkin' th' hull
+time youse'f."
+
+"I has to tell him 'bouts th' ros'n ears--he said so. Thar they be." He
+pointed to a bunch of Indian corn. "You wrop 'em up in ther shucks,
+whilst ther green an' sof', and kiver 'em up in th' ashes whar hit's
+right hot, and then when ther rosted, eat 'em so. Now, what do you
+know?"
+
+"Why, he knows a heap, son. Don't ax that-a-way."
+
+"In my country, away across the ocean--" began David.
+
+"Tell 'bout th' ocean, how hit look."
+
+"In my country we don't have Indian corn nor bee trees, nor wild cat
+holes, but we have the ocean all around us, and we see the ships and--"
+
+"Like that thar one whar th' boy stood whilst hit war on fire?"
+
+"Something like, yes." Then he told about the sea and the ships and the
+great fishes, and was interrupted with the query:--
+
+"Reckon you done seed that thar fish what swallered the man in th' Bible
+an' then th'ow'd him up agin?"
+
+"Why no, son, you know that thar fish war dade long 'fore we-uns war
+born. You mustn't ax fool questions, honey."
+
+Old Sally sat crouched by the hearth intently listening and asking as
+naïve questions as the child, whose pallid face grew pink and animated,
+and whose eyes grew larger as he strove to see with inward vision the
+things Thryng described. It was a happy evening for little Hoyle.
+Leaning confidingly against David, he sighed with repletion of joy. He
+was not eager for his sister to return--not he. He could lean forever
+against this wonderful man and listen to his tales. But the doctor's
+weariness was growing heavier, and he bethought himself that the girl
+had not eaten with them, and feared she was taking trouble to prepare
+quarters for him, when if she only knew how gladly he would bunk down
+anywhere,--only to sleep while this blessed and delicious drowsiness was
+overpowering him.
+
+"Where is your sister, Hoyle? Don't you reckon it's time you and I were
+abed?" he asked, adopting the child's vernacular.
+
+"She's makin' yer bed ready in th' loom shed, likely," said the mother,
+ever alert. With her pale, prematurely wrinkled face and uncannily
+bright and watchful eyes, she seemed the controlling, all-pervading
+spirit of the place. "Run, child, an' see what's keepin' her so long."
+
+"Hit's dark out thar," said the boy, stirring himself slowly.
+
+"Run, honey, you hain't afeared, kin drive a team all by you'se'f. Dark
+hain't nothin'; I ben all ovah these heah mountains when thar wa'n't one
+star o' light. Maybe you kin he'p her."
+
+At that moment she entered, holding the candle high to light her way
+through what seemed to be a dark passage, her still, sweet face a bit
+flushed and stray taches of white cotton down clinging to her blue
+homespun dress. "The doctah's mos' dade fer sleep, Cass."
+
+"I am right sorry to keep you so long, but we are obleeged--"
+
+She lifted troubled eyes to his face, as Thryng interrupted her.
+
+"Ah, no, no! I really beg your pardon--for coming in on you this way--it
+was not right, you know. It was a--a--predicament, wasn't it? It
+certainly wasn't right to put you about so; if--you will just let me go
+anywhere, only to sleep, I shall be greatly obliged. I'm making you a
+lot of trouble, and I'm so sorry."
+
+His profusion of manner, of which he was entirely unaware, embarrassed
+her; although not shy like her brother, she had never encountered any
+one who spoke with such rapid abruptness, and his swift, penetrating
+glance and pleasant ease of the world abashed her. For an instant she
+stood perfectly still before him, slowly comprehending his thought, then
+hastened with her inherited, inborn ladyhood to relieve him from any
+sense that his sudden descent upon their privacy was an intrusion.
+
+Her mind moved along direct lines from thought to expression--from
+impulse to action. She knew no conventional tricks of words or phrases
+for covering an awkward situation, and her only way of avoiding a
+self-betrayal was by silence and a masklike impassivity. During this
+moment of stillness while she waited to regain her poise, he, quick and
+intuitive as a woman, took in the situation, yet he failed to comprehend
+the character before him.
+
+To one accustomed to the conventional, perfect simplicity seems to
+conceal something held back. It is hard to believe that all is being
+revealed, hence her slower thought, in reality, comprehended him the
+more truly. What he supposed to be pride and shame over their meagre
+accommodations was, in reality, genuine concern for his comfort, and
+embarrassment before his ease and ready phrases. As in a swift breeze
+her thoughts were caught up and borne away upon them, but after a moment
+they would sweep back to her--a flock of innocent, startled doves.
+
+Still holding her candle aloft, she raised her eyes to his and smiled.
+"We-uns are right glad you came. If you can be comfortable where we are
+obliged to put you to sleep, you must bide awhile." She did not say
+"obleeged" this time. He had not pronounced it so, and he must know.
+
+"That is so good of you. And now you are very tired yourself and have
+eaten nothing. You must have your own supper. Hoyle can look after me."
+He took the candle from her and gave it to the boy, then turned his own
+chair back to the table and looked inquiringly at Sally squatted before
+the fire. "Not another thing shall you do for me until you are waited
+on. Take my place here."
+
+David's manner seemed like a command to her, and she slid into the chair
+with a weary, drooping movement. Hoyle stood holding the candle, his wry
+neck twisting his head to one side, a smile on his face, eying them
+sharply. He turned a questioning look to his sister, as he stiffened
+himself to his newly acquired importance as host.
+
+Thryng walked over to the bedside. "In the morning, when we are all
+rested, I'll see what can be done for you," he said, taking the
+proffered old hand in his. "I am not Dr. Hoyle, but he has taught me a
+little. I studied and practised with him, you know."
+
+"Hev ye? Then ye must know a heap. Hit's right like th' Lord sont ye.
+You see suthin' 'peared like to give way whilst I war a-cuttin' light
+'ud th' othah day, an' I went all er a heap 'crost a log, an' I reckon
+hit hurt me some. I hain't ben able to move a foot sence, an' I lay out
+thar nigh on to a hull day, whilst Hoyle here run clar down to Sally's
+place to git her. He couldn't lif' me hisse'f, he's that weak; he tried
+to haul me in, but when I hollered,--sufferin' so I war jes' 'bleeged to
+holler,--he kivered me up whar I lay and lit out fer Sally, an' she an'
+her man they got me up here, an' here I ben ever since. I reckon I never
+will leave this bed ontwell I'm cyarried out in a box."
+
+"Oh, no, not that! You're too much alive for that. We'll see about it
+to-morrow. Good night."
+
+"Hoyle may show you the way," said the girl, rising. "Your bed is in the
+loom shed. I'm right sorry it's so cold. I put blankets there, and you
+can use all you like of them. I would have given you Frale's place up
+garret--only--he might come in any time, and--"
+
+"Naw, he won't. He's too skeered 'at--" Hoyle's interruption stopped
+abruptly, checked by a glance of his sister's eye.
+
+"I hope you'll sleep well--"
+
+"Sleep? I shall sleep like a log. I feel as if I could sleep for a week.
+It's awfully good of you. I hope we haven't eaten all the supper, Hoyle
+and I. Come, little chap. Good night." He took up his valise and
+followed the boy, leaving her standing by the uncleared table, gazing
+after him.
+
+"Now you eat, Cassandry. You are nigh about perished you are that
+tired," said her mother.
+
+Then old Sally brought more pork and hot pone from the ashes, and they
+sat down together, eating and sipping their black coffee in silence.
+Presently Hoyle returned and began removing his clumsy shoes, by the
+fire.
+
+"Did he ax ye a heap o' questions, Hoyle?" queried the old woman
+sharply.
+
+"Naw. Did'n' ax noth'n'."
+
+"Waal, look out 'at you don't let on nothin' ef he does. Talkin' may
+hurt, an' hit may not."
+
+"He hain't no government man, maw."
+
+"Hit's all right, I reckon, but them 'at larns young to hold ther
+tongues saves a heap o' trouble fer therselves."
+
+After they had eaten, old Sally gathered the few dishes together and
+placed all the splint-bottomed chairs back against the sides of the
+room, and, only half disrobing, crawled into the far side of the bed
+opposite to the mother's, behind the homespun curtain.
+
+"To-morrow I reckon I kin go home to my old man, now you've come, Cass."
+
+"Yes," said the girl in a low voice, "you have been right kind to
+we-all, Aunt Sally."
+
+Then she bent over her mother, ministering to her few wants; lifting her
+forward, she shook up the pillow, and gently laid her back upon it, and
+lightly kissed her cheek. The child had quickly dropped to sleep, curled
+up like a ball in the farther side of his mother's bed, undisturbed by
+the low murmur of conversation. Cassandra drew her chair close to the
+fire and sat long gazing into the burning logs that were fast crumbling
+to a heap of glowing embers. She uncoiled her heavy bronze hair and
+combed it slowly out, until it fell a rippling mass to the floor, as she
+sat. It shone in the firelight as if it had drawn its tint from the fire
+itself, and the cold night had so filled it with electricity that it
+flew out and followed the comb, as if each hair were alive, and made a
+moving aureola of warm red amber about her drooping figure in the midst
+of the sombre shadows of the room. Her face grew sad and her hands moved
+listlessly, and at last she slipped from her chair to her knees and wept
+softly and prayed, her lips forming the words soundlessly. Once her
+mother awoke, lifted her head slightly from her pillow and gazed an
+instant at her, then slowly subsided, and again slept.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+IN WHICH AUNT SALLY TAKES HER DEPARTURE AND MEETS FRALE
+
+
+The loom shed was one of the log cabins connected with the main building
+by a roofed passage, which Thryng had noticed the evening before as
+being an odd fashion of house architecture, giving the appearance of a
+small flock of cabins all nestling under the wings of the old building
+in the centre.
+
+The shed was dark, having but one small window with glass panes near the
+loom, the other and larger opening being tightly closed by a wooden
+shutter. David slept late, and awoke at last to find himself thousands
+of miles away from his dreams in this unique room, all in the deepest
+shadow, except for the one warm bar of sunlight which fell across his
+face. He drowsed off again, and his mind began piecing together
+fragments and scenes from the previous day and evening, and immediately
+he was surrounded by mystery, moonlit, fairylike, and white, a little
+crooked being at his side looking up at him like some gnome creature of
+the hills, revealed as a part of the enchantment. Then slowly resolving
+and melting away after the manner of dreams, the wide spaces of the
+mystery drew closer and warmer, and a great centre of blazing logs threw
+grotesque, dancing lights among them, and an old face peered out with
+bright, keen eyes, now seen, now lost in the fitful shadows, now pale
+and appealing or cautiously withdrawn, but always watching--watching
+while the little crooked being came and watched also. Then between him
+and the blazing light came a dark figure silhouetted blackly against it,
+moving, stooping, rising, going and coming--a sweet girl's head with
+heavily coiled hair through which the firelight played with flashes of
+its own color, and a delicate profile cut in pure, clean lines melting
+into throat and gently rounded breast; like a spirit, now here, now
+gone, again near and bending over him,--a ministering spirit bringing
+him food,--until gradually this half wake, dreaming reminiscence
+concentrated upon her, and again he saw her standing holding the candle
+high and looking up at him,--a wondering, questioning spirit,--then
+drooping wearily into the chair by the uncleared table, and again
+waiting with almost a smile on her parted lips as he said "good night."
+Good night? Ah, yes. It was morning.
+
+Again he heard the continuous rushing noise to which he had listened in
+the white mystery, that had soothed him to slumber the night before,
+rising and falling--never ceasing. He roused himself with sudden energy
+and bounded from his couch. He would go out and investigate. His sleep
+had been sound, and he felt a rejuvenation he had not experienced in
+many months. When he threw open the shutter of the large unglazed window
+space and looked out on his strange surroundings, he found himself in a
+new world, sparkling, fresh, clear, shining with sunlight and glistening
+with wetness, as though the whole earth had been newly washed and
+varnished. The sunshine streamed in and warmed him, and the air, filled
+with winelike fragrance, stirred his blood and set his pulses leaping.
+
+He had been too exhausted the previous evening to do more than fall into
+the bed which had been provided him and sleep his long, uninterrupted
+sleep. Now he saw why they had called this part of the home the loom
+shed, for between the two windows stood a cloth loom left just as it had
+been used, the warp like a tightly stretched veil of white threads, and
+the web of cloth begun.
+
+In one corner were a few bundles of cotton, one of which had been torn
+open and the contents placed in a thick layer over the long bench on
+which he had slept, and covered with a blue and white homespun
+counterpane. The head had been built high with it, and sheets spread
+over all. He noticed the blankets which had covered him, and saw that
+they were evidently of home manufacture, and that the white spread which
+covered them was also of coarse, clean homespun, ornamented in squares
+with rude, primitive needlework. He marvelled at the industry here
+represented.
+
+As for his toilet, the preparation had been most simple. A shelf placed
+on pegs driven between the logs supported a piece of looking-glass; a
+splint chair set against the wall served as wash-stand and
+towel-rack--the homespun cotton towels neatly folded and hung over the
+back; a wooden pail at one side was filled with clear water, over which
+hung a dipper of gourd; a white porcelain basin was placed on the chair,
+over which a clean towel had been spread, and to complete all, a square
+cut from the end of a bar of yellow soap lay beside the basin.
+
+David smiled as he bent himself to the refreshing task of bathing in
+water so cold as to be really icy. Indeed, ice had formed over still
+pools without during the night, although now fast disappearing under the
+glowing morning sun. Above his head, laid upon cross-beams, were bundles
+of wool uncarded, and carding-boards hung from nails in the logs. In one
+corner was a rudely constructed reel, and from the loom dangled the idle
+shuttle filled with fine blue yarn of wool. Thryng thought of the worn
+old hands which had so often thrown it, and thinking of them he hastened
+his toilet that he might go in and do what he could to help the patient.
+It was small enough return for the kindness shown him. He feared to
+offer money for his lodgment, at least until he could find a way.
+
+At last, full of new vigor and very hungry, he issued from his
+sleeping-room, sadly in need of a shave, but biding his time, satisfied
+if only breakfast might be forthcoming. He had no need to knock, for the
+house door stood open, flooding the place with sunlight and frosty air.
+The huge pile of logs was blazing on the hearth as if it had never
+ceased since the night before, and the flames leaped hot and red up the
+great chimney.
+
+Old Sally no longer presided at the cookery. With a large cup of black
+coffee before her, she now sat at the table eating corn-bread and bacon.
+A drooping black sunbonnet on her head covered her unkempt, grizzly
+hair, and a cob pipe and bag of tobacco lay at her hand. She was ready
+for departure. Cassandra had returned, and her gratuitous neighborly
+offices were at an end. The girl was stooping before the fire, arranging
+a cake of corn-bread to cook in the ashes. A crane swung over the flames
+on which a fat iron kettle was hung, and the large coffee-pot stood on
+the hearth. The odor of breakfast was savory and appetizing. As David's
+tall form cast a shadow across the sunlit space on the floor, the old
+mother's voice called to him from the corner.
+
+"Come right in, Doctah; take a cheer and set. Your breakfast's ready, I
+reckon. How have you slept, suh?"
+
+The girl at the fire rose and greeted him, but he missed the boy.
+"Where's the little chap?" he asked.
+
+"Cassandry sont him out to wash up. F'ust thing she do when she gets
+home is to begin on Hoyle and wash him up."
+
+"He do get that dirty, poor little son," said the girl. "It's like I
+have to torment him some. Will you have breakfast now, suh? Just take
+your chair to the table, and I'll fetch it directly."
+
+"Won't I, though! What air you have up here! It makes me hungry merely
+to breathe. Is it this way all the time?"
+
+"Hit's this-a-way a good deal," said Sally, from under her sunbonnet,
+"Oh, the' is days hit's some colder, like to make water freeze right
+hard, but most days hit's a heap warmer than this."
+
+"That's so," said the invalid. "I hev seen it so warm a heap o' winters
+'at the trees gits fooled into thinkin' hit's spring an' blossoms all
+out, an' then come along a late freez'n' spell an' gits their fruit all
+killed. Hit's quare how they does do that-a-way. We-all hates it when
+the days come warm in Feb'uary."
+
+"Then you must have been glad to have snow yesterday. I was
+disappointed. I was running away from that sort of thing, you know."
+
+Thryng's breakfast was served to him as had been his supper of the
+evening before, directly from the fire. As he ate he looked out upon the
+usual litter of corn fodder scattered about near the house, and a few
+implements of the simplest character for cultivating the small pocket of
+rich soil below, but beyond this and surrounding it was a scene of the
+wildest beauty. Giant forest trees, intertwined and almost overgrown by
+a tangle of wild grapevines, hid the fall from sight, and behind them
+the mountain rose abruptly. A continuous stream of clearest water, icy
+cold, fell from high above into a long trough made of a hollow log.
+There at the running water stood little Hoyle, his coarse cotton towel
+hung on an azalia shrub, giving himself a thorough scrubbing. In a
+moment he came in panting, shivering, and shining, and still wet about
+the hair and ears.
+
+"Why, you are not half dry, son," said his sister. She took the towel
+from him and gave his head a vigorous rubbing. "Go and get warm, honey,
+and sister'll give you breakfast by the fire." She turned to David:
+"Likely you take milk in your coffee. I never thought to ask you." She
+left the room and returned with a cup of new milk, warm and sweet. He
+was glad to get it, finding his black coffee sweetened only with
+molasses unpalatable.
+
+"Don't you take milk in your coffee? How came you to think of it for
+me?"
+
+"I knew a lady at the hotel last summer. She said that up no'th 'most
+everybody does take milk or cream, one, in their coffee."
+
+"I never seed sech. Hit's clar waste to my thinkin'."
+
+Cassandra smiled. "That's because you never could abide milk. Mothah
+thinks it's only fit to make buttah and raise pigs on."
+
+
+Old Sally's horse, a thin, wiry beast, gray and speckled, stood ready
+saddled near the door, his bridle hanging from his neck, the bit
+dangling while he also made his repast. When he had finished his corn
+and she had finished her elaborate farewells at the bedside, and little
+Hoyle had with much effort succeeded in bridling her steed, she stepped
+quickly out and gained her seat on the high, narrow saddle with the ease
+of a young girl. Meagre as a willow withe in her scant black cotton
+gown, perched on her bony gray beast, and only the bowl of her cob pipe
+projecting beyond the rim of her sunbonnet as indication that a face
+might be hidden in its depths, with a meal sack containing in either end
+sundry gifts--salt pork, chicken, corn-bread, and meal--slung over the
+horse's back behind her, and with contentment in her heart, Aunt Sally
+rode slowly over the hills to rejoin her old man.
+
+Soon she left the main road and struck out into a steep, narrow trail,
+merely a mule track arched with hornbeam and dogwood and mulberry trees,
+and towered over by giant chestnuts and oaks and great white pines and
+deep green hemlocks. Through myriad leafless branches the wind soughed
+pleasantly overhead, unfelt by her, so completely was she protected by
+the thickly growing laurel and rhododendron on either side of her path.
+The snow of the day before was gone, leaving only the glistening wetness
+of it on stones and fallen leaves and twigs underfoot, while in open
+spaces the sun beat warmly down upon her.
+
+The trail led by many steep scrambles and sharp descents more directly
+to her home than the road, which wound and turned so frequently as to
+more than double the distance. At intervals it cut across the road or
+followed it a little way, only to diverge again. Here and there other
+trails crossed it or branched from it, leading higher up the mountain,
+or off into some gorge following the course of a stream, so that, except
+to one accustomed to its intricacies, the path might easily be lost.
+
+Old Sally paid no heed to her course, apparently leaving the choice of
+trails to her horse. She sat easily on the beast and smoked her pipe
+until it was quite out, when she stowed it away in the black cloth bag,
+which dangled from her elbow by its strings. Spying a small sassafras
+shrub leaning toward her from the bank above her head, she gave it a
+vigorous pull as she passed and drew it, root and all, from its hold in
+the soil, beat it against the mossy bank, and swished it upon her skirt
+to remove the earth clinging to it. Then, breaking off a bit of the
+root, she chewed it, while she thrust the rest in her bag and used the
+top for a switch with which to hasten the pace of her nag.
+
+The small stones, loosened when she tore the shrub from the bank,
+rattled down where the soil had been washed away, leaving the steep
+shelving rock side of the mountain bare, and she heard them leap the
+smooth space and fall softly on the moss among the ferns and lodged
+leaves below. There, crouched in the sun, lay a man with a black felt
+hat covering his face. The stones falling about him caused him to raise
+himself stealthily and peer upward. Descrying only the lone woman and
+the gray horse, he gave a low peculiar cry, almost like that of an
+animal in distress. She drew rein sharply and listened. The cry was
+repeated a little louder.
+
+"Come on up hyar, Frale. Hit's on'y me. Hu' come you thar?"
+
+He climbed rapidly up through the dense undergrowth, and stood at her
+side, breathing quickly. For a moment they waited thus, regarding each
+other, neither speaking. The boy--he seemed little more than a
+youth--looked up at her with a singularly innocent and appealing
+expression, but gradually as he saw her impassive and unrelenting face,
+his own resumed a hard and sullen look, which made him appear years
+older. His forehead was damp and cold, and a lock of silken black hair,
+slightly curling over it, increased its whiteness. Dark, heavy rings
+were under his eyes, which gleamed blue as the sky between long dark
+lashes. His arms dropped listlessly at his side, and he stood before
+her, as before a dread judge, bareheaded and silent. He bore her look
+only for a minute, then dropped his eyes, and his hand clinched more
+tightly the rim of his old felt hat. When he ceased looking at her, her
+eyes softened.
+
+"I 'low ye mus' hev suthin' to say fer yourse'f," she said.
+
+"I reckon." The corners of his mouth drooped, and he did not look up. He
+made as if to speak further, but only swallowed and was silent.
+
+"Ye reckon? Waal, why'n't ye say?"
+
+"They hain't nothin' to say. He war mean an'--an'--he's dade. I reckon
+he's dade."
+
+"Yas, he's dade--an' they done had the buryin'." Her voice was
+monotonous and plaintive. A pallor swept over his face, and he drew the
+back of his hand across his mouth.
+
+"He knowed he hadn't ought to rile me like he done. I be'n tryin' to
+make his hoss go home, but I cyan't. Hit jes' hangs round thar. I done
+brung him down an' lef' him in your shed, an' I 'lowed p'rhaps Uncle
+Jerry'd take him ovah to his paw." Again he swallowed and turned his
+face away. "The critter'd starve up yander. Anyhow, I ain't hoss
+stealin'. Hit war mo'n a hoss 'twixt him an' me." From the low, quiet
+tones of the two no one would have dreamed that a tragedy lay beneath
+their words.
+
+"Look a-hyar, Frale. Thar wa'n't nothin' 'twixt him an' you. Ye war
+both on ye full o' mean corn whiskey, an' ye war quarrellin' 'bouts
+Cass." A faint red stole into the boy's cheeks, and the blue gleam of
+his eyes between the dark lashes narrowed to a mere line, as he looked
+an instant in her face and then off up the trail.
+
+"Hain't ye seed nobody?" he asked.
+
+"You knows I hain't seed nobody to hurt you-uns 'thout I'd tell ye. Look
+a-hyar, son, you are hungerin'. Come home with me, an' I'll get ye
+suthin' to eat. Ef you don't, ye'll go back an' fill up on whiskey agin,
+an' thar'll be the end of ye." He walked on a few steps at her side,
+then stopped suddenly.
+
+"I 'low I better bide whar I be. You-uns hain't been yandah to the fall,
+have ye?"
+
+"I have. You done a heap mo'n you reckoned on. When Marthy heered o' the
+killin', she jes' drapped whar she stood. She war out doin' work 'at
+you'd ought to 'a' been doin' fer her, an' she hain't moved sence. She
+like to 'a' perished lyin' out thar. Pore little Hoyle, he run all the
+way to our place he war that skeered, an' 'lowed she war dade, an' me
+an' the ol' man went ovah, an' thar we found her lyin' in the yard, an'
+the cow war lowin' to be milked, an' the pig squeelin' like hit war
+stuck, fer hunger. Hit do make me clar plumb mad when I think how you
+hev acted,--jes' like you' paw. Ef he'd nevah 'a' started that thar
+still, you'd nevah 'a' been what ye be now, a-drinkin' yer own whiskey
+at that. Come on home with me."
+
+"I reckon I'm bettah hyar. They mount be thar huntin' me."
+
+"I know you're hungerin'. I got suthin' ye can eat, but I 'lowed if
+you'd come, I'd get you an' the ol' man a good chick'n fry." She took
+from her stores, slung over the nag, a piece of corn-bread and a large
+chunk of salt pork, and gave them into his hand. "Thar! Eat. Hit's
+heart'nin'."
+
+He was suffering, as she thought, and reached eagerly for the food, but
+before tasting it he looked up again into her face, and the infantile
+appeal had returned to his eyes.
+
+"Tell me more 'bouts maw," he said.
+
+"You eat, an' I'll talk," she replied. He broke a large piece from the
+corn-cake and crowded the rest into his pocket. Then he drew forth a
+huge clasp-knife and cut a thick slice from the raw salt pork, and
+pulling a red cotton handkerchief from his belt, he wrapped it around
+the remainder and held it under his arm as he ate.
+
+"She hain't able to move 'thout hollerin', she's that bad hurted. Paw
+an' I, we got her to bed, an' I been thar ever since with all to do
+ontwell Cass come. Likely she done broke her hip."
+
+"Is Cass thar now? Hu' come she thar?" Again the blood sought his
+cheeks.
+
+"Paw rode down to the settlement and telegrafted fer her. Pore thing!
+You don't reckon what-all you have done. I wisht you'd 'a' took aftah
+your maw. She war my own sister, 'nd she war that good she must 'a' went
+straight to glory when she died. Your paw, he like to 'a' died too that
+time, an' when he married Marthy Merlin, I reckoned he war cured o' his
+ways; but hit did'n' last long. Marthy, she done well by him, an' she
+done well by you, too. They hain't nothin' agin Marthy. She be'n a good
+stepmaw to ye, she hev, an' now see how you done her, an' Cass givin' up
+her school an' comin' home thar to ten' beastes an' do your work like
+she war a man. Her family wa'n't brought up that-a-way, nor mine wa'n't
+neither. Big fool Marthy war to marry with your paw. Hit's that-a-way
+with all the Farwells; they been that quarellin' an' bad, makin' mean
+whiskey an' drinkin' hit raw, killin' hyar an' thar, an' now you go
+doin' the same, an' my own nephew, too." Her face remained impassive,
+and her voice droned on monotonously, but two tears stole down her
+wrinkled cheeks. His face settled into its harder lines as she talked,
+but he made no reply, and she continued querulously: "Why'n't you pay
+heed to me long ago, when I tol' ye not to open that thar still again?
+You are a heap too young to go that-a-way,--my own kin, like to be hung
+fer man-killin'."
+
+"When did Cass come?" he interrupted sullenly.
+
+"Las' evenin'."
+
+"I'll drap 'round thar this evenin' er late night, I reckon. I have to
+get feed fer my own hoss an' tote hit up er take him back--one. All I
+fetched up last week he done et." He turned to walk away, but stood with
+averted head as she began speaking again.
+
+"Don't you do no such fool thing. You keep clar o' thar. Bring the hoss
+to me, an' I'll ride him home. What you want o' the beast on the
+mountain, anyhow? Hit's only like to give away whar ye'r' at. All you
+want is to git to see Cass, but hit won't do you no good, leastways not
+now. You done so bad she won't look at ye no more, I reckon. They is a
+man thar, too, now." He started back, his hands clinched, his head
+lifted, in his whole air an animal-like ferocity. "Thar now, look at ye.
+'Tain't you he's after."
+
+"'Tain't me I'm feared he's after. How come he thar?"
+
+"He come with her las' evenin'--" A sound of horses' hoofs on the road
+far below arrested her. They both waited, listening intently. "Thar they
+be. Git," she whispered. "Cass tol' me ef I met up with ye, to say 'at
+she'd leave suthin' fer ye to eat on the big rock 'hind the holly tree
+at the head o' the fall." She leaned down to him and held him by the
+coat an instant, "Son, leave whiskey alone. Hit's the only way you kin
+do to get her."
+
+"Yas, Aunt Sally," he murmured. His eyes thanked her with one look for
+the tone or the hope her words held out.
+
+Again the laugh, nearer this time, and again the wild look of haunting
+fear in his face. He dropped where he stood and slipped stealthily as a
+cat back to the place where he had lain, and crawling on his belly
+toward a heap of dead leaves caught by the brush of an old fallen pine,
+he crept beneath them and lay still. His aunt did not stir. Patting her
+horse's neck, she sat and waited until the voices drew nearer, came
+close beneath her as the road wound, and passed on. Then she once more
+moved along toward her cabin.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+DAVID SPENDS HIS FIRST DAY AT HIS CABIN, AND FRALE MAKES HIS CONFESSION
+
+
+Doctor Hoyle had built his cabin on one of the pinnacles of the earth,
+and David, looking down on blue billowing mountain tops with only the
+spaces of the air between him and heaven--between him and the
+ocean--between him and his fair English home--felt that he knew why the
+old doctor had chosen it.
+
+Seated on a splint-bottomed chair in the doorway, pondering, he thought
+first of his mother, with a little secret sorrow that he could not have
+taken to his heart the bride she had selected for him, and settled in
+his own home to the comfortable ease the wife's wealth would have
+secured for him. It was not that the money had been made in commerce; he
+was neither a snob nor a cad. Although his own connections entitled him
+to honor, what more could he expect than to marry wealth and be happy,
+if--if happiness could come to either of them in that way. No, his heart
+did not lean toward her; it was better that he should bend to his
+profession in a strange land. But not this, to live a hermit's life in a
+cabin on a wild hilltop. How long must it be--how long?
+
+Brooding thus, he gazed at the distance of ever paling blue, and
+mechanically counted the ranges and peaks below him. An inaccessible
+tangle of laurel and rhododendron clothed the rough and precipitous wall
+of the mountain side, which fell sheer down until lost in purple shadow,
+with a mantle of green, deep and rich, varied by the gray of the
+lichen-covered rocks, the browns and reds of the bare branches of
+deciduous trees, and the paler tints of feathery pines. Here and there,
+from damp, springy places, dark hemlocks rose out of the mass, tall and
+majestic, waving their plumy tops, giant sentinels of the wilderness.
+
+Gradually his mood of brooding retrospect changed, and he knew himself
+to be glad to his heart's core. He could understand why, out of the
+turmoil of the Middle Ages, men chose to go to sequestered places and
+become hermits. No tragedies could be in this primeval spot, and here he
+would rest and build again for the future. He was pleased to sit thus
+musing, for the climb had taken more strength than he could well spare.
+His cabin was not yet habitable, for the simple things Doctor Hoyle had
+accumulated to serve his needs were still locked in well-built
+cupboards, as he had left them.
+
+Thryng meant soon to go to work, to take out the bed covers and air
+them, and to find the canvas and nail it over the framework beside the
+cabin which was to serve as a sleeping apartment. All should be done in
+time. That was a good framework, strongly built, with the corner posts
+set deep in the ground to keep it firm on this windswept height, and
+with a door in the side of the cabin opening into the canvas room. Ah,
+yes, all that the old doctor did was well and thoroughly done.
+
+His appetite sharpened by the climb and the bracing air, David
+investigated the contents of one of those melon-shaped baskets which
+Cassandra had given him when he started for his new home that morning,
+with little Hoyle as his guide.
+
+Ah, what hospitable kindness they had shown to him, a stranger! Here
+were delicate bits of fried chicken, sweet and white, corn-bread, a
+glass of honey, and a bottle of milk. Nothing better need a man ask; and
+what animals men are, after all, he thought, taking delight in the mere
+acts of eating and breathing and sleeping.
+
+Utterly weary, he would not trouble to open the cot which lay in the
+cabin, but rolled himself in his blanket on the wide, flat rock at the
+verge of the mountain. Here, warmed by the sun, he lay with his face
+toward the blue distance and slept dreamlessly and soundly,--very
+soundly, for he was not awakened by a crackling of the brush and
+scrambling of feet struggling up the mountain wall below his hard
+resting-place. Yet the sound kept on, and soon a head appeared above the
+rock, and two hands were placed upon it; then a strong, catlike spring
+landed the lithe young owner of the head only a few feet away from the
+sleeper.
+
+It was Frale, his soft felt hat on the back of his head and the curl of
+dark hair falling upon his forehead. For an instant, as he gazed on the
+sleeping figure, the wild look of fear was in his eyes; then, as he
+bethought himself of the words of Aunt Sally, "They is a man thar," the
+expression changed to one more malevolent and repulsive, transforming
+and aging the boyish face. Cautiously he crept nearer, and peered into
+the face of the unconscious Englishman. His hands clinched and his lips
+tightened, and he made a movement with his foot as if he would spurn him
+over the cliff.
+
+As suddenly the moment passed; he drew back in shame and looked down at
+his hands, blood-guilty hands as he knew them to be, and, with lowered
+head, he moved swiftly away.
+
+He was a youth again, hungry and sad, stumbling along the untrodden way,
+avoiding the beaten path, yet unerringly taking his course toward the
+cleft rock at the head of the fall behind the great holly tree. It was
+not the food Cassandra had promised him that he wanted now, but to look
+into the eyes of one who would pity and love him. Heartsick and weary as
+he never had been in all his young life, lonely beyond bearing, he
+hurried along.
+
+As he forced a path through the undergrowth, he heard the sound of a
+mountain stream, and, seeking it, he followed along its rocky bed,
+leaping from one huge block of stone to another, and swinging himself
+across by great overhanging sycamore boughs, drawing, by its many
+windings, nearer and nearer to the spot where it precipitated itself
+over the mountain wall. Ever the noise of the water grew louder, until
+at last, making a slight detour, he came upon the very edge of the
+descent, where he could look down and see his home nestled in the cove
+at the foot of the fall, the blue smoke curling upward from its great
+chimney.
+
+He seated himself upon a jutting rock well screened by laurel shrubs on
+all sides but the one toward the fall. There, his knees clasped about
+with his arms, and his chin resting upon them, he sat and watched.
+
+Behind the leafage and tangle of bare stems and twigs, he was so far
+above and so directly over the spot on which his gaze was fixed as to be
+out of the usual range of sight from below, thus enabling him to see
+plainly what was transpiring about the house and sheds, without himself
+being seen.
+
+Long and patiently he waited. Once a dog barked,--his own dog Nig. Some
+one must be approaching. What if the little creature should seek him out
+and betray him! He quivered with the thought. The day before he had
+driven him down the mountain, beating him off whenever he returned.
+Should the animal persist in tracking him, he would kill him.
+
+He peered more eagerly down, and saw little Hoyle run out of the cow
+shed and twist himself this way and that to see up and down the road.
+Both the child and the dog seemed excited. Yes, there they were, three
+horsemen coming along the highway. Now they were dismounting and
+questioning the boy. Now they disappeared in the house. He did not move.
+Why were they so long within? Hours, it seemed to Frale, but in reality
+it was only a short search they were making there. They were longer
+looking about the sheds and yard. Hoyle accompanied them everywhere, his
+hands in his pockets, standing about, shivering with excitement.
+
+All around they went peering and searching, thrusting their arms as far
+as they could reach into the stacks of fodder, looking into troughs and
+corn sacks, setting the fowls to cackling wildly, even hauling out the
+long corn stalks from the wagon which had served to make Thryng's ride
+the night before comfortable. No spot was overlooked.
+
+Frequently they stood and parleyed. Then Frale's heart would sink within
+him. What if they should set Nig to track him! Ah, he would strangle the
+beast and pitch him over the fall. He would spring over after him before
+he would let himself be taken and hanged. Oh, he could feel the
+strangling rope around his neck already! He could not bear it--he could
+not!
+
+Thus cowering, he waited, starting at every sound from below as if to
+run, then sinking back in fear, breathless with the pounding of his
+heart in his breast. Now the voices came up to him painfully clear. They
+were talking to little Hoyle angrily. What they were saying he could not
+make out, but he again cautiously lifted his head and looked below.
+Suddenly the child drew back and lifted his arm as if to ward off a
+blow, but the blow came. Frale saw one of the men turn as he mounted his
+horse to ride away, and cut the boy cruelly across his face and arm with
+his rawhide whip. The little one's shriek of fright and pain pierced his
+big brother to the heart and caused him to forget for the moment his own
+abject fear.
+
+He made as if he would leap the intervening space to punish the brute,
+but a cry of anger died in his throat as he realized his situation. The
+selfishness of his fear, however, was dispelled, and he no longer
+cringed as before, but had the courage again to watch, awake and alert
+to all that passed beneath him.
+
+Hoyle's cry brought Cassandra out of the house flying. She walked up to
+the man like an angry tigress. Frale rose to his knees and strained
+eagerly forward.
+
+"If you are such a coward you must hit something small and weak, you can
+strike a woman. Hit me," she panted, putting the child behind her.
+
+Muttering, the man rode sullenly away. "He no business hangin' roun'
+we-uns, list'nin' to all we say."
+
+Frale could not make out the words, but his face burned red with rage.
+Had he been in hiding down below, he would have wreaked vengeance on the
+man; as it was, he stood up and boldly watched them ride away in the
+opposite direction from which they had come.
+
+He sank back and waited, and again the hours passed. All was still but
+the rushing water and the gentle soughing of the wind in the tops of the
+towering pines. At last he heard a rustling and sniffing here and there.
+His heart stood still, then pounded again in terror. They had--they had
+set Nig to track him. Of course the dog would seek for his old friend
+and comrade, and they--they would wait until they heard his bark of joy,
+and then they would seize him.
+
+He crept close to the rock where the water rushed, not a foot away, and
+clinging to the tough laurel behind him, leaned far over. To drop down
+there would mean instant death on the rocks below. It would be
+terrible--almost as horrible as the strangling rope. He would wait until
+they were on him, and then--nearer and nearer came the erratic trotting
+and scratching of the dog among the leaves--and then, if only he could
+grapple with the man who had struck his little brother, he would drag
+him over with him. A look of fierce joy leaped in his eyes, which were
+drawn to a narrow blue gleam as he waited.
+
+Suddenly Nig burst through the undergrowth and sprang to his side, but
+before the dog could give his first bark of delight the yelp was crushed
+in his throat, and he was hurled with the mighty force of frenzy, a
+black, writhing streak of animate nature into the rushing water, and
+there swept down, tossed on the rocks, taken up and swirled about and
+thrown again upon the rocks, no longer animate, but a part of nature's
+own, to return to his primal elements.
+
+It was done, and Frale looked at his hands helplessly, feeling himself a
+second time a murderer. Yet he was in no way more to blame for the first
+than for this. As yet a boy untaught by life, he had not learned what to
+do with the forces within him. They rose up madly and mastered him. With
+a man's power to love and hate, a man's instincts, his untamed nature
+ready to assert itself for tenderness or cruelty, without a man's
+knowledge of the necessity for self-control, where some of his kind
+would have been inert and listless, his inheritance had made him intense
+and fierce. Loving and gentle and kind he could be, yet when stirred by
+liquor, or anger, or fear,--most terrible.
+
+His deed had been accomplished with such savage deftness that none
+pursuing could have guessed the tragedy. They might have waited long in
+the open spaces for the dog's return or the sound of his joyous yelp of
+recognition, but the sacrifice was needless. The affectionate creature
+had been searching on his own behalf, careless of the blows with which
+his master had driven him from his side the day before.
+
+Trembling, Frale crouched again. The silence was filled with pain for
+him. The moments swept on, even as the water rushed on, and the sun
+began to drop behind the hills, leaving the hollows in deepening purple
+gloom. At last, deeming that the search for the time must have been
+given up, he crept cautiously toward the great holly tree, not for food,
+but for hope. There, back in the shadow, he sat on a huge log, his head
+bowed between his hands, and listened.
+
+Presently the silence was broken by a gentle stirring of the fallen
+leaves, not erratically this time, only a steady moving forward of human
+feet. Again Frale's heart bounded and the red sought his cheek, but now
+with a new emotion. He knew of but one footstep which would advance
+toward his ambush in that way. Peering out from among the deepest
+shadows, he watched the spot where Cassandra had promised food should be
+placed for him, his eyes no longer a narrow slit of blue, but wide and
+glad, his face transformed from the strain of fear with eager joy.
+
+Soon she emerged, walking wearily. She carried a bundle of food tied in
+a cloth, and an old overcoat of rough material trailed over one arm.
+These she deposited on the flat stone, then stood a moment leaning
+against the smooth gray hole of the holly tree, breathing quickly from
+the exertion of the steep climb.
+
+Her eyes followed the undulating line of the mountain above them, rising
+tree-fringed against the sky, to where the highest peak cut across the
+setting sun, haloed by its long rays of gold. No cloud was there, but
+sweeping down the mountain side were the earth mists, glowing with
+iridescent tints, draping the crags and floating over the purple
+hollows, the verdure of the pines showing through it all, gilded and
+glorified.
+
+Cassandra waiting there might have been the dryad of the tree come out
+to worship in the evening light and grow beautiful. So Thryng would have
+thought, could he have seen her with the glow on her face, and in her
+eyes, and lighting up the fires in her hair; but no such classic dream
+came to the youth lingering among the shadows, ashamed to appear before
+her, bestowing on her a dumb adoration, unformed and wordless.
+
+Because his friend had maudlinly boasted that he was the better man in
+her eyes, and could any day win her for himself, he had killed him.
+Despite all the anguish the deed had wrought in his soul, he felt
+unrepentant now, as his eyes rested on her. He would do it again, and
+yet it was that very boast that had first awakened in his heart such
+thought of her.
+
+For years Cassandra had been as his sister, although no tie of blood
+existed between them, but suddenly the idea of possession had sprung to
+life in him, when another had assumed the right as his. Frale had not
+looked on her since that moment of revelation, of which she was so
+ignorant and so innocent. Now, filled with the shame of his deed and his
+desires, he stood in a torment of longing, not daring to move. His knees
+shook and his arms ached at his sides, and his eyes filled with hot
+tears.
+
+Quickly the sun dropped below the edge of the mountain. Cassandra drew a
+long sigh, and the glow left her face. She looked an instant lingeringly
+at the articles she had brought, and turned sadly away. Then he took a
+step toward her with hands outstretched, forgetful of his shame, and
+all, except that she was slipping away from him. Arrested by the sound
+of his feet among the leaves, she spoke.
+
+"Frale, are you there?" Her voice was low as if she feared other ears
+than his might hear.
+
+He did not move again, and speak he could not, for remembrance rushed
+back stiflingly and overwhelmed him. Descrying his white face in the
+shadow, a pity as deep as his shame filled her heart and drew her
+nearer.
+
+"Why, Frale, come out here. No one can see you, only me."
+
+Still tongue-tied by his emotion, he came into the light and stood near
+her. In dismay she looked up in his face. The big boy brother who had
+taken her to the little Carew Crossing station only two months before,
+rough and prankish as the colt he drove, but gentle withal, was gone. He
+who stood at her side was older. Anger had left its mark about his
+mouth, and fear had put a strange wildness in his eyes--but--there was
+something else in his reckless, set lips that hurt her. She shrank from
+him, and he took a step closer. Then she placed a soothing hand on his
+arm and perceived he was quivering. She thought she understood, and the
+soft pity moistened her eyes and deepened in her heart.
+
+"Don't be afraid, Frale; they're gone long ago, and won't come back--not
+for a while, I reckon."
+
+He smiled faintly, never taking his eyes from her face. "I hain't
+afeared o' them. I hev been, but--" He shook her hand from his arm and
+made as if he would push her away, then suddenly he leaned toward her
+and caught her in his arms, clasping her so closely that she could feel
+his wildly beating heart.
+
+"Frale, Frale! Don't, Frale. You never used to do me this way."
+
+"No, I never done you this-a-way. I wisht I had. I be'n a big fool." He
+kissed her, the first kisses of his young manhood, on brow and cheeks
+and lips, in spite of her useless writhings. He continued muttering as
+he held her: "I sinned fer you. I killed a man. He said he'd hev you. He
+'lowed he'd go down yander to the school whar you war at an' marry you
+an' fetch you back. I war a fool to 'low you to go thar fer him to
+foller an' get you. I killed him. He's dade."
+
+The short, interrupted sentences fell on her ears like blows. She ceased
+struggling and, drooping upon his bosom, wept, sobbing heart-brokenly.
+
+"Oh, Frale!" she moaned, "if you had only told me, I could have given
+you my promise and you would have known he was lying and spared him and
+saved your own soul." He little knew the strength of his arms as he held
+her. "Frale! I am like to perish, you are hurting me so."
+
+He loosed her and she sank, a weary, frightened heap, at his feet. Then
+very tenderly he gathered her in his arms and carried her to the great
+flat rock and placed her on the old coat she had brought him.
+
+"You know I wouldn't hurt you fer the hull world, Cass." He knelt beside
+her, and throwing his arms across her lap buried his face in her dress,
+still trembling with his unmastered emotion. She thought him sobbing.
+
+"Can you give me your promise now, Cass?"
+
+"Now? Now, Frale, your hands are blood-guilty," she said, slowly and
+hopelessly.
+
+He grew cold and still, waiting in the silence. His hands clutched her
+clothing, but he did not lift his head. He had shed blood and had lost
+her. They might take him and hang him. At last he told her so, brokenly,
+and she knew not what to do.
+
+Gently she placed her hand on his head and drew the thick silken hair
+through her fingers, and the touch, to his stricken soul, was a
+benediction. The pity of her cooled the fever in his blood and swept
+over his spirit the breath of healing. For the first time, after the
+sin and the horror of it, after the passion and its anguish, came
+tears. He wept and wiped his tears with her dress.
+
+Then she told him how her mother had been hurt. How Hoyle had driven the
+half-broken colt and the mule all the way to Carew's alone, to bring her
+home, and how he had come nigh being killed. How a gentleman had helped
+her when the colt tried to run and the mule was mean, and how she had
+brought him home with her.
+
+Then he lifted his head and looked at her, his haggard face drawn with
+suffering, and the calmness of her eyes still further soothed and
+comforted him. They were filled with big tears, and he knew the tears
+were for him, for the change which had come upon him, lonely and
+wretched, doomed to hide out on the mountain, his clothes torn by the
+brambles and soiled by the red clay of the holes into which he had
+crawled to hide himself. He rose and sat at her side and held her head
+on his shoulder with gentle hand.
+
+"Pore little sister--pore little Cass! I been awful mean an' bad," he
+murmured. "Hit's a badness I cyan't 'count fer no ways. When I seed that
+thar doctah man--I reckon hit war him I seed lyin' asleep up yander on
+Hangin' Rock--a big tall man, right thin an' white in the face--" he
+paused and swallowed as if loath to continue.
+
+"Frale!" she cried, and would have drawn away but that he held her.
+
+"I didn't hurt him, Cass. I mount hev. I lef' him lie thar an' never
+woke him nor teched him, but--I felt hit here--the badness." He struck
+his chest with his fist. "I lef' thar fast an' come here. Ever sence I
+killed Ferd, hit's be'n follerin' me that-a-way. I reckon I'm cursed to
+hell-fire fer hit now, ef they take me er ef they don't--hit's all one;
+hit's thar whar I'm goin' at the las'."
+
+"Frale, there is a way--"
+
+"Yes, they is one way--only one. Ef you'll give me your promise, Cass,
+I'll get away down these mountains, an' I'll work; I'll work hard an'
+get you a house like one I seed to the settlement, Cass, I will. Hit's
+you, Cass. Ever sence Ferd said that word, I be'n plumb out'n my hade.
+Las' night I slep' in Wild Cat Hole, an' I war that hungered an' lone, I
+tried to pray like your maw done teached me, an' I couldn' think of
+nothin' to say, on'y just, 'Oh, Lord, Cass!' That-a-way--on'y your
+name, Cass, Cass, all night long."
+
+"I reckon Satan put my name in your heart, Frale; 'pears to me like it
+is sin."
+
+"Naw! Satan nevah put your name thar. He don't meddle with sech as you.
+He war a-tryin' to get your name out'n my heart, that's what he war
+tryin', fer he knowed I'd go bad right quick ef he could. Hit war your
+name kep' my hands off'n that doctah man thar on the rock. Give me your
+promise now, Cass. Hit'll save me."
+
+"Then why didn't it save you from killing Ferd?" she asked.
+
+"O Gawd!" he moaned, and was silent.
+
+"Listen, Frale," she said at last. "Can't you see it's sin for you and
+me to sit here like this--like we dared to be sweethearts, when you have
+shed blood for this? Take your hands off me, and let me go down to
+mothah."
+
+Slowly his hold relaxed and his head drooped, but he did not move his
+arms. She pushed them gently from her and stood a moment looking down at
+him. His arms dropped upon the stone at his side, listless and empty,
+and again her pitying soul reached out to him and enveloped him.
+
+"Frale, there is just one way that I can give you my promise," she said.
+He held out his arms to her. "No, I can't sit that way; you can see
+that. The good book says, 'Ye must repent and be born again.'" He
+groaned and covered his face with his hands. "Then you would be a new
+man, without sin. I reckon you have suffered a heap, and repented a
+heap--since you did that, Frale?"
+
+"I'm 'feared--I'm 'feared ef he war here an' riled me agin like he done
+that time--I'm 'feared I'd do hit agin--like he war talkin' 'bouts you,
+Cass." He rose and stood close to her.
+
+The soft dusk was wrapping them about, and she began to fear lest she
+lose her control over him. She took up the bundle of food and placed it
+in his hand.
+
+"Here, take this, and the coat, too, Frale. Come down and have suppah
+with mothah and me to-night, and sleep in your own bed. They won't
+search here for one while, I reckon, and you'll be safah than hiding in
+Wild Cat Hole. Hoyle heard them say they reckoned you'd lit off down
+the mountain, and were hiding in some near-by town. They'll hunt you
+there first; come."
+
+She walked on, and he obediently followed. "When we get nigh the house,
+I'll go first and see if the way is clear. You wait back. If I want you
+to run, I'll call twice, quick and sharp, but if I want you to come
+right in, I'll call once, low and long."
+
+After that no word was spoken. They clambered down the steep, winding
+path, and not far from the house she left him. She wondered Nig did not
+bound out to greet her, but supposed he must be curled up near the
+hearth in comfort. Frale also thought of the dog as he sat cowering
+under the laurel shrubs, and set his teeth in anguish and sorrow.
+
+"Cass'll hate hit when she finds out," he muttered.
+
+After a moment, waiting and listening, he heard her long, low call float
+out to him. Falling on his hurt spirit, it sounded heavenly sweet.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+IN WHICH CASSANDRA GOES TO DAVID WITH HER TROUBLE, AND GIVES FRALE HER
+PROMISE
+
+
+After his sleep on Hanging Rock, David, allured by the sunset, remained
+long in his doorway idly smoking his pipe, and ruminating, until a
+normal and delightful hunger sent him striding down the winding path
+toward the blazing hearth where he had found such kindly welcome the
+evening before. There, seated tilted back against the chimney side, he
+found a huge youth, innocent of face and gentle of mien, who rose as he
+entered and offered him his chair, and smiled and tossed back a falling
+lock from his forehead as he gave him greeting.
+
+"This hyar is Doctah Thryng, Frale, who done me up this-a-way. He 'lows
+he's goin' to git me well so's I can walk again. How air you, suh? You
+certainly do look a heap better'n when you come las' evenin'."
+
+"So I am, indeed. And you?" David's voice rang out gladly. He went to
+the bed and bent above the old woman, looking her over carefully. "Are
+you comfortable? Do the weights hurt you?" he asked.
+
+"I cyan't say as they air right comfortable, but ef they'll help me to
+git 'round agin, I reckon I can bar hit."
+
+Early that morning, with but the simplest means, David had arranged
+bandages and weights of wood to hold her in position.
+
+She was so slight he hoped the broken hip might right itself with
+patience and care, more especially as he learned that her age was not so
+advanced as her appearance had led him to suppose.
+
+Now all suspicion of him seemed to have vanished from the household.
+Hoyle, happy when the fascinating doctor noticed him, leaned against his
+chair, drinking in his words eagerly. But when Thryng drew him to his
+knee and discovered the cruel mark across his face and asked how it had
+happened, a curious change crept over them all. Every face became as
+expressionless as a mask; only the boy's eyes sought his brother's,
+then turned with a frightened look toward Cassandra as if seeking help.
+
+Thryng persisted in his examination, and lifted the boy's face toward
+the light. If the big brother had done this deed, he should be made to
+feel shame for it. The welt barely escaped the eye, which was swollen
+and discolored; and altogether the face presented a pitiable appearance.
+
+As David talked, the hard look which had been exorcised for a time by
+the gentle influence of that home, and more than all by the sight of
+Cassandra performing the gracious services of the household, settled
+again upon the youth's face. His lips were drawn, and his eyes ceased
+following Cassandra, and became fixed and narrowed on one spot.
+
+"You have come near losing that splendid eye of yours, do you know that,
+little chap?" Hoyle grinned. "It's a shame, you know. I have something
+up at the cabin would help to heal this, but--" he glanced about the
+room--"What are those dried herbs up there?"
+
+"Thar is witch hazel yandah in the cupboard. Cass, ye mount bile some up
+fer th' doctah," said the mother. "Tell th' doctah hu-come hit happened,
+son; you hain't afeared of him, be ye?" A trampling of horse's hoofs was
+heard outside. "Go up garret to your own place, Frale. What ye bid'n
+here fer?" she added, in a hushed voice, but the youth sat doggedly
+still.
+
+Cassandra went out and quickly returned. "It's your own horse, Frale.
+Poor beast! He's limping like he's been hurt. He's loose out there. You
+better look to him."
+
+"Uncle Carew rode him down an' lef' him, I reckon." Frale rose and went
+out, and David continued his care of the child.
+
+"How was it? Did your brother hurt you?"
+
+"Naw. He nevah hurted me all his life. Hit--war my own se'f--"
+
+Cassandra patted the child on his shoulder. "He can't beah to tell
+hu-come he is hurted this way, he is that proud. It was a mean, bad,
+coward man fetched him such a blow across the face. He asked little son
+something, and when Hoyle nevah said a word, he just lifted his arm and
+hit him, and then rode off like he had pleased himself." A flush of
+anger kindled in her cheeks. "Nevah mind, son. Doctah can fix you up all
+right."
+
+A sigh of relief trembled through the boy's lips, and David asked no
+more questions.
+
+"You hain't goin' to tie me up that-a-way, be you?" He pointed to the
+bed whereon his mother lay, and they all laughed, relieving the tension.
+
+"Naw," shrilled the mother's voice, "but I reckon doctah mount take off
+your hade an' set hit on straight agin."
+
+"I wisht he could," cried the child, no whit troubled by the suggestion.
+"I'd bar a heap fer to git my hade straight like Frale's." Just then his
+brother entered the room. "You reckon doctah kin take off my hade an'
+set hit straight like you carry yours, Frale?" Again they all laughed,
+and the big youth smiled such a sweet, infantile smile, as he looked
+down on his little brother, that David's heart warmed toward him.
+
+He tousled the boy's hair as he passed and drew him along to the chimney
+side, away from the doctor. "Hit's a right good hade I'm thinkin' ef hit
+be set too fer round. They is a heap in hit, too, more'n they is in
+mine, I reckon."
+
+"He's gettin' too big to set that-a-way on your knee, Frale. Ye make a
+baby of him," said the mother. The child made an effort to slip down,
+but Frale's arm closed more tightly about him, and he nestled back
+contentedly.
+
+So the evening passed, and Thryng retired early to the bed in the loom
+shed. He knew something serious was amiss, but of what nature he could
+not conjecture, unless it were that Frale had been making illicit
+whiskey. Whatever it was, he chose to manifest no curiosity.
+
+In the morning he saw nothing of the young man, and as a warm rain was
+steadily falling, he was glad to get the use of the horse, and rode away
+happily in the rain, with food provided for both himself and the beast
+sufficient for the day slung in a sack behind him.
+
+"Reckon ye'll come back hyar this evenin'?" queried the old mother, as
+he adjusted her bandages before leaving.
+
+"I'll see how the cabin feels after I have had a fire in the chimney all
+day."
+
+As he left, he paused by Cassandra's side. She was standing by the spout
+of running water waiting for her pail to fill. "If it happens that you
+need me for--anything at all, send Hoyle, and I'll come immediately.
+Will you?"
+
+She lifted her eyes to his gratefully. "Thank you," was all she said,
+but his look impelled more. "You are right kind," she added.
+
+Hardly satisfied, he departed, but turned in his saddle to glance back
+at her. She was swaying sidewise with the weight of the full pail,
+straining one slender arm as she bore it into the house. Who did all the
+work there, he wondered. That great youth ought to relieve her of such
+tasks. Where was he? Little did he dream that the eyes of the great
+youth were at that moment fixed darkly upon him from the small pane of
+glass set in under the cabin roof, which lighted Frale's garret room.
+
+David stabled the horse in the log shed built by Doctor Hoyle for his
+own beast,--for what is life in the mountains without a horse,--then
+lingered awhile in his doorway looking out over the billows of ranges
+seen dimly through the fine veil of the falling rain. Ah, wonderful,
+perfect world it seemed to him, seen through the veil of the rain.
+
+The fireplace in the cabin was built of rough stone, wide and high, and
+there he made him a brisk fire with fat pine and brushwood. He drew in
+great logs which he heaped on the broad stone hearth to dry. He piled
+them on the fire until the flames leaped and roared up the chimney, so
+long unused. He sat before it, delighting in it like a boy with a
+bonfire, and blessed his friend for sending him there, smoking a pipe in
+his honor. Among the doctor's few cooking utensils he found a stout iron
+tea-kettle and sallied out again in the wet to rinse it and fill it with
+fresh water from the spring. He had had only coffee since leaving
+Canada; now he would have a good cup of decent tea, so he hung the
+kettle on the crane and swung it over the fire.
+
+In his search for his tea, most of his belongings were unpacked and
+tossed about the room in wild disorder, and a copy of _Marius the
+Epicurean_ was brought to light. His kettle boiled over into the fire,
+and immediately the small articles on his pine table were shoved back in
+confusion to make room for his tea things, his bottle of milk, his corn
+pone, and his book.
+
+Being by this time weary, he threw himself on his couch, and
+contentment began--his hot tea within reach, his door wide open to the
+sweetness of the day, his fire dancing and crackling with good cheer,
+and his book in his hand. Ah! The delicious idleness and rest! No
+disorders to heal--no bones to mend--no problems to solve; a little
+sipping of his tea--a little reading of his book--a little luxuriating
+in the warmth and the pleasant odor of pine boughs burning--a little
+dreamy revery, watching through the open door the changing lights on the
+hills, and listening to an occasional bird note, liquid and sweet.
+
+The hour drew near to noon and the sky lightened and a rift of deep blue
+stretched across the open space before him. Lazily he speculated as to
+how he was to get his provisions brought up to him, and when and how he
+might get his mail, but laughed to think how little he cared for a
+hundred and one things which had filled his life and dogged his days ere
+this. Had he reached Nirvana? Nay, he could still hunger and thirst.
+
+A footstep was heard without, and a figure appeared in his doorway,
+quietly standing, making no move to enter. It was Cassandra, and he was
+pleased.
+
+"My first visitor!" he exclaimed. "Come in, come in. I'll make a place
+for you to sit in a minute." He shoved the couch away from before the
+fire, and removing a pair of trousers and a heap of hose from one of his
+splint-bottomed chairs, he threw them in a corner and placed it before
+the hearth. "You walked, didn't you? And your feet are wet, of course.
+Sit here and dry them."
+
+She pushed back her sunbonnet and held out to him a quaint little basket
+made of willow withes, which she carried, but she took no step forward.
+Although her lips smiled a fleeting wraith of a smile that came and went
+in an instant, he thought her eyes looked troubled as she lifted them to
+his face.
+
+He took the basket and lifted the cover. "I brought you some pa'triges,"
+she said simply.
+
+There lay three quail, and a large sweet potato, roasted in the ashes on
+their hearth as he had seen the corn pone baked the evening before, and
+a few round white cakes which he afterwards learned were beaten biscuit,
+all warm from the fire.
+
+"How am I ever to repay you people for your kindness to me?" he said.
+"Come in and dry your feet. Never mind the mud; see how I've tracked it
+in all the morning. Come."
+
+He led her to the fire, and replenished it, while she sat passively
+looking down on the hearth as if she scarcely heeded him. Not knowing
+how to talk to her, or what to do with her, he busied himself trying to
+bring a semblance of order to the cabin, occasionally dropping a remark
+to which she made no response. Then he also relapsed into silence, and
+the minutes dragged--age-long minutes, they seemed to him.
+
+In his efforts at order, he spread his rug over the couch, tossed a
+crimson cushion on it and sundry articles beneath it to get them out of
+his way, then occupied himself with his book, while vainly trying to
+solve the riddle which his enigmatical caller presented to his
+imagination.
+
+All at once she rose, sought out a few dishes from the cupboard, and,
+taking a neatly smoothed, coarse cloth from the basket, spread it over
+one end of the table and arranged thereon his dinner. Quietly David
+watched her, following her example of silence until forced to speak.
+Finally he decided to question her, if only he could think of questions
+which would not trespass on her private affairs, when at last she broke
+the stillness.
+
+"I can't find any coffee. I ought to have brought some; I'll go fetch
+some if you'll eat now. Your dinner'll get cold."
+
+He showed her how he had made tea and was in no need of coffee. "We'll
+throw this out and make fresh," he said gayly. "Then you must have a cup
+with me. Why, you have enough to eat here for three people!" She seemed
+weary and sad, and he determined to probe far enough to elicit some
+confidence, but the more fluent he became, the more effectively she
+withdrew from him.
+
+"See here," he said at last, "sit by the table with me, and I will eat
+to your heart's content. I'll prepare you a cup of tea as I do my own,
+and then I want you to drink it. Come."
+
+She yielded. His way of saying "Come" seemed like a command to be
+obeyed.
+
+"Now, that is more like." He began his dinner with a relish. "Won't you
+share this game with me? It is fine, you know."
+
+He could not think her silent from embarrassment, for her poise seemed
+undisturbed except for the anxious look in her eyes. He determined to
+fathom the cause, and since no finesse availed, there remained but one
+way,--the direct question.
+
+"What is it?" he said kindly. "Tell me the trouble, and let me help
+you."
+
+She looked full into his eyes then, and her lips quivered. Something
+rose in her throat, and she swallowed helplessly. It was so hard for her
+to speak. The trouble had struck deeper than he dreamed.
+
+"It is a trouble, isn't it? Can't you tell it to me?"
+
+"Yes. I reckon there isn't any trouble worse than ours--no, I reckon
+there is nothing worse."
+
+"Why, Miss Cassandra!"
+
+"Because it's sin, and--and 'the wages of sin is death.'" Her tone was
+hopeless, and the sadness of it went to his heart.
+
+"Is it whiskey?" he asked.
+
+"Yes--it's whiskey 'stilling and--worse; it's--" She turned deathly
+white. Too sad to weep, she still held control of her voice. "It's a
+heap worse--"
+
+"Don't try to tell me what it is," he cried. "Only tell me how I may
+help you. It's not your sin, surely, so you don't have to bear it."
+
+"It's not mine, but I do have to bear it. I wish my bearing it was all.
+Tell me, if--if a man has done--such a sin, is it right to help him get
+away?"
+
+"If it is that big brother of yours, whom I saw last night, I can't
+believe he has done anything so very wicked. You say it is not the
+whiskey?"
+
+"Maybe it was the whiskey first--then--I don't know exactly how came
+it--I reckon he doesn't himself. I--he's not my brothah--not rightly,
+but he has been the same as such. They telegraphed me to come home
+quick. Bishop Towahs told me a little--all he knew,--but he didn't know
+what all was it, only some wrong to call the officahs and set them aftah
+Frale--poor Frale. He--he told me himself--last evening." She paused
+again, and the pallor slowly left her face and the red surged into her
+cheeks and mounted to the waves of her heavy hair.
+
+"It is Frale, then, who is in trouble! And you wish me to help him get
+away?" She looked down and was silent. "But I am a stranger, and know
+nothing about the country."
+
+He pushed his chair away from the table and leaned back, regarding her
+intently.
+
+"Oh, I am afraid for him." She put her hand to her throat and turned
+away her face from his searching eyes, in shame.
+
+"I prefer not to know what he has done. Just explain to me your plan,
+and how I can help. You know better than I."
+
+"I can't understand how comes it I can tell you; you are a strangah to
+all of us--and yet it seems like it is right. If I could get some
+clothes nobody has evah seen Frale weah--if--I could make him look
+different from a mountain boy, maybe he could get to some town down the
+mountain, and find work; but now they would meet up with him before he
+was halfway there."
+
+Thryng rose and began pacing the room. "Is there any hurry?" he
+demanded, stopping suddenly before her.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then why have you waited all this time to tell me?"
+
+She lifted her eyes to his in silence, and he knew well that she had not
+spoken because she could not, and that had he not ventured with his
+direct questions, she would have left him, carrying her burden with her,
+as hopelessly silent as when she came.
+
+He sat beside her again and gently urged her to tell him without further
+delay all she had in her mind. "You feel quite sure that if he could get
+down the mountain side without being seen, he would be safe; where do
+you mean to send him? You don't think he would try to return?"
+
+"Why--no, I reckon not--if--I--" Her face flamed, and she drew on her
+bonnet, hiding the crimson flush in its deep shadow. She knew that
+without the promise he had asked, the boy would as surely return as that
+the sun would continue to rise and set.
+
+"He must stay," she spoke desperately and hurriedly. "If he can just
+make out to stay long enough to learn a little--how to live, and will
+keep away from bad men--if I--he only knows enough to make mean corn
+liquor now--but he nevah was bad. He has always been different--and he
+is awful smart. I can't think how came he to change so."
+
+Taking the empty basket with her, she walked toward the door, and David
+followed her. "Thank you for that good dinner," he said.
+
+"Aunt Sally fetched the pa'triges. Her old man got them for mothah, and
+she said you sure ought to have half. Sally said the sheriff had gone
+back up the mountain, and I'm afraid he'll come to our place again this
+evening. Likely they're breaking up Frale's 'still' now."
+
+"Well, that will be a good deed, won't it?"
+
+The huge bonnet had hid her face from him, but now she lifted her eyes
+frankly to his, with a flash of radiance through her tears. "I reckon,"
+was all she said.
+
+"Are they likely to come up here, do you think, those men?"
+
+"Not hardly. They would have to search on foot here. It's out of their
+way; only no place on the mountain is safe for Frale now."
+
+"Send him to me quickly, then. I have cast my lot with you mountain
+people for some time to come, and your cause shall be mine."
+
+She paused at the door with grateful words on her lips unuttered.
+
+"Don't stop for thanks, Miss Cassandra; they are wasted between us. You
+have opened your doors to me, a stranger, and that is enough. Hurry,
+don't grieve--and see here: I may not be able to do anything, but I'll
+try; and if I can't get down to-night, won't you come again in the
+morning and tell me all about it?"
+
+Instantly he thought better of his request, yet who was here to
+criticise? He laughed as he thought how firmly the world and its
+conventions held him. Sweet, simple-hearted child that she was, why,
+indeed, should she not come? Still he called after her. "If you are too
+busy, send Hoyle. I may be down to see your mother, anyway."
+
+She paused an instant in her hurried walk. "I'll be right glad to come,
+if I can help you any way."
+
+He stood watching her until she passed below his view, as her long easy
+steps took her rapidly on, although she seemed to move slowly. Then he
+went back to his fire, and her words repeated themselves insistently in
+his mind--"I'll be right glad to come, if I can help you any way."
+
+Aunt Sally was seated in the chimney-corner smoking, when Cassandra
+returned. "Where is he?" she cried.
+
+"He couldn't set a minute, he was that restless. He 'lowed he'd go up to
+the rock whar you found him las' evenin'."
+
+Without a word, Cassandra turned and fled up the steep toward the head
+of the fall. Every moment, she knew, was precious. Frale met her halfway
+down and took her hand, leading her as he had been used to do when she
+was his "little sister," and listened to her plans docilely enough.
+
+"I mean you to go down to Farington, to Bishop Towahs'. He will give you
+work." She had not mentioned Thryng.
+
+Frale laughed.
+
+"Don't, Frale. How can you laugh?"
+
+"I ra'ly hain't laughin', Cass. Seems like you fo'get how can I get down
+the mountain; but I reckon I'll try--if you say so."
+
+Then she explained how the doctor had sent for him to come up there
+quickly, and how he would help him. "You must go now, Frale, you hear?
+Now!"
+
+Again he laughed, bitterly this time. "Yas--I reckon he'll be right glad
+to help me get away from you. I'll go myse'f in my own way."
+
+Under the holly tree they had paused, and suddenly she feared lest the
+boy at her side return to his mood of the evening before. She seized his
+hand again and hurried him farther up the steep.
+
+"Come, come!" she cried. "I'll go with you, Frale."
+
+"Naw, you won't go with me neithah," he said stubbornly, drawing back.
+
+"Frale!" she pleaded. "Hear to me."
+
+"I'm a-listenin'."
+
+"Frale, I'm afraid. They may be on their way now. For all we know they
+may be right nigh."
+
+"I've done got used to fearin' now. Hit don't hurt none. On'y one thing
+hurts now."
+
+"I've been up to see Doctor Thryng, and he's promised he'll fix you up
+some way so that if anybody does see you, they--they'll think you belong
+somewhere else, and nevah guess who you be. Frale, go."
+
+He held her, with his arm about her waist, half carrying her with him,
+instead of allowing her to move her own free gait, and she tried vainly
+with her fingers to pull his hands away; but his muscles were like iron
+under her touch. He felt her helplessness and liked it. Her voice shook
+as she pleaded with him.
+
+"Oh, Frale! Hear to me!" she wailed.
+
+"I'll hear to you, ef you'll hear to me. Seems like I've lost my fear
+now. I hain't carin' no more. Ef I should see the sheriff this minute,
+an' he war a-puttin' his rope round my neck right now, I wouldn't care
+'thout one thing--jes' one thing. I'd walk straight down to hell fer
+hit,--I reckon I hev done that,--but I'd walk till I drapped, an' work
+till I died for hit." He stood still a moment, and again she essayed to
+move his hands, but he only held her closer.
+
+"Oh, hurry, Frale! I'm afraid. Oh, Frale, don't!"
+
+"Be ye 'feared fer me, Cass?"
+
+"You know that, Frale. Leave go, and hear to me."
+
+"Be ye 'feared 'nough to give me your promise, Cass?"
+
+"Take your hand off me, Frale."
+
+"We'll go back. I 'low they mount es well take me first as last. I
+hain't no heart lef' in me. I don't care fer that thar doctah man
+he'pin' me, nohow," he choked.
+
+"Leave me go, and I'll give you promise for promise, Frale. I can't make
+out is it sin or not; but if God can forgive and love--when you turn and
+seek Him--the Bible do say so, Frale, but--but seem like you don't
+repent your deed whilst you look at me like that way." She paused,
+trembling. "If you could be sorry like you ought to be, Frale, and turn
+your heart--I could die for that."
+
+He still held her, but lifted one shaking hand above his head.
+
+"Before God, I promise--"
+
+"What, Frale? Say what you promise."
+
+He still held his hand high. "All you ask of me, Cass. Tell me word by
+word, an' I'll promise fair."
+
+"You will repent, Frale?"
+
+"Yas."
+
+"You will not drink?"
+
+"I will not drink."
+
+"You will heed when your own heart tells you the right way?"
+
+"I will heed when my heart tells me the way: hit will be the way to you,
+Cass."
+
+"Oh, don't say it that way, Frale. Now say, 'So help me God,' and don't
+think of me whilst you say it."
+
+"Put your hand on mine, Cass. Lift hit up an' say with me that word."
+She placed her palm on his uplifted palm. "So help me, God," they said
+together. Then, with streaming tears, she put her arms about his neck
+and gently drew his face down to her own.
+
+"I'll go back now, Frale, and you do all I've said. Go quick. I'll write
+Bishop Towahs, and he'll watch out for you, and find you work. Let
+Doctah Thryng help you. He sure is a good man. Oh, if you only could
+write!"
+
+"I'll larn."
+
+"You'll have a heap more to learn than you guess. I've been there, and I
+know. Don't give up, Frale, and--and stay--"
+
+"I hain't going to give up with your promise here, Cass; kiss me."
+
+She did so, and he slowly released her, looking back as he walked away.
+
+"Oh, hurry, Frale! Don't look back. It's a bad omen." She turned, and
+without one backward glance descended the mountain.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+IN WHICH DAVID AIDS FRALE TO MAKE HIS ESCAPE
+
+
+Elated by his talk with Cassandra, Frale walked eagerly forward, but as
+he neared Thryng's cabin he moved more slowly. Why should he let that
+doctor help him? He could reach Farington some way--travelling by night
+and hiding in the daytime. But David was watching for him and strolled
+down to meet him.
+
+"Good morning. Your sister says there is no time to lose. Come in here,
+and we'll see if we can find a way out of this trouble."
+
+Having learned not to expect any response to remarks not absolutely
+demanding one, and not wishing the silence to dominate, David talked on,
+as he led Frale into the cabin and carefully closed the door behind
+them.
+
+Thryng's intuition was subtle and his nature intense and strong. He had
+been used to dealing with men, and knew that when he wished to, he
+usually gained his point. Feeling the antagonism in Frale's heart toward
+himself, he determined to overcome it. Be it pride, jealousy, or what
+not, it must give way.
+
+He had learned only that morning that circumlocution or pretence of any
+sort would only drive the youth further into his fortress of silence,
+and close his nature, a sealed well of turbid feeling, against him;
+therefore he chose a manner pleasantly frank, taking much for granted,
+and giving the boy no chance to refuse his help, by assuming it to have
+been already accepted.
+
+"We are about the same size, I think? Yes. Here are some things I laid
+out for you. You must look as much like me as possible, and as unlike
+yourself, you know. Sit here and we'll see what can be done for your
+head."
+
+"You're right fair, an' I'm dark."
+
+"Oh, that makes very little difference. It's the general appearance we
+must get at. Suppose I try to trim your hair a little so that lock on
+your forehead won't give you away."
+
+"I reckon I can do it. Hit's makin' you a heap o' trouble."
+
+David was pleased to note the boy's mood softening, and helped him on.
+
+"I'm no hand as a barber, but I'll try it a little; it's easier for me
+to get at than for you." He quickly and deftly cut away the falling
+curl, and even shaved the corners of the forehead a bit, and clipped the
+eyebrows to give them a different angle. "All this will grow again, you
+know. You only want it to last until the storm blows over."
+
+The youth surveyed himself in the mirror and smiled, but grimly. "I do
+look a heap different."
+
+"That's right; we want you to look like quite another man. And now for
+your chin. You can use a razor; here is warm water and soap. This suit
+of clothes is such as we tramp about in at home, different from anything
+you see up here, you know. I'll take my pipe and book and sit there on
+the rock and keep an eye out, lest any one climb up here to look around,
+and you can have the cabin all to yourself. You see what to do; make
+yourself look as if you came from my part of the world." Thryng glanced
+at his watch. "Work fast, but take time enough to do it well. Say half
+an hour,--will that do?"
+
+"Yas, I reckon."
+
+Then David left him, and the moments passed until an hour had slipped
+away, but still the youth did not appear, and he was on the point of
+calling out to him, when he saw the twisted form of little Hoyle
+scrambling up through the underbrush.
+
+"They're comin'," he panted, with wild and frightened eyes fixed on
+David's face. "I see 'em up the road, an' I heered 'em say they was
+goin' to hunt 'round the house good, an' then s'arch the cabin ovah
+Hanging Rock." The poor child burst into tears. "Do you 'low they'll
+shoot Frale, suh?"
+
+"They'd not reached the house when you saw them?"
+
+"They'll be thar by now, suh," sobbed the boy.
+
+"Then run and hide yourself. Crawl under the rock--into the smallest
+hole you can. They mustn't see that you have been here, and don't be
+frightened, little man. We'll look after Frale."
+
+The child disappeared like a squirrel in a hole, and Thryng went to the
+cabin door and knocked imperatively. It was opened instantly, and Frale
+stood transformed, his old, soiled garments lying in a heap at his side
+as if he had crept out of his chrysalis. A full half hour he had been
+lingering, abashed at himself and dreading to appear. The slight growth
+of adolescence was gone from lip and chin, and Thryng was amazed and
+satisfied.
+
+"Good," he cried. "You've done well."
+
+The youth smiled shamefacedly, yet held his head high. With the heavy
+golf stockings, knee breeches, and belted jacket, even to himself he
+seemed another man, and an older man he looked by five years.
+
+"Now keep your nerve, and square your shoulders and face the world with
+a straight look in the eye. You've thrown off the old man with these."
+David touched the heap of clothing on the floor with his foot. "Hoyle is
+here. He says the men are on their way here and have stopped at the
+house."
+
+Instead of turning pale as Thryng had expected, a dark flush came into
+Frale's face, and his hand clinched. It was the ferocity of fear, and
+not the deadliness of it, which seized him with a sort of terrible
+anger, that David felt through his silence.
+
+"Don't lose control of yourself, boy," he said, placing his hand gently
+on his shoulder and making his touch felt by the intimate closing of his
+slender fingers upon the firmly rounded, lean muscles beneath them.
+
+"Follow my directions, and be quick. Put your own clothes in this bag."
+He hastily tossed a few things out of his pigskin valise. "Cram them in;
+that's right. Don't leave a trace of yourself here for them to find.
+Pull this cap over your eyes, and walk straight down that path, and pass
+them by as if they were nothing to you. If they speak to you, of course
+nod to them and pass on. But if they ask you a question, say politely,
+'Beg pardon?' just like that, as though you did not
+understand--and--wait. Don't hurry away from them as if you were afraid
+of them. They won't recognize you unless you give yourself away by your
+manner. See? Now say it over after me. Good! Take these cigars." He
+placed his own case in the boy's vest pocket.
+
+"Better leave 'em free, suh. I don't like to take all your things
+this-a-way." He handed back the case, and put them loose in his pocket.
+
+"Very well. If you smoke, just light this and walk on, and if they ask
+you anything about yourself, if you have seen a chap of the sort,
+understand, offer them each a cigar, and tell them no. Don't say 'I
+reckon not,' for that will give you away, and don't lift your cap, or
+they will see how roughly your hair is cut. Touch it as if you were
+going to lift it, only--so. I would take care not to arrive at the house
+while they are there; it will be easier for you to meet them on the
+path. It will be the sooner over."
+
+Thryng held out his hand, and Frale took it awkwardly, then turned away,
+swallowing the thanks he did not know how to utter. For the time being,
+David had conquered.
+
+The lad took a few steps and then turned back. "I'd like to thank you,
+suh, an' I'd like to pay fer these here--I 'low to get work an' send the
+money fer 'em."
+
+"Don't be troubled about that; we'll see later. Only remember one thing.
+I don't know what you've done, nor why you must run away like this--I
+haven't asked. I may be breaking the laws of the land as much as you in
+helping you off. I am doing it because, until I know of some downright
+evil in you, I'm bound to help you, and the best way to repay me will be
+for you to--you know--do right."
+
+"Are you doin' this fer her?" He looked off at the hills as he spoke,
+and not at the doctor.
+
+"Yes, for her and for you. Don't linger now, and don't forget my
+directions."
+
+The youth turned on the doctor a quick look. Thryng could not determine,
+as he thought it over afterward, if there was in it a trace of
+malevolence. It was like a flash of steel between them, even as they
+smiled and again bade each other good-by.
+
+For a time all was silent around Hanging Rock. Thryng sat reading and
+pondering, expecting each moment to hear voices from the direction Frale
+had taken. He could not help smiling as he thought over his attempt to
+make this mountain boy into the typical English tourist, and how unique
+an imitation was the result.
+
+He called out to comfort Hoyle's fearful little heart: "Your brother's
+all safe now. Come out here until we hear men's voices."
+
+"I better stay whar I be, I reckon. They won't talk none when they get
+nigh hyar."
+
+"Are you comfortable down there?"
+
+"Yas, suh."
+
+Hoyle was right. The two men detailed for this climb walked in silence,
+to give no warning of their approach, until they appeared in the rear of
+the cabin, and entered the shed where Frale's horse was stabled. Sure
+were they then that its owner was trapped at last.
+
+They were greatly surprised at finding the premises occupied. David
+continued his reading, unconcerned until addressed.
+
+"Good evenin', suh."
+
+He greeted them genially and invited them into his cabin, determined to
+treat them with as royal hospitality as was in his power. To offer them
+tea was hardly the thing, he reasoned, so he stirred up the fire, while
+descanting on the beauty of the location and the health-giving quality
+of the air, and when his kettle was boiling, he brought out from his
+limited stores whiskey, lemons, and sugar, and proceeded to brew them so
+fine a quality of English toddy as to warm the cockles of their hearts.
+
+Questioning them on his own account, he learned how best to get his
+supplies brought up the mountains, and many things about the region
+interesting to him. At last one of them ventured a remark about the
+horse and how he came by him, at which he explained very frankly that
+the widow down below had allowed him the use of the animal for his keep
+until her son returned.
+
+They "'lowed he wa'n't comin' back to these parts very soon," and David
+expressed satisfaction. His evident ignorance of mountain affairs
+convinced them that nothing was to be gained from him, and they asked no
+direct questions, and finally took their departure, with a high opinion
+of their host, and quite content.
+
+Then David called his little accomplice from his hiding-place, took him
+into his cabin, and taught him to drink tea with milk and sugar in it,
+gave him crisp biscuits from his small remainder in store, and, still
+further to comfort his heart, searched out a card on which was a
+picture of an ocean liner on an open sea, with flags flying, great rolls
+of vapor and smoke trailing across the sky, with white-capped waves
+beneath and white clouds above. The boy's eyes shone with delight. He
+twisted himself about to look up in Thryng's face as he questioned him
+concerning it, and almost forgot Frale in his happiness, as he trudged
+home hugging the precious card to his bosom.
+
+Contentedly Thryng proceeded to set his abode in order after the
+disarray of the morning, undisturbed by any question as to the equity of
+his deed. His mind was in a state of rebellion against the usual
+workings of the criminal courts, and, biassed by his observation of the
+youth, he felt that his act might lead as surely toward absolute
+justice, perhaps more surely, than the opposite course would have done.
+
+Erelong he found a few tools carefully packed away, as was the habit of
+his old friend, and the labor of preparing his canvas room began. But
+first a ladder hanging under the eaves of the cabin must be repaired,
+and long before the slant rays of the setting sun fell across his
+hilltop, he found himself too weary to descend to the Fall Place, even
+with the aid of his horse. With a measure of discouragement at his
+undeniable weakness, he led the animal to water where a spring bubbled
+sweet and clear in an embowered hollow quite near his cabin, then
+stretched himself on the couch before the fire, with no other light than
+its cheerful blaze, too exhausted for his book and disinclined even to
+prepare his supper.
+
+After a time, David's weariness gave place to a pleasant drowsiness, and
+he rose, arranged his bed, and replenished the fire, drank a little hot
+milk, and dropped into a wholesome slumber as dreamless and sweet as
+that of a tired child.
+
+Such a sense of peace and retirement closed around him there alone on
+his mountain, that he slept with his cabin door open to the sweet air,
+crisp and cold, lulled by the murmuring of the swaying pine tops
+without, and the crackling and crumbling of burning logs within. Rolled
+in his warm Scotch rug, he did not feel the chill that came as his fire
+burned lower, but slept until daybreak, when the clear note of a
+Carolina wren, thrice repeated close to his open door, sounded his
+reveille.
+
+Deeply inhaling the cold air, he lay and mused over the events of the
+previous day. How quickly and naturally he had been drawn into the
+interests of his neighbors below him, and had absorbed the peculiar
+atmosphere of their isolation, making a place for himself, shutting out
+almost as if they had never existed the harassments and questionings of
+his previous life. Was it a buoyancy he had received from his mountain
+height and the morning air? Whatever the cause, he seemed to have
+settled with them all, and arrived at last where his spirit needed but
+to rest open and receptive before its Creator to be swept clear of the
+dross of the world's estimates of values, and exalted with aspiration.
+
+Every long breath he drew seemed to make his mental vision clearer. God
+and his own soul--was that all? Not quite. God and the souls of men and
+of women--of all who came within his environment--a world made
+beautiful, made sweet and health-giving for these--and with them to know
+God, to feel Him near. So Christ came to be close to humanity.
+
+A mist of scepticism that had hung over him and clouded the later years
+of his young manhood suddenly rolled away, dispelled by the splendor of
+this triumphant thought, even as the rays of the rising sun came at the
+same moment to dispel the earth mists and flood the hills with light.
+Light; that was it! "In Him is no darkness at all."
+
+Joyously he set himself to the preparation for the day. The true meaning
+of life was revealed to him. The discouragement of the evening before
+was gone. Yet now should he sit down in ecstatic dreaming? It must be
+joy in life--movement--in whatever was to be done, whether in satisfying
+a wholesome hunger, in creating warmth for his body, or in conquering
+the seeds of decay and disease therein, and keeping it strong and full
+of reactive power for his soul's sake.
+
+It was a revelation to him of the eternal God, wonder-working and
+all-pervading. Now no longer with a haunting sense of fear would he
+search and learn, but with a glad perception of the beautiful
+orderliness of the universe, so planned and arranged for the souls of
+men when only they should learn how to use their own lives, and attune
+themselves to give forth music to the touch of the God of Love.
+
+A cold bath, the pure air, and his abstemiousness of the previous
+evening gave him a compelling hunger, and it was with satisfaction he
+discovered so large a portion of his dinner of yesterday remaining to be
+warmed for his morning meal. What he should do later, when dinner-time
+arrived, he knew not, and he laughed to think how he was living from
+hour to hour, content as the small wren fluting beside his door his
+care-free note. Ah, yes! "God's in His heaven, all's right with the
+world."
+
+The wren's note reminded him of a slender box which always accompanied
+his wanderings, and which had come to light rolled in the jacket which
+he had given Frale as part of his disguise. He opened it and took
+therefrom the joints of a silver flute. How long it had lain untouched!
+
+He fitted the parts and strolled out to the rock, and there, as he gazed
+at the shifting, subtle beauty spread all before him and around him, he
+lifted the wandlike instrument to his lips and began to play. At first
+he only imitated the wren, a few short notes joyously uttered; then, as
+the springs of his own happiness welled up within him, he poured forth a
+tumultuous flood of trills--a dancing staccato of mounting notes,
+shifting and falling, rising, floating away, and then returning in
+silvery echoes, bringing their own gladness with them.
+
+The pæan of praise ended, the work of the day began, and he set himself
+with all the nervous energy of his nature to the finishing of his canvas
+room. Again, ere the completion of the task, he found he had been
+expending his strength too lavishly, but this time he accepted his
+weariness more philosophically, glad if only he might labor and rest as
+the need came.
+
+Nearly the whole of the glorious day was still left him. In moving his
+couch nearer the door, he found his efforts impeded by some heavy object
+underneath it, and discovered, to his surprise and almost dismay, the
+identical pigskin valise which Frale had taken away with him the day
+before. How came it there? No one, he was certain, had been near his
+cabin since Hoyle had trotted home yesterday, hugging his picture to his
+breast.
+
+David drew it out into the light and opened it. There on the top lay
+the cigars he had placed in the youth's pocket, and there also every
+article of wearing apparel he had seen disappear down the laurel-grown
+path on Frale's lithe body twelve hours or more ago. He cast the
+articles out upon the floor and turned them over wonderingly, then
+shoved them aside and lay down for his quiet siesta. He would learn from
+Cassandra the meaning of this. He hoped the young man had got off
+safely, yet the fact of finding his kindly efforts thus thrust back upon
+him disturbed him. Why had it been done? As he pondered thereon, he saw
+again the steel-blue flash in the young man's eyes as he turned away,
+and resolved to ask no questions, even of Cassandra.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+IN WHICH FRALE GOES DOWN TO FARINGTON IN HIS OWN WAY
+
+
+Frale felt himself exalted by the oath he had sworn to Cassandra, as if
+those words had lifted the burden from his heart, and taken away the
+stain. As he walked away in his disguise, it seemed to him that he had
+acted under an irresistible spell cast upon him by this Englishman, who
+was to bide so near Cassandra--to be seen by her every day--to be
+admired by her, while he, who had the first right, must hide himself
+away from her, shielding himself in that man's clothes. Fine as they
+seemed to him, they only abashed him and filled him with a sense of
+obligation to a man he dreaded.
+
+Like a child, realizing his danger only when it was close upon him, his
+old recklessness returned, and he moved down the path with his head held
+high, looking neither to the right nor to the left, planning how he
+might be rid of these clothes and evade his pursuers unaided. The men,
+climbing toward him as he descended, hearing his footsteps above them,
+parted and stood watching, only half screened by the thick-leaved
+shrubs, not ten feet from him on either side; but so elated was he, and
+eager in his plans, that he passed them by, unseeing, and thus Thryng's
+efforts saved him in spite of himself; for so amazed were they at the
+presence of such a traveller in such a place that they allowed him to
+pass unchallenged until he was too far below them to make speech
+possible. Later, when they found David seated on his rock, they assumed
+the young man to be a friend, and thought no further of it.
+
+Frale soon left the path and followed the stream to the head of the
+fall, where he lingered, tormented by his own thoughts and filled with
+conflicting emotions, in sight of his home.
+
+To go down to the settlement and see the world had its allurements, but
+to go in this way, never to return, never to feel again the excitement
+of his mountain life, evading the law and conquering its harassments,
+was bitter. It had been his joy and delight in life to feel himself
+masterfully triumphant over those set to take him, too cunning to be
+found, too daring and strong to be overcome, to take desperate chances
+and win out; all these he considered his right and part of the game of
+life. But to slink away like a hunted fox followed by the dogs of the
+law because, in a blind frenzy, he had slain his own friend! What if he
+had promised to repent; there was the law after him still!
+
+If only his fate were a tangible thing, to be grappled with! To meet a
+foe and fight hand to hand to the death was not so hard as to yield
+himself to the inevitable. Sullenly he sat with his head in his hands,
+and life seemed to stretch before him, leading to a black chasm. But one
+ray of light was there to follow--"Cass, Cass." If only he would accept
+the help offered him and go to the station, take his seat in the train,
+and find himself in Farington, while still his pursuers were scouring
+the mountains for him, he might--he might win out. Moodily and
+stubbornly he resisted the thought.
+
+At last, screened by the darkness, he turned out his soiled and torn
+garments, and divesting himself of every article Thryng had given him,
+he placed them carefully in the valise. Then, relieved of one
+humiliation, he set himself again on the path toward Hanging Rock cabin.
+
+As he passed the great holly tree where Cassandra had sat beside him, he
+placed his hand on the stone and paused. His heart leaned toward her. He
+wanted her. Should he go down to her now and refuse to leave her? But
+no. He had promised. Something warm splashed down upon his hand as he
+bent over the rock. He sprang up, ashamed to weep, and, seizing the
+doctor's valise, plunged on through the shadows up the steep ascent.
+
+He had no definite idea of how he would explain his act, for he did not
+comprehend his own motives. It was only a wordless repugnance that
+possessed him, vague and sullen, against this man's offered friendship;
+and his relief was great when he found David asleep before his open
+door.
+
+Stealthily he entered and placed his burden beneath the couch, gazed a
+moment at the sleeping face whereon the firelight still played, and
+softly crept away. Cassandra should know that she had no need to thank
+the Englishman for his freedom.
+
+Then came the weary tramp down the mountain, skulking and hiding by day,
+and struggling on again by night--taking by-paths and unused
+trails--finding his uncertain way by moonlight and starlight--barked at
+by dogs, and followed by hounds baying loudly whenever he came near a
+human habitation--wading icy streams and plunging through gorges to
+avoid cabins or settlements--keeping life in him by gnawing raw turnips
+which had been left in the fields ungathered, until at last, pallid,
+weary, dirty, and utterly forlorn, he found himself, in the half-light
+of the dawn of the fourth day, near Farington. Shivering with cold, he
+stole along the village street and hid himself in the bishop's grounds
+until he should see some one astir in the house.
+
+The bishop had sat late the night before, half expecting him, for he had
+received Cassandra's letter, also one from Thryng. Neither letter threw
+light on Frale's deed, although Cassandra's gave him to understand that
+something more serious than illicit distilling had necessitated his
+flight. David's was a joyous letter, craving his companionship whenever
+his affairs might bring him near, but expressing the greatest
+contentment.
+
+When Black Carrie went out to unlock the chicken house door and fetch
+wood for her morning fire, she screamed with fright as the young man in
+his wretched plight stepped before her.
+
+"G'long, yo--pore white trash!" she cried.
+
+"I'm no poor white trash," he murmured. "Be Bishop Towah in the house?"
+
+"Co'se he in de haouse. Whar yo s'poses he be dis time de mawnin'?" She
+made with all haste toward her kitchen, bearing her armful of wood,
+muttering as she went.
+
+"I reckon I'll set hyar ontwell he kin see me," he said, dropping to the
+doorstep in sheer exhaustion. And there he was allowed to sit while she
+prepared breakfast in her own leisurely way, having no intention of
+disturbing her "white folkses fer no sech trash."
+
+The odor of coffee and hot cakes was maddening to the starving boy, as
+he watched her through the open door, yet he passively sat, withdrawn
+into himself, seeking in no way either to secure a portion of the food
+or to make himself known. After a time, he heard faintly voices beyond
+the kitchen, and knew the family must be there at breakfast, but still
+he sat, saying nothing.
+
+At last the door of the inner room was burst open, and a child ran out,
+demanding scraps for her puppy.
+
+"I may! I may, too, feed him in the dining room. Mamma says I may, after
+we're through."
+
+"Go off, honey chile, mussin' de flo' like dat-a-way fer me to clean up
+agin. Naw, honey. Go out on de stoop wif yer fool houn' dog." And the
+tiny, fair girl with her plate of scraps and her small black dog leaping
+and dancing at her heels, tumbled themselves out where Frale sat.
+
+Scattering her crusts as she ran, she darted back, calling: "Papa, papa!
+A man's come. He's here." The small dog further emphasized the fact by
+barking fiercely at the intruder, albeit from a safe distance.
+
+"Yas," said Carrie, as the bishop came out, led by his little daughter,
+"he b'en hyar sence long fo' sun-up."
+
+"Why didn't you call me?" he said sternly.
+
+"Sho--how I know anybody wan' see yo, hangin' 'roun' de back do'? He
+ain' say nuthin', jes' set dar." She continued muttering her crusty
+dislike of tramps, as the bishop led his caller through her kitchen and
+sent his little daughter to look after her puppy.
+
+He took Frale into his private study, and presently returned and himself
+carried him food, placing it before him on a small table where many a
+hungry caller had been fed before. Then he occupied himself at his desk
+while he quietly observed the boy. He saw that the youth was too worn
+and weak to be dealt with rationally at first, and he felt it difficult
+to affix the thought of a desperate crime upon one so gentle of mien and
+innocent of face; but he knew his people well, and what masterful
+passions often slept beneath a mild and harmless exterior.
+
+Nor was it the first time he had been called upon to adjust a conflict
+between his own conscience and the law. Often in his office of priest he
+had been the recipient of confidences which no human pressure of law
+could ever wrest from him. So now he proceeded to draw from Frale his
+full and free confession.
+
+Very carefully and lovingly he trespassed in the secret chambers of this
+troubled soul, until at last the boy laid bare his heart.
+
+He told of the cause of his anger and his drunken quarrel, of his
+evasion of his pursuers and his vow with Cassandra before God, of his
+rejection of Doctor Thryng's help and his flight by night, of his
+suffering and hunger. All was told without fervor,--a simple passive
+narration of events. No one could believe, while listening to him, that
+storms of passion and hatred and fear had torn him, or the overwhelming
+longing he had suffered at the thought of Cassandra.
+
+But when the bishop touched on the subject of repentance, the hidden
+force was revealed. It was as if the tormenting spirit within him had
+cried out loudly, instead of the low, monotonous tone in which he
+said:--
+
+"Yas, I kin repent now he's dade, but ef he war livin' an' riled me agin
+that-a-way like he done--I reckon--I reckon God don't want no repentin'
+like I repents."
+
+It was steel against flint, the spark in the narrow blue line of his
+eyes as he said the words, and the bishop understood.
+
+But what to do with this man of the mountains--this force of nature in
+the wild; how guard him from a far more pernicious element in the
+civilized town life than any he would find in his rugged solitudes?
+
+And Cassandra! The bishop bowed his head and sat with the tips of his
+fingers pressed together. The thought of Cassandra weighed heavily upon
+him. She had given her promise, with the devotion of her kind, to save;
+had truly offered herself a living sacrifice. All hopes for her growth
+into the gracious womanhood her inheritance impelled her toward,--her
+sweet ambitions for study, gone to the winds--scattered like the
+fragrant wild rose petals on her own hillside--doomed by that promise to
+live as her mother had lived, and like other women of her kin, to age
+before her time with the bearing of children in the midst of toil too
+heavy for her--dispirited by privation and the sorrow of relinquished
+hopes. Oh, well the bishop knew! He dreaded most to see the beautiful
+light of aspiration die out of her eyes, and her spirit grow sordid in
+the life to which this untamed savage would inevitably bring her. "What
+a waste!"
+
+And again he repeated the words, "What a waste!" The youth looked up,
+thinking himself addressed, but the bishop saw only the girl. It was as
+if she rose and stood there, dominant in the sweet power of her girlish
+self-sacrifice, appealing to him to help save this soul. Somehow, at the
+moment, he failed to appreciate the beauty of such giving. Almost it
+seemed to him a pity Frale had thus far succeeded in evading his
+pursuers. It would have saved her in spite of herself had he been taken.
+
+But now the situation was forced upon the bishop, either to give him up,
+which seemed an arbitrary taking into his own hands of power which
+belonged only to the Almighty, or to shield him as best he might, giving
+heed to the thought that even if in his eyes the value of the girl was
+immeasurably the greater, yet the youth also was valued, or why was he
+here?
+
+He lifted his head and saw Frale's eyes fixed upon him sadly--almost as
+if he knew the bishop's thoughts. Yes, here was a soul worth while.
+Plainly there was but one course to pursue, and but one thread left to
+hold the young man to steadfast purpose. Using that thread, he would
+try. If he could be made to sacrifice for Cassandra some of his physical
+joy of life, seeking to give more than to appropriate to himself for his
+own satisfaction--if he could teach him the value of what she had
+done--could he rise to such a height, and learn self-control?
+
+The argument for repentance having come back to him void, the bishop
+began again. "You tell me Cassandra has given you her promise? What are
+you going to do about it?"
+
+"Hit's 'twixt her an' me," said the youth proudly.
+
+"No," thundered the bishop, all the man in him roused to beat into this
+crude, triumphant animal some sense of what Cassandra had really done.
+"No. It's betwixt you and the God who made you. You have to answer to
+God for what you do." He towered above him, and bending down, looked
+into Frale's eyes until the boy cowered and looked down, with lowered
+head, and there was silence.
+
+Then the bishop straightened himself and began pacing the room. At last
+he came to a stand and spoke quietly. "You have Cassandra's promise;
+what are you going to do about it?"
+
+Frale did not move or speak, and the bishop felt baffled. What was going
+on under that passive mask he dared not think. To talk seemed futile,
+like hammering upon a flint wall; but hammer he must, and again he
+tried.
+
+"You have taken a man's life; do you know what that means?"
+
+"Hangin', I reckon."
+
+"If it were only to hang, boy, it might be better for Cassandra. Think
+about it. If I help you, and shield you here, what are you going to do?
+What do you care most for in all this world? You who can kill a man and
+then not repent."
+
+"He hadn't ought to have riled me like he done; I--keer fer her."
+
+"More than for Frale Farwell?"
+
+The boy looked vaguely before him. "I reckon," was all he said.
+
+Again the bishop paced the floor, and waited.
+
+"I hain't afeared to work--right hard."
+
+"Good; what kind of work can you do?" Frale flushed a dark red and was
+silent. "Yes, I know you can make corn whiskey, but that is the devil's
+work. You're not to work for him any more."
+
+Again silence. At last, in a low voice, he ventured: "I'll do any kind
+o' work you-all gin' me to do--ef--ef only the officers will leave me
+be--an' I tol' Cass I'd larn writin'."
+
+"Good, very good. Can you drive a horse? Yes, of course."
+
+Frale's eyes shone. "I reckon."
+
+The bishop grew more hopeful. The holy greed for souls fell upon him.
+The young man must be guarded and watched; he must be washed and
+clothed, as well as fed, and right here the little wife must be
+consulted. He went out, leaving the youth to himself, and sought his
+brown-eyed, sweet-faced little wisp of a woman, where she sat writing
+his most pressing business letters for him.
+
+"Dearest, may I interrupt you?"
+
+"In a minute, James; in a minute. I'll just address these."
+
+He dropped into a deep chair and waited, with troubled eyes regarding
+her. "There!" She rubbed vigorously down on the blotter. "These are all
+done, every blessed one, James. Now what?"
+
+In an instant she was curled up, feet and all, like a kitten in his lap,
+her small brown head, its wisps of fine, straight hair straying over
+temples and rounded cheeks, tucked comfortably under his chin; and thus
+every point was carefully talked over.
+
+With many exclamations of anxiety and doubt, and much discreet
+suggestion from the small adviser, it was at last settled. Frale was to
+be properly clothed from the missionary boxes sent every year from the
+North. He should stay with them for a while until a suitable place could
+be found for him. Above all things he must be kept out of bad company.
+
+"Oh, dear! Poor Cassandra! After all her hopes--and she might have done
+so much for her people--if only--" Tears stood in the brown eyes and
+even ran over and dropped upon the bishop's coat and had to be carefully
+wiped off, for, as he feelingly remarked,--
+
+"I can't go about wearing my wife's tears in plain view, now, can I?"
+
+And then Doctor Hoyle's young friend--she must hear his letter. How
+interesting he must be! Couldn't they have him down? And when the bishop
+next went up the mountain, might she accompany him? Oh, no. The trip was
+not too rough. It was quite possible for her. She would go to see
+Cassandra and the old mother. "Poor Cassandra!"
+
+But the self-respecting old stepmother and her daughter did not allow
+these kind friends to trespass on any missionary supplies, for Uncle
+Jerry was despatched down the mountain with a bundle on the back of his
+saddle, which was quietly left at the bishop's door; and Frale next
+appeared in a neat suit of homespun, home woven and dyed, and home-made
+clothing.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG MAKES A DISCOVERY
+
+
+Standing on the great hanging rock before his cabin, Thryng imagined
+himself absolutely solitary in the centre of a wide wilderness. Even the
+Fall Place, where lived the Widow Farwell, although so near, was not
+visible from this point; but when he began exploring the region about
+him, now on foot and now on horseback, he discovered it to be really a
+country of homes.
+
+Every mule path branching off into what seemed an inaccessible wild led
+to some cabin, often set in a hollow on a few acres of rich soil,
+watered by a never failing spring, where the forest growth had been cut
+away to make cultivation possible. Sometimes the little log house would
+be perched like a lonely eagle's nest on a mere shelflike ledge jutting
+out from the mountain wall, but always below it or above it or off at
+one side he found the inevitable pocket of rich soil accumulated by the
+wash of years, where enough corn and cow-peas could be raised for
+cattle, and cotton and a few sheep to provide material for clothing the
+family, with a few fowls and pigs to provide their food.
+
+Here they lived, those isolated people, in quiet independence and
+contented poverty, craving little and often having less, caring nothing
+for the great world outside their own environment, looking after each
+other in times of sickness and trouble, keeping alive the traditions of
+their forefathers, and clinging to the ancient family feuds and
+friendships from generation to generation.
+
+David soon learned that they had among themselves their class
+distinctions, certain among them holding their heads high, in the
+knowledge of having a self-respecting ancestry, and training their
+children to reckon themselves no "common trash," however much they
+deprecated showing the pride that was in them.
+
+Many days passed after Frale's departure before David learned more of
+the young man's unhappy deed. He had gone down to give the old mother
+some necessary care and, finding her alone, remained to talk with her.
+Pleased with her quaint expressions and virile intellect, he led her on
+to speak of her youth; and one morning, weary of the solitude and
+silence, she poured out tales of Cassandra's father, and how, after his
+death, she "came to marry Farwell." She told of her own mother, and the
+hard times that fell upon them during the bitter days of the Civil War.
+
+The traditions of her family were dear to her, and she was well pleased
+to show this young doctor who had found the key to her warm, yet
+reserved, heart that she "wa'n't no common trash," and her "chillen
+wa'n't like the run o' chillen."
+
+"Seems like I'm talkin' a heap too much o' we-uns," she said, at last.
+
+"No, no. Go on. You say you had no school; how did you learn? You were
+reading your Bible when I came in."
+
+"No. Thar wa'n't no schools in my day, not nigh enough fer me to go to.
+Maw, she could read, an' write, too, but aftah paw jined the ahmy, she
+had to work right ha'd and had nothin' to do with. Paw, he had to jine
+one side or t'othah. Some went with the North and some went with the
+South,--they didn't keer much. The' wa'n't no niggahs up here to fight
+ovah. But them war cruel times when the bushwackers come searchin'
+'round an' raidin' our homes. They were a bad lot--most of 'em war
+desertahs from both ahmies. We-uns war obleeged to hide in the bresh or
+up the branch--anywhar we could find a place to creep into. Them were
+bad times fer the women an' chillen left at home.
+
+"Maw used to save ev'y scrap of papah she could find with printin' on
+hit to larn we-uns our lettahs off'n. One time come 'long a right decent
+captain and axed maw could she get he an' his men suthin' to eat. He had
+nigh about a dozen sogers with him; an' maw, she done the bes' she
+could,--cooked corn-bread, an' chick'n an' sich. I c'n remember how he
+sot right on the hearth where you're settin' now, an' tossed flapjacks
+fer th' hull crowd.
+
+"He war right civil when he lef', an' said he'd like to give maw
+suthin', but they hadn't nothin' but Confed'rate money, an' hit wa'n't
+worth nothin' up here; an' maw said would he give her the newspapah he
+had. She seed the end of hit standin' out of his pocket; an' he laughed
+and give hit out quick, an' axed her what did she want with hit; and she
+'lowed she could teach me a heap o' readin' out o' that papah, an' he
+laughed again, an' said likely, fer that hit war worth more'n the money.
+All the schoolin' I had war just that thar papah, an' that old
+spellin'-book you see on the shelf; I c'n remembah how maw come by that,
+too."
+
+"Tell me how she came by the spelling-book, will you?"
+
+"Hit war about that time. Paw, he nevah come home again. I cyan't
+remembah much 'bouts my paw. Maw used to say a heap o' times if she only
+had a spellin'-book like she used to larn out'n, 'at she could larn
+we-uns right smart. Well, one day one o' the neighbors told her 'at he'd
+seed one at Gerret's, ovah t'othah side Lone Pine Creek, nigh about
+eight mile, I reckon; an' she 'lowed she'd get hit. So she sont we-uns
+ovah to Teasley's mill--she war that scared o' the Gorillas she didn't
+like leavin' we-uns home alone--an' she walked thar an' axed could she
+do suthin' to earn that thar book; an' ol' Miz Gerret, she 'lowed if
+maw'd come Monday follerin' an' wash fer her, 'at she mount have hit.
+Them days we-uns an' the Teasleys war right friendly. The' wa'n't no
+feud 'twixt we-uns an' Teasleys then--but now I reckon thar's bound to
+be blood feud." She spoke very sadly and waited, leaving the tale of the
+spelling-book half told.
+
+"Why must there be 'blood feud' now? Why can't you go on in the old
+way?"
+
+"Hit's Frale done hit. He an' Ferd'nan' Teasley, they set up 'stillin'
+ovah in Dark Cornder yandah. Hit do work a heap o' trouble, that thar. I
+reckon you-uns don't have nothin' sich whar you come from?"
+
+"We have things quite as bad. So they quarrelled, did they?"
+
+"Yaas, they quarrelled, an' they fit."
+
+"No doubt they had been drinking."
+
+"Yas, I reckon."
+
+"But just a drunken quarrel between those two ought not to affect all
+the rest. Couldn't you patch it up among you, and keep the boy at home?
+You must need his help on the place."
+
+"We need him bad here, but the' is no way fer to make up an' right a
+blood feud. Frale done them mean. He lifted his hand an' killed his
+friend. Hit war Sunday evenin' he done hit. They had been havin' a
+singin' thar at the mill, an' preachah, he war thar too, an' all war
+kind an' peaceable; an' Ferd an' Frale, they sot out fer thar
+'still'--Ferd on foot an' Frale rid'n' his horse--the one you have
+now--they used to go that-a-way, rid'n' turn about--one horse with them
+an' one horse kep' alluz hid nigh the 'still' lest the gov'nment men
+come on 'em suddent like. Frale, he war right cute, he nevah war come up
+with.
+
+"'Pears like they stopped 'fore they'd gone fer, disputin' 'bouts
+somethin'. Ol' Miz Teasley say she heered ther voices high an' loud, an'
+then she heered a shot right quick, that-a-way, an' nothin' more; an'
+she sont ol' man Teasley an' the preachah out, an' the hull houseful
+follered, an' thar they found Ferd lyin' shot dade--an' Frale--he an'
+the horse war gone. Ferd, he still held his own gun in his hand tight,
+like he war goin' to shoot, with the triggah open an' his fingah on
+hit--but he nevah got the chance. Likely if he had, hit would have been
+him a-hidin' now, an' Frale dade. I reckon so."
+
+Thryng listened in silence. It made him think of the old tales of the
+Scottish border. So, in plain words, the young man was a murderer. With
+deep pity he recalled the haunted look in Frale's eyes, and the sadness
+that trembled around Cassandra's lips as she said, "I reckon there is no
+trouble worse than ours." A thought struck him, and he asked:--
+
+"Do you know what they quarrelled about?"
+
+"He nevah let on what-all was the fuss. Likely he told Cass, but she is
+that still. Hit's right hard to raise a blood feud thar when we-uns an'
+the Teasleys alluz war friends. She took keer o' me when my chillen
+come, an' I took keer o' her with hern. Ferd'nan' too, he war like my
+own, fer I nursed him when she had the fever an' her milk lef' her. Cass
+war only three weeks old then, an' he war nigh on a year, but that
+little an' sickly--he like to 'a' died if I hadn't took him." She paused
+and wiped away a tear that trickled down the furrow of her thin cheek.
+"If hit war lef' to us women fer to stir 'em up, I reckon thar wouldn't
+be no feuds, fer hit's hard on we-uns when we're friendly, an' Ferd like
+my own boy that-a-way."
+
+"But perhaps--" David spoke musingly--"perhaps it was a woman who
+stirred up the trouble between them."
+
+The widow looked a moment with startled glance into his face, then
+turned her gaze away. "I reckon not. The' is no woman far or near as I
+evah heern o' Frale goin' with."
+
+Still pondering, David rose to go, but quickly resumed his seat, and
+turned her thoughts again to the past. He would not leave her thus sad
+at heart.
+
+"Won't you finish telling me about the spelling-book?"
+
+"I forget how come hit, but maw didn't leave we chillen to Teasleys'
+that day she went to do the washin'. Likely Miz Teasley war sick--anyway
+she lef' us here. She baked corn-bread--hit war all we had in the house
+to eat them days, an' she fotched water fer the day, an' kivered up the
+fire. Then she locked the door an' took the key with her, an' tol'
+we-uns did we hear a noise like anybody tryin' to get in, to go up
+garret an' make out like thar wa'n't nobody to home. The' war three o'
+us chillen. I war the oldest. We war Caswells, my fam'ly. My little
+brothah Whitson, he war sca'cely more'n a baby, runnin' 'round pullin'
+things down on his hade whar he could reach, an Cotton war mos' as much
+keer--that reckless."
+
+She paused and smiled as she recalled the cares of her childhood, then
+wandered on in her slow narration. "They done a heap o' things that day
+to about drive me plumb crazy, an' all the time we was thinkin' we
+heered men talkin' or horses trompin' outside, an' kep' ourselves right
+busy runnin' up garret to hide.
+
+"Along towa'ds night hit come on to snow, an' then turned to rain, a
+right cold hard rain, an' we war that cold an' hungry--an' Whit, he
+cried fer maw,--an' hit come dark an' we had et all the' war to eat long
+before, so we had no suppah, an' the poor leetle fellers war that cold
+an' shiverin' thar in the dark--I made 'em climb into bed like they war,
+an' kivered 'em up good, an' thar I lay tryin' to make out like I war
+maw, gettin' my arms 'round both of 'em to oncet. Whit cried hisself to
+sleep, but Cotton he kep' sayin' he heered men knockin' 'round outside,
+an' at last he fell asleep, too. He alluz war a natch'ly skeered kind o'
+child.
+
+"Then I lay thar still, list'nin' to the rain beat on the roof, an'
+thinkin' would maw ever get back again, an' list'nin' to hear her
+workin' with the lock--hit war a padlock on the outside--an' thar I must
+o' drapped off to sleep that-a-way, fer I didn't hear nothin', no more
+until I woke up with a soft murmurin' sound in my ears, an' thar I seed
+maw. The rain had stopped an' hit war mos' day, I reckon, with a mornin'
+moon shinin' in an' fallin' on her whar she knelt by the bed, clost nigh
+to me. I can see hit now, that long line o' white light streamin' acrost
+the floor an' fallin' on her, makin' her look like a white ghost spirit,
+an' her two hands held up with that thar book 'twixt 'em.
+
+"I knew hit war maw, fer I'd seed her pray before, but I war skeered fer
+all that. I lay right still an' held my breath, an' heered her thank the
+Lord fer keerin' fer we-uns whilst she war gone, an' fer 'lowin' her to
+get that thar book.
+
+"I don't guess she knew I seed her, fer she got up right still an' soft,
+like not to wake we-uns, an' began to light the fire an' make some yarb
+tea. She war that wet an' cold I could see her hand shake whilst she
+held the match to the light'ud stick. Them days maw made coffee out'n
+burnt corn-bread, an' tea out'n dried blackberry leaves an' sassafrax
+root." She paused and turned her face toward the open door. David
+thought she had lost somewhat the appearance of age; certainly, what
+with the long rest, and Cassandra's loving care, she had no longer the
+weary, haggard look that had struck him when he saw her first.
+
+Following the direction of her gaze, he went to the shelf and took down
+the old spelling-book, and turned the leaves, now limp and worn. So this
+was Cassandra's inheritance--part of it--the inward impulse that would
+urge to toil all day, then walk miles in rain and darkness through a
+wilderness, and thank the Lord for the privilege--to own this book--not
+for herself, but for the generations to come. David touched it
+reverently, glad to know so much of her past, and turned to the old
+mother for more.
+
+"Have you anything else--like this?"
+
+Her sharp eyes sparkled as she looked narrowly at him. "I have suthin'
+'at I hain't nevah told anybody livin' a word of, not even Doctah
+Hoyle--only he war some differ'nt from you. But I'm gettin' old, an' I
+may as well tell you. Likely with all your larnin' you can tell me is
+it any good to Cass. She be that sot on all sech." She fumbled at her
+throat a moment and drew from the bosom of her gown a leather
+shoe-lacing, from which dangled an iron key. Slowly she undid the knot,
+and handed it toward him.
+
+"I nevah 'low nobody on earth to touch that thar box, an' the' ain't a
+soul livin' knows what's in hit. I been gyardin' them like they war
+gold, fer they belonged to my ol' man--the first one--Cassandra's
+fathah; but I reckon if I die the' won't nobody see any good in them
+things. If you'll onlock that thar padlock on that box yander, you'll
+find it wropped in a piece o' gingham. My paw's mothah spun an' wove
+that gingham--ol' Miz Caswell. They don't many do work like that
+nowadays. They lived right whar we a' livin' now."
+
+David unlocked the chest and lifted the heavy lid.
+
+"Hit's down in the further cornder--that's hit, I reckon. Just step to
+the door, will you, an' see is they anybody nigh."
+
+He went to the door, but saw no one; only from the shed came an
+intermittent rat-tat-tat.
+
+"I don't see any one, but I hear some one pounding."
+
+"Hit's only Hoyle makin' his traps." She sighed, then slowly and
+tenderly untied the parcel and placed in his hands two small
+leather-bound books. Tied to one by a faded silk cord which marked the
+pages was a thin, worn ring of gold.
+
+"That ring war his maw's, an' when we war married, I wore hit, but when
+I took Farwell fer my ol' man, I nevah wore hit any more, fer he 'lowed,
+bein' hit war gold that-a-way, we'd ought to sell hit. That time I took
+the lock off'n the door an' put hit on that thar box. Hit war my
+gran'maw's box, an' I done wore the key hyar evah since. Can you tell
+what they be? Hit's the quarest kind of print I evah see. He used to
+make out like he could read hit. Likely he did, fer whatevah he said, he
+done."
+
+It seemed to her little short of a miracle that any one could read it,
+but David soon learned that her confidence in her first "old man" was
+unlimited.
+
+"What-all's in hit?" She grew restless while he carefully and silently
+examined her treasure, the true significance of which she so little
+knew. Filled with amazement and with a keen pleasure, he took the books
+to the light. The print was fine, even, and clear.
+
+"What-all be they?" she reiterated. "Reckon the're no good?"
+
+David smiled. "In one way they're all the good in the world, but not for
+money, you know."
+
+"No, I don't guess. Can you read that thar quare printin'?"
+
+"Yes. The letters are Greek, and these books are about a hundred years
+old."
+
+"Be they? Then they won't be much good to Cass, I reckon. He sot a heap
+by them, but I war 'feared they mount be heathen. Greek--that thar be
+heathen. Hain't hit?"
+
+David continued, speaking more to himself than to her. "They were
+published in London in eighteen twelve. They have been read by some one
+who knew them well, I can see by these marginal notes."
+
+"What be they?" Her curiosity was eager and intent.
+
+"They are explanations and comments, written here on the
+margin--see?--with a fine pen."
+
+"His grandpaw done that thar. What be they about, anyhow?"
+
+"They are very old poems written long before this country was
+discovered."
+
+"An' that must 'a' been before the Revolution. His grandpaw fit in that.
+The' is somethin' more in thar. I kept hit hid, fer Farwell, he war
+bound to melt hit up fer silver bullets. He 'lowed them bullets war
+plumb sure to kill. Reckon you can find hit? Thar 'tis." Her eyes shone
+as Thryng drew out another object also wrapped in gingham. "Hit's a
+teapot, I guess, but Farwell, he got a-hold of hit an' melted off the
+spout to make his silvah bullets. That time I hid all in the box an' put
+on the bolt an' lock whilst he war away 'stillin'. The' is one bullet
+left, but I reckon Frale has hit."
+
+David took it from her hand and turned it about. "Surely! This is a
+treasure. Here is a coat of arms--but it is so worn I can't make out the
+emblem. Was this your husband's also? Is there anything else?"
+
+"That's all. Yes, they war hisn. I war plumb mad at Farwell. I nevah
+could get ovah what he done, all so't he mount sure kill somebody.
+Likely he meant them bullets fer the revenue officers, should they come
+up with him."
+
+"It would have been a great pity if he had destroyed this mark. I
+think--I'm not sure--but if it's what I imagine, it is from an old
+family in Wales."
+
+"I reckon you're right, fer they were Welsh--his paw's folks way back.
+He used to say the' wa'n't no name older'n hisn since the Bible. I told
+him 'twar time he got a new one if 'twere that old, but he said he
+reckoned a name war like whiskey--hit needed a right smart o' age to
+make hit worth anything."
+
+Thryng laid the antique silver pot on the bed beside the old mother's
+hand and again took up the small volumes. As he held them, a thought
+flashed through his mind, yet hardly a thought,--it was more of an
+illumination,--like a vista suddenly opened through what had seemed an
+impenetrable, impalpable wall, beyond which lay a joy yet to be, but
+before unseen. In that instant of time, a vision appeared to him of what
+life might bring, glorified by a tender light as of red fire seen
+through a sweet, blue, obscuring mist, and making thus a halo about the
+one figure of the vision outlined against it, clear and fine.
+
+"'Pears like you find somethin' right interestin' in that book; be you
+readin' hit?"
+
+"I find a glorious prophecy. Was your first husband born and raised here
+as you were?"
+
+"Not on this spot; but he was born an' raised like we-uns here in the
+mountains--ovah th'other side Pisgah. I seed him first when I wa'n't
+more'n seventeen. He come here fer--I don't rightly recollect what, only
+he had been deer huntin' an' come late evenin' he drapped in. He had
+lost his dog, an' he had a bag o' birds, an' he axed maw could she cook
+'em an' give him suppah, an' maw, she took to him right smaht.
+
+"Aftah suppah--I remember like hit war last evenin'--he took gran'paw's
+old fiddle an' tuned hit up an' sot thar an' played everything you evah
+heered. He played like the' war birds singin' an' rain fallin', an' like
+the wind when hit goes wailin' round the house in the pine tops--soft
+an' sad--like that-a-way. Gran'paw's old fiddle. I used to keer a heap
+fer hit, but one time Farwell got religion, an' he took an' broke hit
+'cause he war 'feared Frale mount larn to play an' hit would be a
+temptation of the devil to him."
+
+"Well, I say! That was a crime, you know."
+
+"Yes. Sometimes I lay here an' say what-all did I marry Farwell fer,
+anyway. Well--every man has his failin's, the' say, an' Farwell, he sure
+had hisn."
+
+"May I keep these books a short time? I will be very careful of them.
+You know that, or you would not have shown them to me."
+
+"You take them as long as you like. Hit ain't like hit used to be. Books
+is easy come by these days--too easy, I reckon. Cassandry, she brung a
+whole basketful of 'em with her. Thar they be on that cheer behin' my
+spinnin'-wheel."
+
+"Was the basket full of books? So, that was why it was so heavy. Might I
+have a look at them?"
+
+"Look 'em ovah all you want to. She won't keer, I reckon. She hain't had
+a mite o' time since she come home to look at 'em."
+
+But David thought better of it. He would not look in her basket and pry
+among her treasures without her permission.
+
+"When is she coming back?" he asked, awakened to desire further
+knowledge of the silent girl's aspirations.
+
+"Soon, I reckon. She's been a right smart spell longah now 'n she 'lowed
+she'd be. Hit's old man Irwin. He's been hurted some way. She went ovah
+to see could Aunt Sally Carew go an' help Miz Irwin keer fer him--she's
+a fool thing, don't know nothin'. They sont down fer me--but here I be,
+so she rode the colt ovah fer Sally."
+
+David wrapped and tied the piece of silver as he had found it. As he
+replaced it in the box, he discovered the pieces of the broken fiddle
+loosely tied in a sack, precious relics of a joy that was past.
+Carefully he locked the box and returned the key, but the books he
+folded in the strip of gingham and carried away with him.
+
+"I'll be back to-night or in the morning. If she doesn't return, send
+Hoyle for me. You mustn't be too long alone. Shall I mend the fire?"
+
+He threw on another log, then lifted her a little and brought her a
+glass of cool water, and climbed back to his cabin, walking lightly and
+swiftly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+IN WHICH DAVID ACCOMPANIES CASSANDRA ON AN ERRAND OF MERCY
+
+
+Filled with the enthusiasm of his thoughts, David climbed too rapidly,
+and now he found he must take the more gradual rise of the mule trail
+without haste. His cap thrust in his pocket, the breeze lifted his hair
+and dried the perspiration which would still come with any too eager
+exertion. But why should he care? Even to be alive these days was joy.
+This was continually the refrain of his heart, nor had he begun to
+exhaust his resources for entertainment in his solitary life.
+
+Never were the days too long. Each was filled with such new and lively
+interest as to preclude the thought of ennui. To provide against it, he
+had sent for books--more than he had had time to read in all the busy
+days of the last three years. These and his microscope and his surgical
+instruments had been brought him on a mule team by Jerry Carew, who did
+his "toting" for him, fetching all he needed for work or comfort, in
+this way, from the nearest station where goods could be sent until the
+hotel opened in the early summer. Not that he needed them, but that, as
+an artist loves to keep a supply of paints and canvas, or a writer--even
+when idle--is happier to know that he has at hand plenty of pens and
+blank paper, he liked to have them.
+
+Thus far he had felt no more need of his books than he had for his
+surgical instruments, but now he was glad he had them for the sake of
+the girl who was "that sot on all such." He would open the box the
+moment he had eaten, and look them over. The little brother should take
+them down to her one at a time--or better--he would take them himself
+and watch the smile which came so rarely and sweetly to play about her
+lips, and in her eyes, and vanish. Surely he had a right to that for his
+pains.
+
+He heard the sound of rapid hoof beats approaching across the level
+space from the cabin above him, and looking up, as if conjured from his
+innermost thought, he saw her coming, allowing the colt to swing along
+as he would. Her bonnet hung by the strings from her arm, her hair blew
+in crinkling wisps across her face, and the rapid exercise had brought
+roses into the creamy whiteness of her skin. She kept to the brow of the
+ridge and would have passed him unseeing, her eyes fixed on the distant
+hills, had he not called to her in his clear Alpine jodel.
+
+She reined in sharply and, slipping from the saddle, walked quickly to
+him, leading the colt, which was warm and panting as if he had carried
+her a good distance at that pace.
+
+"Oh, Doctor Thryng, we need you right bad. That's why I took this way
+home. Have you been to the house?"
+
+"Yes. I have just come from there."
+
+"Is mother all right?"
+
+"Doing splendidly." He waited, and she lifted her face to him anxiously.
+
+"We need you bad, Doctor."
+
+"Yes--but not you--you're not--" he began stupidly.
+
+"It's Mr. Irwin. I went there to see could I help any, and seemed like I
+couldn't get here soon enough. When I found you were not at home, I was
+that troubled. Can--can you go up there and see why I can't rest for
+thinking he's a heap worse than he reckons? He thinks he's better,
+but--but--"
+
+"Come in and rest and tell me about it."
+
+"Mistress Irwin isn't quite well, and I must go back as soon as I can
+get everything done at home. I must get dinner for mother and Hoyle. You
+have been that kind to mother--I thought--I thought--if you could only
+see him--they can't spare him to die."
+
+"Indeed, I'll go, gladly. But you must tell me more, so that I may know
+what to take with me. What is the matter with the man? Is he ill or
+hurt? Let me--oh, you are an independent young woman."
+
+She had turned from him to mount, and he stepped forward with
+outstretched hand to aid her, but, in a breath, not seeing his offer,
+she placed her two hands on the horn of the saddle, and from the slight
+rise of ground whereon she stood, with one agile spring, landed easily
+in the saddle and wheeled about.
+
+"He's been cutting trees to clear a patch for corn, and some way he hurt
+his foot, and he's been lying there nigh a week with the misery. Last
+evening she sent one of the children for mother, not knowing she was bad
+herself, so I went for Aunt Sally; but she was gone, so I rode on to the
+Irwins to see could I help. He said he wasn't suffering so much to-day,
+and it made my heart just stop to hear that, when he couldn't lift
+himself. You see, my stepfather--he--he was shot in the arm, and right
+soon when the misery left him, he died, so I didn't say much--but on the
+way home I thought of you, and I came here fast. We know so little here
+on the mountains," she added sadly, as she looked earnestly down at him.
+
+"You have acted wisely. Just ride on, Miss Cassandra, and I will follow
+as soon as--"
+
+"Come down with me now and have dinnah at our place. Then we can start
+togethah."
+
+"Thank you, I will. You are more expert in the art of dinner getting
+than I am, so we will lose less time." He laughed and was rewarded with
+the flash of a grateful smile as she started on without another word.
+
+It took David but a few minutes to select what articles he suspected,
+from her account, might be required. He hurried his preparations, and,
+being his own groom, stable boy, and man-of-all-work, he was very busy
+about it.
+
+As a strain of music or a floating melody will linger in the background
+with insistent repetition, while the brain is at the same time busily
+occupied with surface affairs, so he found himself repeating some of her
+quaint phrases, and seeing her eyes--the wisps of wind-blown hair--and
+the smile on her lips, as she turned away, like an accompaniment to all
+he was thinking and doing.
+
+Soon, equipped for whatever the emergency might demand, he was at the
+widow's door. His horse nickered and stretched out his nose toward
+Cassandra's colt as if glad to have once more a little horse
+companionship. Side by side they stood, with bridles slipped back and
+hung to their saddles, while they crunched contentedly at the corn on
+the ear, which Hoyle had brought them.
+
+While at dinner, Cassandra showed David her books, pleased that he
+asked to see them. "I brought them to study, should I get time. It's
+right hard to give up hope--" she glanced at her mother and lowered her
+voice. "To stop--anyhow--I thought I might teach Hoyle a little."
+
+"Ah, these are mostly school-books," he said, glancing them over.
+
+"Yes, I was at school this time--near Farington it was. Once I stayed
+with Bishop Towahs and helped do housework. I could learn a heap
+there--between times. They let me have all the books I wanted to read."
+She looked lovingly at her few precious school-books. "I haven't touched
+these since I got back--we're that busy."
+
+Then she resumed her work about the house, cooking at the fireplace,
+waiting upon David, and serving her mother, while directing Hoyle what
+to do, should she be detained that night. He demurred and hung about
+her, begging her not to stay.
+
+"I won't, son, without I can't help it. You won't care so much
+now--mother's not bad like she was."
+
+"Yas, I will," he mourned.
+
+"I reckon I'll have to call you 'baby' again," said his mother. "You're
+gettin' that babyfied since Cass come back doin' all fer ye. You has a
+heap o' company. Thar's the cow to keer fer, 'n' ol' Pete hollerin' at
+ye, an' the chickens tellin' how many aigs they've laid fer ye. Run now.
+Thar's ol' Frizzle cacklin'. Get the aig, an' we'll send hit to the pore
+sick man. Thar, Cass," she added, as Hoyle ran out, half ashamed, to do
+her bidding--"hit's your own fault fer makin' such a baby of him. I 'low
+you betteh take 'long a few fresh aigs; likely they'll need 'em, so
+triflin' they be. I don't guess you'll find a thing in the house fer him
+to eat."
+
+Cassandra packed one of her oddly shaped little baskets, as her mother
+suggested, for the sadly demoralized and distracted family to which they
+were going, and tucked in with the rest the warm, newly laid egg Hoyle
+brought her, smiling indulgently, and kissing his upturned face as she
+took it from him.
+
+Toward David she was always entirely simple and natural, except when
+abashed by his speech, which seemed to her most elaborate and sometimes
+mystifying. She would pause and gaze on him an instant when he extended
+to her a courtesy, as if to give it its exact value. Not that she in the
+least distrusted him, quite the contrary, but that she was wholly unused
+to hearing phrased courtesies, or enthusiasms expressed in the form of
+words.
+
+She had seen something of it in the bishop's pretty complimentary
+pleasantries with his wife, but David's manner of handing her a chair,
+offering her a suggestion--with a "May I be allowed?" was foreign to
+her, and she accepted such remarks with a moment's hesitation and a
+certain aloofness hardly understood by him.
+
+He found himself treating her with a measure of freedom from the
+constraint which men often place upon themselves because of the
+recognition of the personal element which will obtrude between them and
+femininity in general. He recognized the reason for this in her absolute
+lack of coquetry toward him, but analyze the phenomenon, as yet, he
+could not.
+
+To her he was a being from another world, strange and delightful, but
+set as far from her as if the sea divided them. She turned toward him
+sweet, expectant eyes. She listened attentively, gropingly sometimes.
+She would understand him if she could,--would learn from him and trust
+him implicitly,--but her femininity never obtruded itself. Her
+personality seemed to be enclosed within herself and never to lean
+toward him with the subtile flattery men feel and like to awaken, but
+which they often fear to arouse when they wish to remain themselves
+unstirred. Her dignified poise and perfect freedom from all arts to
+attract his favor and attention pleased him, but while it gave him the
+safe and unconstrained feeling when with her, it still piqued his man's
+nature a little to see her so capable of showing tenderness to her own,
+yet so unstirred by himself.
+
+Cassandra had never been up to his cabin when he was there, until
+to-day, since the morning she came to consult him about Frale, nor had
+that young man's name been uttered between them. David had said nothing
+to her of the return of the valise, not wishing to touch on the subject
+unless she gave the opportunity for him to ask what she knew about it.
+Now, since his morning's talk with her mother had envisioned an ideal,
+and shown a glory beyond, he was glad to have this opportunity of being
+alone with her and of sounding her depths.
+
+For a long time they rode in silence, and he remembered her mother's
+words, "He may have told Cass, but she is that still." She carried her
+basket carefully before her on the pommel of her saddle. Gradually the
+large sunbonnet which quite hid her face slipped back, and the sun
+lighted the bronze tints of her hair. As he rode at her side he studied
+her watchfully, so simply dressed in homespun material which had faded
+from its original color to a sort of turquoise green. The stuff was
+heavy and clung closely to her figure, and she rode easily, perched on
+her small, old-fashioned side-saddle, swaying with lithe movement to the
+motion of her horse. She wore no wrap, only a soft silk kerchief knotted
+about her neck, the fluttering ends of which caressed her chin.
+
+Her cheeks became rosy with the exercise, and her gray eyes, under the
+green pines and among the dense laurel thickets, took on a warm,
+luminous green tint like the hue of her dress. David at last found it
+difficult to keep his eyes from her,--this veritable flower of the
+wilderness,--and all this time no word had been spoken between them. How
+impersonal and far away from him she seemed! While he was filled with
+interest in her and eager to learn the secret springs of her life, she
+was riding on and on, swaying to her horse as a flower on its slender
+stem sways in a breeze, as undisturbed by him as if she were not a human
+breathing girl, subject to man's dominating power.
+
+Was she, then, so utterly untouched by his masculine presence? he
+wondered. If he did not speak first, would she keep silent forever?
+Should he wait and see? Should he will her to speak and of herself
+unfold to him?
+
+Suddenly she turned and looked clearly and pleasantly in his eyes.
+"We'll be on a straight road for a piece after this hill; shall we hurry
+a little then?"
+
+"Certainly, if you think best. You set the pace, and I'll follow." Again
+silence fell.
+
+"Do you feel in a hurry?" he asked at length.
+
+"I would like to get there soon. We can't tell what might be." She
+pressed her hand an instant to her throat and drew in her breath as if
+something hurt her.
+
+"What is it?" he asked, drawing his horse nearer.
+
+"Nothing. Only I wish we were there now."
+
+"You are suffering in anticipation, and it isn't necessary. Better not,
+indeed. Think of something else."
+
+"Yes, suh." The two little words sounded humbly submissive. He had never
+been so baffled in an endeavor to bring another soul into a mood
+responsive to his own. This gentle acquiescence was not what he wished,
+but that she should reveal herself and betray to him even a hint--a
+gleam--of the deep undercurrent of her life.
+
+Suddenly they emerged on the crest of a narrow ridge from which they
+could see off over range after range of mountain peaks on one side,
+growing dimmer, bluer, and more evanescent until lost in a heavenly
+distance, and on the other side a valley dropping down and down into a
+deep and purple gloom richly wooded and dense, surrounded by precipices
+topped with scrubby, wind-blown pines and oaks--a wild and rocky descent
+into mystery and seclusion. Here and there a slender thread of smoke,
+intensely blue, rose circling and filtering through the purple density
+against a black-green background of hemlocks.
+
+Contrasted with the view on the other side, so celestially fair, this
+seemed to present something sinister, yet weirdly beautiful--a baffling,
+untamed wilderness. Along this ridge the road ran straight before them
+for a distance, stony and bleak, and the air swept over it sweet and
+strong from the sea, far away.
+
+"Wait--wait a moment," he called, as his panting horse rounded the last
+curve of the climb, and she had already put her own to a gallop. She
+reined in sharply and came back to him, a glowing vision. "Stand a
+moment near me. We'll let our horses rest a bit and ourselves, too.
+There is strength and vitality in this air; breathe it in deeply. What
+joy to be alive!"
+
+She came near, and their horses held quiet communion, putting their
+noses together contentedly. Cassandra lifted her head high and turned
+her face toward the billowed mountains, and did what Thryng had not
+known her to do, what he had wondered if she ever did-- She
+laughed--laughed aloud and joyously.
+
+"Why do you laugh?" he asked, and laughed with her.
+
+"I'm that glad all at once. I don't know why. If the mountains could
+feel and be glad, seems like they'd be laughing now away off there by
+the sea. I wonder will I ever see the ocean."
+
+"Of course you will. You are not going to live always shut up in these
+mountains. Laugh again. Let me hear you."
+
+But she turned on him startled eyes. "I clean forgot that poor man down
+below, so like to die I am 'most afraid to get back there. Look down. It
+must have been in a place like that where Christian slew Apollyon in the
+dark valley, like I was reading to Hoyle last night."
+
+"Does he live down in there? I mean the man Irwin--not Apollyon. He's
+dead, for Christian slew him."
+
+"Yes, the Irwins live there. See yonder that spot of cleared red ground?
+There's their place. The house is hid by the dark trees nigh the red
+spot. Can you make it out?"
+
+"Yes, but I call that far."
+
+"It's easy riding. Shall we go on? I'm that frightened--we'd better
+hurry."
+
+"Is that your way when you are afraid to do a thing; you hurry to do it
+all the more?"
+
+"Seems like we have to a heap of times. Seems like if I were only a man,
+I could be brave, but being a girl so, it is right hard."
+
+She started her horse to a gallop, and side by side they hurried over
+the level top of the ridge--to Thryng an exhilarating moment, to her a
+speeding toward some terrible, unknown trial.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+IN WHICH CASSANDRA AND DAVID VISIT THE HOME OF DECATUR IRWIN
+
+
+Soon the way became steep and difficult and the path so narrow they were
+forced to go single file. Then Cassandra led and David followed. They
+passed no dwellings, and even the little home to which they were going
+was lost to view. He wondered if she were not weary, remembering that
+she had been over the distance twice before that day, and begged her, as
+he had done when they set out, to allow him to carry the basket, but
+still she would not.
+
+"I never think of it. I often carry things this way.--We have to here in
+the mountains." She glanced back at him and smiled. "I reckon you find
+it hard because you are not used to living like we do; we're soon there
+now, see yonder?"
+
+A turn in the path brought them in sight of the cabin, set in its bare,
+desolate patch of red soil. About the door swarmed unkempt children of
+all sizes, as bees hang out of an over-filled hive, the largest not more
+than twelve years old, and the youngest carried on the mother's arm. It
+was David's first visit to one of the poorest of the mountain homes, and
+he surveyed the scene before him with dismay.
+
+Below the house was a spring, and there, suspended from the
+long-reaching branch of a huge beech tree, now leafless and bare, a
+great, black iron pot swung by a chain over a fire built on the ground
+among a heap of stones. On a board at one side lay wet, gray garments,
+twisted in knots as they had been wrung out of the soapy water. The
+woman had been washing, and the vapor was rising from the black pot of
+boiling suds, but, seeing their approach, she had gone to her door, her
+babe on her arm and the other children trooping at her heels and
+clinging to her skirts. They peered up from under frowzy, overhanging
+locks of hair like a group of ragged, bedraggled Scotch terriers.
+
+The mother herself seemed scarcely older than the oldest, and Thryng
+regarded her with amazement when he noticed her infantile, undeveloped
+face and learned that she had brought into the world all those who
+clustered about her. His amazement grew as he entered the dark little
+cabin and saw that they must all eat and sleep in its one small room,
+which they seemed to fill to overflowing as they crowded in after him,
+accompanied by three lean hounds, who sniffed suspiciously at his
+leggings.
+
+Far in the darkest corner lay the father on a pallet of corn-husks
+covered with soiled bedclothing. The windows were mere holes in the
+walls, unglazed, unframed, and closed at night or in bad weather by
+wooden shutters, when the room was lighted only by the flames from the
+now black and empty fireplace. Here, while mother and children were out
+by "the branch" washing, the injured man lay alone, stoically patient,
+declaring that his "laig" was some better, that he did not feel "so much
+misery in hit as yesterday."
+
+Thryng had seen much squalor and wretchedness, but never before in a
+home in the country where women and children were to be found. For a
+moment he looked helplessly at the silent, staring group, and at the
+man, who feebly tried to indicate to his wife the extending of some
+courtesy to the stranger.
+
+"Set a cheer, Polly," he said weakly, offering his great hand. "You are
+right welcome, suh. Are you visitin' these parts?"
+
+"This is the doctor I was telling you about, Cate,--Doctor Thryng. I
+begged him to come up and see could he do anything for you," said
+Cassandra. Then she urged the woman to go back to her work and take the
+children with her. "Doctor and I will look after your old man awhile."
+She succeeded in clearing the place of all but one lean hound, who
+continued to stand by his master and lick his hand, whining presciently,
+and one or two of the children, who lingered around the door to peer in
+curiously at the doctor.
+
+A shutter near the bed was tightly closed and, in struggling to open it,
+Cassandra discovered it was broken at the hinges and had been nailed in
+place. David flew to her assistance and, wrenching out the nails, tore
+it free, letting in a flood of light upon the wretchedness around them.
+Then he turned his attention to the patient, a man of powerful frame,
+but lean almost to emaciation, who watched the young physician's face
+silently with widely opened blue eyes, their pale color intensified by
+the surrounding shock of matted, curling, vividly red hair and beard.
+
+It required but a few moments to ascertain that the man's condition was
+indeed critical. Cassandra had gone out and now returned with her hands
+full of dry pine sticks. Bending on one knee before the empty fireplace,
+she arranged them and hung a kettle over them full of fresh water. David
+turned and watched her light the fire.
+
+"Good. We shall need hot water immediately. How long since you have
+eaten?" he asked the man.
+
+"He hain't eat nothing all day," said the wife, who had returned and
+again stood in the door with all her flock, gazing at him. Then the
+woman grew plaintively garrulous about the trouble she had had "doin'
+fer him," and begged David to tell her "could he he'p 'im." At last
+Thryng put a hurried end to her talk by saying he could do
+nothing--nothing at all for her old man, unless she took herself and the
+children all away. She looked terror-stricken, and her mouth drew
+together in a stubborn, resentful line as if in some way he had
+precipitated ill luck upon them by his coming. Cassandra at once took
+her basket and walked out toward the stream, and they all followed,
+leaving David and the father in sole possession of the place.
+
+Then he turned to the bed and began a kindly explanation. He found the
+man more intelligent and much more tractable than the woman, but it was
+hard to make him believe that he must inevitably lose either his life or
+his foot, and that they had not an hour--not a half hour--to spare, but
+must decide at once. David's manner, gentle, but firmly urgent, at last
+succeeded. The big man broke down and wept weakly, but yielded; only he
+stipulated that his wife must not be told.
+
+"No, no! She and the children must be kept away; but I need help. Is
+there no one--no man whom we can get to come here quickly?"
+
+"They is nobody--naw--I reckon not."
+
+David was distressed, but he searched about until he found an old
+battered pail in which to prepare his antiseptic, and busied himself in
+replenishing the fire and boiling the water; all the time his every move
+was watched by the hound and the pathetic blue eyes of his master.
+
+Soon Cassandra returned, to David's great relief, alone. She smiled as
+she looked in his face, and spoke quietly: "I told her to take the
+children and gather dock and mullein leaves and such like to make tea
+for her old man, and if she'd stay awhile, I'd look after him and have
+supper for them when they got back. Is there anything I can do now?"
+
+David was troubled indeed, but what could he do? He explained his need
+of her quickly, in low tones, outside the door. "I believe you are
+strong and brave and can do it as well as a man, but I hate to ask it of
+you. There is not time to wait. It must be done to-day, now."
+
+"I'll help you," she said simply, and walked into the hut. She had
+become deadly pale, and he followed her and placed his fingers on her
+pulse, holding her hand and looking down in her eyes.
+
+"You trust me?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, yes. I must."
+
+"Yes--you must--dear child. You are all right. Don't be troubled, but
+just think we are trying to save his life. Look at me now, and take in
+all I say."
+
+Then he placed her with her back to his work, taught her how to count
+the man's pulse and to give the ether; but the patient demurred. He
+would not take it.
+
+"Naw, I kin stand hit. Go ahead, Doctor."
+
+"See here, Cate Irwin. You are bound to do as Doctor Thryng says or
+die," she said, bending over him. "Take this, and I'll sit by you every
+minute and never take my hand off yours. Stop tossing. There!" He obeyed
+her, and she sat rigidly still and waited.
+
+The moments passed in absolute silence. Her heart pounded in her breast
+and she grew cold, but never took her eyes from the still, deathlike
+face before her. In her heart she was praying--praying to be strong
+enough to endure the horror of it--not to faint nor fall--until at last
+it seemed to her that she had turned to stone in her place; but all the
+time she could feel the faintly beating pulse beneath her fingers, and
+kept repeating David's words: "We are trying to save his life--we are
+trying to save his life."
+
+David finished. Moving rapidly about, he washed, covered, and carried
+away, and set all in order so that nothing betrayed his grewsome task.
+Then he came to her and took both her cold hands in his warm ones and
+led her to the door. She swayed and walked weakly. He supported her with
+his arm and, once out in the sweet air, she quickly recovered. He
+praised her warmly, eagerly, taking her hands in his, and for the first
+time, as the faint rose crept into her cheeks, he felt her to be moved
+by his words; but she only smiled as she drew her hands away and turned
+toward the house.
+
+"They'll be back directly, and I promised to have something for them to
+eat."
+
+"Then I'll help you, for our man is coming out all right now, and I
+feel--if he can have any kind of care--he will live."
+
+The sky had become overcast with heavy clouds and the wind had risen,
+blowing cold from the north. David replaced the shutter he had torn off
+and mended the fire with fuel he found scattered about the yard; while
+Cassandra swept and set the place in order and the resuscitated patient
+looked about a room neater and more homelike than he had ever slept in
+before. Cassandra searched out a few articles with which to prepare a
+meal--the usual food of the mountain poor--salt pork, and corn-meal
+mixed with water and salt and baked in the ashes. David watched her as
+she moved about the dark cabin, lighted only by the fitful flames of the
+fireplace, to perform those gracious, homely tasks, and would have
+helped her, but he could not.
+
+At last the woman and her brood came streaming in, and Cassandra and the
+doctor were glad to escape into the outer air. He tried to make the
+mother understand his directions as to the care of her husband, but her
+passive "Yas, suh" did not reassure him that his wishes would be carried
+out, and his hopes for the man's recovery grew less as he realized the
+conditions of the home. After riding a short distance, he turned to
+Cassandra.
+
+"Won't you go back and make her understand that he is to be left
+absolutely alone? Scare her into making the children keep away from his
+bed, and not climb into it. You made him do as I wished, with only a
+word, and maybe you can do something with her. I can't."
+
+She turned back, and David watched her at the door talking with the
+woman, who came out to her and handed her a bundle of something tied in
+a meal sack. He wondered what it might be, and Cassandra explained.
+
+"These are the yarbs I sent her and the children aftah. I didn't know
+how to rid the cabin of them without I sent for something, and now I
+don't know what to do with these. We--we're obliged to use them some
+way." She hesitated--"I reckon I didn't do right telling her that--do
+you guess? I had to make out like you needed them and had sent back for
+them; it--it wouldn't do to mad her--not one of her sort." Her head
+drooped with shame and she added pleadingly, "Mother has used these
+plants for making tea for sick folks--but--"
+
+He rode to her side and lifted the unwieldy load to his own horse, "Be
+ye wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove," he said, laughing.
+
+"How do you mean?"
+
+"You were wise. You did right where I would only have done harm and been
+brutal. Can't you see these have already served their purpose?"
+
+"I don't understand."
+
+"You told her to get them because you wished to make her think she was
+doing something for her husband, didn't you? And you couldn't say to her
+that she would help most by taking herself out of the way, could you?
+She could not understand, and so they have served their purpose as a
+means of getting her quietly and harmlessly away so we could properly do
+our work."
+
+"But I didn't say so--not rightly; I made her think--"
+
+"Never mind what you said or made her think. You did right, God knows.
+We are all made to work out good--often when we think erroneously, just
+as you made her uncomprehendingly do what she ought. If ever she grows
+wise enough to understand, well and good; if not, no harm is done."
+
+Cassandra listened, but doubtingly. At last she stopped her horse. "If
+you can't use them, I feel like I ought to go back and explain," she
+said. Her face gleamed whitely out of the gathering dusk, and he saw her
+shiver in the cold and bitter wind. He was more warmly dressed than she,
+and still he felt it cut through him icily.
+
+"No. You shall not go back one step. It would be a useless waste of your
+time and strength. Later, if you still feel that you must, you can
+explain. Come."
+
+She yielded, touched her horse lightly with her whip, and they hurried
+on. The night was rapidly closing in, the thick, dark shadows creeping
+up from the gorges below as they climbed the rugged steep they had
+descended three hours earlier. They picked their way in silence, she
+ahead, and he following closely. He wondered what might be her thoughts,
+and if she had inherited, along with much else that he could perceive,
+the Puritan conscience which had possibly driven some ancestor here to
+live undisturbed of his precious scruples.
+
+When they emerged at last on the level ridge where she had so joyously
+laughed out, Thryng hurried forward and again rode at her side. She sat
+wearily now, holding the reins with chilled hands. Had she forgotten the
+happy moment? He had not. The wind blew more shrewdly past them, and a
+few drops of rain, large and icy cold, struck their faces.
+
+"Put these on your hands, please," he begged, pulling off his thick
+gloves; but she would not.
+
+He reached for the bridle of her horse and drew him nearer, then caught
+her cold hands and began chafing them, first one and then the other.
+Then he slipped the warm gloves over them. "Wear them a little while to
+please me," he urged. "You have no coat, and mine is thick and warm."
+
+Suddenly he became aware that she was and had been silently weeping, and
+he was filled with anxiety for her, so brave she had been, so tired she
+must be--worn out--poor little heart!
+
+"Are you so tired?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, no, no."
+
+"Won't you tell me what troubles you? Let me put this over your
+shoulders to keep off the rain."
+
+"Oh, no, no!" she cried, as he began to remove his coat. "You need it a
+heap more than I. You have been sick, and I am well."
+
+"Please wear it. I will walk a little to keep warm."
+
+"Oh! I can't. I'm not cold, Doctor Thryng. It isn't that."
+
+He became imperative through anxiety. "Then tell me what it is," he
+said.
+
+"I can't stop thinking of Decatur Irwin. I can feel you working there
+yet, and seems like I never will forget. I keep going over it and over
+it and can't stop. Doctor, are you sure--sure--it was right for us to do
+what we did?"
+
+"Poor child! It was terrible for you, and you were fine, you know--fine;
+you are a heroine--you are--"
+
+"I don't care for me. It isn't me. Was it right, Doctor? Was there no
+other way?" she wailed.
+
+"As far as human knowledge goes, there was no other way. Listen, Miss
+Cassandra, I have been where such accidents were frequent. Many a man's
+leg have I taken off. Surgery is my work in life--don't be horrified. I
+chose it because I wished to be a saver of life and a helper of my
+fellows." She was shivering more from the nervous reaction than from the
+cold, and to David it seemed as if she were trying to draw farther away
+from him.
+
+"Don't shrink from me. There are so many in the world to kill and wound,
+some there must be to mend where it is possible. I saw in a moment that
+your intuition had led you rightly, and soon I knew what must be done; I
+only hope we were not too late. Don't cry, Miss Cassandra. It makes me
+feel such a brute to have put you through it."
+
+"No, no. You were right kind and good. I'm only crying now because I
+can't stop."
+
+"There, there, child! We'll ride a little faster. I must get you home
+and do something for you." He spoke out of the tenderness of his heart
+toward her.
+
+But soon they were again descending, and the horses, careful for their
+own safety if not for their riders', continued slowly and stumblingly to
+pick their footing in the darkness. Now the rain began to beat more
+fiercely, and before they reached the Fall Place they were wet to the
+skin.
+
+David feared neither the wetting nor the cold for himself; only for her
+in her utter weariness was he anxious. She would help him stable the
+horses and led away one while he led the other, but once in the house he
+took matters in his own hands peremptorily. He rebuilt the fire and
+himself removed her wet garments and her shoes. She was too exhausted to
+resist. Following the old mother's directions, he found woollen blankets
+and, wrapping her about, he took her up like a baby and laid her on her
+bed. Then he brewed her a hot milk punch and made her take it.
+
+"You need this more than I, Doctah. If you'll just take some yourself,
+as soon as I can I'll make your bed in the loom shed again, and--"
+
+"Drink it; drink it and go to sleep. Yes, yes. I'll have some, too."
+
+"Cass, you lie still and do as doctah says. You nigh about dade, child.
+If only I could get off'n this bed an' walk a leetle, I'd 'a' had your
+place all ready fer ye, Doctah. The' is a featheh bade up garret, if ye
+could tote hit down an' drap on the floor here fer--"
+
+David laughed cheerily. "Why, this is nothing for me." He stood turning
+himself about to dry his clothing on all sides before the blaze. "As
+soon as Miss Cassandra closes her eyes and sleeps, I will look after
+myself. It's a shame to bring all these wet things in here, I say!"
+
+"You are a-steamin' like you are a steam engine," piped little Hoyle,
+peering at him over his mother's shoulder from the far corner of her
+bed.
+
+"You lie down and go to sleep again, youngster," said David.
+
+And gradually they all fell asleep, while Thryng sat long before the
+fire and pondered until Cassandra slept. Once and again a deep quivering
+sigh trembled through her parted lips, as he watched beside her. A warm
+rose hue played over her still features, cast by the dancing red flames,
+and her hair in a dishevelled mass swept across the pillow and down to
+the floor. At last the rain ceased; warmed and dried, Thryng stole away
+from the silent house and rode back to his own cabin.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+IN WHICH SPRING COMES TO THE MOUNTAINS, AND CASSANDRA TELLS DAVID OF HER
+FATHER
+
+
+Ere long such a spring as David had never dreamed of swept up the
+mountain, with a charm so surpassing and transcending any imagined
+beauty that he was filled with a sort of ecstasy. He was constantly out
+upon the hills revelling in the lavish bounty of earth and sky, of
+rushing waters, and all the subtile changes in growing things, as if at
+last he had been clasped to the heart of nature. He visited the cabins
+wherever he was called, and when there was need for Cassandra's
+ministrations he often took her with him; thus they fell naturally into
+good camaraderie. Thus, also, quite as naturally, Cassandra's speech
+became more correct and fluent, even while it lost none of its lingering
+delicacy of intonation.
+
+David provided her with books, as he had promised himself. Sometimes he
+brought them down to her, and they read together; sometimes he left them
+with her and she read them by herself eagerly and happily; but so busy
+was she that she found very little time to be with him. Not only did all
+the work of the household fall on her, but the weaving, which her mother
+had done heretofore, and the care of the animals, which had been done by
+Frale.
+
+The life she had hoped to lead and the good she had longed to do when
+she left home for school, encouraged by the bishop and his wife, she now
+resolutely put away from her, determined to lead in the best way the
+life that she knew must henceforth be hers. She hoped at least she might
+be able to bring the home place back to what it used to be in her
+Grandfather Caswell's time, and to this end she labored patiently,
+albeit sadly.
+
+David was ever aware of a barrier past which he might never step, no
+matter how merry or how intimate they might seem to be, and always about
+her a silent air of waiting, which deterred him in his efforts to draw
+her into more confidential relations. Yet as the days passed, he became
+more interested in her, influenced by her nearness to him, and still
+more by her remoteness.
+
+Allured and baffled, often in the early morning or late evening he would
+sit in the doorway of his cabin, or out on his rock with his flute, when
+his thoughts were full of her. Simple, maidenly, and strong, his heart
+yearned toward her, while instinctively she held herself aloof in quiet
+dignity. Never had she presented herself at his door unless impelled by
+necessity. Never had she sat with him in his cabin since that first time
+when she came to him so heavy hearted for Frale.
+
+Only when she knew him to be absent had she gone to his cabin and set
+all its disorder to rights. Then he would return to find it swept and
+cleaned, and sweet with wild flowers and pine greenery and vines, his
+cooking utensils washed and scoured, the floor whitened with scrubbing,
+in his larder newly baked corn-bread and white beaten biscuits, his
+honey jar refilled and fresh butter pats in the spring. Sometimes a
+brown, earthen jug of cool, refreshing buttermilk stood on his table,
+but always his thanks would be swept aside with the words:--
+
+"Mother sent me up to see could I do anything for you. You are always
+that kind and we can't do much."
+
+"And you never come up when I am at home?"
+
+"It isn't every time I can get to go up, I'm that busy here most days."
+
+"Only the days when I am absent can you 'get to go up'?" he would say
+teasingly. "Don't I ever deserve a visit?"
+
+"Cass don't get time fer visitin' these days. Since Frale lef' she have
+all his work an' hern too on her, an' mine too, only the leetle help she
+gets out'n Hoyle, an' hit hain't much," said the mother. "Doctah, don't
+ye guess I can get up an' try walkin' a leetle?"
+
+"If you will promise me you will only try it when I am here to help you,
+I will take off the weight, and we'll see what you can do to-day."
+
+Cassandra loved to watch David attend on her mother, so tender was he;
+and he adopted a playful manner that always dispelled her pessimism and
+left her smiling and talkative. Ere he was aware, also, he made a place
+for himself In Cassandra's heart when he became interested in the case
+of her little brother, and attempted gradually to overcome his
+deformity.
+
+Every morning when the child climbed to his eyrie and brought his supply
+of milk, David took him in and gently, out of his knowledge and skill,
+gave him systematic care, and taught him how to help himself; but he
+soon saw that a more strenuous course would be the only way to bring
+permanent relief, or surely the trouble would increase.
+
+"What did Doctor Hoyle say about it?" he asked one day.
+
+"He wa'n't that-a-way when doctah war here last. Hit war nigh on five
+year ago that come on him. He had fevah, an' a right smart o' times when
+we thought he war a-gettin' bettah he jes' went back, ontwell he began
+to kind o' draw sideways this-a-way, an' he hain't nevah been straight
+sence, an' he has been that sickly, too. When doctah saw him last, he
+war nigh three year old an' straight as they make 'em, an' fat--you
+couldn't see a bone in him."
+
+David pondered a moment. "Suppose you give him to me awhile," he said.
+"Let him live with me in my cabin--eat there, sleep there--everything,
+and we'll see what can be done for him."
+
+"I'm willin', more'n willin', when only I can get to help Cass some.
+Hoyle, he's a heap o' help, with me not able to do a lick. He can milk
+nigh as well as she can, an' tote in water, an' feed the chick'ns an'
+th' pig, an' rid'n' to mill fer meal--yas, he's a heap o' help. Cass,
+she got to get on with th' weavin'. We promised bed kivers an' such fer
+Miss Mayhew. She sells 'em fer ladies 'at comes to the hotel in summah.
+We nevah would have a cent o' money in hand these days 'thout that, only
+what chick'ns 'nd aigs she can raise fer the hotel, too. Hit's only in
+summah. I don't rightly see how we can spare Hoyle."
+
+"Where's Miss Cassandra now?" he asked, only more determined on his
+course the more he was hampered by circumstances.
+
+"She's in the loom shed weavin'. I throwed on the warp fer a blue and
+white bed kiver 'fore I war hurt, an' she hain't had time to more'n half
+finish hit. I war helpin' to get the weavin' done whilst she war at
+school this winter, an' come spring she war 'lowin' to come back an'
+help Frale with the plantin' an' makin' crap fer next year. Here in the
+mountains we-uns have to be forehanded, an' here I be an' can't crawl
+scarcely yet."
+
+After the thrifty soul had taken a few steps, instead of realizing her
+good fortune in being able to take any, she was bitterly disappointed to
+find that weeks must still pass ere she could walk by herself. She was
+seated on her little porch where David had helped her, looking out on
+the growing things and the blossoming spring all about--a sight to make
+the heart glad; but she saw only that the time was passing, and it would
+soon be too late to make a crop that year.
+
+She was such a neat, self-respecting old woman as she sat there. Her
+work-worn old hands were not idle, for she turned and mended Hoyle's
+funny little trousers, home-made, with suspenders attached.
+
+"I don't know what-all we can do ef we can't make a crap. We won't have
+no corn nor nothin', an' nothin' to feed stock, let alone we-uns. We'll
+be in a fix just like all the poor white trash, me not able to do a
+lick."
+
+David came and sat beside her a few moments and said a great many
+comforting things, and when he rose to go the world had taken on a new
+aspect for her eyes--bright, dark eyes, looking up at him with a gleam
+of hope.
+
+"I believe ye," she said. "We'll do anything you say, Doctah."
+
+Thryng walked out past the loom shed and paused to look in on the young
+girl as she sat swaying rhythmically, throwing the shuttles with a sweep
+of her arm, and drawing the great beam toward her with steady beat,
+driving the threads in place, and shifting the veil of warp stretched
+before her with a sure touch of her feet upon the treadles, all her
+lithe body intent and atune. It seemed to him as he sat himself on the
+step to watch, that music must come from the flow of her action. The
+noise of the loom prevented her hearing his approach, and silently he
+watched and waited, fascinated in seeing the fabric grow under her hand.
+
+As silently she worked on, and slowly, even as the pattern took shape
+and became plain before her, his thoughts grew and took definite shape
+also, until he became filled with a set purpose. He would not disturb
+her now nor make her look around. It was enough just to watch her in her
+sweet serious unconsciousness, with the flush of exercise on her cheeks
+as he could see when she slightly turned her head with every throw of
+the shuttle.
+
+When at last she rose, he saw a look of care and weariness on her face
+that disturbed him. He sprang up and came to her. She little dreamed how
+long he had been there.
+
+"Please don't go. Stay here and talk to me a moment. Your mother is all
+right; I have just been with her. May I examine what you have been
+doing? It is very interesting to me, you know." He made her show him all
+the manner of her work and drew her on to tell him of the different
+patterns her mother had learned from her grandmother and had taught her.
+
+"They don't do much on the hand-looms now in the mountains, but Miss
+Mayhew at the hotel last summer--I told you about her--sold some of
+mother's work up North, and I promised more, but I'm afraid--I don't
+guess I can get it all done now."
+
+"You are tired. Sit here on the step awhile with me and rest. I want to
+talk to you a little, and I want you alone." She looked hesitatingly
+toward the declining sun. He took her hand and led her to the door.
+"Can't you give me a few, a very few moments? You hold me off and won't
+let me say what I often have in mind to ask you." She sat beside him
+where he placed her and looked wonderingly into his face, but not in the
+least as if she feared what his question might be, or as if she
+suspected anything personal. "You know it's not right that this sort of
+thing should go on indefinitely?"
+
+"I don't know what sort of thing you mean." She lifted grave, wide eyes
+to his--those clear gray eyes--and his heart admonished him that he had
+begun to love to look into their blue and green depths, but heed the
+admonishment he would not.
+
+"I mean working day in and day out, as you do. You have grown much
+thinner since I saw you first, and look at your hands." He took one of
+them in his and gently stroked it. "See how thin they are, and here are
+callous places. And you are stooping over with weariness, and, except
+when you have been exercising, your face is far too white."
+
+She looked off toward the mountain top and slowly drew her hand from
+his. "I must do it. There is no one else," she said in a low voice.
+
+"But it can't go on always--this way."
+
+"I reckon so. Once I thought--it might--be some different, but now--"
+She waited an instant in silence.
+
+"But now--what?"
+
+"It seems as if it must go on--like this way--always, as if I were
+chained here with iron."
+
+"But why? Won't you tell me so I may help you?"
+
+"I can't," she said sadly and with finality. "It must be."
+
+He brooded a moment, clasping his hands about one knee and gazing at
+her. "Maybe," he said at last, "maybe I can help you, even if you can't
+tell me what is holding you."
+
+She smiled a faintly fleeting smile. "Thank you--but I reckon not."
+
+"Miss Cassandra, when you know I am at your service, and will do
+anything you ask of me, why do you hold something back from me? I can
+understand, and I may have ways--"
+
+"It's just that, suh. Even if I could tell you, I don't guess you could
+understand. Even if I went yonder on the mountain and cried to heaven to
+set me free, I'd have to bide here and do the work that is mine to do,
+as mother has done hers, and her mother before her."
+
+"But they did it contentedly and happily--because they wished it. Your
+mother married your father because she loved him, and was glad--"
+
+"Yes, I reckon she did--but he was different. She could do it for him.
+He lived alone--alone. Mother knew he did--she could understand. It was
+like he had a room to himself high up on the mountain, where she never
+could climb, nor open the door."
+
+David leaned toward her. "What do you see when you look off at the
+mountain like that?"
+
+"It's like I could see him. He would take his little books up there and
+walk the high path. I never have showed you his path. It was his, and
+he would walk in it, up and down, up and down, and read words I couldn't
+understand, reading like he was singing. Sometimes I would climb up to
+him, and he'd take me in his arms and carry me like I was a baby, and
+read. Sometimes he would sit on a bank of moss under those trees--see
+near the top by that open spot of sky a right dark place? There are no
+other trees like them. They are his trees. He would sit with me there
+and tell me the stories of the strange words; but we never told mother,
+for she said they were heathen and I mustn't give heed to him." When
+deeply absorbed, she often lapsed into her old speech. David liked it.
+He almost wished she would never change it for his. "After father died I
+hunted and hunted for those little books, but I never could find them."
+
+"You remember him so well, won't you tell me how he looked?"
+
+She slowly brought her eyes down from the mountain top and fixed them on
+his face. "Sometimes--just for a minute--you make me think of him--but
+you don't look like him. I never heard any one laugh like he could
+laugh--and with his eyes, too. He was tall like you, and he carried his
+shoulders high like you do when you hurry, but he was a dark man. When
+he stood here in the door of the loom shed, his head touched the top. I
+thought of it when you stood here a bit ago and had to stoop. He always
+did that." She lifted her gaze again to the mountain, and was silent.
+
+"Tell me a little more? Just a little? Don't you remember anything he
+said?"
+
+"He used to preach, but I was too little to remember what he said. They
+used to have preaching in the schoolhouse, and in winter he used to
+teach there--when he could get the children to come. They had no books,
+but he marked with charcoal where they could all see, and showed them
+writing and figures; but somehow they got the idea he didn't know
+religion right, and they wouldn't go to hear him any more. Mother says
+it nigh broke his heart, for he fell to ailing and grew that thin and
+white he couldn't climb to his path any more." She stopped and put her
+hand to her throat, as her way was. She too had grown white with the
+ache of sorrowful remembrance. He thought it cruel to urge her, but
+felt impelled to ask for more.
+
+"And then?"
+
+"Yes. One day we were all alone sitting right here in the loom shed
+door. He put one hand on my head, and then he put the other hand under
+my chin and turned my face to look in his eyes--so great and far--like
+they could see through your heart. Seems like I can feel the touch of
+his hand here yet and hear him say: 'Little daughter, never be like the
+rest. Be separate, and God will send for you some day here on the
+mountain. He will send for you on the mountain top. He will compass you
+about and lift you up and you shall be blessed.' Then he kissed me and
+went into the house. I could hear him still saying it as he walked, 'On
+the mountain top one will come for you, on the mountain top.' He went in
+and lay down, and I sat here and waited. It seemed like my heart stood
+still waiting for him to come back to me, and it must have been more
+than an hour I sat, and mother came home and went in and found him gone.
+He never spoke again. He lay there dead."
+
+She paused and drew in a long, sighing breath. "I have never said those
+words aloud until now, to you, but hundreds of times when I look up on
+the mountain I have said them in my heart. I reckon he meant I was to
+bide here until my time was come, and do all like I ought to do it. I
+did think I could go to school and learn and come back and teach like he
+used to, and so keep myself separate like he did, but the Lord called me
+back and laid a hard thing on me, and I must do it. But in my heart I
+can keep separate like father did."
+
+She rose and stood calmly, her eyes fixed on the mountain. David stood
+near and longed to touch her passive hand--to lift it to his lips--but
+forebore to startle her soul by so unusual an act. For all she had given
+him a confidence she had never bestowed on another, he felt himself held
+aloof, her spirit withdrawn from him and lifted to the mountain top.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+IN WHICH CASSANDRA HEARS THE VOICES, AND DAVID LEASES A FARM
+
+
+That evening David sat long on his rock holding his flute and watching
+the thin golden crescent of the new moon floating through a pale amber
+sky, and one star near its tip slowly sliding down with it toward the
+deepening horizon.
+
+The glowing sky bending to the purple hilltops--the crescent moon and
+the lone shining star--the evening breeze singing in the pines above
+him--the delicate arbutus blossoms hiding near his feet--the call of a
+bird to its mate, and the faint answering call from some distant
+shade--the call in his own heart that as yet returned to him unanswered,
+but with its quiet surety of ultimate response--the joy of these moments
+perfect in beauty and a more abundant assurance of gladness near at
+hand--filled him and lifted his soul to follow the star.
+
+Guided by the unseen hand that held the earth, the crescent moon and the
+star to their orbits, would he find the great happiness that should be
+not his alone, but also for the eyes uplifted to the mountain top and
+the heart waiting in the shadows for the one to be sent? Ah, surely,
+surely, for this had he come. He stooped to the arbutus blossoms to
+inhale their fragrance. He rose and, lifting his flute to his lips,
+played to solace his own waiting, inventing new caprices and tossing
+forth the notes daringly--delicately--rapturously--now penetrating and
+strong, now faintly following and scarcely heard, uttering a wordless
+gladness.
+
+Under the great holly tree in the shadows Cassandra sat, watching, as he
+watched, the crescent moon and the lone star sailing in the pale amber
+light, with the deepening purple mountain hiding the dim distance below
+them. Often in the early evening when her mother and Hoyle were
+sleeping, she would climb up here to pray for Frale that he might truly
+repent, and for herself that she might be strong in her purpose to give
+up all her cherished hopes and plans, if thereby she might save him from
+his own wild, reckless self.
+
+It was here his boy's passion had been revealed to her, and here she had
+seen him changed from boy to man, filled with a man's hunger for her,
+which had led him to crime, and held him unrepentant and glad could he
+thus hold her his own. She must give up the life she had hoped to lead
+and take upon her the life of the wife of Cain, to help him expiate his
+deed. For this must she bow her head to the yoke her mother had borne
+before her. In the sadness of her heart she said again and again:
+"Christ will understand. He was a man of sorrows and acquainted with
+grief! He will understand."
+
+Again came to her, as they had often come of late, dropping down through
+the still air, down through the leafless boughs like joyful hopes yet to
+be realized, the flute notes. What were they, those sweet sounds? She
+held her breath and lifted her face toward the sky. Once, long ago in
+France, the peasant girl had heard the "Voices." Were they heavenly
+sweet, like these sounds? Did they drop from the sky and fill the air
+like these? Oh, why should they seem like hopes to her who had put away
+from her all hope? Were they bringing hope to her who must rise to toil
+and lie down in weariness for labor never done; who must hold always
+with sorrowing heart and clinging hands to the soul of a murderer--hold
+and cling, if haply she might save--and weep for that which, for her,
+might never be? Were they bringing hope that she might yet live gladly
+as the birds live; that she might go beyond that and live like those who
+have no sin imposed on them, to walk with the gods, she knew not how,
+but to rise to things beyond her ken?
+
+Down came the notes, sweet, shrill, white notes,--hurrying, drifting,
+lingering, calling her to follow; down on her heart with healing and
+comfort they fell, lightly as dew on flowers, sparkling with life,
+joy-giving and pure.
+
+Slowly she began climbing, listening, waiting, one step upward after
+another, following the sound. As if in a trance she moved. Below her the
+noise of falling water made a murmuring accompaniment to the music
+dropping from above--an earth-made accompaniment to heaven-sent melody,
+meeting and forming a perfect harmony in her heart as she climbed.
+Gradually the horror and the sorrow fell away from her even, as the soul
+shall one day shed its garment of earth, until at last she stood alone
+and silent near David, etherealized in the faint light to a spirit-like
+semblance of a woman.
+
+With a glad pounding of his heart he sprang towards her. Scarcely
+conscious of the act he held out both his arms, but she did not move.
+She stood silently regarding him, her hands dropped at her side, then
+with drooping head she turned and began wearily to descend the way she
+had come. He followed her and took her hand. She let it lie passively in
+his and walked on. He wished he might feel her fingers close warmly
+about his own, but no, they were cold. She seemed wholly withdrawn from
+him, and her face bore the look of one who was walking in her sleep, yet
+he knew her to be awake.
+
+"Miss Cassandra, speak to me," he begged, in quiet tones. "Don't walk
+away until you tell me why you came."
+
+She seemed then to become aware that he was holding her by the hand and
+withdrew it, and in the faint light he thought she smiled. "It was just
+foolishness. You will laugh at me. I heard the music, and I thought it
+might be--you made it I reckon, but down there it sounded like it might
+be the 'Voices.' You remember how they came to Joan of Arc, like we were
+reading last week?" She began to walk on more hurriedly.
+
+"I will go down with you," he said, "you thought it might be the voices?
+What did they say to you?"
+
+"Oh, don't go with me. I never heed the dark."
+
+"Won't you let me go with you? What did the flute say to you? Can't you
+tell me?"
+
+She laughed a little then. "It was only foolishness. I reckon the
+'Voices' never come these days. I have heard it before, but didn't know
+where it came from. It just seemed to drop down from heaven like, and
+this time it seemed some different, as if it might be the 'Voices'
+calling. It was pretty, suh, far away and soft--like part--of
+everything. My father's playing sounded sad most times, like sweet
+crying, but this was more like sweet laughing. I never heard anything so
+glad like this was, so I tried to find it. Now I know it is you who
+make it I won't disturb you again, suh. Good evening." She hastened away
+and was soon lost in the gloom.
+
+David stood until he heard her footsteps no more, then turned and
+entered his cabin, his mind and heart full of her. Surely he had called
+her, and the sound of his call was to her like "sweet laughing." Her
+face and her quaint expressions went with him into his dreams.
+
+When he hurried down to the widow's place next morning, his mind filled
+with plans which he meant to carry out and was sure, with the boyish
+certainty of his nature he could compass, he heard the voice of little
+Hoyle shrilly calling to old Pete: "Whoa, mule. Haw there. Haw there,
+mule. What ye goin' that side fer; come 'round here."
+
+Below the widow's house, the stream, after its riotous descent from the
+fall, meandered quietly through the rich bit of meadow and field, her
+inheritance for over a hundred years, establishing her claim to
+distinction among her neighbors. Here Martha Caswell had lived with her
+mother and her two brothers until she married and went with her young
+husband over "t'other side Pisgah"; then her mother sent for them to
+return, begging her son-in-law to come and care for the place. Her two
+sons, reckless and wild, were allowing the land to run to waste, and the
+buildings to fall in pieces through neglect.
+
+The daughter Martha, true to her name, was thrifty and careful, and
+under her influence, her gentle dreamer of a husband, who cared more for
+his fiddle, his books, and his sermons, gradually redeemed the soil from
+weeds and the buildings from dilapidation, until at last, with the
+proceeds of her weaving and his own hard labor, they saved enough to buy
+out the brothers' interests.
+
+By that time the younger son had fallen a victim to his wild life, and
+the other moved down into the low country among his wife's people. Thus
+were the Merlins left alone on their primitive estate. Here they lived
+contentedly with Cassandra, their only child, and her father's constant
+companion, until the tragedy which she had so simply related to David.
+
+Her father's learning had been peculiar. Only a little classic lore,
+treasured where schools were none and books were few, handed down from
+grandfather to grandson. His Greek he had learned from the two small
+books the widow had so carefully preserved, their marginal notes his
+only lexicon. They and his Bible and a copy of Bunyan's _Pilgrim's
+Progress_ were all that were left of his treasures. A teething puppy had
+torn his _Dialogues of Plato_ to shreds, and when his successor had come
+into the home, he had used the _Marcus Aurelius_ for gun wadding, ere
+his wife's precaution of placing the padlock from the door on her
+mother's old linen chest.
+
+To-day, as David passed the house, the old mother sat on her little
+porch churning butter in a small dasher churn. She was glad, as he could
+see, because she could do something once more.
+
+"Now are you happy?" he called laughingly, as he paused beside her.
+
+"Well, I be. Hit's been a right smart o' while since I been able to do a
+lick o' work. We sure do have a heap to thank you fer. Be Decatur Irwin
+as glad to lose his foot as I be to git my laig back?" she queried
+whimsically; "I reckon not."
+
+"I reckon not, too, but with him it was a case of losing his life or his
+foot, while with you it was only a question of walking about, or being
+bedridden for the next twenty years."
+
+"They be ignorant, them Irwins, an' she's more'n that, fer she's a fool.
+She come round yest'day wantin' to borry a hoe to fix up her gyarden
+patch, an' she 'lowed ef you'n Cass had only lef' him be, he'd 'a' come
+through all right, fer hit war a-gettin' better the day you-uns took hit
+off. I told her yas, he'd 'a' come cl'ar through to the nex' world, like
+Farwell done. When the misery left him, he up an' died, an' Lord knows
+whar he went."
+
+"I'll get him an artificial foot as soon as he is able to wear one.
+He'll get on very well with a peg under his knee until then. What's
+Hoyle doing with the mule?"
+
+"He's rid'n' him fer Cass. She's tryin' to get the ground ready fer a
+crap. Hit's all we can do. Our women nevah war used to do such work
+neither, but she would try."
+
+"What's that? Is she ploughing?" he asked sharply, and strode away.
+
+"I reckon she don't want ye there, Doctah," the widow called after him,
+but he walked on.
+
+The land lay in a warm hollow completely surrounded by hills. It had
+been many years cleared, and the mellow soil was free from stumps and
+roots. When Thryng arrived, three furrows had been run rather crookedly
+the length of the patch, and Cassandra stood surveying them ruefully,
+flushed and troubled, holding to the handles of the small plough and
+struggling to set it straight for the next furrow.
+
+The noise of the fall behind them covered his approach, and ere she was
+aware he was at her side. Placing his two hands over hers which clung
+stubbornly to the handles of the plough, he possessed himself of them.
+Laughingly he turned her about after the short tussle, and looked down
+into her warm, flushed face. Still holding her hands, he pulled her away
+from the plough to the grassy edge of the field, leaving Hoyle waiting
+astride the mule.
+
+"Whoa, mule. Stand still thar," he shrilled, as the beast sought to
+cross the bit of ploughed ground to reach the grass beyond.
+
+"Let him eat a minute, Hoyle," said David. "Let him eat until I come.
+Now, Miss Cassandra, what does this mean? Do you think you can plough
+all that land? Is that it?"
+
+"I must."
+
+"You must not."
+
+"There is no one else now. I must." He could feel her hands quiver in
+his, as he forcibly held them, and knew from her panting breath how her
+heart was beating. She held her head high, nevertheless, and looked
+bravely back into his eyes.
+
+"You must let me--" he paused. Intuitively he knew he must not say as
+yet what he would. "Let me direct you a little. You have been most kind
+to me--and--it is my place; I am a doctor, you know."
+
+"If I were sick or hurt, I would give heed to you, I would do anything
+you say; but I'm not, and this is laid on me to do. Leave go my hands,
+Doctor Thryng."
+
+"If you'll sit down here a moment and talk this thing out with me, I
+will. Now tell me first of all, why is this laid on you?"
+
+"Frale is gone and it must be done, or we will have no crop, and then
+we must sell the animals, and then go down and live like poor white
+trash." Her low, passive monotone sounded like a moan of sorrow.
+
+"You must hire some one to do this heavy work."
+
+"Every one is working his own patch now, and--no, I have no money to
+hire with. I reckon I've thought it all over every way, Doctor." She
+looked sadly down at her hands and then up at the mountain top. "I know
+you think this is no work for a girl to do, and you are right. Our women
+never have done such. Only in the war times my Grandmother Caswell did
+it, and I can now. A girl can do what she must. I have no way to turn
+but to live as my people have lived before me. I thought once I might do
+different, go to school and keep separate--but--" She spread out her
+hands with a hopeless gesture, and rose to resume her work.
+
+"Give me a moment longer. I'm not through yet. That's right, now listen.
+I see the truth of what you say, and I came down this morning to make a
+proposition to your mother--not for your sake only--don't be afraid, for
+my own as well; but I didn't make it because I hadn't time. She told me
+what you were doing, and I hurried off to stop you. Don't speak yet, let
+me finish. I feel I have the right, because I know--I know I was sent
+here just now for a purpose--guided to come here." He paused to allow
+his words to have their full weight. Whether she would perceive his
+meaning remained to be seen.
+
+"I understand." She spoke quietly. "Doctor Hoyle sent you to be helped
+like he was--and you have been right kind to more than us. You've helped
+that many it seems like you were sent here for we-all as well as for
+your own sake, but that can't help me now, Doctor; it--"
+
+"Ah, yes it can. I'm far from well yet. I shall be, but I must stay on
+for a long time, and I want some interest here. I want to see things of
+my own growing. The ground up around my little cabin is stony and very
+poor, and I want to rent this little farm of yours. Listen--I'll pay
+enough so you need not sell your cattle, and you--you can go on with
+your weaving. You can work in the house again as you have always done.
+Sometime, when your mother is stronger, you can take up your life again
+and go to school--as you meant to live--can't you?"
+
+"That can never be now. If you take the farm or not, I must bide on here
+in the old way. I must take up the life my mother lived and my
+grandmother, and hers before her. It is mine, forever, to live it that
+way--or die."
+
+"Why do you talk so?"
+
+"God knows, but I can't tell you. Thank you, suh. I will be right glad
+to rent you the farm. I'd a heap rather you had it than any one else I
+ever knew, for we care more for it than you would guess, but for the
+rest--no. I must bide and work till I die; only maybe I can save little
+Hoyle and give him a chance to learn something, for he never could
+work--being like he is."
+
+Thryng's eyes danced with joy as he regarded her. "Hoyle is not going to
+be always as he is, and he shall have the chance to learn something
+also. Look up, Miss Cassandra, look squarely into my eyes and laugh. Be
+happy, Miss Cassandra, and laugh. I say it."
+
+She laughed softly then. She could not help it.
+
+"Wasn't that what the 'Voices' were saying last night when you
+followed?"
+
+"Yes, yes. They seemed like they were calling, 'Hope, hope,' but they
+were not the real 'Voices.' You made it."
+
+"Yes, I made it; and I was truly calling that to you. And you replied;
+you came to me."
+
+"Ah, but that is different from the 'Voices' she heard."
+
+"But if they called the truth to you--what then?"
+
+"Doctah, there is no longer any hope for me. God called me and let me
+cut off all hope, once. I did it, and now, only death can change it."
+
+"If I believe you, you must believe me. We won't talk of it any more.
+I'm hungry. Your mother was churning up there; let's go and get some
+buttermilk, and settle the business of the rent. You've run three good
+furrows and I'll run three more beside them--my first, remember, in all
+my life. Then we'll plant that strip to sunflowers. Come, Hoyle, tie the
+mule and follow us."
+
+So David carried his way. They walked merrily back to the house,
+chattering of his plans and what he would raise. He knew nothing
+whatever of the sort of crops to be raised, and she was naïvely gay at
+his expense, a mood he was overjoyed to awaken in her. He vowed that
+merely to walk over ploughed ground made a man stronger.
+
+On the porch he sat and drank his buttermilk and, placing his paper on
+the step, drew up a contract for rent. Then Cassandra went to her
+weaving, and he and Hoyle returned to the field, where with much labor
+he succeeded in turning three furrows beside Cassandra's, rather crooked
+and uncertain ones, it is true, but quite as good as hers, as Hoyle
+reluctantly admitted, which served to give David a higher respect for
+farmers in general and ploughmen especially.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+IN WHICH DAVID DISCOVERS CASSANDRA'S TROUBLE
+
+
+After turning his furrows, David told Hoyle to ride the mule to the
+stable, then he sat himself on the fence, and meditated. He bethought
+him that in the paper he had drawn up he had made no provision for the
+use of the mule. He wiped his forehead and rubbed the perspiration from
+his hair, and coughed a little after his exertion, glad at heart to find
+himself so well off.
+
+He would come and plough a little every day. Then he began to calculate
+the number of days it would take him to finish the patch, measuring the
+distance covered by the six furrows with his eye, and comparing it with
+the whole. He laughed to find that, at the rate of six furrows a day,
+the task would take him well on into the summer. Plainly he must find a
+ploughman.
+
+Then the laying out of the ground! Why should he not have a vineyard up
+on the farther hill slope? He never could have any fruit from it, but
+what of that! Even if he went away and never returned, he would know it
+to be adding its beauty to this wonderful dream. Who could know what the
+future held for him--what this little spot might mean to him in the days
+to come? That he would go out, fully recovered and strong to play his
+part in life, he never doubted. Might not this idyl be a part of it? He
+thought of the girl sitting at her loom, swaying as she threw her
+shuttle with the rhythm of a poem, and weaving--weaving his life and his
+heart into her web, unknown to herself--weaving a thread of joy through
+it all which as yet she could not see. He knocked the ashes from his
+pipe and stood a moment gazing about him.
+
+Yes, he really must have a vineyard, and a bit of pasture somewhere, and
+a field of clover. What grew best there he little knew, so he decided to
+go up and consult the widow.
+
+There were other things also to claim his thoughts. Over toward "Wild
+Cat Hole" there was a woman who needed his care; and he must not become
+so absorbed in his pastoral romance as to forget Hoyle. He was looking
+actually haggard these last few days, and his mother said he would not
+eat. It might be that he needed more than the casual care he was giving
+him. Possibly he could take him to Doctor Hoyle's hospital for radical
+treatment later in the season, when his crops were well started. He
+smiled as he thought of his crops, then laughed outright, and strolled
+back to the house, weary and hungry, and happy as a boy.
+
+"Well, now, I like the look of ye," called the old mother from the
+porch, where she still sat. "'Pears like it's done ye good a-ready to
+turn planter. The' hain't nothin' better'n the smell o' new sile fer
+them 'at's consumpted."
+
+"Mother," cried Cassandra from within, "don't call the doctor that! Come
+up and have dinner with us, Doctor." She set a chair for him as she
+spoke, but he would not. As he stood below them, looking up and
+exchanging merry banter with her mother, he laughed his contagious
+laugh.
+
+"I bet he's tired," shrilled Hoyle, from his perch on the porch roof.
+"He be'n settin' on the fence smokin' an' rubbin' his hade with his
+handkercher like he'd had enough with his ploughin'. You can nigh about
+beat him, Cass. Hisn didn't look no better'n what yourn looked."
+
+"Here, you young rascal you, come down from there," cried David.
+Catching him by the foot, which hung far enough over to be within reach
+of his long arm, he pulled him headlong from his high position and
+caught him in mid-air. "Now, how shall I punish you?"
+
+"Ye bettah whollop him. He hain't nevah been switched good in his hull
+life. Maybe that's what ails him."
+
+The child grinned. "I hain't afeared. Get me down on the ground oncet,
+an' I c'n run faster'n he can."
+
+"Suppose I duck him in the water trough yonder?"
+
+"I reckon he needs it. He generally do," smiled Cassandra from the
+doorway. "Come, son, go wash up." David allowed the child to slip to the
+ground. "Seems like Hoyle is right enough about you, though. Don't go
+away up the hill; bide here and have dinner first."
+
+David dropped on the step for a moment's rest. "I see I must make a way
+up to my cabin that will not pass your door. How about that? Was dinner
+included in the rent, and the mule and the mule's dinner? And what is
+Hoyle going to pay me for allowing him to ride Pete up and down while I
+plough?"
+
+"Yas, an' what are ye goin' to give him fer 'lowin' ye to set his hade
+round straight, an' what are ye goin' to give me fer 'lowin' ye to set
+me on my laigs again? Ef ye go a-countin' that-a-way, I'm 'feared ye're
+layin' up a right smart o' debt to we-uns. I reckon you'll use that mule
+all ye want to, an' ye'll lick him good, too, when he needs hit, an'
+take keer o' yourself, fer he's a mean critter; an' ye'll keep that path
+right whar hit is, fer hit goes with the farm long's you bide up
+yandah."
+
+"You good people have the best of me; we'll call it all even. Ever since
+I leaped off that train in the snow, I have been dependent on you for my
+comfort. Well, I must hurry on; since I've turned farmer I'm a busy man.
+Can you suggest any one I might get to do that ploughing? Miss Cassandra
+here may be able to do it without help, but I confess I'm not equal to
+it."
+
+"I be'n tellin' Cass that thar Elwine Timms, he ought to be able to do
+the hull o' that work. Widow Timmses' son. They live ovah nigh the
+Gerret place thar at Lone Pine Creek. He used to help Frale with the
+still. An' then thar's Hoke Belew--he ought to do sumthin' fer all you
+done fer his wife--sittin' up the hull night long, an' gettin' up at
+midnight to run to them. Oh, I hearn a heap sittin' here. Things comes
+to me that-a-way. Thar hain't much goin' on within twenty mile o' here
+'at I don't know. They is plenty hereabouts owes you a heap."
+
+"I think I've been treated very well. They keep me supplied with all I
+need. What more can a man ask? The other day, a man brought me a sack of
+corn meal, fresh and sweet from the mill--a man with six children and a
+sick mother to feed, but what could I do? He would leave it, and
+I--well, I--"
+
+"When they bring ye things, you take 'em. Ye'll help 'em a heap more
+that-a-way 'n ye will curin' 'em. The' hain't nothin' so good fer a man
+as payin' his debts. Hit keeps his hade up whar a man 'at's good fer
+anything ought to keep hit. I hearn a heap o' talk here in these
+mountains 'bouts bein' stuck up, but I tell 'em if a body feels he
+hain't good fer nothin', he pretty generally hain't. He'd a heap better
+feel stuck up to my thinkin'."
+
+"They've done pretty well, all who could. They've brought me everything
+from corn whiskey to fodder for my horse. A woman brought me a bag of
+dried blueberries the other day. I don't know what to do with them. I
+have to take them, for I can't be graceless enough to send them away
+with their gifts."
+
+"You bring 'em here, an' Cass'll make ye a blueberry cake to eat hot
+with butter melt'n' on hit 'at'll make ye think the world's a good place
+to live in."
+
+"I'll do it," he said, laughing, and took his solitary path up the
+steep. Halfway to his cabin, he heard quick, scrambling steps behind
+him, and, turning, saw little Hoyle bringing Cassandra's small
+melon-shaped basket, covered with a white cloth.
+
+"I said I could run faster'n you could. Cass, she sont some th' chick'n
+fry." He thrust the basket at Thryng and turned to run home.
+
+"Here, here!" David called after the twisted, hunched little figure.
+"You tell your sister 'thank you very much,' for me. Will you?"
+
+"Yas, suh," and the queer little gnome disappeared among the laurel
+below.
+
+In the morning, David found the place of the Widow Timms, and her son
+agreed to come down the next day and accept wages for work. A weary,
+spiritless young man he was, and the home as poverty-stricken as was
+that of Decatur Irwin, and with almost as many children. It was with a
+feeling of depression that David rode on after his call, leaving the
+grandmother seated in the doorway, snuff stick between her yellow teeth,
+the grandchildren clustering about her knees, or squatting in the dirt,
+like young savages. Their father lounged in the wretched cabin, hardly
+to be seen in the windowless, smoke-blackened space nearly filled with
+beds heaped with ragged bedclothes, and broken splint-bottomed chairs
+hung about with torn and soiled garments.
+
+The dirt and disorder irritated David, and he felt angered at the
+clay-faced son for not being out preparing his little patch of ground.
+Fortunately, he had been able to conceal his annoyance enough to secure
+the man's promise to begin work next day, or he would have gained
+nothing but the family's resentment for his pains. Already David had
+learned that a sort of resentful pride was the last shred of
+respectability to which the poorest and most thriftless of the mountain
+people clung--pride of he knew not what, and resentfulness toward any
+who, by thrift and labor, were better off than themselves.
+
+He reasoned that as the young man had been Frale's helper at the still,
+no doubt corn whiskey was at the bottom of their misery. This brought
+his mind to the thought of Frale himself. The young man had not been
+mentioned between him and Cassandra since the day she sought his help.
+He thought he could not be far from the still, as he forded Lone Pine
+Creek, on his way to the home of Hoke Belew, whose wife he was going to
+see.
+
+David was interested in this young family; they seemed to him to be
+quite of the better sort, and as he put space between himself and the
+Widow Timms' deplorable state, his irritation gradually passed, and he
+was able to take note of the changes a week had wrought in the growing
+things about him.
+
+More than once he diverged to investigate blossoming shrubs which were
+new to him, attracted now by a sweet odor where no flowers appeared,
+until closer inspection revealed them, and now by a blaze of color
+against the dark background of laurel leaves and gray rocks. Ah, the
+flaming azalea had made its appearance at last, huge clusters of
+brilliant bloom on leafless shrubs. How dazzlingly gay!
+
+In the midst of his observance of things about him, and underneath his
+surface thoughts, he carried with him a continual feeling of
+satisfaction in the remembrance of the little farm below the Fall Place,
+and in an amused way planned about it, and built idly his "Castles in
+Spain." A bit of stone wall whose lower end was overgrown with vines
+pleased him especially, and a few enormous trees, which had been left
+standing when the spot had been originally cleared, and the
+vine-entangled, drooping trees along the banks of the small river that
+coursed crookedly through it,--what possibilities it all presented to
+his imagination! If only he could find the right man to carry out his
+ideas for him, he would lease the place for fifty years for the
+privilege of doing as he would with it.
+
+After a time he came out upon the cleared farm of Hoke Belew, who was
+industriously ploughing his field for cotton, and called out to him,
+"How's the wife?"
+
+"She hain't not to say right smart, an' the baby don't act like he's
+well, neither, suh. Ride on to th' house an' light. She's thar, an' I'll
+be up d'rectly."
+
+Thryng rode on and dismounted, tying his horse to a sapling near the
+door. The place was an old one. A rose vine, very ancient, covered the
+small porch and the black, old, moss-grown roof. The small green foliage
+had come out all over it in the week since he was last there. The glazed
+windows were open, and white homespun curtains were swaying in the light
+breeze. A small fire blazed on the hearth, and before it, in a
+huge-splint-bottomed rocking-chair, the pale young mother reclined
+languidly, wrapped in a patchwork quilt. The hearth was swept and all
+was neat, but very bare.
+
+Close to the black fireplace on a low chair, with the month-old baby on
+her knees, sat Cassandra. She was warming something at the fire, which
+she reached over to stir now and then, while the red light played
+brightly over her sweet, grave face. Very intent she was, and lovely to
+see. She wore a creamy white homespun gown, coarse in texture, such as
+she had begun to wear about the house since the warm days had come.
+Thryng had seen her in such a dress but once before, and he liked it.
+With one arm guarding the little bundle in her lap, dividing her
+attention between it and the porridge she was making, she sat, a living
+embodiment of David's vision, silhouetted against and haloed by the red
+fire, softened by the blue, obscuring smoke-wreaths that slowly circled
+in great rings and then swept up the wide, overarching chimney.
+
+He heard her low voice speaking, and his heart leaped toward her as he
+stood an instant, unheeded by them, ere he rapped lightly. They both
+turned with a slight start. Cassandra rose, holding the sleeping babe in
+the hollow of her arm, and set a chair for him before the fire. Then
+she laid the child carefully in the mother's arms, and removed the
+porridge from the fire.
+
+"Shall I call Hoke?" she asked, moving toward the door.
+
+David did not want her to leave them, loving the sight of her. "Don't
+go. I saw him as I came along," he said.
+
+But she went on, and sat herself on a seat under a huge locust tree.
+Tardiest of all the trees, it had not yet leaved out. Later it would be
+covered with a wealth of sweet white blossoms swarming with honey-bees,
+and the air all about it would be filled with its lavish fragrance and
+the noise of humming wings.
+
+Presently Hoke came plodding up from the field, and smiled as he passed
+her. "Doc inside?" he asked.
+
+She nodded. When David came out, he found her still seated there, her
+head resting wearily against the rough tree. She rose and came toward
+him.
+
+"I thought I wouldn't leave until I knew if there was anything more I
+could do," she said simply.
+
+"No, you've done all you can. She'll be all right. Where's your horse?"
+
+"I walked."
+
+"Why did you do that? You ought not, you know."
+
+"Hoyle rode the colt down to see could Aunt Sally come here for a day or
+two, until Miz Belew can do for herself better." She turned back to the
+house.
+
+"Come home now with me. Ride my horse, and I'll walk. I'd like to walk,"
+urged David.
+
+"Oh, no. Thank you, Doctor, I must speak to Azalie first. Don't wait."
+
+She went in, and David mounted and rode slowly on, but not far. Where
+the trail led through a small stream which he knew she must cross, he
+dismounted and allowed the horse to drink, while he stood looking back
+along the way for her to come to him. Soon he saw her white dress among
+the glossy rhododendron leaves as she moved swiftly along, and he walked
+back to meet her.
+
+"I have waited for you. You are not used to this kind of a saddle, I
+know, but what's the difference? You can ride cross-saddle as the young
+ladies do in the North, can't you?"
+
+"I reckon I could." She laughed a little. "Do they ride that way where
+you come from? It must look right funny. I don't guess I'd like it."
+
+"But just try--to please me? Why not?"
+
+"If you don't mind, I'd rather walk, please, suh. Don't wait."
+
+"Then I will walk with you. I may do that, may I not?" He caught the
+bridle-rein on the saddle, leaving the horse to browse along behind as
+he would, and walked at her side. She made no further protest, but was
+silent.
+
+"You don't object to this, do you?" he insisted.
+
+"It's pleasanter than being alone, but it's right far to walk, seems
+like, for you."
+
+"Then why not for you?" She smiled her mysterious, quiet smile. "You
+must know that I am stronger than you?" he persisted.
+
+"I ought to think so, since that day we rode over to Cate Irwin's, but I
+was right afraid for you that time, lest you get cold; and then it was
+me--" she paused, and looked squarely in his eyes and laughed. "You
+wouldn't say 'it was me,' would you?"
+
+He joined merrily in her laughter. "I never corrected you on that."
+
+"You never did, but you didn't need to. I often know, after I've said
+something--not--right--as you would say it."
+
+"Do you, indeed?" he walked nearer, boyishly happy because she was close
+beside him. He wanted to touch her, to take her hand and walk as
+children do, but could not because of the subtile barrier he felt
+between them. He determined to break it down. "Finish what you were
+saying? And then it was me--what?"
+
+"And then it was I who gave out, not you."
+
+"But you were a heroine--a heroine from the ground up, and I love you."
+He spoke with such boyish impulsiveness that she took the remark as one
+of his extravagances, and merely smiled indulgently, as if amused at it.
+She did not even flush, but accepted it as she would an outburst from
+Hoyle.
+
+David was amazed. It only served to show him how completely outside that
+charmed circle within which she lived he still was. He was maddened by
+it. He came nearer and bent to look in her face, until she lifted her
+eyes to look fairly in his.
+
+"That's right. Look at me and understand me. I waited there only that I
+might tell you. Why do you put a wall between us? I tell you I love you.
+I love you, Cassandra; do you understand?"
+
+She stood quite still and gazed at him in amazement, almost as if in
+terror. Her face grew white, and she pressed her two hands on her heart,
+then slowly slid them up to her round white throat as if it hurt her--a
+movement he had seen in her twice before, when suffering emotion.
+
+"Why, Cassandra, does it hurt you for me to tell you that I love you?
+Beautiful girl, does it?"
+
+"Yes, suh," she said huskily.
+
+He would have taken her in his arms, but refrained for very love of her.
+She should be sacred even from his touch, if she so wished, and the
+barrier, whatever it might be, should halo her. He had spoken so
+tenderly he had no need to tell her. The love was in his eyes and his
+voice, but he went on.
+
+"Then I must be cruel and hurt you. I love you all the days and the
+nights--all the moments of the days--I love you."
+
+In very terror, she flung out her hands and placed them on his breast,
+holding him thus at arm's-length, and with head thrown back, still
+looked into his eyes piteously, imploringly. With trembling lips, she
+seemed to be speaking, but no voice came. He covered her hands with his,
+and held them where she had placed them.
+
+"You have put a wall between us. Why have you done it?"
+
+"I didn't--didn't know; I thought you were--as far--as far away from us
+as the star--the star of gold is--from our world in the night--so far--I
+didn't guess--you could come so--near." She bowed her head and wept.
+
+"You are the star yourself, you beautiful--you are--"
+
+But she stopped him, crying out. She could not draw her hands away, for
+he still held them clasped to his heart.
+
+"No, no! The wall is there. It must be between us for always, I am
+promised." The grief wailed and wept in her tones, and her eyes were
+wide and pleading. "I must lead my life, and you--you must stay outside
+the wall. If you love me--Doctor,--you must never know it, and I must
+never know it." Her beating heart stopped her speech and they both stood
+thus a moment, each seeing only the other's soul.
+
+"Promised?" The word sank into his heart like lead. "Promised?" Slowly
+he released her hands, and she covered her face with them and sank at
+his feet. He bent down to her and asked almost in a whisper: "Promised?
+Did you say that word?"
+
+She drooped lower and was silent.
+
+All the chivalry of his nature rose within him. Should he come into her
+life only to torment and trouble her? Ought he to leave the place? Could
+he bear to live so near her? What had she done--this flower? Was she to
+be devoured by swine? The questions clamored at the door of his heart.
+But one thing could he see clearly. He must wait without the wall,
+seeking only to serve and protect her.
+
+With the unerring instinct which led her always straight to the mark,
+she had seen the only right course. He repeated her words over and over
+to himself. "If you love me, you must never know it, and I must never
+know it." Her heart should be sacred from his personal intrusion, and
+their old relations must be reëstablished, at whatever cost to himself.
+
+With flash-light clearness he saw his difficulty, and that only by the
+elimination of self could he serve her, and also that her manner of
+receiving his revelation had but intensified his feeling for her. The
+few short moments seemed hours of struggle with himself ere he raised
+her to her feet and spoke quietly, in his old way.
+
+He lifted her hand to his lips. "It is past, Miss Cassandra. We will
+drop these few moments out of your life into a deep well, and it shall
+be as if they had never been." He thought as he spoke that the well was
+his own heart, but that he would not say, for henceforth his love and
+service must be selfless. "We may be good friends still? Just as we
+were?"
+
+"Yes, suh," she spoke meekly.
+
+"And we can go right on helping each other, as we have done all these
+weeks? I do not need to leave you?"
+
+"Oh, no, no!" She spoke with a gasp of dismay at the thought. "It--won't
+hurt so much if I can see you going right on--getting strong--like you
+have been, and being happy--and--" She paused in her slowly trailing
+speech and looked about her. They were down in a little glen, and there
+were no mountain tops in sight for her to look up to as was her custom.
+
+"And what, Cassandra? Finish what you were saying." Still for a while
+she was silent, and they walked on together. "And now won't you say what
+you were going to say?" He could not talk himself, and he longed to hear
+her voice.
+
+"I was thinking of the music you made. It was so glad. I can't talk and
+say always what I think, like you do, but seems like it won't hurt me so
+here," she put her hand to her throat, "where it always hurts me when I
+am sorry at anything, if I can hear you glad in the music--like you were
+that--night I thought you were the 'Voices.'"
+
+"Cassandra, it shall be glad for you, always."
+
+She looked into his eyes an instant with the clear light of
+understanding in her own. "But for you? It is for you I want it to be
+glad."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+IN WHICH DAVID VISITS THE BISHOP, AND FRALE SEES HIS ENEMY
+
+
+The bishop was seated in a deep canvas chair on his wide veranda,
+looking out over his garden toward a distant line of blue hills. His
+little wife sat close to his side on a low rocker, very busy with the
+making of buttonholes in a small girl's frock of white dimity and lace.
+Betty Towers loved lace and pretty things.
+
+The small girl was playing about the garden paths with her puppy and
+chattering with Frale in her high, happy, childish voice, while he bent
+weeding among the beds of okra and egg-plant. His face wore a more than
+usually discontented look, even when answering the child with teasing
+banter. Now and then he lifted his eyes from his work and watched
+furtively the movements of David Thryng, who was pacing restlessly up
+and down the long veranda in earnest conversation with the bishop and
+his wife.
+
+The two in the garden could not understand what was being said at the
+house, but each party could hear the voices of the other, and by calling
+out a little could easily converse across the dividing hedge and the
+intervening space.
+
+"Talk about the influence of the beautiful in nature upon the human
+soul,--it is all very pretty, but I believe the soul must be more or
+less enlightened to feel it. I've learned a few things among your people
+up there in the mountains. Strange beings they are."
+
+"It only goes to show that heredity alone won't do everything," said the
+bishop, placing the tips of his fingers together and frowning
+meditatively.
+
+"Heredity? It means a lot to us over there in England."
+
+"Yes, yes. But your old families need a little new blood in them now and
+then, even if they have to come over here for it."
+
+"For that and--your money--yes." Thryng laughed. "But these mountain
+people of yours, who are they anyway?"
+
+"Most of them are of as pure a strain of British as any in the world--as
+any you will find at home. They have their heredity--and only that--from
+all your classes over there, but it is from those of a hundred or more
+years ago. They are the unmixed descendants of those you sent over here
+for gain, drove over by tyranny, or exported for crime."
+
+"How unmixed in your most horribly mixed and mongrel population?"
+
+"Circumstances and environment have kept them to the pure stock, and
+neglect has left them untrammelled by civilization and unaided by
+education. Time and generations of ignorance have deteriorated them, and
+nature alone--as you were but now admitting--has hardly served to arrest
+the process by the survival of the fittest."
+
+"Nature--yes--how do you account for it? I have been in the grandest,
+most wonderful places, I venture to say, that are to be found on earth,
+and among all the glory that nature can throw around a man, he is still,
+if left to himself, more bestial than the beasts. He destroys and
+defaces and defiles nature; he kills--for the mere sake of killing--more
+than he needs; he enslaves himself to his appetites and passions,
+follows them wildly, yields to them recklessly; and destroys himself and
+all the beauty around him that he can reach, wantonly. Why, Bishop
+Towers, sometimes I've gone out and looked up at the stars above me and
+wondered which was real, they and the marvellous beauty all around me,
+or the three hundred reeking humanity sleeping in the camp beneath them.
+Sometimes it seemed as if only hell were real, and the camp was a bit of
+it let loose to mock at heaven."
+
+"We mustn't forget that what is transitory is not a part of God's
+eternity of spirit and truth."
+
+"Oh, yes, yes! But we do forget. And some transitory things are mighty
+hard to endure, especially if they must endure for a lifetime."
+
+David was thinking of Cassandra and what in all probability would be her
+doom. He had not mentioned her name, but he had come down with the
+intention of learning all he could about her, and if possible to whom
+she was "promised." He feared it might be the low-browed, handsome youth
+bending over the garden beds beyond the hedge, and his heart rebelled
+and cried out fiercely within him, "What a waste, what a waste!"
+
+Betty Towers, intent on her sewing, felt the thrill that intensified
+David's tone, and she, too, thought of Cassandra. She dropped her work
+in her lap and looked earnestly in her husband's face.
+
+"James, I feel just as Doctor Thryng does--when I think of some things.
+When I see a tragedy coming to a human soul, I feel that a lifetime of
+transitory things like that is hard to endure. Fancy, James! Think of
+Cassandra. You know her, Doctor Thryng, of course. They live just below
+your place. She is the Widow Farwell's daughter, but her name is
+Merlin."
+
+David arrested his impatient stride and, drawing a chair near her,
+dropped into it. "What about her?" he said. "What is the tragedy?"
+
+"I think, Betty, the hills must keep their own secrets," said the
+bishop.
+
+His little wife compressed her lips, glanced over the hedge at the young
+man who happened at the moment to have straightened from his bent
+position among the plants and was gazing at their guest, then resumed
+her sewing.
+
+"Is it something I must not be told?" asked David, quietly. "But I may
+have my suspicions. Naturally we can't help that."
+
+"I think it is better to know the truth. I don't like suspicions. They
+are sure to lead to harm. James, let me put it to the doctor as I see
+it, and see what he thinks of it."
+
+"As you please, dear."
+
+"It's like this. Have you seen anything of that girl or observed her
+much?"
+
+"I certainly have."
+
+"Then, of course, you can see that she is one of the best of the
+mountain people, can't you? Well! She has promised to marry--promised to
+marry--think of it! one of the wildest, most reckless of those mountain
+boys, one that she knows very well has been in illicit distilling. He
+is a lawbreaker in that way; and, more than that, he drinks, and in a
+drunken row he shot dead his friend."
+
+"Ah!" David rose, turned away, and again paced the piazza. Then he
+returned to his seat. "I see. The young man I tried to help off when I
+first arrived."
+
+"Yes. There he is."
+
+"I see. Handsome type."
+
+"He's down here now, keeping quiet. How long it will last, no one knows.
+Justice is lax in the mountains. His father shot three or four men
+before he died himself of a gunshot wound which he received while
+resisting the officers of the law. If there's a man left in the family
+to follow this thing up, Frale will be hunted down and arrested or shot;
+otherwise, when things have cooled off a little up there, he will go
+back and open up the old business, and the tragedy will be repeated.
+James, you know how often after the best you could do and all their
+promises, they go back to it?"
+
+"I admit it's always a question. They don't seem to be content in the
+low country. I think it is often a sort of natural gravitation back to
+the mountains where they were born and bred, more than it is depravity."
+
+"I know, James, but that excuse won't help Cassandra."
+
+"Why did she do it?" asked David. "She must have known to what such a
+marriage would bring her."
+
+"Do it? That is the sort of girl she is. If she thought she ought, she
+would leap over that fall there."
+
+"But why should she think she ought? Had she given her--promise--" David
+saw her as she appeared to him when she had said that word to him on the
+mountain, and it silenced him, but only for a moment. He would learn all
+he could of her motives now. He must--he would know. "I mean before he
+did this, before she went away to study--had she made him such
+a--promise?"
+
+"No. You tell him about it, James. You have seen her and talked with
+her. They were quarrelling about her, as I understand, and she thinks
+because she was the cause of the deed she must help him make
+retribution. Isn't that it, James? She knows perfectly well what it
+means for her, for she has had her aspirations. I can see it all. Frale
+says he was not drunk nor his friend either. He says the other man
+claimed--but I won't go into that--only Cassandra promised him before
+God, he says, that if he would repent, she would marry him. And when she
+was here she used to talk about the way those women live. How her own
+mother has worked and aged! Why, she is not yet sixty. You have seen how
+they live in their wretched little cabins, Doctor; that's what Frale
+would doom her to. He never in life will understand her. He'll grow old
+like his father,--a passionate, ignorant, untamed animal, and worse, for
+he would be drunken as well. He's been drunk twice since he came down
+here. James, you know they think it's perfectly right to get drunk
+Saturday afternoon."
+
+"Yes, it seems a terrible waste; but if she has children, she will be
+able to do more for them than her mother has done for her, and they will
+have her inheritance; so her life can't be wholly wasted, even if she is
+not able to live up to her aspirations."
+
+"James Towers! I--that--it's because you are a man that you can talk so!
+I'm ashamed, and you a bishop! I wish--" Betty's eyes were full of angry
+tears. "I only wish you were a woman. Slowly improve the race by bearing
+children--giving them her inheritance! How would she bear them? Year
+after year--ill fed, half clothed, slaving to raise enough to hold their
+souls in their bodies, bringing them into the world for a brute who
+knows only enough to make corn whiskey--to sell it--and drink it--and
+reproduce his kind--when--when she knows all the time what ought to be!
+Oh, James, James, think of it!"
+
+"My dear, my dear, you forget, he has promised to repent and live a
+different life. If he does, things will be better than we now see them.
+If he does not change, then we may interfere--perhaps."
+
+"I know, James. But--but--suppose he repents and she becomes his wife,
+and puts aside all her natural tastes, and the studies she loves, and
+goes on living with him there on the home place, and he does the best he
+can--even. Don't you see that her nature is fine and--and so
+different--even at the best, James, for her it will be death in life.
+And then there is the terrible chance, after all, that he might go back
+and be like his father before him, and then what?"
+
+"Well, their lives and destinies are not in our hands; we can only
+watch out for them and help them."
+
+"James, he has been drunk twice!"
+
+"Yes, yes, Betty, my little tempest, and if he gets drunk twice more,
+and twice more, she will still forgive him until seventy times seven. We
+must make her see that unless he keeps his promise to her, she must give
+him up."
+
+"Of course. I suppose that's all we can do. I--don't know what you'll
+think of me, Doctor Thryng; I'm a dreadful scold. If James were not an
+angel--"
+
+"It's perfectly delicious. I would rather hear you scold than--"
+
+"Than hear James preach," laughed the bishop. "I agree with you."
+
+"I agree with her," said David, emphatically. "It ought to be stopped
+if--"
+
+"If it ought to be, it will be. What do you think she said to me about
+it when I went to reason with her? 'If Christ can forgive and stand such
+as he, I can. It is laid on my soul to do this.' I had no more to say."
+
+"That is one point of view, but we mustn't lose sight of the practical,
+either. To be his wife and bear his children--I call it a waste, a--"
+
+"Yes, yes. So it is." And what more could the bishop say? After a
+little, he added, "But still we must not forget that he, too, is a human
+soul and has a value as great as hers."
+
+"According to your viewpoint, but not to mine--not to mine. If a man is
+enslaved to his own appetites, he has no right to enslave another to
+them."
+
+The following day David took himself back to his hermitage, setting
+aside all persuasions to remain.
+
+"Don't make a recluse of yourself," begged the bishop's wife. "The
+amenities of life can't always be dispensed with, and we need you, James
+and I, you and your music."
+
+David laughed. "I'm too fatally human to become a recluse, and as for
+the amenities, they are not all of one order, you know. I find plenty of
+scope for exercising them on others, and I often submit to having them
+exercised on me,--after their own ideas." He laughed again. "I wish you
+could look into my larder. You'd find me provided with all the hills
+afford. They have loaded me with gifts."
+
+"No wonder! I know what your life up there means to them, taking care of
+their mothers and babies, and sitting up with them nights, going to them
+when they are in trouble, rain or shine, and visiting them in their
+bare, wretched, crowded homes."
+
+"It wouldn't be so bad often, if it weren't that when a family is in
+serious trouble or has a case needing quiet and care, the sympathies of
+all their relatives are roused, and they come crowding in. In one case,
+the father was ill with pneumonia. I did all I could for him, and next
+day--would you believe it?--I found his sister and her 'old man' and
+their three youngsters, his old mother and a brother and a widowed
+sister, all camped down on them, all in one room. The sister sat by the
+fire nursing her three-months-old baby, his mother was smoking at her
+side, and the sick man's six little children and their three cousins
+were raising Ned, in and out, with three or four hounds. Not one of the
+visitors was helping, or, as they say up there, 'doing a lick,' but the
+wife was cooking for the whole raft when her husband needed all her
+care. Marvellous ideas they have, some of them."
+
+"You ought to write out some of your experiences."
+
+"Oh, I can't. It would seem like a sort of betrayal of friendship. They
+have adopted me, so to speak, and are so naïve and kind, and have
+trusted me--I think they are my friends. I may be very odd--you know."
+
+"I know how you feel," said Betty.
+
+The bishop's little daughter had assumed the proprietorship of the
+doctor. She even preferred his companionship to that of her puppy. She
+clung to his hand as he walked away, pulling and swinging upon his arm
+to coax him back. He took her in his arms and carried her out upon the
+walk, the small dog barking and snapping at his heels, as David
+threatened to bear his tyrannical young mistress away to the station.
+
+"Doggie wants you to leave me here," she cried, pounding him vigorously
+with her two little fists.
+
+He brought her back and placed her on the broad, flat top of the high
+gate-post. "Very well, doggie may have you. I will leave you here."
+
+"Doggie wants you to stay, too." She held him with her small arms about
+his neck.
+
+"Well, doggie can't have me." He unclinched her chubby hands, crossed
+them in her lap, and held them fast while he kissed her tanned and rosy
+cheek. "Good-by, you young rogue," he said, and strode away.
+
+"Come and lift me down," she wailed. But he knew well she could scramble
+down by herself when she chose, and walked on. She continued to call
+after him; then, spying Frale in the wood yard, she imperatively
+summoned him to her aid, and trotted at his side back to the woodpile,
+where they sat comfortably upon a log and visited together.
+
+They were the best of friends and chattered with each other as if both
+were children. In the slender shadow of a juniper tree that stood like a
+sentinel in the corner of the wood yard they sat, where a high board
+fence separated them from the back street.
+
+The bishop's place was well planted, and this corner had been the
+quarters of the house servants in slave times. It was one of Frale's
+duties to pile here, for winter use, the firewood which he cut in short
+lengths for the kitchen fire, and long lengths for the open fireplaces.
+
+He hated the hampered village life, and round of small duties--the
+weeding in the garden, cleaning of piazzas and windows, and the sweeping
+of the paths. The woodcutting was not so bad, but the rest he held in
+contempt as women's work. He longed to throw his gun in the hollow of
+his arm and tramp off over his own mountains. At night he often wept,
+for homesickness, and wished he might spend a day tending still, or
+lying on a ridge watching the trail below for intruders on his privacy.
+
+The joy of life had gone out for him. He thought continually of
+Cassandra and desired her; and his soul wearied for her, until he was
+tempted to go back to the mountains at all risks, merely for a sight of
+her. Painfully he had tried to learn to write, working at the copies
+Betty Towers had set for him,--and certainly she had done all her
+conscientious heart prompted to interest him and keep him away from the
+village loungers. He had even progressed far enough to send two horribly
+spelled missives to Cassandra, feeling great pride in them. And now he
+had begun to weary of learning. To be able to write those badly scrawled
+notes was in his eyes surely enough to distinguish him from his
+companions at home; of what use was more?
+
+"What's that you are tossing up in the air? Let me see it," demanded the
+child, as Frale tossed and caught again a small, bright object. He kept
+on tossing it and catching it away from the two little hands stretched
+out to receive it. "Give it to me. Give it to me, Frale. Let me see it."
+
+He dropped it lightly in her palm. "Don't you lose hit. That thar's
+somethin' 'at's got a charm to hit."
+
+"What's a 'charm to hit'? I don't see any charm."
+
+Then Frale laughed aloud. He took it with his thumb and forefinger and
+held it between his eye and the sun. "Is that the way you see the 'charm
+to hit'? Let me try."
+
+But he slipped it in his pocket, first placing it in a small bag which
+he drew up tightly with a string. "Hit hain't nothing you kin see. Hit's
+only a charm 'at makes hit plumb sure to kill anybody 'at hit hits.
+Hit's plumb sure to hit an' plumb sure to kill, too."
+
+"Oh, Frale! What if it had hit me when you threw it up that
+way--and--killed me? Then you'd be sorry, wouldn't you, Frale?"
+
+"Hit nevah wouldn't kill a girl--a nice little girl--like you be. Hit's
+charmed that-a-way, 'at hit won't kill nobody what I don't want hit to."
+
+"Then what do you keep it in your pocket for? You don't want to kill
+anybody, do you, Frale?"
+
+"Naw--I reckon not; not 'thout I have to."
+
+"But you don't have to, do you, Frale?" piped the child.
+
+He rose, and selecting an armful of stove wood carried it into the shed
+and began packing it away. Dorothy sat still on the log, her elbows on
+her knees, her chin in her hands, meditating. A tall man slouched by and
+peered over the high board fence at her. His eyes roved all about the
+place eagerly, keen and black. His matted hair hung long beneath his
+soft felt hat. The child looked up at him with fearless, questioning
+glance, then trotted in to her friend.
+
+"Frale, did you see that man lookin' over the fence? You think he was
+lookin' for you, Frale? Come see who 'tis. P'r'aps he's a friend of
+yours."
+
+"Dorothy, Dorothy," called her mother from the piazza, and the child
+bounded away, her puppy yelping and leaping at her side. The tall man
+turned at the corner and looked back at the child.
+
+The bishop's place occupied one corner of the block, and the fence with
+a hedge beneath it ran the whole length of two sides. Slowly sauntering
+along the second side, the gaunt, hungry-eyed man continued his way,
+searching every part of the yard and garden, even endeavoring, with
+backward, furtive glances, to see into the woodhouse, where in the
+darkness Frale crouched, once more pallid with abject fear, peering
+through the crack where on its hinges the door swung half open.
+
+As the man disappeared down the straggling village street, Frale dropped
+down on the wheelbarrow and buried his haggard face in his hands. A long
+time he sat thus, until the dinner-hour was past, and black Carrie had
+to send Dorothy to call him. Then he rose, but in the place of the white
+and haunted look was one of stubborn recklessness. He strolled to the
+house with the nonchalant air of one who fears no foes, but rather
+glories in meeting them, and sat himself down at his place by the
+kitchen table, where he bantered and badgered Carrie, who waited on him
+reluctantly, with contemptuous tosses of her woolly head. From the day
+of his first appearance there had been war between them, and now Frale
+knew that if the stranger asked her, she would gladly and slyly inform
+against him.
+
+The afternoon wore on. Again Frale sat on the wheelbarrow, thinking,
+thinking. He took the small bag from his pocket and felt of the bullet
+through the thin covering, then replaced it, and, drawing forth another
+bag, began counting his money over and over. There it was, all he had
+saved, five dollars in bills, and a few quarters and dimes.
+
+He did not like to leave the shelter of the shed, and his eyes showed
+only the narrow glint of blue as, with half-closed lids, he still peered
+out and watched the street where his enemy had disappeared. Suddenly he
+rose and climbed with swift, catlike movements up the ladder stairs
+behind him, which led to his sleeping loft. There he rapidly donned his
+best suit of dyed homespun, tied his few remaining articles of clothing
+in a large red kerchief, and before a bit of mirror arranged his tie and
+hair to look as like as possible to the village youth of Farington. The
+distinguishing silken lock that would fall over his brow had grown
+again, since he had shorn it away in Doctor Thryng's cabin. Now he
+thrust it well up under his soft felt hat, and, taking his bundle,
+descended. Again his eyes searched up and down the street and all about
+the house and yard before he ventured out in the daylight.
+
+Dorothy and her dog came bounding down the kitchen steps. She carried
+two great fried cakes in her little hands, warm from the hot fat, and
+she laughed with glee as she danced toward him.
+
+"Frale, Frale. I stole these, I did, for you. I told Carrie I wanted two
+for you, an' she said 'G'long, chile.'" She thrust them in his hands.
+
+"What's the matter, Frale? What you all dressed up for? This isn't
+Sunday, Frale. Is they going to be a circus, Frale, is they?" She poured
+forth her questions rapidly, as she hopped from one foot to the other.
+"Will you take me, Frale, if it's a circus? I'll ask mamma. I want to
+see the el'phant."
+
+"'Tain't no circus," he replied grimly.
+
+"What's the matter, Frale? Don't you like your fried cakes? Then why
+don't you eat them? What you wrapping them up for? You ought to say
+thank you, when I bring you nice cakes 'at I went an' stole for you,"
+she remonstrated severely.
+
+His throat worked convulsively as he stood, now looking at the child,
+now watching the street. Suddenly he lifted her in his arms and buried
+his face in her gingham apron.
+
+"I had a little sister oncet, only she's growed up now, an' she hain't
+my little sister any more." He kissed her brown cheek tenderly, even as
+David had done, and set her gently down on her two stubby feet. "You run
+in an' tell yer maw thank you, fer me, will ye? Mind, now. Listen at me
+whilst I tell you what to tell yer paw an' maw fer me. Say, 'Frale seen
+a houn' dog on his scent, an' he's gone home to git shet of him.'"
+
+"Where's the 'houn' dog,' Frale?" She gazed fearfully about.
+
+"He's gone now. He won't bite--not you, he won't."
+
+"Oh, Frale! I wish it was a circus."
+
+"Yas," drawled the young man, with a sullen smile curling his lips, "may
+be hit be a sort of a circus. Kin ye remember what I tol' you to tell
+yer paw?"
+
+"You--you seen a houn' dog on--on a cent--how could he be on a cent?"
+
+"Say, 'Frale seen a houn' dog on his scent, an' he's gone home to git
+shet of him.'"
+
+"Frale seen a houn' dog on--on a--a cent, an'--an'--an' he's gone home
+to--to get shet of him. What's 'get shet of him,' Frale?"
+
+"Nevah mind, honey; yer paw'll know. Run in an' tell him 'fore you
+forgit hit. Good-by."
+
+She danced gayly off toward the house, but turned to call back at him,
+as he stood watching her. "Are you going to hit the 'houn'' dog with the
+pretty ball, Frale?"
+
+"I reckon." He laughed and strode off toward the one small station in
+the opposite direction from the way the man had taken.
+
+Frale knew well where he had gone. On the outskirts of the village was a
+small grove of sycamore and gum trees, by a little stream, where it was
+the custom for the mountain people to camp with their canvas-covered
+wagons. There they would build their fires on a charred place between
+stones, and heat their coffee. There they would feed their oxen or mule
+team, tied to the rear wheels of their wagons, with corn thrown on the
+ground before them. At nightfall they would crawl under the canvas cover
+and sleep on the corn fodder within.
+
+Often beneath the fodder might be found a few jugs of raw corn whiskey
+hidden away, while the articles they had brought down for sale or barter
+at the village stores were placed on top in plain view. Sometimes they
+brought vegetables, or baskets of splints and willow withes, made by
+their women, or they might have a few yards of homespun towelling.
+
+The man Frale had seen was the older brother of his friend Ferdinand
+Teasley, and well Frale knew that he was camped with his ox team down by
+the spring, where it had been his habit to wait for the cover of
+darkness, when he could steal forth and leave his jugs where the money
+might be found for them, placed on some rock or stump or fallen trunk
+half concealed by laurel shrubs. How often had the products of Frale's
+still been conveyed down the mountain by that same ox team, in that same
+unwieldy vehicle!
+
+Giles Teasley's cabin and patch of soil, planted always to corn, was a
+long distance from his father's mill, and also from his brother's still,
+hence he could with the more safety dispose of their illicit drink.
+
+In the slow but deadly sure manner of his people, he had but just
+aroused himself to the fact that his brother's murderer was still alive
+and the deed unavenged; and Frale knew he had come now, not to dispose
+of the whiskey, since the still had been destroyed, but to find his
+brother's slayer and accord him the justice of the hills.
+
+To the mountain people the processes of the law seemed vague and
+uncertain. They preferred their own methods. A well-loaded gun, a sure
+aim, and a few months of hiding among relatives and friends until the
+vigilance of the emissaries of the law had subsided was the rule with
+them. Thus had Frale's father twice escaped either prison or the rope,
+and during the last four years of his life he had never once ventured
+from his mountain home for a day at the settlements below; while among
+his friends his prowess and his skill in evading pursuit were his glory.
+
+Now it was Frale's thought to dare the worst,--to walk to the station
+like any village youth, buy his ticket, and take the train for Carew's
+Crossing, and from there make his way to his haunt while yet Giles
+Teasley was taking his first sleep.
+
+He reasoned, and rightly, that his enemy would linger about several days
+searching for him, and never dream of his having made his escape by
+means of the train. Since the first scurry of search was over, it was no
+longer the officers of the law Frale feared, but this same lank,
+ill-favored mountaineer, who was now warming his coffee and eating his
+raw salt pork and corn-bread by the stream, while his drooling cattle
+stood near, sleepily chewing their cuds.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+IN WHICH JERRY CAREW GIVES DAVID HIS VIEWS ON FUTURE PUNISHMENT, AND
+LITTLE HOYLE PAYS HIM A VISIT AND IS MADE HAPPY
+
+
+Uncle Jerry Carew had led David's horse down to the station ready
+saddled to meet him, according to agreement, and side by side they rode
+back, the old man beguiling the way with talk of mountain affairs most
+interesting to the young doctor, who led him on from tales of his own
+youthful prowess, "when catamounts and painters war nigh as frequent as
+woodchucks is now," until he felt he knew pretty well the history of all
+the mountain side.
+
+"Yas, when I war a littlin', no highah'n my horse's knees, I kin
+remember thar war a gatherin' fer a catamount hunt on Reed's Hill ovah
+to'ds Pisgah. Catamounts war mighty pesterin' creeters them days. Ev'y
+man able to tote a gun war thar. Ol' man Caswell--that war Miz
+Merlin--she war only a mite of a baby then--her gran'paw, he war the
+oldest man in th' country; he went an' carried his rifle his paw fit in
+th' Revolution with. He fit at King's Mountain, an' all about here he
+fit."
+
+"Did he fight in the Civil War, too?"
+
+"Her gran'paw's paw? No. He war too ol' fer that, but his gran'son
+Caswell, he fit in hit, an' he nevah come back, neither. Ol' Miz
+Caswell--Cassandry Merlin's gran'maw, she lived a widow nigh on to
+thirty year. She an' her daughter--that's ol' Miz Farwell that is
+now--they lived thar an' managed the place ontwell she married Merlin."
+
+"You knew her first husband, then?"
+
+"Yas, know him? Ev'ybody knew Thad Merlin. He come f'om ovah Pisgah way,
+an' he took Marthy thar. Hit's quare how things goes. I always liked
+Thad Merlin. The' wa'n't no harm in him."
+
+David saw a quaint, whimsical smile play about the old man's mouth. "He
+war a preacher--kind of a mixtur of a preacher an' teacher an hunter.
+Couldn't anybody beat him huntin'--and farmin'--well he could farm,
+too,--better'n most. He done well whatever he done, but he had a right
+quare way. He built that thar rock wall an' he 'lowed he'd have hit run
+plumb 'round the place.
+
+"He war a fiddler, and he'd build awhile, and fetch his fiddle--he
+warn't right strong--an' then he'd set thar on the wall an' fiddle to
+the birds; an' the wild creeturs, they'd come an' hear to him. I seen
+squerrels settin' on end hearkin' to him, myself. Arter a while, folks
+begun to think 'at he didn't preach the right kind of religion, an' they
+wouldn't go to hear him no more without hit war to listen did he say
+anythin' they could fin' fault with. 'Pears like they got in that-a-way
+they didn' go fer nothin' else. Hit cl'ar plumb broke him all up. He
+quit preachin' an' took more to fiddlin', an' he sorter grew puny, an'
+one day jes' natch'ly lay down an' died, all fer nothin', 'at anybody
+could see."
+
+"What was the matter with his preaching?" asked David, and again the
+whimsical smile played around the old man's mouth, and his thin lips
+twitched.
+
+"I reckon thar wa'n't 'nuff hell 'n' damnation in hit. Our people here
+on the mountain, they're right kind an' soft therselves. They don't whop
+ther chillen, nor do nothin' much 'cept a shootin' now an' then, but
+that's only amongst the men. The women tends mostly to the religion, an'
+they likes a heap o' hell 'n' damnation. Hit sorter stirs 'em up an'
+gives 'em somethin' to chaw on, an' keeps 'em contented like. They has
+somethin' to threat'n ther men folks with an' keep ther chillen straight
+on, an' a place to sen' ther neighbors to when they don't suit. Yas,
+hit's right handy fer th' women. I reckon they couldn't git on without
+hit."
+
+"Do they think they will have bodies that can be hurt by any such thing
+in the next world?"
+
+"I reckon so. But preacher Merlin, he said that thar war paths o' light
+an' paths o' darkness, an' that eve'y man he 'bided right whar he war at
+when he died. Ef he hed tuk the path o' darkness, thar he war in hit;
+but ef he hed tuk the path o' light whar war heaven, then he war thar.
+An' he said the Lord nevah made no hell, hit war jes' our own selves
+made sech es that, an' he took an' cut that thar place cl'ar plumb out'n
+the Scripturs an' the worl' to come. But he sure hed a heap o larnin',
+only some said a sight on hit war heathen, an' that war why he lef' all
+the hell an' damnation outen his religion."
+
+Thus enlightened concerning many things, both of this particular bit of
+mountain world, which was all the world to his companion, and of the
+world to come, Thryng rode on, quietly amused.
+
+Sometimes he dismounted to investigate plants new to him, or to gather a
+bit of moss or fungi or parasite--anything that promised an elucidating
+hour with his splendid microscope. For these he always carried at the
+pommel of his saddle an air-tight box. The mountain people supposed he
+collected such things for the compounding of his drugs.
+
+When they reached the Fall Place, David continued along the main road
+below and took a trail farther on, merely a foot trail little used, to
+his eyrie. He had not seen Cassandra since they had walked together down
+from Hoke Belew's place. He had gone to Farington partly to avoid seeing
+her, nor did he wish to see her again until he should have so mastered
+himself as to betray nothing by his manner that might embarrass her or
+remind her painfully of their last interview, knowing he must eliminate
+self to reëstablish their previous relations.
+
+David rode directly to his log stable, put up his horse, then unslung
+his box and walked with it toward his cabin. Suddenly he stopped. From
+the thick shrubbery where he stood he could see in at the large window
+where his microscope was placed quite through his cabin into the light,
+white canvas room beyond. Before the fireplace, clearly relieved against
+the whiteness of the farther room, stood Cassandra, gazing intently at
+something she held in her hand. David recognized it as a small, framed
+picture of his mother--a delicately painted miniature. He kept it always
+on the shelf near which she was standing. He saw her reach up and
+replace it, then brush her hand quickly across her eyes, and knew she
+had been weeping. He was ashamed to stand there watching her, but he
+could not move. Always, it seemed to him, she was being presented to him
+thus strongly against a surrounding halo of light, revealing every
+gracious line of her figure and her sweet, clean profile.
+
+He turned his eyes away, but as quickly gazed again; she had
+disappeared. He waited, and again she passed between his eyes and the
+light, here and there, moving quietly about, seeing that all was in
+order, as her custom was when she knew him to be absent.
+
+He saw her brushing about the hearth, carefully wiping the dust from his
+disordered table, lifting the books, touching everything tenderly and
+lightly. His flute lay there. She took it in her hands and looked down
+at it solemnly, then slowly raised it to her lips. What? Was she going
+to try to play upon it? No, but she kissed it. Again and again she
+kissed the slender, magic wand, hurriedly, then laid it very gently down
+and with one backward glance walked swiftly out of the cabin and away
+from him, down the trail, with long, easy steps. Only once more she drew
+her hand across her eyes, and with head held high moved rapidly on.
+Never did she look to the right or the left or she must have seen him as
+he stood, scarcely breathing and hard beset to hold himself back and
+allow her to pass him thus.
+
+Now he knew that she had been deeply stirred by him, and the revelation
+fell upon his spirit, filling him with a joy more intense than anything
+he had ever felt or experienced before, so poignantly sweet that it hurt
+him. Had he indeed entered into her dreams and become an undercurrent in
+her life even as she had in his, and did her soul and body ache for him
+as his for her?
+
+Then he suffered remorse for what he had done. How long she had defended
+herself by that wall of impersonality with which she had surrounded
+herself! He had beaten down the ramparts and trampled in the garden of
+her soul. As he stood in the door of his cabin, the place seemed to
+breathe of her presence. She had made a veritable bower of it for his
+return. Every sweet thing she had gathered for him, as if, out of her
+love and her sorrow, she had meant to bring to him an especial blessing.
+
+A shallow basin filled with wild forget-me-nots stood on the shelf
+before his mother's picture. Ferns and vines fell over the stone mantle,
+and in earthen jars of mountain ware the early rhododendron, with its
+delicate, pearly pink blossoms, filled the dark corners. Masses of the
+plumed white ash shook feathery tassels along the walls, making the air
+sweet with their fragrance. Ah, how clean and fresh everything was! All
+his disorder was set to rights, and fresh linen was on his bed in his
+canvas room.
+
+Even his table was laid with his small store of dishes, and food placed
+upon it, still covered in the basket he was now so accustomed to see.
+Sweet and dainty it all was. He had only to light the fat pine sticks
+laid beneath the kettle swung above and make his tea, and his meal was
+ready. Had she divined he would not stop at the Fall Place this time,
+when in the past it had been his custom to do so? Ah, she knew; for is
+not the little winged god a wonderful teacher?
+
+Thryng was humbled in the very dust and ashes of repentance as he sat
+down to his late dinner. The fragrance in the room, all he ate,
+everything he touched, filled his senses with her; and he--he had only
+brought her sorrow. He had come into her life but to bruise her spirit
+and leave her sad at heart with a deep sadness he dared not and could
+not alleviate. He lifted a pale purple orchid she had placed in a
+tumbler at his hand and examined it. Evidently she had thought this the
+choicest of all the woodland treasures she had brought him, and had
+placed it there, a sweet message. What should he do? Ah, what could he
+do? He must not see her yet--at least not until to-morrow.
+
+Later, David brought in his specimens and occupied himself with his
+microscope. He had begun a careful study of certain destructive things.
+Even here in the wild he found them, evil and unwholesome, clinging to
+the well and strong, slowly but surely sapping the vitality of those who
+gave them life. Every evil, he thought, must, in the economy of nature,
+have its antidote. So, with the ardor of the scientist, he divided with
+care the nasty, pasty growth he had found and prepared his plates.
+Systematically he made drawings and notes as he studied the magnified
+atoms beneath his powerful lens, and while he sat absorbed in his work,
+Hoyle's childish voice piped at him from the doorway.
+
+"Howdy, Doctah Thryng."
+
+"Why, hello! Howdy!" said David, without looking up from his work.
+
+"What you got in that thar gol' machine? Kin I look, too?"
+
+"What have I got? Why--I've got a bit of the devil in here."
+
+"Whar'd you git him? Huh?"
+
+"Oh, I found him along the road between here and the station."
+
+"Did--did he come on the cyars with you? Whar war he at? Hu come he in
+thar?" David did not reply for an instant, and the awed child drew a
+step nearer. "Whar war he at?" he insisted. "Hu come he in thar?"
+
+"He was hanging to a bush as I came along, and I put him in my box and
+brought him home and cut him up and put a little bit of him in here."
+
+Then there was silence, and David forgot the small boy until he heard a
+deep-drawn sigh behind him. Looking up for the first time, he saw him
+standing aloof, a look of terror in his wide eyes as if he fain would
+run away, but could not from sheer fright. Poor little mite! David in
+his playful speech had not dreamed of being taken in earnest. He drew
+the child to his side, where he cuddled gladly, nestling his twisted
+little body close, partly for protection, and partly in love.
+
+"You reckon he's plumb dade?" David could feel the child's heart beating
+in a heavy labored way against his arm as he held him, and, pushing his
+papers one side, he lifted him to his knee.
+
+"Do I reckon who's dead?" he asked absently, with his ear pressed to the
+child's back.
+
+"The devil what you done brought home in yuer box."
+
+"Dead? Oh, yes. He's dead--good and dead. Sit still a moment--so--now
+take a long breath. A long one--deep--that's right. Now another--so."
+
+"What fer?"
+
+"I want to hear your heart beat."
+
+"Kin you hear hit?"
+
+"Yes--don't talk, a minute,--that'll do."
+
+"What you want to hear my heart beat fer? I kin feel hit. Kin you feel
+yourn? Be they more'n one devil?"
+
+"Heaps of them."
+
+"When I go back, you reckon I'll find 'em hanging on the bushes? Do
+they hang by ther tails, like 'possums does?"
+
+Comfortable and happy where he was, the little fellow dreaded the
+distance he must traverse to reach his home under the peculiar phenomena
+of devils hanging to the bushes along his route.
+
+"Oh, no, no. Here, I'll show you what I mean." Then he explained
+carefully to the child what he really meant, showing him some of the
+strange and beautiful ways of nature, and at last allowing him to look
+into the microscope to see the little cells and rays. As he patiently
+and kindly taught, he was pleased with the child's eager, receptive mind
+and naïve admiration. Towards evening Hoyle was sent home, quite at rest
+concerning devils and all their kin, and radiantly happy with a box of
+many colored pencils and a blank drawing-book, which David had brought
+him from Farington.
+
+"I kin larn to make things like you b'en makin' with these, an' Cass,
+she'll he'p me," he cried.
+
+"What is Cass doing to-day?" David ventured.
+
+"She be'n up here most all mornin', an' I he'ped get the light ud fer
+fire, an' then she sont me home to he'p maw whilst she stayed to fix
+up."
+
+"But now, I mean, when you came up here?"
+
+"Weavin' in the loom shed. Maw, she has a lot o' little biddies. The ol'
+hen hatched 'em, she did."
+
+"What have you done to your thumb?" asked David, seeing it tied about
+with a rag.
+
+"I plunked hit with the hammer when I war a-makin' houses fer the
+biddies. I nailed 'em, I did."
+
+"You made the chicken coops? Well, you are a clever little chap. Let me
+see your hand."
+
+"Yas, maw said I war that, too."
+
+"But you weren't very clever to do this. Whew! What did you hit your
+thumb like that for?"
+
+"Dunno." He looked ruefully at the crushed member which the doctor laved
+gently and soothingly.
+
+"Why didn't you come to me with it?"
+
+"Maw 'lowed the' wa'n't no use pesterin' you with eve'ything. She tol'
+me eve'y man had to larn to hit a nail on the haid."
+
+David laughed, and the child trotted away happy, his hand in a sling
+made of one of the doctor's linen handkerchiefs, and his box of pencils
+and his book hugged to his irregularly beating heart; but it was with a
+grave face that Thryng saw him disappear among the great masses of pink
+laurel bloom.
+
+That evening, as the glow in the west deepened and died away and the
+stars came out one by one and sent their slender rays down upon the
+hills, David sat on his rock with his flute in his hand, waiting for a
+moment to arrive when he could put it to his lips and send out the
+message of glad hopes he had sent before. She had asked that one little
+thing, that his music might still be glad, and so for Cassandra's sake
+it must be.
+
+He tried once and again, but he could not play. At last, putting away
+from him his repentant thoughts, he gave his heart full sway, saying to
+himself: "For this moment I will imagine harmlessly that my vision is
+all mine and my dream come true. It is the only way." Then he played as
+if it were he whom she had kissed so passionately, instead of his flute;
+and thus it was the glad notes were falling on her spirit when Frale
+found her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+IN WHICH FRALE RETURNS AND LISTENS TO THE COMPLAINTS OF DECATUR IRWIN'S
+WIFE
+
+
+All was quiet and lonely around Carew's Crossing when Frale dropped from
+the train and struck off over the mountain. Soon there would be bustle
+and stir and life about the place, for the hotel would be open and
+people would be crowding in, some to escape the heat of the far South
+and the low countries, some from the cities either North or South to
+whom the bracing air of the mountains would bring renewed
+vitality--business men with shattered nerves and women whose high play
+during the winter at the game of social life had left them nervous
+wrecks.
+
+But now the beauty of the spring and the sweet silences were undisturbed
+by alien chatter. As yet were to be heard only the noises of the
+forest--of wind and stream--of bird calls and the piping of turtles and
+the shrilling of insects or vibrant croaking of frogs--or mayhap the
+occasional sound of a gun, discharged by some solitary mountain boy,
+regardless of game laws, to provide a supper at home,--only these, as
+Frale climbed rapidly away from the station toward the Fall Place, and
+Cassandra. He would stop there first and then strike for his old haunts
+and hiding-places.
+
+He felt a leaping joy in his veins to be again among his hills. How
+lonely he had been for them he had not known until now, when, with
+lifted head and bounding heart, he trod lightly and easily the difficult
+way. And yet the undercurrent of a tragedy lay quiet beneath his joy and
+haunted him, keeping him to the trails above,--the secret paths which
+led circuitously to his home,--even while the thought of Cassandra made
+his heart buoyant and eager.
+
+The sight of Doctor Thryng who during these months had been near
+her--perhaps seeing her daily--aroused all the primitive jealousy of his
+nature. He would go now and persuade her to marry him and stand by him
+until he could fight his way through to the unquestioned right to live
+there as his father had done, defying any who would interfere with his
+course. Had he not a silver bullet for the heart of the man who would
+dare contest his rights? It only remained for him to meet Giles Teasley
+face to face to settle the matter forever.
+
+Since it was purely a mountain affair, and the officers of the law had
+already searched to their satisfaction, there was little chance that the
+pursuit would be renewed by the State. It would, however, be impossible
+for him to go back to the Fall Place and live there openly until the
+last member of the Teasley family capable of wreaking vengeance on his
+head had been settled with; but as the father was crippled with
+rheumatism and could do no more than totter about his mill and talk,
+only this one brother was left with whom to deal. Now that Frale was
+back in his own hills again, all terror slipped from him, and the old
+excitement in the presence of danger to be met, or avoided, stimulated
+him to a feeling of exuberance and triumph. With childlike facility he
+tossed aside the thought of his promise to Cassandra. It all seemed to
+him as a dream--all the horror and the remorse. Time had quickly dulled
+this last.
+
+"Ef I hadn't 'a' killed Ferd, he would 'a' shot me. Anyhow, he hadn't
+ought to 'a' riled me that-a-way."
+
+He thought with shame of how he had sat cowering at the head of the
+fall, and had hurled his own dog to destruction, in his fear. "I war
+jes' plumb crazy," he soliloquized.
+
+As to how he could deal with Cassandra, he did not as yet know, but he
+would find a way. In his heart, he reached out to her and already
+possessed her. His blood leaped madly through his veins that he was so
+soon to see her and touch her. Have her he would, if he must continue to
+kill his way to her through an army of opponents.
+
+The evening was falling, and, imagining they would all be sleeping, he
+meant to creep quietly up and spend the night in the loom shed. There
+was no dog there now to disturb them with joyful bark of recognition. At
+last he found himself above the home, where, by striking through the
+undergrowth a short distance, he would come out by the great holly tree
+near the head of the fall. Already he could hear the welcome sound of
+rushing water.
+
+He drew nearer through the thick laurel and azalea shrubs now in full
+bloom; their pollen clung to his clothing as he brushed among them.
+Cautiously he approached the spot which recalled to him the emotions he
+had experienced there--now throbbing through him anew. He peered into
+the gathering dusk with eager eyes as if he thought to find her still
+there. Ah, he could crush her in his mad joy!
+
+Suddenly he paused and listened. Other sounds than those of the night
+and the running water fell on his ear--sounds deliciously sweet and
+thrilling, filling all the air, mingling with the rushing of the fall
+and accenting its flow. From whence did they come--those new sounds? He
+had never heard them before. Did they drop from the sky--from the stars
+twinkling brightly down on him--now faint and far as if born in
+heaven--now near and clear--silvery clear and strong and
+sweet--penetrating his very soul and making every nerve quiver to their
+pulsating rhythm? He felt a certain fear of a new kind creep tinglingly
+through him, holding him cold and still--for the moment breathless. Was
+she there? Had she died, and was this her spirit trying to speak?
+
+Very quietly he drew nearer to the great rock. Yes, she was there,
+standing with her back to the silvery gray bole of the holly tree, her
+face lifted toward the mountain top and her expression rapt and
+listening--holy and pure--far removed from him as was the star above the
+peak toward which her gaze was turned. He could not touch her, nor crush
+her to him as a moment before he had felt he must, but he slowly
+approached.
+
+She heard his step and then saw him waiting there in the dim light of
+the starry dusk. For an instant she regarded him in silence, then she
+essayed to speak, but her lips only trembled over the words voicelessly.
+He could not see her emotion, but he felt it, although her stillness
+made her seem calm. Hungrily he stood and watched her. At last she
+spoke:--
+
+"Why, Frale, Frale!"
+
+"Hit's me, Cass."
+
+"Have--have you been down to the house, Frale?"
+
+"Naw, I jes' come this-a-way from the station."
+
+"Is it--is it safe for you to come here, Frale?"
+
+She stood a short distance from him, speaking so softly, and yet he
+could not touch her; his hands seemed numb, and his breath came
+pantingly.
+
+"I reckon hit's safe here as thar," he said huskily. "An' I'm come to
+stay, too."
+
+"Then let's go down to mother. Likely she's a-bed by now, but she'll be
+right glad to see you. She can walk a little now." She hastened to fill
+the moments with words, anything to divert that fixed gaze and take his
+thoughts from her. Instinctively she groped thus for time, she who like
+a deer would flee if flight were possible, even while her heart welled
+with pity for him. "Come. You can talk with her whilst I get you some
+supper." She felt his pent-up emotion and secretly feared it, but held
+herself bravely. "Hoyle will nigh jump out of his skin, he'll be that
+glad you come back."
+
+He stood stubbornly where he was, and lifted his hand to grasp her arm,
+but she glided on just beyond his reach, either not seeing it, or
+avoiding it, he could not decide which, and still she said, "Come,
+Frale." He followed stumblingly in her wake, as a man follows an ignis
+fatuus, unconscious of the roughness of the way or of the steps he was
+taking--and the flute notes followed them from
+above--sweetly--mockingly, as it seemed to him. What were they? Why were
+they? How came Cassandra there listening? He could stand this mystery no
+longer--and he cried out to her.
+
+"Cass, hear. Listen to that."
+
+"Yes, Frale." She spoke wearily, but did not pause.
+
+"Wait, Cass. What be hit, ye reckon? Hit sure hain't no fiddle. Thar!
+Heark to hit. Whar be hit at?"
+
+"I reckon it's up yonder at Doctor Thryng's cabin. He has a little pipe
+like, that he blows on and it makes music like that."
+
+"An' you clum' up thar to heark to him?" He bounded forward in the
+darkness and walked close to her. She quivered like a leaf, but held her
+voice low and steady as she replied.
+
+"No, Frale. I go there evenings when I'm not too tired. I've been going
+there ever since you left to--"
+
+"That doctah, he's be'n castin' a spell on you, Cass. I kin see
+hit--how you walkin' off an' nevah 'low me to touch you. Ye hain't said
+howd'y to me nor how you glad I come. You like a col' white drift o'
+snow blowin' on ahead o' me. You hain't no human girl like you used to
+be. I got somethin' to put a spell on him, too, ef he don't watch out."
+
+He spoke in his mild, low-voiced drawl, but he kept close to her side,
+and she could hear his breathing, quick and panting. She felt as if a
+tiger were keeping pace with her, and she knew the sinister meaning
+beneath his words. She knew that all she could do now was to take him
+back to his promise and hold him to it.
+
+"There's no such thing as spell casting, Frale. You know that, and you
+have my promise and I have yours. Have you forgot? Talking that way
+seems like you have forgot." She walked on rapidly, taking him nearer
+and nearer their home, and in her haste she stumbled. In an instant his
+arm was thrown around her, holding her on her feet.
+
+"Look at you now, like to fall cl'ar headlong, runnin' that-a-way to get
+shet o' me. 'Pears like you mad that I come."
+
+He held her back, and they went slowly, but he did not release her, nor
+did she struggle futilely against his strength, knowing it wiser to
+continue calmly leading him on; but she could not reply. The start of
+her fall and her wildly beating heart rendered her breathless and weak.
+
+"I tell you that thar doctah man, he have put a spell on you. He done
+drawed you up thar to hear to him. I seed you lookin' like he'd done
+drawed yuer soul outen yuer body. I have heard o' sech. He's be'n down
+to Bishop Towahs', too, whar I be'n workin' at. I seed him watchin' me
+like he come to spy on me, an' he no sooner gone than I seed that thar
+Giles Teasley sneakin' 'long the fence lookin' over an' searchin' eve'y
+place like he war a-hungerin' fer a sight o' me." He stopped and
+swallowed angrily. They had arrived at the trough of running water, and
+she breathed easier to find herself so near her haven.
+
+"What have you done with your dog, Frale? You reckon he followed you
+off? I haven't seen him since you left."
+
+He released her then and, stooping to the water-pipe, drank a long
+draft, and thrust his head beneath it, allowing the water to drench his
+thick hair. Then he stood a moment, shaking his curling locks like a
+spaniel.
+
+"Wait here. I'll fetch a towel." She hastened within. "Mother, Frale's
+come back," she said quietly, not to awaken Hoyle; then returned and
+tossed him the towel which he caught and rubbed vigorously over his head
+and face.
+
+"Now you are like yourself again, Frale."
+
+"Yas, I'm here an' I'm myself, I reckon. Who'd ye think I be?" He caught
+her and kissed her, and, with his arm about her, entered the cabin.
+
+His mood changed with childish ease according to whatever the moments
+brought him. Cassandra lighted a candle, for now that the days had grown
+warm, the fire was allowed to go out unless needed for cooking. His
+stepmother had roused herself and peered at him from out her dark
+corner, where little Hoyle lay sleeping soundly in the farther side of
+her bed. Frale strode across the uneven floor and kissed her also,
+resoundingly. Astounded, she dropped back on her pillow.
+
+"What ails ye, Frale!" The mountain people are for the most part too
+reserved to be lavish with their kisses.
+
+"Nothin' ails me. I'm kissin' you fer Cass's sake. Me an' her's goin' to
+get jined an' set up togethah. I'm come back fer to marry with her, and
+we're goin' ovah t'othah side Lone Pine, an' I'm goin' to build a cabin
+thar. That's how I'm kissin' you. Will you have anothah, or shall I give
+hit to Cass?"
+
+"You hush an' go 'long," said the mother, half contemptuously.
+
+"Frale's making fool talk, mothah. Don't give heed to him. He's
+light-headed, I reckon, and I'm going to get him something to eat right
+quick."
+
+"I 'low he be light-headed. Nobody's goin' to git Cass whilst I'm
+livin', 'thout he's got more'n a cabin ovah t'othah side Lone Pine.
+She's right well off here, an' here she'll 'bide."
+
+Frale turned darkly on the mother. "I reckon you'd bettah give heed to
+me mor'n to her," he said, in the low drawl which boded much with him.
+
+Cassandra, on her knees at the hearth, was arranging sticks of fat pine
+to light the fire. Her hands shook as she held them. This Frale saw, and
+his eyes gleamed. He came to her side and, kneeling also, took them from
+her.
+
+"Hit's my place to do this fer you now, Cass. F'om now on--I reckon.
+I'll hang the kittle fer ye, too, an' fetch the water."
+
+The mother stared at them in silence, and Cassandra, taking up the
+coffee-pot, rose and went out. When she returned, the fire was crackling
+merrily, and the great kettle swung over it. Hoyle was up and seated on
+his half-brother's knee. Cassandra's eyes looked heavy and showed traces
+of tears.
+
+Frale saw it all, with eyes gleaming blue through narrowly drawn lids.
+His lips quivered a little as he talked with Hoyle. He drew out his
+money for the child to count over gleefully, thus diverting himself with
+the boy, while he watched Cassandra furtively. He decided to say no more
+at present until she should have had time to adjust her mind to the
+thought he had so daringly announced to her mother. The two cakes little
+Dorothy had given him he took from his bundle and gave to Hoyle, then
+carried him back and put him to bed and told him to sleep again.
+
+For all of her promise, Cassandra had not expected this to come upon her
+so suddenly, like lightning out of a clear sky, startling her very soul
+with fear. As Frale ate what she set before him, she went over to the
+bedside, and sat there holding her mother's hand and talking in low
+tones, while Hoyle, with wide eyes, strove to hear.
+
+"Be hit true, what he says, Cass?"
+
+"Not all, mother. I never told him I would go and live over beyond Lone
+Pine. I meant always to live right here with you, but I am promised to
+him. I gave him my word that night he left, to get him to go and save
+him. Oh, God! Mother, I didn't guess it would come so soon. He promised
+me he would repent his deed and live right."
+
+The mother brightened and drew her daughter down and spoke low in her
+ear. "Make him keep to his promise first, child. Yuer safe thar. I
+reckon he's doin' a heap o' repentin' this-a-way. I ain' goin' 'low you
+throw you'se'f away on no Farwell, ef he be good-lookin', 'thout he
+holds to his word good fer a year. Hit's jes' the way his paw done me.
+He gin me his word 'at he'd stop 'stillin' an' drinkin', an' he helt to
+hit fer three months, an' then he come on me this-a-way an' I married
+him, an' he opened up his still again in three weeks, an' thar he went
+his own way f'om that day."
+
+Cassandra rose and went to the door. "I'm going to make you a bed in the
+loom shed like I made it for the doctor. There is no bed up garret now.
+I emptied out all the ticks and thought I'd have them fresh filled
+against you come back--but I've been that busy."
+
+Soon he followed her out. "I reckon I won't sleep thar whar that doctah
+have slep'. He might put a spell on me, too," he said, standing in the
+door of the shed and looking in on her. The night was lighter now, for
+the full moon had glided up over the hills, and she worked by its light
+streaming through the open door.
+
+"I can't see with you standing there, Frale. I reckon you'll have to
+sleep here, because it's too late to fill your bed to-night."
+
+"Oh, leave that be and come and sit here with me," he said, dropping on
+the step where the doctor had sat when she opened her heart to him and
+told him about her father. It all surged back upon her now. She could
+not sit there with Frale. "I'll make my bed myself, an' I'll--I'll sleep
+wharevah you want me to, ef hit's up on the roof or out yandah in the
+water trough. Come, sit."
+
+"We'll go back on the porch, and I'll take mother's chair. I'm right
+tired."
+
+"When we git in our own cabin ovah t'othah side Lone Pine, you won't
+have nothin' to do only tend on me," he said, drawing her to him. He led
+her across the open space and placed her gently in her mother's chair on
+the little porch.
+
+"Now, Frale, sit down there and listen," she said, pointing to the step
+at her feet where Thryng had sat only a few days before to make out the
+lease of their land. Everything seemed to cry out to her of him
+to-night, but she must steel her heart against the thought.
+
+"I'm going to talk to you straight, just what I mean, Frale. You've been
+talking as you pleased in there, and I 'lowed you to, I was that set
+back. Anyway, I'd rather talk to you alone. Frale, our promise was made
+before God, and you know I will keep to mine. But you must keep to
+yours, too. Listen at me. Mrs. Towers wrote me you had been drunk twice.
+Is that keeping your promise to leave whiskey alone? Is it, Frale?"
+
+"You have somebody down thar watchin' me, an' I hain't nobody a-watchin'
+you," he said sullenly. She felt degraded by his words.
+
+"Frale, do you know me all these years to think such as that of me now?"
+
+"I tell you he have put a spell on you. I kin feel hit an' see hit. Hit
+ain't your fault, Cass. I'd put one on you myself, ef I could. Anyhow,
+I'll take you out of this fer he have done hit."
+
+"Do you never say that word to me again as long as you live, Frale," she
+said sternly. "Listen at me, I say. You go back there and work like you
+said you would--"
+
+"Didn't I tell you that thar houn' dog Giles Teasley war on my scent? I
+seen him. I got to come back ontwell I c'n git shet o' him."
+
+"And that means another murder! Oh, Frale, Frale!" She covered her face
+with her hands and moaned. Then they sat silent awhile.
+
+After a little she lifted her head. "Frale, I'll go over to Teasleys'
+and beg for them to leave you be. I'll beg Giles Teasley on my knees, I
+will. Then when you have bided your year and kept your promise like you
+swore before God, I'll marry you like I promised, and we'll live here
+and keep the old place like it ought to be kept. You hear, Frale? Good
+night, now. It's only fair you should give heed to me, Frale, if I do
+that for you. Good night."
+
+She glided past him into the house like a wraith, and he rose without a
+word of reply and stretched himself on the half-made bed in the loom
+shed, as he was. Sullen and angry, he lay far into the night with the
+moonlight streaming over him, but he did not sleep, and his mood only
+grew more bitter and dangerous.
+
+When the first streak of dawn was drawn across the eastern sky, he rose
+unrefreshed, and began a search, feeling along the rafters high above
+the bags of cotton. Presently he drew forth an ancient, long-barrelled
+rifle, and, taking it out into the light, examined it carefully. He
+rubbed and cleaned the barrel and polished the stock and oiled the
+hammer and trigger. Then he brought from the same hiding-place a horn of
+powder and gun wadding, and at last took from his pocket the silver
+bullet, with which he loaded his old weapon even as he had seen it
+charged in past days by his father's hand.
+
+Below the house, built over a clear welling spring which ran in a bright
+little rivulet to the larger stream, was the spring-house. Here, after
+the warm days came, the milk and butter were kept, and here Frale
+sauntered down--his gun slung across his arm, his powder-horn at his
+belt, in his old clothes--with his trousers thrust in his boot-tops--to
+search for provisions for the day and his breakfast as well. He had no
+mind to allow the family to oppose his action or reason him out of his
+course.
+
+He found a jug of buttermilk placed there the evening before for Hoyle
+to carry to the doctor in the morning, and slung it by a strap over his
+shoulder. In one of the sheds lay two chickens, ready dressed to be cut
+up for the frying-pan, and one of these, with a generous strip of salt
+pork from the keg of dry salt where it was kept, he dropped in a sack.
+He would not enter the house for corn-bread, even though he knew he was
+welcome to all the home afforded, but planned to arrive at some mountain
+cabin where friends would give him what he required to complete his
+stock of food. His gun would provide him with an occasional meal of
+game, and he thus felt himself prepared for as long a period of ambush
+as might be necessary.
+
+Before sunrise he was well on his way over the mountain. He did not
+attempt to go directly to his old haunt, but turned aside and took the
+trail leading along the ridge--the same Thryng and Cassandra had taken
+to go to the cabin of Decatur Irwin. Frale had no definite idea of going
+there, but took the high ridge instinctively. So long had he been in the
+low country that he craved now to reach the heights where he might see
+the far blue distances and feel the strong sweet air blowing past him.
+It was much the same feeling that had caused him to thrust his head
+under the trough of running water the evening before.
+
+As a wild creature loves the freedom of the plains, or an eagle rises
+and circles about in the blue ether aimless and untrammelled, so this
+man of the hills moved now in his natural environment, living in the
+present moment, glad to be above the low levels and out from under all
+restraint, seeing but a little way into his future, content to satisfy
+present needs and the cravings of his strong, virile body.
+
+Moments of exaltation and aspiration came to him, as they must come to
+every one, but they were moments only, and were quickly swept aside and
+but vaguely comprehended by him. As a child will weep one minute over
+some creature his heedlessness has hurt and the next forget it all in
+the pursuit of some new delight, so this child of nature took his way,
+swayed by his moods and desires--an elemental force, like a swollen
+torrent taking its vengeful way--forgetful of promises--glad of
+freedom--angry at being held in restraint, and willing to crush or tear
+away any opposing force.
+
+At last, breakfastless and weary after his long climb, his sleepless
+night, and the depression following his talk with Cassandra the evening
+before, he paused at the edge of the descent, loath to leave the open
+height behind him, and stretched himself under a great black cedar to
+rest. As he lay there dreaming and scheming, with half-shut eyes, he
+spied below him the bare red patch of soil around the cabin of Decatur
+Irwin. Instantly he rose and began rapidly to descend.
+
+Decatur was away. He had got a "job of hauling," his wife said, and had
+to be away all day, but she willingly set herself to bake a fresh
+corn-cake and make him coffee. He had already taken a little of his
+buttermilk, but he did not care for raw salt pork alone. He wanted his
+corn-bread and coffee,--the staple of the mountaineer.
+
+She talked much, in a languid way, as she worked, and he sat in the
+doorway. Now and then she asked questions about his home and
+"Cassandry," which he answered evasively. She gossiped much about all
+the happenings and sayings of her neighbors far and near, and complained
+much, when she came to take pay from him for what she provided, of the
+times which had come upon them since "Cate had hurt his foot." She told
+how that fool doctor had come there and taken "hit off, makin' out like
+Cate'd die of hit ef he didn't," and how "Cassandry Merlin had done
+cheated her into goin' off so 't she could bide thar at the cabin alone
+with that doctah man herself an' he'p him do hit."
+
+With her snuff stick between her yellow teeth and her numerous progeny
+squatting in the dirt all about the doorway, idly gazing at Frale, she
+retailed her grievances without reserve. How the wife of Hoke Belew had
+been "ailin'," and Cassandra had "be'n thar ev'y day keerin' fer her. I
+'low she jes' goes 'cause she 'lows she'll see that doctah man thar an'
+ride back with him like she done when she brung him here," said the
+pallid, spiteful creature, and spat as she talked. "She nevah done that
+fer me. I be'n sick a heap o' times, an' she hain't nevah come nigh me
+to do a lick."
+
+Frale was annoyed to hear Cassandra thus spoken against, for was she not
+his own? He chose to defend her, while purposely concealing his bitter
+anger against the doctor. "The' hain't nothin' agin Cassandry. She's
+sorter kin to me, an' I 'low the' hain't."
+
+"Naw," said the woman, changing instantly at the threatening tone, "the'
+hain't nothin' agin her. I reckon he tells her whar to go, an' she jes'
+goes like he tells her."
+
+Frale threw his sack over his shoulder and started on in silence, and
+the woman smiled evilly after him as she sat there and licked her lips,
+and chewed on her snuff stick and spat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG MEETS AN ENEMY
+
+
+The next day David gave his attention to the letters which he found
+awaiting him. One was from Doctor Hoyle in Canada. He had but just
+returned from a visit to England, and it was full of news of David's
+family there.
+
+"Your two cousins and your brother are gone with their regiments to
+South Africa," he wrote. "They are jubilant to be called to active
+service, as they ought to be, but your mother is heartbroken over their
+departure. You stay where you are, my boy. She is glad enough to have
+you out of England now, and far from the temptation which besets youth
+in times of war. It has already caused a serious blood-letting for Old
+England. I have grave doubts about this contention. In these days there
+ought to be a way of preventing such disaster. Write to your mother and
+comfort her heart,--she needs it. I was careful not to betray to her
+what your condition has been, as I discovered you had not done so. Hold
+fast and fight for health, and be content. Your recuperative power is
+good."
+
+David was filled with contrition as he opened his mother's letter, which
+was several weeks old and had come by way of Canada, since she did not
+know he had gone South. For some time he had sent home only casual
+notes, partly to save her anxiety, and partly because writing was
+irksome to him unless he had something particularly pleasant to tell
+her. His plans and actions had been so much discussed at home and he had
+been considered so censurably odd--so different from his relatives and
+friends in his opinions, and so impossible of comprehension (which
+branded him in his own circle as being quite at fault)--that he had long
+ago abandoned all effort to make himself understood by them, and had
+retired behind his mask of reserve and silence to pursue his own course
+undisturbed. Thus, at best, an occasional perfunctory letter that all
+was well with him was the sum total of news they received. Thryng had no
+money anxieties for his family. The needs of his mother and his
+sister--not yet of age--were amply provided for by a moderate annuity,
+while his brother had his position in the army, and help from his uncle
+besides. For himself, he had saved enough, with his simple tastes and
+much hard work, to tide him over this period of rest.
+
+David sat now and turned his mother's letter over and over. He read and
+reread it. It was very sad. Her splendid boys both gone from her, one
+possibly never to return--neither of them married and with no hope of
+grandchildren to solace her declining years. "Stay where you are,
+David," she wrote; "Doctor Hoyle tells us you are doing well. Don't, oh,
+don't enter the army! One son I have surrendered to my country's
+service; let me feel that I still have one on whom I may depend to care
+for Laura and me in the years to come. We do not need you now, but some
+day we may."
+
+David's quandary was how to give her as much of his confidence as filial
+duty required without betraying himself so far as to arouse the
+antagonistic comment of her immediate circle upon his course.
+
+At last he found a way. Telling her he did not know how soon he might
+return to Canada, he requested her to continue to address him there. He
+then filled his letter with loving thoughts for her and Laura, and a
+humorous description of what he had seen and experienced in the "States"
+and the country about him, all so foreign and utterly strange to her as
+to be equal to a small manuscript romance. It was a cleverly written
+letter, so hiding the vital matters of his soul, which he could not
+reveal even to the most loving scrutiny, that all her motherly intuition
+failed to read between the lines. The humorous portions she gave to the
+rector's wife,--her most intimate friend,--and the dear son's love
+expressed therein she treasured in her heart and was comforted.
+
+Then David rode away up the mountain without descending to his little
+farm. He craved to get far into the very heart of the wildest parts,
+for with the letters the old conventional and stereotyped ideals seemed
+to have intruded into his cabin.
+
+He passed the home of Hoke Belew and stopped there to see that all was
+well with them. The rose vine covering the porch roof was filled with
+pink blossoms, hundreds of them swinging out over his head. The air was
+sweet with the odor of honeysuckle. The old locust tree would soon be
+alive with bees, for it was already budded. He took the baby in his arms
+and saw that its cheeks were growing round and plump, and that the young
+mother looked well and happy, and he was glad.
+
+"Take good care of them, Hoke; they are worth it," he said to the young
+father, as he passed him coming in from the field.
+
+"I will that," said the man.
+
+"Can you tell me how to reach a place called 'Wild Cat Hole'? I have a
+fancy to do a little exploring."
+
+"Waal, hit's sorter round about. I don't guess ye c'n find hit easy."
+The man spat as if reluctant to give the information asked, which only
+stimulated David all the more to find the spot.
+
+"Keep right on this way, do I?"
+
+"Yas, you keep on fer a spell, an' then you turn to th' right an' foller
+the stream fer a spell, an' you keep on follerin' hit off an' on till
+you git thar. Ye'll know hit when you do git thar, but th' still's all
+broke up."
+
+"Oh, I don't care a rap about the still."
+
+"Naw, I reckon not. Better light an' have dinner 'fore you go on.
+Azalie, keep the doc to dinner. I'm comin' in a minute," he called to
+his wife, who stood smiling in the doorway.
+
+David willingly accepted the proffered hospitality, as he had often done
+before, knowing it would be well after nightfall ere he could return to
+his cabin, and rode back to the house.
+
+While Azalea prepared dinner, Hoke sat in the open door and held his
+baby and smoked. David took a splint-bottomed chair out on the porch and
+smoked with him, watching pleasantly the pride of the young father, who
+allowed the tiny fist to close tightly around his great work-roughened
+finger.
+
+"Look a-thar now. See that hand. Hit ain't bigger'n a bumble-bee, an'
+see how he kin hang on."
+
+"Yes," said David, absently regarding them. "He's a fine boy."
+
+"He sure is. The' hain't no finer on this mountain."
+
+Azalea came and looked down over her husband's shoulder. "Don't do
+that-a-way, Hoke. You'll wake him up, bobbin' his arm up an' down like
+you a-doin'. Hoke, he's that proud, you can't touch him."
+
+"You hear that, Doc? Azalie, she's that sot on him she's like to turn me
+outen the house fer jes' lookin' at him. She 'lows he'll grow up a
+preacher, on account o' the way he kin holler an' thrash with his fists,
+but I tell her hit hain't nothin' but madness an' devilment 'at gits in
+him."
+
+With a mother's superior smile playing about her lips, she glanced
+understandingly at David, and went on with her cooking. As they came in
+to the table, she called David's attention to a low box set on rockers,
+and, taking the baby from her husband's arms, carefully placed him,
+still asleep, in the quaint nest.
+
+"Hoke made that hisself," she said with pride. "And Cassandry, she made
+that kiver."
+
+Thryng touched the cover reverently, bending over it, and left the
+cradle rocking as he sat down at Hoke's side and began to put fresh
+butter between his hot biscuit, as he had learned to do. His mother
+would have flung up her hands in horror had she seen him doing this, or
+could she have known how many such he had devoured since coming to
+recuperate in these mountain wilds.
+
+The home was very bare and simple, but sweet and clean, and love was in
+it. To sit there for a while with the childlike young couple, enjoying
+their home and their baby and the hospitality generously offered
+according to their ability, warmed David's heart, and he rode away
+happier than he came.
+
+With mind absorbed and idle rein, he allowed his horse to stray as he
+would, while his thoughts and memory played strange tricks, presenting
+contrasting pictures to his inward vision. Now it was his mother reading
+by the evening lamp, carelessly scanning a late magazine, only half
+interested, her white hair arranged in shining puffs high on her head,
+and soft lace--old lace--falling from open sleeves over her shapely
+arms; and Laura, red-cheeked and plump, curled, feet and all, in a great
+lounging chair, poring over a novel and yawning now and then, her dark
+hair carelessly tied, with straight, straying ends hanging about her
+face as he had many a time seen her after playing a game of hockey with
+her active, romping friends.
+
+His mother and Laura were the only ones at home now, since the big elder
+brother was gone. Of course they would miss him and be sad sometimes,
+but Laura would enjoy life as much as ever and keep the home bright with
+youth. Even as he thought of them, the room faded and his own cabin
+appeared as he had seen it the day before, through the open window, with
+Cassandra moving about in her quiet, gliding way, haloed with light.
+Again he would see a picture of another room, all white and gold, with
+slight French chairs and tables, and couches and cushions, and
+candelabra of quivering crystals, with pale green walls and gold-framed
+paintings, and a great, three-cornered piano, massive and dark, where a
+slight, fair girl sat idly playing tinkling music in keeping with
+herself and the room, but quite out of keeping with the splendid
+instrument.
+
+He saw people all about her, chatting, laughing, sipping tea, and eating
+thin bread and butter. He saw, as if from a distance, another man,
+himself, in that room, standing near the piano to turn her music, while
+the tinkling runs and glib, expressionless trills wove in and out, a
+ceaseless nothing.
+
+She spent years learning to do that, he thought, and any amount of
+money. Oh, well. She had it to spend, and of what else were they
+capable--those hands? He could see them fluttering caressingly over the
+keys, pink, slender, pretty,--and then he saw other hands, somewhat
+work-worn, not small nor yet too large, but white and shapely. Ah! Of
+what were they not capable? And the other girl in coarse white homespun,
+seated before the fire in Hoke Belew's cabin, holding in her arms the
+small bundle--and her smile, so rare and fleeting!
+
+He saw again the handsome sullen youth in Bishop Towers' garden,
+regarding him over the hedge with narrowed eyes, and his whole nature
+rebelled and cried out as before, "What a waste!" Why should he allow it
+to go on? He must thrash this thing out once for all before he returned
+to his cabin--the right and the wrong of the case before he should see
+her again, while as yet he could be engineer of his own forces and hold
+his hand on the throttle to guide himself safely and wisely.
+
+Could he succeed in influencing her to set her young lover's claims one
+side? But in his heart he knew if such a thing were possible, she would
+not be herself; she would be another being, and his love for her would
+cease. No, he must see her but little, and let the tragedy go on even as
+the bishop had said--go on as if he never had known her. As soon as
+possible he must return and take up his work where he could not see the
+slow wreck of her life. A heavy dread settled down upon him, and he rode
+on with bowed head, until his horse stumbled and thus roused him from
+his revery.
+
+To what wild spot had the animal brought him? David lifted his head and
+looked about him, and it was as if he had been caught up and dropped in
+an enchanted wood. The horse had climbed among great boulders and paused
+beneath an enormous overhanging rock. He heard, off at one side, the
+rushing sound of a mountain stream and judged he was near the head of
+Lone Pine Creek. But oh, the wildness of the spot and the beauty of it
+and the lonely charm! He tied his horse to a lithe limb that swung above
+his head and, dismounting, clambered on towards the rushing water.
+
+The place was so screened in as to leave no vista anywhere, hiding the
+mountains on all sides. Light green foliage overhead, where branches
+thickly interlaced from great trees growing out of the bank high above,
+made a cool, lucent shadowiness all around him. There was a delicious
+odor of sweet-shrub in the air, and the fruity fragrance of the dark,
+wild wake-robin underfoot. The tremendous rocks were covered with the
+most exquisite forms of lichen in all their varied shades of richness
+and delicacy.
+
+He began carefully removing portions here and there to examine under his
+microscope, when he noticed, almost crushed under his foot, a pale
+purple orchid like the one Cassandra had placed on his table. Always
+thinking of her, he stooped suddenly to lift the frail thing, and at the
+instant a rifle-shot rang out in the still air, and a bullet meant for
+his heart cut across his shoulders like a trail of fire and flattened
+itself on the rock where he had been at work. At the same moment, with a
+bound of tiger-like ferocity and swiftness, one leaped toward him from a
+near mass of laurel, and he found himself grappling for life or death
+with the man who fired the shot.
+
+Not a word was spoken. The quick, short breathing, the scuffling of feet
+among the leaves, and the snapping of dead twigs underfoot were the only
+sounds. Had the youth been a trained wrestler, David would have known
+what to expect, and would have been able to use method in his defence.
+As it was, he had to deal with an enraged creature who fought with the
+desperate instinct of an antagonist who fights to the death. He knew
+that the odds were against him, and felt rising within him a wild
+determination to win the combat, and, thinking only of Cassandra, to
+settle thus the vexed question, to fight with the blind passion and the
+primitive right of the strongest to win his mate. He gathered all his
+strength, his good English mettle and nerve, and grappled with a grip of
+steel.
+
+This way and that, twisting, turning, stumbling on the uneven ground,
+with set teeth and faces drawn and fierce, they struggled, and all the
+time the light tweed coat on David's back showed a deeper stain from his
+heart's blood, and his face grew paler and his breath shorter. Yet a joy
+leaped within him. It was thus he might save her, either to win her or
+to die for her, for should Frale kill him, she would turn from him in
+hopeless horror, and David, even in dying, would save her.
+
+Suddenly the battle was ended. Thryng's foot turned, on a rounded stone,
+causing him to lose his foothold. At the same instant, with terrible
+forward impetus, Frale closed with him, bending him backward until his
+head struck the lichen-covered rock. The purple orchid was bruised
+beneath him, and its color deepened with his blood. Then Frale rose and
+looked down upon the pallid, upturned face and inert body, which lay as
+he had crushed it down. As he stood thus, a white figure, bareheaded and
+alone, came swiftly through the wall of laurel which hid them and
+pausing terror-stricken in the open space, looked from one to the other.
+
+[Illustration: _"I take it back--back from God--the promise I gave you
+there by the fall." Page 171._]
+
+For an instant Cassandra waited thus, as if she too were struck dead
+where she stood. Then she looked no more on the fallen man, but only at
+Frale, with eyes immovable and yet withdrawn, as if she were searching
+in her own soul for a thing to do, while her heart stood still and her
+throat closed. Those great gray eyes, with the green sea depths in them,
+began to glow with a cruel light, as if she too could kill,--as if they
+were drawing slowly from the deep well of her being, as it were, a sword
+from its scabbard wherewith to cut him through the heart. Her hand stole
+to her throat and pressed hard. Then she lifted it high above her head
+and held it, as if in an instant more one might see the invisible sword
+flash forth and strike him. Frale cried out then, "Don't, don't curse
+me, Cass," and lifted his arm to shield his face, while great beads of
+moisture stood out on his face.
+
+"It's not for me to curse, Frale." Her voice was low and clear. "Curses
+come from hell, like what you been carrying in your heart that made you
+do this." Her voice grew louder, and her hand trembled and shut as if it
+grasped something. "I take it back--back from God--the promise I gave
+you there by the fall." Then, looking up, her voice grew low again,
+though still distinct. "I take that promise back forever, oh, God!" Her
+hand dropped. The cruel light died slowly out of her eyes, and she
+turned and knelt by the prostrate man, and began pulling open his coat.
+Frale took one step toward her.
+
+"Cass," he said, with shaking voice, "I'll he'p you."
+
+Her hands clinched into David's coat as she held it. "Go back. Don't you
+touch even his least finger," she cried, looking up at him from where
+she knelt like a creature hurt to the heart, defending its own. "You've
+done your work. Take your face where I never can see it again."
+
+He still stood and looked down on her. She turned again to David, and,
+thrusting her hand into his bosom, drew it forth with blood upon it.
+
+"I say, you Frale!" she cried, holding it toward him, quivering with the
+ferocity she could no longer restrain, "leave here, or with this blood
+on my hand I'll call all hell to curse you."
+
+Frale turned with bowed head and left her there.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG AWAKES
+
+
+Thryng lay in Hoke Belew's cabin,--not in the one great living-room
+where were the fireplace and the large bed and the tiny cradle, but in
+the smaller addition at the side, entered only from the porch which
+extended along the front of both parts.
+
+He still lay on the litter upon which he had been placed to carry him
+down the mountain,--an improvised thing made by stretching quilts across
+two poles of slender green pines. The litter was placed on low trestles
+to raise it from the floor, and close to the open door to give him air.
+David had not regained consciousness since his hurt, but lay like one
+dead, with closed eyes and blanched lips; yet they knew him to be
+living.
+
+Cassandra sat beside him alone. All night long she had been there
+unsleeping, hollow-eyed, and worn with tearless grief. She had done all
+she knew how to do. Before going for help she had removed his clothing
+and bound about his body strips torn from her dress to stop the bleeding
+of his shoulders where the silver bullet had torn across them. How the
+ball had missed giving a mortal wound was like a miracle.
+
+Hoke Belew had tried to arouse him, but had failed. At intervals, during
+the night, Cassandra had managed to drop a little whiskey between his
+lips with a spoon, and she had bathed him with the stimulant over heart
+and lungs, and chafed his hands, and had tried to warm his feet by
+rubbing them and wrapping them up between jugs of hot water. She had
+bathed his bruised head and cut away the softly curling hair from the
+spot where his head had struck the rock. What more she could do she knew
+not, and now she sat at his side still chafing his hands and waiting for
+Hoke Belew's return.
+
+Hoke had gone to the station to telegraph for Bishop Towers.
+Fortunately, as the hotel was so soon to be opened and the busy summer
+life to begin, the operator was already there.
+
+Azalea, in the great room, was preparing dinner, stopping now and then
+to touch her baby's cradle, or to stoop a moment over the treasure
+therein. Aunt Sally sat in the doorway smoking her cob pipe and telling
+grewsome tales of how she had "seen people hurted that-a-way and nevah
+come out en hit." Sally had ridden over to give help and sympathy, but
+Cassandra had said she would watch alone. She had eaten nothing since
+the day before, only sipping the coffee Azalea had brought her.
+
+It was one of those breathless hours before a rain when not a leaf
+stirs; even the birds were silent. Cassandra tried once more to give
+David a few drops of the whiskey, and this time it seemed as if he
+swallowed a little. She thought she saw his eyelids quiver, and her
+heart pounded suffocatingly in her breast. She dropped beside him on her
+knees and once again tried to give him the only stimulant they had. This
+time she was sure he took it, and, still kneeling there, she bowed her
+head and pressed her lips upon the hand she had been chafing. Did it
+move or not? She could not tell, and again she sat gazing in the still,
+white face. Oh, the suspense! Oh, the joy that was agony! If this were
+truly the awakening and meant life! In her intensity of longing for some
+further signs she drew slowly nearer and nearer, until at last her lips
+touched his. Then in shame she hid her face in the quilt at his side
+and, weak with the exhaustion of her long anguish and fasting and
+watching, she wept the first tears--tears of hope she was not strong
+enough to bear. As she thus knelt, weeping softly, his fluttering
+eyelids lifted and he saw her there, and felt the quivering hand beneath
+his head.
+
+Not understanding how or why this should be, he waited perfectly still,
+trying to gather his thoughts. A great peace was in his heart--a peace
+and content so sweet he did not wish to move. Lingering beneath this
+content, he held a dim memory of a great anger--a horror of anger, when
+he saw red, and hungered for blood. Vaguely it seemed to him now that
+all was as he wished it to be with Cassandra near. He liked to feel her
+hand beneath his head and her other hand upon his own, and her heavy
+bronze hair so close, and he closed his eyes once more to shut out all
+else, for the room was strange to him--this raftered place all
+whitewashed from ceiling to floor.
+
+He had forgotten what had happened, but Cassandra was there, and he was
+content. Something had touched his lips and brought him back, he was
+sure of that, and his weakly beating heart stirred to more vigorous
+action. He turned his head a little, a very little, toward her, and his
+fingers closed about her hand to hold it there. She lifted her head
+then, and they looked into each other's eyes, a long, deep look. Later,
+when Azalea entered, she found them both sleeping, Cassandra's hand
+still beneath his head, his face pressed to her soft hair and his free
+arm flung about her.
+
+Azalea stole away and hurried with the news to old Sally, who also crept
+in and looked on them and stole away.
+
+"Yas, she sure have saved his life," said Sally. "Heap o' times they
+nevah do come out en that thar kin' o' sleep. I done seed sech before."
+
+"Ef he have come to hisself, you reckon I bettah wake 'em up and give
+her a leetle hot milk? She hain't eat nothin' sence yestiday."
+
+"Naw, leave 'em be. No body nevah hain't starved in his sleep yit, I
+reckon."
+
+"He hain't eat nothin', neithah. He sure have been bad hurted."
+
+The two women sat in the large room and talked in low tones, while at
+intervals Azalea crept to the door and looked in on them.
+
+At last the baby wailed out with lusty cry, which sounded through the
+stillness of the house and roused Cassandra, but as she lifted her head,
+David clung to her and drew her cheek to his lips.
+
+"Are you hurt?" he murmured. In some strange way he had confused
+matters, and thought it was she who had been shot.
+
+"It's not me that's hurt," she said tenderly.
+
+Azalea hurried away and returned with the warm milk she had prepared for
+Cassandra, who took it and held it to David's lips.
+
+"Drink it, Doctah. She won't touch anything till you do."
+
+Then he obeyed, slowly drinking it all, his eyes fixed on Cassandra's
+as a child looks up to his mother. As she rose, he held her with his
+free hand.
+
+"What is it? How long--" His voice sounded thin and weak. "Strange--I
+can't lift this arm at all. Tell me--"
+
+"Seems like I can't. When you are strong again, I will."
+
+Feebly he tried to raise himself. "Don't, oh, don't, Doctah Thryng. If
+you bleed again, you'll die," she wailed.
+
+"Sit near me."
+
+She drew a low chair and sat near him, as she had through the slow and
+anxious hours, and again he drowsed off, only to open his eyes from time
+to time as if to assure himself that she was still there. Again Azalea
+brought her milk and white beaten biscuit, hot and sweet, and Cassandra
+ate. When David opened his eyes to look at her, she smiled on him, but
+would not let him talk to her.
+
+Nevertheless his mind was busy trying to understand why he was lying
+thus, and dimly the events of the last few days came back to him,
+shadowy and confused. When he looked up and saw her smile, his heart was
+satisfied, but when he closed his eyes again, a strange sense of tragedy
+settled down upon him, but what or why he knew not. Suddenly he called
+to her as if from his sleep, "Have I killed some one?" and there was
+horror in his voice.
+
+"No, no, Doctor Thryng. You been nigh about killed yourself. Oh, why
+didn't I send for a doctor who could do you right! Bishop Towers won't
+know anything about this."
+
+"What have you done?"
+
+"I sent for Bishop Towers."
+
+"Who did me up like this?"
+
+She was silent and, rising quickly, stepped out on the porch, her cheeks
+flaming crimson. Yesterday in her terror and frenzy she could have done
+anything; but now--with his eyes fixed on her face so intently--she
+could not reply nor tell how, alone, she had stripped him to the waist
+and bound him about with the homespun cotton of her dress to stanch the
+bleeding before hurrying down the mountain for help.
+
+Instinctively she had done the right thing and had done it well, but
+now she could not talk about it. David tried to call after her, but she
+had gone around into the next room and taken the baby from his cradle,
+where he was wailing his demands for attention. Azalea had gone out for
+a moment, and Aunt Sally "lowed the' wa'n't no use sp'ilin him by takin'
+him up every time he fretted fer hit. Hit would do him good to holler
+an' stretch." So she sat still and smoked.
+
+Cassandra walked up and down the porch, comforted by the feeling of the
+child in her arms. The small head bobbed this way and that until she
+pressed it against her cheek and held him close, and he gradually
+settled down on her bosom, his face tucked softly in the curve of her
+neck, and slept. She heard David speaking her name and went to him, but
+he only looked up at her and smiled.
+
+"I'm sorry I left you alone," she said tenderly; "I'll call Aunt Sally."
+
+"No--wait--I only want--to look at you."
+
+She stood swaying her lithe body to rock the sleeping child. David
+thought he never had seen anything lovelier. How serious his wounds
+were, he did not know. But one thing he knew well, and to that one
+thought he clung. He wanted Cassandra where he could see her all the
+time. He wished she would talk to him, and not let him lose
+consciousness, relapsing into the horror of a strange dream that
+continued to haunt him.
+
+"Do you love that baby?" he asked, his voice faint and high.
+
+"He's a right nice baby."
+
+"I say--do you love him?"
+
+"Why--I reckon I do. Don't try to move that way, Doctah. You may not be
+done right, and you'll bleed again. Oh, we don't know--we are so
+ignorant--Azalie and me--"
+
+He smiled. "Nothing matters now," he said.
+
+They heard voices, and she looked out from the doorway. "It's Hoke.
+They've sent old Doctor Bartlett. I'm so glad. Aunt Sally, I reckon
+they'll need hot water. Get some ready, will you?"
+
+"Cassandra, Cassandra!" called David, almost irritably.
+
+She came back to him.
+
+"Where are they?"
+
+"Down the road a piece. I'm glad. You'll be done right now."
+
+"Stoop to me." She obeyed, and the free arm caught and held her, then,
+as the voices drew near, released her with glowing eyes and burning
+cheeks.
+
+She stepped out on the porch to meet them, half hiding her face behind
+the babe in her arms, and old Dr. Bartlett, as he looked on her with
+less prejudiced and more experienced eyes, thought he too never had seen
+anything lovelier.
+
+"He's awake," said Cassandra quietly to Hoke, and the two men went to
+David. She carried the child back and asked Aunt Sally to wait on them,
+while she sat down in a low splint rocker, clinging to the little one
+and listening, with throbbing nerves, to the voices in the room beyond.
+
+When Hoke came out to them a moment later, Azalea began eagerly to
+question him, but Cassandra was silent.
+
+"Doctah says we bettah tote 'im ovah to his own place to-day. Aunt Sally
+'lows she can bide thar fer a while an' see him well again."
+
+"You hain't goin' to 'low that, be ye, Hoke? Hit mount look like we
+wa'n't willin' fer him to bide 'long of us."
+
+"Hit hain't what looks like, hit's what's best fer him," said Hoke,
+sagely. "Whatevah doctah says, we'll do." Then Hoke laughed quietly. "He
+done tol' Doctor Bartlett 'at he reckoned somebody mus' 'a' took him fer
+some sorter wild creetur an' shot him by mistake. I guess Frale's safe
+enough f'om him, if the fool boy only know'd hit."
+
+"Frale, he's plumb crazy, the way he's b'en actin'," said Azalea.
+
+"An' Bishop Towahs he telegrafted 'at he'd send this here doctah, an'
+he'd come up to-morrer with Miz Towahs to stop ovah with you, so I
+reckon yer maw wants you down thar, Cass."
+
+Cassandra rose quickly and placed the sleeping child gently in his
+cradle box. "I'll go," she said. "There's no need for me here now.
+Hoke--you've been right good--" She stopped abruptly and turned to his
+wife. "I must wear your dress off, Azalie, but I'll send it back by Hoke
+as soon as hit's been washed." She went out the door almost as if she
+were eager to escape.
+
+"Hain't ye goin' to wait fer yer horse?" said Hoke, laughing. "Set a
+minute till I fetch him."
+
+"I clean forgot," she said, and when he had left, she turned to her
+friend. "Azalie--don't say anything to Hoke about me--us. Did Aunt Sally
+see? You know I didn't know myself until I woke and found myself there.
+I'd been trying to make him take a little whiskey--and--I must have gone
+asleep like I was--and he woke up and must 'a' felt like he had to kiss
+somebody--he was that glad to be alive."
+
+"Nevah you fret, child." Azalea smiled a quiet smile. "I'm not one to
+talk; anyway, I reckon Doctah Thryng's about right. He sure have been
+good to me."
+
+
+The widow sat on her little stoop, waiting and watching, as her daughter
+rode to the door and wearily alighted.
+
+"Cassandry Merlin! For the Lord's sake! What-all is up now? Hoyle--where
+is that boy?--Hoyle, come here an' take the horse fer sister. Be ye most
+dade, honey? I reckon ye be. Ye look like hit."
+
+Cassandra kissed her mother and passed on into the house. "I couldn't
+send you word last night; anyway, I reckoned you'd rest better if you
+didn't know, for we-all thought Doctor Thryng was sure killed. Did Hoke
+tell you this morning?"
+
+"I 'lowed you was stoppin' with Azalie--'at baby was sick or
+somethin'--when Hoyle went up to the cabin an' said doctah wa'n't there.
+Frale sure have done for hisself. I reckon you are cl'ar shet o' him
+now, an' I'm glad ye be, since he done took to the idee o' marryin' with
+you. What-all have he done the doctah this-a-way fer? The' wa'n't
+nothin' 'twixt him an' doctah. Pore fool boy he! I'll be glad fer yuer
+sake, Cass, if he'll quit these here mountains."
+
+"Oh, mother, mother! Don't talk about me, don't think of me! The
+doctor's nigh about killed--let alone the sin Frale has on him now."
+Wearied beyond further endurance, she flung herself on her bed and broke
+into uncontrollable sobbing, while Hoyle stood in the middle of the room
+and gazed with wide-eyed wonder.
+
+"Be the doctah dade, maw?" he asked, in an awed whisper.
+
+"No, child, no. You fetch a leetle light ud an' chips, an' we'll make
+her some coffee. Sister's that tired, pore child! Have ye been up all
+night, Cass?"
+
+She nodded her head and still sobbed on.
+
+"He's gettin' on all right now, be he?"
+
+Again she nodded, but did not take her hands from her face.
+
+"Then you'd ought to be glad. Hit ain't like Frale had of killed him.
+Farwell, he had many a time sech as that with one an' another, an' he
+nevah come to no harm f'om hit. I reckon Frale'll be safe. Be ye cryin'
+fer him, Cass? Pore child! I nevah did think you keered fer Frale
+that-a-way."
+
+Then Cassandra burst forth with impetuous fire. "Oh, mother, mother!
+Never say that name to me again. Mother, I saw them! I saw them
+fighting--and all the time the doctor was bleeding--bleeding and dying,
+where Frale had shot him. I don't know how long they'd been fighting,
+but I came there and I saw them. I saw him slip and how Frale crushed
+him down--down--and his head struck the rock. I saw--and I almost cursed
+Frale. I hope I didn't--oh, I hope not! But mother, mother! Don't ask me
+anything more now. Oh, I want to cry! I want to cry and never stop."
+
+While she lay thus weeping, the soft rain that had been threatening all
+day began pattering down, blessed and soothing, the rain to the earth
+and the tears to the girl.
+
+In spite of the rain, Thryng was carried home that afternoon according
+to the physician's orders, and placed in his cabin with Aunt Sally to
+stand guard over him and provide for his wants. A bed was improvised for
+her on the floor of the cabin, while David lay in his own bed in his
+canvas room, bandaged about both body and head, and withal moderately
+comfortable, sufficiently himself to realize what had occurred, and
+overjoyed because of the reward his wounds had brought him.
+
+Doctor Bartlett came down to the Fall Place and was given the bed in the
+loom shed as David had been, and had the pleasure of again seeing
+Cassandra, who, her tears dried, and her manner composed, looked after
+his needs as if no storms had ever shaken her soul.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+IN WHICH DAVID SENDS HOKE BELEW ON A COMMISSION, AND CASSANDRA MAKES A
+CONFESSION
+
+
+Early one morning Hoke Belew put his head in at the door of Thryng's
+cabin, where Aunt Sally was squatted before the fireplace, preparing
+breakfast for the patient.
+
+"How's doc?" he asked.
+
+"He's right fa'r. He mount be worse an' he mount be bettah."
+
+"You reckon I mount go in yandah whar he is at?"
+
+"Ye can look an' see is he awake. I'm gittin' his hot bread an' coffee.
+You bettah bide an' have a leetle," she said, with ever ready
+hospitality.
+
+He crossed the floor with careful steps and paused in the doorway of the
+canvas room, big and smiling.
+
+"That you, Hoke? Come in," said David, cheerfully. He extended a hand
+which Hoke took in his and held awkwardly, shocked at the white face
+before him.
+
+"Ye do look puny," he said at last. "But we-uns sure be glad yer livin'.
+Ye tol' me to come early, so I come."
+
+"It's awfully good of you. Bring a chair and sit near, so we can talk a
+bit. Now, Hoke, laid up here as I am, I need your help. I want to send
+you to Farington or Lone Pine--somewhere--I don't know where such things
+are to be had--but, Hoke, you've been married and know all about what's
+needed here."
+
+"Ye want me to git ye a license, I reckon," said Hoke, grinning, "an' ye
+mount send me a errant I'd like a heap worse--that's so; but what good
+will hit be to ye now? You can't stan' on your feet."
+
+"I can put it under my pillow and keep it to get well on. See here,
+Hoke. I don't even know if she'll marry me; she has not said so, but
+I'll be ready. You'll keep this quiet for me, Hoke? Because it would
+trouble her if the whole mountain side should know what I have done
+before she does. Yet a girl like Cassandra is worth winning if you have
+to go to the edge of the grave to do it, so whenever she will have me, I
+want to be ready."
+
+They talked in low tones, Hoke leaning forward close to David, his
+elbows on his knees. "I reckon you are a-thinkin' to bide on here 'long
+o' we-uns an' not carry her off nowhar else?" he asked gravely.
+
+David's paleness left him for a moment, as the warm tide swept upward
+from his heart. "My home is not in this country, and wherever a man
+goes, he expects to take his wife with him. Don't you people here in the
+mountains do the same?"
+
+"I reckon so, but hit would nigh about kill Azalie if she war to lose
+Cass. They have been frien's evah sence they war littlin's."
+
+"Hoke, if you were to find it necessary to go away anywhere, would you
+leave your wife behind to please Cassandra Merlin?" The man was silent,
+and David continued. "Before you were married if you had known there was
+another man, and a criminal at that, hanging around determined to get
+her, wouldn't you have married her out of hand as soon as you could get
+her consent? It's my opinion, knowing the sort of man you are, that you
+would."
+
+"I sure would."
+
+"Then you can understand why I wish to have a marriage license under my
+pillow."
+
+"I reckon so--but--you--you-all hain't quite our kind--not bein' kin to
+none of us-- You understand me, suh. We-uns are a proud people here, an'
+we think a heap o' our women. Hit would be right hard should you git
+sorter tired o' Cassandry when you come to git her amongst your
+people--bein' she hain't like none o' your folks, understand; an'
+Cassandry, she's sorter hard hit jest now, she don't rightly know
+what-all she do think. Me an' Azalie, we been speakin' right smart
+together--an'--well, we do sure think a heap o' you, Doc--an' hit ain't
+no disrespect to you-uns, neither. Have you said anything to her maw?"
+
+"Not a word. When I learned another man was before me, I stood one side
+as an honorable man should and gave him his chance. But when it comes to
+being attacked by the other man and shot in the back-- by heaven! no
+power on earth will hold me from trying to win her. As for the other
+matter, never you fear. Be my friend, Hoke."
+
+"Waal, I reckon you'll have yer own way, an' I mount as well git hit fer
+ye, but I did promise Azalie 'at I'd speak that word to ye," said the
+young man, rising with an air of relief.
+
+"Tell your wife that you are both of you quite right, and that I am
+right also. Just hunt up my trousers, will you? I want my pocket-book.
+If I have to sign anything before anybody--bring him here. I don't care
+what you do, so you get it. There, on that card you have it all--my full
+name and all that, you know."
+
+
+David tried to eat what Sally prepared for him, using his unbound hand;
+but his egg was hard, his coffee thick and boiled. He could not drink it
+very well for his head was too low, and he could not raise himself, so
+he lay silent and uncomfortable, watching her move about his rooms,
+wearing her great black sunbonnet. She appeared kindly and pleasant when
+he could see her face, which was thin and very much lined, but motherly
+and good. He fell in the way of calling her "Aunt Sally" as others did,
+and this seemed to please her. She treated him as if he were a big boy
+who did not know what was good for himself. She called all the green
+blossoming things with which Cassandra had adorned the cabin, "trash,"
+and asked who had "toted hit thar."
+
+Waiting and listening, sure Cassandra would not leave him all day
+without coming to him, even though Aunt Sally had taken him in charge,
+David's mind was full of her. If he closed his eyes, he saw her. If he
+opened them and watched Sally's meagre form and black sunbonnet moving
+about, he thought what it might be to see Cassandra there.
+
+He could not and would not look at the future. The picture Hoke Belew
+had summoned up when he had suggested the taking of Cassandra away among
+people alien to her, he put from him. He would not see it nor think of
+it. The present was his, and it was all he had, perhaps all he ever
+would have; and now he would not allow one little joy of it to escape
+him. He would be greedy of it and have all the gladness of the moments
+as they came.
+
+He could see her down below making ready for their visitors, and he
+knew she would not come until the last task was done, but meantime his
+patience was wearing away. Aunt Sally finished her work, and David could
+see her from where he lay, seated in the doorway with her pipe, looking
+out on the gently falling rain.
+
+Without, all was very peaceful; only within himself was turmoil and
+impatience. But he knew that to remain calm and unmoved was to keep back
+his fever and hasten recuperation, so he closed his eyes and tried to
+live for the moment in the remembrance of that awakening when he had
+found her kneeling at his side. Thus he dropped to sleep, and again,
+when he awoke, he found Cassandra there as if in answer to his silent
+call.
+
+She was seated quietly sewing, as if it were no unusual thing for her to
+visit him thus, and when his earnest gaze caused her to look up, she
+only smiled without perturbation and came to him.
+
+"I sent Aunt Sally down to see mother while I could stay by you and do
+for you a little," she said.
+
+Calm and restful she seemed, yet when he extended his free hand and took
+hers, he felt a tremor in her touch that delighted his heart. He brought
+it to his lips.
+
+"I've been needing you all the morning. Aunt Sally has done
+everything--all she could. If I should let you have this hand again,
+would you go so far away from me that I could not reach you?"
+
+"Not if you want me near."
+
+"Then put away your sewing and bring your chair close to me, and let us
+talk together while we may."
+
+She obeyed and sat looking away from him out through the open door. Were
+her eyes searching for the mountain top?
+
+"You have thoughts--sweet, big thoughts, dear girl; put them in words
+for me now, while we are so blessedly alone."
+
+"I can't say rightly what I think. Seems like if I had some other
+way--something besides words to tell my thoughts with, I could do it
+better; but words are all we have--and seems like when I want them most
+they won't come."
+
+"That's the way with all of us. Don't you see you are still beyond my
+reach? Come. If you can't tell your thoughts in words, give them by the
+touch of your hands as you did a moment ago."
+
+She did as he bade her and, leaning forward, took his hand in both her
+own.
+
+"That's right. I'll teach you how to tell your thoughts without words.
+Now, how came you to find us the other day?"
+
+"I don't know myself. It was a strange way. First I rode down to
+Teasley's Mill to--to try to persuade them--Giles Teasley--to allow him
+to go free." She paused and put her hand to her throat, as her way was.
+"I think, Doctor Thryng, I'd better build up the fire and get you some
+hot milk. Doctor Bartlett said you must have it often--and--to keep you
+very quiet."
+
+"Not until you tell me now--this moment--what I ask you. You went to the
+mill to try to help Frale out of his trouble. Cassandra, have you loved
+that boy?"
+
+Her face assumed its old look of masklike impassivity. "I reckoned he
+might hold himself steady and do right--would they only leave him
+be--and give him the chance--"
+
+"Cassandra, answer me. Was it for love of him that you gave him your
+promise?"
+
+Her face grew white, and for a moment she bowed her head on his hand.
+
+"Please, Doctor Thryng, let me tell you the strange part first, then you
+can answer that question in your own way." She lifted her head and
+looked steadily in his eyes. "You remember that day we went to Cate
+Irwin's? When we came to the place where we can see far--far over the
+mountains--I laughed--with something glad in my heart. It was the same
+this time when I got to that far open place. All at once it seemed like
+I was so free--free from the heavy burden--and all in a kind of light
+that was only the same gladness in my heart.
+
+"I stopped there and waited and thought how you said that time, 'It's
+good just to be alive,' and I thought if you were there with me and
+should put your hand on my bridle as you did that night in the rain, and
+if you should lead me away off--even into the 'Valley of the shadow of
+death' into those deep shadows below us I would go and never say a word.
+All at once it seemed as if you were doing that, and I forgot Frale and
+kept on and on; and wherever it seemed like you were leading me, I went.
+
+"It seemed like I was dreaming, or feeling like a hand was on my
+heart--a hand I could not see, pulling me and making me feel, 'This way,
+this way, I must go this way.' I never had been where my horse took me
+before. I didn't think how I ever could get back again. I didn't seem to
+see anything around me--only to go on--on--on, and at last it seemed I
+couldn't go fast enough, until all at once I came to your horse tied
+there, and I heard strange trampling sounds a little farther on where my
+horse could not go--and I got off and ran.
+
+"I fell down and got up and ran again; and it seemed as if my feet
+wouldn't leave the ground, but only held me back. It seemed like they
+hadn't any more power to run--and--then I came there and I saw." She
+paused, covering her face with her hand as if to shut out the sight, and
+slipped to her knees beside him. "Oh, I saw your faces--all terrible--"
+He put his arm about her and drew her close. "I saw you fall, and your
+face when it seemed like you were dying as you fought. I saw--" Her sobs
+shook her, and she could not go on.
+
+"My beautiful priestess of good and holy things!" he said.
+
+She leaned to him then and, placing her arms about him, ever mindful of
+his hurt, she lifted his head to her shoulder. The flood-gates of her
+reserve once lifted, the full tide of her intense nature swept over him
+and enveloped him. It was as light to his soul and healing to his body.
+How often it had seemed as if he saw her with that halo of light about
+her, and now it was as if he had been drawn within its charmed radius,
+as surely he had.
+
+"And then, dear heart, what did you do?"
+
+"I thought you were killed, and almost--almost I cursed him. I hope now
+I wasn't so wicked. But I--I--called back from God the promise I had
+given him."
+
+"And then--tell me all the blessed truth--and then--"
+
+"You were bleeding--bleeding--and I took off your clothes--and I saw
+where you were bleeding your life away, and I tied my dress around you.
+I tore it in pieces and wound it all around you as well as I could, and
+then I put your coat back on you, and still you didn't waken. It seemed
+as if you had stopped breathing. And then I saw the bruise on your head,
+and I thought maybe you were only stunned. I brought water from the
+branch and put your head on the wet cloth and bound it all around, but
+still you looked like he had killed you, and then--" he stirred in her
+arms to feel their clasp.
+
+"And then--then--"
+
+"I went for help," she said, in so low a tone it seemed hardly spoken.
+
+"First you did something you have not told me."
+
+She waited in a sweet shame he recognized and gloried in, but he wanted
+the confession from her lips.
+
+"And then?"
+
+"You said you would teach me to say things without words," she said
+tremulously.
+
+"Not now. Later. Put everything you did in words. And then--"
+
+"I thought you were dying." She drew in a long, sighing breath.
+
+"And you kissed me. I have a right to know, for I missed them all--"
+
+"I did, I did," she cried vehemently. "A hundred times I kissed you. I
+had called my promise back from God--and I dared it. I wasn't ashamed. I
+would have done it if all the mountain side had been there to see--but
+afterwards--when that strange doctor from Farington came, and I knew he
+must uncover you and find my torn dress around you--somehow, then I felt
+I didn't want for him to look at me, and I was glad to go away."
+
+"Do you want to know what he said when he saw it? 'Whoever did this kept
+you alive, young man.' So you see how you are my beautiful bringer of
+good. You are--Oh, I have only one arm now. I am at a disadvantage. When
+I can stand on my feet, I will pay them all back--those kisses you threw
+away on me then. We shan't need words then, dearest. I'll teach you the
+sweet lesson. Your arms tremble; they are tired, dear. Could you let
+your head rest here and sleep as you did the other day? To think how I
+woke and found you beside me sleeping--"
+
+"Let me go now. I have things I ought to do for you."
+
+"Not yet. I have things I must say to you."
+
+"Please, Doctor Thryng."
+
+"My name is David. You must call me by it."
+
+"Please, Doctor David, let me go."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"To warm some milk. I brought it up for you."
+
+"Pity we must eat to live. Then if I let you take your arms away, will
+you come back to me?"
+
+"Yes. I'll bring the milk."
+
+"There, go. I'm giving you your own way because I know I will recover
+the sooner the strength I have lost. A man flat on his back, with but
+one arm free, is no good."
+
+"But you don't let me go."
+
+"Listen, Cassandra. You brought me back to life. Do you know what for?
+What did your father tell you? That one should be sent for you? It is I,
+dearest. From away over on the other side of the earth, I have come for
+you. We fought like beasts--Frale and I. I had given you
+up--you--Cassandra; had said in my heart, 'I will go away and leave her
+to the one she has chosen, if that be right,' and even at that moment,
+Frale shot me and sprang upon me, and I fought. I was glad the chance
+was given me there in the wilderness in that old and primitive way, to
+settle it and win you.
+
+"I put all the force and strength of my body into it, and more; all the
+strength of my love for you. It was with that in my heart, we clinched.
+I said I will fight to the death for her. She shall be mine whether I
+live or die. Stop crying, sweet; be glad as I am. Give thanks that it
+was to the life and not to the death. Listen, once more, while I can
+feel and know; give way to your great heart of love and treat me as you
+did after you had bound up my wounds. Learn the sweet lesson I said I
+would teach you."
+
+
+Late that evening, Hoke Belew rode up to the door of David's cabin and
+called Aunt Sally out to speak with him.
+
+"How's doc?"
+
+"He's doin' right well. He's asleep now. Won't ye 'light an' come in?"
+
+"I reckon not. Azalie, she's been alone all day, an' I guess she'll be
+some 'feared. Will you put that thar under doc's pillow whar he kin find
+hit in the mawnin'? Hit's a papah he sont me fer. Tell 'im I reckon
+hit's all straight. He kin see. Them people Cassandry was expectin' from
+Farington, did they come to-day?"
+
+"Yas, they come. They're down to Miz Farwell's."
+
+"Well, you tell doc 'at Azalie an' me, we'll be here 'long 'leven in the
+mawnin'." Hoke rode off under the winking stars, for the clouds after
+the long day of rain had lifted, and in the still night were rolling
+away over the mountain tops.
+
+Aunt Sally slipped quietly back into the cabin and softly closed the
+door of the canvas room, lest the rustling of paper should waken her
+charge, for she meant to examine that paper, quite innocently, since she
+could neither read nor write, but out of sheer childish curiosity.
+
+She need not have feared waking David, however, for, all his physical
+discomfort forgotten, dominated by the supreme happiness that possessed
+him, yet weak in body to the point of exhaustion, he slept profoundly
+and calmly on, even when she came stealthily and slipped the paper
+beneath his pillow, as Hoke had requested.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+IN WHICH THE BISHOP AND HIS WIFE PASS AN EVENTFUL DAT AT THE FALL PLACE
+
+
+"Do you know, James," said Betty Towers, as she walked at her husband's
+side in the sweet morning, slowly climbing up to David's cabin from the
+Fall Place, "I feel almost vexed with you for never bringing me here
+before."
+
+"Why--my dear!"
+
+"Yes, I do. To think of all this loveliness, and for six years you have
+been here many times, and never once told me you knew a place hardly two
+hours away as entrancing as heaven. Even now, James, if it hadn't been
+for Cassandra, I wouldn't have come. Why--it's the loveliest spot on
+earth. Stand still a minute, James, and listen. That's a thrush. Oh,
+something smells so sweet! It's a locust! And that's a redbird's note.
+There he is, like a red blossom in those bushes. There--no, there. You
+will look in the wrong direction, James, and now he's gone. You remember
+what David Thryng wrote? 'It's good just to be alive.' He's always
+saying that, and now I understand--in such a place as this. Oh, just
+breathe the air, James!"
+
+"I certainly can't help doing that, dear." The bishop was puffing a
+little over the climb his slight young wife took so easily.
+
+"I don't care. Here I've lived in cities all my life, while you have
+lived down here, and it has lost its charm to you. Only think of all
+this gorgeous display of nature just for these mountain people, and what
+is it to them?"
+
+"To them it's the natural order of things, just as you implied in regard
+to me."
+
+"Hark, James. Now, that's a catbird!"
+
+"And not a thrush?"
+
+"The other was a thrush. I know the difference."
+
+"Wise little woman! Come. There's that young man getting up a fever by
+fretting. We said--I said we would come early."
+
+"James, I'm going to stay up here and let you go to that stupid wedding
+down in Farington without me."
+
+"Perhaps we may have something interesting up here, if you'll hurry a
+little."
+
+"What is it, James?"
+
+"I really can't say, dear." She took his hand, and they walked on.
+
+"Wouldn't this be an ideal spot to spend a honeymoon? Hear that fall
+away down below us. How cool it sounds! Why don't you pay attention to
+me? What are you thinking about, James?"
+
+"I am making a little poem for you, dear. Listen:--
+
+
+     "Chatter, chatter, little tongue,
+     What a wonder how you're hung!
+     Up above the epiglottis,
+     Tied on with a little knot 'tis."
+
+
+"Only geniuses may be silly, James, but perhaps you can't help it. I
+think married people ought to establish the custom of sabbatical
+honeymoons to counteract the divorce habit. Suppose we set the example,
+now we have arrived at just the right time for one, and spend ours
+here."
+
+"Anything you say, dear."
+
+Being an absent-minded man, the bishop had fallen in the way of saying
+that, when, had he paused to think, he would have admitted that
+everything was made to bend to his will or wish by the spirited little
+being at his side. Moreover, being an absent-minded man, he drew her to
+him and kissed her. Aunt Sally, watching them from the cabin door,
+wondered if the bishop were going away on a journey, to leave his wife
+behind, for why else should he kiss her thus?
+
+"Will you sit there on the rock and enjoy the mountains while I see how
+he is?" said the bishop.
+
+So they parted at the door, and Aunt Sally brought her a chair and stood
+beside her, giving her every detail of the affair as far as she knew it.
+She sat bareheaded in the sun, to Sally's amazement, for she had her hat
+in her lap and could have worn it.
+
+The wind blew wisps of her fine straight hair across her pink cheeks
+and in her eyes, as she gazed out upon the blue mountains and listened
+to Sally's tale of "How hit all come about." For Sally went back into
+the family history of the Teasleys, and the Caswells, and the Merlins,
+and the Farwells, until Betty forgot the flight of time and the bishop
+called her. Then she went in to see David.
+
+He had worked his right hand free from its bandages and was able to lift
+it a little. She took it in hers, and looked brightly down at him.
+
+"Why, Doctor Thryng, you look better than when you were in Farington!
+Doesn't he, James? Aunt Sally gave me to understand you were nearly
+dead."
+
+David laughed happily. "I was, but I am very much alive now. I am to be
+married, Mrs. Towers; our wedding is to be quite _comme il faut_. It is
+to be at high noon, and the ceremony performed by a bishop."
+
+"James!" Betty dropped into a chair and looked helplessly at her
+husband. "You haven't your vestments here!"
+
+"I have all I need, dear. You know, Doctor, from Mr. Belew's telegram we
+were led to expect--"
+
+"A death instead of a wedding?" David finished.
+
+Betty turned to him. "Why didn't you tell us when you were down? You
+never gave the slightest hint of your state of mind, and there I was
+with my heart aching for Cassandra, when you--you stood ready to save
+her. I'm so glad for Cassandra; I could hug you, Doctor Thryng."
+Suddenly she turned on her husband. "James! Have you thought of
+everything--all the consequences? What will his mother--and the family
+over in England say?"
+
+James threw up his hand and laughed.
+
+"Don't laugh, James. Have you thought this all out, Doctor? Are you sure
+you can make them understand over there? Won't they think this awfully
+irregular? Will they ever be reconciled? I know how they are. My father
+was English."
+
+"They never need be reconciled. It's our affair, and there's nothing to
+call me back there to live. What I do, or whom I make my wife, is
+nothing to them. I may visit my mother, of course, but for the rest,
+they gave me up years ago, when I had no use for the life they mapped
+out for me. I have nothing to inherit there. It would go to my older
+brother, anyway. I may follow my own inclination--thank God! And as for
+it's being irregular--on the contrary--we are distinguished enough to
+have a bishop perform the ceremony. That will be considered a great
+thing at home--when they do come to hear of it."
+
+"But it is very sudden, Doctor; I suppose that's why I said irregular."
+Betty Towers paused a moment with a little frown, then laughed outright.
+"Does Cassandra know she is to be married to-day?"
+
+"She learned the fact yesterday--incidentally--bless her! and her only
+objection was a most feminine one. She had no proper dress. She said she
+was wearing her best when she found me and--but--I told her the
+trousseau was to come later."
+
+Betty rose with impulsive importance. "Well, James, we've so little
+time, I must go and help her prepare. And you'll rest now, won't you,
+Doctor? You stay up here with him, James, and I'll find some way of
+sending your things up."
+
+"Thar's Hoyle; he kin he'p a heap. He kin ride the mule an' tote
+anything ye like; and Marthy, I reckon ye kin git her up here on my
+horse--hit's thar at her place," said Sally, who had been standing in
+the doorway, keenly interested.
+
+When they were alone she said to David: "Hit's a right quare way o'
+doin' things--gitt'n married in bed, but if Bishop Towahs do hit, hit
+sure must be all right--leastways Cassandry'll think so."
+
+David took the superintendence of the arrangement of his cabin upon
+himself, and Hoke Belew, with the bishop's aid, carried out his
+directions. One side of his canvas room was rolled to the top, leaving
+the place open to the hills and the beauty without. His bed was placed
+so that he might face the open space, and that Cassandra could kneel at
+his right side. His writing-table, draped with a white cloth and covered
+with green hemlock boughs, formed the altar. It was all very quickly and
+simply done, and then David lay quiet, with closed eyes, listening to
+his musicians in the tree-tops, fluting their own gladness, while Hoke
+Belew went down below, and the bishop sat out on the rock and meditated.
+
+Cassandra came up to the cabin alone and sat with David, while the
+bishop donned his priestly vestments, and the wedding procession wound
+slowly up the trail from the Fall Place, decorously and gravely, clad in
+their best. Azalea and Betty came, side by side, the mother rode Sally's
+speckled white horse, and little Hoyle ran on ahead; Hoke carried his
+baby in his arms. Behind them all rode Uncle Jerry Carew, full of the
+liveliest interest and curiosity.
+
+Said David: "This is May-day. I know what they're doing at home now, if
+the weather will let them. They're having gay times with out-of-door
+fêtes. The country girls are wearing their prettiest gowns, and the men
+are wearing sprigs of May in their buttonholes. Where did you get your
+roses?"
+
+"Azalie brought them."
+
+"And who put them in your hair?"
+
+"Mrs. Towahs did that. Do you like me this way, David?"
+
+"You are the loveliest being my eyes ever rested on."
+
+"This was my best dress last year. I did it up and mended it this
+morning. It's home-woven like the one I--like the other one you said you
+liked."
+
+David smiled, looking up into the gray eyes with the green lights and
+blue depths in them. How serene and poised her manner was, on the verge
+of the momentous step she was about to take, while his own heart was
+beating high. He wondered if she really comprehended the change it was
+to make in her life, that she showed no apprehension or fear.
+
+"Cassandra, do you realize that in fifteen minutes you will be my wife?
+It will be a great change for you, dearest. In spite of all I can do,
+you may be sad sometimes, and I may ask of you things you don't want to
+do."
+
+"I've been sad already in my life, and done things I didn't want to do.
+I don't guess you could change that--only God could."
+
+"And you don't feel in the least disturbed? Your heart doesn't beat any
+harder nor your breath come quicker? Tell me how you feel."
+
+She smiled and drew a long breath. "I don't know how it is. Everything
+is right peaceful and sweet outside--the sky and the hills and all the
+birds--even the wind is still in the trees, like everything was waiting
+for something good to happen."
+
+"In your heart it is sweet and peaceful, too, and waiting for something
+good to happen?"
+
+"Yes, David."
+
+"God forgive me if ever I fail you," he said, drawing her down to him.
+"God make me worthy of you."
+
+Then the bishop entered, and the little procession followed, and
+gathered about while the solemn words of the service were uttered.
+Cassandra knelt at David's side, as together they partook of the bread
+and wine, and with the worn circlet of gold which had been tied to her
+father's little Greek books, they were pronounced man and wife. Then,
+rising from her knees, she bent and kissed David, the long first kiss of
+the wedded pair, and turned her gravely happy face to the bishop, who
+admitted to Betty afterward that he had never kissed a bride, other than
+his own, with such unalloyed satisfaction.
+
+It was all over quickly, and Cassandra was standing in a new world. Her
+eyes shone with the love-light no longer held back and veiled. She
+accompanied them all to the door and parted from them, even her mother
+and little Hoyle, as a hostess parting from her guests. She would not
+allow any one to stay behind, for the wedding feast had been spread in
+her mother's house, and thither they repaired to eat, and talk
+everything over.
+
+"Mother felt right bad to leave us alone. She meant to bring everything
+up and all eat together here, but I thought it would be better, just we
+two, and me to set things out for you. Lie quiet and close your eyes,
+David, and make out like you are sleeping while I do it."
+
+With perfect contentment he obeyed, and lay watching her through
+half-closed lids. It was always the same vision. She moved between him
+and a halo of light that seemed to be a part of her and to go with her,
+now at his bedside, now bending before the fireplace. At last the small
+pine table, which had served as an altar, was set with their first meal.
+The home was established.
+
+He opened his eyes and looked on the feast she had set before him. The
+pink rose was still in her hair, and one at her throat, and two perfect
+ones were in a glass near his plate. The table was drawn close to his
+bedside, and strawberries were upon it, and a glass pitcher of cream.
+There were white beaten biscuit, and tea--as he had made it for her so
+long ago on her first and only visit to his cabin when he was at home,
+so she had made it for him now. There were chicken and green peas, also.
+
+"How quickly everything has happened! How perfect it all is! How did you
+get all these things together?"
+
+So she told him where everything came from. "Mother churned the butter
+to have it right fresh, and she left it without salt for you, like you
+said you used to have it in England. Uncle Jerry brought the peas from
+his garden, and he shelled them himself. I made the biscuit this
+morning, and Aunt Sally fried the chicken when she came down, and Azalie
+prepared the peas, and we kept them all hot in the fireplace, theirs
+down there, and ours up here." Cassandra laughed merrily. "I reckon it
+looked funny. Every one carried something when they came up. Hoyle had
+the peas in a tin pail, and mother rode Aunt Sally's Speckle and carried
+the biscuit in a pan on front. Shut your eyes and you can see them come
+that way, David, while I sit here with you, talking and feeling that
+happy. Don't try to use your right hand that way; I can see it hurts
+you. Let me go on feeding you like I am. Don't I do it right?"
+
+"Perfectly, but I want you to bring that cushion over here and put it
+under my pillow so you won't have to lift my head. That's right. Now I
+want to see you eat. You can't feed me and yourself at the same time.
+You won't? Then we'll take it turn about."
+
+"How have you managed these days? Did Aunt Sally feed you? Oh, I don't
+believe you ate anything. You couldn't, could you?"
+
+She spoke so sadly, he laughed. "It's a lucky thing you sent for the
+bishop instead of the doctor, or I would have had no wife and would have
+starved to death. I couldn't have survived another day."
+
+Again she laughed out, as she seemed so suddenly to have learned to do.
+"And I would have stayed away and let you starve to death? You must
+open your mouth, David, and not try to talk now."
+
+"Ah, no, that's enough. We've a thousand things to say and plans to
+make. You eat while I talk. When I am up, we must find some one to stay
+with your mother. She should not be left alone." Cassandra paled a
+little. He was watching her face. "You will be staying up here with me,
+you know, all the time."
+
+"Yes--I know." Her throat seemed to tighten, and she looked off toward
+the hills, as her way was.
+
+"Don't you like the thought of staying up here with me? Make your
+confession, dearest one." He drew her down to look in his eyes. "It's
+done. We are man and wife."
+
+Her eyes swam with tears, but her lips smiled. "I do. I do want to bide
+with you. All the way before me now looks like a long path of
+light--like what I have dreamed sometimes when the moon shines long down
+the mists at night. Only one place--I can't quite see--is it shadow or
+not. Perhaps it's only the thought of mother down there alone."
+
+She spoke dreamily and with the same look of seeing things beyond,
+except that now she fixed her eyes, not on the mountain top, but on his
+own.
+
+"Is it in my eyes you see the long path of light? Are we together in it?
+I see you always with the light about you. I saw you so first in your
+own home before the blazing fire--such a hearth fire as I had never seen
+before. You have appeared to me in my dreams with light about you ever
+since, and in my visions when I have been riding over these hills alone.
+What are you seeing now?"
+
+"You, as you helped me that first time, there in the snow. You looked so
+ill, but your way was strong, and I thought--all at once, in a
+flash--like it came from--"
+
+"Go on."
+
+"Like it came from my father: 'One will come for you.'" She hid her face
+in his bosom, and her words came smothered and brokenly, "All the ride
+home I put them away, but they would come back, his words: 'On the
+mountain top, one will come for you'; but we were in such trouble--I
+thought it was just the thought of my father. It's always strongest when
+trouble comes, like he would comfort me."
+
+"Don't you have it also when happiness comes to you, as on this morning
+while we waited together?"
+
+"No great happiness like this ever came before. I have been glad, like
+when mother said I might go to Farington to school; and when I knelt and
+was confirmed, I was glad then. The first gladness I can remember was
+when my father used to carry me in his arms up and down his path and
+repeat strange poetry to me. When you are well, we will go there, won't
+we?"
+
+"Yes, dearest; but didn't the remembrance come to you just now, when you
+saw the long path of light before us?"
+
+"I think no, David. I'm afraid I forgot every one but you then, when you
+asked would I like to bide here with you; and the long path of light was
+our love--for it reaches up to heaven, doesn't it, David?"
+
+"It reaches to heaven, Cassandra."
+
+Then they were silent, for there was no more to say.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+IN WHICH THE SUMMER PASSES
+
+
+Midsummer arrived, and David, healed of his wounds, pronounced himself
+as "strong as a cricketer." What he meant by that Hoyle could only
+conjecture, and, after much pondering, decided that his strength was now
+so great that should he desire to do so, he could leap into the air or
+jump long distances after the manner of crickets.
+
+"You reckon you could jump as fer in one jump now as from here to
+t'other side the water trough yandah?" he asked one day, as they sat on
+the porch steps together.
+
+"No, I don't reckon so," said David, laughing.
+
+"Well, could you jump ovah this here house and the loom shed in one
+jump?"
+
+"I don't reckon so."
+
+"Be sensible, honey son. You mustn't 'low him to ax ye fool questions,
+Doctah. You knows they hain't nobody kin do such as that, Hoyle," called
+his mother from within.
+
+"He has some idea in his head. What is it, brother Hoyle?"
+
+"I heered you tellin' Cass 'at you was gettin' strong as one o' these
+here cricket bugs, an' I had one t'other day; he could jump as fer as
+cl'ar acrost the po'ch--and he was only 'bout a inch long--er less 'n a
+inch. I thought if brothah David was that strong, he could jump a heap."
+
+David had comforted Hoyle for the loss of Cassandra from the home by
+explaining that they were now become brothers for the rest of their
+lives, and in order to give this assurance appreciable significance, he
+had taken the small chap to the circus and had treated him to pink
+lemonade and a toy balloon.
+
+They had remained over until the next day, and Doctor Bartlett and David
+had examined him all over at the old physician's office and then had
+gone into a little room by themselves and stayed a long time, leaving
+him outside. Then, to compensate for such gross neglect, David had
+taken him to a clothing store and bought him a complete suit of store
+clothing, very neat and pretty. Hoyle would have been in the seventh
+heaven over all this, were it not, alas! that there the child for the
+first time in his life looked into a mirror that revealed him to himself
+from head to foot, little wry neck, hunched back and all.
+
+David, not realizing this was a revelation to the little man, wondered,
+as they walked away, that all his enthusiasm and exuberance of spirits
+had left him, and that he walked at his side wearily and sadly silent.
+His pathetic little legs spindled down from the smart new trousers, and
+his hands dangled weakly from his thin wrists, albeit his fingers clung
+tightly to his toy balloon.
+
+"We're going back to the bishop's now, and we'll have a good dinner, and
+then you'll have a whole hour to play with Dorothy before we leave for
+home," said David, cheeringly. The child made no response other than to
+slip his hand into David's. "What are you thinking about, brother
+Hoyle?"
+
+"Jest nothin'. I war a-wonderin'."
+
+"Oh, there is a difference? What were you wondering?"
+
+"Maw told me if you war that good to take me to a circus, I mustn't
+bothah you with a heap o' questions 'at wa'n't no good."
+
+"That's all right. I'm questioning you now."
+
+"What war you an' that old man feelin' me all ovah for? War you tryin'
+to make out hu' come my hade is sot like this-a-way? Reckon you r'aly
+could set hit straight an' get this 'er lump off'n my back?"
+
+"Don't worry about your head and your back. You have a very good head.
+That's more than some can say."
+
+"I nevah see nary othah boy like I be. You reckon that li'l' girl, she
+thought I war quare?"
+
+"What little girl?"
+
+"Mrs. Towahs's li'l' girl. She said 'turn roun',' an' when I done hit,
+she said 'turn roun' agin.' Then she said, 'Whyn't you hol' your hade
+like I do?'"
+
+"What did you say?"
+
+"Didn't say nothin.' Jes' axed her whyn't she hol' her head like I did?
+an' she said, 'Don't want to.' So I said, 'Don't want to.'" He twisted
+his head about to look up in David's face, and his lips smiled, but in
+his eyes was a suspicion of tears. His heart heavy for the child, David
+praised him for a brave little chap, comforting him as best he could.
+
+"You reckon she'd like me if I war to give her this here balloon?"
+
+"No, you take that home to sister. The little girl can get one when the
+circus comes again." But after dinner, David did not send Hoyle off to
+play the hour with Dorothy. He took her on his knee and entertained them
+both with tales and mimicry until he had them in gales of laughter, and
+for the time being Hoyle forgot his troubles.
+
+As the days passed, David became more and more interested in his patch
+of ground and the growing things in his garden. Never had he labored
+with his hands in this fashion, and each night he lay down to sleep
+physically weary, in contentment of spirit. Steadily he progressed
+toward the desired goal of health. In his young wife, also, he found a
+rich satisfaction, watching her unfold and blossom into the gracious
+wifehood and ladyhood he had dreamed of for her.
+
+Together they used to stroll to the little farm, where she told him all
+she knew about the crops--what was best for the animals, and what would
+be needed for themselves. Long before David was able to oversee the work
+himself, she had set Elwine Timms to sowing cow-peas and planting corn.
+
+"Behold your heritage!" David said to her one morning, as they strolled
+thus among the thrifty greenness and patches of vetch where the cow was
+contentedly feeding. He laughed joyously and drew his wife's arm through
+his. She looked up at him wistfully. He thought she sighed, and bent his
+head to listen. "What was that little sound?"
+
+"I was only thinking."
+
+"We'll sit here where we sat that morning when we both put our hands to
+the plough, and you tell me what you were thinking."
+
+"I ought not to stop now, David. I've left all for mother to do. I was
+that busy at the cabin I didn't get down to her this morning."
+
+"You can't keep two homes going with only your own two dear hands,
+Cassandra. It must be stopped. We'll find some one to live with your
+mother and take your place." She gave a little gasp, then sat silently,
+her hands dropped passively in her lap, and he thought she seemed sad.
+He took her face between his hands and made her look into his eyes.
+"Don't be worried, sweetheart; we'll make a few changes. You're mine
+now, you know--not only to serve me and labor for me as you have been
+doing all these weeks, but--"
+
+"But I like it, David. I like doing for you. I hope it may always be so
+I can do for you."
+
+"Would you like me to become an invalid again so you could keep on in
+the way you began?"
+
+"Not that--but sometimes I think what if you shouldn't really need me!"
+She hid her face on his breast. "I--I want you to need me--David!" It
+was almost like a cry for help, as she said it.
+
+"Dear heart, dear heart! What are you thinking and fearing? Can't you
+understand? You are mine now, to be cared for and loved and held very
+near and dear to my heart. We are no more twain, we are one."
+
+"Yes, but--but--David, I--I want you to need me," she sobbed, and he
+knew some thought was stirring in her heart which she could not yet put
+into words. He comforted her and soothed her, explaining certain plans
+which later he put into execution, so that her duties at the Fall Place
+were brought to an end and he could have her always with him.
+
+A daughter of her Uncle Cotton, who had gone down into South Carolina to
+live, was induced to come and stay with the widow, and the girl's
+brother came with her and helped David on the farm.
+
+Then David made changes in and about his cabin. He built on another room
+and put therein a cook stove. He could not bear to see his young wife
+bending at the hearth preparing their meals, and when she demurred, he
+explained that he wished to keep her as she was and not see her growing
+old and wrinkled before her time, with the burning heat of the open fire
+in her face, like many of the mountain women.
+
+One evening,--they had eaten their supper out under the trees,--she
+proposed they should walk up to her father's path, as she called the
+spot toward which she so often lifted her eyes, and David was well
+pleased to go with her. As they set out, she asked him to wait a moment
+while she went back for something, and quickly returned, bringing his
+flute.
+
+"I've often wished father could have heard you play on this," she said,
+as he took it from her hand.
+
+They crossed the little river that tumbled and rushed among great
+moss-covered boulders on its way to the fall, and followed its wayward
+course toward its head, where the way was untrodden and wild, as if no
+human foot had ever climbed along its banks. After a little they turned
+off toward a tremendous rock of solid granite that had been cleft
+smoothly in twain by some gigantic force of nature, and, walking between
+the towering walls of stone, came out on the farther side upon a small
+level space, where immense ferns and flags grew thickly in the rich
+soil, held in place and kept damp by the great cool masses of stone.
+
+Above this little dell the hill rose steeply, and Cassandra led him to a
+narrow opening in the dense shrubbery surrounding the spot from which a
+beaten path wound upward, overarched with thickly interlacing branches
+of birch wood and hemlocks. Along this winding trail they climbed, until
+they reached a cluster of enormous cedars which made the dark place on
+the mountain Cassandra had pointed out to him from below. Here the path
+widened so they could walk side by side, and continued along a level
+line at the foot of the dark mass of trees.
+
+"Here father used to walk up and down reading in his little books; seems
+like I can hear his voice now. Sometimes he would look off over the
+valley below us there and repeat parts by heart. Isn't it beautiful
+here, David?"
+
+"Heavenly beautiful!"
+
+"I'm glad we never came here before."
+
+"Why, dearest?"
+
+"Because." She hesitated with parted lips, and cheeks flushed from the
+climb. David stood with bared head. He felt as if he were in a
+cathedral.
+
+"And why because?" he asked again.
+
+"For now we bring just happiness with us. We're not troubled or
+wondering about anything. No sorrow comes with us. In our hearts we are
+sure--sure--" She paused again and lifted her eyes to his.
+
+"Sure that all is right when we belong to each other--this way?"
+
+"Yes, sure! Oh, David, sure--sure!" She threw her arms about his neck
+and drew his face down to hers. "It's even a greater happiness than when
+he used to carry me in his arms here. There's no sorrow near us. It's
+all far away."
+
+Thus, sometimes she would throw off all the habitual reserve of her
+manner and open her heart to him, following the rich impulses of her
+nature to their glorious revelation.
+
+"Now, David, sit here and play; play your flute as you did that first
+time when I learned who made the music that I thought must be the
+'Voices,' that time I climbed up to see."
+
+They sat under the great cedars on a bank of moss, and David took the
+flute from her hand, smiling as he thought of that moment when he had
+stood among the blossoming laurel and watched her as she moved about his
+cabin, the day before his hurt, and how she had kissed it.
+
+"I used to sit here like this." She bent forward and rested her head on
+his knee. She had a way of putting her two hands together as a child is
+taught to hold them in prayer and placing them beneath her cheek; and so
+she waited while David paused, his hand on her hair, and his eyes fixed
+on the sea of hilltops where they melted into the sky,--a mysterious,
+undulating line of the faintest blue, seen through the arching branches
+above, and the swaying hemlocks on either side, and over the tops of a
+hundred varieties of pines and deciduous trees beneath them, all down
+the long slope up which they had climbed.
+
+Thus they waited, until she lifted her head and looked into his eyes
+questioningly. He bent forward and kissed her lips and then lifted the
+flute to his own--but again paused.
+
+"What are you thinking now, David?" she asked.
+
+"So you really thought it was the 'Voices'? What was their message,
+Cassandra?"
+
+"I couldn't make it out then, but I thought of this place and of father,
+and it was all at once like as if he would make me know something, and
+I prayed God would he lead me to understand was it a message or not. So
+that was the way I kept on following--until I--"
+
+"You came to me, dear?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And what did you think the interpretation was then?"
+
+"Yes, it was you--you, David. It was love--and hope--and
+gladness--everything, everything--"
+
+"Go on."
+
+"Everything good and beautiful--but--sometimes it comes again--"
+
+"What comes?"
+
+"Play, David, play. I'll tell you another time in another place, not
+here. No, no."
+
+So he played for her until the dusk deepened around and below them, and
+they had to make their way back stumblingly. When they came to the wild,
+untrodden bank of the little river, David resigned the choosing of their
+path entirely to her and followed close, holding her hand where she led.
+When at last they reached their cabin, they did not light candles, but
+sat long in the doorway conversing on the deep things of their souls.
+
+It still seemed to David as if she held something back from him, and now
+he begged her for a more perfect self-revealing.
+
+"It is no longer as if we were separate, dearest; can't you remember and
+feel that we are one?"
+
+"In a way I do. It is very sweet."
+
+"You say in a way. In what way?"
+
+"Why, David?"
+
+"I want your point of view."
+
+"I see. We're not really one until we see from each other's hilltop, are
+we?"
+
+"No, and you never take me into the secret places of your heart and let
+me look off from your own hilltop."
+
+"Didn't I this very evening, David?"
+
+"We stood on the same spot of earth and looked off on the same distance,
+yet in my soul I know I did not see what you saw."
+
+"Pictures come to me very suddenly and just float by, hardly understood
+by myself. I didn't want you to see all I saw, David. I don't know how
+comes it, but all the time, even in the midst of our great
+gladness--right when it is most beautiful--far before me, right across
+our way, is a place that is dim. It seems 'most like the shadows that
+fall on the hills when those great piles of clouds pass through the sky,
+when it is deep blue all around them and the sun shines everywhere
+else."
+
+"Your soul is still an undiscovered country to me, Cassandra."
+
+"I should think you'd like that. Don't men love to go discovering? And
+if you could get into the secret chambers, as you call them, you
+wouldn't find much. Then you'd be sorry."
+
+"Cassandra, what are you covering and holding back?"
+
+"I don't know, David. It's like it was when I couldn't understand the
+message of the 'Voices'! When it comes clear and strong, I'll tell you."
+
+"Then there is something?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+With a little sigh, she rose and entered the cabin. He sat in silence as
+she had left him, but soon she returned. Standing behind him in the
+darkness, she put her interlaced fingers under his chin and drew his
+face backward until she could see it, white in the dusk, beneath her
+eyes.
+
+"You have come back to explain?"
+
+"If I can, David. It's hard for me to put in words what is so dim--what
+I see. It's all just love for you, David. The love burns and blazes up
+in me like the fire when it's fiercest on the hearth, when the day is
+cold outside. You've seen it so. In the little books my father used to
+read, there was a tale of a woman who had my name. She foretold the
+sorrows to come. Perhaps she saw as I see things in the dim pictures,
+only more clearly, and wisdom was given her to interpret them.
+
+"Often and often I've felt that in me--that strange seeing and knowing
+before, and I don't like it. Only once it made me feel glad--when it led
+me to you and Frale that terrible moment. But it wasn't a picture that
+time; it was a feeling that pulled me and made me go. I would have gone
+that time if I had died for it."
+
+He took her two hands and covered them with kisses, there in the
+darkness. "I told you you were my priestess of all that is good."
+
+"But I don't want to be always seeing the shadows and foreboding. I
+want to be all happy--happy--the way you are."
+
+"I believe you are one of the blessed ones of God who have 'the gift';
+but you are right to feel as you do. Your life will be more normal and
+wholesome not to try to probe into the future. I'll not attempt to take
+my coarser humanity into your holy places, dear."
+
+He led her into their canvas sleeping chamber, and there she was soon
+calmly slumbering at his side; but he lay long pondering and trying to
+see his way out of a certain dilemma of unrest that had been creeping
+into his veins and prodding him forward ever since his reëstablished
+health had become an assured fact. He recognized it as no more than the
+proper impulse of his manhood not to stagnate and slumber in a lotus
+dream, even as delicious a dream as this. Ah, it was inevitable. His
+world must become her world.
+
+Herein lay the dilemma. This unsullied, beautiful being must enter that
+sordid old world, that had so pressed upon him and broken him down. This
+idyl might go on for perhaps a year longer--but not for always--not for
+always.
+
+He slept at last, and dreamed that they were being driven along a dark,
+cold river, wide and swift; that they had entered it where it was only a
+narrow, rushing stream, sparkling and tumbling over rocks, and winding
+in intricate turnings on itself; that they had laughed as they followed
+it, plashing among the stones where she led him by the hand, until it
+grew wider and deeper and colder, and they were lifted from their feet
+and were tossed and swirled about, and she cried and clung to him, and
+even as he clasped her and held her, he knew her to be slipping from
+him. Then in terror he awoke, and, reaching out in the darkness, drew
+her into his embrace and slept again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+IN WHICH DAVID TAKES LITTLE HOYLE TO CANADA
+
+
+"David," said his wife next day, as he came whistling up to his cabin
+from the farm below, "do you mind if I give mother a little help with
+the weaving? Mattie can't do it. She's right nigh spoiled the
+counterpane we had on when she came, and since mother's hurt, she can't
+work the treadles, so now the hotel's open Miss Mayhew may come and find
+them not half done."
+
+"Do I mind? Why should I mind, if you don't 'right nigh' spoil your back
+and wear yourself out?"
+
+"Then I'll go down with you after dinner and see can I patch up Mattie's
+mistakes. It takes so much patience--a loom does, to understand it."
+
+Mattie was the cousin David had imported from the low country to relieve
+Cassandra from the burden of the work in the home below. Although a
+disappointment to them, she still did her work after her own fashion,
+clumsily and slowly, but her Aunt 'Marthy' was never at rest, prodding
+the dull nature forward, trying to make her take the interest Cassandra
+had done.
+
+David had wisely persuaded his wife to leave them to themselves, to work
+out the problem of adjustment to the new conditions as best they might,
+and his persuasions had been of a more peremptory nature than he
+realized. To Cassandra they had been as commands, but now--when the
+weaving on which the widow had counted so much was likely to be ruined
+by Mattie's unskilled hands--the old mother had declared she could not
+bear to see her niece around and should "pack her off whar she come
+from."
+
+Therefore Cassandra had made her timid request--the first evidence of
+shrinking from her husband she had ever given. Why was it? he asked
+himself. What had he ever said or done to make her prefer a request in
+that way? But it was over in an instant, and her own poised manner
+returned as they ate and chatted together.
+
+Little Hoyle came running up to eat with them. He had conceived a
+dislike to the home below since the incumbent had come to take his
+sister's place, and evaded thus, as often as possible, his mother's
+vigilance. David did not mind the intrusion, but suffered the adoring
+little chap to sit at his side, ever twisting his small body about to
+fix his great eyes on David's face, while he plied him with questions
+and hung on his words too intent to attend to his own eating unless
+admonished thereto by his sister.
+
+"If you don't eat, son, I'll send you back to mother," she threatened.
+
+"I won't go," he rebelled joyously. "I'll jes' set here 'longside
+brothah David."
+
+"No, you won't, young man. You'll do whatever sister says. That's what I
+do." He put his hand on the boy's tousled head and turned him about to
+his plate, well filled with food still untouched, but he noticed that
+the child ate listlessly, more as an act of obedience than from a normal
+desire. He glanced up at his wife and saw that she also noticed Hoyle's
+languor. They finished the meal in a silence only broken by Hoyle's
+questions and David's replies, now serious, now teasing and bantering.
+
+"You are so full of interrogation points you have no room for your
+dinner. Here--drink this milk--slowly; don't gulp it."
+
+"I know what they be. They go this-a-way." The boy set down his glass to
+illustrate with his slender little hand the form of the question mark.
+Then he laughed out gayly. "You know hu' come I got filled up with them
+things? I done swallered that thar catechism Cass b'en teachin' me
+Sundays."
+
+"No, I'm thinking you just are one yourself."
+
+"'Cause I'm crooked like this-a-way?" He twisted about and looked up at
+David gravely.
+
+"No, no, son. Doctor didn't mean that," said his sister.
+
+"Finish your milk," said David. "We'll have some fun with the
+microscope." And once again the child essayed to eat and drink a little.
+
+But the languor and pallor grew in spite of all David could do for him,
+and as the weeks passed his large eyes burned more brilliantly and his
+thin form grew more meagre. Cassandra got in the way of keeping him up
+at the cabin with her, and when she went down to weave, he went also and
+used to lie on the bundles of cotton, poring over the books which David
+procured for him from time to time.
+
+"What he gets in that way won't hurt him. It's not like having set tasks
+to learn, and he's not burdened with any 'ought' or 'ought not' about
+it. Let him vegetate until cooler weather. Then, if he doesn't improve,
+we'll see what can be done. Something radical, I imagine."
+
+
+The fall arrived in a splendor that was truly oriental in its
+gorgeousness. The changing colors of the foliage surpassed in brilliancy
+anything David had ever seen or imagined possible. The mantle of deepest
+green which had clothed the mountain sides all summer, became
+transmuted, until all the world was glorified and glowing as if the heat
+of the summer sun had been stored up during the drowsy days to burst
+forth thus in warmest reds and golds.
+
+"The hills look as if they had clothed themselves in Turkish rugs,
+ancient and fine," said David one evening, as he sat on his rock,
+watching them burn in the afterglow of the setting sun.
+
+"How much there is for me to learn and know," Cassandra replied in a low
+voice. "I never saw a Turkish rug. You often speak of things I know
+nothing about."
+
+David laughed and turned upon her happy eyes. "Why so sad for that? Did
+you think I loved you and married you for your worldly knowledge?" She
+smiled back at him and was silent. Presently he continued. "Now, while
+Hoyle is not here, I wish to talk to you a little about him."
+
+"Yes, David." Her heart fluttered with a nameless fear, but she betrayed
+no sign of emotion.
+
+"You've seen, of course. It's not necessary to tell you."
+
+"No, David--only--does it mean death?" She put her hand out to him, and
+he took it in his and stroked it.
+
+"Not surely. We'll make a fight for him, won't we, dear?"
+
+"Oh, David! What can we do?" she moaned.
+
+"There's a thing to do that I've been reserving as a last resort. I
+think the time has come to try it. This curvature presses on some vital
+part, and the action of his heart is uncertain. He needs the tonic of
+the cold,--the ice and snow. Would you trust him to me, dear? I'll take
+him to Doctor Hoyle. You know very well everything kindness and skill
+can do will be done for him there."
+
+"Yes, yes, David. You are so good to him always! Would--would you
+go--alone with him?" She drew closer to him, her head on his shoulder
+and her hand in his, but he could not see her face.
+
+"You mean without you, dearest?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"That may be as you say. Would you prefer to go with us?"
+
+She drew a long breath, slowly, like an indrawn sigh, and something
+trembled to pass her heart, but suddenly the old habit of reserve sealed
+her lips and she remained silent.
+
+"What do you say?" he urged.
+
+"Tell me first--do you want me to go?"
+
+He was silent, and they sat waiting for each other. Then he said, "I do
+want you to go--and yet I don't want you to go--yet. Sometime, of
+course, we must go where I may find wider scope for my activities." He
+felt her quiver of anxiety. "Not until you are quite ready yourself,
+dear, always remember that." Still she was silent, and he continued: "I
+can't say that I'm quite ready myself. I would prefer one more year
+here, but Hoyle must be removed without delay. We may have waited too
+long as it is. Will your mother consent? She must, if she cares to see
+him live."
+
+"Oh, David! Go, go. Take him and go to-morrow. Leave me here and
+go--but--come back to me, David, soon--very soon. I--I shall need you,
+I-- Can you leave Hoyle there and come back, David? Or must you bide
+there, too?" Suddenly she bowed her face in her hands. "Oh, I'm so
+wicked and selfish to think of leaving him there without you or me or
+mother--one. David, what can we do? He might die there, and you--you
+must come back for the winter; what would save him, might kill you. Oh,
+David! Take me with you, and leave me there with him, and you come back.
+Doctor Hoyle will take care of him--of us--once we are there."
+
+"Now, now, now! hold your dear heart in peace. Why, I'm well. To stay
+another winter would only be to establish myself in a more rugged
+condition of body--not that I must do so. We'll talk with your mother
+to-morrow. It may be hard to persuade her."
+
+But he found the mother most reasonable and practical. He even tried to
+abate her perfect trust in him and his ability to bring the child back
+to her quite well and strong.
+
+"This isn't a trouble that is ever really cured, you know. When taken
+young enough, it may be helped, and I've known people who have lived
+long and useful lives in spite of it. That's all we may hope for."
+
+"Waal, I 'low ye can't git him no younger'n he be now, an' he's that
+peart, I reckon he's worth hit--leastways to we-uns."
+
+"Of course he's worth it."
+
+"You are right good to keer fer him like you have. I'd do a heap fer you
+ef I could. All I have is jest this here farm, an' hit's fer you an'
+Cass. On'y ef ye'd 'low me an' leetle Hoyle to bide on here whilst we
+live--"
+
+David was touched. "Do you realize I've found here the two greatest
+things in the world, love and health? All I want is for you to know and
+remember that if I can't succeed in doing all I would like for the boy,
+at least I tried my very best. I may not succeed, you know, but this is
+the only thing to do now--the only thing."
+
+
+David parted from his young wife, leaving her standing in the door of
+their cabin, clad in her white homespun frock, smiling, yet tearful and
+pale. He was to walk down to the Fall Place, where Jerry Carew waited
+with the wagon in which he had arrived, and where his baggage had been
+brought the day before. When he came to the steepest part of the
+descent, he looked back and saw Cassandra still standing as if in a
+trance, gazing after him. He felt his heart lean towards her, and,
+turning sharply, walked swiftly to her and took her once more in his
+arms and looked down into those deep springs--her sweet gray eyes. Thus
+for a long moment he held her to his heart with never a word. Then she
+entered the little home, and he walked away, looking back no more.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+IN WHICH DOCTOR HOYLE SPEAKS HIS MIND
+
+
+Doctor Hoyle sat in his office staring straight before him, not as if he
+were looking at David Thryng, who sat in range of his vision, but as if
+seeing beyond him into some other time and place. David had been
+speaking, but now they both were silent, and the young man wondered if
+his old friend had really been paying attention to his words or not.
+
+"Well, Doctor," he said at last.
+
+"Well, David."
+
+"You don't seem satisfied. Is it with my condition?"
+
+"Your condition? No, no, no! It's not your condition. Yes, yes--fine,
+fine. I never saw such a marvellous change in my life, never!"
+
+David smiled over the old doctor's stammer of enthusiasm. It was as if
+his thoughts, fertile and vehement, and the feelings of his great, warm
+heart welled up within him, and, trying to burst forth all at once,
+tumbled over themselves, unable to secure words rapidly enough in which
+to give themselves utterance.
+
+"Then why so silent and dubious?"
+
+"Why--why--y--young man, I wasn't thinking anything about you just
+then." And again David laughed, while his wiry old friend jumped up and
+walked rapidly and restlessly about the small apartment and laughed in
+sympathy. "It's not--not--"
+
+"I know." David grew instantly sober again. "Of course the little chap's
+case is serious--very--or I would not have brought him to you."
+
+"Oh, no, no, I'm not thinking of Adam, bless you, no." The doctor always
+called his little namesake Adam. "I'm thinking of her--the little girl
+you left behind you. Yes--yes. Of her."
+
+"She's not so little now, Doctor; she's tall--tall enough to be
+beautiful."
+
+"I remember her,--slight--slight little creature, all eyes and hair, all
+soul and mind. Now what are you going to do with her, eh?"
+
+"What is she going to do with me, rather! I'll go back to her as soon as
+I dare leave the boy."
+
+"But, man alive! what--what are--you can't live down there all your
+days. It's to be life and work for you, sir, and what are you going to
+do with her, I say?"
+
+"I'll bring her here with me. She'll come."
+
+"Of course you'll bring her here with you, and you--you'll have plenty
+of friends. Maybe they'll appreciate her, and maybe they won't; maybe
+they won't, I say; Understand? And she'll c--come. Oh, yes, she'll come!
+she'll do whatever you say, and presently she'll break her heart and die
+for you. She'll never say a word, but that's what she'll do."
+
+"Why, Doctor!" cried David, appalled. "I love her as my own life--my
+very soul."
+
+"Of--of course. That goes without saying. We all do, we men, but
+we--damn it all! Do you suppose I've lived all these years and not seen?
+Why--we think of ourselves first every time. D--don't we, though?
+Rather!"
+
+"But selfish as we are, we can love--a man can, if he sets himself to it
+honestly,--love a woman and make her happy, even without the
+appreciation of others, in spite of environment,--everything. It's the
+destiny of women to love us, thank God. She would have been doomed
+surely to die if she had married the one who wanted her first--or to
+live a life for her worse than death."
+
+"Oh, Lord bless you, boy, yes. It's a woman's destiny. I'm an old fool.
+There--there's my own little girl, she's m--married and gone--gone to
+live in England. They will do it--the women will. Come, we'll go see
+Adam."
+
+The doctor sprang up, brushed his hand across his eyes, and caught up a
+battered silk hat. He turned it about and looked at it ruefully, with a
+quizzical smile playing about the corners of his eyes. "Remember that
+hat?" he asked.
+
+"Well do I remember it. You've driven many a mile in many a rainstorm
+by my side under that hat! When you're done with it, leave it to me in
+your will. I have a fancy for it. Will you?"
+
+"Here, take it--take it. I'm done with it. Mary scolds me every day
+about it. No p--peace in life because of it. Here's a new one I bought
+the other day--good one--good enough."
+
+He lifted a box which had fallen from his cluttered office table, and
+took from it a new hat which had evidently not been unpacked before. He
+tried it on his head, turned it about and about, took it off and gazed
+at it within and without, then hastily tossed it aside and, snatching
+his old one from David put it on his head, and they started off.
+
+Hoyle had been placed in a small ward where were only two other little
+beds, both occupied, with one nurse to attend on the three patients. One
+of them had broken his leg and had to lie in a cast, and the other was
+convalescing from fever, but both were well enough to be companionable
+with the lonely little Southerner. Hoyle's face beamed upon David as he
+bent over him.
+
+"I kin make pi'chers whilst I'm a-lyin' here," he cried ecstatically.
+"That thar lady, she 'lows me to make 'em. She 'lows mine're good uns."
+David glanced at the young woman indicated. She was pleasant-faced and
+rosy, and looked practical and good.
+
+"He's such an odd little chap," she said.
+
+"What be that--odd? Does hit mean this 'er lump on my back?" He pulled
+David down and whispered the question in his ear.
+
+"No, no. She only means that you're a dear, queer little chap."
+
+"What be I quare fer?"
+
+"What are all these drawings? Tell us what they mean."
+
+"This'n, hit's the ocean, an' that thar, hit's a steamship sailin' on
+th' ocean, like you done tol' me about. An' this'n, hit's our house an'
+here's whar ol' Pete bides at; an' this'n's ol' Pete kickin' out like he
+hated somethin' like he does when we give Frale's colt his corn first."
+The other small boys from their beds laughed out merrily and strained
+their necks to see. "These're theirn. I made this'n fer him an' this'n
+fer him."
+
+He tossed the pictures feebly toward them, and they fluttered to the
+floor. David gathered them up and gave them to their respective owners.
+The old doctor stood beside the cot and looked down on the little
+artist. His lips twitched and his eyes twinkled.
+
+"Which one is y--yours?" he asked.
+
+"I keep this'n with the sea--an'--here, I made this'n fer you." He
+paused, and selected carefully among the pile of papers under his hand.
+"You reckon you kin tell what 'tis?"
+
+The doctor took the paper and regarded it gravely a moment, then lifted
+his eyebrows and made grimaces of wonderment until the three patients in
+the three little beds were in gales of laughter. At last he said:--
+
+"It's a pile of s--sausages."
+
+"Hit hain't no sausages. Hit's jest a straight, cl'ar pi'cher of a
+house, an' hit's your house, too, whar brothah David lives at. See?
+Thar's the winder, an' the other winder hit's on t'othah side whar you
+can't see hit."
+
+The doctor turned the paper over and regarded it a moment. "Show me the
+window. I--I see no window on the other side."
+
+Again the three little invalids laughed uproariously at their visitor.
+David smilingly looked on. How often had he seen the delightful old man
+amuse himself thus with the children! He would contort his mobile face
+into all the varying expressions of wonder and dismay, of terror or
+stupefaction, and his entrance to the children's ward was always greeted
+with outcries of delight, when the little ones were well enough to allow
+of such freedom.
+
+"Haven't you one to send to your sister?" asked David, stooping low to
+the child and speaking quietly. The boy's face lighted with a radiant
+smile that caused the old man to stand regarding him more intently.
+
+"We'll sen' her this'n of the sea. You reckon hit looks like the ocean
+whar the ships go a-sailin' to t'othah side o' the world?" He held it in
+his slender fingers and eyed it critically.
+
+"How did you come to try to make a picture of the sea when you never saw
+it?"
+
+"Do' know. I feel like I done seed th' ocean when I'm settin' thar on
+the rock an' them white, big clouds go a-sailin' far--far, like they're
+goin' to anothah world an' hain't quite touchin' this'n."
+
+"I wondered why you had your ship so high above the sea."
+
+"I don't guess hit's a very good'n," said the child, ruefully, clinging
+to the scrap of paper with reluctant grasp. "You reckon she'd keer fer
+this'n?"
+
+"I reckon she'd care for anything you made. Give it to me, and I'll send
+it to her."
+
+"She tol' me the sea, hit war blue, an' I can't make hit right blue an'
+soft like she said. That thar blue pencil, hit's too slick. I can't make
+hit stay on the papah."
+
+"What are these mounds here on either side of the sea?"
+
+"Them's mountains."
+
+"But why did you put mountains in the sea?" The boy looked with wide
+eyes dreamily past the two men so attentively regarding him.
+
+"I--I reckon I jes' put 'em thar fer to look like the sea hit war on the
+world. I don't guess the'd be no ocean nor no world 'thout the' war
+mountains fer to hold everything whar hit belongs at."
+
+"I shall bring you a box of paints to-morrow if the nurse will allow you
+to have them. I'll provide an oilcloth to spread around so he won't
+throw paint over your nice clean bed," he said to the pleasant-faced
+young woman.
+
+"That's all right, Doctor," she said.
+
+"Then you can make the blue stay on, and you can make the ocean with
+real water, and real blue for the sky and the sea."
+
+The child's eyes glowed. He pulled David down and held him with his arm
+about his neck, and whispered in his ear, and what he said was:--
+
+"When they're a-pullin' on me to git my hade straight an' my back right,
+I jes' think 'bout the far--far-away sea, with the ships a-sailin' an'
+how hit look, an' hit don't hurt so much. I kin b'ar hit a heap bettah.
+When you comin' back, brothah David?"
+
+"Does it hurt you very much, Hoyle?"
+
+"I reckon hit have to hurt," said the child, with fatalistic
+resignation. "I don't guess he'd hurt me 'thout he had to." He released
+David slowly, then pulled him down again. "Don't tell him I 'lowed hit
+hurted me. I reckon he'd ruthah hurt hisself if he could do me right
+that-a-way. You guess I--I'm goin' to git shet o' the misery some day?"
+
+"That's what we're trying for, my brave little brother," and the two
+physicians bade the small patients good-by and walked out upon the
+street.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG HAS NEWS FROM ENGLAND
+
+
+As they passed down the street, David shivered and buttoned his light
+overcoat closer about him.
+
+"Cold?" said the older man.
+
+"Your air is a bit keen here already. I hope it will be the needed tonic
+for that little chap."
+
+"What were his s--secrets?" David told him.
+
+"He's imaginative--yes--yes. I really would rather hurt myself. He may
+come on--he may. I've known--I've known--curious,
+but--Why--Hello--hello! Why--where--" and Doctor Hoyle suddenly darted
+forward and shook hands with another old gentleman, who was alertly
+stepping toward them, also thin and wiry, but with a face as impassive
+as the doctor's was mobile and expressive. "Mr. Stretton, why--why!
+David--Mr. Stretton, David Thryng--"
+
+"Ah, Mr. Thryng. I am most happy to find you here."
+
+"Doctor Thryng--over here on this side, you know."
+
+"Ah, yes. I had really forgotten. But speaking of titles--I must give
+this young man his correctly. Lord Thryng--allow me to congratulate you,
+my lord."
+
+"I fear you mistake me for my cousin, sir," said David, smiling. "I hope
+you have no ill news from my good uncle; but I am not the David who
+inherits. I think he is in South Africa--or was by the latest home
+letters."
+
+Mr. Stretton did not reply directly, but continued smiling, as his
+manner was, and turned toward David's companion.
+
+"Shall we go to my hotel? I have a great deal to talk over--business
+which concerns--ahem--ahem--your lordship, on behalf of your mother,
+having come expressly--" he turned again to David. "Ah, now don't be at
+all alarmed, I beg of you. I see I have disturbed you. She is quite
+well, or was a week or more ago. Doctor Hoyle, you'll accompany us? At
+my request. Undoubtedly you are interested in your young friend."
+
+Mechanically David walked with the two older men, filled with a strange
+sinking of the heart, and at the same time with a vague elation. Was he
+called home by his mother to help her sustain a new calamity? Had the
+impossible happened? Mr. Stretton's manner continued to be mysteriously
+deferential toward him, and something in his air reminded David of
+England and the atmosphere of his uncle's stately home. Had he ever seen
+the man before? He really did not know.
+
+They reached the hotel shortly and were conducted to Mr. Stretton's
+private apartment, where wine was ordered, and promptly served. For
+years thereafter, David never heard the clinking of glasses and bottles
+borne on a tray without an instant's sickening sinking of the heart, and
+the foreboding that seemed to drench him with dismay as the glasses were
+placed on the stand at Mr. Stretton's elbow. When that gentleman, after
+seeing the waiter disappear, and placing certain papers before him,
+began speaking, David sat dazedly listening.
+
+What was it all--what was it? The glasses seemed to quiver and shake,
+throwing dancing flecks of light; and the wine in them--why did it make
+him think of blood? Were they dead then--all three--his two cousins and
+his brother--dead? Shot! Killed in a bloody and useless war! He was
+confounded, and bowing his head in his hands sat thus--his elbows on his
+knees--waiting, hearing, but not comprehending.
+
+He could think only of his mother. He saw her face, aged and
+grief-stricken. He knew how she loved the boy she had lost, above all,
+and now she must turn to himself. He sat thus while the lawyer read a
+lengthy document, and at the end personally addressed him. Then he
+lifted his head.
+
+"What is this? My uncle? My uncle gone, too? Do you mean dead? My uncle
+dead, and I--I his heir?"
+
+The lawyer replied formally, "You are now the head of a most ancient and
+honorable house. You will have the dignity of the old name to maintain,
+and are called upon to return to your fatherland and occupy the home of
+your ancestors." He took up one of the papers and adjusted his monocle.
+
+For a time David did not speak. At last he rose and, with head erect,
+extended his hand to the lawyer. "I thank you, sir, for your
+trouble,--but now, Doctor, shall we return to your house? I must take a
+little time to adjust my mind to these terrible events. It is like being
+overtaken with an avalanche at the moment when all is most smiling and
+perfect."
+
+The lawyer began a few congratulatory remarks, but David stopped him,
+with uplifted hand.
+
+"It is calamitous. It is too terrible," he said sadly. "And what it
+brings may be far more of a burden than a joy."
+
+"But the name, my lord,--the ancient and honorable lineage!"
+
+"That last was already mine, and for the title--I have never coveted it,
+far less all that it entails. I must think it over."
+
+"But, my lord, it is yours! You can't help yourself, you know;
+a--the--the position is yours, and you will a--fill it with dignity,
+and--a--let me hope will follow the conservative policy of your honored
+uncle."
+
+"And I say I must think it over. May I not have a day--a single day--in
+which to mourn the loss of my splendid brother? Would God he had lived
+to fill this place!" he said desperately.
+
+The lawyer bowed deferentially, and Doctor Hoyle took David's arm and
+led him away as if he were his son. Not a word was spoken by either of
+them until they were again in the doctor's office. There lay the new
+silk hat, as he had tossed it one side. He took it up and turned it
+about in his hand.
+
+"You see, David, an old hat is like an old friend, and it takes some
+time to get wonted to a new one." He gravely laid the old one within
+easy reach of his arm and restored the new one to its box. Then he sat
+himself near David and placed his hand kindly on his knee. "You--you
+have your work laid out for you, my young friend. It's the way in Old
+England. The stability of our society--our national life demands it."
+
+"I know."
+
+"You must go to your mother."
+
+"Yes, I must go to her."
+
+"Of course, of course, and without delay. Well, I'll take care of the
+little chap."
+
+"I know you will, better than I could." David lifted his eyes to his old
+friend's, then turned them away. "I feel him to be a sacred trust."
+Again he paused. "It--would take a--long time to go to her first?"
+
+"To--her?" For the instant the old man had forgotten Cassandra. Not so
+David.
+
+"My wife. It will be desperately hard--for her."
+
+"Yes, yes. But your uncle, you know, died of grief, and your
+m--mother--"
+
+"I know--so the lawyer said. Now at last we'll read mother's letter. He
+wondered, I suppose, that I didn't look at it when he gave it to me, but
+I felt conscience-stricken. I've been so filled with my life down
+there--the peace, the blessed peace and happiness--that I have neglected
+her--my own mother. I couldn't open and read it with that man's eyes on
+me. No, no. Stay here, I beg of you, stay. You are different. I want
+you."
+
+He opened his mother's letter and slowly read it, then passed it to his
+friend and, rising, walked to the window and stood gazing down into the
+square. Autumn leaves were being tossed and swirled in dancing flights,
+like flocks of brown and yellow birds along the street. The sky was
+overcast, with thin hurrying clouds, and the feeling of autumn was in
+the air, but David's eyes were blurred, and he saw nothing before him.
+The doctor's voice broke the silence with sudden impulse.
+
+"In this she speaks as if she knew nothing about your marriage."
+
+"I told you I had neglected her," cried David, contritely.
+
+"But, m--man alive! why--why in the name of all the gods--"
+
+"All England is filled with fools," cried the younger man, desperately.
+"I could never in the world make them understand me or my motives. I
+gave it up long ago. I've not told my mother, to save her from a
+needless sorrow that would be inflicted on her by her friends. They
+would all flock to her and pester her with their outcry of 'How very
+extraordinary!' I can hear them and see them now. I tell you, if a man
+steps out of the beaten track over there--if he attempts to order his
+own life, marry to please himself, or cut his coat after any pattern
+other than the ordinary conventional lines,--even the boys on the street
+will fling stones at him. Her patronizing friends would, at the very
+least, politely raise their eyebrows. She is proud and sensitive, and
+any fling at her sons is a blow to her."
+
+"But what--"
+
+"I say I couldn't tell her. I tell you I have been drinking from the cup
+of happiness. I have drained it to the last drop. My wife is mine. She
+does not belong to those people over there, to be talked over, and dined
+over, and all her beauty and fineness overlooked through their
+monocles--brutes! My mountain flower in her homespun dress--only poets
+could understand and appreciate her."
+
+"B--but what were you going to do about it?"
+
+"Do about it? I meant to keep her to myself until the right time came.
+Perhaps in another year bring her here and begin life in a modest way,
+and let my mother visit us and see for herself. I was planning it out,
+slowly--but this-- You see, Doctor, their ideas are all warped over
+there. They accept all that custom decrees and have but the one point of
+view. The true values of life are lost sight of. They have no hilltops
+like Cassandra's. Only the poets have."
+
+A quizzical smile played about the old man's mouth. He came and laid his
+arm across David's shoulders, and the act softened the slight sting of
+his words. "And--you call yourself a poet?"
+
+"Not that," said the young man, humbly, "but I have been learning. I
+would have scorned to be called a poet until I learned of this girl and
+her father. I thought I had ideals, and felt my superiority in
+consequence, until I came down to the beginnings of things with them."
+
+"Her--her father? Why--he's dead--he--"
+
+"And yet through her I have learned of him. I believe he was a man who
+walked with God, and at Cassandra's side I have trod in his secret
+places."
+
+"That's right. I'm satisfied now, about her. You're all right,
+but--but--your mother."
+
+David turned and walked to the table and sat with his head bowed on his
+arms. Had he been alone, he would have wept. As it was, he spoke
+brokenly of his old home, and the responsibilities now so ruthlessly
+thrust upon him. Of his mother's grief and his own, and of this
+inheritance that he had never dreamed would be his, and therefore had
+never desired, now given him by so cruel a blow. He would not shrink
+from whatever duty or obligation might rest upon him, but how could he
+adjust his changed circumstances to the conditions he had made for
+himself by his sudden marriage. At last it was decided that he should
+sail for England without delay, taking the passage already provisionally
+engaged for him by Mr. Stretton.
+
+"I can write to Cassandra. She will understand more easily than my
+mother. She sees into the heart of things. Her thoughts go to the truth
+like arrows of light. She will see that I must go, but she must never
+know--I must save her from it if I have to do so at the expense of my
+own soul--that the reason I cannot take her with me now is that our
+great friends over there are too small to understand her nature and
+might despise her. I must go to my mother first and feel my way--see
+what can be done. Neither of them must be made to suffer."
+
+"That's right, perfectly--but don't wait too long. Just have it out with
+your mother--all of them; the sooner the simpler, the sooner the
+simpler."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG VISITS HIS MOTHER
+
+
+How wise was the advice of the old doctor to make short work of the
+confession to his mother, and to face the matter of his marriage bravely
+with his august friends and connections, David little knew. If his
+marriage had been rash in its haste, nothing in the future should be
+done rashly. Possibly he might be obliged to return to America before he
+made a full revelation that a wife awaited him in that far and but dimly
+appreciated land. In his mind the matter resolved itself into a question
+of time and careful adjustment.
+
+Slowly as the boat ploughed through the never resting waters,--slowly as
+the western land with its dreams and realities drifted farther into the
+vapors that blended the line of the land and the sea,--so slowly the
+future unveiled itself and drew him on, into its new dreams, revealing,
+with the inevitable progression of the hours, a life heretofore shrouded
+and only vaguely imagined, as a glowing reality filled with opportunity
+and power.
+
+He felt his whole nature expand and become imbued with intoxicating
+ambitions, as if hereafter he would be swept onward to ride through life
+triumphant, even as the boat was riding the sea, surmounting its
+mysterious depths and taking its unerring way in spite of buffeting of
+winds and beating of waves.
+
+Still young, with renewed vitality, his hopes turned to the future,
+recognizing the tremendous scope for his energies which his own
+particular prospects presented. Often he stood alone in the prow, among
+the coils of rope, and watched the distance unroll before him, while the
+salt breeze played with his clustering hair and filled his lungs. He
+loved the long sweep of the prow, as it divided the water and cast it
+foaming on either side, in opaline and turquoise tints, shifting and
+falling into the indigo depths of the vastness around.
+
+In thought he spanned the wide spaces and leaped still toward the
+future; before him the gray-haired mother who trembled to hold him once
+more in her arms, behind him the young wife waiting his return,
+enclosing him serenely and adoringly in her heart.
+
+Each day while on shipboard, David wrote to Cassandra, voluminously. He
+found it a pleasant way of passing the hours. He described his
+surroundings and unfolded such of his anticipations as he felt she could
+best understand and with which she could sympathize, trying to explain
+to her what the years to come might hold for them both, and telling her
+always to wait with patience for his return. This could not be known
+definitely until he had looked into the state of his uncle's
+affairs--which would hereafter be his own.
+
+Sometimes his letter contained only a review of some of the happiest
+hours they had spent together, as if he were placing his thoughts of
+those blessed days on paper, that they might be for their mutual
+communing. Sometimes he discoursed of the calamity he had suffered, the
+uselessness of his brother's death, and the cruelty and wastefulness of
+war. At such times he was minded to write her of the opportunity now
+given him to serve his country, and the power he might some day attain
+to promote peace and avert rash legislation.
+
+Never once did he allow an inadvertent word to slip from his pen,
+whereby she could suspect that she, as his wife, might be a cause of
+embarrassment to him, or a clog in the wheel of the chariot which from
+now on was to bear him triumphantly among his social friends or
+political enemies. Never would he disturb the sweet serenity that
+encompassed her. Yet well he knew what an incongruity she would appear
+should he present her now--as she had stood by her loom, or in the
+ploughed field at his side--to the company he would find in his mother's
+home.
+
+Simple and direct as she was, she would walk over their conventions and
+proprieties, and never know it. How strange many of those customs of
+theirs would appear to her, and how unnecessary! He feared for her most
+in her utter ignorance of everything pertaining to the daily existence
+of the over-civilized circle to which the changed conditions of his life
+would bring her.
+
+Much, he knew, would pass unseen by her, but soon she would begin to
+understand, and to wince under their exclamations of "How
+extraordinary!" The masklike expression would steal over her face, her
+pride would encase her spirit in the deep reserve he himself had found
+so hard to penetrate, and he could see her withdrawing more and more
+from all, until at last-- Ah! it must not be. He must manage very
+carefully, lest Doctor Hoyle's prophecy indeed be fulfilled.
+
+At last the lifting of the veil to the eastward revealed the bold
+promontory of Land's End, and soon, beyond, the fair green slopes of his
+own beautiful Old England. For all of the captious criticism he had
+fallen in the way of bestowing upon her, how he loved her! He felt as if
+he must throw up his arms and shout for joy. Suddenly she had become
+his, with a sense of possession new to him, and sweet to feel. The
+orderliness and stereotyped lines of her social system against which he
+had rebelled, and the iron bars of her customs which his soul had
+abhorred in the past,--against which his spirit had bruised and beaten
+itself,--now lured him on as a security for things stable and fine. In
+subtile ways as yet unrealized, he was being drawn back into the cage
+from which he had fled for freedom and life.
+
+How quickly he had become accustomed to the air of deference in Mr.
+Stretton's continual use of his newly acquired title--"my lord." Why
+not? It was his right. The same laws which had held him subservient
+before, now gave him this, and he who a few months earlier had been
+proudly ploughing his first furrows in his little leased farm on a
+mountain meadow, now walked with lifted head, "to the manor born," along
+the platform, and entered the first-class compartment with Mr. Stretton,
+where a few rich Americans had already installed themselves.
+
+David noticed, with inward amusement, their surreptitious glances, when
+the lawyer addressed him; how they plumed themselves, yet tried to
+appear nonchalant and indifferent to the fact that they were riding in
+the same compartment with a lord. In time he would cease to notice even
+such incongruities as this tacit homage from a professedly
+title-scorning people.
+
+David's mother had moved into the town house, whither his uncle had
+sent for her, when, stricken with grief, he had lain down for his last
+brief illness. The old servants had all been retained, and David was
+ushered to his mother's own sitting-room by the same household dignitary
+who was wont to preside there when, as a lad, he had been allowed rare
+visits to his cousins in the city.
+
+How well he remembered his fine, punctilious old uncle, and the feeling
+of awe tempered by anticipation with which he used to enter those halls.
+He was overwhelmed with a sense of loss and disaster as he glanced up
+the great stairway where his cousins were wont to come bounding down to
+him, handsome, hearty, romping lads.
+
+It had been a man's household, for his aunt had been dead many years--a
+man's household characterized by a man's sense of heavy order without
+the many touches of feminine occupation and arrangement which tend to
+soften a man's half military reign. As he was being led through the
+halls, he noticed a subtile change which warmed his quick senses. Was it
+the presence of his mother and Laura? His entrance interrupted an
+animated conversation which was being held between the two as the
+manservant announced his name, and, in another instant, his mother was
+in his arms.
+
+"Dear little mother! Dear little mother!" But she was not small. She was
+tall and dignified, and David had to stoop but little to bring his eyes
+level with hers.
+
+"David, I'm here, too." A hand was laid on his arm, and he released his
+mother to turn and look into two warm brown eyes.
+
+"And so the little sister is grown up," he said, embracing her, then
+holding her off at arm's-length. "Five years! When I look at you,
+mother, they don't seem so long--but Laura here!"
+
+"You didn't expect me to stay a little girl all my life, did you,
+David?"
+
+"No, no." He took her by the shoulder and shook her a little and pinched
+her cheeks. "What roses! Why, sis, I say, you know, I'm proud of you.
+What have you been up to, anyway?" He flung himself on the sofa and
+pulled her down beside him. "Give an account of yourself."
+
+"I've gone in for athletics."
+
+"Right."
+
+"And-- Oh! lots of things. You give an account of yourself."
+
+David glanced at his mother. She was seated opposite them, regarding him
+with brimming eyes. No, he could not give an account of himself yet. He
+would wait until he and his mother were alone. He lifted Laura's heavy
+hair, which, confined only by a great bow of black ribbon, hung
+streaming down her back, in a dark mass that gave her a tousled, unkempt
+look, and which, taken together with her dead black dress, and her dark
+tanned skin, roughened by exposure to wind and sun, greatly marred her
+beauty, in spite of her roses and the warmth of her large dark eyes.
+
+As David surveyed his sister, he thought of Cassandra, and was minded
+then and there to describe her--to attempt to unveil the events of the
+past year, and make them see and know, as far as possible, what his life
+had been. He held this thought a moment, poised ready for utterance--a
+moment of hesitation as to how to begin, and then forever lost, as his
+mother began speaking.
+
+"Laura hasn't come out yet. As events have turned, it is just as well,
+for her chances, naturally, will be much better now than they would have
+been if we had had her coming out last year."
+
+"I don't see how, mamma, with all this heavy black. I can't come out
+until I leave it off, and it will be so long to wait." Laura pouted a
+little, discontentedly, then flushed a disfiguring flush of shame under
+her dark skin, as she caught the look in her brother's eyes. "Not but
+what I shall keep on mourning for Bob, as long as I live--he was such a
+dear," she added, her eyes filling with quick, impulsive tears. "But how
+you make out my chances will be better now, mamma, I can't see,
+really,--I look such a fright."
+
+"Chances for what?" asked David, dryly.
+
+"For matrimony--naturally," his sister flung out defiantly, half smiling
+through her tears. "Don't you know that's all a girl of my age lives
+for--matrimony and a kennel? I mean to have one, now we will have our
+own preserves. It will be ripping, you know."
+
+"Certainly, our own preserves," said David, still dryly, thinking how
+Cassandra would wonder what preserves were, and what she would say if
+told that in preserves, wild harmless animals were kept from being
+killed by the common people for food, in order that those of his own
+class might chase them down and kill them for their amusement.
+
+"Oh, David, I remember how you used to be always putting on a look like
+that, and thinking a lot of nasty things under your breath. I hoped you
+would come home vastly improved. Was it what I said about matrimony?
+Mamma knows it's true."
+
+"Hardly as you put it, my child; there is much besides for a girl to
+think about."
+
+"You said 'chances' yourself, mamma."
+
+"Certainly, but that is for me to consider. You must remember that it
+was you who refused to have your coming out last year."
+
+"I didn't want my good times cut short then, mamma, and have to take up
+proprieties--or at least I would have had to be dreadfully proper for a
+while, anyway--and now--why I have to be naturally; and here I am unable
+to come out for another year yet and my hair streaming down my back all
+the time. I'm sure I can't see how my chances are in the least improved
+by it all; and by that time I shall be so old."
+
+"Oh, you will be quite young enough," said David.
+
+"You occupy a far different position now, child. To make your début as
+Lady Laura will give you quite another place in the world. Your
+headstrong postponement, fortunately, will do no harm. It will make your
+introduction to the circle where you are eventually to move, much
+simpler."
+
+Laura lifted her eyebrows and glanced from her mother to her brother.
+"Very well, mamma, but one thing you might as well know now. I shan't
+drop some of my friends--if being Lady Laura lifts me above them as high
+as the moon. I like them, and I don't care."
+
+She whistled, and a beautiful, silken-haired setter crept from under the
+sofa whereon she had been sitting, and wriggled about after the manner
+of guilty dogs.
+
+"Laura, dear!"
+
+"Yes, mamma, I've been hiding him with my skirts by sitting there. He
+was bad and followed me in. We've been out riding together." She stroked
+his silken coat with her riding crop. "Mamma won't allow him in here,
+and he jolly well knows it. Bad Zip, bad, sir! Look at him. Isn't he
+clever? I must go and dress for dinner. Mamma wants you to herself, I
+know, and Mr. Stretton will be here soon. You can't think, David, how
+glad I am we have you back! You couldn't think it from my way--but I
+am--rather! It's been awful here--simply awful, since the boys all
+left."
+
+Again her eyes filled with quick tears, and she dashed out with the dog
+bounding about her and leaping up to thrust his great tongue in her
+face. "You are too big for the house, Zip. Down, sir!" In an instant she
+was back, putting her tousled head in at the door.
+
+"David, when mamma is finished with you, come out and see my dogs. I
+have five already, and Nancy is going to litter soon. Calkins is to take
+them into the country to-morrow, for they are just cooped up here." She
+withdrew, and David heard her heavy-soled shoes clatter down the long
+halls. He and his mother smiled as they listened, looking into each
+other's eyes.
+
+"She is a dear child, but life means only a good time to her as yet."
+
+"Well, let it. She has splendid stuff in her and is bound to make a
+splendid woman."
+
+"She's right, David. It has been awful since your brother left." David
+sat beside her and placed his hand on hers. Again it was in his mind to
+tell her of Cassandra, and again he was stopped by the tenor of her next
+remark. "You see how it is, my son; Laura can't understand, but you
+will."
+
+"I'm not sure that I do. Open your heart to me, mother; tell me what you
+mean."
+
+"My dear son. I don't like to begin with worries. It is so sweet to have
+you back in the home. May you always stay with us."
+
+"I don't mind the worries, mother," he said tenderly; "I am here to help
+you. What is it?
+
+"It is only that, although we have inherited the title and estates, we
+are not there. We will be received, of course, but at first only by
+those who have axes to grind. There are so many such, and it is hard to
+protect one's self from them. For instance, there is Lady Willisbeck.
+Her own set have cut her completely for--certain reasons--there is no
+need to retail unpleasant gossip,--but she was one of the first to call.
+Her daughter, Lady Isabel, gave Laura that dog,--but all the more
+because Laura and Lady Isabel were in school together, and were on the
+same hockey team, they will have that excuse for clinging to us like
+burs.
+
+"Lady Willisbeck would like very much now, for her daughter's sake, to
+win back her place in society, although she did not seem to value it for
+herself. Long before her mother's life became common talk,--because she
+was infatuated with your cousin Lyon, Lady Isabel chose Laura for her
+chum, and the two have worked up a very romantic situation out of the
+affair. You see I have cause for anxiety, David."
+
+He still held her hand, looking kindly in her face. "Is Lady Isabel the
+right sort?" he asked.
+
+"What do you mean by 'the right sort,' David? She isn't like her mother,
+naturally, or I would have been more decided; but she is not the right
+sort for us. Lady Willisbeck is ostracized, and it is a grave matter.
+Her daughter will be ostracized with her, unless she can find a chaperon
+of quality to champion her--to--to--well, you understand that Laura
+can't afford to make her début handicapped with such a friendship. Not
+now."
+
+"I fail to see until I know more of her friend."
+
+"But, David, we can't be visionary now. We must be practical and face
+the difficulties of our situation. We are honorably entitled to all that
+the inheritance implies, but it is another thing to avail ourselves of
+it. Your uncle led a most secluded life. He had no visitors, and was
+known only among men, and politically as a close conservative. His seat
+in the House meant only that. So now we enter a circle in which we never
+moved before, and we are not of it. For the present, our deep mourning
+is prohibitory, but it is also Laura's protection, although she does not
+know it." His mother paused. She was not regarding him. She seemed to be
+looking into the future, and a little line, which had formed during the
+years of David's absence, deepened in her forehead.
+
+"Be a little more explicit, mother. Protection from what?"
+
+"From undesirable people, dear. We are very conspicuous; to be frank, we
+are new. My own family connections are all good, but they will not be
+the slightest help to Laura in maintaining her position. We have always
+lived in the country, and know no one."
+
+"You have refinement and good taste, mother."
+
+"I know it; that and this inheritance and the title."
+
+"Isn't that 'protection' enough? I really fail to see-- Whatever would
+please you would be right. You may have what friendships you--"
+
+"Not at all, David. Everything is iron-bound. They are simply watching
+lest we bring a lot of common people in our train. Things grow worse and
+worse in that way. There are so many rich tradespeople who are
+struggling to get in, and clinging desperately to the skirts of the
+poorer nobility. Of course, it all goes to show what a tremendous thing
+good birth is, and the iron laws of custom are, after all, a proper
+safeguard and should be respected. Nevertheless we, who are so new, must
+not allow ourselves to become stepping-stones. It is perfectly right.
+
+"That is why I said this period of mourning is Laura's protection. She
+will have time to know what friendships are best, and an opportunity to
+avoid undesirable ones. You have been away so long, David, where the
+class lines are not so rigidly drawn, that you forget--or never knew. It
+is my duty, without any foolish sentiment, to guard Laura and see to it
+that her coming out is what it should be. For one thing, she is so very
+plain. If she were a beauty, it would help, but her plainness must be
+compensated for in other ways. She will have a large settlement, Mr.
+Stretton thinks, if your uncle's interests are not too much jeopardized
+in South Africa by this terrible war. That is something you will have to
+look into before you take your seat in the House."
+
+"Oh, mother, mother! I can't--"
+
+"My dear boy, your brother died for his country, and can you not give a
+little of your life for it? I can rely on you to be practically
+inclined, now that you are placed at the head of such a family? I'm glad
+now you never cared for Muriel Hunt. She could never have filled the
+position as her ladyship, your uncle's wife, did. She was Lady Thomasia
+Harcourt Glendyne of Wales. Beside her, Muriel would appear silly. It is
+most fortunate you have no such entanglement now."
+
+"Mother, mother! I am astounded! I never dreamed my dear, beautiful
+mother could descend to such worldliness. You are changed, mother. There
+is something fundamentally wrong in all this."
+
+She looked up at him, aghast at his vehemence.
+
+"My son, my son! Let us have only love between us--only love. I am not
+changed. I was content as I was, nor ever tried to enter a sphere above
+me. Now that this comes to me--forced on me by right of English law--I
+take it thankfully, with all it brings. I will fill the place as it
+should be filled, and Laura shall do the same, and you also, my son. As
+for Muriel Hunt, I will make concessions if--if your happiness demands
+it."
+
+David groaned inwardly. "No, mother, no. It goes deeper than Muriel; it
+goes deeper." They had both risen. She placed her hands on his shoulders
+and looked levelly in his eyes, and her own lightened, through tears
+held bravely back.
+
+"It may well go deeper than Muriel, and still not go very deep."
+
+"And yet the time was when Muriel Hunt was thought quite deep enough,"
+he said sadly, still looking in his mother's eyes--but she only
+continued:--
+
+"Never doubt for a moment, dear, that Laura's welfare and yours are
+dearer to me than life. You are very weary; I see it in your eyes. Have
+you been to your apartment? Clark will show you." She kissed his brow
+and departed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG ADJUSTS HIS LIFE TO NEW CONDITIONS
+
+
+David stood where his mother had left him, dazed, hurt, sad. He was
+desperately minded to leave all and flee back to the hills--back to the
+life he had left in Canada. He saw the clear, true look of Cassandra's
+eyes meeting his. His heart called for her; his soul cried out within
+him. He felt like one launched on an irresistible current which was
+sweeping him ever nearer to a maelstrom wherein he was inevitably to be
+swallowed up.
+
+He perceived that to his mother the established order of things there in
+her little island was sacred--an arrangement to be still further upheld
+and solidified. She had suddenly become a part of a great system,
+intrusted with a care for its maintenance and stability, as one of its
+guardians. Before, it had mattered little to her, for she was not of it.
+Now it was very different.
+
+Slowly David followed Clark to his own apartments. He had been given
+those of the old lord, his uncle. Everything about him was dark,
+massive, and rich, but without grace. His bags and boxes had been
+unpacked and his dinner suit laid in readiness, and Clark stood stiffly
+awaiting orders.
+
+"Will you have a shave, my lord?"
+
+The man's manner jarred on him. It was obsequious, and he hated it. Yet
+it was only the custom. Clark was simple-hearted and kindly, filling his
+little place in the upholding of the system of which he was a part; had
+his manner been different, a shade more familiar, David would have
+resented it and ordered him out,--but of this David was not conscious.
+In spite of his scruples, he was born and bred an aristocrat.
+
+"No--a--I'll shave myself." Still the man waited, and, taking up David's
+coat, flicked a particle of dust from the collar. "I don't want
+anything. You may go."
+
+"Thank you." Clark melted quietly out of the apartment.
+
+"Thanks me for being rude to him," thought David, irritably; "I shall
+take pleasure in being rude to him. My God! What a farce life is over
+here! The whole thing is a farce."
+
+He shaved himself and cut his chin, and when he appeared later with a
+patch of court-plaster thereon, Clark commented to himself on "his
+lordship's" inability to do the shaving properly.
+
+As David thought over his mother's words--her outlook on life--his
+sister's idle aims--the companionships she must have and the kind of
+talk to which she must listen--he grew more and more annoyed. He
+contrasted it all with the past. His mother, who had been so noble and
+fine, seemed to have lost individuality, to have become only a segment
+of a circle which it was henceforth to be her highest care to keep
+intact. Laura must become a part of the same sacred ring, and he, too,
+must join hands with those who formed it and make it his duty to keep
+others out.
+
+There were also other circles guarded and protected by this one--circles
+within circles--each smaller and more exclusive than the last. The
+object of the huge game of life over here seemed to be to keep the great
+mass of those whom they regarded as commonalty out of any one of the
+circles, while striving individually each to climb into the one next
+above, and more contracted. The most maddening thing of all was to find
+his grave, dignified mother drawn in and made a partaker in this
+meaningless strife.
+
+Still essentially an outsider, David could look with larger vision--the
+far-seeing vision of the western land, the hilltops and the dividing
+sea,--and to him now the circles seemed verily the concentric rings of
+the maelstrom into which events were hurrying him. Would he be able to
+rise from the swirling flotsam and ride free?
+
+The deeper philosophy underlying it all he as yet but vaguely
+understood; that the highest good for all could only be maintained by
+stability in the commonwealth; as the tremendous rock foundations of the
+earth are a support for the growth thereon of all perfection, all grace
+and beauty; that the concentric rings, when rightly understood, should
+become a means of purification--of reward for true worth--of power for
+noblest service, and not for personal ambition and the unmolested
+gratification of vicious tastes.
+
+David did not as yet know that his clear-seeing wife could help him to
+the attainment of his greatest possibilities, right here where he feared
+to bring her--the wife of whom he dare not tell his mother. Blinded by
+the world's estimates which he still had sense enough to despise, he did
+not know that the key to its deepest secrets lay in her heart, nor that
+of the two, her heritage of the large spirit and the inward-seeing eye
+direct to the Creator's meanings was the greater heritage.
+
+Lady Thryng found it possible to have a few words with the lawyer before
+David appeared, and impressed upon him the necessity of interesting her
+son in this new field by showing him avenues for power and work.
+
+"I don't quite understand the boy," she said. "After seeing the world
+and going his own way, I really thought he would outgrow that sort of
+moody sentimentalism, but it seems to be returning. He is quixotic
+enough to turn away from everything here and go back to Canada, unless
+you can awaken his interest."
+
+"I see, I see," said the lawyer.
+
+"Mere personal ambition will not satisfy him," added his mother,
+proudly. "He must see opportunities for service. He must understand that
+he is needed."
+
+"I see. I understand. He must be dealt with along the line of his nobler
+impulses--ahem--ahem--" and David appeared.
+
+His mother rose and took his arm to walk out to dinner, while Laura, who
+should have gone with Mr. Stretton, did not see his proffered arm, but,
+provokingly indifferent, strolled out by herself.
+
+David, absorbed in his own thoughts, did not notice his sister's
+careless mien, but the mother observed the independent and boyish swing
+of her daughter's shoulders, and resented it with a slightly reproving
+glance after they were seated.
+
+Laura lifted her eyebrows and one shoulder with an irritating half
+shrug. "What is it, mamma?" she asked, but Lady Thryng allowed the
+question to go unheeded, and turned her attention to the two gentlemen
+during the rest of the meal.
+
+All through dinner David was haunted by Cassandra's talk with him, the
+night he dreamed she was being swept out of his arms forever by a swift,
+cold current which, from a little purling stream high up on a mountain
+top, had become a dark, relentless flood, overwhelming them utterly.
+What was she doing now? Did she know she was in that terrible flood? Was
+she really being swept from him? Ah, never, never! He would not allow
+it, if he must break all hearts but hers.
+
+The meal progressed sombrely and heavily, with much ceremony, although
+they were so few. Was his mother practising for the future that she kept
+such rigid state? He suspected as much, and that Laura was being trained
+to the right way of carrying herself, but that and the real sorrow of
+the family over their bereavement made a most oppressive atmosphere.
+Might this be the shadow Cassandra had seen lying across their future?
+Only a passing cloud--a vapor; it must be only that.
+
+Laura and her mother withdrew early, leaving David and the lawyer
+together, when Mr. Stretton immediately launched into talk of David's
+prospects and resources. In spite of himself, the gloom of the dinner
+hour slipped from him, and soon he was taking the liveliest interest in
+what might be possible for him here and now.
+
+Although not one to be easily turned from a chosen path by outside
+influence, David yet had that almost fatal gift of the imaginative mind
+of seeing things from many sides, until at times they took on a
+kaleidoscopic reversibility. Now this unlooked-for development of his
+life opened to him a vista--new--and yet old, old as England herself.
+
+While digging deep into the causes of his former discontent, he had come
+to strike his spade upon the rock foundations whereon all this
+complicated superstructure of English society and national life was
+builded. He saw that every nobleman inherited with his title and his
+lands a responsibility for the welfare of the whole people, from the
+poorest laborer in the ditch or the coal mine, to the head wearing the
+crown; and that it was the blindness of individuals like himself or his
+uncle before him, their misuse or unscrupulous indifference to and abuse
+of power, which had brought about those conditions under which the
+masses were writhing, and against which they were crying out. He saw
+that it was only by the earnest efforts of the few who did
+understand--the few who were not indifferent--that the stability of
+English government was still her glory.
+
+At last he rose and lifted his arms high above his head, then dropped
+them to his side. "I see." He held up his head and looked off as he had
+done when he stood on the prow of the steamship, with the salt breeze
+tossing his hair. "A little of this came to me as I crossed the ocean,
+when I saw the green slopes of England again. I knew I loved her, and
+the old feeling of impotence that hounded me in the past, when I could
+do nothing but rebel, slipped from me. I felt what it might be to have
+power--to become effective instead of being obliged to chafe under the
+yoke of an imposed submission to things which are wrong--things which
+those who are in power might set right if they would. I believe, for a
+moment, Mr. Stretton, I felt it all."
+
+He paused and bowed his head. All at once in the midst of his
+exaltation, he saw Cassandra standing white and still, as he had seen
+her on the hilltop before their little cabin, looking after him when he
+bade her good-by; and just as he then turned and went swiftly back to
+her, so now in his soul he turned to her yearningly and took her to his
+breast. Still penetrating the sweet, white halo of this vision, he heard
+the voice of Mr. Stretton deferentially droning on.
+
+"And with your resources--the wealth which, with a little care and
+thought just now at this crucial moment, will be yours--"
+
+Still David stood with bowed head.
+
+"It is as if you were predestined, my lord, to step in at a critical
+time of your country's need--with brains, education, conscience, and
+wealth--with every obstacle swept away."
+
+Still before him stood Cassandra, white and silent; he could see only
+her.
+
+"Every obstacle swept away," repeated the lawyer.
+
+"And Cassandra, God help her and me." David slowly turned, lifted a
+glass of wine from the table, and drank it. "Well, so be it, so be it,"
+he said aloud. "We'll join mother and Laura." At the door he paused,
+"You spoke of education--the learning of a physician is but little in
+the line of statesmanship. How soon will I be expected to take my seat?"
+
+"If you ask my advice, my lord, I would say better wait a year. It will
+be advisable for you to go yourself to South Africa and look into your
+uncle's investments there--as a private individual, of course, not as a
+public servant. Two-thirds of the receipts have fallen off since the
+war; learn what may be saved from the wreckage, or if there be a
+wreckage. I'm inclined to think not all, for the investments were
+varied. Your uncle may have been a silent member, but he was certainly a
+man of good business judgment--" Mr. Stretton paused and coughed a
+little apologetically before adding: "Not an inherited talent,
+only--ah--cultivated--cultivated--you know. Good business judgment is
+not a trait inherent in our peerage, as a rule."
+
+David was amused and entered the drawing-room with a smile on his face.
+His mother was pleased and rose instantly, coming forward with both
+hands extended to take his. He understood it as a welcome back to the
+family circle, the quiet talks and the evening lamp, less formal than
+the oppressive dinner had been. He held her hands thus offered and
+kissed the little anxious line on her brow, then playfully smoothed it
+with his finger.
+
+"We mustn't let it become permanent, you know, mother."
+
+"No, David. It will go now you are at home."
+
+He did not know that his mother and Laura had been having a lively
+discussion apropos of the silent tilt at the dinner-table, his sister
+pleading for a return to the old ways, and a release from such state and
+ceremony. "At least while we are by ourselves, mamma. Anyway, I know
+David will just hate it, and I don't see what good a title is if we must
+become perfect slaves to it."
+
+David crossed the room and sat down before the piano. "How strange this
+old place seems without the others--Bob, and the cousins, and uncle
+himself! We weren't admitted often--but--"
+
+"Sh--sh--" said Laura, who had followed him and stood at his ride.
+"Don't remind mamma. She remembers too much--all the time. Play the
+'King's Hunting Jig,' David. Remember how you used to play it for me
+every evening after dinner, when I was a girl?"
+
+"Do I remember? Rather! I have done nothing with the piano since
+then--when you were a girl. I'll play it for you now, while you are a
+girl."
+
+"But I really am grown up now, David. It's quite absurd for me to go
+about like this. It's only because mamma chooses to have it so. She even
+keeps a governess for me still."
+
+"To her you are a child, and to me you are still a girl, and a mighty
+fine one."
+
+"It's so good to have you back, David! You haven't forgotten the Jig!
+Where's your flute? Get it, and I'll accompany you. I can drum a little
+now--after a fashion. We'll let them talk."
+
+So they amused themselves for the rest of the evening with music, and
+Lady Thryng's face lost the strained and harassed expression it had worn
+all during dinner, and took on a look of contentment. After this the
+days were spent by David in going over his uncle's large mass of papers
+and correspondence, with the aid of Mr. Stretton and a secretary. A
+colossal task it proved to be.
+
+No one, even his lawyer, who had his confidence more than any one else,
+knew in what the old Lord Thryng's wealth really consisted, although Mr.
+Stretton surmised much of his surplus income of late years had been
+placed in Africa. As his papers had not been set in order or tabulated
+for years, every note, land loan, mortgage, and rental had to be
+unearthed slowly and laboriously from among a mass of written matter and
+figures, more or less worthless; for the old lord had a habit of saving
+every scrap of paper--the backs of notes and letters--for summing up
+accounts and jotting down memoranda and dates.
+
+Certain hours of each day David devoted to this labor, collecting his
+papers in a small room opening off from the law chambers of Mr.
+Stretton, where for years his uncle had kept a private safe.
+Conscientiously he toiled at the monotonous task, until weeks, then
+months, slipped by, hardly noticed, ignoring all social life. When his
+mother or Laura broached the subject, he would say: "'Sufficient unto
+the day is the evil thereof,' and this must be done first."
+
+He was not unmindful of his wife during this interval, but wrote
+frequently, and, to guard against any danger of her being left without
+resources should something unforeseen befall him, he placed in Bishop
+Towers's hands the residue of money remaining to him in Canada, for
+Cassandra. He wrote her to use it as occasion required, and not to spare
+it, that it was hers without restriction. He sent her the names of books
+he wished she would read--that she should write the publishers for them.
+He begged her to do no more weaving for money--but only for her own
+amusement, and above all to trust and be happy, not to be sorrowful for
+this long delay, which he would cut as short as he could.
+
+Much of his occupation he could not explain to her, and ofttimes it was
+hard to find matter for his letters; then he would revert to
+reminiscence. These were the letters she loved best and sometimes wept
+over, and these were the letters that often left him dreamy and sad, and
+sometimes made him distraught when his mother and Laura talked over
+their affairs, so utterly alien to his thoughts and longings.
+
+Cassandra's replies were for the most part short, but they were sent
+with unfailing regularity, and always they seemed to bring with them a
+breath from her own mountain top--naïve--tender--absolutely
+trusting--often quaintly worded, and telling of the simple, innocent
+things of her life. He could see that she held herself in reserve, even
+as her nature was; a psychologic something was held back. He could not
+dream what it might be, but reasoned with himself that it was only that
+she found it harder to unveil her thoughts by means of the pen than in
+speech.
+
+One day, as he rode alone in the park, he noticed that the leaf buds
+were swelling. What! Was spring upon them? A white fog was lifting, and
+every twig and stem held its tiny pearl of wetness. All the earth
+glistened and was clean and looked as if greenness was returning. He
+regarded the artificial effects around him, the long lines of trees and
+set clumps of shrubbery, and was seized with a desire well-nigh
+irresistible for the wild roads and rugged steeps--the wandering
+streams and sound of falling waters.
+
+He saw it all again, the blossoming spring where Cassandra sat waiting
+for him, and he resolved to start without delay--to go to her and bring
+her back with him. All this sordid calculation of the amount of his
+fortune--his mother's and sister's shares--the annuities of poor
+dependents--stocks to be bought--interest to be invested--the
+government, and his future part therein, pah! It must wait! He would
+have his own. His heritage should not be his curse.
+
+He returned in haste that day, only to learn that certain facts had been
+unearthed which necessitated a journey into Wales, where interests of
+the former Lady Thryng's estates were concerned. His uncle had inherited
+all from her with the exception of certain bequests to relatives with
+which he had been intrusted. Some of the records had been lost, and
+whether the beneficiaries were dead or not, none knew, but now and then
+letters came pleading for a continuance of former favors, and recalling
+obligations.
+
+Mr. Stretton had been ill for a week, and now that the records were
+found, David must go, and go at once. The lawyer had many subjects for
+investigation to deliver to David. There was the death-bed request of an
+old nurse of his aunt, who had an annuity, that it be extended to her
+crippled granddaughter. She lived among the Cornish hills. Would he hunt
+the family up and learn if they were worthy or impostors? His uncle had
+been endlessly plagued with such importunities--and so on--and so on.
+
+Yes, certainly David would go. He made a mental reservation that he
+would sail, without returning to London, and then make a clean breast of
+his affairs by letter to his mother. She had improved in health during
+the winter, and he thought his information would be received by her with
+more equanimity than it would have been earlier. Moreover, she had
+broached the subject of marriage to him more than once, but always in
+one of her most worldly moods, when he shrank from hearing Cassandra
+spoken of as he knew she would be--when he could not hear her discussed,
+nor reply with calmness to such questions as he knew must ensue.
+
+David had little time to brood over his peculiar difficulty, as his
+short journey was full of business interest and new experiences. Yet the
+Cornish hills awoke in him a still greater eagerness for the mountains
+of his dreams, and, after securing his passage, he went to his hotel to
+prepare the letter to his mother.
+
+It is marvellous what trivial events alter destinies. In this instance
+it was the yapping of a small dog which changed David's plans, and
+finally sent him to South Africa instead of America. While paying his
+bill at the hotel, a telegram was handed him, which he tore open as the
+clerk was counting out his change. He still held in his hand the letter
+to his mother which he was on the point of dropping in the letter-box at
+his elbow. Instead, he thrust it in his pocket, along with the crushed
+telegram, and, taking a cab, hastened to the steamship offices to cancel
+his date for sailing.
+
+The message read: "Return with all speed to London. Mr. Stretton lying
+in the hospital with a fractured skull." Thus it was that Lady
+Tredwell's pet spaniel, old and vicious, yapping at the heels of Mr.
+Stretton's restive horse, while my lady's maid--who should have been
+leading him out for an airing--was absorbed in listening to the
+compliments of one of the park guards, played so dire a part in the
+affairs of David Thryng.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+IN WHICH THE OLD DOCTOR AND LITTLE HOYLE COME BACK TO THE MOUNTAINS
+
+
+Cassandra, seated on the great hanging rock before her cabin, watched
+the sunrise where David had so often stood and waited for the dawn
+during his winter there alone. This morning the mists obscured the
+valleys and the base of the mountains, while the sky and the whole earth
+glowed with warm rose color.
+
+Presently she rose and walked with lifted head into the cabin, and
+prepared to light a fire on the hearth. In the canvas room the bed was
+made smoothly, as she had made it the morning David left. No one had
+slept in it since, although Cassandra spent most of her days there.
+Everything he had used was carefully kept as he had left it. His
+microscope, covered from dust, stood with the last specimen still under
+the lens. A book they were reading together lay on the corner shelf,
+with the mark still in the place where they had read last.
+
+After lighting the fire, she sat near it, watching the flames steal up
+from the small pile of fat pine chips underneath, sending up red tongues
+of fire, until the great logs were wrapped in the hot embrace of the
+flames, trembling, quivering, and leaping high in their mad joy,
+transmuting all they touched.
+
+"It's like love," she murmured, and smiled. "Only it's quicker. It does
+in one hour what love takes a lifetime to do. Those logs might have lain
+on the ground and rotted if they'd been left alone, but now the fire
+just holds them and caresses them like, and they grow warm and glow like
+the sun, and give all they can while they last, until they're almost too
+bright to look at. I reckon God has been right good to me not to let me
+lie and rot my life away. He sent David to set my heart on fire, and I
+guess I can wait for him to come back to me in God's own time."
+
+She rose and brought from the canvas room a basket of willow, woven in
+open-work pattern. It was a gift from Azalea, who had learned from her
+mother the art of basket weaving. Some said Azalea's grandmother was
+half Indian, and that it was from her they had learned their quaint
+patterns and shapes, and that she, and her Indian mother before her, had
+been famous basket weavers.
+
+This pretty basket was filled with very delicate work of fine muslin,
+much finer than anything Cassandra had ever worked upon before. Her
+hands no longer showed signs of having been employed in rough, coarse
+tasks; they were soft and white. She placed the basket of dainty sewing
+on the same table which had served as an altar when she knelt beside
+David and was made his wife. It was serving as an altar still, bearing
+that basket of delicate work.
+
+She had become absorbed in a book--not one of those David had suggested.
+It is doubtful, had he been there, whether he would have really liked to
+see her reading this one, although it was written by Thackeray, dear to
+all English hearts. It is more than probable that he would have thought
+his young wife hardly need be enlightened upon just the sort of things
+with which _Vanity Fair_ enriches the understanding.
+
+Be it how it may, Cassandra was reading _Vanity Fair_, which she found
+in the box of books David had opened so long before. While she read she
+worked with her fingers, incessantly, at a piece of narrow lace, with a
+shuttle and very fine thread. This she did so mechanically that she
+could easily read at the same time by propping the book open on the
+table before her. For a long time she sat thus, growing more and more
+interested, until the fire burned low, and she rose to replenish it.
+
+The logs were piled beside the door of the small kitchen David had built
+for her, and where he had placed the cook stove. She had come up early
+this morning, because she was sad over his last letter, in which he had
+told her of his disappointment in having to cancel his passage to
+America. Hopeful and cheery though the letter was, it had struck dismay
+to her heart; it was her way when sad, and longing for her husband, to
+go up to her little cabin--her own home--and think it all over alone and
+thus regain her equanimity.
+
+Here she read and thought things out by herself. What strange people
+they were over there! Or perhaps that was so long ago--they might have
+changed by this time. Surely they must have changed, or David would have
+said something about it. He never would become a lord, to be one of such
+people--never--never! It was not at all like David.
+
+A figure appeared in the doorway. "Cassandra! What are you doing here
+all by yourself?"
+
+It was Betty Towers. Cassandra ran joyfully forward and clasped the
+little woman in her arms. Almost carrying her in, she sat her by the
+pleasant open fire. Then, seeing Betty's eyes regarding her
+questioningly, she suddenly dropped into her own chair by the table,
+leaned her head upon her arms, and began to weep, silently.
+
+In an instant Betty was kneeling by her side, holding the lovely head to
+her breast. "Dearest! You shan't cry. You shan't cry like that. Tell me
+all about it. Why on earth doesn't Doctor Thryng come home?"
+
+Cassandra lifted her head and dried her tears. "He was coming. The last
+letter but one said he was to sail next day. Then last night came
+another saying the only man who could look after very important business
+for him had been thrown from his horse and hurt so bad he may die, and
+David had to give up his passage and go back to London. He may have to
+go to Africa. He felt right bad--but--"
+
+"Goodness me, child! Why, he has no business now more important than
+you! What a chump!"
+
+Cassandra stiffened proudly and drew away, taking up her shuttle and
+beginning her work calmly as if nothing had happened to destroy her
+composure.
+
+"I've not written David--anything to disturb him--or make him hurry
+home."
+
+"Oh, Cassandra, Cassandra! You're not treating either him or yourself
+fairly."
+
+"For him--I can't help it; and for me, I don't care. Other women have
+got along as best they could in these mountains, and I can bear what
+they have borne."
+
+"But why on earth haven't you told him?"
+
+Cassandra bent her head lower over her bit of lace and was silent. Betty
+drew her chair nearer and put her arms about the drooping girl.
+
+"Can't you tell me all about it, dear?"
+
+"Not if you are going to blame David."
+
+"I won't, you lovely thing! I can't, since he doesn't know--but why--"
+
+"At first I couldn't speak. I tried, but I couldn't. Then he had to take
+Hoyle North, and I thought he would see for himself when he came
+back--or I could tell him by that time. Then came that dreadful
+news--you know--four, all dead. His brother and his two cousins all
+killed, and his uncle dying of grief; and he had to go to his mother or
+she might die, too, and then he found so much to do. Now, you know he
+has to be a--"
+
+She was going to say "a lord," but, happening to glance down at her open
+book, the name of "Lord Steyne" caught her eye, and it seemed to her a
+title of disgrace. She must talk with David before she allowed him to be
+known as "a lord," so she ended hurriedly: "He has to be a different
+kind of a man, now--not a doctor. He has a great many things to do and
+look after. If I told him, he would leave everything and come to me,
+even if he ought not, and if he couldn't come, he would be troubled and
+unhappy. Why should I make him unhappy? When he does come home, he'll be
+glad--oh, so glad! Why need he know when the knowing will do no good,
+and when he will come to me as soon as he can, anyway?"
+
+"You strange girl, Cassandra! You brave old dear! But he must come,
+that's all. It is his right to know and to come. I can tell him. Let
+me."
+
+"No, no. Please, Mrs. Towers, you must not. He will come back as soon as
+he can; and now--now--he will be too late, since he--he did not sail
+when he meant to."
+
+Betty rose with a set look about the mouth. "Unless we cable him,
+Cassandra. Would there be time in that case? Come, you must tell me."
+
+"No, no," wailed the girl. "And now he must not know until he comes. It
+would be cruel. I will not let you write him or cable him either."
+
+"Then what will you do?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. I'll think out a way. You'll help me think, but you
+must promise me not to write to David. I send him a letter every day,
+but I never tell him anything that would make him uneasy, because he
+has very important business there for his mother and sister, even more
+than for himself. You see how bad I would be to write troubling things
+to him when he couldn't help me or come to me." A light broke over Betty
+Towers's face.
+
+"I can think out a way, dear, of course I can. Just leave matters to
+me."
+
+Thus it was that Doctor Hoyle received a letter in Betty's own
+impassioned and impulsive style, begging him, for love's sake, to leave
+all and come back to the mountains and his own little cabin, where
+Cassandra needed him.
+
+"Never mind Doctor Thryng or anything surprising about his being absent;
+just come if you possibly can and hear what Cassandra has to say about
+it before you judge him. She is quaint and queer and wholly lovely. If
+you can bring little Hoyle with you, do so, for I fear his mother is
+grieving to see him. She wrote me a most peculiar and pathetic letter,
+saying her daughter was so silent about her affairs that she herself
+'war nigh about dead fer worryin', and would I please come and see could
+I make Cass talk a leetle,' so you may be sure there is need of you. The
+winter is glorious in the mountains this year. Your appearance will set
+everything right at the Fall Place, and Cassandra will be safe."
+
+
+Old Time, the unfailing, who always marches apace, bringing with him
+changes for good or evil, brought the dear old doctor back to the Fall
+Place--brought the small Adam Hoyle, with his queer little twisted neck
+and hunched back, drawn by harness and plaster into a much improved
+condition, although not straight yet--brought many letters from David
+filled with postponements and regrets therefor--and brought also a
+little son for Cassandra to hold to her bosom and dream and pray over.
+
+And the dreams and the prayers travelled far--far, to the sunny-haired
+Englishman wrapped in the intricate affairs of a great estate. How much
+money would accrue? How should it be spent? What improvements should be
+made in their country home? When Laura's coming out should be? How many
+of her old companions might she retain? How many might she call friends?
+How many were to be hereafter thrust out as quite impossible? Should
+she be allowed a kennel, or should her sporting tendencies be
+discouraged?
+
+All these things were forced upon David's consideration; how then could
+he return to his young wife, especially when he could not yet bring
+himself to say to his world that he had a young wife. Impatient he might
+be, nervous, and even irritable, but still what could he do? While there
+in the faraway hills sat Cassandra, loving him, brooding over him with
+serene and peaceful longing, holding his baby to her white breast,
+holding his baby's hand to her lips, full of courage, strong in her
+faith, patient in spirit, until as days and weeks passed she grew well
+and strong in body.
+
+Being sadly in need of rest, the old doctor lingered on in the mountains
+until spring was well advanced. Slight of body, but vigorous and wiry,
+and as full of scientific enthusiasm as when he was thirty years
+younger, he tramped the hills, taking long walks and climbs alone, or
+shorter ones with Hoyle at his heels like a devoted dog, shrilling
+questions as he ran to keep up. These the good doctor answered according
+to his own code, or passed over as beyond possibility of reply with
+quizzical counter-questioning.
+
+They sat together one day, eating their luncheon in the shelter of a
+great wall of rock, and below them lay a pool of clear water which
+trickled from a spring higher up. Now and then a bullfrog would sound
+his deep bass note, and all the time the high piping of the peepers made
+shrill accompaniment to their voices as they conversed.
+
+The doctor had made an aquarium for Hoyle, using a great glass jar which
+he obtained from a druggist in Farington. They had come to-day on a
+quest for snails to eat the green growth, which had so covered the sides
+of the jar as to hide the interesting water world within from the boy's
+eyes. Many things had already occurred in that small world to set the
+boy thinking.
+
+"Doctah Hoyle, you remembeh that thar quare bunch of leetle sticks an'
+stones you put in my 'quar'um first day you fixed hit up fer me?"
+
+"Yes, yes."
+
+"Well, the' is a right quare thing with a big hade come outen hit, an'
+he done eat up some o' the leetle black bugs. I seed him jump quicker'n
+lightnin' at that leetlist fish only so long, an' try to bite a piece
+outen his fin--his lowest fin. What did he do that fer?"
+
+"Why--why--he was hungry. He made his dinner off the little black bugs,
+and he wanted the fin for his dessert."
+
+"I don't like that kind of a beast. Oncet he was a worm in a kind of a
+hole-box, an' then he turned into a leetle beast-crittah; an' what'll he
+be next?"
+
+"Next--why, next he'll be a fly--a--a beautiful fly with four wings all
+blue and gold and green--"
+
+"I seen them things flyin' round in the summeh. Hit's quare how things
+gits therselves changed that-a-way into somethin' else--from a worm into
+that beast-crittah an' then into one o' these here devil flies. You
+reckon hit'll eveh git changed into something diff'ent--some kind er a
+bird?"
+
+"A bird? No, no. When he becomes a f--fly, he's finished and done for."
+
+"P'r'aps ther is some folks that-a-way, too. You reckon that's what ails
+me?"
+
+"You? Why,--why what ails you?"
+
+"You reckon p'r'aps I mount git changed some way outen this here quare
+back I got, so't I can hol' my hade like otheh folks? Jes' go to sleep
+like, an' wake up straight like Frale?"
+
+The old doctor turned and looked down a moment on the child sitting
+hunched at his side. His mouth worked as he meditated a reply.
+
+"What would you do if you could c--arry your head straight like Frale?
+If you had been like him, you would be running a 'still' pretty soon.
+You never would have come to me to set you straight, and so you would
+n--never have seen all the pictures and the great cities. You are going
+to be a man before you know it, and--"
+
+"And I'll do a heap o' things when I'm a man, too--but I wisht--I
+wisht-- These here snails we b'en hunt'n', you reckon they're done
+growed to ther shells so they can't get out? What did God make 'em
+that-a-way fer?"
+
+"It's all in the order of things. Everything has its place in the world
+and its work to do. They don't want to get out. They like to carry their
+bones on the outside of their bodies. They're made so. Yes, yes, all in
+the order of things. They like it."
+
+"You reckon you can tell me hu' come God 'lowed me to have this-er lump
+on my back? Hit hain't in no ordeh o' things fer humans to be like I
+be."
+
+The sceptical old man looked down on the child quizzically, yet sadly.
+His flexible mouth twitched to reply, but he was silent. Hoyle looked
+back into the old doctor's eyes with grave, direct gaze, and turned
+away. "You reckon why he done hit?"
+
+"See here. Suppose--just suppose you were given your choice this minute
+to change places with Frale--Lord knows where he is now, or what he's
+doing--or be as you are and live your own life; which would you be?
+Think it over; think it out."
+
+"Ef I had 'a' been straight, brother David never would 'a' took me up to
+you?"
+
+"No--no--no. You would have been a--"
+
+"You mean if a magic man should come by here an' just touch me so, an'
+change me into Frale, would I 'low him to do hit?"
+
+"That's what I mean."
+
+"I don't guess Frale, he'd like to be done that-a-way." The loving
+little chap nestled closer to the doctor's side. "I like you a heap,
+Doctah Hoyle. Frale, he fit brothah David--an' nigh about killed him. I
+reckon I rutheh be like I be, an' bide nigh Cass an' th' baby--an' have
+the 'quar'um--an' see maw--an' go with you. You reckon I can go back
+with you?"
+
+"Go back? Of course--go back."
+
+"Be I heap o' trouble to you? You reckon God 'lowed me to have this er
+hump, so't I could get to go an' bide whar you were at, like I done?"
+
+A suspicious moisture gathered in the doctor's eyes, and he sprang up
+and went to examine earnestly a thorny shrub some paces away, while the
+child continued to pipe his questions, for the most part unanswerable.
+"You reckon God just gin my neck er twist so't brothah David would take
+me to Canada to you, an' so't maw'd 'low me to go? You reckon if I'm
+right good, He'll 'low me to make a picture o' th' ocean some day, like
+the one we seed in that big house? You reckon if I tried right hard I
+could paint a picture o' th' mountain, yandah--an' th' sea--an'--all
+the--all the--ships?"
+
+The doctor laughed heartily and merrily. "Come, come. We must go home
+now to Cassandra and the baby. Paint? Of--of course you could paint! You
+could paint p--pictures enough to fill a house."
+
+"We don't want no magic man, do we, Doctah Hoyle? I cried a heap after I
+seed myself in the big lookin'-glass down in Farington whar brothah
+David took me. I cried when hit war dark an' maw war sleepin'. Next time
+I reckon I bettah tell God much obleeged fer twistin' my hade 'roun'
+'stead er cryin' an' takin' on like I been doin'. You reckon so, Doctah
+Hoyle?"
+
+"Yes--yes--yes. I reckon so," said the doctor, meditatively, as they
+descended the trail. From that day the child's strength increased. Sunny
+and buoyant, he shook off the thought of his deformity, and his
+beauty-loving soul ceased introspective brooding and found delight in
+searching out beauty, and in his creative faculty.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+IN WHICH FRALE RETURNS TO THE MOUNTAINS
+
+
+Doctor Hoyle lingered until the last of the laurel bloom was gone, and
+the widow had become so absorbed in her grandchild as to make the
+parting much easier. Then he took the small Adam and departed for the
+North. Never did the kind old man dream that his frail and twisted
+little namesake would one day be the pride of his life and the comfort
+of his declining years.
+
+"Hoyle sure do look a heap bettah'n when Doctah David took him off that
+day. Hit did seem like I'd nevah see him again. Don't you guess 'at he's
+beginnin' to grow some? Seems like he do."
+
+The widow was seated on her little porch with the doctor, the evening
+before they left, and Cassandra, who, since the birth of the heir, had
+been living again in her own little cabin, had brought the baby down. He
+lay on his grandmother's lap quietly sleeping, while his mother gathered
+Hoyle's treasures, and packed his diminutive trunk. The boy followed
+her, chattering happily as she worked. She also had noticed the change
+in him, and suggested that perhaps, as he had gained such a start toward
+health, he need not return, but would do quite well at home.
+
+"He's a care to you, Doctor, although you're that kind and patient,--I
+don't see how ever we can thank you enough for all you've done!" Then
+Hoyle, to their utter astonishment, threw himself on the ground at the
+doctor's feet and burst into bitter weeping.
+
+"Why, son, are ye cryin' that-a-way so's you can get to go off an' leave
+maw here 'lone?" But he continued to weep, and at last explained to them
+that the "Lord done crooked him up that-a-way so't he could git to go
+an' learn to be a painter an' make a house full of pictures," and that
+the doctor had said he might. Doctor Hoyle lifted him to his knees with
+many assurances that he would keep his word, but for a long time the
+child sobbed hysterically, his face pressed against the old man's
+sleeve.
+
+"What's that you sayin', child, 'bouts the Lord twistin' yer neck?
+Bettah lay sech as that to the devil, more'n likely."
+
+At the mention of that sinister individual, the babe wakened and
+stretched out his plump, bare arms, with little pink fists tightly
+closed. He yawned a prodigious yawn for so small a countenance, and
+gazed vacantly in his grandmother's face. Then a look of intelligence
+crept into his eyes, and he smiled one of those sweet, evanescent smiles
+of infancy.
+
+"Look at him now, laughin' at me that-a-way. He be the peartest I eveh
+did see. Cass, she sure be mean not to tell his fathah 'at he have a
+son, she sure be."
+
+Cassandra came and tenderly took the babe in her arms and held him to
+her breast. "There, there. Sleep, honey son, sleep again," she cooed,
+swaying her body to the rhythm of her speech. "Sleep, honey son, sleep
+again."
+
+"Don't you reckon she be mean to Doctah David, nevah to let on 'at he
+have a son, and he a-growin' that fast? You a-doin' his fathah mean,
+Cassandry." Still Cassandra swayed and sang.
+
+"Sleep, honey son, sleep again."
+
+"He nevah will forgive you when he finds out how you have done him. I
+can't make out what-all ails ye, nohow."
+
+"Hush, mother. I'm just leaving his heart in peace. He'll come when he
+can, and then he'll forgive me."
+
+As the doctor walked slowly at her side that evening, carrying the
+sleeping child back to her cabin, he also ventured a remonstrance, but
+without avail.
+
+"It's hardly fair to his father--such a fine little chap. You--you have
+a monopoly of him this way, you know."
+
+She flushed at the implication of selfishness, but said nothing.
+
+"How--how is that? Don't you think so?" he persisted kindly.
+
+"I reckon you can't feel what I feel, Doctor. Why should I make his
+heart troubled when he must stay there? David knows I hate it to bide
+so long without him. He--he knows. If he could get to come back, don't
+you guess he'd come right quick, anyway? Would he come any sooner for
+his son than for me?" It was the doctor's turn for silence. She asked
+again, this time with a tremor in her voice. "You reckon he would,
+Doctor?"
+
+"No! Of--of course not," he cried.
+
+"Then what would be the use of telling him, only to trouble him?"
+
+"He--he might like to think about him--you know--might like it."
+
+"He said he must go to Africa in May, so now he must have started--and
+our wedding was on May-day. Now it's the last of May; he must be there.
+He might be obliged to bide in that country a whole month--maybe two.
+It's so far away, and his letters take so long to come! Doctor, are they
+fighting there now? Sometimes I wake in the night and think what if he
+should die away off there in that far place--"
+
+"No, no. That's done. Not fighting, thank God. Rest your heart in peace.
+Now, after I'm gone, don't stay up here alone too much. I'm a physician,
+and I know what's best for you."
+
+She took the now soundly sleeping child from the doctor's arms and laid
+him on the bed in the canvas room. The day had been warm, and the fire
+was out in the great fireplace; the evening wind, light and cool, laden
+with sweet odors, swept through the cabin.
+
+They talked late that night of Hoyle and his future, but never a word
+more of David. The old man thought he now understood her feeling, and
+respected it. She certainly had a right to one small weakness, this
+strong fair creature of the hills. Her husband must release himself from
+his absorbing cares and return simply for love of her--not at the call
+of his baby's wail.
+
+So the doctor and his diminutive namesake drove contentedly away next
+morning in the great covered wagon, and Cassandra, standing by her
+mother's door, smiled and lifted her baby for one last embrace from his
+loving little uncle.
+
+"I'm goin' to grow a big man, an' I'll teach him to make pictures--big
+ones," he called back.
+
+"Yas, you'll do a heap. You bettah watch out to be right good and
+peart; that's what you bettah do."
+
+
+David, not unmindful of affairs on the far-away mountain side, made it
+quite worth the while of the two cousins to stay on with the widow and
+run the small farm under Cassandra's directions, and she found herself
+fully occupied. She wrote David all the details: when and where things
+were planted--how the vines he had set on the hill slope were
+growing--how the pink rose he had brought from Hoke Belew's and planted
+by their threshold had grown to the top of the door, and had three sweet
+blossoms. She had shaken the petals of one between the pages of her
+letter on May-day, and sent it to remind him, she said.
+
+Nearly a month later than he had intended to sail, David left England,
+overwhelmed with many small matters which seemed so great to his mother
+and sister, and burdened with duties imposed upon him by the realization
+that he had come into the possession of enormous wealth, more than he
+could comprehendingly estimate; and that he was now setting out to
+secure and prevent the loss of possibly double what he already
+possessed.
+
+People gathered about him and presented him with worthy and unworthy
+opportunities for its disposal. They flocked to him in herds, with
+importunities and flatteries. The tower which he had built up with his
+ideals, and in which he had intrenched himself, was in danger of being
+undermined and toppled into ruins, burying his soul beneath the debris.
+When seated on the deck, the rose petals dropped into his hand as he
+tore open Cassandra's letter. Some, ere he could catch them, were caught
+up and blown away into the sea.
+
+He held them and inhaled their sweetness, and everything seemed to find
+its true value and proportion and to fall into its right place. Again on
+the mountain top, with Cassandra at his side, he viewed in a perspective
+of varying gradations his life, his aims, and his possessions.
+
+The personality of his young wife, of late a vague thing to him, distant
+and fair, and haloed about with sweet memories dimly discerned like a
+dream that is past, presented itself to him all at once vivid and clear,
+as if he held her in his arms with her head on his breast.
+
+He heard again her voice with its quaint inflections and lingering
+tones. Their love for each other loomed large, and became for him at
+once the one truly vital thing in all his share of the universe. Had his
+body been endowed with the wings of his soul, he would have left all and
+gone to her; but, alas for the restrictions of matter! he was gliding
+rapidly away and away, farther from the immediate attainment. Yet was
+his tower strengthened wherein he had intrenched himself with his
+ideals. The withered rose petals had brought him exaltation of purpose.
+
+In the mountains, July came with unusually sultry heat, yet the rich
+pocket of soil, watered by its never failing stream, suffered little
+from the drought. Weeds grew apace, and Cassandra had much ado to hold
+her cousin Cotton Caswell, easy-going and thriftless, to his task of
+keeping the small farm in order.
+
+For a long time now, Cassandra had avoided those moments of far-seeing
+and brooding. Had not David said he feared them for her? In these days
+of waiting, she dreaded lest they show her something to which she would
+rather remain blind. In the evenings, looking over the hilltops from her
+rock, visions came to her out of the changing mists, but she put them
+from her and calmed her breast with the babe on her bosom, and solaced
+her longing by keeping all in readiness for David's return. Perhaps at
+any moment, with wind-lifted hair and buoyant smile, he might come up
+the laurel path.
+
+For this reason she preferred living in her own cabin home, and, that
+she might not be alone at night, Martha Caswell or her brother slept on
+a cot in the large cabin room, but Cassandra cared little for their
+company. They might come or not as they chose. She was never afraid now
+that she was strong again and baby was well.
+
+One evening sitting thus, her babe lying asleep on her knees and her
+heart over the sea, something caused her to start from her revery and
+look away from the blue distance, toward the cabin. There, a few paces
+away, regarding her intently, stalwart and dark, handsome and eager,
+stood Frale. Much older he seemed, more reckless he appeared, yet still
+a youth in his undisciplined impulse. She sat pale as death, unable to
+move, in breathless amazement.
+
+He smiled upon her out of the gathering dusk. For some minutes he had
+been regarding her, and the tumult within him had become riotous with
+long restraint. He came swiftly forward and, ere she could turn her
+head, his arms were about her, and his lips upon hers, and she felt
+herself pinioned in her chair--nor, for guarding her baby unhurt by his
+vehemence, could she use her hands to hold him from her; nor for the
+suffocating beating of her heart could she cry out; neither would her
+cry have availed, for there were none near to hear her.
+
+"Stop, Frale! I am not yours; stop, Frale," she implored.
+
+"Yas, you are mine," he said, in his low drawl, lifting his head to gaze
+in her face. "You gin me your promise. That doctah man, he done gone an'
+lef' you all alone, and he ain't nevah goin' to come back to these here
+mountins."
+
+She snatched her hands from the child on her knees, and, with sudden
+movement, pushed him violently; but he only held her closer, and it was
+as if she struggled against muscles of iron.
+
+"Naw, you don't! I have you now, an' I won't nevah leave you go again."
+He had not been drinking, yet he was like one drunken, so long had he
+brooded and waited.
+
+Rapidly she tried to think how she might gain control over him, when,
+wakened by the struggle, the babe wailed out and he started to his feet,
+his hands clutching into his hair as if he were struck with sudden fear.
+He had not noticed or given heed to what lay upon her knees, and the cry
+penetrated his heart like a knife.
+
+A child! His child--that doctor's child? He hated the thought of it, and
+the old impulse to strike down anything or any creature that stood in
+his way seized him--the impulse that, unchecked, had made him a
+murderer. He could kill, kill! Cassandra gathered the little body to her
+heart and, standing still before him, looked into his eyes.
+Instinctively she knew that only calmness and faith in his right action
+would give her the mastery now, and with a prayer in her heart she spoke
+quietly.
+
+"How came you here, Frale? You wrote mother you'd gone to Texas." His
+figure relaxed, and his arms dropped, but still he bent forward and
+gazed eagerly into her eyes.
+
+"I come back when I heered he war gone. I come back right soon. Cate
+Irwin's wife writ me 'at he war gone; an' now she done tol' me he ain't
+nevah goin' to come back to these here mountins. Ev'ybody on the
+mountins knows that. He jes' have fooled you-all that-a-way, makin' out
+to marry you whilst he war in bed, like he couldn' stand on his feet,
+an' then gittin' up an' goin' off this-a-way, an' bidin' nigh on to a
+year. We don't 'low our women to be done that-a-way, like they war pore
+white trash. I come back fer you like I promised, an' you done gin me
+your promise, too. I reckon you won't go back on that now." He stepped
+nearer, and she clasped the babe closer, but did not flinch.
+
+"Yes, Frale, you promised, and I--I--promised--to save you from
+yourself--to be a good man; but you broke yours. You didn't repent, and
+you went on drinking, and--then you tried to kill an innocent man when
+he was alone and unarmed; like a coward you shot him. I called back my
+words from God; I gave them to the man I loved--promise for promise,
+Frale."
+
+"Yas, and curse for curse. You cursed me, Cass." He made one more step
+forward, but she stood her ground and lifted one hand above her head,
+the gesture he so well remembered.
+
+"Keep back, Frale. I did not curse you. I let you go free, and no one
+followed you. Go back--farther--farther--or I will do it now-- Oh,
+God--" He cowered, his arm before his eyes, and moved backward.
+
+"Don't, Cass," he cried. For a moment she stood regally before him, her
+babe resting easily in the hollow of her arm. Then she slowly lowered
+her hand and spoke again, in quiet, distinct tones.
+
+"Now, for that lie they have told you, I am going to my husband. I start
+to-morrow. He has sent me money to come to him. You tell that word all
+up and down the mountain side, wherever there bides one to hear."
+
+She lifted her baby, pressing his little face to her cheek, and turning,
+walked slowly toward her cabin door.
+
+"Cass," he called.
+
+She paused. "Well, Frale?"
+
+"Cass, you hev cursed me."
+
+"No, Frale, it is the curse of Cain that rests on your soul. You
+brought it on you by your own hand. If you will live right and repent,
+Christ will take it off."
+
+"Will you ask him for me, Cass? I sure hev lost you now--forever, Cass!"
+
+"Yes, Frale. I'll ask him to cover up all this year out of your life. It
+has been full of mad badness. Be like you used to be, Frale, and leave
+off thinking on me this way. It is sin. Go marry somebody who can love
+you and care for you like you need, and come back here and do for mother
+like you used to. Giles Teasley can't pester you. He's half dead with
+his badness--drinking his own liquor."
+
+She came to him, and, taking his hand, led him toward the laurel path.
+"Go down to mother now, Frale, and have supper and sleep in your own
+bed, like no evil had ever come into your neart," she pleaded. "The good
+is in you, Frale. God sees it, and I see it. Heed to me, Frale.
+Good-night."
+
+Slowly, with bent head, he walked away.
+
+Trembling, Cassandra laid her baby in the cradle Hoke Belew had made
+her, and, kneeling beside the rude little bed, she bowed her head over
+it and wept scalding, bitter tears. She felt herself shamed before the
+whole mountain side. Oh, why--why need David have left her so long--so
+long! The first reproach against him entered her heart, and at the same
+time she reasoned with herself.
+
+He could not help it--surely he could not. He was good and true, and
+they should all know it if she had to lie for it. When she had sobbed
+herself into a measure of calmness, she heard a step cross the cabin
+floor. Quickly drying her tears, she rose and stood in the doorway of
+the canvas room, with dilated eyes and indrawn breath, peering into' the
+dusk, barring the way. It was only her mother.
+
+"Why, mothah!" she cried, relieved and overjoyed.
+
+"Have you seen Frale?"
+
+"Yes, mothah. He was here. Sit down and get your breath. You have
+climbed too fast."
+
+Her mother dropped into a chair and placed a small bundle on the table
+at her side.
+
+"What-all is this Frale say you have told him? Have David writ fer you
+like Frale say? What-all have Frale been up to now? He come down
+creepin' like he a half-dade man--that soft an' quiet."
+
+"I'm going to David, mother. You know he sent me money to use any way I
+choose, and I'm going." She caught her breath and faltered.
+
+The mother rose and took her in her arms, and, drawing her head down to
+her wrinkled cheek, patted her softly.
+
+"Thar, honey, thar. I reckon your ol' maw knows a heap more'n you think.
+You keep mighty still, but you can't fool her."
+
+Cassandra drew herself together. "Why didn't Martha come up this
+evening?"
+
+"She war makin' ready, in her triflin' slow way, an' then Frale come
+down an' said that word, an' I knew right quick 'at ther war somethin'
+behind--his way war that quare--so I told Marthy to set him out a good
+suppah, an' I'd stop up here myself this night. She war right glad to do
+hit. Fool, she be! I could see how she went plumb silly ovah Frale all
+to onc't."
+
+"Mothah, you know right well what they're saying about David and me. Is
+it true, that word Frale said, that everyone says he nevah will come
+back?" The mother was silent. "That's all right, mothah. We'll pack up
+to-night, and I'll go down to Farington to-morrow. Mrs. Towahs will help
+me to start right."
+
+She lighted candles and began to lay out her baby's wardrobe. "I haven't
+anything to put these in, but I can carry everything I need down there
+in baskets, and she will help me. They've always been that good to
+me--all my life."
+
+"Cass, Cass, don't go," wailed her mother. "I'm afraid somethin'll
+happen you if you go that far away. If you could leave baby with me,
+Cass! Give hit up. Be ye 'feared o' Frale, honey?"
+
+"No, mother, the man doesn't live that I'm afraid of." She paused,
+holding the candle in her hand, lighting her face that shone whitely out
+of the darkness. Her eyes glowed, and she held her head high. Then she
+turned again to her work, gathering her few small treasures and placing
+them on one of the highest shelves of the chimney cupboard. As she
+worked, she tried to say comforting things to her mother.
+
+"I'll write to you every day, like David does me, mother. See? I've
+kept all his letters. They're in this box. I don't want to burn them
+because I love them; and I don't want any one else to read them; and I
+don't want to carry them with me because I'll have him there. Will you
+lock them in your box, mother, and if anything happens to me, will you
+sure--sure burn them?" She laid them on the table at her mother's elbow.
+"You promise, mothah?"
+
+"Yas, Cass, yas."
+
+"What's in that bundle, mothah?"
+
+With trembling fingers the widow opened her parcel and displayed the
+silver teapot, from which the spout had been melted to be moulded into
+silver bullets.
+
+"Thar," she said, holding it out by the handle, "hit's yourn. Farwell,
+he done that one day whilst I war gone, an' the last bullet war the one
+Frale used when he nigh killed your man. No, I reckon you nevah did see
+hit before, fer I've kept hit hid good. I knowed ther were somethin' to
+come outen hit some day. Hit do show your fathah come from some fine
+high fambly somewhar. I done showed hit to Doctah David, fer I 'lowed he
+mount know was hit wuth anything, but he seemed to set more by them two
+leetle books. He has them books yet, I reckon."
+
+"Yes, he has them."
+
+"When Frale told me you war a-goin' to David, I guessed 'at thar war
+somethin' 'at I'd ought to know, an' I clum up here right quick, fer if
+he war a-lyin', I meant to find out the reason why." She looked keenly
+in her daughter's face, which remained passive under the scrutiny.
+
+"Has Frale been a-pesterin' you?"
+
+"He did--some--at first; but I sent him away."
+
+"I reckoned so. Now heark. You tell me straight, did David send fer ye,
+er didn't he?"
+
+In silence Cassandra turned to her work, until it seemed as if the room
+were filled with the suspense of the unanswered question. Then she tried
+evasion.
+
+"Why do you ask in that way, mothah?"
+
+"Because if he sont fer ye, I'll help ye all I can; but if he didn't,
+I'll hinder ye, and ye'll bide right whar ye be."
+
+"You won't do that, mothah."
+
+"I sure will. If David haven't sont fer ye, an' ye go, ye'll have to
+walk ovah me to get thar, hear?"
+
+The mother's voice was raised to a higher pitch than was her wont, and
+the little silver pot shook in her hand. Cassandra took it and regarded
+it without interest, absorbed in other thoughts. Then, throwing off her
+abstraction, she began questioning her mother about it, and why she had
+brought it to her now. The widow told all she knew, as she had told
+David, and pointed out the half obliterated coat of arms on the side.
+
+"I've heered your paw say 'at ther war more pieces'n this, oncet, but
+this'n come straight to him from his grandpaw, an' now hit's yourn. If
+he have sont fer ye, take hit with ye. Hit may be wuth more'n you think
+fer now. I been told they do think a heap o' fambly ovah thar, jest like
+we do here in the mounting. Leastways, hit's all we do have--some of us.
+My fambly war all good stock, capable and peart; an' now heark to me.
+Wharevah you go, just you hold your hade up. The' hain't nothin' more
+despisable than a body 'at goes meachin' around like some old
+sheep-stealin' houn' dog. Now if he sure 'nough have sont fer ye, go,
+an' I'll help ye, but if he haven't, bide whar ye be."
+
+Cassandra drew in her breath sharply, no longer able to evade the
+question, with her mother's keen eyes searching her face. All her
+reasons for going flashed through her mind in a moment's space of time.
+The book she had been reading--what were English people really like? And
+David--her David--her boy's father--what shameful things were they
+saying of him all over the mountain that Frale should dare come to her
+as he had done? She could not stay now; she would not. Her cheeks
+flamed, and she walked silently into the canvas room and stood by her
+baby's cradle. Her mother began wrapping up the silver pot.
+
+"I guess I'll take this back an' lock hit up again. You sure hain't to
+go if ye can't give me that word."
+
+Cassandra went quickly and took it from her mother's hand. "No, mother,
+give it to me. I told Frale David had sent for me, and I'm going."
+
+"And he have sont fer ye?"
+
+"Yes, mothah." Her reply was low as she turned again to her work.
+
+"Waal, now, why couldn't you have give me that word first off? Hit's his
+right to have ye, an' I'll he'p ye. You'd ought to go to him if he can't
+come to you."
+
+Instantly up and alert, putting bravely aside her own feelings at the
+thought of parting, the mother began helping her daughter; but long
+after they were finished and settled for the night, she lay wakeful and
+dreading the coming day.
+
+Cassandra slept less, and lay quietly thinking, sorrowful that she must
+leave her home, and not a little anxious over what might be her future
+and what might be her fate in that strange land.
+
+When at last she slept, she dreamed of the people she had met in _Vanity
+Fair_, with David strangely mixed up among them, and Frale ever alert
+and watchful, moving wherever she moved, silently lingering near and
+never taking his eyes from her face.
+
+In the morning, mother and daughter were up betimes, but no word was
+spoken between them to betoken hesitation or fear. Cassandra walked in a
+sort of dumb wonder at herself, and smouldering deep beneath the surface
+was a fierce resentment against those who, having known her from
+childhood, and receiving many favors and kindnesses from her, should now
+presume to so speak against her husband as to make Frale dare to
+approach her as he had. Oh, the burning shame of those kisses! The shame
+of the thought against David that pervaded her beloved mountains! For
+the sake of his good name, she would put away her pride and go to him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+IN WHICH CASSANDRA VISITS DAVID THRYNG'S ANCESTORS
+
+
+It was a pleasant morning in London, with as clear a sky as is ever
+permitted to that great city. Cassandra had placed her little son in the
+middle of a huge bed which nearly filled the small room she had been
+given in a hotel, recommended to her by Betty Towers as one where "nice
+ladies travelling alone" could stop.
+
+The child was dressed in a fresh white coat, and Cassandra had much ado
+to keep him clean. She heaped him about with pillows and bedclothing to
+make a nest for him, and gave him a spoon and a drinking cup for
+entertainment, while she arranged her own toilet before a cloudy mirror
+by a slant ray of daylight that managed to sift through the heavy
+draperies and lace curtains that obscured the one high, narrow window of
+her room.
+
+She had tried to put them one side that she might look out when she
+awoke, but she could see only chimney-pots and grimy, irregularly tiled
+roofs. A narrow opening at the top of the window let in a little air;
+still she felt smothered, and tried to raise the lower sash, but could
+not move it. She thought of the books she had read about great cities,
+and how some people had to live in places like this always; and her
+heart filled with a large pity for them. Here only a small triangle of
+blue sky could be seen--not a tree, not a bit of earth--and in the small
+room all those heavy furnishings closed around her, dark red, stuffy,
+and greasy with London smoke. She could not touch them without
+blackening her hands, nor let her baby sit on the floor for the dirt he
+wiped up on his clothing as he rolled and kicked about.
+
+The room seemed to sway and tip as the ship had done, and there was a
+continuous sound as of thunder, a strange undercurrent that seemed to
+her strained nerves like the moaning of the lost souls of all the ages,
+who had lived and toiled and smothered in this monstrous and terrible
+city.
+
+Ah, she must get out of it. She must hurry--hurry and find David. He
+would be glad to see his little son. He would take him in his arms. He
+would hold them both to his heart. She would see him smile again and
+look in his eyes, and all this foreboding would cease, and the woful
+sounds die out of the air and become only the natural roar of the
+activities and traffic of a great city. She must get used to all this,
+and not expect to find all the world like her own sunny mountains.
+
+The bishop's careful little wife had tried to explain to her how to meet
+her new experiences. She was to go nowhere alone, without taking a cab,
+and never start out on foot, carrying her baby in her arms, as she might
+do at home. She had given her written instructions how to conduct
+herself under all ordinary circumstances, at her hotel or on the
+street--how to ring for a servant, order her meals, or call a cab.
+
+Now, standing before her mirror, Cassandra essayed to arrange her hair
+as she had seen other young women wear theirs, but she thought the new
+way looked untidy, and she took it all down and rearranged it as she was
+used to wear it. David would not mind if she did not do her hair as
+others did, he would be so glad to see her and his little son. Ah, the
+comfort of that little son! She leaned over the bed, half dressed as she
+was, and murmured pretty cooing phrases, kissing and cuddling him to
+contented laughter.
+
+Betty Towers had procured clothing for her--a modest supply--using her
+own good taste, and not disguising Cassandra's natural grace and dignity
+by a too-close adherence to the prevailing mode. There were a blue
+travelling gown and jacket, and a toque of the same color with a white
+wing; a soft clinging black silk, made with girlish simplicity which
+admirably became her, and a wide, flexible brimmed hat with a single
+heavy plume taken from Betty's own hat of the last winter. Cassandra
+stood a long moment before the two gowns. She desired to don the silk,
+but Betty had told her always to wear the blue in the morning, so at
+last she obeyed her kind adviser.
+
+While waiting with her baby in her arms for the hotel boy to call her
+cab, she observed another lady, young and graceful, enter a cab, and a
+maid following her wearing a pretty cap, and carrying a child. Eager,
+for David's sake, to draw no adverse comment upon herself, she took note
+of everything. Ought she then to arrive attended by a maid, carrying her
+baby? But David would know she did not need one; bringing him his little
+son in her own arms, what would he care for anything more? So the
+address was given the cabman, and they were rattled away over the rough
+paving, a long, lonely ride through the wonderful city--so many miles of
+houses and splendid buildings, of gardens and monuments.
+
+Strangely, the people of _Vanity Fair_ leaped out of the book she had
+read, and walked the streets or dashed by her in cabs--albeit in modern
+dress. The soldiers--the guardsmen--the liveried lackeys--the errand
+boys--all were there, and the ladies in fine carriages. There were the
+nursemaids--the babies--the beggars--the ragged urchins and the venders
+of the street, with their raucous cries rending the air. Her brain
+whirled, and a new feeling to which she had hitherto been blessedly a
+stranger crept over her, a feeling of fear.
+
+As the great two-story coaches and trams thundered by, she clasped her
+baby closer, until he looked up in her face with round-eyed wonder and
+put up his lip in pitiful protest. She soothed and comforted him until
+her panic passed, and when, at last, they stopped before a great house
+built in on either side by other houses, with wide steps of stone
+descending directly upon the street, she had regained a measure of
+composure. She was assured by the cabman, leaning respectfully down to
+her with his cap in his hand, that this was "the 'ouse, ma'm," and
+should he wait?
+
+"Oh, yes. Wait," cried Cassandra. What if David were not there! And of
+course, he might be out. Then they were swallowed up in the dark
+interior. She was admitted to a hall that seemed to her empty and vast,
+by a little old man in livery. For a moment, bewildered, she could
+hardly understand what he was saying to her. "'Er ladyship's at 'er
+country 'ome and the 'ouse closed."
+
+Although dazed and baffled, Cassandra betrayed no sign of the tumult
+within, and the little old man stood before her hesitating, his
+curiosity piqued into a determination to discover her business and
+identity. Her gravity and silence gave her a poise and dignity that
+allayed suspicion, but he and his old wife liked diversion, and a spice
+of gossip lightened the monotony of their lives, so he waited, then
+coughed behind his hand.
+
+"Yes, 'er ladyship and Lady Laura are at their country 'ome now, ma'm.
+Maybe you came to see the 'ouse, ma'm?"
+
+"No, it was not the house--it was--" Again she waited, not knowing how
+to introduce her husband's name.
+
+A mystery! A visitor at this hour, and seemingly a lady, yet with a baby
+in her arms, and alone, and not to see the house. Again he coughed
+behind his hand.
+
+"A many do come to see the 'ouse, ma'm, with a permit from 'is lordship,
+ma'm. 'E's not 'ere now, but strangers are halways welcome--to the
+gallery, ma'm."
+
+"Yes, I'm a stranger." She caught at the word. Seized by an inward
+terror of the small eyes fixed curiously on her, she intuitively shrank
+from betraying her identity, and the old servant had told her what she
+needed to know. Of course her husband was "his lordship," over here. "I
+am from America, and I would like to see the gallery." She must do so to
+give a pretext for having come to visit an empty house. David must not
+be compromised before the old servant, but a great lump filled her
+throat, and tears were burning unshed beneath her eyes.
+
+For all of the warm August sun shining without, a chill struck to her
+bones as they passed through the vast, closed rooms. She held her now
+sleeping baby close to her breast as she followed the old man about from
+picture to picture.
+
+"Yes, a many do come 'ere--especially hartists--to see this gallery.
+They say as 'ow 'is lordship wouldn't take a thousand pounds for this
+one, ma'm. We'll let in a little more light. A Vandyke--and worth it's
+weight in gold."
+
+Cassandra watched him cross the floor, his short bow legs reflected
+grotesquely in its shining surface as he walked, then turned and gazed
+again at the life-size, half-length portrait of a young man with sunny
+hair like David's and warm brown eyes.
+
+"There, you see, it's more than a Vandyke to the family, ma'm, for it's
+a hancestor, and my wife says it's as like as two peas to 'is young
+lordship, who has just come into the title, ma'm. And that's strange,
+isn't it, for 'im to look so like, being as 'e belonged to the younger
+branch who 'aven't 'eld the title for four generations; but come to
+dress 'im in velvet and gold lace, and the likeness would be nigh as
+perfect as if 'e 'ad stood for it."
+
+Cassandra gazed so long silently at this picture that again the little
+man coughed his deprecatory cough and essayed to lead her on; but she
+was seeing visions and did not heed him. When at last she turned, her
+gray eyes had deepened, and a clearly defined spot of delicate red
+burned on one pale cheek. She drew a deep breath and looked down the
+length of the long gallery. Everything was being impressed upon her mind
+as upon sensitized paper.
+
+She followed slowly in the old man's wake, never opening her lips until
+they had made the circuit and were again standing before the portrait of
+the fair-haired youth. Then, roused suddenly by a direct question, she
+responded.
+
+The old servant was saying: "You 'aven't 'appened to meet a Samuel
+Cutter in America, 'ave you? 'E's our son. England was too slow for 'im.
+Young men aren't like old ones; they wants hadventure, and they gets it.
+That's 'ow so many of 'em joins the harmy and gets killed like 'is
+lordship's two sons, and young Lord Thryng's brother as would 'ave been
+'is lordship, if 'e' ad lived. You 'aven't 'appened to know a Samuel
+Cutter over there? 'E went to Canada."
+
+"No, I never met any one by that name. I live a long way from Canada."
+
+"About 'ow far do you think, ma'm?"
+
+Cassandra had no idea of the distance, but she knew how long David and
+Hoyle were journeying there, so she answered as best she could. "It
+takes three or four days to get there from my home."
+
+The old man's eyes opened wide, and his jaw dropped. "It's a big
+country--America is. England may be a small place, but she 'as
+tremendous big possessions." He felt it all belonged to England, and
+spoke with swelling pride as his short legs carried him toward the door.
+There again he paused. He had learned nothing of this young woman to
+tell his old wife, except that she came from America, and had never met
+Samuel Cutter. The mystery was still unsolved.
+
+"Yes, 'is young lordship do look amazing like that picture. If you'd
+ever seen 'im, you'd think 'e'd dressed up in velvet and lace and stood
+for it. 'E's lived in America five years, but if you never were in
+Canada and never met our Sammy, it's more likely you never saw 'im
+either."
+
+"Is he at their country home also?" Cassandra asked. She had seated
+herself in the hall, for her heart throbbed chokingly, and the lump was
+heavy in her throat. It was as she had dreamed sometimes, when her feet
+seemed to cling to the earth, and would not lift her weight up some
+steep hill.
+
+"'Is lordship is still in Hafrica, mam. 'E 'ave been a great traveller,
+but 'e can't stay much longer now, for Lady Laura is to 'ave a grand
+coming out, and 'is lordship is to be married. Her ladyship's 'eart is
+set on it, and on 'is marrying 'igh, too. That's gossip, you know."
+
+Cassandra rose and stood suddenly poised for flight. She must get out of
+that house and hear no more. She had a silver shilling in her hand, for
+Betty Towers had told her all servants expected a tip, and this was
+intended for the cabman. Had she followed her impulse, she would have
+darted by with her fingers in her ears, but instead, she dropped the
+shilling in the old man's hand, and quietly turned toward the door.
+
+"Thank you," his fingers closed over the shilling. Her pallor struck him
+then, even as the red spot on her cheek deepened, and he held out his
+arms for the child.
+
+"Let me carry 'im for you, ma'm. Is it a boy?"
+
+But her arms closed tighter about her baby. "He is my little son." It
+was almost a cry, as she said it, but again she forced herself to
+calmness, and, walking slowly out, added, with a quiet smile: "I always
+keep him myself. We do in America."
+
+In a moment she was gone. The warm sunlight burst in on them and flooded
+the cold hall as the old man stood in the doorway looking after the
+retreating cab, and down at the silver shilling.
+
+Darker, dingier, stuffier, seemed the box of a room, as she walked into
+it and laid her still sleeping babe on the bed. She felt herself moving
+in an unreal world. David--her David--she had not come to him after all;
+she had come to an empty place. She knelt and threw her arms about her
+little son, encircling his head and his feet. She neither wept nor
+prayed; and the red spot burned against the creamy whiteness of her
+skin. She was not thinking, only looking, seeing into the past and down
+the long vista of her future.
+
+Pictures came to her--pictures of her girlhood--her dim aspirations--her
+melancholy-eyed father--his hilltop--and beloved, sunlit mountains. In
+the radiance of the spring, she saw them, and in the glory of the
+autumn; she breathed the fragrance of the pines in winter and heard the
+soft patter of summer rains on widespreading leaves. She saw David
+walking at her side, and heard his laugh, sun-bright and glorious he
+seemed, her Phoebus Apollo--the father of her little son.
+
+She saw the terrible sea which she had crossed to come to him--the
+white-crested waves, with turquoise lights and indigo depths, shifting
+and sliding unceasingly where all the world seemed swallowed in space,
+and the huge steamship so small a thing in the vast and perilous deep;
+and now--now she was here. What was she? What was life?
+
+She had tried to find him, her David, and had been shown the dead, and
+the glory of the dead--all past and gone--her David's glory. Shown that
+long, empty gallery resounding with those aged footsteps, and the
+pictures--pictures--pictures--of men and women who had once been babes
+like her little son and David's, now dead and gone--not one soul among
+them all to greet her. Proud lords and dames in frames of gold; young
+men and maidens in costly silks and velvets of marvellous dyes,
+red-cheeked, red-lipped, and soullessly silent; and she, alone and
+undefended in their midst, holding in her arms their last descendant.
+All those painted fingers seemed lifted to point at her; those silent
+red lips parted to cry out at her, "Look at this stranger claiming to be
+one of us; send her away."
+
+And David--her David--was one of these! What they had felt--what they
+had thought and striven for--was it all intensified and concentrated in
+him? Oh, if her soul could only reach to him, wherever he was, and
+penetrate this impalpable veil that stretched between them! If her hands
+could only touch him, her eyes look into his and see what lay in their
+depths for her!
+
+Then her babe stirred and tossed up his pretty hands, waking her from
+her sad, vision-seeing trance. He opened his large, clear eyes, and
+suddenly it seemed that her wish was granted,--that the veil was rent
+and she was looking into David's eyes and seeing his soul free, no
+longer chained by invisible links to those dead and gone beings, and
+their traditions. This had been all a dream--a dream.
+
+She gathered the child in her arms and held him with his sweet, warm
+lips pressed to her breast and his soft little hand thrust in her bosom.
+David's little son--David's little son! Surely all was good and well
+with the world! Did not the old man say it was only gossip? Had not evil
+things been said of David even on her own mountain? It was the trail of
+the serpent of ill report. He had not confided his sacred secret to
+these people, and they had thought what they pleased. Surely he had told
+his mother about his wife. She would go to his mother and wait for his
+return, and there she would bring her precious gift--David's little son.
+
+Quickly she packed her few belongings and rang for a messenger, and as
+she stood an instant waiting for an answer to her ring, the white-capped
+nurse she had noticed in the morning passed by with the baby in her
+arms. Yes, surely women of David's state did not travel about alone. Had
+she not read in _Vanity Fair_ how Becky Sharp always had her maid? And
+now she was in "Vanity Fair," and must be wise and not go to David's
+mother unattended. Then, too, if only she had some one with her to whom
+she could speak now and then, it would be better. Therefore, without
+further consideration, she walked swiftly down the corridor after the
+tidy nurse.
+
+"Will you tell me, please, have you a sister?" she said. The young woman
+stood still in astonishment. "Or--any friend like yourself? I--I am a
+stranger from America." The look of surprise changed to one of
+curiosity. "And it is right hard to go about alone with my baby, so I
+thought I would ask you if you have a sister."
+
+"Is it to the country you wish to go, ma'm?" The baby in her arms
+stirred, and the nurse swayed gently back and forth to hush it.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I couldn't go with you myself, ma'm--but--"
+
+"Oh, no! I didn't mean you. I only thought if you had a sister--or a
+friend, maybe, who could help me for a little while."
+
+"I saw you this morning, ma'm, as you went out. I'll see what I can do.
+What number is your room? and what name? I mustn't talk here. Mrs.
+Darling is very particular."
+
+"Oh, never mind, then." Cassandra turned away in sudden shame lest she
+had not done the right thing. The nurse watched her return to her room
+as swiftly as she had left it, and took note of the number.
+
+"How very odd!" said the young woman to herself.
+
+Cassandra felt more abashed under the round-eyed gaze of the maid than
+if she had encountered the queen. Her ring for a messenger had not been
+answered, and she did not know how to find her husband's country-seat.
+She felt faint and weary, but did not think of hunger, nor that it was
+long past the dinner-hour, and that she had eaten nothing since her
+early breakfast. She only thought that she must be brave and try--try to
+think how to reach David's people.
+
+Resolutely she closed her door, and dressed her baby carefully; then she
+arrayed herself in the soft silk gown, and the wide hat with the heavy
+plume, and then--could David have seen her with her courageous eyes and
+lifted head, and the faint color from excitement in her cheeks--he would
+no longer have feared to take her by the hand and lead her to his mother
+and say, "She is my wife, and the loveliest lady in the land."
+
+People looked at her as she passed, and turned to look again. Down wide,
+carpeted stairs she went, until she came to a broad landing with
+recessed windows, where were round polished tables and people seated,
+sipping tea and eating thin bread and butter and muffins. Then Cassandra
+knew that she was hungry and sat herself in one of the windows apart,
+before a table. Presently a young man came and bent down to her as if
+listening. She looked up at him in bewilderment, but at the same
+instant, seeing another young man similarly dressed bearing a tray of
+muffins and tea to a lady and gentleman near by, she said:--
+
+"I would like tea, please."
+
+"W'ot kind, ma'm?" She did not care what kind, nor know for what to ask,
+only to have something soon, so she said:--
+
+"I will take what they have."
+
+"Yes, ma'm. Muffins, ma'm?"
+
+"Yes," she replied wearily, and turned to gaze out of the window. Cabs
+and carriages were rushing up and down the street below them. She placed
+her little son on the seat beside her and held him with sheltering arm,
+while he watched the moving vehicles and looked from them to his
+mother's face.
+
+"What a perfectly lovely child!" said a pleasant voice. "Is it a boy?
+How old is he?"
+
+Cassandra looked up to see a rosy-cheeked girl, a little too stout and
+florid, with a great mop of dark hair tied with a wide black ribbon. A
+gray-haired lady followed, and paused beside her.
+
+"Yes," said Cassandra, faintly. "He is almost six months old."
+
+The girl reached over and patted his cheek. "How perfectly dear. See
+him, mamma. Isn't he, though?"
+
+"Babies are always dear," said the mother, with a smile. "Come, Laura,
+we can't wait, you know," and they passed on. As Cassandra looked up in
+the mother's face, something stirred vaguely in her heart. Had she seen
+her before? Possibly, so many had paused to speak to her in this casual
+way since she left home.
+
+Then her tea and crisp, hot muffins were brought. The young girl's
+pleasant words had warmed her heart, and the refreshment gave her more
+courage. She made her way to the office and inquired how she might find
+Lord Thryng's country home. The clerk wrote the address promptly on a
+card, but the keen look of interest with which he handed it to her
+caused her to shrink inwardly. Why, what was it to him what place she
+asked for? She lifted her head proudly. She must not falter.
+
+"I wish to go there. Will you tell me how, please?"
+
+But the surprise of the clerk was quite natural, as she had signed the
+hotel register the evening before with her whole name, giving no thought
+to it; and now he wondered what relation she might be to the family so
+lately come into the title, since she bore the name, yet seemed to know
+so little about them. He explained to her courteously--almost
+deferentially.
+
+"Will you go to Daneshead Castle itself, ma'm, or stop in Queensderry?"
+As she had no idea what the question involved, she replied at hazard.
+
+"I will stop in Queensderry." And her bags were brought down, and she
+was despatched to the right station without more delay.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+IN WHICH CASSANDRA GOES TO QUEENSDERRY AND TAKES A DRIVE IN A PONY
+CARRIAGE
+
+
+Glad to be borne away from the city and out through fresh green fields
+and past pretty church-spired villages, alone in the compartment,
+Cassandra comforted herself with her baby, playing with him until he
+dropped to sleep, when she made a bed for him on the car seat with rugs,
+and, taking out her purse, began to count her remaining resources. Her
+bill at the hotel had appalled her. So much to pay to stay only a night!
+What would David say? But he had told her to use the money as she liked,
+and now she was here, there was nothing else to do.
+
+Laboriously she computed the amount in English money, and, reckoned
+thus, her dollars and cents seemed to shrink and vanish. Still, more
+than half remained of what she had brought with her, and she viewed the
+matter calmly.
+
+The shadows fell long over the smooth greensward as she arrived in the
+village of Queensderry and was driven to a small inn, the only house of
+entertainment in the place. She was given a pleasant room overlooking
+fields and orchards and bright gardens, and the sight rested her eyes,
+and still further calmed her troubled heart. She would rest to-night,
+and to-morrow all would be well.
+
+Never had food tasted better to her than the supper served in her pretty
+room,--toast in a silver rack, and fresh butter, such as David loved,
+and curds and whey, and gingerbread, and a small jar of marmalade. She
+ate, seated in the window, looking out over the sweet English landscape
+in the warm twilight--the breeze stirring the white curtains--her little
+son in her lap gurgling and smiling up at her--and her heart with David,
+wherever he might be.
+
+Slowly the dusk veiled all, and one star glimmered above the slender
+church spire. A pretty maid brought candles and a book in which she was
+asked to write her name. She was the landlady's daughter and looked
+wholesome and bright. Cassandra glanced in her face as she set the
+candles down, and took up the pen mechanically.
+
+"Mother says will you sign here, please?"
+
+"Yes." Cassandra turned the leaves slowly and read other names and
+addresses--many of them. She wrote "Cassandra Merlin--" and paused;
+then, making a long dash, added simply, "America," and, handing back the
+book and pen, turned again to the window.
+
+"Thank you. Is that all?" said the maid, lingering.
+
+"Yes," said Cassandra again; then she laid her baby on the bed and began
+taking his night clothing from her bag.
+
+"How pretty he is! Shan't I help you unpack, ma'm?"
+
+Cassandra paused, looking dreamily before her as if scarcely
+comprehending, then she said: "Not to-night, thank you. Perhaps
+to-morrow." The maid deftly piled the supper dishes and, taking them and
+the book with her, departed with a pleasant "Good night, ma'm."
+
+In spite of her calmness, Cassandra lay wakeful and patient, and when at
+last she did sleep, it seemed to her she stood with her husband on her
+father's path, looking out under overarching boughs, upon blue distances
+of heaped-up mountain tops, and David's flute notes, silvery sweet, were
+raining down upon her. She awoke to discover day was breaking, and a
+pealing of bells from some distant church tower was announcing the fact.
+
+She gathered her babe to her throbbing heart and thought, to-day she was
+to go out and meet her husband's people. How should she go? How should
+she conduct herself? Should she go at once, or wait until the afternoon?
+Why had she not written her name fully in the travellers' book? What
+mysterious foreboding had caught her fingers and stayed them at her
+maiden name? Was she afraid? When she arose, she found herself trembling
+from head to foot, and called for her breakfast, before bathing and
+dressing her little son.
+
+The same pretty maid brought it, and came again, while Cassandra bathed
+and nursed her baby, to set the room to rights.
+
+"Shan't I unpack your box for you now, ma'm?" And, without waiting for a
+reply, she took out Cassandra's clothing, pausing now and then to
+admire and pet the lovely boy. Her simple friendliness pleased
+Cassandra, who was minded to ask some of the questions which were
+burdening her.
+
+"When do people make visits here, in the morning or afternoon?"
+
+"That depends, ma'm."
+
+"How do you mean? I'm a stranger in England, you know."
+
+"Yes, ma'm. If they make polite visits, they go about tea time, ma'm.
+But if it's parish visits, or on business, or on people they know very
+well, they may go in the morning, ma'm."
+
+"And when is tea time here?"
+
+"Why, ma'm, everybody has their tea in the afternoon along four or
+thereabouts, and sees their friends."
+
+"Can I get a carriage here, do you know?"
+
+"I can get a pony carriage, ma'm. We hires it when we need it, only we
+must speak for it early, or it may be taken."
+
+"Oh! Then will you please speak for it soon? I would like to have it."
+
+"Yes, ma'm. Will you drive yourself, ma'm, or shall I ask for a boy?"
+
+"Oh! I don't know. I can drive--but--"
+
+"They are gentle ponies, ma'm. Any one can drive them."
+
+"Yes, but I don't know the way."
+
+"Yes, ma'm. Where would you like to go, ma'm?"
+
+"To Daneshead Castle."
+
+The bright-cheeked maid opened her round eyes wider and looked at
+Cassandra with new interest. "But, ma'm,--that is quite far, though the
+ponies are smart, too."
+
+"How far is it?"
+
+"It's quite a bit away from here, ma'm; you'd have to start at two or
+thereabouts. I could take you myself if mother would let me, and tell
+you all the interesting places, but"--the girl looked at her shrewdly, a
+quickly withdrawn glance--"that depends on how well acquainted you are
+there, ma'm. Maybe you'd like better to have a man drive, and just let
+me go along to mind the baby for you."
+
+"Yes, I would," said Cassandra, gladly.
+
+"Thank you. I'll run for the ponies now, ma'm."
+
+Cassandra heard her boots clatter rapidly down the wooden stairs at the
+back of the house, and presently saw her dashing across the inn yard,
+bareheaded and with her bare arms rolled in her apron.
+
+The girl's manner of receiving the statement that she wished to drive to
+the castle was not lost on Cassandra's sensitive spirit. She sat a
+moment, thoughtful and sad, then rose and set herself to prepare
+carefully for the visit. In the afternoon! Then she might wear the silk
+gown and lovely hat. Once more she tried to arrange her hair as she saw
+other young women wear theirs, and again swept its heavy masses back
+loosely from her brow and coiled it low as her custom was.
+
+The landlady's daughter chattered happily as they drove. She held the
+baby on her knee, and he played with the blue beads she wore about her
+neck, while Cassandra sat with hands dropped passively in her lap, her
+body leaning a little forward, straight and poised as if to move more
+rapidly along, her red lips parted as if listening and waiting, and her
+eyes courteously turning toward the places and objects pointed out to
+her, yet neither seeing nor hearing, except vaguely.
+
+Presently becoming aware that the chatter was about the family at
+Daneshead Castle, her interest suddenly awoke. About the old lord--how
+vast his possessions--how ancient the family--how neglected the castle
+had been ever since Lady Thryng's death,--everything allowed to run
+down, even though they were so vastly rich--how different everything was
+now the parsimonious old lord was dead and the new lord had come in, and
+there were once more ladies in the family--what a time since there had
+been a Lady Thryng at Daneshead--how much Lady Laura was like her cousin
+Lyon--how reckless she would be if her mother did not hold her with a
+firm hand--and so the chatter ran on.
+
+The girl enjoyed the distinction of knowing all about the great family
+and enlightening this stranger from America, whose silent attention and
+occasional monosyllabic replies were sufficient to inspire her friendly
+efforts to entertain. Moreover, her curiosity concerning Cassandra and
+her errand, where she was evidently neither expected nor known, was
+piqued and lively, and she threw out many tentative remarks to probe if
+possible the stranger lady's thoughts.
+
+"Have you ever seen Lord Thryng--the new lord, I mean, ma'm?"
+
+"Yes," said Cassandra, simply, a chill striking to her heart to hear him
+mentioned thus.
+
+"He's been out here directing the repairs himself, and getting the place
+ready for his mother and Lady Laura; but I never saw him. They say he's
+perfectly stunning. Quite the lord. Is he so very handsome, do you
+think?"
+
+"Yes." Cassandra looked away from the girl's searching eyes.
+
+"They say he never has married, and that is fortunate too; for he has
+lived so long in America, and never expecting to come into the title, he
+might have married somebody his own set over here never could have
+received, and that would have been bad, wouldn't it?"
+
+Cassandra turned and looked gravely at the girl. She wished to stop her,
+but could not think how to do it. She could not bear to hear her husband
+talked over in this way.
+
+"They are tremendous swells. Lady Thryng looks high for him, and well
+she may, for mother says he's worthy of a princess, he's that rich and
+high bred, too, for all that he was only a doctor over in America.
+Mother says it's very fortunate he never married some common sort over
+there. They say Lady Thryng wants him to marry Lady Geraldine Temple's
+daughter. She is a great beauty, and has a pretty fortune in her own
+right, too. They'll be rich enough to entertain the king! And they may
+do it, too, some day."
+
+Cassandra sat still and cold. She could not stop the girl now. "Lady
+Laura's coming out is to be next week, so his lordship must be home
+soon. They say it will be a very grand affair! And I am to see it all,
+for mother says she will have a maid, and I may go out there to serve,
+and I shall see all the decorations and the fine dresses. That will be
+fine, won't it, baby?"
+
+She untied the blue beads and dangled them before the baby's eyes, and
+he caught at them and gurgled in baby glee. Cassandra sat silent, rigid,
+and cold, unheeding the child or the girl, only vaguely hearing the
+chatter.
+
+"And that will be grand, won't it, baby? But he is a love, this boy!
+There is Daneshead Castle now, ma'm. You see it through the trees, but
+the grounds are so large we have to drive a good bit before we are
+there."
+
+The driver turned the ponies' heads, and they scampered through a high
+stone gateway and along a smooth road which wound through a dense wood,
+with green open spaces interspersed, where deer were browsing. All was
+very beautiful and quiet and sweet, but Cassandra, sitting with
+wide-open eyes, gravely beautiful, did not see it.
+
+To the girl everything was delightful. She had not the slightest doubt
+that the American lady was very rich. That she travelled so simply and
+alone was nothing. They all did queer things--the Americans. She was
+obtusely unconscious that she had been speaking slightingly of them to
+one of themselves, and she talked on after the romantic manner of girls
+the world over, giving the gossip of the inn parlors as she listened to
+it evening after evening, where the affairs of the nobility were freely
+discussed and enlarged and commented upon with eager interest.
+
+What was spoken in her ladyship's chamber and Lady Laura's
+boudoir--their half-formed plans and aspirations--carelessly dropped
+words and unfinished sentences--quickly travelled to the housekeeper's
+parlor--to the servant's table--to the haunts of grooms and stable
+boys--to the farmer's daughters--and to the public rooms of the
+Queensderry Inn.
+
+Thus it was Cassandra heard tales of the brother and sister and mother
+of her David, and of him also. How it was said that once he was engaged
+to a rich tradesman's daughter but had broken it off and gone to America
+against the wishes of all his family, and had become a common
+practitioner there to the disgust of all his relatives; and again
+Cassandra felt that she had left a sweet and lovely world behind her to
+step into "Vanity Fair."
+
+She tried to hold fast her faith in goodness and high purpose. She was
+sure--sure--David had been moved by noble motives; why should she not
+trust him now? Did this girl know him better than she--his wife? Yet, in
+spite of her valiant spirit, two facts fell like leaden weights upon her
+heart. David had not told his people that he had a wife, and they would
+be offended that he had "tied himself to a common sort over there." This
+David whom she loved was so high above her in the eyes of all his
+relatives and perhaps even in his own. What--ah, what could she do!
+Might she still hold him in her heart? She could not walk in upon them
+now and betray him--never--never.
+
+Her lips grew pale, and her head swam, but she sat still, leaning a
+little forward in the moving phaeton, her hands tightly clasped in her
+lap and her babe unheeded at her side, until the red returned to her
+lips and again burned in a clearly defined spot against the pallor of
+her cheek. She did not know that a strange, unearthly beauty was hers. A
+carriage met them filled with gay people. She did not notice them, but
+they gazed at her and turned to look again as they passed.
+
+"I say, you know!" said one of the men, as they whirled by.
+
+"There, that was Lady Geraldine Temple in that carriage, and the young
+man who stared so hard is her son. They've been paying a visit, or maybe
+they've brought Lady Clara to stay a bit. They say both families are
+keen for the match--and why shouldn't they be? Oh, they'll entertain the
+king here some day, and then there'll be high times at Daneshead!"
+
+An automobile flashed by them, and then another. "There must be a party
+here to-day, or likely it's visitors dropping in, now it's getting
+toward tea time. It's all right, ma'm," she added, as Cassandra stirred
+uneasily. "It must be only visitors, or I would have heard of it.
+They're keeping open house now, though they don't go anywhere themselves
+yet. You see it's a year since the deaths, so they could mourn them all
+at once, and not spin it along. They had to wait a year before Lady
+Laura's coming out--rightly. Let the ponies walk now, driver. I beg
+pardon, ma'm." The girl had so taken possession of Cassandra, the baby,
+and the whole expedition, that she gave the order unthinkingly.
+
+"Yes, let them walk," said Cassandra, and drew a long breath. She heard
+gay laughter, and caught sight through the trees of light dresses and
+wide, plumed hats. Some one sat on the terrace at a table whereon was
+shining silver.
+
+"There, I said so! That's Lady Clara pouring tea. I say, but she's a
+beauty! Isn't she? No, no. Go to the front, driver. American ladies
+don't call at the side."
+
+"There's a hautomobile there, ma'm."
+
+"Then wait a moment. Don't be a stupid."
+
+Thus, aided by the innkeeper's clever daughter, Cassandra at last made
+her entrance properly and was guided to the presence of David's mother,
+who had not joined her guests, having but just closed an interview with
+Mr. Stretton. As she saw Cassandra standing in the drawing-room waiting
+her, Lady Thryng came graciously forward. The lovely August weather had
+tempted every one out of doors, and the great room was left empty save
+for these two, David's mother and his wife.
+
+The beauty of other-worldliness which had infused Cassandra's whole
+being as she fought her silent battle during the long drive, still
+enveloped her. If she could have followed her impulses, she would have
+held out both hands and cried: "Take me and love me. I am David's wife."
+But she would not--she must not. Her heritage of faith in goodness--both
+of God and man--kept her heart open, and gave her power to think and act
+rightly in this her hour of terrible trial; even as a little child,
+being behind the veil which separates the soul from God, may, in its
+innocent prattle, utter words of superhuman wisdom.
+
+"I am sorry if I have interrupted you when you have company," she said
+slowly. "I am a stranger--an American."
+
+"Ah, you Americans are a happy lot and may go where you please. Take
+this seat by the window; it is very warm. My son has been in America,
+but he tells us so little, we are none the wiser for that, about your
+part of the world."
+
+"I knew him in America. That is why I called."
+
+"Yes?" The mother bent forward and regarded her curiously, attentively.
+
+"He lived very near us. He did a great deal of good--among the poor."
+She put her hand to her slender white throat, then dropped it again in
+her lap. Then, looking in Lady Thryng's eyes, she said: "I have seen
+your picture. I should have known you from that, but you are more
+beautiful."
+
+"Oh! That can hardly be, my dear! It was taken many years ago, you
+know."
+
+"Yes, he said so--his lordship--only there we called him Doctah Thryng."
+
+A shadow flitted over the mother's face. "He was a practitioner over
+there--never in England."
+
+"That is a pity; it is such noble work. But perhaps he has other things
+to do here."
+
+"He has--even more noble work than the practice of medicine."
+
+"What does he do here?" asked Cassandra, in a low voice.
+
+"He must take part in the affairs of government. Very ordinary men may
+study and practise medicine, but unless men who are wise, and are nobly
+born and bred, make it their business to care for the affairs of their
+country, the nation would soon be wrecked. That is what saves England
+and makes her great."
+
+"I see." Cassandra sat silent then, and Lady Thryng waited expectantly
+for her errand to be declared, curious about this beautiful young
+creature who had stepped into her home unannounced from out of the
+unknown, yet graciously kindly and unhurried. "I think I know. With us
+men are too careless. They think it isn't necessary, I suppose." Again
+she paused with parted lips, as if she would speak on, but could not.
+
+"With you, men are too busy making money, I am told. It is necessary to
+have a leisure class like ours."
+
+"Oh!" Cassandra caught her breath and smiled. She was thinking of the
+silver pot her mother had enjoined her to take with her, and why. "But
+we do think a great deal of family; even the simplest of us care for
+that, although we have no leisure class--only the loafers. I'm afraid
+you think it very strange I should come to you in this way, but
+I--thought I would like to see Doctah Thryng again, and when I heard he
+was not in England, I thought I would come to you and bring the messages
+from those who loved him when he was with us. But I mustn't stop now and
+take your time. I'll write them instead, only that wouldn't be like
+seeing him. He stayed a whole year at our place."
+
+"And you came from Canada?"
+
+"Oh, no. A long way from there. My home is in North Carolina."
+
+"Oh, indeed! How very interesting! That must have been when he was so
+ill." Then, noticing Cassandra's extreme pallor, she begged her most
+kindly to come out on the terrace and have tea; but she would not. She
+felt her fortitude giving way, and knew she must hasten. "But you must,
+you know. The heat and your long ride have made you faint."
+
+"I--I'm afraid so. It--won't--last."
+
+"Wait, then. You must take a little wine; you need it." Roused to
+sympathy, Lady Thryng left her a moment and returned immediately with a
+glass of wine, which she held to her lips with her own hand. "There, you
+will soon be better. Here is a fan. It really is very warm. Indeed, you
+must have tea before you go."
+
+She took her passive hand and led her out on the terrace unresisting,
+and again Cassandra was minded to throw her arms about the lovely
+woman's neck, who was so sweet and kind, and sob on her bosom and tell
+her all--but David had his own reasons, and she would not.
+
+"Do you stay long in England?"
+
+"I am going to-morrow. Oh!" she exclaimed, as they stepped out, and she
+saw the number of elaborately dressed guests moving about and gayly
+chatting and laughing. "I can't go out there. I am a strangah." It was a
+low melancholy wail as she said it, and long afterward Lady Thryng
+remembered that moaning cry, "I am a strangah."
+
+"No, no. You are an American and a very beautiful one. Come, they will
+be glad to meet you. Give me your name again."
+
+"Thank you--but I must--must go back." Suddenly, with a cry, "My baby,
+he is mine," she swept forward with long, swinging steps toward a group
+who were bending over a rosy-cheeked girl, who was seated on the steps
+of the terrace with a child in her arms. She was comforting him and
+cuddling and petting him, and those around her were exclaiming as young
+girls will: "Isn't he a dear!"--"Oh, let me hold him a moment!"--"There,
+he is going to cry again. No wonder, poor little chap!"--"Oh, look at
+his curls--so cunning--give him to me."
+
+Seeing his mother, he put up his arms to her and smiled, while two
+tears rolled down his round baby cheeks.
+
+"I found him in the pony carriage with Hetty Giles, and he was crying
+so--and such a darling! I just took him away--the love!" cried Laura.
+"Why, we saw you yesterday at the Victoria. I could not pass him by, you
+remember?"
+
+The baby, one beaming smile, nestled his face bashfully in his mother's
+neck and patted her cheek, glancing sidewise at his admirers through
+brimming tears, while Cassandra, her eyes large and pathetic, turned now
+on Laura, now on her mother, stood silent, quivering like one of her own
+mountain creatures brought to bay. But she was strengthened as she felt
+her baby again in her arms, and as she stood thus looking about her,
+every one became silent, and she was constrained to speak. She did not
+know that something in her manner and appearance had commanded
+silence--something tragic--despairing. It was but for an instant, then
+she turned to Lady Laura.
+
+[Illustration: _Cassandra stood silent, quivering like one of her own
+mountain creatures brought to bay. Page 286._]
+
+"Thank you for comforting him. I ought not to have left him. I nevah did
+before, with strangahs." She tried to bid Lady Thryng good-by, but Laura
+again besought her to stop and have tea.
+
+"Please do. I fairly adore Americans. I want to talk to you; I mean, to
+hear you talk."
+
+Cassandra had mastered herself at last, and replied quietly: "I don't
+guess I can stay, thank you. You have been so kind." Then she said to
+Lady Thryng, "Good-by," and moved away. Laura walked by her side to the
+carriage.
+
+"I hope you'll come again sometime, and let me know you."
+
+"You are right kind to say that. I shall nevah forget." Then, leaning
+down from the carriage seat, and looking steadily in Laura's warm, dark
+eyes, she added: "No, I shall nevah forget. May I kiss you?"
+
+"You sweet thing!" said the girl, impulsively, and, reaching up, they
+kissed. Cassandra said in her heart, "For David," and was driven away.
+
+Laura found her mother standing where they had left her. She had been
+deeply stirred by the sight of Cassandra with the child in her arms. Not
+that beautiful mothers and lovely children were rare in England; but
+that, except for the children of the poor, no little one like this had
+been in her own home or so near her in all the years of her widowhood.
+It was the sight of that strong mother love, overpowering and sweeping
+all before it, recognizing no lesser call--the secret and holy power
+that lies in the Christ-mother, for all periods and all peoples--she
+herself had felt it--and the cry that had burst from Cassandra's lips,
+"My baby--he is mine." Tears stood in Lady Thryng's eyes, and yet it was
+such a simple little thing. Mothers and babies? Why, they were
+everywhere.
+
+"She moved like a tragic queen," said Lady Clara. "What was the matter?"
+
+"Nothing, only her baby had been crying; but wasn't he a love?" said
+Lady Laura.
+
+"I say! He was a perfect dear!" said one and another.
+
+"I don't care much for babies," said Lady Clara. "They ought to be
+trained to stay with their nurses and not cry after their mammas like
+that. Fancy having to take such a child around with one everywhere, even
+in making a formal call, you know! Isn't it absurd? American women spoil
+their children dreadfully, I have heard."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+IN WHICH DAVID AND HIS MOTHER DO NOT AGREE
+
+
+The day after Cassandra's flight from Queensderry David returned.
+Although greatly prolonged, his African expedition had been successful,
+and he was pleased. He had improved his opportunities to learn political
+conditions and know what might best advance England's power in that
+remote portion of her possessions.
+
+Mr. Stretton had informed him that he might soon be called to a seat in
+the House, and he was glad to be in a measure prepared to hold opinions
+of his own on a few, at least, of the vital issues. Canada he already
+knew well, and to be conversant also with the state of affairs in South
+Africa gave him greater confidence.
+
+The first afternoon of his return he spent in looking over the changes
+which had been in progress at Daneshead during his absence. In spite of
+his weariness, he seemed buoyant and gay, more so, his mother thought,
+than at any time since his return from America. She said nothing about
+the episode of Cassandra's call,--possibly for the time it was
+forgotten,--but as they parted for the night, when they were alone
+together, Lady Thryng again broached to her son the subject of his
+marriage.
+
+"We have had a visit from Lady Clara Temple," she said.
+
+David lay upon a divan with his hands clasped beneath his head, and the
+light from a reading lamp streamed upon his sunny hair, which always
+looked as if some playful breeze had just lifted it. His whole frame had
+the sinewy appearance of energy and power. His mother's heart swelled
+with love and pride as she looked at his smiling, thoughtful face, and
+down upon his lean, strong body that in its lassitude expressed the
+vigor of a splendid animal at rest.
+
+Still more would she have given thanks for the restoration of this
+beloved son could she have been able to contrast his present state with
+his condition when, ill and discouraged, he had gone to the lonely log
+cabin in a wilderness, struggling to build up both body and spirit, far
+from the sympathy and fellowship of his own.
+
+Now she thrilled with the thought of what he might achieve if only he
+would, but her heart misgave her that he still held some strange notions
+of life. She thought the surest way to control his quixotic impulses was
+to provide him with a good, practical wife,--one who would see the world
+as it is and accept conditions that are stable, not trying to move
+mountains, yet with sufficient ambition for both her husband and
+herself. With a wife and children a man could not afford to be erratic.
+
+"What were you saying, mother?"
+
+"What were you thinking, David, that you did not hear me? I am telling
+you we have just had a very delightful visit from Lady Clara Temple, and
+Lady Temple and her son have called."
+
+David made no reply. He seemed to think the remark called for none.
+"Well, David?"
+
+"Well, mother?" and then: "I think I will go to bed. I am rarely tired,
+and bed is the place for me." He kissed his mother, then took hold of
+her chin and lifted her face to look in his eyes. "What is it, little
+mother, what is it?" he asked gayly and obtusely.
+
+"Aren't you a bit stupid, David, not to see? I wish--I do wish you could
+care for Lady Clara. She really is charming."
+
+"I do care for her--as Lady Clara Temple. She is charming, and, as you
+say of me, a bit stupid. What has Laura been doing these two months?"
+
+"Preparing for her coming out after her own fashion. We've been a good
+deal in town, but she has a reckless way of doing anything she pleases,
+quite regardless."
+
+"She is a big-hearted fine lass, mother. Don't let her ways trouble
+you."
+
+"She needs the right influence, and Lady Clara seems to exert it over
+her--at least I think she will in time."
+
+"Ah, very good, let her. I won't interfere. Good night, little mother;
+sleep well. If I am late in the morning, don't be annoyed. I've had
+three wakeful nights. The sea was very rough."
+
+"David!" Lady Thryng placed her hands on his shoulders and held him,
+looking in his eyes. "Marry Lady Clara. You are worthy of a princess, my
+son. You can afford to be ambitious. The day may come when you can
+entertain the king."
+
+"Now really, mother; I'll entertain the king with pleasure. He's a fine
+old chap. A little gay, you know, but quite the right sort. But Lady
+Clara is a step too high. She'd rub it into me some day that I'd married
+above my station, you know. Good night. Dream of the king, mother, but
+not of Lady Clara."
+
+He sought his bed, and was soon soundly sleeping, content with the
+thought that next week he would sail for America and have Laura's coming
+out postponed. The family festivity was following too closely on the
+year of mourning, at any rate. The announcement that he already had a
+penniless American wife would naturally be a blow to them, all the more
+so if his mother was seriously cherishing such hopes as she had
+expressed; but he couldn't be a cad. His conscience smote him that his
+conduct already bordered closely on the caddish, but to be an out and
+out cad,--no, no.
+
+When he awoke,--late, as he had said, but refreshed and jubilant,--the
+revelation he must make seemed to him less formidable, and he was minded
+to make it with no more delay as he tossed over his mail, while
+breakfasting in his room.
+
+"Ah, what is this?" A letter in his wife's hand, bearing the Liverpool
+postmark! Was she on her way to him, then? "Good God!" He tore off the
+cover hastily, but sat a moment with bowed head, his hand over his eyes,
+before reading it.
+
+
+"MY DEAR DAVID,--My husband, forgive me. I have done wrong, but I meant
+to do right. They said words of you,--on our mountain, David,--words I
+hated; and I lied to them and came to you. I told them you had sent for
+me. I did it to prove to them that what they were saying was not true. I
+took the money you gave me and came to England, and now God has
+punished me, and I am going back. I know you will be surprised when I
+tell you how wrong I have been. I would not write you I had borne you a
+little son, because I did not want you to come back to America for his
+sake, but for mine. My heart was that proud. Oh! David, forgive me."
+David's face grew pale, and the paper trembled in his hand, but he read
+eagerly on.
+
+"My heart cries to you all the time. He is yours, David; forgive me. He
+is very beautiful. He is like you. Your sister held him in her arms, and
+I kissed her for love of you, but she did not know why. She did not
+guess the beautiful baby was yours--your very own. Your mother saw him,
+but she did not guess he was hers--her little grandson. I took him away
+quickly. They might have kept him if they knew. You will let me have him
+a little longer, won't you, David? When he is older, you will have to
+take him home and educate him, but now--now--he is all I have of you.
+Soon the terrible ocean will be between us again.
+
+"It will be just the same in your home now as if I had never come. I did
+not say I was your wife--for you had not--and I would not tell them. I
+want you to know this, so nothing will be changed by me. In London,
+before I knew, when I thought you were there, when I did not understand,
+I wrote my name in the hotel book, but in Queensderry something in my
+heart stopped me and I only wrote my old name, Cassandra Merlin. I must
+have been beginning to understand."
+
+David paused and dashed the tears from his eyes. "Poor little heart!
+Poor little heart!" he cried. He paced the room, then tried to read
+again. The letters, blurred by his tears, seemed to dance about and run
+together.
+
+"Now I see it all clearly, David, and, after a little, God will help me
+to live on the happiness you brought me in our sweet year together.
+There was happiness for a lifetime in that year. Comfort your heart with
+that thought when you think of me, and do not be too sad.
+
+"Oh, David! I did not know that to save me from marrying Frale and
+living a life worse than death you sacrificed yourself. But you did not
+need to do it. After knowing you and after doing what he did to you, I
+never could have married him. I only knew you came to me and saved me
+from the terrible life I might have led, and I took you as from God. I
+have seen the beautiful lady you should have married, and I don't know
+what to do, nor how to give you back to yourself. I suppose there may be
+a way, but we have made our vows to each other before God, and we must
+do no sin. My heart is heavy. I would give you all, all, but I can't
+take back the love I gave you. I could die to set you free again, for in
+that way I could keep the blessed love which is part of my soul, in
+heaven with me, only for our little son. My life is his now, too, and I
+have no right to die, not yet, even to set you free.
+
+"Oh, David, David! This must be the shadow I saw clouding our long path
+of light. In some terrible way it has been laid on me to do you a wrong
+in the eyes of your family and all your world. Your mother told me you
+had work to do for your country, great and glorious work. I believe it,
+and you must do it and not let an ignorant mountain girl stand in your
+way.
+
+"Oh! I can't think it out to-night. When I try to see a way, I can't.
+The visions are lost to my eyes, and they may never come again. The
+windows of my soul are clouded, and the clear seeing is gone, because,
+David, I know it is myself that comes between. I can only cry to you now
+to forgive me. Don't let me mar your great, good life. Don't try to come
+back to me. Stay on and live your life and do your work, and I will keep
+your little son safe for you, and teach him to love you and call you
+father, and he shall be called David. He has no name yet; I was waiting
+for you. It will only be a little while before he will need you, then
+you may take him. Your mother and sister will love him. He will be a
+great boy full of laughter and light, like you, David, and then your
+mountain girl wife will be gone and your sacrifice at an end, and your
+reward will come at last.
+
+"I will go back and stay quietly where I belong. Don't send me any more
+money. I have enough to take me home, and I can earn all we need after
+that. Earning will help me by giving me something to do for our baby and
+so for you. Sometimes I will send you word that all is well with him,
+but do not write to me any more. It will be easier for you so, and
+don't let your heart be too much troubled for me, David. It will
+interfere with your power and usefulness in your own world. Grieving is
+like fire set to a great tree. It burns the heart out of it first, and
+leaves the rest. A man must not be like that. With a woman it is
+different. Be glad that you did save me and brought me all these months
+of sweet, sweet happiness. I will live on the remembrance.
+
+"People have to bear the separation of death, and we will call the ocean
+that divides us Death, for our two worlds are divided by it. I sail
+to-morrow. You took me into your heart to save me, and now, David my
+love, I go out of your heart to save you, and give you back to your own
+life. Some day the cords that bind us to each other, the cords our vows
+have made, will part and set you free. Good-by, good-by, David my heart,
+David my love, David, David, good-by.
+                              "CASSANDRA MERLIN."
+
+
+For a long instant David sat with the letter crushed in his hand, then
+suddenly awoke to energetic action.
+
+"To-day? When does the boat leave? Good God! there may be time." He rang
+for a servant and began tossing his clothing together. "Curses on me for
+a cad--a boor--a lout--. Why did I leave my mail until this morning and
+then oversleep! Clark," he said, as the man appeared, "tell Hicks to
+bring the machine around immediately, then come for my bag."
+
+"Beg pardon, but the machine's out of order, my lord, and her ladyship's
+just going out in the carriage."
+
+"Why is it out of order? Hicks is a fool. Ask Lady Thryng to wait. No,
+pack my bag and send my boxes on after me as they are. I'll speak to her
+myself."
+
+He threw off his jacket, thrust his cap in his pocket, and dashed away,
+pulling on his coat as he went, holding the crushed pages of the letter
+in his hand. He overtook his mother as she was walking down the terrace.
+
+"Mother, wait," he cried, "I'm going with you. Where's Laura?"
+
+"She was coming. I can't think what is delaying her."
+
+David hurried on to the carriage. "Get in, mother, I'll take her place.
+Get in, get in. We must be off."
+
+"David, are you out of your head?"
+
+"Yes, mother. Drive on, drive on. I must catch the first train for
+Liverpool--I may catch it. Put the horses through, John. Make them
+sweat," he said, leaning out of the carriage window.
+
+"Explain yourself, David. Are you in trouble?"
+
+"Yes, mother. Wait a little."
+
+She looked at her son and saw his mouth set, his eyes stern and
+anguished, and she placed her hand gently on his as they were being
+whirled away. "Your bags are not in, David, if you are going a journey."
+
+"Clark will follow with them, and I can wait in Liverpool, if I can only
+catch this boat."
+
+"David, explain. If you can't, then let me read this," she pleaded,
+touching the letter in his hand; but he clutched it the tighter.
+
+"No one may read this, not even you." He pressed the crumpled sheets to
+his lips, then folded them carefully away. "It's just that I've been a
+cad--a fiendish cad and an idiot in one. I thought myself a man of high
+ideals-- My God, I am a cad!"
+
+"David, you sacrificed yourself to ideals, but you are still a boy and
+have much to learn. When men try to set new laws for themselves and get
+out of the ordinary, they are more than apt to make fools of themselves,
+and may do positive harm. What is it now?"
+
+"Can't you get over the ground any faster, John?" he cried, thrusting
+his head again out of the window. "These horses are overfed and lazy,
+like all the English people. Why was the machine out of order? Hicks is
+a fool--I say!" He put his hand inside his collar and pulled and worked
+it loose. "We are all hidebound here. Even our clothes choke us."
+
+"David, tell me the truth."
+
+"I am telling you the truth. I am a cad, I say. And you--you, too, are a
+part of the system that makes cads of us all."
+
+"I am your mother, David," said Lady Thryng, reprovingly.
+
+"You have reason to be proud of your son! Oh! curse me! I won't be more
+of a cad than I am now by laying the blame on you. I could have helped
+it, but you couldn't. We are born and bred that way, over here. The
+petty lines of distinction our ancestors drew for us,--we bow down and
+worship them, and say God drew them. Over here a man hides the sun with
+his own hand and then cries out, 'Where is it?'"
+
+"I would comfort you if I could, but this sounds very much like ranting.
+I thought you had outlived that sort of thing, my son."
+
+"Thank God, no. I've been very hard pressed of late, but I've not
+outlived it."
+
+"You will tell me this trouble--now--before you leave me? You must, dear
+boy." He took the hand she put out to him, and held it in silence; then,
+incoherently, in a voice humbled and low,--almost lost in the rumbling
+of the carriage,--he told her. It was a revelation of the soul, and as
+the mother listened she too suffered and wept, but did not relent.
+
+Cassandra's cry, "I am a strangah!" sounded in her ears, but her sorrow
+was for her son. Yes, she was a stranger, and had wisely taken herself
+back to her own place; what else could she do? Was it not in the nature
+of a Providence that David had been delayed until after her departure?
+The duty now devolved upon herself to comfort him without further
+reproof, but nevertheless to make him see and do his duty in the
+position he had been called to fill.
+
+"Of course she has charm, David, and evidently good sense as well."
+
+"How do you mean?"
+
+"To perceive the inevitable and return without fuss or complaint to her
+own station in life."
+
+For an instant he sat stunned, and ere he could give utterance to his
+rage, she resumed, "Naturally, marriage now, in your own class can't be;
+you'll simply have to live as a bachelor." David groaned. "Why, my son,
+many do, of their own choice, and you have managed to be happy during
+this year."
+
+He glanced at his watch. "Eleven o'clock,--can't--"
+
+"There's no use urging the horses so; we can't make it."
+
+"We may, mother, we may." He half rose as if he would leap from the
+vehicle. "I could go faster on foot. There's a quarter of an hour yet
+before the Liverpool express. John, can't we get on faster than this?"
+
+"No, my lord. One of the 'orses has picked up a stone. If you'll 'old
+'em I'll dig it out in 'alf a minute, my lord."
+
+David sprang out and took the reins. "Where's the footman?" he asked
+testily.
+
+"You left 'im behind, my lord. He was 'elping Lady Laura cut roses."
+
+"David, this is useless. The last train from London went through an hour
+ago and we haven't ten minutes for the next. Order him to return and
+we'll consider calmly."
+
+David laughed bitterly, and only sprang into the coach and shut the door
+with a crash. "Drive on, John," he shouted through the window, and again
+they were off at a mad gallop.
+
+His mother turned and looked at him astounded. "Let me read what she has
+written you, my son," she implored, half frightened at his frenzy.
+
+"It's of no use for you to read it. We can't talk now, not rationally."
+
+"Then tell him not to drive so furiously, so we can hear each other."
+
+"I would avoid useless discussion, mother, but you force it." An instant
+he paused, and his teeth ground together and his jaw set rigidly, then
+he continued with a savage force that appalled her, throwing out short
+sentences like daggers. "Lord H---- brings home an American wife. His
+family are well pleased. She is every where received. Her father is a
+rich brewer. Her brother has turned out his millions from the business
+of pork packing. The stench from his establishment pollutes miles of
+country, but does not reach England--why? Because of the disinfectant
+process of transmuting their greasy American dollars into golden English
+sovereigns. There's justice."
+
+"Be reasonable, David. Their estates were involved to the last degree
+and those sovereigns saved the family. Without them they would have
+passed out of their possession utterly, and been divided among our rich
+tradespeople, and the family would have descended rapidly to the
+undergrades. It goes to show the value of birth, what is more, and how
+those Americans, who made a pretence long ago of scorning birth and
+title and casting it all off, are glad enough now to buy their way back
+again, if not for themselves, for their children. But, David, for a man
+to voluntarily degrade his family by marrying beneath him, with no such
+need as that of Lord H----, of ultimately by that very means lifting it
+up is--is--inexpressible--why--! In the case of Lord H---- there was a
+certain nobility in marrying beneath him."
+
+"Beneath him! For me, I married above me, over all of us, when I took my
+sweet, clean mountain girl. The nobility of Lord H---- is unique. Lady
+H---- made a poor bargain when she left the mingled stenches of brewing
+and butchering to step into the moral stench which depleted the
+Stonebreck estates."
+
+"You are not like my son, David. You are violent."
+
+"Your son has been a cad. Now he is a man, and must either be violent or
+weep." He looked away from her out at the flying hedgerows, then took up
+the fruitless discussion again, striving with more patience to arouse in
+his mother a sense of the utter worldliness of her stand. She met him at
+every point with the obtuse and age-long arguments of her class. When at
+last he cried out, "But what of my son, mother, my little son, and the
+heir to all this grandeur which means so much to you?" Her eyelids
+quivered and she looked down, merely saying, "His mother has offered you
+a solution to that difficulty which seems to me the only wise one. You
+say she proposes to keep him a year or two and then send him to us."
+
+"Ah, you are like steel, mother." David spoke pleadingly, "You thought
+him a beautiful child?"
+
+"I did, and a wholesome one, which goes to show that you may safely
+trust him with her for a time. Moreover, his mother has a right to him
+and the comfort she may find in him for a few years. You see I would be
+quite just to her. I do not accuse her of being designing in marrying
+you. No doubt it was quite your own fault. It is a position you two
+young people rushed into romantically and most foolishly, and you must
+both suffer the consequences. It is sad, but it must be regarded in the
+light of hard common sense, and my ungrateful task seems to be to place
+it in that light for both your sakes."
+
+Still David watched the hedgerows with averted face.
+
+"You are listening, David?"
+
+"Yes, mother, yes. Common sense you said."
+
+"Can't you see, that to bring her here, where she does not belong--where
+she never will be received as belonging, even though she is your
+wife--will only cause suffering to you both? Eventually
+misunderstandings will arise, then will come alienation and unhappiness.
+Then again, yours must be in a measure a public life, unless you mean to
+shirk responsibility. Has your country no claim on you?"
+
+"I have no thought of shirking my duty, and am prepared to think and act
+also--"
+
+"You wish it to be effective? Has it never occurred to you how your
+avenues will be cut off if you marry a wife beneath your class?"
+
+"What in God's name will my wife have to do with England's African
+policy? Damme--"
+
+"David!"
+
+"Mother--I beg your pardon--"
+
+"She may have everything to do with it. No man can stand alone and foist
+his ideas upon such a body of men, without backing. Instead of hampering
+yourself with an ignorant mountain girl from America, you should have
+allied yourself to a strong family of position here, if you would be a
+power in England. What sort of a Lady Thryng will your present wife
+make? What kind of a leader socially in your own class? You might better
+try to place a girl from the bogs of Ireland at the head of your table."
+
+Again David's rage surged through him in a hot wave, but he controlled
+himself. "You admitted Cassandra has both beauty and charm?"
+
+"Would my son have been attracted to her else? Nevertheless, what I say
+stands. As a help to you--"
+
+"You have done your duty, mother. I will say this for you--that for
+sophistry undiluted, a woman of the present day who stands where you do,
+can out-Greek the ancients. How is it we see so differently? Is it that
+I am like my father? How did he see things?"
+
+"Your father was as much a nobleman as your uncle. Only by the accident
+of birth was he differently placed. Did I never tell you that but for
+his death he would have been created bishop of his diocese? So you
+see--"
+
+"I see. By dying he just escaped a bishopric. Did it make a difference
+in his reception up above--do you think?"
+
+"Oh, David, David!"
+
+"I'm sorry mother--never mind. We're nearly there and I have something I
+must say to you before I leave you to end this discussion forever. There
+are two kinds of men in this world,--one sort is made by his
+circumstances, and the other makes his circumstances. You would respect
+your son more if he belonged to the first variety, but I tell you no. I
+will make my own conditions. Before all else, I am a man. My lordship
+was thrust upon me. Don't interrupt, I beg. I know all you would say,
+but you do not know all I would say-- My birth gave it to me certainly,
+but a cruel and bloody war was the means by which it came to me. Very
+well. I will take it and the responsibility which it entails; but the
+cruelty that brought me my title is ended and in no form shall it be
+continued, social or otherwise. I hold to the rights of my manhood. I
+will bring to England whom I please as my wife, and my world shall
+recognize her, and you will receive her because I bring her, and because
+she will stand head and soul above any one you have here to propose for
+me. Here we are, mother dear. One kiss? Thank you, thank you. Postpone
+Laura's coming out until--I return--which will be--when--you know."
+
+He leaped from the carriage before it had time to halt, and ran, but
+alas! baffled and enraged at his ill success, he stood on the platform
+and watched the train pull out. It was only a slow local puffing away
+there.
+
+"Liverpool express left five minutes ago, my lord," said the guard.
+
+His mother leaned out, watching him with sad, yet eager eyes, satisfied
+that it should be so. He might return now, and there was by no means an
+end to her opposition.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+IN WHICH CASSANDRA BRINGS THE HEIR OF DANESHEAD CASTLE BACK TO HER
+HILLTOP, AND THE SHADOW LIFTS
+
+
+"Cassandry Merlin, whar did you drap from?" cried the Widow Farwell, as
+she looked up from the supper she was preparing at the great fireplace,
+and saw her daughter in the doorway with her baby. Her old face radiated
+light and warmth and love as she took them both in her arms. "Whar's
+David?"
+
+Cassandra smiled wearily, returning her mother's kiss and yielding her
+the baby. "You'll have to be satisfied with me and little son, mother.
+David was still in Africa, so I came home again." She spoke as if a trip
+to England were a casual little matter, and this was all the explanation
+she gave that night. "I got the hotel carriage to bring me up from the
+station."
+
+The mother, with quaint simplicity, accepted it, asking no troublesome
+questions. If David was not there, why should not her daughter return.
+After their supper together, in the warm, starlit evening, each member
+of the family carrying something for the traveller's comfort, they all
+climbed up to Cassandra's cabin, and the old life began as if it had
+suffered no interruption. Cassandra so filled the pauses with questions
+of all that had happened during her absence that it was only after her
+mother was in bed and dropping off to sleep she remembered questions of
+her own that had been unasked, or left unanswered.
+
+The next day Cassandra pleaded weariness and stayed in her cabin,
+sending Martha down for her necessary supplies, and quietly occupying
+herself with setting her simple home in its accustomed order. The day
+after, she spent overlooking the little farm with Cotton, and hearing
+from him all about the animals. The cows, two little calves, Frale's
+colt, and her own filly, and how "some ol' houn' dog" had got into the
+sheep-pen and killed the mother sheep, and "Marthy" had brought the twin
+lambs up by hand. And while Cassandra busied herself thus, the widow
+kept charge of the little grandson, warming her heart with his baby
+ways, petting him and solacing herself for his long absence.
+
+Thus the first days were lived through, and no further explanation made,
+for something held Cassandra silent in a strange waiting suspense. It
+was not hope, for she felt that she had taken a stand which was
+conclusive, and there was nothing more for which to hope. What else
+could she do, and what could David do? The conditions were made for
+them; each must bide in his own world, and she had named the ocean which
+divided them, "Death."
+
+At night she did not weep, for weeping made her ill, and she must
+conserve her strength for her little son, so she lay staring out at the
+stars. Sometimes she found herself holding her breath and
+listening,--half lifting her head from her pillow,--but listening for
+what? Then she would lean over her baby's cradle, and hear his soft
+breathing, trying to make herself think she was listening for that and
+not for David's step. Then she would lie back and try again to sleep,
+and her heart would cry to God to give her peace, and let her rest. So
+the long nights passed, tearlessly and sleeplessly.
+
+On the boat she had slept, lulled by its rocking and swaying, but here
+in her home--in her accustomed routine--sleep had fled, and old thoughts
+and dreams came like the dead to haunt her. The paleness which had come
+upon her in London, and which the sea breeze had supplanted with
+fleeting roses, returned, and she moved about looking as if only her
+wraith had come back to its old haunts.
+
+On the third day after Cassandra's return, David found himself climbing
+the laurel path a far different man from the one who, two years before,
+had slowly and wearily toiled up to the little house of logs which was
+to be his shelter. With strong, free step and heart uplifted and glad,
+he now climbed that winding path. He had conquered the ills of his body,
+and his spirit had lived and loved, and he had learned to know happiness
+from its counterfeit. He had gone out and seen men chasing phantoms and
+shadows thinking therein to find joy--joy--the need of the world--one in
+a coronet, one in a crown, and the beggar in a golden sovereign--while
+he--he had found it in his own heart and in Cassandra's eyes.
+
+David had passed the Fall Place, seeing no one; for the widow had ridden
+over to spend the day with Sally Carew, her niece was in the
+spring-house skimming cream, while Cotton was dawdling in the corn patch
+whistling and pulling the ripened ears from the stalks. A cool breeze
+had dispelled the heat of the September afternoon, and the hills were
+already beginning to don their gorgeous apparel after the summer's
+drouth; their wonderful beauty struck him anew and steeped his senses
+with their charm.
+
+If only all was well with his wife--his wife and his little son! His
+heart beat so madly as he neared the thicket of laurel where once he had
+stood to watch her moving about his cabin, that he was forced to pause;
+and again he saw her, standing in her homespun dress, strongly relieved
+against the whiteness of the canvas room beyond--but this time not
+alone-- Ah, not alone! Holding his little son in her arms, her body
+swaying with rhythmic motion, lulling him to drowsiness and sleep, she
+stooped to lay him in the rude little cradle box.
+
+David trembled as he watched, and dashed the tears from his eyes, but
+could not move to break too soon this breathless, poignant spell of
+gladness. Suddenly he could wait no longer, but his feet clung to the
+earth when he would move, and his mouth went dry. Ah, could he never
+reach her? He stood holding out his arms, when, oh, wonder of wonders!
+she raised herself and stood as if listening, then, moving swiftly,
+walked from the cabin and came to him as if she had heard him call,
+although he had made no sound--her arms outstretched to him as were his
+to her.
+
+She did not cry out, but with parted lips and radiant, glowing face,
+fled to him and was clasped to his heart. She could feel its beating
+against her breast, and his silence spoke to her through his eyes, which
+saw not her face but her soul; his lips brought the roses to her cheeks
+as the sea breezes had done--roses that came and fled and came
+again--until at last it was Cassandra who spoke first.
+
+"I want you to see him, David."
+
+"Yes, yes, my wife," was all he said, his eyes on hers, but he did not
+move.
+
+"I want you to see our little son, David." A strange pang shot through
+his heart. Still he stood, holding her and marvelling at himself. What!
+Was it that this young usurper had stolen into his place?
+
+"Love is selfish, dear. Let me recover from one joy before you overwhelm
+me with another. First, I must have my own, and know that it is all
+mine."
+
+"I don't understand, David. I can't wait. Oh! David--David!"
+
+"You turn my name to music with your tones lingering over it. I had
+forgotten how sweet it was."
+
+"But I don't understand, David. Come and see him." And as she drew him
+forward, they moved as one being, not two.
+
+"No, you don't understand, thank God. But I will teach you something you
+never knew. Love is not only blind, dearest; he is a greedy, selfish
+little god."
+
+Then she laughed happily, holding him at arm's-length and looking in his
+eyes. "I know it. I know it. I found it out all by myself. Didn't I tell
+you in my letter? Oh, David, so was I!" She drew him to her again and
+nestled her face in his bosom. "I was jealous of our little son. I
+wanted you, David-- Oh! I wanted you." At last came the tears, the
+blessed human tears which she had held back so long. But now they did no
+harm except to drench her husband's gray tie, and they brought a lovely
+flush to her face. "I can't stop, David; I can't stop. I haven't cried
+for so long, and now I can't stop."
+
+"Sweetheart, don't try to stop. Cry it all out. Wash the stains from me
+of the cruel old world where I have been; cleanse me so that I may see
+as clearly as you see; but you would have to cry forever to do that,
+wouldn't you, sweet? And soon you must laugh again."
+
+He clasped and comforted her as she was used to comfort her baby,
+soothing her and drying her eyes with his own handkerchief. "Yours isn't
+large enough for such a flood, is it, sweet?"
+
+"No, a--a--and I--I can-can't find mine," she sobbed "I--I--left it
+tucked under baby's chin--and now I've spoiled your pretty gray tie."
+
+"Bless you! They are my tears, and it is my tie--"
+
+"David! He is crying--hark!"
+
+"Helping his mother, is he? Come then, his father will comfort him."
+
+"Hear him. Isn't it a sweet little cry, David?" She smiled at him from
+under tear-wet lashes.
+
+"Why, bless you again! Yours was a sweet little cry." They went in, and
+he bent over the odd little cradle and lifted the child tenderly from
+its soft nest. The wailing ceased, and the fatherhood awoke in him and
+laughed with joy as he held the warm little body to his heart, wherein
+now, he knew, lay the key of life--the complete and rounded love, God's
+gift to man, to be cherished when found, and fought for and held in the
+holy of holies of his own soul.
+
+"He isn't afraid, you see, David. How he stares at you! Does he feel it
+in his own little heart that you are his father? I have whispered it to
+him a thousand, thousand times. Sit here with him, David, and I'll make
+you some tea." She busied herself with the tea things--the old life
+beginning anew--with a new interest.
+
+"I always make it just as you taught me that first day when I came up
+here so choked with trouble I couldn't speak. You always brought me
+good, David."
+
+He saw as he watched her that some new and subtile charm had been added
+to her personality. Was it motherhood that had given it to her, or the
+long year of patient waiting and trusting; or had she passed through
+depths of which he as yet knew nothing, to cause this evanescent breath
+of pathos? He felt and knew it was all of these. What must she have
+endured as she wrote that letter!
+
+
+David fell easily and happily into his life on the mountain again--not
+the English lord, but the vital, human being, the man in splendid
+possession of himself and his impulses, holding sacred his rights as a
+man, not to be coerced by custom or bound by any chains save those he
+himself had forged to bind his heart before God.
+
+For a time he would not allow himself to think of the future,
+preferring to live thus with the world completely shut away. Buoyantly,
+jubilantly, he tramped the hills and visited the homes where he had been
+wont to bring help and often comforts, and found himself therein lauded
+and idolized as few of his station ever are.
+
+Again he was "Doctah Thryng," and the love that accompanied the title,
+in the hearts of those mountain people, was regal. He enjoyed his little
+farm, and the gathering of his first "crap," counting his bundles of
+fodder and his bushels of corn. Sometimes he rode with Cassandra,
+visiting the old haunts; at such times David insisted that the boy be
+left with the grandmother or that Martha should come up to mind him,
+that he might have his wife free and quite to himself as in their first
+days.
+
+But all this time, although silent about it, Cassandra kept in her heart
+the thought of David's real state. She felt he was playing a part to
+bring her joy, and was grateful, but she knew he must return to his own
+world and live his own life. Therefore she existed in a state of
+breathless suspense, to enjoy these moments to the fullest,--not to miss
+or mar an instant of the blessed time while it lasted.
+
+The days were flying--flying--so rapidly she dared not think, and here
+was splendid October trailing her wonderful draperies over the hills
+like a lavish princess. When would David speak? But perhaps he was
+waiting for her to speak first? If so, how long ought she to remain
+silent? Often he caught the wistful look in her eyes, and half divined
+the meaning.
+
+One day when they had wandered up her father's path, and the wind came
+in warm, soft gusts, sweeping over the miles of splendor from the sea,
+David drew her to him, determined to win from her a full expression.
+
+"What is it, Cassandra? Open your heart. Don't shut anything away from
+me. What have you been dreaming lately?"
+
+"You have never said a word of fault with me yet, David--for what I did,
+going away off there and not waiting quietly until you could come back,
+as you wrote me to do."
+
+"That was the bravest, finest thing you ever did--but one." He was
+thinking of her renunciation.
+
+"You are so good to forgive me, David. In one way it was better that I
+went, because it made me understand as I never could have done
+otherwise. You would never have told me, but now I know."
+
+"Unfold a little of this wisdom, so I may judge of its value."
+
+"Can you, David? I'm afraid not. You have a way of bewildering me, so I
+can't see the rights and wrongs of things myself. But there! It is just
+part of the difference. Why, even the nursemaids over there, and Hetty
+Giles, the landlady's daughter, are wiser than I. I came to see it every
+instant, the difference between you and me--between our two worlds.
+David, how did you ever dare marry me?"
+
+He only laughed happily and kissed her. "Tell it all," he said tenderly.
+
+"I felt it first when I went to the town house. It was hard to find the
+address. I only had Mr. Stretton's." David set his teeth grimly in anger
+at himself at giving her only his lawyer's address, in stupid fear lest
+her letters betray him to his mother and sister.
+
+"Now, do not hide one thing from me--not one," he said sternly, and she
+continued, with a conscientious fear of disobedience, to open her heart.
+
+"I saw by the look in the old man's eyes that I had not done the right
+thing, coming in that way with a baby in my arms, like a beggar. I saw
+he was very curious, and I was that proud I didn't know what to tell him
+I had come for, when I found you were not there, so when he said artists
+often came to see the gallery, I said I had come to see the gallery; and
+David, I didn't even know what a gallery was. I thought it was a high
+piazza around a house, and I found it was a great room full of pictures.
+I was that ignorant.
+
+"I felt like I was some wild creature that had got lost in that splendid
+palace and didn't know where to run to get away; and they all fixed
+their eyes on me as if they were saying: 'How does she dare come here?
+She isn't one of us!' and one was a boy who looked like you. The old man
+kept saying how like it was to the new Lord Thryng, and it made me cold
+to hear it,--so cold that after I had escaped from there and was out in
+the sun, my teeth chattered."
+
+David sat silent and humbled; at last he said: "Go on, Cassandra. Don't
+cover up anything."
+
+"When I got back to the hotel, everything seemed so splendid and stuffy
+and horrid--and every way I turned it seemed as if those dead ancestors
+of yours were there staring at me still; and I thought what right had
+they over the living that they dared stand between you and me; and I was
+angry." She stirred in his arms, and pressed closer to him.
+"David--forgive me--I can't tell it over--it hurts me."
+
+"Go on," he said hoarsely.
+
+"The old man told me what was expected of you because of them--how your
+mother wished you to marry a great lady--and I knew they could never
+have heard of me--and I forgot to eat my dinner and stayed in my room
+and fought and fought with myself--I'm sorry I felt that way, David.
+Don't mind. I understand now." She put up her hand and touched his
+cheek, and he took it in his and kissed it. Then she laughed a sad
+little laugh.
+
+"Remember that funny little old silver teapot. Mother brought it to me
+before I left, and I took it with me! She is so proud of our family,
+although she has only that poor little pot to show for it, with its nose
+all melted off to make silver bullets sure to kill. Did you know it was
+one of those bullets Frale tried to kill you with? Oh, David, David!"
+
+"And yet your mother is right, dear. That little wrecked bit of silver
+helps to interpret you--indicates your ancestors--how you come to be
+you--just as you are. How could I ever have loved you, if you had been
+different from what you are?"
+
+For a long moment she lay still--scarcely breathing--then she lifted her
+head and looked in his eyes. One of her silences was on her, and while
+her lips trembled as if to speak, she said no word. He tried to draw her
+to him again, but she held him off.
+
+"Then tell me what it is," he said gently. But she only shook her head
+and rose to walk away from him. He did not try to call her back to him,
+respecting her silence, and she moved on up the path with long, swift
+steps.
+
+When she returned, he held out his arms to her, but she stood before him
+looking down into his eyes, "I couldn't tell you sitting there with
+your arms around me, David, and what I have to say must be said now; I
+may never be strong enough to say it another time, and it must be said."
+
+Then she told him all that had occurred while she was in Queensderry,
+from the moment she came, going down into her heart and revealing the
+hidden thoughts never before expressed even to herself, while he gazed
+back into her eyes fascinated by her spiritual beauty which was her
+power.
+
+She told of the chatter of Hetty Giles, and how she had pointed out the
+beautiful lady his mother wished him to marry--and how slowly everything
+had dawned upon her--the real differences. Of the guests she had seen on
+the Daneshead terrace and how they wore such lovely dresses and moved so
+easily and laughed and talked all at once, as if they were used to it
+all, and perhaps wore such charming things for every day--the wonderful
+colors and wide, beautiful hats with plumes--and how even the servants
+wore pretty clothes and went about as if they all knew how to do things,
+passing cups and plates.
+
+Then she told of her talk with his mother and how carefully she had
+guarded her tongue lest a word escape her he would rather not have had
+her speak. "I had wronged you in not telling you you had a son, and I
+meant to leave him with your mother so he could be raised right." She
+paused, and put her hand to her throat, then went bravely on. "Your
+mother was kind--she gave me wine--she brought it to me herself. I knew
+what I ought to do, but I wasn't strong enough. It seemed as if
+something here in my breast was bleeding, and my baby would die if I did
+it. When I came out, he was in your sister's arms and had been crying,
+and it seemed as if all I had planned had happened, and I took him and
+carried him away quickly. I couldn't go fast enough, and I left the inn
+that night. The world seemed all like _Vanity Fair_."
+
+David rose and stood before her looking down into her eyes. He could not
+control his voice in speaking, and she felt his hands quiver as they
+rested on her shoulders. "When did you read that book, Cassandra? Where
+did you find it?" he asked, in dismay.
+
+"Among your books in the cabin. I felt at first that it must be a kind
+of a disgrace to be a lord--as if every one who had a title or education
+must be mean and low, and all the rest of the world over there must be
+fools; but because of you, David, I knew better than to believe that.
+Your mother is not like those women, either. She was kind and beautiful,
+and--I--loved her, but all the more I saw the difference. But now you
+have come to me and made me strong, I can do it. Everything has grown
+clear to me again, and I see how you gave yourself to me--to save
+me--when you did not dream of what was to be for you in the future; and
+out of your giving has come the--little son, and he is yours. Wait!
+Don't take me in your arms." She placed her hands on his breast and held
+him from her.
+
+"So it was just now--when you spoke as if people would understand me
+better because of that little silver pot, showing I had somewhere in the
+past a name and a family like theirs over there--I thought of 'Vanity
+Fair,' and I hated it. I wish you had never seen it. There is, nor has
+been, nothing on earth to make me possible for you, now--your
+inheritance has come to you. I have a pride, too, David, a different
+kind of pride from theirs. You loved me first, I know, as I was--just
+me. It was a foolish love for you to have, David dear,--but I know it is
+true; you could not have given yourself to save me else, and I like to
+keep that thought of you in my heart, big and noble and true--that you
+did love just me." She faltered, but still held him from her. "Do you
+think I would not do all I can to keep from spoiling your life over
+there?"
+
+"Stop, stop. It is enough," he cried. In spite of herself, he took her
+hands in his and drew her to him in penitent tenderness. "I'm no great
+lord with wide distances between me and your mountain world here,
+Cassandra; never think it. I'm tremendously near to the soul of things,
+and the man of the wilderness is strong in me. One thing you have not
+touched upon. Tell me, what did Frale say or do to you to so trouble you
+and send you off?"
+
+She stirred in his arms and waited, then murmured, "He pestered me."
+
+"Explain. Did he come often?"
+
+"Oh, no. He--I--he came one evening up to our cabin, and--I sent him off
+and started next day."
+
+"But explain, dearest. How did he act? What was it?"
+
+She was silent, but drew her husband's head down and hid her face in his
+neck. "There! Never mind, love. You needn't tell me if you don't wish."
+
+"He kissed me and held me in his arms like they were iron bands--and I
+hated it. He said you had gone away never to come back, and that the
+whole mountain side knew it; and that he had a right to come and claim
+my promise to him. Oh, David, David, this is the last. I have kept
+nothing back from you now, nothing. My heart cried out for you--like I
+heard you call--and I went--to--to prove to them all that word was a
+lie. I knew nothing they said here could touch you, but I couldn't bear
+that the meanest hound living should dare think wrong of you. Seems like
+I would have done it if I had had to crawl on my knees and swim the
+ocean."
+
+"My fingers tingle to grasp the throat of that young man. I fought him
+for you once, and if it hadn't been for a rolling stone under my foot,
+it would have been death for one of us. As it was, I won--with you to
+save me--bless you."
+
+"But now, David--"
+
+"Ah, but now--what? Are you happy?"
+
+"That isn't what I mean. You have your future--"
+
+"I have my now. It is all we ever have. The past is gone, and lives only
+in our memories, and the future exists only in anticipation; but
+now--now is all we have or can have. Live in it and love in it and be
+happy."
+
+"But we must be wise. We've got to face it sometime. Let--me help
+you--now while I have the strength," she pleaded earnestly.
+
+But David only laughed out joyously, and looked at his wife until she
+turned her face away from him. "Look at me," he cried. "Dear, troubled
+eyes. Tears? Tears in them? Love, you have kept nothing back this time,
+and now it is my turn, but I shall keep something back from you. I'm not
+going to reprove your idolatry by turning iconoclast and throwing your
+miserable old idol down from his pedestal all at once. I tell you what
+it is, though, if I could feel that I was worthy of your smallest
+finger--that I deserved only one of those big
+tears--there--there--there! Listen, dearest, I'll come to the point.
+
+"Who is it now, making so much of the estimates of the world? Somehow
+our viewpoints have got mixed. Sacrifice myself? Why, Cassandra, if I
+were to lose you out of my life, I should be a broken-hearted man. What
+did I sacrifice? Phantoms, vanities, and emptiness. Oh, Cassandra,
+Cassandra, my priestess of all that is good! Open your eyes, love, and
+see as I see--as you have taught me to see.
+
+"Much that we strive for and reckon as gain is really worthless. Why,
+sweet, I would far, far rather have you at your loom for the mother of
+my son, than Lady Clara at her piano. Your heritage of the great
+nature--the far-seeing--the trusting spirit--harboring no evil and
+construing all things to righteousness--going out into the world and
+finding among all the dust and dross, even of centuries, only the pure
+gold--the eye that sees into a man's soul, searching out the true and
+lovely qualities there and transmuting all the rest into pure metal--my
+own soul's alchemist--your heritage is the secret of power."
+
+"I don't believe I understand all you are saying, David. I only see that
+I have a very hard task before me, and now I know it is hard for you,
+too. Your mother made it clear to me that your true place is not living
+here as a doctor, even though you do so much good among us. I saw all at
+once that men are born each to fill a place in the world, and I think
+each man's measure should be the height of his own power and ability,
+nothing lower than that; and I see it--your power will be there, not
+here, where it must be limited by our limits and ignorance. That is your
+own country over there. It claims you--and I--I--there is the
+difference, you know. Think of your mother, and then of mine. David, I
+must not-- Oh, David! You must be unhampered--free--what can I--what can
+we do?"
+
+"We can just go down the mountain, sane beings, to our own little cabin,
+belonging to each other first of all." He took her hand and led her
+along the path, carpeted with pine needles and fallen leaves. "And then,
+when you are ready and willing--not before, love--we will go home--to my
+home--just like this, together."
+
+She caught her breath. "Listen, for I am seeing visions too, now, as
+you have taught me. I will lead you through those halls and show you to
+all those dead ancestors, and I will dress you in a silken gown, the
+color of the evening star we used to watch together from our cabin door,
+and around your neck I will hang the yellow pearls that have been worn
+by all those great ladies who stared at you from out their frames of
+gold the day you came alone and unrecognized, bearing your priceless
+gift in your arms. You shall wear the rich old lace of the family on
+your bosom, and the jewelled coronet on your head; and no one will see
+the silk and the jewels and the lace, for looking at you and at the gift
+you bring.
+
+"No, don't speak; it is my turn now to see the pictures. All will be
+yours, whatever you see and touch in those stately homes--for you will
+be the Lady Thryng, and, being the Lady Thryng, you will be no more
+wonderful or beautiful than you were when you climbed to me, following
+my flute notes, or when you bent between me and the fire preparing my
+supper, or when you were weaving at your loom, or when you came to me
+from our cabin door with your arms outstretched and the light of all the
+stars of heaven in your eyes."
+
+Then they were silent, a long silence, until, seated together in their
+cabin before a bright log fire, as she held their baby to her breast,
+Cassandra broke the stillness.
+
+"Now I see it better, David. As you came here and lived my life, and
+loved me just as I was--so to be truly one, I must go with you and live
+your life. I must not fail you there."
+
+"You have been tried as by fire and have not failed--nor are you the
+kind of woman who ever fails."
+
+Then she smiled up at him one of those rare and fleeting smiles that
+always touched David with poignant pleasure, and said: "I think I
+understand now. God meant us to feel this way, when he married us to
+each other."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mountain Girl, by Payne Erskine
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+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Mountain Girl, by Payne Erskine.
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css">
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+
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+            /*  visibility: hidden;  */
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mountain Girl, by Payne Erskine
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Mountain Girl
+
+Author: Payne Erskine
+
+Illustrator: J. Duncan Gleason
+
+Release Date: May 19, 2010 [EBook #32429]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOUNTAIN GIRL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Garcia, Martin Pettit and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h1>THE MOUNTAIN GIRL</h1>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/fcover.jpg" width='475' height='700' alt="cover" /></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="center"><a name="frontis.jpg" id="frontis.jpg"></a><img src="images/frontis.jpg" width='543' height='700' alt="We will go home to my home just like this, together." /></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/title.jpg" width='418' height='700' alt="The Mountain Girl By PAYNE ERSKINE
+Author of When the Gates Lift Up Their Heads WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS By J. DUNCAN GLEASON A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York" /></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1911, 1912</span>,</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By</span> LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.</p>
+
+<hr class="smler" />
+
+<p class="center"><i>All rights reserved.</i></p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<table summary="CONTENTS">
+  <tr>
+    <td colspan="2" class="left">CHAPTER</td>
+    <td>PAGE</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>I.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which David Thryng arrives at Carew's Crossing</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>II.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which David Thryng experiences the Hospitality of the Mountain People</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>III.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which Aunt Sally takes her Departure and meets Frale</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>IV.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;David spends his First Day at his Cabin, and Frale makes his Confession</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>V.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which Cassandra goes to David with her Trouble, and gives Frale her Promise</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>VI.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which David aids Frale to make his Escape</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>VII.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which Frale goes down to Farington in his own Way</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>VIII.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which David Thryng makes a Discovery</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>IX.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which David accompanies Cassandra on an Errand of Mercy</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>X.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which Cassandra and David visit the Home of Decatur Irwin</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XI.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which Spring comes to the Mountains, and Cassandra tells David of her Father</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XII.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which Cassandra hears the Voices, and David leases a Farm</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XIII.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which David discovers Cassandra's Trouble</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XIV.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which David visits the Bishop, and Frale sees his Enemy</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td style="vertical-align: top">XV.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which Jerry Carew gives David his Views on Future Punishment, and Little Hoyle<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;pays him a Visit and is made Happy</td>
+    <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span>XVI.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which Frale returns and listens to the Complaints of Decatur Irwin's Wife</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XVII.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which David Thryng meets an Enemy</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XVIII.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which David Thryng Awakes</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td style="vertical-align: top">XIX.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which David sends Hoke Belew on a Commission, and Cassandra makes<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;a Confession</td>
+    <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XX.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which the Bishop and his Wife pass an Eventful Day at the Fall Place</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XXI.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which the Summer Passes</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XXII.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which David takes little Hoyle to Canada</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XXIII.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which Doctor Hoyle speaks his Mind</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XXIV.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which David Thryng has News from England</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XXV.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which David Thryng visits his Mother</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XXVI.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which David Thryng adjusts his Life to New Conditions</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_234">234</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XXVII.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which the Old Doctor and Little Hoyle come back to the Mountains</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XXVIII.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which Frale returns to the Mountains</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_253">253</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XXIX.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which Cassandra visits David Thryng's Ancestors</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_265">265</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XXX.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which Cassandra goes to Queensderry and takes a Drive in a Pony Carriage</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td>XXXI.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which David and his Mother do not Agree</td>
+    <td><a href="#Page_288">288</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td style="vertical-align: top">XXXII.</td>
+    <td class="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;In which Cassandra brings the Heir of Daneshead Castle back to her Hilltop,<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;and the Shadow Lifts</td>
+    <td style="vertical-align: bottom"><a href="#Page_300">300</a></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
+
+<table summary="ILLUSTRATIONS">
+  <tr>
+    <td class="left"><a href="#frontis.jpg">"<i>We will go home to my home just like this, together.</i>" <span class="smcap">Frontispiece.</span> <i>See Page 311.</i></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="left"><a href="#i016.jpg"><i>"Casabianca, was it?" said Thryng, smiling. Page 17.</i></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="left"><a href="#i170.jpg"><i>"I take it back&mdash;back from God&mdash;the promise I gave you
+there by the fall." Page 171.</i></a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="left"><a href="#i286.jpg"><i>Cassandra stood silent, quivering like one of her own
+mountain creatures brought to bay. Page 286.</i></a></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
+
+<h1>THE MOUNTAIN GIRL</h1>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG ARRIVES AT CAREW'S CROSSING</h3>
+
+<p>The snow had ceased falling. No wind stirred among the trees that
+covered the hillsides, and every shrub, every leaf and twig, still bore
+its feathery, white load. Slowly the train labored upward, with two
+engines to take it the steepest part of the climb from the valley below.
+David Thryng gazed out into the quiet, white wilderness and was glad. He
+hoped Carew's Crossing was not beyond all this, where the ragged edge of
+civilization, out of which the toiling train had so lately lifted them,
+would begin again.</p>
+
+<p>He glanced from time to time at the young woman near the door who sat as
+the bishop had left her, one slight hand grasping the handle of her
+basket, and with an expression on her face as placid and fraught with
+mystery as the scene without. The train began to crawl more heavily,
+and, looking down, Thryng saw that they were crossing a trestle over a
+deep gorge before skirting the mountain on the other side. Suddenly it
+occurred to him that he might be carried beyond his station. He stopped
+the smiling young brakeman who was passing with his flag.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me know when we come to Carew's Crossing, will you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Next stop, suh. Are you foh there, suh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. How soon?"</p>
+
+<p>"Half an houh mo', suh. I'll be back d'rectly and help you off, suh.
+It's a flag station. We don't stop there in winter 'thout we're called
+to, suh. Hotel's closed now."</p>
+
+<p>"Hotel? Is there a hotel?" Thryng's voice betokened dismay.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh. It's a right gay little place in summah, suh." He passed on,
+and Thryng gathered his scattered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> effects. Ill and weary, he was glad
+to find his long journey so nearly at an end.</p>
+
+<p>On either side of the track, as far as eye could see, was a
+snow-whitened wilderness, seemingly untouched by the hand of man, and he
+felt as if he had been carried back two hundred years. The only hint
+that these fastnesses had been invaded by human beings was an occasional
+rough, deeply red wagon road, winding off among the hills.</p>
+
+<p>The long trestle crossed, the engines labored slowly upward for a time,
+then, turning a sharp curve, began to descend, tearing along the narrow
+track with a speed that caused the coaches to rock and sway; and thus
+they reached Carew's Crossing, dropping down to it like a rushing torrent.</p>
+
+<p>Immediately Thryng found himself deposited in the melting snow some
+distance from the station platform, and at the same instant, above the
+noise of the retreating train, he heard a cry: "Oh, suh, help him, help
+him! It's poor little Hoyle!" The girl whom he had watched, and about
+whom he had been wondering, flashed by him and caught at the bridle of a
+fractious colt, that was rearing and plunging near the corner of the station.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor little Hoyle! Help him, suh, help him!" she cried, clinging
+desperately, while the frantic animal swung her off her feet, close to
+the flying heels of the kicking mule at his side.</p>
+
+<p>Under the heavy vehicle to which the ill-assorted animals were attached,
+a child lay unconscious, and David sprang forward, his weakness
+forgotten in the demand for action. In an instant he had drawn the
+little chap from his perilous position and, seizing the mule, succeeded
+in backing him to his place. The cause of its fright having by this time
+disappeared, the colt became tractable and stood quivering and snorting,
+as David took the bridle from the girl's hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll quiet them now," he said, and she ran to the boy, who had
+recovered sufficiently to sit up and gaze in a dazed way about him. As
+she bent over him, murmuring soothing words, he threw his arms around
+her neck and burst into wild sobbing.</p>
+
+<p>"There, honey, there! No one is hurt. You are not, are you, honey son?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p><p>"I couldn't keep a holt of 'em," he sobbed.</p>
+
+<p>"You shouldn't have done it, honey. You should have let me get home as
+best I could." Her face was one which could express much, passive as it
+had been before. "Where was Frale?"</p>
+
+<p>"He took the othah ho'se and lit out. They was aftah him. They&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"S-sh. There, hush! You can stand now; try, Hoyle. You are a man now."</p>
+
+<p>The little fellow rose, and, perceiving Thryng for the first time,
+stepped shyly behind his sister. David noticed that he had a deformity
+which caused him to carry his head twisted stiffly to one side, and also
+that he had great, beautiful brown eyes, so like those of a hunted fawn
+as he turned them upon the stranger with wide appeal, that he seemed a
+veritable creature of the wilderness by which they were surrounded.</p>
+
+<p>Then the girl stepped forward and thanked him with voice and eyes; but
+he scarcely understood the words she said, as her tones trailed
+lingeringly over the vowels, and almost eliminated the "r," so lightly
+was it touched, while her accent fell utterly strange upon his English
+ear. She looked to the harness with practised eye, and then laid her
+hand beside Thryng's, on the bridle. It was a strong, shapely hand and wrist.</p>
+
+<p>"I can manage now," she said. "Hoyle, get my basket foh me."</p>
+
+<p>But Thryng suggested that she climb in and take the reins first,
+although the animals stood quietly enough now; the mule looked even
+dejected, with hanging head and forward-drooping ears.</p>
+
+<p>The girl spoke gently to the colt, stroking him along the side and
+murmuring to him in a cooing voice as she mounted to the high seat and
+gathered up the reins. Then the two beasts settled themselves to their
+places with a wontedness that assured Thryng they would be perfectly
+manageable under her hand.</p>
+
+<p>David turned to the child, relieved him of the basket, which was heavy
+with unusual weight, and would have lifted him up, but Hoyle eluded his
+grasp, and, scrambling over the wheel with catlike agility, slipped
+shyly into his place close to the girl's side. Then, with more than
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>childlike thoughtfulness, the boy looked up into her face and said in a
+low voice:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"The gen'l'man's things is ovah yandah by the track, Cass. He cyant tote
+'em alone, I reckon. Whar is he goin'?"</p>
+
+<p>Then Thryng remembered himself and his needs. He looked at the line of
+track curving away up the mountain side in one direction, and in the
+other lost in a deep cut in the hills; at the steep red banks rising
+high on each side, arched over by leafy forest growth, with all the
+interlacing branches and smallest twigs bearing their delicate burden of
+white, feathery snow. He caught his breath as a sense of the strange,
+untamed beauty, marvellous and utterly lonely, struck upon him. Beyond
+the tracks, high up on the mountain slope, he thought he spied,
+well-nigh hid from sight by the pines, the gambrel roof of a large
+building&mdash;or was it a snow-covered rock?</p>
+
+<p>"Is that a house up there?" he asked, turning to the girl, who sat
+leaning forward and looking steadily down at him.</p>
+
+<p>"That is the hotel."</p>
+
+<p>"A road must lead to it, then. If I could get up there, I could send
+down for my things."</p>
+
+<p>"They is no one thar," piped the boy; and Thryng remembered the
+brakeman's words, and how he had rebelled at the thought of a hotel
+incongruously set amid this primeval beauty; but now he longed for the
+comfort of a warm room and tea at a hospitable table. He wished he had
+accepted the bishop's invitation. It was a predicament to be dropped in
+this wild spot, without a store, a cabin, or even a thread of blue smoke
+to be seen as indicating a human habitation, and no soul near save these two children.</p>
+
+<p>The sun was sinking toward the western hilltops, and a chillness began
+creeping about him as the shadows lengthened across the base of the
+mountain, leaving only the heights in the glowing light.</p>
+
+<p>"Really, you know, I can't say what I am to do. I'm a stranger here&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>It seemed odd to him at the moment, but her face, framed in the huge
+sunbonnet,&mdash;a delicate flower set in a rough calyx,&mdash;suddenly lost all
+expression. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> did not move nor open her lips. Thryng thought he
+detected a look of fear in the boy's eyes, as he crept closer to her.</p>
+
+<p>In a flash came to him the realization of the difficulty. His friend had
+told him of these people,&mdash;their occupations, their fear of the world
+outside and below their fastnesses, and how zealously they guarded their
+homes and their rights from outside intrusion, yet how hospitable and
+generous they were to all who could not be considered their hereditary enemies.</p>
+
+<p>He hastened to speak reassuring words, and, bethinking himself that she
+had called the boy Hoyle, he explained how one Adam Hoyle had sent him.</p>
+
+<p>"The doctor is my friend, you know. He built a cabin somewhere within a
+day's walk, he told me, of Carew's Crossing, on a mountain top. Maybe you knew him?"</p>
+
+<p>A slight smile crept about the girl's lips, and her eyes brightened.
+"Yes, suh, we-all know Doctah Hoyle."</p>
+
+<p>"I am to have the cabin&mdash;if I can find it&mdash;live there as he did, and see
+what your hills will do for me." He laughed a little as he spoke,
+deprecating his evident weakness, and, lifting his cap, wiped the cold
+moisture from his forehead.</p>
+
+<p>She noted his fatigue and hesitated. The boy's questioning eyes were
+fixed on her face, and she glanced down into them an answering look. Her
+lips parted, and her eyes glowed as she turned them again on David, but
+she spoke still in the same passive monotone.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes. My little brothah was named foh him,&mdash;Adam Hoyle,&mdash;but we only
+call him Hoyle. It's a right long spell since the Doctah was heah. His
+cabin is right nigh us, a little highah up. Theah is no place wheah you
+could stop nighah than ouahs. Hoyle, jump out and help fetch his things
+ovah. You can put them in the back of the wagon, suh, and ride up with
+us. I have a sight of room foh them."</p>
+
+<p>The child was out and across the tracks in an instant, seizing a valise
+much too heavy for him, and Thryng cut his thanks short to go to his relief.</p>
+
+<p>"I kin tote it," said the boy shrilly.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no. I am the biggest, so I'll take the big ones. You bring the
+bundle with the strap around it&mdash;so.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> Now we shall get on, shan't we?
+But you are pretty strong for a little chap;" and the child's face
+radiated smiles at the praise.</p>
+
+<p>Then David tossed in valise and rug, without which last no Englishman
+ever goes on a journey, and with much effort they managed to pull the
+box along and hoist it also into the wagon, the body of which was filled
+with corn fodder, covered with an old patchwork quilt.</p>
+
+<p>The wagon was of the rudest, clumsiest construction, the heavy box set
+on axles without springs, but the young physician was thankful for any
+kind of a conveyance. He had been used to life in the wild, taking
+things as he found them&mdash;bunking in a tent, a board shanty, or out under
+the open sky; with men brought heterogeneously together, some merely
+rough woodsmen in their natural environment, others the scum of the
+cities to whom crime was become first nature, decency second, and
+others, fleeing from justice and civilized law, hiding ofttimes a fine
+nature delicately reared. During this time he had seldom seen a woman
+other than an occasional camp follower of the most degraded sort.</p>
+
+<p>Inured thus, he did not find his ride, embedded with good corn fodder,
+much of a hardship, even in a springless wagon over mountain roads.
+Wrapped in his rug, he braced himself against his box, with his face
+toward the rear of the wagon, and gazed out from under its arching
+canvas hood at the wild way, as it slowly unrolled behind them, and was
+pleased that he did not have to spend the night under the lee of the station.</p>
+
+<p>The lingering sunlight made flaming banners of the snow clouds now
+slowly drifting across the sky above the white world, and touched the
+highest peaks with rose and gold. The shadows, ever changing, deepened
+from faintest pink-mauve through heliotrope tints, to the richest violet
+in the heart of the gorges. Over and through all was the witching
+mystery of fairy-like, snow-wreathed branches and twigs, interwoven and
+arching up and up in faint perspective to the heights above, and down,
+far down, to the depths of the regions below them; and all the time,
+mingled with the murmur of the voices behind him, and the creaking of
+the vehicle in which they rode, and the tramp of the animals when they
+came to a hard roadbed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> with rock foundation,&mdash;noises which were not
+loud, but which seemed to be covered and subdued by the soft snow even
+as it covered everything,&mdash;could be heard a light dropping and
+pattering, as the overladen last year's leaves and twigs dropped their
+white burden to the ground. Sometimes the great hood of the wagon struck
+an overhanging bough and sent the snow down in showers as they passed.</p>
+
+<p>Heavily they climbed up, and warily made their descent of rocky steeps,
+passing through boggy places or splashing in clear streams which issued
+from springs in the mountain side or fell from some distant height, then
+climbing again only to wind about and again descend. Often the way was
+rough with boulders that had never been blasted out,&mdash;sometimes steeply
+shelving where the gorge was deepest and the precipice sheerest. Past
+all dangers the girl drove with skilful hand, now encouraging her team
+with her low voice, now restraining them, where their load crowded upon
+them over slippery, shelving rocks, with strong pulls and sharp command.
+David marvelled at her serenity under the strain, and at her courage and
+deftness. With the calmness of the boy nestling at her side, he resigned
+himself to the sweet witchery of the time and place. Glancing up at the
+high seat behind him, he saw the child's feet dangling, and knew they must be cold.</p>
+
+<p>"Why can't your little brother sit back here with me?" he said; "I'll
+cover him with my rug, and we'll keep each other warm."</p>
+
+<p>He saw the small hunched back stiffen, and try to appear big and manly,
+but she checked the team at a level dip in the road.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sonny, get ovah theah with the gentleman. It'll be some coldah now
+the sun's gone." But the little man was shyly reluctant to move. "Come,
+honey. Sistah'd a heap rathah you would."</p>
+
+<p>Then David reached up and gently lifted the atom of manhood, of pride,
+sensitiveness, and affection, over where he caused him to snuggle down
+in the fodder close to his side.</p>
+
+<p>For a while the child sat stiffly aloof, but gradually his little form
+relaxed, and his head drooped sideways in the hollow of the stranger's
+shoulder, held comfortably by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> Thryng's kindly encircling arm. Soon,
+with his small feet wrapped in the warm, soft rug, he slept soundly and
+sweetly, rocked, albeit rather roughly, in the jolting wagon.</p>
+
+<p>Thryng also dreamed, but not in sleep. His mind was stirred to unusual
+depths by his strange surroundings&mdash;the silence, the mystery, the beauty
+of the night, and the suggestions of grandeur and power dimly revealed
+by the moonlight which bathed the world in a flood of glory.</p>
+
+<p>He was uplifted and drawn out of himself, and at the same time he was
+thrown back to review his life and to see his most inward self, and to
+marvel and question the wherefore of it all. Why was he here, away from
+the active, practical affairs which interest other men? Was he a
+creature of ideals only, or was he also a practical man, taking the
+wisest means of reaching and achieving results most worth while? He saw
+himself in his childhood&mdash;in his youth&mdash;in his young manhood&mdash;even to
+the present moment, jogging slowly along in a far country, rough and
+wild, utterly dependent on the courtesy of a slight girl, who held, for
+the moment, his life in her hands; for often, as he gazed into the void
+of darkness over narrow ledges, he knew that only the skill of those two
+small hands kept them from sliding into eternity: yet there was about
+her such an air of wontedness to the situation that he was stirred by no
+sense of anxiety for himself or for her.</p>
+
+<p>He took out his pipe and smoked, still dreaming, comparing, and
+questioning. Of ancient family, yet the younger son of three generations
+of younger sons, all probability of great inheritance or title so far
+removed from him, it behooved that he build for himself&mdash;what? Fortune,
+name, everything. Character? Ah, that was his heritage, all the heritage
+the laws of England allowed him, and that not by right of English law,
+but because, fixed in the immutable, eternal Will, some laws there are
+beyond the power of man to supersede. With an involuntary stiffening of
+his body, he disturbed for an instant the slumbering child, and quite as
+involuntarily he drew him closer and soothed him back to forgetfulness;
+and they both dreamed on, the child in his sleep, and the man in his
+wide wakefulness and intense searching.</p>
+
+<p>His uncle, it is true, would have boosted him far toward creating both
+name and fame for himself, in either army<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> or navy, but he would none of
+it. There was his older brother to be advanced, and the younger son of
+this same uncle to be placed in life, or married to wealth. This also he
+might have done; well married he might have been ere now, and could be
+still, for she was waiting&mdash;only&mdash;an ideal stood in his way. Whom he
+would marry he would love. Not merely respect or like,&mdash;not even
+both,&mdash;but love he must; and in order to hold to this ideal he must fly
+the country, or remain to be unduly urged to his own discomfiture and
+possibly to their mutual undoing.</p>
+
+<p>As for the alternatives, the army or the navy, again his ideals had
+formed for him impassable bars. He would found his career on the saving
+rather than the taking of life. Perhaps he might yet follow in the wake
+of armies to mend bodies they have torn and cut and maimed, and heal
+diseases they have engendered&mdash;yes&mdash;perhaps&mdash;the ideals loomed big. But
+what had he done? Fled his country and deftly avoided the most
+heart-satisfying of human delights&mdash;children to call him father, and
+wife to make him a home; peace and wealth; thrust aside the helping hand
+to power and a career considered most worthy of a strong and resourceful
+man, and thrown personal ambition to the winds. Why? Because of his
+ideals&mdash;preferring to mend rather than to mar his neighbor.</p>
+
+<p>Surely he was right&mdash;and yet&mdash;and yet. What had he accomplished? Taken
+the making of his life into his own hands and lost&mdash;all&mdash;if health were
+really gone. One thing remained to him&mdash;the last rag and remnant of his
+cherished ideals&mdash;to live long enough to triumph over his own disease
+and take up work again. Why should he succumb? Was it fate? Was there
+the guidance of a higher will? Might he reach out and partake of the
+Divine power? But one thing he knew; but one thing could he do. As the
+glory of white light around him served to reveal a few feet only of the
+way, even as the density beyond seemed impenetrable, still it was but
+seeming. There was a beyond&mdash;vast&mdash;mysterious&mdash;which he must search out,
+slowly, painfully, if need be, seeing a little way only, but seeing that
+little clearly, revealed by the white light of spirit. His own or God's?
+Into the infinite he must search&mdash;search&mdash;and at last surely find.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG EXPERIENCES THE HOSPITALITY OF THE MOUNTAIN PEOPLE.</h3>
+
+<p>Suddenly the jolting ceased. The deep stillness of the night seemed only
+intensified by the low panting of the animals and the soft dropping of
+the wet snow from the trees.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" said Thryng, peering from under the canvas cover.
+"Anything the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>The beasts stood with low-swung heads, the vapor rising white from their
+warm bodies, wet with the melting snow. His question fell unheard, and
+the girl who was climbing down over the front wheel began to unhitch the
+team in silence. He rolled the sleeping child in his rug and leaped out.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me help you. What is the trouble? Oh, are you at home?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can do this, suh. I have done it a heap of times. Don't go nigh Pete,
+suh. He's mighty quick, and he's mean." The beast laid back his ears
+viciously as David approached.</p>
+
+<p>"You ought not go near him yourself," he said, taking a firm grip of the bridle.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, he's safe enough with me&mdash;or Frale. Hold him tight, suh, now you
+have him, till I get round there. Keep his head towa'ds you. He certainly is mean."</p>
+
+<p>The colt walked off to a low stack of corn fodder, as she turned him
+loose with a light slap on the flank; and the mule, impatient, stamping
+and sidling about, stretched forth his nose and let out his raucous and
+hideous cry. While he was thus occupied, the girl slipped off his
+harness and, taking the bridle, led the beast away to a small railed
+enclosure on the far side of the stack; and David stood alone in the
+snow and looked about him.</p>
+
+<p>He saw a low, rambling house, which, although one structure, appeared to
+be a series of houses, built of logs plastered with clay in the chinks.
+It stood in a tangle of wild<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> growth, on what seemed to be a wide ledge
+jutting out from the side of the mountain, which loomed dark and high
+behind it. An incessant, rushing sound pervaded the place, as it were a
+part of the silence or a breathing of the mountain itself. Was it wind
+among the trees, or the rushing of water? No wind stirred now, and yet
+the sound never ceased. It must be a torrent swollen by the melting snow.</p>
+
+<p>He saw the girl moving in and out among the shadows, about the open log
+stable, like a wraith. The braying of the mule had disturbed the
+occupants of the house, for a candle was placed in a window, and its
+little ray streamed forth and was swallowed up in the moonlight and
+black shades. The child, awakened by the horrible noise of the beast,
+rustled in the corn fodder where Thryng had left him. Dazed and
+wondering, he peered out at the young man for some moments, too shy to
+descend until his sister should return. Now she came, and he scrambled
+down and stood close to her side, looking up weirdly, his twisted little
+form shivering and quaking.</p>
+
+<p>"Run in, Hoyle," she said, looking kindly down upon him. "Tell mothah
+we're all right, son."</p>
+
+<p>A woman came to the door holding a candle, which she shaded with a
+gnarled and bony hand.</p>
+
+<p>"That you, Cass?" she quavered. "Who aire ye talkin' to?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Aunt Sally, we'll be there directly. Don't let mothah get cold."
+She turned again to David. "I reckon you'll have to stop with us
+to-night. It's a right smart way to the cabin, and it'll be cold, and
+nothing to eat. We'll bring in your things now, and in the morning we
+can tote them up to your place with the mule, and Hoyle can go with you
+to show you the way."</p>
+
+<p>She turned toward the wagon as if all were settled, and Thryng could not
+be effusive in the face of her direct and conclusive manner; but he took
+the basket from her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me&mdash;no, no&mdash;I will bring in everything. Thank you very much. I can
+do it quite easily, taking one at a time." Then she left him, but at the
+door she met him and helped to lift his heavy belongings into the house.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p><p>The room he entered was warm and brightly lighted by a pile of blazing
+logs in the great chimneyplace. He walked toward it and stretched his
+hands to the fire&mdash;a generous fire&mdash;the mountain home's luxury.</p>
+
+<p>Something was cooking in the ashes on the hearth which sent up a savory
+odor most pleasant and appealing to the hungry man. The meagre boy stood
+near, also warming his little body, on which his coarse garments hung
+limply. He kept his great eyes fixed on David's face in a manner
+disconcerting, even in a child, had Thryng given his attention to it,
+but at the moment he was interested in other things. Dropped thus
+suddenly into this utterly alien environment, he was observing the girl
+and the old woman as intently, though less openly, as the boy was watching him.</p>
+
+<p>Presently he felt himself uncannily the object of a scrutiny far
+different from the child's wide-eyed gaze, and glancing over his
+shoulder toward the corner from which the sensation seemed to emanate,
+he saw in the depths of an old four-posted bed, set in their hollow
+sockets and roofed over by projecting light eyebrows, a pair of keen, glittering eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, you see me now, do ye?" said a high, thin voice in toothless
+speech. "Who be ye?"</p>
+
+<p>His physician's feeling instantly alert, he stepped to the bedside and
+bent over the wasted form, which seemed hardly to raise the clothing
+from its level smoothness, as if she had lain motionless since some
+careful hand had arranged it.</p>
+
+<p>"No, ye don't know me, I reckon. 'Tain't likely. Who be ye?" she
+iterated, still looking unflinchingly in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's a gentleman who knows Doctah Hoyle, mothah. He sent him. Don't
+fret you'se'f," said the girl soothingly.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not one of the frettin' kind," retorted the mother, never taking
+her eyes from his face, and again speaking in a weak monotone. "Who be ye?"</p>
+
+<p>"My name is David Thryng, and I am a doctor," he said quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"Where be ye from?"</p>
+
+<p>"I came from Canada, the country where Doctor Hoyle lives."</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon so. He used to tell 'at his home was thar."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> A pallid hand was
+reached slowly out to him. "I'm right glad to see ye. Take a cheer and
+set. Bring a cheer, Sally."</p>
+
+<p>But the girl had already placed him a chair, which he drew close to the
+bedside. He took the feeble old hand and slipped his fingers along to
+rest lightly on the wrist.</p>
+
+<p>"You needn't stan' watchin' me, Cass. You 'n' Sally set suthin' fer th'
+doctah to eat. I reckon ye're all about gone fer hunger."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mothah, right soon. Fry a little pork to go with the pone, Aunt
+Sally. Is any coffee left in the pot?"</p>
+
+<p>"I done put in a leetle mo' when I heered the mule hollah. I knowed ye'd
+want it. Might throw in a mite mo' now th' gentleman's come."</p>
+
+<p>The two women resumed their preparations for supper, the boy continued
+to stand and gaze, and the high voice of the frail occupant of the bed
+began again to talk and question.</p>
+
+<p>"When did you come down f'om that thar country whar Doctah Hoyle lives
+at?" she said, in her monotonous wail.</p>
+
+<p>"Four days ago. I travelled slowly, for I have been ill myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's right quare now; 'pears like ef I was a doctah I wouldn't 'low
+myself fer to get sick. An' you seed Doctah Hoyle fo' days back!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, he has gone to England on a visit. I saw his wife, though, and his
+daughter. She is a young lady&mdash;is to be married soon."</p>
+
+<p>"They do grow up&mdash;the leetle ones. Hit don't seem mo'n yestahday 'at
+Cass was like leetle Hoyle yandah, an' hit don't seem that since Doctah
+Hoyle was here an' leetle Hoyle came. We named him fer th' doctah. Waal,
+I reckon ef th' doctah was here now 'at he could he'p me some. Maybe ef
+he'd 'a' stayed here I nevah would 'a' got down whar I be now. He was a
+right good doctah, bettah'n a yarb doctah&mdash;most&mdash;I reckon so."</p>
+
+<p>David smiled. "I think so myself," he said. "Are there many herb doctors here about?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not rightly doctahs, so to speak, but they is some 'at knows a heap about yarbs."</p>
+
+<p>"Good. Perhaps they can teach me something."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p><p>The old face was feebly lifted a bit from the pillow, and the dark eyes
+grew suddenly sharp in their scrutiny.</p>
+
+<p>"Who be ye, anyhow? What aire ye here fer? Sech as you knows a heap
+a'ready 'thout makin' out to larn o' we-uns."</p>
+
+<p>David saw his mistake and hastened to allay the suspicion which gleamed
+out at him almost malignantly.</p>
+
+<p>"I am just what I said, a doctor like Adam Hoyle, only that I don't know
+as much as he&mdash;not yet. The wisest man in the world can learn more if he
+watches out to do so. Your herb doctors might be able to teach me a good many things."</p>
+
+<p>"I 'spect ye're right thar, on'y a heap o' folks thinks they knows it all fust."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause, and Thryng leaned back in his stiff, splint-bottomed
+chair and glanced around him. He saw that the girl, although moving
+about setting to rights and brushing here and there with an unique,
+home-made broom, was at the same time intently listening.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the old woman spoke again, her threadlike voice penetrating far.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you 'low to do here in ouah mountains? They hain't no
+settlement nighabouts here, an' them what's sick hain't no money to pay
+doctahs with. I reckon they'll hev to stay sick fer all o' you-uns."</p>
+
+<p>David looked into her eyes a moment quietly; then he smiled. The way to
+her heart he saw was through the magic of one name.</p>
+
+<p>"What did Doctor Hoyle do when he was down here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Him? They hain't no one livin' like he was."</p>
+
+<p>Then David laughed outright, a gay, contagious laugh, and after an
+instant she laughed also.</p>
+
+<p>"I agree with you," he said. "But you see, I am a countryman of his, and
+he sent me here&mdash;he knows me well&mdash;and I mean to do as he did, if&mdash;I
+can."</p>
+
+<p>He drew in a deep breath of utter weariness, and leaned forward, his
+elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, and gazed into the blazing
+fire. The memories which had taken possession of his soul during the
+long ride seemed to envelop him so that in a moment the present was
+swept away into oblivion and his spirit was, as it were, suddenly
+withdrawn from the body and projected into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> the past. He had been unable
+to touch any of the greasy cold stuff which had been offered him during
+the latter part of his journey, and the heat brought a drowsiness on him
+and a faintness from lack of food.</p>
+
+<p>"Cass&mdash;Cassandry! Look to him," called the mother shrilly, but the girl
+had already noticed his strange abstraction, and the small Adam Hoyle
+had drawn back, in awe, to his mother.</p>
+
+<p>"Get some whiskey, Sally," said the girl, and David roused himself to
+see her bending over him.</p>
+
+<p>"I must have gone off in a doze," he said weakly. "The long ride and
+then this warmth&mdash;" Seeing the anxious faces around him, he laughed
+again. "It's nothing, I assure you, only the comfort and the smell of
+something good to eat;" he sniffed a little. "What is it?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Old Sally was tossing and shaking the frying salt pork in the skillet at
+the fireplace, and the odor aggravated his already too keen appetite.</p>
+
+<p>"Ye was more'n sleepy, I reckon," shrilled the woman from the bed.
+"Hain't that pone done, Sally? No, 'tain't liquor he needs; hit's suthin' to eat."</p>
+
+<p>Then the girl hastened her slow, gliding movements, drew splint chairs
+to a table of rough pine that stood against the side of the room, and,
+stooping between him and the fire, pulled something from among the hot
+ashes. The fire made the only light in the room, and David never forgot
+the supple grace of her as she bent thus silhouetted&mdash;the perfect line
+of chin and throat black against the blaze, contrasted with the weird,
+witchlike old woman with roughly knotted hair, who still squatted in the
+heat, and shook the skillet of frying pork.</p>
+
+<p>"Thar, now hit's done, I reckon," said old Sally, slowly rising and
+straightening her bent back; and the woman from the bed called her orders.</p>
+
+<p>"Not that cup," she cried, as Sally began pouring black coffee into a
+cracked white cup. "Git th' chany one. I hid hit yandah in th' cornder
+'hind that tin can, to keep 'em f'om usin' hit every day. I had a hull
+set o' that when I married Farwell. Give hit here." She took the
+precious relic in her work-worn hands and peered into it, then wiped it
+out with the corner of the sheet which covered her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> This Thryng did not
+see. He was watching the girl, as she broke open the hot, fragrant
+corn-bread and placed it beside his plate.</p>
+
+<p>"Come," she said. "You sure must be right hungry. Sit here and eat."
+David felt like one drunken with weariness when he rose, and caught at
+the edge of the table to steady himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Aren't you hungry, too?" he asked, "and Hoyle, here? Sit beside me;
+we're going to have a feast, little chap."</p>
+
+<p>The girl placed an earthen crock on the table and took from it honey in
+the broken comb, rich and dark.</p>
+
+<p>"Have a little of this with your pone. It's right good," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Frale, he found a bee tree," piped the child suddenly, gaining
+confidence as he saw the stranger engaged in the very normal act of
+eating with the relish of an ordinary man. He edged forward and sat
+himself gingerly on the outer corner of the next chair, and accepted a
+huge piece of the pone from David's hand. His sister gave him honey, and
+Sally dropped pieces of the sizzling hot pork on their plates, from the skillet.</p>
+
+<p>David sipped his coffee from the flowered "chany cup" contentedly.
+Served without milk or sugar, it was strong, hot, and reviving. The girl
+shyly offered more of the corn-bread as she saw it rapidly disappearing,
+pleased to see him eat so eagerly, yet abashed at having nothing else to offer.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry we can give you only such as this. We don't live like you do
+in the no'th. Have a little more of the honey."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but this is fine. Good, hey, little chap? You are doing a very
+beneficent thing, do you know, saving a man's life?" He glanced up at
+her flushed face, and she smiled deprecatingly. He fancied her smiles were rare.</p>
+
+<p>"But it is quite true. Where would I be now but for you and Hoyle here?
+Lying under the lee side of the station coughing my life away,&mdash;and all
+my own fault, too. I should have accepted the bishop's invitation."</p>
+
+<p>"You helped me when the colt was bad." Her soft voice, low and
+monotonous, fell musically on his ear when she spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Naturally&mdash;but how about that, anyway? It's a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> wonder you weren't
+killed. How came a youngster like you there alone with those beasts?"
+Thryng had an abrupt manner of springing a question which startled the
+child, and he edged away, furtively watching his sister.</p>
+
+<div class="center"><a name="i016.jpg" id="i016.jpg"></a><img src="images/i016.jpg" width='700' height='519' alt="Casabianca, was it? said Thryng, smiling. Page 17." /></div>
+
+<p>"Did you hitch that kicking brute alone and drive all that distance?"</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Sally, she he'ped me to tie up; she give him co'n whilst I th'owed
+on the strops, an' when he's oncet tied up, he goes all right." The atom
+grinned. "Hit's his way. He's mean, but he nevah works both ends to oncet."</p>
+
+<p>"Good thing to know; but you're a hero, do you understand that?" The
+child continued to edge away, and David reached out and drew him to his
+side. Holding him by his two sharp little elbows, he gave him a playful
+shake. "I say, do you know what a hero is?"</p>
+
+<p>The startled boy stopped grinning and looked wildly to his sister, but
+receiving only a smile of reassurance from her, he lifted his great eyes
+to Thryng's face, then slowly the little form relaxed, and he was drawn
+within the doctor's encircling arm.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't reckon," was all his reply, which ambiguous remark caused
+David, in his turn, to look to the sister for elucidation. She held a
+long, lighted candle in her hand, and paused to look back as she was
+leaving the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you do, honey son. You remembah the boy with the quare long name
+sistah told you about, who stood there when the ship was all afiah and
+wouldn't leave because his fathah had told him to bide? He was a hero."
+But Hoyle was too shy to respond, and David could feel his little heart
+thumping against his arm as he held him.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell the gentleman, Hoyle. He don't bite, I reckon," called the mother
+from her corner.</p>
+
+<p>"His name begun like yourn, Cass, but I cyan't remembah the hull of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Casabianca, was it?" said Thryng, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon. Did you-uns know him?"</p>
+
+<p>"When I was a small chap like you, I used to read about him." Then the
+atom yielded entirely, and leaned comfortably against David, and his
+sister left them, carrying the candle with her.</p>
+
+<p>Old Sally threw another log on the fire, and the flames leaped up the
+cavernous chimney, lighting the room with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> dramatic splendor. Thryng
+took note of its unique furnishing. In the corner opposite the one where
+the mother lay was another immense four-poster bed, and before it hung a
+coarse homespun curtain, half concealing it. At its foot was a huge box
+of dark wood, well-made and strong, with a padlock. This and the beds
+seemed to belong to another time and place, in contrast to the other
+articles, which were evidently mountain made, rude in construction and
+hewn out by hand, the chairs unstained and unpolished, and seated with splints.</p>
+
+<p>The walls were the roughly dressed logs of which the house was built,
+the chinks plastered with deep red-brown clay. Depending from nails
+driven in the logs were festoons of dried apple and strips of dried
+pumpkin, and hanging by their braided husks were bunches of Indian corn,
+not yellow like that of the north, but white or purple.</p>
+
+<p>There were bags also, containing Thryng knew not what, although he was
+to learn later, when his own larder came to be eked out by sundry gifts
+of dried fruit and sweet corn, together with the staple of beans and
+peas from the widow's store.</p>
+
+<p>Beside the window of small panes was a shelf, on which were a few worn
+books, and beneath hung an almanac; at the foot of the mother's bed
+stood a small spinning-wheel, with the wool still hanging to the
+spindle. David wondered how long since it had been used. The scrupulous
+cleanliness of the place satisfied his fastidious nature, and gave him a
+sense of comfort in the homely interior. He liked the look of the bed in
+the corner, made up high and round, and covered with marvellous patchwork.</p>
+
+<p>As he sat thus, noting all his surroundings, Hoyle still nestled at his
+side, leaning his elbows on the doctor's knees, his chin in his hands,
+and his soft eyes fixed steadily on the doctor's face. Thus they
+advanced rapidly toward an amicable acquaintance, each questioning and
+being questioned.</p>
+
+<p>"What is a 'bee tree'?" said David. "You said somebody found one."</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's a big holler tree, an' hit's plumb full o' bees an' honey. Frale,
+he found this'n."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me about it. Where was it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hit war up yandah, highah up th' mountain. They is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> a hole thar what
+wil' cats live in, Wil' Cat Hole. Frale, he war a hunt'n fer a cat. Some
+men thar at th' hotel, they war plumb mad to hunt a wil' cat with th'
+dogs, an' Frale, he 'lowed to git th' cat fer 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"And when was that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Las' summah, when th' hotel war open. They war a heap o' men at th' hotel."</p>
+
+<p>"And now about the bee tree?"</p>
+
+<p>"Frale, he nevah let on like he know'd thar war a bee tree, an' then
+this fall he took me with him, an' we made a big fire, an' then we cut
+down th' tree, an' we stayed thar th' hull day, too, an' eat thar an'
+had ros'n ears by th' fire, too."</p>
+
+<p>"I say, you know. There seem to be a lot of things you will have to
+enlighten me about. After you get through with the bee tree you must
+tell me what 'ros'n ears' are. And then what did you do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Thar war a heap o' honey. That tree, hit war nigh-about plumb full o'
+honey, and th' bees war that mad you couldn't let 'em come nigh ye
+'thout they'd sting you. They stung me, an' I nevah hollered. Frale, he
+'lowed ef you hollered, you wa'n't good fer nothin', goin' bee hunt'n'."</p>
+
+<p>"Is Frale your brother?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas. He c'n do a heap o' things, Frale can. They war a heap o' honey in
+that thar tree, 'bout a bar'l full, er more'n that. We hev a hull tub o'
+honey out thar in th' loom shed yet, an' maw done sont all th' rest to
+th' neighbors, 'cause maw said they wa'n't no use in humans bein' fool
+hogs like th' bees war, a-keepin' more'n they could eat jes' fer therselves."</p>
+
+<p>"Yas," called the mother from her corner, where she had been admiringly
+listening; "they is a heap like that-a-way, but hit ain't our way here
+in th' mountains. Let th' doctah tell you suthin' now, Hoyle,&mdash;ye mount
+larn a heap if ye'd hark to him right smart, 'thout talkin' th' hull time youse'f."</p>
+
+<p>"I has to tell him 'bouts th' ros'n ears&mdash;he said so. Thar they be." He
+pointed to a bunch of Indian corn. "You wrop 'em up in ther shucks,
+whilst ther green an' sof', and kiver 'em up in th' ashes whar hit's
+right hot, and then when ther rosted, eat 'em so. Now, what do you know?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p><p>"Why, he knows a heap, son. Don't ax that-a-way."</p>
+
+<p>"In my country, away across the ocean&mdash;" began David.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell 'bout th' ocean, how hit look."</p>
+
+<p>"In my country we don't have Indian corn nor bee trees, nor wild cat
+holes, but we have the ocean all around us, and we see the ships and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Like that thar one whar th' boy stood whilst hit war on fire?"</p>
+
+<p>"Something like, yes." Then he told about the sea and the ships and the
+great fishes, and was interrupted with the query:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Reckon you done seed that thar fish what swallered the man in th' Bible
+an' then th'ow'd him up agin?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why no, son, you know that thar fish war dade long 'fore we-uns war
+born. You mustn't ax fool questions, honey."</p>
+
+<p>Old Sally sat crouched by the hearth intently listening and asking as
+na&iuml;ve questions as the child, whose pallid face grew pink and animated,
+and whose eyes grew larger as he strove to see with inward vision the
+things Thryng described. It was a happy evening for little Hoyle.
+Leaning confidingly against David, he sighed with repletion of joy. He
+was not eager for his sister to return&mdash;not he. He could lean forever
+against this wonderful man and listen to his tales. But the doctor's
+weariness was growing heavier, and he bethought himself that the girl
+had not eaten with them, and feared she was taking trouble to prepare
+quarters for him, when if she only knew how gladly he would bunk down
+anywhere,&mdash;only to sleep while this blessed and delicious drowsiness was
+overpowering him.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is your sister, Hoyle? Don't you reckon it's time you and I were
+abed?" he asked, adopting the child's vernacular.</p>
+
+<p>"She's makin' yer bed ready in th' loom shed, likely," said the mother,
+ever alert. With her pale, prematurely wrinkled face and uncannily
+bright and watchful eyes, she seemed the controlling, all-pervading
+spirit of the place. "Run, child, an' see what's keepin' her so long."</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's dark out thar," said the boy, stirring himself slowly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p><p>"Run, honey, you hain't afeared, kin drive a team all by you'se'f. Dark
+hain't nothin'; I ben all ovah these heah mountains when thar wa'n't one
+star o' light. Maybe you kin he'p her."</p>
+
+<p>At that moment she entered, holding the candle high to light her way
+through what seemed to be a dark passage, her still, sweet face a bit
+flushed and stray taches of white cotton down clinging to her blue
+homespun dress. "The doctah's mos' dade fer sleep, Cass."</p>
+
+<p>"I am right sorry to keep you so long, but we are obleeged&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She lifted troubled eyes to his face, as Thryng interrupted her.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, no, no! I really beg your pardon&mdash;for coming in on you this way&mdash;it
+was not right, you know. It was a&mdash;a&mdash;predicament, wasn't it? It
+certainly wasn't right to put you about so; if&mdash;you will just let me go
+anywhere, only to sleep, I shall be greatly obliged. I'm making you a
+lot of trouble, and I'm so sorry."</p>
+
+<p>His profusion of manner, of which he was entirely unaware, embarrassed
+her; although not shy like her brother, she had never encountered any
+one who spoke with such rapid abruptness, and his swift, penetrating
+glance and pleasant ease of the world abashed her. For an instant she
+stood perfectly still before him, slowly comprehending his thought, then
+hastened with her inherited, inborn ladyhood to relieve him from any
+sense that his sudden descent upon their privacy was an intrusion.</p>
+
+<p>Her mind moved along direct lines from thought to expression&mdash;from
+impulse to action. She knew no conventional tricks of words or phrases
+for covering an awkward situation, and her only way of avoiding a
+self-betrayal was by silence and a masklike impassivity. During this
+moment of stillness while she waited to regain her poise, he, quick and
+intuitive as a woman, took in the situation, yet he failed to comprehend
+the character before him.</p>
+
+<p>To one accustomed to the conventional, perfect simplicity seems to
+conceal something held back. It is hard to believe that all is being
+revealed, hence her slower thought, in reality, comprehended him the
+more truly. What he supposed to be pride and shame over their meagre
+accommodations was, in reality, genuine concern for his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> comfort, and
+embarrassment before his ease and ready phrases. As in a swift breeze
+her thoughts were caught up and borne away upon them, but after a moment
+they would sweep back to her&mdash;a flock of innocent, startled doves.</p>
+
+<p>Still holding her candle aloft, she raised her eyes to his and smiled.
+"We-uns are right glad you came. If you can be comfortable where we are
+obliged to put you to sleep, you must bide awhile." She did not say
+"obleeged" this time. He had not pronounced it so, and he must know.</p>
+
+<p>"That is so good of you. And now you are very tired yourself and have
+eaten nothing. You must have your own supper. Hoyle can look after me."
+He took the candle from her and gave it to the boy, then turned his own
+chair back to the table and looked inquiringly at Sally squatted before
+the fire. "Not another thing shall you do for me until you are waited
+on. Take my place here."</p>
+
+<p>David's manner seemed like a command to her, and she slid into the chair
+with a weary, drooping movement. Hoyle stood holding the candle, his wry
+neck twisting his head to one side, a smile on his face, eying them
+sharply. He turned a questioning look to his sister, as he stiffened
+himself to his newly acquired importance as host.</p>
+
+<p>Thryng walked over to the bedside. "In the morning, when we are all
+rested, I'll see what can be done for you," he said, taking the
+proffered old hand in his. "I am not Dr. Hoyle, but he has taught me a
+little. I studied and practised with him, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Hev ye? Then ye must know a heap. Hit's right like th' Lord sont ye.
+You see suthin' 'peared like to give way whilst I war a-cuttin' light
+'ud th' othah day, an' I went all er a heap 'crost a log, an' I reckon
+hit hurt me some. I hain't ben able to move a foot sence, an' I lay out
+thar nigh on to a hull day, whilst Hoyle here run clar down to Sally's
+place to git her. He couldn't lif' me hisse'f, he's that weak; he tried
+to haul me in, but when I hollered,&mdash;sufferin' so I war jes' 'bleeged to
+holler,&mdash;he kivered me up whar I lay and lit out fer Sally, an' she an'
+her man they got me up here, an' here I ben ever since. I reckon I never
+will leave this bed ontwell I'm cyarried out in a box."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, no, not that! You're too much alive for that. We'll see about it
+to-morrow. Good night."</p>
+
+<p>"Hoyle may show you the way," said the girl, rising. "Your bed is in the
+loom shed. I'm right sorry it's so cold. I put blankets there, and you
+can use all you like of them. I would have given you Frale's place up
+garret&mdash;only&mdash;he might come in any time, and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Naw, he won't. He's too skeered 'at&mdash;" Hoyle's interruption stopped
+abruptly, checked by a glance of his sister's eye.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you'll sleep well&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Sleep? I shall sleep like a log. I feel as if I could sleep for a week.
+It's awfully good of you. I hope we haven't eaten all the supper, Hoyle
+and I. Come, little chap. Good night." He took up his valise and
+followed the boy, leaving her standing by the uncleared table, gazing after him.</p>
+
+<p>"Now you eat, Cassandry. You are nigh about perished you are that
+tired," said her mother.</p>
+
+<p>Then old Sally brought more pork and hot pone from the ashes, and they
+sat down together, eating and sipping their black coffee in silence.
+Presently Hoyle returned and began removing his clumsy shoes, by the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Did he ax ye a heap o' questions, Hoyle?" queried the old woman sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"Naw. Did'n' ax noth'n'."</p>
+
+<p>"Waal, look out 'at you don't let on nothin' ef he does. Talkin' may
+hurt, an' hit may not."</p>
+
+<p>"He hain't no government man, maw."</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's all right, I reckon, but them 'at larns young to hold ther
+tongues saves a heap o' trouble fer therselves."</p>
+
+<p>After they had eaten, old Sally gathered the few dishes together and
+placed all the splint-bottomed chairs back against the sides of the
+room, and, only half disrobing, crawled into the far side of the bed
+opposite to the mother's, behind the homespun curtain.</p>
+
+<p>"To-morrow I reckon I kin go home to my old man, now you've come, Cass."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the girl in a low voice, "you have been right kind to
+we-all, Aunt Sally."</p>
+
+<p>Then she bent over her mother, ministering to her few wants; lifting her
+forward, she shook up the pillow, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> gently laid her back upon it, and
+lightly kissed her cheek. The child had quickly dropped to sleep, curled
+up like a ball in the farther side of his mother's bed, undisturbed by
+the low murmur of conversation. Cassandra drew her chair close to the
+fire and sat long gazing into the burning logs that were fast crumbling
+to a heap of glowing embers. She uncoiled her heavy bronze hair and
+combed it slowly out, until it fell a rippling mass to the floor, as she
+sat. It shone in the firelight as if it had drawn its tint from the fire
+itself, and the cold night had so filled it with electricity that it
+flew out and followed the comb, as if each hair were alive, and made a
+moving aureola of warm red amber about her drooping figure in the midst
+of the sombre shadows of the room. Her face grew sad and her hands moved
+listlessly, and at last she slipped from her chair to her knees and wept
+softly and prayed, her lips forming the words soundlessly. Once her
+mother awoke, lifted her head slightly from her pillow and gazed an
+instant at her, then slowly subsided, and again slept.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH AUNT SALLY TAKES HER DEPARTURE AND MEETS FRALE</h3>
+
+<p>The loom shed was one of the log cabins connected with the main building
+by a roofed passage, which Thryng had noticed the evening before as
+being an odd fashion of house architecture, giving the appearance of a
+small flock of cabins all nestling under the wings of the old building
+in the centre.</p>
+
+<p>The shed was dark, having but one small window with glass panes near the
+loom, the other and larger opening being tightly closed by a wooden
+shutter. David slept late, and awoke at last to find himself thousands
+of miles away from his dreams in this unique room, all in the deepest
+shadow, except for the one warm bar of sunlight which fell across his
+face. He drowsed off again, and his mind began piecing together
+fragments and scenes from the previous day and evening, and immediately
+he was surrounded by mystery, moonlit, fairylike, and white, a little
+crooked being at his side looking up at him like some gnome creature of
+the hills, revealed as a part of the enchantment. Then slowly resolving
+and melting away after the manner of dreams, the wide spaces of the
+mystery drew closer and warmer, and a great centre of blazing logs threw
+grotesque, dancing lights among them, and an old face peered out with
+bright, keen eyes, now seen, now lost in the fitful shadows, now pale
+and appealing or cautiously withdrawn, but always watching&mdash;watching
+while the little crooked being came and watched also. Then between him
+and the blazing light came a dark figure silhouetted blackly against it,
+moving, stooping, rising, going and coming&mdash;a sweet girl's head with
+heavily coiled hair through which the firelight played with flashes of
+its own color, and a delicate profile cut in pure, clean lines melting
+into throat and gently rounded breast; like a spirit, now here, now
+gone, again near and bending over him,&mdash;a ministering spirit bringing
+him food,&mdash;until<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> gradually this half wake, dreaming reminiscence
+concentrated upon her, and again he saw her standing holding the candle
+high and looking up at him,&mdash;a wondering, questioning spirit,&mdash;then
+drooping wearily into the chair by the uncleared table, and again
+waiting with almost a smile on her parted lips as he said "good night."
+Good night? Ah, yes. It was morning.</p>
+
+<p>Again he heard the continuous rushing noise to which he had listened in
+the white mystery, that had soothed him to slumber the night before,
+rising and falling&mdash;never ceasing. He roused himself with sudden energy
+and bounded from his couch. He would go out and investigate. His sleep
+had been sound, and he felt a rejuvenation he had not experienced in
+many months. When he threw open the shutter of the large unglazed window
+space and looked out on his strange surroundings, he found himself in a
+new world, sparkling, fresh, clear, shining with sunlight and glistening
+with wetness, as though the whole earth had been newly washed and
+varnished. The sunshine streamed in and warmed him, and the air, filled
+with winelike fragrance, stirred his blood and set his pulses leaping.</p>
+
+<p>He had been too exhausted the previous evening to do more than fall into
+the bed which had been provided him and sleep his long, uninterrupted
+sleep. Now he saw why they had called this part of the home the loom
+shed, for between the two windows stood a cloth loom left just as it had
+been used, the warp like a tightly stretched veil of white threads, and
+the web of cloth begun.</p>
+
+<p>In one corner were a few bundles of cotton, one of which had been torn
+open and the contents placed in a thick layer over the long bench on
+which he had slept, and covered with a blue and white homespun
+counterpane. The head had been built high with it, and sheets spread
+over all. He noticed the blankets which had covered him, and saw that
+they were evidently of home manufacture, and that the white spread which
+covered them was also of coarse, clean homespun, ornamented in squares
+with rude, primitive needlework. He marvelled at the industry here represented.</p>
+
+<p>As for his toilet, the preparation had been most simple. A shelf placed
+on pegs driven between the logs supported<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> a piece of looking-glass; a
+splint chair set against the wall served as wash-stand and
+towel-rack&mdash;the homespun cotton towels neatly folded and hung over the
+back; a wooden pail at one side was filled with clear water, over which
+hung a dipper of gourd; a white porcelain basin was placed on the chair,
+over which a clean towel had been spread, and to complete all, a square
+cut from the end of a bar of yellow soap lay beside the basin.</p>
+
+<p>David smiled as he bent himself to the refreshing task of bathing in
+water so cold as to be really icy. Indeed, ice had formed over still
+pools without during the night, although now fast disappearing under the
+glowing morning sun. Above his head, laid upon cross-beams, were bundles
+of wool uncarded, and carding-boards hung from nails in the logs. In one
+corner was a rudely constructed reel, and from the loom dangled the idle
+shuttle filled with fine blue yarn of wool. Thryng thought of the worn
+old hands which had so often thrown it, and thinking of them he hastened
+his toilet that he might go in and do what he could to help the patient.
+It was small enough return for the kindness shown him. He feared to
+offer money for his lodgment, at least until he could find a way.</p>
+
+<p>At last, full of new vigor and very hungry, he issued from his
+sleeping-room, sadly in need of a shave, but biding his time, satisfied
+if only breakfast might be forthcoming. He had no need to knock, for the
+house door stood open, flooding the place with sunlight and frosty air.
+The huge pile of logs was blazing on the hearth as if it had never
+ceased since the night before, and the flames leaped hot and red up the great chimney.</p>
+
+<p>Old Sally no longer presided at the cookery. With a large cup of black
+coffee before her, she now sat at the table eating corn-bread and bacon.
+A drooping black sunbonnet on her head covered her unkempt, grizzly
+hair, and a cob pipe and bag of tobacco lay at her hand. She was ready
+for departure. Cassandra had returned, and her gratuitous neighborly
+offices were at an end. The girl was stooping before the fire, arranging
+a cake of corn-bread to cook in the ashes. A crane swung over the flames
+on which a fat iron kettle was hung, and the large coffee-pot stood on
+the hearth. The odor of breakfast was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> savory and appetizing. As David's
+tall form cast a shadow across the sunlit space on the floor, the old
+mother's voice called to him from the corner.</p>
+
+<p>"Come right in, Doctah; take a cheer and set. Your breakfast's ready, I
+reckon. How have you slept, suh?"</p>
+
+<p>The girl at the fire rose and greeted him, but he missed the boy.
+"Where's the little chap?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Cassandry sont him out to wash up. F'ust thing she do when she gets
+home is to begin on Hoyle and wash him up."</p>
+
+<p>"He do get that dirty, poor little son," said the girl. "It's like I
+have to torment him some. Will you have breakfast now, suh? Just take
+your chair to the table, and I'll fetch it directly."</p>
+
+<p>"Won't I, though! What air you have up here! It makes me hungry merely
+to breathe. Is it this way all the time?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's this-a-way a good deal," said Sally, from under her sunbonnet,
+"Oh, the' is days hit's some colder, like to make water freeze right
+hard, but most days hit's a heap warmer than this."</p>
+
+<p>"That's so," said the invalid. "I hev seen it so warm a heap o' winters
+'at the trees gits fooled into thinkin' hit's spring an' blossoms all
+out, an' then come along a late freez'n' spell an' gits their fruit all
+killed. Hit's quare how they does do that-a-way. We-all hates it when
+the days come warm in Feb'uary."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you must have been glad to have snow yesterday. I was
+disappointed. I was running away from that sort of thing, you know."</p>
+
+<p>Thryng's breakfast was served to him as had been his supper of the
+evening before, directly from the fire. As he ate he looked out upon the
+usual litter of corn fodder scattered about near the house, and a few
+implements of the simplest character for cultivating the small pocket of
+rich soil below, but beyond this and surrounding it was a scene of the
+wildest beauty. Giant forest trees, intertwined and almost overgrown by
+a tangle of wild grapevines, hid the fall from sight, and behind them
+the mountain rose abruptly. A continuous stream of clearest water, icy
+cold, fell from high above into a long trough made of a hollow log.
+There at the running water stood<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> little Hoyle, his coarse cotton towel
+hung on an azalia shrub, giving himself a thorough scrubbing. In a
+moment he came in panting, shivering, and shining, and still wet about the hair and ears.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, you are not half dry, son," said his sister. She took the towel
+from him and gave his head a vigorous rubbing. "Go and get warm, honey,
+and sister'll give you breakfast by the fire." She turned to David:
+"Likely you take milk in your coffee. I never thought to ask you." She
+left the room and returned with a cup of new milk, warm and sweet. He
+was glad to get it, finding his black coffee sweetened only with molasses unpalatable.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you take milk in your coffee? How came you to think of it for me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I knew a lady at the hotel last summer. She said that up no'th 'most
+everybody does take milk or cream, one, in their coffee."</p>
+
+<p>"I never seed sech. Hit's clar waste to my thinkin'."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra smiled. "That's because you never could abide milk. Mothah
+thinks it's only fit to make buttah and raise pigs on."</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>Old Sally's horse, a thin, wiry beast, gray and speckled, stood ready
+saddled near the door, his bridle hanging from his neck, the bit
+dangling while he also made his repast. When he had finished his corn
+and she had finished her elaborate farewells at the bedside, and little
+Hoyle had with much effort succeeded in bridling her steed, she stepped
+quickly out and gained her seat on the high, narrow saddle with the ease
+of a young girl. Meagre as a willow withe in her scant black cotton
+gown, perched on her bony gray beast, and only the bowl of her cob pipe
+projecting beyond the rim of her sunbonnet as indication that a face
+might be hidden in its depths, with a meal sack containing in either end
+sundry gifts&mdash;salt pork, chicken, corn-bread, and meal&mdash;slung over the
+horse's back behind her, and with contentment in her heart, Aunt Sally
+rode slowly over the hills to rejoin her old man.</p>
+
+<p>Soon she left the main road and struck out into a steep, narrow trail,
+merely a mule track arched with hornbeam and dogwood and mulberry trees,
+and towered over by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> giant chestnuts and oaks and great white pines and
+deep green hemlocks. Through myriad leafless branches the wind soughed
+pleasantly overhead, unfelt by her, so completely was she protected by
+the thickly growing laurel and rhododendron on either side of her path.
+The snow of the day before was gone, leaving only the glistening wetness
+of it on stones and fallen leaves and twigs underfoot, while in open
+spaces the sun beat warmly down upon her.</p>
+
+<p>The trail led by many steep scrambles and sharp descents more directly
+to her home than the road, which wound and turned so frequently as to
+more than double the distance. At intervals it cut across the road or
+followed it a little way, only to diverge again. Here and there other
+trails crossed it or branched from it, leading higher up the mountain,
+or off into some gorge following the course of a stream, so that, except
+to one accustomed to its intricacies, the path might easily be lost.</p>
+
+<p>Old Sally paid no heed to her course, apparently leaving the choice of
+trails to her horse. She sat easily on the beast and smoked her pipe
+until it was quite out, when she stowed it away in the black cloth bag,
+which dangled from her elbow by its strings. Spying a small sassafras
+shrub leaning toward her from the bank above her head, she gave it a
+vigorous pull as she passed and drew it, root and all, from its hold in
+the soil, beat it against the mossy bank, and swished it upon her skirt
+to remove the earth clinging to it. Then, breaking off a bit of the
+root, she chewed it, while she thrust the rest in her bag and used the
+top for a switch with which to hasten the pace of her nag.</p>
+
+<p>The small stones, loosened when she tore the shrub from the bank,
+rattled down where the soil had been washed away, leaving the steep
+shelving rock side of the mountain bare, and she heard them leap the
+smooth space and fall softly on the moss among the ferns and lodged
+leaves below. There, crouched in the sun, lay a man with a black felt
+hat covering his face. The stones falling about him caused him to raise
+himself stealthily and peer upward. Descrying only the lone woman and
+the gray horse, he gave a low peculiar cry, almost like that of an
+animal in distress. She drew rein sharply and listened. The cry was
+repeated a little louder.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p><p>"Come on up hyar, Frale. Hit's on'y me. Hu' come you thar?"</p>
+
+<p>He climbed rapidly up through the dense undergrowth, and stood at her
+side, breathing quickly. For a moment they waited thus, regarding each
+other, neither speaking. The boy&mdash;he seemed little more than a
+youth&mdash;looked up at her with a singularly innocent and appealing
+expression, but gradually as he saw her impassive and unrelenting face,
+his own resumed a hard and sullen look, which made him appear years
+older. His forehead was damp and cold, and a lock of silken black hair,
+slightly curling over it, increased its whiteness. Dark, heavy rings
+were under his eyes, which gleamed blue as the sky between long dark
+lashes. His arms dropped listlessly at his side, and he stood before
+her, as before a dread judge, bareheaded and silent. He bore her look
+only for a minute, then dropped his eyes, and his hand clinched more
+tightly the rim of his old felt hat. When he ceased looking at her, her eyes softened.</p>
+
+<p>"I 'low ye mus' hev suthin' to say fer yourse'f," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon." The corners of his mouth drooped, and he did not look up. He
+made as if to speak further, but only swallowed and was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"Ye reckon? Waal, why'n't ye say?"</p>
+
+<p>"They hain't nothin' to say. He war mean an'&mdash;an'&mdash;he's dade. I reckon
+he's dade."</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, he's dade&mdash;an' they done had the buryin'." Her voice was
+monotonous and plaintive. A pallor swept over his face, and he drew the
+back of his hand across his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>"He knowed he hadn't ought to rile me like he done. I be'n tryin' to
+make his hoss go home, but I cyan't. Hit jes' hangs round thar. I done
+brung him down an' lef' him in your shed, an' I 'lowed p'rhaps Uncle
+Jerry'd take him ovah to his paw." Again he swallowed and turned his
+face away. "The critter'd starve up yander. Anyhow, I ain't hoss
+stealin'. Hit war mo'n a hoss 'twixt him an' me." From the low, quiet
+tones of the two no one would have dreamed that a tragedy lay beneath their words.</p>
+
+<p>"Look a-hyar, Frale. Thar wa'n't nothin' 'twixt him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> an' you. Ye war
+both on ye full o' mean corn whiskey, an' ye war quarrellin' 'bouts
+Cass." A faint red stole into the boy's cheeks, and the blue gleam of
+his eyes between the dark lashes narrowed to a mere line, as he looked
+an instant in her face and then off up the trail.</p>
+
+<p>"Hain't ye seed nobody?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"You knows I hain't seed nobody to hurt you-uns 'thout I'd tell ye. Look
+a-hyar, son, you are hungerin'. Come home with me, an' I'll get ye
+suthin' to eat. Ef you don't, ye'll go back an' fill up on whiskey agin,
+an' thar'll be the end of ye." He walked on a few steps at her side,
+then stopped suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>"I 'low I better bide whar I be. You-uns hain't been yandah to the fall, have ye?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have. You done a heap mo'n you reckoned on. When Marthy heered o' the
+killin', she jes' drapped whar she stood. She war out doin' work 'at
+you'd ought to 'a' been doin' fer her, an' she hain't moved sence. She
+like to 'a' perished lyin' out thar. Pore little Hoyle, he run all the
+way to our place he war that skeered, an' 'lowed she war dade, an' me
+an' the ol' man went ovah, an' thar we found her lyin' in the yard, an'
+the cow war lowin' to be milked, an' the pig squeelin' like hit war
+stuck, fer hunger. Hit do make me clar plumb mad when I think how you
+hev acted,&mdash;jes' like you' paw. Ef he'd nevah 'a' started that thar
+still, you'd nevah 'a' been what ye be now, a-drinkin' yer own whiskey
+at that. Come on home with me."</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon I'm bettah hyar. They mount be thar huntin' me."</p>
+
+<p>"I know you're hungerin'. I got suthin' ye can eat, but I 'lowed if
+you'd come, I'd get you an' the ol' man a good chick'n fry." She took
+from her stores, slung over the nag, a piece of corn-bread and a large
+chunk of salt pork, and gave them into his hand. "Thar! Eat. Hit's heart'nin'."</p>
+
+<p>He was suffering, as she thought, and reached eagerly for the food, but
+before tasting it he looked up again into her face, and the infantile
+appeal had returned to his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me more 'bouts maw," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"You eat, an' I'll talk," she replied. He broke a large piece from the
+corn-cake and crowded the rest into his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> pocket. Then he drew forth a
+huge clasp-knife and cut a thick slice from the raw salt pork, and
+pulling a red cotton handkerchief from his belt, he wrapped it around
+the remainder and held it under his arm as he ate.</p>
+
+<p>"She hain't able to move 'thout hollerin', she's that bad hurted. Paw
+an' I, we got her to bed, an' I been thar ever since with all to do
+ontwell Cass come. Likely she done broke her hip."</p>
+
+<p>"Is Cass thar now? Hu' come she thar?" Again the blood sought his cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"Paw rode down to the settlement and telegrafted fer her. Pore thing!
+You don't reckon what-all you have done. I wisht you'd 'a' took aftah
+your maw. She war my own sister, 'nd she war that good she must 'a' went
+straight to glory when she died. Your paw, he like to 'a' died too that
+time, an' when he married Marthy Merlin, I reckoned he war cured o' his
+ways; but hit did'n' last long. Marthy, she done well by him, an' she
+done well by you, too. They hain't nothin' agin Marthy. She be'n a good
+stepmaw to ye, she hev, an' now see how you done her, an' Cass givin' up
+her school an' comin' home thar to ten' beastes an' do your work like
+she war a man. Her family wa'n't brought up that-a-way, nor mine wa'n't
+neither. Big fool Marthy war to marry with your paw. Hit's that-a-way
+with all the Farwells; they been that quarellin' an' bad, makin' mean
+whiskey an' drinkin' hit raw, killin' hyar an' thar, an' now you go
+doin' the same, an' my own nephew, too." Her face remained impassive,
+and her voice droned on monotonously, but two tears stole down her
+wrinkled cheeks. His face settled into its harder lines as she talked,
+but he made no reply, and she continued querulously: "Why'n't you pay
+heed to me long ago, when I tol' ye not to open that thar still again?
+You are a heap too young to go that-a-way,&mdash;my own kin, like to be hung
+fer man-killin'."</p>
+
+<p>"When did Cass come?" he interrupted sullenly.</p>
+
+<p>"Las' evenin'."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll drap 'round thar this evenin' er late night, I reckon. I have to
+get feed fer my own hoss an' tote hit up er take him back&mdash;one. All I
+fetched up last week he done et." He turned to walk away, but stood with
+averted head as she began speaking again.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p><p>"Don't you do no such fool thing. You keep clar o' thar. Bring the hoss
+to me, an' I'll ride him home. What you want o' the beast on the
+mountain, anyhow? Hit's only like to give away whar ye'r' at. All you
+want is to git to see Cass, but hit won't do you no good, leastways not
+now. You done so bad she won't look at ye no more, I reckon. They is a
+man thar, too, now." He started back, his hands clinched, his head
+lifted, in his whole air an animal-like ferocity. "Thar now, look at ye.
+'Tain't you he's after."</p>
+
+<p>"'Tain't me I'm feared he's after. How come he thar?"</p>
+
+<p>"He come with her las' evenin'&mdash;" A sound of horses' hoofs on the road
+far below arrested her. They both waited, listening intently. "Thar they
+be. Git," she whispered. "Cass tol' me ef I met up with ye, to say 'at
+she'd leave suthin' fer ye to eat on the big rock 'hind the holly tree
+at the head o' the fall." She leaned down to him and held him by the
+coat an instant, "Son, leave whiskey alone. Hit's the only way you kin
+do to get her."</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, Aunt Sally," he murmured. His eyes thanked her with one look for
+the tone or the hope her words held out.</p>
+
+<p>Again the laugh, nearer this time, and again the wild look of haunting
+fear in his face. He dropped where he stood and slipped stealthily as a
+cat back to the place where he had lain, and crawling on his belly
+toward a heap of dead leaves caught by the brush of an old fallen pine,
+he crept beneath them and lay still. His aunt did not stir. Patting her
+horse's neck, she sat and waited until the voices drew nearer, came
+close beneath her as the road wound, and passed on. Then she once more
+moved along toward her cabin.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+<h3>DAVID SPENDS HIS FIRST DAY AT HIS CABIN, AND FRALE MAKES HIS CONFESSION</h3>
+
+<p>Doctor Hoyle had built his cabin on one of the pinnacles of the earth,
+and David, looking down on blue billowing mountain tops with only the
+spaces of the air between him and heaven&mdash;between him and the
+ocean&mdash;between him and his fair English home&mdash;felt that he knew why the
+old doctor had chosen it.</p>
+
+<p>Seated on a splint-bottomed chair in the doorway, pondering, he thought
+first of his mother, with a little secret sorrow that he could not have
+taken to his heart the bride she had selected for him, and settled in
+his own home to the comfortable ease the wife's wealth would have
+secured for him. It was not that the money had been made in commerce; he
+was neither a snob nor a cad. Although his own connections entitled him
+to honor, what more could he expect than to marry wealth and be happy,
+if&mdash;if happiness could come to either of them in that way. No, his heart
+did not lean toward her; it was better that he should bend to his
+profession in a strange land. But not this, to live a hermit's life in a
+cabin on a wild hilltop. How long must it be&mdash;how long?</p>
+
+<p>Brooding thus, he gazed at the distance of ever paling blue, and
+mechanically counted the ranges and peaks below him. An inaccessible
+tangle of laurel and rhododendron clothed the rough and precipitous wall
+of the mountain side, which fell sheer down until lost in purple shadow,
+with a mantle of green, deep and rich, varied by the gray of the
+lichen-covered rocks, the browns and reds of the bare branches of
+deciduous trees, and the paler tints of feathery pines. Here and there,
+from damp, springy places, dark hemlocks rose out of the mass, tall and
+majestic, waving their plumy tops, giant sentinels of the wilderness.</p>
+
+<p>Gradually his mood of brooding retrospect changed, and he knew himself
+to be glad to his heart's core. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> could understand why, out of the
+turmoil of the Middle Ages, men chose to go to sequestered places and
+become hermits. No tragedies could be in this primeval spot, and here he
+would rest and build again for the future. He was pleased to sit thus
+musing, for the climb had taken more strength than he could well spare.
+His cabin was not yet habitable, for the simple things Doctor Hoyle had
+accumulated to serve his needs were still locked in well-built
+cupboards, as he had left them.</p>
+
+<p>Thryng meant soon to go to work, to take out the bed covers and air
+them, and to find the canvas and nail it over the framework beside the
+cabin which was to serve as a sleeping apartment. All should be done in
+time. That was a good framework, strongly built, with the corner posts
+set deep in the ground to keep it firm on this windswept height, and
+with a door in the side of the cabin opening into the canvas room. Ah,
+yes, all that the old doctor did was well and thoroughly done.</p>
+
+<p>His appetite sharpened by the climb and the bracing air, David
+investigated the contents of one of those melon-shaped baskets which
+Cassandra had given him when he started for his new home that morning,
+with little Hoyle as his guide.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, what hospitable kindness they had shown to him, a stranger! Here
+were delicate bits of fried chicken, sweet and white, corn-bread, a
+glass of honey, and a bottle of milk. Nothing better need a man ask; and
+what animals men are, after all, he thought, taking delight in the mere
+acts of eating and breathing and sleeping.</p>
+
+<p>Utterly weary, he would not trouble to open the cot which lay in the
+cabin, but rolled himself in his blanket on the wide, flat rock at the
+verge of the mountain. Here, warmed by the sun, he lay with his face
+toward the blue distance and slept dreamlessly and soundly,&mdash;very
+soundly, for he was not awakened by a crackling of the brush and
+scrambling of feet struggling up the mountain wall below his hard
+resting-place. Yet the sound kept on, and soon a head appeared above the
+rock, and two hands were placed upon it; then a strong, catlike spring
+landed the lithe young owner of the head only a few feet away from the sleeper.</p>
+
+<p>It was Frale, his soft felt hat on the back of his head<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> and the curl of
+dark hair falling upon his forehead. For an instant, as he gazed on the
+sleeping figure, the wild look of fear was in his eyes; then, as he
+bethought himself of the words of Aunt Sally, "They is a man thar," the
+expression changed to one more malevolent and repulsive, transforming
+and aging the boyish face. Cautiously he crept nearer, and peered into
+the face of the unconscious Englishman. His hands clinched and his lips
+tightened, and he made a movement with his foot as if he would spurn him over the cliff.</p>
+
+<p>As suddenly the moment passed; he drew back in shame and looked down at
+his hands, blood-guilty hands as he knew them to be, and, with lowered
+head, he moved swiftly away.</p>
+
+<p>He was a youth again, hungry and sad, stumbling along the untrodden way,
+avoiding the beaten path, yet unerringly taking his course toward the
+cleft rock at the head of the fall behind the great holly tree. It was
+not the food Cassandra had promised him that he wanted now, but to look
+into the eyes of one who would pity and love him. Heartsick and weary as
+he never had been in all his young life, lonely beyond bearing, he hurried along.</p>
+
+<p>As he forced a path through the undergrowth, he heard the sound of a
+mountain stream, and, seeking it, he followed along its rocky bed,
+leaping from one huge block of stone to another, and swinging himself
+across by great overhanging sycamore boughs, drawing, by its many
+windings, nearer and nearer to the spot where it precipitated itself
+over the mountain wall. Ever the noise of the water grew louder, until
+at last, making a slight detour, he came upon the very edge of the
+descent, where he could look down and see his home nestled in the cove
+at the foot of the fall, the blue smoke curling upward from its great chimney.</p>
+
+<p>He seated himself upon a jutting rock well screened by laurel shrubs on
+all sides but the one toward the fall. There, his knees clasped about
+with his arms, and his chin resting upon them, he sat and watched.</p>
+
+<p>Behind the leafage and tangle of bare stems and twigs, he was so far
+above and so directly over the spot on which his gaze was fixed as to be
+out of the usual range of sight from below, thus enabling him to see
+plainly what was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> transpiring about the house and sheds, without himself
+being seen.</p>
+
+<p>Long and patiently he waited. Once a dog barked,&mdash;his own dog Nig. Some
+one must be approaching. What if the little creature should seek him out
+and betray him! He quivered with the thought. The day before he had
+driven him down the mountain, beating him off whenever he returned.
+Should the animal persist in tracking him, he would kill him.</p>
+
+<p>He peered more eagerly down, and saw little Hoyle run out of the cow
+shed and twist himself this way and that to see up and down the road.
+Both the child and the dog seemed excited. Yes, there they were, three
+horsemen coming along the highway. Now they were dismounting and
+questioning the boy. Now they disappeared in the house. He did not move.
+Why were they so long within? Hours, it seemed to Frale, but in reality
+it was only a short search they were making there. They were longer
+looking about the sheds and yard. Hoyle accompanied them everywhere, his
+hands in his pockets, standing about, shivering with excitement.</p>
+
+<p>All around they went peering and searching, thrusting their arms as far
+as they could reach into the stacks of fodder, looking into troughs and
+corn sacks, setting the fowls to cackling wildly, even hauling out the
+long corn stalks from the wagon which had served to make Thryng's ride
+the night before comfortable. No spot was overlooked.</p>
+
+<p>Frequently they stood and parleyed. Then Frale's heart would sink within
+him. What if they should set Nig to track him! Ah, he would strangle the
+beast and pitch him over the fall. He would spring over after him before
+he would let himself be taken and hanged. Oh, he could feel the
+strangling rope around his neck already! He could not bear it&mdash;he could not!</p>
+
+<p>Thus cowering, he waited, starting at every sound from below as if to
+run, then sinking back in fear, breathless with the pounding of his
+heart in his breast. Now the voices came up to him painfully clear. They
+were talking to little Hoyle angrily. What they were saying he could not
+make out, but he again cautiously lifted his head and looked below.
+Suddenly the child drew back and lifted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> his arm as if to ward off a
+blow, but the blow came. Frale saw one of the men turn as he mounted his
+horse to ride away, and cut the boy cruelly across his face and arm with
+his rawhide whip. The little one's shriek of fright and pain pierced his
+big brother to the heart and caused him to forget for the moment his own abject fear.</p>
+
+<p>He made as if he would leap the intervening space to punish the brute,
+but a cry of anger died in his throat as he realized his situation. The
+selfishness of his fear, however, was dispelled, and he no longer
+cringed as before, but had the courage again to watch, awake and alert
+to all that passed beneath him.</p>
+
+<p>Hoyle's cry brought Cassandra out of the house flying. She walked up to
+the man like an angry tigress. Frale rose to his knees and strained eagerly forward.</p>
+
+<p>"If you are such a coward you must hit something small and weak, you can
+strike a woman. Hit me," she panted, putting the child behind her.</p>
+
+<p>Muttering, the man rode sullenly away. "He no business hangin' roun'
+we-uns, list'nin' to all we say."</p>
+
+<p>Frale could not make out the words, but his face burned red with rage.
+Had he been in hiding down below, he would have wreaked vengeance on the
+man; as it was, he stood up and boldly watched them ride away in the
+opposite direction from which they had come.</p>
+
+<p>He sank back and waited, and again the hours passed. All was still but
+the rushing water and the gentle soughing of the wind in the tops of the
+towering pines. At last he heard a rustling and sniffing here and there.
+His heart stood still, then pounded again in terror. They had&mdash;they had
+set Nig to track him. Of course the dog would seek for his old friend
+and comrade, and they&mdash;they would wait until they heard his bark of joy,
+and then they would seize him.</p>
+
+<p>He crept close to the rock where the water rushed, not a foot away, and
+clinging to the tough laurel behind him, leaned far over. To drop down
+there would mean instant death on the rocks below. It would be
+terrible&mdash;almost as horrible as the strangling rope. He would wait until
+they were on him, and then&mdash;nearer and nearer came the erratic trotting
+and scratching of the dog among the leaves&mdash;and then, if only he could
+grapple with the man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> who had struck his little brother, he would drag
+him over with him. A look of fierce joy leaped in his eyes, which were
+drawn to a narrow blue gleam as he waited.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Nig burst through the undergrowth and sprang to his side, but
+before the dog could give his first bark of delight the yelp was crushed
+in his throat, and he was hurled with the mighty force of frenzy, a
+black, writhing streak of animate nature into the rushing water, and
+there swept down, tossed on the rocks, taken up and swirled about and
+thrown again upon the rocks, no longer animate, but a part of nature's
+own, to return to his primal elements.</p>
+
+<p>It was done, and Frale looked at his hands helplessly, feeling himself a
+second time a murderer. Yet he was in no way more to blame for the first
+than for this. As yet a boy untaught by life, he had not learned what to
+do with the forces within him. They rose up madly and mastered him. With
+a man's power to love and hate, a man's instincts, his untamed nature
+ready to assert itself for tenderness or cruelty, without a man's
+knowledge of the necessity for self-control, where some of his kind
+would have been inert and listless, his inheritance had made him intense
+and fierce. Loving and gentle and kind he could be, yet when stirred by
+liquor, or anger, or fear,&mdash;most terrible.</p>
+
+<p>His deed had been accomplished with such savage deftness that none
+pursuing could have guessed the tragedy. They might have waited long in
+the open spaces for the dog's return or the sound of his joyous yelp of
+recognition, but the sacrifice was needless. The affectionate creature
+had been searching on his own behalf, careless of the blows with which
+his master had driven him from his side the day before.</p>
+
+<p>Trembling, Frale crouched again. The silence was filled with pain for
+him. The moments swept on, even as the water rushed on, and the sun
+began to drop behind the hills, leaving the hollows in deepening purple
+gloom. At last, deeming that the search for the time must have been
+given up, he crept cautiously toward the great holly tree, not for food,
+but for hope. There, back in the shadow, he sat on a huge log, his head
+bowed between his hands, and listened.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p><p>Presently the silence was broken by a gentle stirring of the fallen
+leaves, not erratically this time, only a steady moving forward of human
+feet. Again Frale's heart bounded and the red sought his cheek, but now
+with a new emotion. He knew of but one footstep which would advance
+toward his ambush in that way. Peering out from among the deepest
+shadows, he watched the spot where Cassandra had promised food should be
+placed for him, his eyes no longer a narrow slit of blue, but wide and
+glad, his face transformed from the strain of fear with eager joy.</p>
+
+<p>Soon she emerged, walking wearily. She carried a bundle of food tied in
+a cloth, and an old overcoat of rough material trailed over one arm.
+These she deposited on the flat stone, then stood a moment leaning
+against the smooth gray hole of the holly tree, breathing quickly from
+the exertion of the steep climb.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes followed the undulating line of the mountain above them, rising
+tree-fringed against the sky, to where the highest peak cut across the
+setting sun, haloed by its long rays of gold. No cloud was there, but
+sweeping down the mountain side were the earth mists, glowing with
+iridescent tints, draping the crags and floating over the purple
+hollows, the verdure of the pines showing through it all, gilded and glorified.</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra waiting there might have been the dryad of the tree come out
+to worship in the evening light and grow beautiful. So Thryng would have
+thought, could he have seen her with the glow on her face, and in her
+eyes, and lighting up the fires in her hair; but no such classic dream
+came to the youth lingering among the shadows, ashamed to appear before
+her, bestowing on her a dumb adoration, unformed and wordless.</p>
+
+<p>Because his friend had maudlinly boasted that he was the better man in
+her eyes, and could any day win her for himself, he had killed him.
+Despite all the anguish the deed had wrought in his soul, he felt
+unrepentant now, as his eyes rested on her. He would do it again, and
+yet it was that very boast that had first awakened in his heart such thought of her.</p>
+
+<p>For years Cassandra had been as his sister, although no tie of blood
+existed between them, but suddenly the idea of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> possession had sprung to
+life in him, when another had assumed the right as his. Frale had not
+looked on her since that moment of revelation, of which she was so
+ignorant and so innocent. Now, filled with the shame of his deed and his
+desires, he stood in a torment of longing, not daring to move. His knees
+shook and his arms ached at his sides, and his eyes filled with hot tears.</p>
+
+<p>Quickly the sun dropped below the edge of the mountain. Cassandra drew a
+long sigh, and the glow left her face. She looked an instant lingeringly
+at the articles she had brought, and turned sadly away. Then he took a
+step toward her with hands outstretched, forgetful of his shame, and
+all, except that she was slipping away from him. Arrested by the sound
+of his feet among the leaves, she spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Frale, are you there?" Her voice was low as if she feared other ears
+than his might hear.</p>
+
+<p>He did not move again, and speak he could not, for remembrance rushed
+back stiflingly and overwhelmed him. Descrying his white face in the
+shadow, a pity as deep as his shame filled her heart and drew her nearer.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Frale, come out here. No one can see you, only me."</p>
+
+<p>Still tongue-tied by his emotion, he came into the light and stood near
+her. In dismay she looked up in his face. The big boy brother who had
+taken her to the little Carew Crossing station only two months before,
+rough and prankish as the colt he drove, but gentle withal, was gone. He
+who stood at her side was older. Anger had left its mark about his
+mouth, and fear had put a strange wildness in his eyes&mdash;but&mdash;there was
+something else in his reckless, set lips that hurt her. She shrank from
+him, and he took a step closer. Then she placed a soothing hand on his
+arm and perceived he was quivering. She thought she understood, and the
+soft pity moistened her eyes and deepened in her heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be afraid, Frale; they're gone long ago, and won't come back&mdash;not
+for a while, I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>He smiled faintly, never taking his eyes from her face. "I hain't
+afeared o' them. I hev been, but&mdash;" He shook her hand from his arm and
+made as if he would push her away, then suddenly he leaned toward her
+and caught<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> her in his arms, clasping her so closely that she could feel
+his wildly beating heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Frale, Frale! Don't, Frale. You never used to do me this way."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I never done you this-a-way. I wisht I had. I be'n a big fool." He
+kissed her, the first kisses of his young manhood, on brow and cheeks
+and lips, in spite of her useless writhings. He continued muttering as
+he held her: "I sinned fer you. I killed a man. He said he'd hev you. He
+'lowed he'd go down yander to the school whar you war at an' marry you
+an' fetch you back. I war a fool to 'low you to go thar fer him to
+foller an' get you. I killed him. He's dade."</p>
+
+<p>The short, interrupted sentences fell on her ears like blows. She ceased
+struggling and, drooping upon his bosom, wept, sobbing heart-brokenly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Frale!" she moaned, "if you had only told me, I could have given
+you my promise and you would have known he was lying and spared him and
+saved your own soul." He little knew the strength of his arms as he held
+her. "Frale! I am like to perish, you are hurting me so."</p>
+
+<p>He loosed her and she sank, a weary, frightened heap, at his feet. Then
+very tenderly he gathered her in his arms and carried her to the great
+flat rock and placed her on the old coat she had brought him.</p>
+
+<p>"You know I wouldn't hurt you fer the hull world, Cass." He knelt beside
+her, and throwing his arms across her lap buried his face in her dress,
+still trembling with his unmastered emotion. She thought him sobbing.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you give me your promise now, Cass?"</p>
+
+<p>"Now? Now, Frale, your hands are blood-guilty," she said, slowly and hopelessly.</p>
+
+<p>He grew cold and still, waiting in the silence. His hands clutched her
+clothing, but he did not lift his head. He had shed blood and had lost
+her. They might take him and hang him. At last he told her so, brokenly,
+and she knew not what to do.</p>
+
+<p>Gently she placed her hand on his head and drew the thick silken hair
+through her fingers, and the touch, to his stricken soul, was a
+benediction. The pity of her cooled the fever in his blood and swept
+over his spirit the breath of healing. For the first time, after the
+sin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> and the horror of it, after the passion and its anguish, came
+tears. He wept and wiped his tears with her dress.</p>
+
+<p>Then she told him how her mother had been hurt. How Hoyle had driven the
+half-broken colt and the mule all the way to Carew's alone, to bring her
+home, and how he had come nigh being killed. How a gentleman had helped
+her when the colt tried to run and the mule was mean, and how she had
+brought him home with her.</p>
+
+<p>Then he lifted his head and looked at her, his haggard face drawn with
+suffering, and the calmness of her eyes still further soothed and
+comforted him. They were filled with big tears, and he knew the tears
+were for him, for the change which had come upon him, lonely and
+wretched, doomed to hide out on the mountain, his clothes torn by the
+brambles and soiled by the red clay of the holes into which he had
+crawled to hide himself. He rose and sat at her side and held her head
+on his shoulder with gentle hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Pore little sister&mdash;pore little Cass! I been awful mean an' bad," he
+murmured. "Hit's a badness I cyan't 'count fer no ways. When I seed that
+thar doctah man&mdash;I reckon hit war him I seed lyin' asleep up yander on
+Hangin' Rock&mdash;a big tall man, right thin an' white in the face&mdash;" he
+paused and swallowed as if loath to continue.</p>
+
+<p>"Frale!" she cried, and would have drawn away but that he held her.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't hurt him, Cass. I mount hev. I lef' him lie thar an' never
+woke him nor teched him, but&mdash;I felt hit here&mdash;the badness." He struck
+his chest with his fist. "I lef' thar fast an' come here. Ever sence I
+killed Ferd, hit's be'n follerin' me that-a-way. I reckon I'm cursed to
+hell-fire fer hit now, ef they take me er ef they don't&mdash;hit's all one;
+hit's thar whar I'm goin' at the las'."</p>
+
+<p>"Frale, there is a way&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, they is one way&mdash;only one. Ef you'll give me your promise, Cass,
+I'll get away down these mountains, an' I'll work; I'll work hard an'
+get you a house like one I seed to the settlement, Cass, I will. Hit's
+you, Cass. Ever sence Ferd said that word, I be'n plumb out'n my hade.
+Las' night I slep' in Wild Cat Hole, an' I war that hungered an' lone, I
+tried to pray like your maw done teached me, an' I couldn' think of
+nothin' to say, on'y<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> just, 'Oh, Lord, Cass!' That-a-way&mdash;on'y your
+name, Cass, Cass, all night long."</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon Satan put my name in your heart, Frale; 'pears to me like it is sin."</p>
+
+<p>"Naw! Satan nevah put your name thar. He don't meddle with sech as you.
+He war a-tryin' to get your name out'n my heart, that's what he war
+tryin', fer he knowed I'd go bad right quick ef he could. Hit war your
+name kep' my hands off'n that doctah man thar on the rock. Give me your
+promise now, Cass. Hit'll save me."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why didn't it save you from killing Ferd?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"O Gawd!" he moaned, and was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Frale," she said at last. "Can't you see it's sin for you and
+me to sit here like this&mdash;like we dared to be sweethearts, when you have
+shed blood for this? Take your hands off me, and let me go down to mothah."</p>
+
+<p>Slowly his hold relaxed and his head drooped, but he did not move his
+arms. She pushed them gently from her and stood a moment looking down at
+him. His arms dropped upon the stone at his side, listless and empty,
+and again her pitying soul reached out to him and enveloped him.</p>
+
+<p>"Frale, there is just one way that I can give you my promise," she said.
+He held out his arms to her. "No, I can't sit that way; you can see
+that. The good book says, 'Ye must repent and be born again.'" He
+groaned and covered his face with his hands. "Then you would be a new
+man, without sin. I reckon you have suffered a heap, and repented a
+heap&mdash;since you did that, Frale?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm 'feared&mdash;I'm 'feared ef he war here an' riled me agin like he done
+that time&mdash;I'm 'feared I'd do hit agin&mdash;like he war talkin' 'bouts you,
+Cass." He rose and stood close to her.</p>
+
+<p>The soft dusk was wrapping them about, and she began to fear lest she
+lose her control over him. She took up the bundle of food and placed it in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Here, take this, and the coat, too, Frale. Come down and have suppah
+with mothah and me to-night, and sleep in your own bed. They won't
+search here for one while, I reckon, and you'll be safah than hiding in
+Wild Cat Hole.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> Hoyle heard them say they reckoned you'd lit off down
+the mountain, and were hiding in some near-by town. They'll hunt you there first; come."</p>
+
+<p>She walked on, and he obediently followed. "When we get nigh the house,
+I'll go first and see if the way is clear. You wait back. If I want you
+to run, I'll call twice, quick and sharp, but if I want you to come
+right in, I'll call once, low and long."</p>
+
+<p>After that no word was spoken. They clambered down the steep, winding
+path, and not far from the house she left him. She wondered Nig did not
+bound out to greet her, but supposed he must be curled up near the
+hearth in comfort. Frale also thought of the dog as he sat cowering
+under the laurel shrubs, and set his teeth in anguish and sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>"Cass'll hate hit when she finds out," he muttered.</p>
+
+<p>After a moment, waiting and listening, he heard her long, low call float
+out to him. Falling on his hurt spirit, it sounded heavenly sweet.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH CASSANDRA GOES TO DAVID WITH HER TROUBLE, AND GIVES FRALE HER PROMISE</h3>
+
+<p>After his sleep on Hanging Rock, David, allured by the sunset, remained
+long in his doorway idly smoking his pipe, and ruminating, until a
+normal and delightful hunger sent him striding down the winding path
+toward the blazing hearth where he had found such kindly welcome the
+evening before. There, seated tilted back against the chimney side, he
+found a huge youth, innocent of face and gentle of mien, who rose as he
+entered and offered him his chair, and smiled and tossed back a falling
+lock from his forehead as he gave him greeting.</p>
+
+<p>"This hyar is Doctah Thryng, Frale, who done me up this-a-way. He 'lows
+he's goin' to git me well so's I can walk again. How air you, suh? You
+certainly do look a heap better'n when you come las' evenin'."</p>
+
+<p>"So I am, indeed. And you?" David's voice rang out gladly. He went to
+the bed and bent above the old woman, looking her over carefully. "Are
+you comfortable? Do the weights hurt you?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I cyan't say as they air right comfortable, but ef they'll help me to
+git 'round agin, I reckon I can bar hit."</p>
+
+<p>Early that morning, with but the simplest means, David had arranged
+bandages and weights of wood to hold her in position.</p>
+
+<p>She was so slight he hoped the broken hip might right itself with
+patience and care, more especially as he learned that her age was not so
+advanced as her appearance had led him to suppose.</p>
+
+<p>Now all suspicion of him seemed to have vanished from the household.
+Hoyle, happy when the fascinating doctor noticed him, leaned against his
+chair, drinking in his words eagerly. But when Thryng drew him to his
+knee and discovered the cruel mark across his face and asked how it had
+happened, a curious change crept over them all. Every face became as
+expressionless as a mask; only the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> boy's eyes sought his brother's,
+then turned with a frightened look toward Cassandra as if seeking help.</p>
+
+<p>Thryng persisted in his examination, and lifted the boy's face toward
+the light. If the big brother had done this deed, he should be made to
+feel shame for it. The welt barely escaped the eye, which was swollen
+and discolored; and altogether the face presented a pitiable appearance.</p>
+
+<p>As David talked, the hard look which had been exorcised for a time by
+the gentle influence of that home, and more than all by the sight of
+Cassandra performing the gracious services of the household, settled
+again upon the youth's face. His lips were drawn, and his eyes ceased
+following Cassandra, and became fixed and narrowed on one spot.</p>
+
+<p>"You have come near losing that splendid eye of yours, do you know that,
+little chap?" Hoyle grinned. "It's a shame, you know. I have something
+up at the cabin would help to heal this, but&mdash;" he glanced about the
+room&mdash;"What are those dried herbs up there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Thar is witch hazel yandah in the cupboard. Cass, ye mount bile some up
+fer th' doctah," said the mother. "Tell th' doctah hu-come hit happened,
+son; you hain't afeared of him, be ye?" A trampling of horse's hoofs was
+heard outside. "Go up garret to your own place, Frale. What ye bid'n
+here fer?" she added, in a hushed voice, but the youth sat doggedly still.</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra went out and quickly returned. "It's your own horse, Frale.
+Poor beast! He's limping like he's been hurt. He's loose out there. You
+better look to him."</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle Carew rode him down an' lef' him, I reckon." Frale rose and went
+out, and David continued his care of the child.</p>
+
+<p>"How was it? Did your brother hurt you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Naw. He nevah hurted me all his life. Hit&mdash;war my own se'f&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra patted the child on his shoulder. "He can't beah to tell
+hu-come he is hurted this way, he is that proud. It was a mean, bad,
+coward man fetched him such a blow across the face. He asked little son
+something, and when Hoyle nevah said a word, he just lifted his arm and
+hit him, and then rode off like he had pleased <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>himself." A flush of
+anger kindled in her cheeks. "Nevah mind, son. Doctah can fix you up all right."</p>
+
+<p>A sigh of relief trembled through the boy's lips, and David asked no more questions.</p>
+
+<p>"You hain't goin' to tie me up that-a-way, be you?" He pointed to the
+bed whereon his mother lay, and they all laughed, relieving the tension.</p>
+
+<p>"Naw," shrilled the mother's voice, "but I reckon doctah mount take off
+your hade an' set hit on straight agin."</p>
+
+<p>"I wisht he could," cried the child, no whit troubled by the suggestion.
+"I'd bar a heap fer to git my hade straight like Frale's." Just then his
+brother entered the room. "You reckon doctah kin take off my hade an'
+set hit straight like you carry yours, Frale?" Again they all laughed,
+and the big youth smiled such a sweet, infantile smile, as he looked
+down on his little brother, that David's heart warmed toward him.</p>
+
+<p>He tousled the boy's hair as he passed and drew him along to the chimney
+side, away from the doctor. "Hit's a right good hade I'm thinkin' ef hit
+be set too fer round. They is a heap in hit, too, more'n they is in mine, I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>"He's gettin' too big to set that-a-way on your knee, Frale. Ye make a
+baby of him," said the mother. The child made an effort to slip down,
+but Frale's arm closed more tightly about him, and he nestled back contentedly.</p>
+
+<p>So the evening passed, and Thryng retired early to the bed in the loom
+shed. He knew something serious was amiss, but of what nature he could
+not conjecture, unless it were that Frale had been making illicit
+whiskey. Whatever it was, he chose to manifest no curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>In the morning he saw nothing of the young man, and as a warm rain was
+steadily falling, he was glad to get the use of the horse, and rode away
+happily in the rain, with food provided for both himself and the beast
+sufficient for the day slung in a sack behind him.</p>
+
+<p>"Reckon ye'll come back hyar this evenin'?" queried the old mother, as
+he adjusted her bandages before leaving.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll see how the cabin feels after I have had a fire in the chimney all day."</p>
+
+<p>As he left, he paused by Cassandra's side. She was standing by the spout
+of running water waiting for her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> pail to fill. "If it happens that you
+need me for&mdash;anything at all, send Hoyle, and I'll come immediately. Will you?"</p>
+
+<p>She lifted her eyes to his gratefully. "Thank you," was all she said,
+but his look impelled more. "You are right kind," she added.</p>
+
+<p>Hardly satisfied, he departed, but turned in his saddle to glance back
+at her. She was swaying sidewise with the weight of the full pail,
+straining one slender arm as she bore it into the house. Who did all the
+work there, he wondered. That great youth ought to relieve her of such
+tasks. Where was he? Little did he dream that the eyes of the great
+youth were at that moment fixed darkly upon him from the small pane of
+glass set in under the cabin roof, which lighted Frale's garret room.</p>
+
+<p>David stabled the horse in the log shed built by Doctor Hoyle for his
+own beast,&mdash;for what is life in the mountains without a horse,&mdash;then
+lingered awhile in his doorway looking out over the billows of ranges
+seen dimly through the fine veil of the falling rain. Ah, wonderful,
+perfect world it seemed to him, seen through the veil of the rain.</p>
+
+<p>The fireplace in the cabin was built of rough stone, wide and high, and
+there he made him a brisk fire with fat pine and brushwood. He drew in
+great logs which he heaped on the broad stone hearth to dry. He piled
+them on the fire until the flames leaped and roared up the chimney, so
+long unused. He sat before it, delighting in it like a boy with a
+bonfire, and blessed his friend for sending him there, smoking a pipe in
+his honor. Among the doctor's few cooking utensils he found a stout iron
+tea-kettle and sallied out again in the wet to rinse it and fill it with
+fresh water from the spring. He had had only coffee since leaving
+Canada; now he would have a good cup of decent tea, so he hung the
+kettle on the crane and swung it over the fire.</p>
+
+<p>In his search for his tea, most of his belongings were unpacked and
+tossed about the room in wild disorder, and a copy of <i>Marius the
+Epicurean</i> was brought to light. His kettle boiled over into the fire,
+and immediately the small articles on his pine table were shoved back in
+confusion to make room for his tea things, his bottle of milk, his corn
+pone, and his book.</p>
+
+<p>Being by this time weary, he threw himself on his couch,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> and
+contentment began&mdash;his hot tea within reach, his door wide open to the
+sweetness of the day, his fire dancing and crackling with good cheer,
+and his book in his hand. Ah! The delicious idleness and rest! No
+disorders to heal&mdash;no bones to mend&mdash;no problems to solve; a little
+sipping of his tea&mdash;a little reading of his book&mdash;a little luxuriating
+in the warmth and the pleasant odor of pine boughs burning&mdash;a little
+dreamy revery, watching through the open door the changing lights on the
+hills, and listening to an occasional bird note, liquid and sweet.</p>
+
+<p>The hour drew near to noon and the sky lightened and a rift of deep blue
+stretched across the open space before him. Lazily he speculated as to
+how he was to get his provisions brought up to him, and when and how he
+might get his mail, but laughed to think how little he cared for a
+hundred and one things which had filled his life and dogged his days ere
+this. Had he reached Nirvana? Nay, he could still hunger and thirst.</p>
+
+<p>A footstep was heard without, and a figure appeared in his doorway,
+quietly standing, making no move to enter. It was Cassandra, and he was pleased.</p>
+
+<p>"My first visitor!" he exclaimed. "Come in, come in. I'll make a place
+for you to sit in a minute." He shoved the couch away from before the
+fire, and removing a pair of trousers and a heap of hose from one of his
+splint-bottomed chairs, he threw them in a corner and placed it before
+the hearth. "You walked, didn't you? And your feet are wet, of course.
+Sit here and dry them."</p>
+
+<p>She pushed back her sunbonnet and held out to him a quaint little basket
+made of willow withes, which she carried, but she took no step forward.
+Although her lips smiled a fleeting wraith of a smile that came and went
+in an instant, he thought her eyes looked troubled as she lifted them to his face.</p>
+
+<p>He took the basket and lifted the cover. "I brought you some pa'triges,"
+she said simply.</p>
+
+<p>There lay three quail, and a large sweet potato, roasted in the ashes on
+their hearth as he had seen the corn pone baked the evening before, and
+a few round white cakes which he afterwards learned were beaten biscuit,
+all warm from the fire.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p><p>"How am I ever to repay you people for your kindness to me?" he said.
+"Come in and dry your feet. Never mind the mud; see how I've tracked it
+in all the morning. Come."</p>
+
+<p>He led her to the fire, and replenished it, while she sat passively
+looking down on the hearth as if she scarcely heeded him. Not knowing
+how to talk to her, or what to do with her, he busied himself trying to
+bring a semblance of order to the cabin, occasionally dropping a remark
+to which she made no response. Then he also relapsed into silence, and
+the minutes dragged&mdash;age-long minutes, they seemed to him.</p>
+
+<p>In his efforts at order, he spread his rug over the couch, tossed a
+crimson cushion on it and sundry articles beneath it to get them out of
+his way, then occupied himself with his book, while vainly trying to
+solve the riddle which his enigmatical caller presented to his imagination.</p>
+
+<p>All at once she rose, sought out a few dishes from the cupboard, and,
+taking a neatly smoothed, coarse cloth from the basket, spread it over
+one end of the table and arranged thereon his dinner. Quietly David
+watched her, following her example of silence until forced to speak.
+Finally he decided to question her, if only he could think of questions
+which would not trespass on her private affairs, when at last she broke the stillness.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't find any coffee. I ought to have brought some; I'll go fetch
+some if you'll eat now. Your dinner'll get cold."</p>
+
+<p>He showed her how he had made tea and was in no need of coffee. "We'll
+throw this out and make fresh," he said gayly. "Then you must have a cup
+with me. Why, you have enough to eat here for three people!" She seemed
+weary and sad, and he determined to probe far enough to elicit some
+confidence, but the more fluent he became, the more effectively she
+withdrew from him.</p>
+
+<p>"See here," he said at last, "sit by the table with me, and I will eat
+to your heart's content. I'll prepare you a cup of tea as I do my own,
+and then I want you to drink it. Come."</p>
+
+<p>She yielded. His way of saying "Come" seemed like a command to be obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, that is more like." He began his dinner with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> relish. "Won't you
+share this game with me? It is fine, you know."</p>
+
+<p>He could not think her silent from embarrassment, for her poise seemed
+undisturbed except for the anxious look in her eyes. He determined to
+fathom the cause, and since no finesse availed, there remained but one
+way,&mdash;the direct question.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" he said kindly. "Tell me the trouble, and let me help you."</p>
+
+<p>She looked full into his eyes then, and her lips quivered. Something
+rose in her throat, and she swallowed helplessly. It was so hard for her
+to speak. The trouble had struck deeper than he dreamed.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a trouble, isn't it? Can't you tell it to me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I reckon there isn't any trouble worse than ours&mdash;no, I reckon
+there is nothing worse."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Miss Cassandra!"</p>
+
+<p>"Because it's sin, and&mdash;and 'the wages of sin is death.'" Her tone was
+hopeless, and the sadness of it went to his heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it whiskey?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;it's whiskey 'stilling and&mdash;worse; it's&mdash;" She turned deathly
+white. Too sad to weep, she still held control of her voice. "It's a heap worse&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't try to tell me what it is," he cried. "Only tell me how I may
+help you. It's not your sin, surely, so you don't have to bear it."</p>
+
+<p>"It's not mine, but I do have to bear it. I wish my bearing it was all.
+Tell me, if&mdash;if a man has done&mdash;such a sin, is it right to help him get away?"</p>
+
+<p>"If it is that big brother of yours, whom I saw last night, I can't
+believe he has done anything so very wicked. You say it is not the whiskey?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe it was the whiskey first&mdash;then&mdash;I don't know exactly how came
+it&mdash;I reckon he doesn't himself. I&mdash;he's not my brothah&mdash;not rightly,
+but he has been the same as such. They telegraphed me to come home
+quick. Bishop Towahs told me a little&mdash;all he knew,&mdash;but he didn't know
+what all was it, only some wrong to call the officahs and set them aftah
+Frale&mdash;poor Frale. He&mdash;he told me himself&mdash;last evening." She paused
+again, and the pallor slowly left her face and the red surged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> into her
+cheeks and mounted to the waves of her heavy hair.</p>
+
+<p>"It is Frale, then, who is in trouble! And you wish me to help him get
+away?" She looked down and was silent. "But I am a stranger, and know
+nothing about the country."</p>
+
+<p>He pushed his chair away from the table and leaned back, regarding her intently.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I am afraid for him." She put her hand to her throat and turned
+away her face from his searching eyes, in shame.</p>
+
+<p>"I prefer not to know what he has done. Just explain to me your plan,
+and how I can help. You know better than I."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't understand how comes it I can tell you; you are a strangah to
+all of us&mdash;and yet it seems like it is right. If I could get some
+clothes nobody has evah seen Frale weah&mdash;if&mdash;I could make him look
+different from a mountain boy, maybe he could get to some town down the
+mountain, and find work; but now they would meet up with him before he
+was halfway there."</p>
+
+<p>Thryng rose and began pacing the room. "Is there any hurry?" he
+demanded, stopping suddenly before her.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why have you waited all this time to tell me?"</p>
+
+<p>She lifted her eyes to his in silence, and he knew well that she had not
+spoken because she could not, and that had he not ventured with his
+direct questions, she would have left him, carrying her burden with her,
+as hopelessly silent as when she came.</p>
+
+<p>He sat beside her again and gently urged her to tell him without further
+delay all she had in her mind. "You feel quite sure that if he could get
+down the mountain side without being seen, he would be safe; where do
+you mean to send him? You don't think he would try to return?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why&mdash;no, I reckon not&mdash;if&mdash;I&mdash;" Her face flamed, and she drew on her
+bonnet, hiding the crimson flush in its deep shadow. She knew that
+without the promise he had asked, the boy would as surely return as that
+the sun would continue to rise and set.</p>
+
+<p>"He must stay," she spoke desperately and hurriedly. "If he can just
+make out to stay long enough to learn a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> little&mdash;how to live, and will
+keep away from bad men&mdash;if I&mdash;he only knows enough to make mean corn
+liquor now&mdash;but he nevah was bad. He has always been different&mdash;and he
+is awful smart. I can't think how came he to change so."</p>
+
+<p>Taking the empty basket with her, she walked toward the door, and David
+followed her. "Thank you for that good dinner," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Sally fetched the pa'triges. Her old man got them for mothah, and
+she said you sure ought to have half. Sally said the sheriff had gone
+back up the mountain, and I'm afraid he'll come to our place again this
+evening. Likely they're breaking up Frale's 'still' now."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, that will be a good deed, won't it?"</p>
+
+<p>The huge bonnet had hid her face from him, but now she lifted her eyes
+frankly to his, with a flash of radiance through her tears. "I reckon,"
+was all she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Are they likely to come up here, do you think, those men?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not hardly. They would have to search on foot here. It's out of their
+way; only no place on the mountain is safe for Frale now."</p>
+
+<p>"Send him to me quickly, then. I have cast my lot with you mountain
+people for some time to come, and your cause shall be mine."</p>
+
+<p>She paused at the door with grateful words on her lips unuttered.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't stop for thanks, Miss Cassandra; they are wasted between us. You
+have opened your doors to me, a stranger, and that is enough. Hurry,
+don't grieve&mdash;and see here: I may not be able to do anything, but I'll
+try; and if I can't get down to-night, won't you come again in the
+morning and tell me all about it?"</p>
+
+<p>Instantly he thought better of his request, yet who was here to
+criticise? He laughed as he thought how firmly the world and its
+conventions held him. Sweet, simple-hearted child that she was, why,
+indeed, should she not come? Still he called after her. "If you are too
+busy, send Hoyle. I may be down to see your mother, anyway."</p>
+
+<p>She paused an instant in her hurried walk. "I'll be right glad to come,
+if I can help you any way."</p>
+
+<p>He stood watching her until she passed below his view,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> as her long easy
+steps took her rapidly on, although she seemed to move slowly. Then he
+went back to his fire, and her words repeated themselves insistently in
+his mind&mdash;"I'll be right glad to come, if I can help you any way."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Sally was seated in the chimney-corner smoking, when Cassandra
+returned. "Where is he?" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>"He couldn't set a minute, he was that restless. He 'lowed he'd go up to
+the rock whar you found him las' evenin'."</p>
+
+<p>Without a word, Cassandra turned and fled up the steep toward the head
+of the fall. Every moment, she knew, was precious. Frale met her halfway
+down and took her hand, leading her as he had been used to do when she
+was his "little sister," and listened to her plans docilely enough.</p>
+
+<p>"I mean you to go down to Farington, to Bishop Towahs'. He will give you
+work." She had not mentioned Thryng.</p>
+
+<p>Frale laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't, Frale. How can you laugh?"</p>
+
+<p>"I ra'ly hain't laughin', Cass. Seems like you fo'get how can I get down
+the mountain; but I reckon I'll try&mdash;if you say so."</p>
+
+<p>Then she explained how the doctor had sent for him to come up there
+quickly, and how he would help him. "You must go now, Frale, you hear? Now!"</p>
+
+<p>Again he laughed, bitterly this time. "Yas&mdash;I reckon he'll be right glad
+to help me get away from you. I'll go myse'f in my own way."</p>
+
+<p>Under the holly tree they had paused, and suddenly she feared lest the
+boy at her side return to his mood of the evening before. She seized his
+hand again and hurried him farther up the steep.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, come!" she cried. "I'll go with you, Frale."</p>
+
+<p>"Naw, you won't go with me neithah," he said stubbornly, drawing back.</p>
+
+<p>"Frale!" she pleaded. "Hear to me."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a-listenin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Frale, I'm afraid. They may be on their way now. For all we know they
+may be right nigh."</p>
+
+<p>"I've done got used to fearin' now. Hit don't hurt none. On'y one thing hurts now."</p>
+
+<p>"I've been up to see Doctor Thryng, and he's promised<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> he'll fix you up
+some way so that if anybody does see you, they&mdash;they'll think you belong
+somewhere else, and nevah guess who you be. Frale, go."</p>
+
+<p>He held her, with his arm about her waist, half carrying her with him,
+instead of allowing her to move her own free gait, and she tried vainly
+with her fingers to pull his hands away; but his muscles were like iron
+under her touch. He felt her helplessness and liked it. Her voice shook
+as she pleaded with him.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Frale! Hear to me!" she wailed.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll hear to you, ef you'll hear to me. Seems like I've lost my fear
+now. I hain't carin' no more. Ef I should see the sheriff this minute,
+an' he war a-puttin' his rope round my neck right now, I wouldn't care
+'thout one thing&mdash;jes' one thing. I'd walk straight down to hell fer
+hit,&mdash;I reckon I hev done that,&mdash;but I'd walk till I drapped, an' work
+till I died for hit." He stood still a moment, and again she essayed to
+move his hands, but he only held her closer.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, hurry, Frale! I'm afraid. Oh, Frale, don't!"</p>
+
+<p>"Be ye 'feared fer me, Cass?"</p>
+
+<p>"You know that, Frale. Leave go, and hear to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Be ye 'feared 'nough to give me your promise, Cass?"</p>
+
+<p>"Take your hand off me, Frale."</p>
+
+<p>"We'll go back. I 'low they mount es well take me first as last. I
+hain't no heart lef' in me. I don't care fer that thar doctah man
+he'pin' me, nohow," he choked.</p>
+
+<p>"Leave me go, and I'll give you promise for promise, Frale. I can't make
+out is it sin or not; but if God can forgive and love&mdash;when you turn and
+seek Him&mdash;the Bible do say so, Frale, but&mdash;but seem like you don't
+repent your deed whilst you look at me like that way." She paused,
+trembling. "If you could be sorry like you ought to be, Frale, and turn
+your heart&mdash;I could die for that."</p>
+
+<p>He still held her, but lifted one shaking hand above his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Before God, I promise&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What, Frale? Say what you promise."</p>
+
+<p>He still held his hand high. "All you ask of me, Cass. Tell me word by
+word, an' I'll promise fair."</p>
+
+<p>"You will repent, Frale?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p><p>"Yas."</p>
+
+<p>"You will not drink?"</p>
+
+<p>"I will not drink."</p>
+
+<p>"You will heed when your own heart tells you the right way?"</p>
+
+<p>"I will heed when my heart tells me the way: hit will be the way to you, Cass."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't say it that way, Frale. Now say, 'So help me God,' and don't
+think of me whilst you say it."</p>
+
+<p>"Put your hand on mine, Cass. Lift hit up an' say with me that word."
+She placed her palm on his uplifted palm. "So help me, God," they said
+together. Then, with streaming tears, she put her arms about his neck
+and gently drew his face down to her own.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go back now, Frale, and you do all I've said. Go quick. I'll write
+Bishop Towahs, and he'll watch out for you, and find you work. Let
+Doctah Thryng help you. He sure is a good man. Oh, if you only could write!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll larn."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll have a heap more to learn than you guess. I've been there, and I
+know. Don't give up, Frale, and&mdash;and stay&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I hain't going to give up with your promise here, Cass; kiss me."</p>
+
+<p>She did so, and he slowly released her, looking back as he walked away.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, hurry, Frale! Don't look back. It's a bad omen." She turned, and
+without one backward glance descended the mountain.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DAVID AIDS FRALE TO MAKE HIS ESCAPE</h3>
+
+<p>Elated by his talk with Cassandra, Frale walked eagerly forward, but as
+he neared Thryng's cabin he moved more slowly. Why should he let that
+doctor help him? He could reach Farington some way&mdash;travelling by night
+and hiding in the daytime. But David was watching for him and strolled
+down to meet him.</p>
+
+<p>"Good morning. Your sister says there is no time to lose. Come in here,
+and we'll see if we can find a way out of this trouble."</p>
+
+<p>Having learned not to expect any response to remarks not absolutely
+demanding one, and not wishing the silence to dominate, David talked on,
+as he led Frale into the cabin and carefully closed the door behind them.</p>
+
+<p>Thryng's intuition was subtle and his nature intense and strong. He had
+been used to dealing with men, and knew that when he wished to, he
+usually gained his point. Feeling the antagonism in Frale's heart toward
+himself, he determined to overcome it. Be it pride, jealousy, or what
+not, it must give way.</p>
+
+<p>He had learned only that morning that circumlocution or pretence of any
+sort would only drive the youth further into his fortress of silence,
+and close his nature, a sealed well of turbid feeling, against him;
+therefore he chose a manner pleasantly frank, taking much for granted,
+and giving the boy no chance to refuse his help, by assuming it to have
+been already accepted.</p>
+
+<p>"We are about the same size, I think? Yes. Here are some things I laid
+out for you. You must look as much like me as possible, and as unlike
+yourself, you know. Sit here and we'll see what can be done for your head."</p>
+
+<p>"You're right fair, an' I'm dark."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that makes very little difference. It's the general appearance we
+must get at. Suppose I try to trim your hair a little so that lock on
+your forehead won't give you away."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p><p>"I reckon I can do it. Hit's makin' you a heap o' trouble."</p>
+
+<p>David was pleased to note the boy's mood softening, and helped him on.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm no hand as a barber, but I'll try it a little; it's easier for me
+to get at than for you." He quickly and deftly cut away the falling
+curl, and even shaved the corners of the forehead a bit, and clipped the
+eyebrows to give them a different angle. "All this will grow again, you
+know. You only want it to last until the storm blows over."</p>
+
+<p>The youth surveyed himself in the mirror and smiled, but grimly. "I do
+look a heap different."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right; we want you to look like quite another man. And now for
+your chin. You can use a razor; here is warm water and soap. This suit
+of clothes is such as we tramp about in at home, different from anything
+you see up here, you know. I'll take my pipe and book and sit there on
+the rock and keep an eye out, lest any one climb up here to look around,
+and you can have the cabin all to yourself. You see what to do; make
+yourself look as if you came from my part of the world." Thryng glanced
+at his watch. "Work fast, but take time enough to do it well. Say half
+an hour,&mdash;will that do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>Then David left him, and the moments passed until an hour had slipped
+away, but still the youth did not appear, and he was on the point of
+calling out to him, when he saw the twisted form of little Hoyle
+scrambling up through the underbrush.</p>
+
+<p>"They're comin'," he panted, with wild and frightened eyes fixed on
+David's face. "I see 'em up the road, an' I heered 'em say they was
+goin' to hunt 'round the house good, an' then s'arch the cabin ovah
+Hanging Rock." The poor child burst into tears. "Do you 'low they'll
+shoot Frale, suh?"</p>
+
+<p>"They'd not reached the house when you saw them?"</p>
+
+<p>"They'll be thar by now, suh," sobbed the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"Then run and hide yourself. Crawl under the rock&mdash;into the smallest
+hole you can. They mustn't see that you have been here, and don't be
+frightened, little man. We'll look after Frale."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p><p>The child disappeared like a squirrel in a hole, and Thryng went to the
+cabin door and knocked imperatively. It was opened instantly, and Frale
+stood transformed, his old, soiled garments lying in a heap at his side
+as if he had crept out of his chrysalis. A full half hour he had been
+lingering, abashed at himself and dreading to appear. The slight growth
+of adolescence was gone from lip and chin, and Thryng was amazed and satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>"Good," he cried. "You've done well."</p>
+
+<p>The youth smiled shamefacedly, yet held his head high. With the heavy
+golf stockings, knee breeches, and belted jacket, even to himself he
+seemed another man, and an older man he looked by five years.</p>
+
+<p>"Now keep your nerve, and square your shoulders and face the world with
+a straight look in the eye. You've thrown off the old man with these."
+David touched the heap of clothing on the floor with his foot. "Hoyle is
+here. He says the men are on their way here and have stopped at the house."</p>
+
+<p>Instead of turning pale as Thryng had expected, a dark flush came into
+Frale's face, and his hand clinched. It was the ferocity of fear, and
+not the deadliness of it, which seized him with a sort of terrible
+anger, that David felt through his silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't lose control of yourself, boy," he said, placing his hand gently
+on his shoulder and making his touch felt by the intimate closing of his
+slender fingers upon the firmly rounded, lean muscles beneath them.</p>
+
+<p>"Follow my directions, and be quick. Put your own clothes in this bag."
+He hastily tossed a few things out of his pigskin valise. "Cram them in;
+that's right. Don't leave a trace of yourself here for them to find.
+Pull this cap over your eyes, and walk straight down that path, and pass
+them by as if they were nothing to you. If they speak to you, of course
+nod to them and pass on. But if they ask you a question, say politely,
+'Beg pardon?' just like that, as though you did not
+understand&mdash;and&mdash;wait. Don't hurry away from them as if you were afraid
+of them. They won't recognize you unless you give yourself away by your
+manner. See? Now say it over after me. Good! Take these cigars." He
+placed his own case in the boy's vest pocket.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p><p>"Better leave 'em free, suh. I don't like to take all your things
+this-a-way." He handed back the case, and put them loose in his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. If you smoke, just light this and walk on, and if they ask
+you anything about yourself, if you have seen a chap of the sort,
+understand, offer them each a cigar, and tell them no. Don't say 'I
+reckon not,' for that will give you away, and don't lift your cap, or
+they will see how roughly your hair is cut. Touch it as if you were
+going to lift it, only&mdash;so. I would take care not to arrive at the house
+while they are there; it will be easier for you to meet them on the
+path. It will be the sooner over."</p>
+
+<p>Thryng held out his hand, and Frale took it awkwardly, then turned away,
+swallowing the thanks he did not know how to utter. For the time being,
+David had conquered.</p>
+
+<p>The lad took a few steps and then turned back. "I'd like to thank you,
+suh, an' I'd like to pay fer these here&mdash;I 'low to get work an' send the
+money fer 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be troubled about that; we'll see later. Only remember one thing.
+I don't know what you've done, nor why you must run away like this&mdash;I
+haven't asked. I may be breaking the laws of the land as much as you in
+helping you off. I am doing it because, until I know of some downright
+evil in you, I'm bound to help you, and the best way to repay me will be
+for you to&mdash;you know&mdash;do right."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you doin' this fer her?" He looked off at the hills as he spoke,
+and not at the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, for her and for you. Don't linger now, and don't forget my directions."</p>
+
+<p>The youth turned on the doctor a quick look. Thryng could not determine,
+as he thought it over afterward, if there was in it a trace of
+malevolence. It was like a flash of steel between them, even as they
+smiled and again bade each other good-by.</p>
+
+<p>For a time all was silent around Hanging Rock. Thryng sat reading and
+pondering, expecting each moment to hear voices from the direction Frale
+had taken. He could not help smiling as he thought over his attempt to
+make this mountain boy into the typical English tourist, and how unique
+an imitation was the result.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p><p>He called out to comfort Hoyle's fearful little heart: "Your brother's
+all safe now. Come out here until we hear men's voices."</p>
+
+<p>"I better stay whar I be, I reckon. They won't talk none when they get nigh hyar."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you comfortable down there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, suh."</p>
+
+<p>Hoyle was right. The two men detailed for this climb walked in silence,
+to give no warning of their approach, until they appeared in the rear of
+the cabin, and entered the shed where Frale's horse was stabled. Sure
+were they then that its owner was trapped at last.</p>
+
+<p>They were greatly surprised at finding the premises occupied. David
+continued his reading, unconcerned until addressed.</p>
+
+<p>"Good evenin', suh."</p>
+
+<p>He greeted them genially and invited them into his cabin, determined to
+treat them with as royal hospitality as was in his power. To offer them
+tea was hardly the thing, he reasoned, so he stirred up the fire, while
+descanting on the beauty of the location and the health-giving quality
+of the air, and when his kettle was boiling, he brought out from his
+limited stores whiskey, lemons, and sugar, and proceeded to brew them so
+fine a quality of English toddy as to warm the cockles of their hearts.</p>
+
+<p>Questioning them on his own account, he learned how best to get his
+supplies brought up the mountains, and many things about the region
+interesting to him. At last one of them ventured a remark about the
+horse and how he came by him, at which he explained very frankly that
+the widow down below had allowed him the use of the animal for his keep
+until her son returned.</p>
+
+<p>They "'lowed he wa'n't comin' back to these parts very soon," and David
+expressed satisfaction. His evident ignorance of mountain affairs
+convinced them that nothing was to be gained from him, and they asked no
+direct questions, and finally took their departure, with a high opinion
+of their host, and quite content.</p>
+
+<p>Then David called his little accomplice from his hiding-place, took him
+into his cabin, and taught him to drink tea with milk and sugar in it,
+gave him crisp biscuits from his small remainder in store, and, still
+further to comfort<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> his heart, searched out a card on which was a
+picture of an ocean liner on an open sea, with flags flying, great rolls
+of vapor and smoke trailing across the sky, with white-capped waves
+beneath and white clouds above. The boy's eyes shone with delight. He
+twisted himself about to look up in Thryng's face as he questioned him
+concerning it, and almost forgot Frale in his happiness, as he trudged
+home hugging the precious card to his bosom.</p>
+
+<p>Contentedly Thryng proceeded to set his abode in order after the
+disarray of the morning, undisturbed by any question as to the equity of
+his deed. His mind was in a state of rebellion against the usual
+workings of the criminal courts, and, biassed by his observation of the
+youth, he felt that his act might lead as surely toward absolute
+justice, perhaps more surely, than the opposite course would have done.</p>
+
+<p>Erelong he found a few tools carefully packed away, as was the habit of
+his old friend, and the labor of preparing his canvas room began. But
+first a ladder hanging under the eaves of the cabin must be repaired,
+and long before the slant rays of the setting sun fell across his
+hilltop, he found himself too weary to descend to the Fall Place, even
+with the aid of his horse. With a measure of discouragement at his
+undeniable weakness, he led the animal to water where a spring bubbled
+sweet and clear in an embowered hollow quite near his cabin, then
+stretched himself on the couch before the fire, with no other light than
+its cheerful blaze, too exhausted for his book and disinclined even to
+prepare his supper.</p>
+
+<p>After a time, David's weariness gave place to a pleasant drowsiness, and
+he rose, arranged his bed, and replenished the fire, drank a little hot
+milk, and dropped into a wholesome slumber as dreamless and sweet as
+that of a tired child.</p>
+
+<p>Such a sense of peace and retirement closed around him there alone on
+his mountain, that he slept with his cabin door open to the sweet air,
+crisp and cold, lulled by the murmuring of the swaying pine tops
+without, and the crackling and crumbling of burning logs within. Rolled
+in his warm Scotch rug, he did not feel the chill that came as his fire
+burned lower, but slept until daybreak, when the clear note of a
+Carolina wren, thrice repeated close to his open door, sounded his reveille.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p><p>Deeply inhaling the cold air, he lay and mused over the events of the
+previous day. How quickly and naturally he had been drawn into the
+interests of his neighbors below him, and had absorbed the peculiar
+atmosphere of their isolation, making a place for himself, shutting out
+almost as if they had never existed the harassments and questionings of
+his previous life. Was it a buoyancy he had received from his mountain
+height and the morning air? Whatever the cause, he seemed to have
+settled with them all, and arrived at last where his spirit needed but
+to rest open and receptive before its Creator to be swept clear of the
+dross of the world's estimates of values, and exalted with aspiration.</p>
+
+<p>Every long breath he drew seemed to make his mental vision clearer. God
+and his own soul&mdash;was that all? Not quite. God and the souls of men and
+of women&mdash;of all who came within his environment&mdash;a world made
+beautiful, made sweet and health-giving for these&mdash;and with them to know
+God, to feel Him near. So Christ came to be close to humanity.</p>
+
+<p>A mist of scepticism that had hung over him and clouded the later years
+of his young manhood suddenly rolled away, dispelled by the splendor of
+this triumphant thought, even as the rays of the rising sun came at the
+same moment to dispel the earth mists and flood the hills with light.
+Light; that was it! "In Him is no darkness at all."</p>
+
+<p>Joyously he set himself to the preparation for the day. The true meaning
+of life was revealed to him. The discouragement of the evening before
+was gone. Yet now should he sit down in ecstatic dreaming? It must be
+joy in life&mdash;movement&mdash;in whatever was to be done, whether in satisfying
+a wholesome hunger, in creating warmth for his body, or in conquering
+the seeds of decay and disease therein, and keeping it strong and full
+of reactive power for his soul's sake.</p>
+
+<p>It was a revelation to him of the eternal God, wonder-working and
+all-pervading. Now no longer with a haunting sense of fear would he
+search and learn, but with a glad perception of the beautiful
+orderliness of the universe, so planned and arranged for the souls of
+men when only they should learn how to use their own lives, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> attune
+themselves to give forth music to the touch of the God of Love.</p>
+
+<p>A cold bath, the pure air, and his abstemiousness of the previous
+evening gave him a compelling hunger, and it was with satisfaction he
+discovered so large a portion of his dinner of yesterday remaining to be
+warmed for his morning meal. What he should do later, when dinner-time
+arrived, he knew not, and he laughed to think how he was living from
+hour to hour, content as the small wren fluting beside his door his
+care-free note. Ah, yes! "God's in His heaven, all's right with the world."</p>
+
+<p>The wren's note reminded him of a slender box which always accompanied
+his wanderings, and which had come to light rolled in the jacket which
+he had given Frale as part of his disguise. He opened it and took
+therefrom the joints of a silver flute. How long it had lain untouched!</p>
+
+<p>He fitted the parts and strolled out to the rock, and there, as he gazed
+at the shifting, subtle beauty spread all before him and around him, he
+lifted the wandlike instrument to his lips and began to play. At first
+he only imitated the wren, a few short notes joyously uttered; then, as
+the springs of his own happiness welled up within him, he poured forth a
+tumultuous flood of trills&mdash;a dancing staccato of mounting notes,
+shifting and falling, rising, floating away, and then returning in
+silvery echoes, bringing their own gladness with them.</p>
+
+<p>The p&aelig;an of praise ended, the work of the day began, and he set himself
+with all the nervous energy of his nature to the finishing of his canvas
+room. Again, ere the completion of the task, he found he had been
+expending his strength too lavishly, but this time he accepted his
+weariness more philosophically, glad if only he might labor and rest as the need came.</p>
+
+<p>Nearly the whole of the glorious day was still left him. In moving his
+couch nearer the door, he found his efforts impeded by some heavy object
+underneath it, and discovered, to his surprise and almost dismay, the
+identical pigskin valise which Frale had taken away with him the day
+before. How came it there? No one, he was certain, had been near his
+cabin since Hoyle had trotted home yesterday, hugging his picture to his breast.</p>
+
+<p>David drew it out into the light and opened it. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> on the top lay
+the cigars he had placed in the youth's pocket, and there also every
+article of wearing apparel he had seen disappear down the laurel-grown
+path on Frale's lithe body twelve hours or more ago. He cast the
+articles out upon the floor and turned them over wonderingly, then
+shoved them aside and lay down for his quiet siesta. He would learn from
+Cassandra the meaning of this. He hoped the young man had got off
+safely, yet the fact of finding his kindly efforts thus thrust back upon
+him disturbed him. Why had it been done? As he pondered thereon, he saw
+again the steel-blue flash in the young man's eyes as he turned away,
+and resolved to ask no questions, even of Cassandra.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH FRALE GOES DOWN TO FARINGTON IN HIS OWN WAY</h3>
+
+<p>Frale felt himself exalted by the oath he had sworn to Cassandra, as if
+those words had lifted the burden from his heart, and taken away the
+stain. As he walked away in his disguise, it seemed to him that he had
+acted under an irresistible spell cast upon him by this Englishman, who
+was to bide so near Cassandra&mdash;to be seen by her every day&mdash;to be
+admired by her, while he, who had the first right, must hide himself
+away from her, shielding himself in that man's clothes. Fine as they
+seemed to him, they only abashed him and filled him with a sense of
+obligation to a man he dreaded.</p>
+
+<p>Like a child, realizing his danger only when it was close upon him, his
+old recklessness returned, and he moved down the path with his head held
+high, looking neither to the right nor to the left, planning how he
+might be rid of these clothes and evade his pursuers unaided. The men,
+climbing toward him as he descended, hearing his footsteps above them,
+parted and stood watching, only half screened by the thick-leaved
+shrubs, not ten feet from him on either side; but so elated was he, and
+eager in his plans, that he passed them by, unseeing, and thus Thryng's
+efforts saved him in spite of himself; for so amazed were they at the
+presence of such a traveller in such a place that they allowed him to
+pass unchallenged until he was too far below them to make speech
+possible. Later, when they found David seated on his rock, they assumed
+the young man to be a friend, and thought no further of it.</p>
+
+<p>Frale soon left the path and followed the stream to the head of the
+fall, where he lingered, tormented by his own thoughts and filled with
+conflicting emotions, in sight of his home.</p>
+
+<p>To go down to the settlement and see the world had its allurements, but
+to go in this way, never to return, never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> to feel again the excitement
+of his mountain life, evading the law and conquering its harassments,
+was bitter. It had been his joy and delight in life to feel himself
+masterfully triumphant over those set to take him, too cunning to be
+found, too daring and strong to be overcome, to take desperate chances
+and win out; all these he considered his right and part of the game of
+life. But to slink away like a hunted fox followed by the dogs of the
+law because, in a blind frenzy, he had slain his own friend! What if he
+had promised to repent; there was the law after him still!</p>
+
+<p>If only his fate were a tangible thing, to be grappled with! To meet a
+foe and fight hand to hand to the death was not so hard as to yield
+himself to the inevitable. Sullenly he sat with his head in his hands,
+and life seemed to stretch before him, leading to a black chasm. But one
+ray of light was there to follow&mdash;"Cass, Cass." If only he would accept
+the help offered him and go to the station, take his seat in the train,
+and find himself in Farington, while still his pursuers were scouring
+the mountains for him, he might&mdash;he might win out. Moodily and
+stubbornly he resisted the thought.</p>
+
+<p>At last, screened by the darkness, he turned out his soiled and torn
+garments, and divesting himself of every article Thryng had given him,
+he placed them carefully in the valise. Then, relieved of one
+humiliation, he set himself again on the path toward Hanging Rock cabin.</p>
+
+<p>As he passed the great holly tree where Cassandra had sat beside him, he
+placed his hand on the stone and paused. His heart leaned toward her. He
+wanted her. Should he go down to her now and refuse to leave her? But
+no. He had promised. Something warm splashed down upon his hand as he
+bent over the rock. He sprang up, ashamed to weep, and, seizing the
+doctor's valise, plunged on through the shadows up the steep ascent.</p>
+
+<p>He had no definite idea of how he would explain his act, for he did not
+comprehend his own motives. It was only a wordless repugnance that
+possessed him, vague and sullen, against this man's offered friendship;
+and his relief was great when he found David asleep before his open door.</p>
+
+<p>Stealthily he entered and placed his burden beneath<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> the couch, gazed a
+moment at the sleeping face whereon the firelight still played, and
+softly crept away. Cassandra should know that she had no need to thank
+the Englishman for his freedom.</p>
+
+<p>Then came the weary tramp down the mountain, skulking and hiding by day,
+and struggling on again by night&mdash;taking by-paths and unused
+trails&mdash;finding his uncertain way by moonlight and starlight&mdash;barked at
+by dogs, and followed by hounds baying loudly whenever he came near a
+human habitation&mdash;wading icy streams and plunging through gorges to
+avoid cabins or settlements&mdash;keeping life in him by gnawing raw turnips
+which had been left in the fields ungathered, until at last, pallid,
+weary, dirty, and utterly forlorn, he found himself, in the half-light
+of the dawn of the fourth day, near Farington. Shivering with cold, he
+stole along the village street and hid himself in the bishop's grounds
+until he should see some one astir in the house.</p>
+
+<p>The bishop had sat late the night before, half expecting him, for he had
+received Cassandra's letter, also one from Thryng. Neither letter threw
+light on Frale's deed, although Cassandra's gave him to understand that
+something more serious than illicit distilling had necessitated his
+flight. David's was a joyous letter, craving his companionship whenever
+his affairs might bring him near, but expressing the greatest contentment.</p>
+
+<p>When Black Carrie went out to unlock the chicken house door and fetch
+wood for her morning fire, she screamed with fright as the young man in
+his wretched plight stepped before her.</p>
+
+<p>"G'long, yo&mdash;pore white trash!" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm no poor white trash," he murmured. "Be Bishop Towah in the house?"</p>
+
+<p>"Co'se he in de haouse. Whar yo s'poses he be dis time de mawnin'?" She
+made with all haste toward her kitchen, bearing her armful of wood,
+muttering as she went.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon I'll set hyar ontwell he kin see me," he said, dropping to the
+doorstep in sheer exhaustion. And there he was allowed to sit while she
+prepared breakfast in her own leisurely way, having no intention of
+disturbing her "white folkses fer no sech trash."</p>
+
+<p>The odor of coffee and hot cakes was maddening to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> starving boy, as
+he watched her through the open door, yet he passively sat, withdrawn
+into himself, seeking in no way either to secure a portion of the food
+or to make himself known. After a time, he heard faintly voices beyond
+the kitchen, and knew the family must be there at breakfast, but still
+he sat, saying nothing.</p>
+
+<p>At last the door of the inner room was burst open, and a child ran out,
+demanding scraps for her puppy.</p>
+
+<p>"I may! I may, too, feed him in the dining room. Mamma says I may, after
+we're through."</p>
+
+<p>"Go off, honey chile, mussin' de flo' like dat-a-way fer me to clean up
+agin. Naw, honey. Go out on de stoop wif yer fool houn' dog." And the
+tiny, fair girl with her plate of scraps and her small black dog leaping
+and dancing at her heels, tumbled themselves out where Frale sat.</p>
+
+<p>Scattering her crusts as she ran, she darted back, calling: "Papa, papa!
+A man's come. He's here." The small dog further emphasized the fact by
+barking fiercely at the intruder, albeit from a safe distance.</p>
+
+<p>"Yas," said Carrie, as the bishop came out, led by his little daughter,
+"he b'en hyar sence long fo' sun-up."</p>
+
+<p>"Why didn't you call me?" he said sternly.</p>
+
+<p>"Sho&mdash;how I know anybody wan' see yo, hangin' 'roun' de back do'? He
+ain' say nuthin', jes' set dar." She continued muttering her crusty
+dislike of tramps, as the bishop led his caller through her kitchen and
+sent his little daughter to look after her puppy.</p>
+
+<p>He took Frale into his private study, and presently returned and himself
+carried him food, placing it before him on a small table where many a
+hungry caller had been fed before. Then he occupied himself at his desk
+while he quietly observed the boy. He saw that the youth was too worn
+and weak to be dealt with rationally at first, and he felt it difficult
+to affix the thought of a desperate crime upon one so gentle of mien and
+innocent of face; but he knew his people well, and what masterful
+passions often slept beneath a mild and harmless exterior.</p>
+
+<p>Nor was it the first time he had been called upon to adjust a conflict
+between his own conscience and the law. Often in his office of priest he
+had been the recipient of confidences which no human pressure of law
+could ever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> wrest from him. So now he proceeded to draw from Frale his
+full and free confession.</p>
+
+<p>Very carefully and lovingly he trespassed in the secret chambers of this
+troubled soul, until at last the boy laid bare his heart.</p>
+
+<p>He told of the cause of his anger and his drunken quarrel, of his
+evasion of his pursuers and his vow with Cassandra before God, of his
+rejection of Doctor Thryng's help and his flight by night, of his
+suffering and hunger. All was told without fervor,&mdash;a simple passive
+narration of events. No one could believe, while listening to him, that
+storms of passion and hatred and fear had torn him, or the overwhelming
+longing he had suffered at the thought of Cassandra.</p>
+
+<p>But when the bishop touched on the subject of repentance, the hidden
+force was revealed. It was as if the tormenting spirit within him had
+cried out loudly, instead of the low, monotonous tone in which he
+said:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, I kin repent now he's dade, but ef he war livin' an' riled me agin
+that-a-way like he done&mdash;I reckon&mdash;I reckon God don't want no repentin'
+like I repents."</p>
+
+<p>It was steel against flint, the spark in the narrow blue line of his
+eyes as he said the words, and the bishop understood.</p>
+
+<p>But what to do with this man of the mountains&mdash;this force of nature in
+the wild; how guard him from a far more pernicious element in the
+civilized town life than any he would find in his rugged solitudes?</p>
+
+<p>And Cassandra! The bishop bowed his head and sat with the tips of his
+fingers pressed together. The thought of Cassandra weighed heavily upon
+him. She had given her promise, with the devotion of her kind, to save;
+had truly offered herself a living sacrifice. All hopes for her growth
+into the gracious womanhood her inheritance impelled her toward,&mdash;her
+sweet ambitions for study, gone to the winds&mdash;scattered like the
+fragrant wild rose petals on her own hillside&mdash;doomed by that promise to
+live as her mother had lived, and like other women of her kin, to age
+before her time with the bearing of children in the midst of toil too
+heavy for her&mdash;dispirited by privation and the sorrow of relinquished
+hopes. Oh, well the bishop knew!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> He dreaded most to see the beautiful
+light of aspiration die out of her eyes, and her spirit grow sordid in
+the life to which this untamed savage would inevitably bring her. "What a waste!"</p>
+
+<p>And again he repeated the words, "What a waste!" The youth looked up,
+thinking himself addressed, but the bishop saw only the girl. It was as
+if she rose and stood there, dominant in the sweet power of her girlish
+self-sacrifice, appealing to him to help save this soul. Somehow, at the
+moment, he failed to appreciate the beauty of such giving. Almost it
+seemed to him a pity Frale had thus far succeeded in evading his
+pursuers. It would have saved her in spite of herself had he been taken.</p>
+
+<p>But now the situation was forced upon the bishop, either to give him up,
+which seemed an arbitrary taking into his own hands of power which
+belonged only to the Almighty, or to shield him as best he might, giving
+heed to the thought that even if in his eyes the value of the girl was
+immeasurably the greater, yet the youth also was valued, or why was he here?</p>
+
+<p>He lifted his head and saw Frale's eyes fixed upon him sadly&mdash;almost as
+if he knew the bishop's thoughts. Yes, here was a soul worth while.
+Plainly there was but one course to pursue, and but one thread left to
+hold the young man to steadfast purpose. Using that thread, he would
+try. If he could be made to sacrifice for Cassandra some of his physical
+joy of life, seeking to give more than to appropriate to himself for his
+own satisfaction&mdash;if he could teach him the value of what she had
+done&mdash;could he rise to such a height, and learn self-control?</p>
+
+<p>The argument for repentance having come back to him void, the bishop
+began again. "You tell me Cassandra has given you her promise? What are
+you going to do about it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's 'twixt her an' me," said the youth proudly.</p>
+
+<p>"No," thundered the bishop, all the man in him roused to beat into this
+crude, triumphant animal some sense of what Cassandra had really done.
+"No. It's betwixt you and the God who made you. You have to answer to
+God for what you do." He towered above him, and bending down, looked
+into Frale's eyes until the boy cowered and looked down, with lowered
+head, and there was silence.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p><p>Then the bishop straightened himself and began pacing the room. At last
+he came to a stand and spoke quietly. "You have Cassandra's promise;
+what are you going to do about it?"</p>
+
+<p>Frale did not move or speak, and the bishop felt baffled. What was going
+on under that passive mask he dared not think. To talk seemed futile,
+like hammering upon a flint wall; but hammer he must, and again he tried.</p>
+
+<p>"You have taken a man's life; do you know what that means?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hangin', I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>"If it were only to hang, boy, it might be better for Cassandra. Think
+about it. If I help you, and shield you here, what are you going to do?
+What do you care most for in all this world? You who can kill a man and
+then not repent."</p>
+
+<p>"He hadn't ought to have riled me like he done; I&mdash;keer fer her."</p>
+
+<p>"More than for Frale Farwell?"</p>
+
+<p>The boy looked vaguely before him. "I reckon," was all he said.</p>
+
+<p>Again the bishop paced the floor, and waited.</p>
+
+<p>"I hain't afeared to work&mdash;right hard."</p>
+
+<p>"Good; what kind of work can you do?" Frale flushed a dark red and was
+silent. "Yes, I know you can make corn whiskey, but that is the devil's
+work. You're not to work for him any more."</p>
+
+<p>Again silence. At last, in a low voice, he ventured: "I'll do any kind
+o' work you-all gin' me to do&mdash;ef&mdash;ef only the officers will leave me
+be&mdash;an' I tol' Cass I'd larn writin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Good, very good. Can you drive a horse? Yes, of course."</p>
+
+<p>Frale's eyes shone. "I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>The bishop grew more hopeful. The holy greed for souls fell upon him.
+The young man must be guarded and watched; he must be washed and
+clothed, as well as fed, and right here the little wife must be
+consulted. He went out, leaving the youth to himself, and sought his
+brown-eyed, sweet-faced little wisp of a woman, where she sat writing
+his most pressing business letters for him.</p>
+
+<p>"Dearest, may I interrupt you?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p><p>"In a minute, James; in a minute. I'll just address these."</p>
+
+<p>He dropped into a deep chair and waited, with troubled eyes regarding
+her. "There!" She rubbed vigorously down on the blotter. "These are all
+done, every blessed one, James. Now what?"</p>
+
+<p>In an instant she was curled up, feet and all, like a kitten in his lap,
+her small brown head, its wisps of fine, straight hair straying over
+temples and rounded cheeks, tucked comfortably under his chin; and thus
+every point was carefully talked over.</p>
+
+<p>With many exclamations of anxiety and doubt, and much discreet
+suggestion from the small adviser, it was at last settled. Frale was to
+be properly clothed from the missionary boxes sent every year from the
+North. He should stay with them for a while until a suitable place could
+be found for him. Above all things he must be kept out of bad company.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, dear! Poor Cassandra! After all her hopes&mdash;and she might have done
+so much for her people&mdash;if only&mdash;" Tears stood in the brown eyes and
+even ran over and dropped upon the bishop's coat and had to be carefully
+wiped off, for, as he feelingly remarked,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I can't go about wearing my wife's tears in plain view, now, can I?"</p>
+
+<p>And then Doctor Hoyle's young friend&mdash;she must hear his letter. How
+interesting he must be! Couldn't they have him down? And when the bishop
+next went up the mountain, might she accompany him? Oh, no. The trip was
+not too rough. It was quite possible for her. She would go to see
+Cassandra and the old mother. "Poor Cassandra!"</p>
+
+<p>But the self-respecting old stepmother and her daughter did not allow
+these kind friends to trespass on any missionary supplies, for Uncle
+Jerry was despatched down the mountain with a bundle on the back of his
+saddle, which was quietly left at the bishop's door; and Frale next
+appeared in a neat suit of homespun, home woven and dyed, and home-made clothing.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG MAKES A DISCOVERY</h3>
+
+<p>Standing on the great hanging rock before his cabin, Thryng imagined
+himself absolutely solitary in the centre of a wide wilderness. Even the
+Fall Place, where lived the Widow Farwell, although so near, was not
+visible from this point; but when he began exploring the region about
+him, now on foot and now on horseback, he discovered it to be really a
+country of homes.</p>
+
+<p>Every mule path branching off into what seemed an inaccessible wild led
+to some cabin, often set in a hollow on a few acres of rich soil,
+watered by a never failing spring, where the forest growth had been cut
+away to make cultivation possible. Sometimes the little log house would
+be perched like a lonely eagle's nest on a mere shelflike ledge jutting
+out from the mountain wall, but always below it or above it or off at
+one side he found the inevitable pocket of rich soil accumulated by the
+wash of years, where enough corn and cow-peas could be raised for
+cattle, and cotton and a few sheep to provide material for clothing the
+family, with a few fowls and pigs to provide their food.</p>
+
+<p>Here they lived, those isolated people, in quiet independence and
+contented poverty, craving little and often having less, caring nothing
+for the great world outside their own environment, looking after each
+other in times of sickness and trouble, keeping alive the traditions of
+their forefathers, and clinging to the ancient family feuds and
+friendships from generation to generation.</p>
+
+<p>David soon learned that they had among themselves their class
+distinctions, certain among them holding their heads high, in the
+knowledge of having a self-respecting ancestry, and training their
+children to reckon themselves no "common trash," however much they
+deprecated showing the pride that was in them.</p>
+
+<p>Many days passed after Frale's departure before David learned more of
+the young man's unhappy deed. He had gone down to give the old mother
+some necessary care and,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> finding her alone, remained to talk with her.
+Pleased with her quaint expressions and virile intellect, he led her on
+to speak of her youth; and one morning, weary of the solitude and
+silence, she poured out tales of Cassandra's father, and how, after his
+death, she "came to marry Farwell." She told of her own mother, and the
+hard times that fell upon them during the bitter days of the Civil War.</p>
+
+<p>The traditions of her family were dear to her, and she was well pleased
+to show this young doctor who had found the key to her warm, yet
+reserved, heart that she "wa'n't no common trash," and her "chillen
+wa'n't like the run o' chillen."</p>
+
+<p>"Seems like I'm talkin' a heap too much o' we-uns," she said, at last.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no. Go on. You say you had no school; how did you learn? You were
+reading your Bible when I came in."</p>
+
+<p>"No. Thar wa'n't no schools in my day, not nigh enough fer me to go to.
+Maw, she could read, an' write, too, but aftah paw jined the ahmy, she
+had to work right ha'd and had nothin' to do with. Paw, he had to jine
+one side or t'othah. Some went with the North and some went with the
+South,&mdash;they didn't keer much. The' wa'n't no niggahs up here to fight
+ovah. But them war cruel times when the bushwackers come searchin'
+'round an' raidin' our homes. They were a bad lot&mdash;most of 'em war
+desertahs from both ahmies. We-uns war obleeged to hide in the bresh or
+up the branch&mdash;anywhar we could find a place to creep into. Them were
+bad times fer the women an' chillen left at home.</p>
+
+<p>"Maw used to save ev'y scrap of papah she could find with printin' on
+hit to larn we-uns our lettahs off'n. One time come 'long a right decent
+captain and axed maw could she get he an' his men suthin' to eat. He had
+nigh about a dozen sogers with him; an' maw, she done the bes' she
+could,&mdash;cooked corn-bread, an' chick'n an' sich. I c'n remember how he
+sot right on the hearth where you're settin' now, an' tossed flapjacks
+fer th' hull crowd.</p>
+
+<p>"He war right civil when he lef', an' said he'd like to give maw
+suthin', but they hadn't nothin' but Confed'rate money, an' hit wa'n't
+worth nothin' up here; an' maw said would he give her the newspapah he
+had. She seed the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> end of hit standin' out of his pocket; an' he laughed
+and give hit out quick, an' axed her what did she want with hit; and she
+'lowed she could teach me a heap o' readin' out o' that papah, an' he
+laughed again, an' said likely, fer that hit war worth more'n the money.
+All the schoolin' I had war just that thar papah, an' that old
+spellin'-book you see on the shelf; I c'n remembah how maw come by that, too."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me how she came by the spelling-book, will you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hit war about that time. Paw, he nevah come home again. I cyan't
+remembah much 'bouts my paw. Maw used to say a heap o' times if she only
+had a spellin'-book like she used to larn out'n, 'at she could larn
+we-uns right smart. Well, one day one o' the neighbors told her 'at he'd
+seed one at Gerret's, ovah t'othah side Lone Pine Creek, nigh about
+eight mile, I reckon; an' she 'lowed she'd get hit. So she sont we-uns
+ovah to Teasley's mill&mdash;she war that scared o' the Gorillas she didn't
+like leavin' we-uns home alone&mdash;an' she walked thar an' axed could she
+do suthin' to earn that thar book; an' ol' Miz Gerret, she 'lowed if
+maw'd come Monday follerin' an' wash fer her, 'at she mount have hit.
+Them days we-uns an' the Teasleys war right friendly. The' wa'n't no
+feud 'twixt we-uns an' Teasleys then&mdash;but now I reckon thar's bound to
+be blood feud." She spoke very sadly and waited, leaving the tale of the
+spelling-book half told.</p>
+
+<p>"Why must there be 'blood feud' now? Why can't you go on in the old way?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's Frale done hit. He an' Ferd'nan' Teasley, they set up 'stillin'
+ovah in Dark Cornder yandah. Hit do work a heap o' trouble, that thar. I
+reckon you-uns don't have nothin' sich whar you come from?"</p>
+
+<p>"We have things quite as bad. So they quarrelled, did they?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yaas, they quarrelled, an' they fit."</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt they had been drinking."</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>"But just a drunken quarrel between those two ought not to affect all
+the rest. Couldn't you patch it up among you, and keep the boy at home?
+You must need his help on the place."</p>
+
+<p>"We need him bad here, but the' is no way fer to make up an' right a
+blood feud. Frale done them mean. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> lifted his hand an' killed his
+friend. Hit war Sunday evenin' he done hit. They had been havin' a
+singin' thar at the mill, an' preachah, he war thar too, an' all war
+kind an' peaceable; an' Ferd an' Frale, they sot out fer thar
+'still'&mdash;Ferd on foot an' Frale rid'n' his horse&mdash;the one you have
+now&mdash;they used to go that-a-way, rid'n' turn about&mdash;one horse with them
+an' one horse kep' alluz hid nigh the 'still' lest the gov'nment men
+come on 'em suddent like. Frale, he war right cute, he nevah war come up with.</p>
+
+<p>"'Pears like they stopped 'fore they'd gone fer, disputin' 'bouts
+somethin'. Ol' Miz Teasley say she heered ther voices high an' loud, an'
+then she heered a shot right quick, that-a-way, an' nothin' more; an'
+she sont ol' man Teasley an' the preachah out, an' the hull houseful
+follered, an' thar they found Ferd lyin' shot dade&mdash;an' Frale&mdash;he an'
+the horse war gone. Ferd, he still held his own gun in his hand tight,
+like he war goin' to shoot, with the triggah open an' his fingah on
+hit&mdash;but he nevah got the chance. Likely if he had, hit would have been
+him a-hidin' now, an' Frale dade. I reckon so."</p>
+
+<p>Thryng listened in silence. It made him think of the old tales of the
+Scottish border. So, in plain words, the young man was a murderer. With
+deep pity he recalled the haunted look in Frale's eyes, and the sadness
+that trembled around Cassandra's lips as she said, "I reckon there is no
+trouble worse than ours." A thought struck him, and he asked:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know what they quarrelled about?"</p>
+
+<p>"He nevah let on what-all was the fuss. Likely he told Cass, but she is
+that still. Hit's right hard to raise a blood feud thar when we-uns an'
+the Teasleys alluz war friends. She took keer o' me when my chillen
+come, an' I took keer o' her with hern. Ferd'nan' too, he war like my
+own, fer I nursed him when she had the fever an' her milk lef' her. Cass
+war only three weeks old then, an' he war nigh on a year, but that
+little an' sickly&mdash;he like to 'a' died if I hadn't took him." She paused
+and wiped away a tear that trickled down the furrow of her thin cheek.
+"If hit war lef' to us women fer to stir 'em up, I reckon thar wouldn't
+be no feuds, fer hit's hard on we-uns when we're friendly, an' Ferd like
+my own boy that-a-way."</p>
+
+<p>"But perhaps&mdash;" David spoke musingly&mdash;"perhaps<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> it was a woman who
+stirred up the trouble between them."</p>
+
+<p>The widow looked a moment with startled glance into his face, then
+turned her gaze away. "I reckon not. The' is no woman far or near as I
+evah heern o' Frale goin' with."</p>
+
+<p>Still pondering, David rose to go, but quickly resumed his seat, and
+turned her thoughts again to the past. He would not leave her thus sad at heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you finish telling me about the spelling-book?"</p>
+
+<p>"I forget how come hit, but maw didn't leave we chillen to Teasleys'
+that day she went to do the washin'. Likely Miz Teasley war sick&mdash;anyway
+she lef' us here. She baked corn-bread&mdash;hit war all we had in the house
+to eat them days, an' she fotched water fer the day, an' kivered up the
+fire. Then she locked the door an' took the key with her, an' tol'
+we-uns did we hear a noise like anybody tryin' to get in, to go up
+garret an' make out like thar wa'n't nobody to home. The' war three o'
+us chillen. I war the oldest. We war Caswells, my fam'ly. My little
+brothah Whitson, he war sca'cely more'n a baby, runnin' 'round pullin'
+things down on his hade whar he could reach, an Cotton war mos' as much
+keer&mdash;that reckless."</p>
+
+<p>She paused and smiled as she recalled the cares of her childhood, then
+wandered on in her slow narration. "They done a heap o' things that day
+to about drive me plumb crazy, an' all the time we was thinkin' we
+heered men talkin' or horses trompin' outside, an' kep' ourselves right
+busy runnin' up garret to hide.</p>
+
+<p>"Along towa'ds night hit come on to snow, an' then turned to rain, a
+right cold hard rain, an' we war that cold an' hungry&mdash;an' Whit, he
+cried fer maw,&mdash;an' hit come dark an' we had et all the' war to eat long
+before, so we had no suppah, an' the poor leetle fellers war that cold
+an' shiverin' thar in the dark&mdash;I made 'em climb into bed like they war,
+an' kivered 'em up good, an' thar I lay tryin' to make out like I war
+maw, gettin' my arms 'round both of 'em to oncet. Whit cried hisself to
+sleep, but Cotton he kep' sayin' he heered men knockin' 'round outside,
+an' at last he fell asleep, too. He alluz war a natch'ly skeered kind o' child.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I lay thar still, list'nin' to the rain beat on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> roof, an'
+thinkin' would maw ever get back again, an' list'nin' to hear her
+workin' with the lock&mdash;hit war a padlock on the outside&mdash;an' thar I must
+o' drapped off to sleep that-a-way, fer I didn't hear nothin', no more
+until I woke up with a soft murmurin' sound in my ears, an' thar I seed
+maw. The rain had stopped an' hit war mos' day, I reckon, with a mornin'
+moon shinin' in an' fallin' on her whar she knelt by the bed, clost nigh
+to me. I can see hit now, that long line o' white light streamin' acrost
+the floor an' fallin' on her, makin' her look like a white ghost spirit,
+an' her two hands held up with that thar book 'twixt 'em.</p>
+
+<p>"I knew hit war maw, fer I'd seed her pray before, but I war skeered fer
+all that. I lay right still an' held my breath, an' heered her thank the
+Lord fer keerin' fer we-uns whilst she war gone, an' fer 'lowin' her to
+get that thar book.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't guess she knew I seed her, fer she got up right still an' soft,
+like not to wake we-uns, an' began to light the fire an' make some yarb
+tea. She war that wet an' cold I could see her hand shake whilst she
+held the match to the light'ud stick. Them days maw made coffee out'n
+burnt corn-bread, an' tea out'n dried blackberry leaves an' sassafrax
+root." She paused and turned her face toward the open door. David
+thought she had lost somewhat the appearance of age; certainly, what
+with the long rest, and Cassandra's loving care, she had no longer the
+weary, haggard look that had struck him when he saw her first.</p>
+
+<p>Following the direction of her gaze, he went to the shelf and took down
+the old spelling-book, and turned the leaves, now limp and worn. So this
+was Cassandra's inheritance&mdash;part of it&mdash;the inward impulse that would
+urge to toil all day, then walk miles in rain and darkness through a
+wilderness, and thank the Lord for the privilege&mdash;to own this book&mdash;not
+for herself, but for the generations to come. David touched it
+reverently, glad to know so much of her past, and turned to the old mother for more.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you anything else&mdash;like this?"</p>
+
+<p>Her sharp eyes sparkled as she looked narrowly at him. "I have suthin'
+'at I hain't nevah told anybody livin' a word of, not even Doctah
+Hoyle&mdash;only he war some differ'nt from you. But I'm gettin' old, an' I
+may as well tell you. Likely with all your larnin' you can tell me is
+it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> any good to Cass. She be that sot on all sech." She fumbled at her
+throat a moment and drew from the bosom of her gown a leather
+shoe-lacing, from which dangled an iron key. Slowly she undid the knot,
+and handed it toward him.</p>
+
+<p>"I nevah 'low nobody on earth to touch that thar box, an' the' ain't a
+soul livin' knows what's in hit. I been gyardin' them like they war
+gold, fer they belonged to my ol' man&mdash;the first one&mdash;Cassandra's
+fathah; but I reckon if I die the' won't nobody see any good in them
+things. If you'll onlock that thar padlock on that box yander, you'll
+find it wropped in a piece o' gingham. My paw's mothah spun an' wove
+that gingham&mdash;ol' Miz Caswell. They don't many do work like that
+nowadays. They lived right whar we a' livin' now."</p>
+
+<p>David unlocked the chest and lifted the heavy lid.</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's down in the further cornder&mdash;that's hit, I reckon. Just step to
+the door, will you, an' see is they anybody nigh."</p>
+
+<p>He went to the door, but saw no one; only from the shed came an
+intermittent rat-tat-tat.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see any one, but I hear some one pounding."</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's only Hoyle makin' his traps." She sighed, then slowly and
+tenderly untied the parcel and placed in his hands two small
+leather-bound books. Tied to one by a faded silk cord which marked the
+pages was a thin, worn ring of gold.</p>
+
+<p>"That ring war his maw's, an' when we war married, I wore hit, but when
+I took Farwell fer my ol' man, I nevah wore hit any more, fer he 'lowed,
+bein' hit war gold that-a-way, we'd ought to sell hit. That time I took
+the lock off'n the door an' put hit on that thar box. Hit war my
+gran'maw's box, an' I done wore the key hyar evah since. Can you tell
+what they be? Hit's the quarest kind of print I evah see. He used to
+make out like he could read hit. Likely he did, fer whatevah he said, he done."</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to her little short of a miracle that any one could read it,
+but David soon learned that her confidence in her first "old man" was unlimited.</p>
+
+<p>"What-all's in hit?" She grew restless while he carefully and silently
+examined her treasure, the true significance of which she so little
+knew. Filled with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>amazement and with a keen pleasure, he took the books
+to the light. The print was fine, even, and clear.</p>
+
+<p>"What-all be they?" she reiterated. "Reckon the're no good?"</p>
+
+<p>David smiled. "In one way they're all the good in the world, but not for
+money, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't guess. Can you read that thar quare printin'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. The letters are Greek, and these books are about a hundred years old."</p>
+
+<p>"Be they? Then they won't be much good to Cass, I reckon. He sot a heap
+by them, but I war 'feared they mount be heathen. Greek&mdash;that thar be
+heathen. Hain't hit?"</p>
+
+<p>David continued, speaking more to himself than to her. "They were
+published in London in eighteen twelve. They have been read by some one
+who knew them well, I can see by these marginal notes."</p>
+
+<p>"What be they?" Her curiosity was eager and intent.</p>
+
+<p>"They are explanations and comments, written here on the
+margin&mdash;see?&mdash;with a fine pen."</p>
+
+<p>"His grandpaw done that thar. What be they about, anyhow?"</p>
+
+<p>"They are very old poems written long before this country was discovered."</p>
+
+<p>"An' that must 'a' been before the Revolution. His grandpaw fit in that.
+The' is somethin' more in thar. I kept hit hid, fer Farwell, he war
+bound to melt hit up fer silver bullets. He 'lowed them bullets war
+plumb sure to kill. Reckon you can find hit? Thar 'tis." Her eyes shone
+as Thryng drew out another object also wrapped in gingham. "Hit's a
+teapot, I guess, but Farwell, he got a-hold of hit an' melted off the
+spout to make his silvah bullets. That time I hid all in the box an' put
+on the bolt an' lock whilst he war away 'stillin'. The' is one bullet
+left, but I reckon Frale has hit."</p>
+
+<p>David took it from her hand and turned it about. "Surely! This is a
+treasure. Here is a coat of arms&mdash;but it is so worn I can't make out the
+emblem. Was this your husband's also? Is there anything else?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's all. Yes, they war hisn. I war plumb mad at Farwell. I nevah
+could get ovah what he done, all so't he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> mount sure kill somebody.
+Likely he meant them bullets fer the revenue officers, should they come up with him."</p>
+
+<p>"It would have been a great pity if he had destroyed this mark. I
+think&mdash;I'm not sure&mdash;but if it's what I imagine, it is from an old
+family in Wales."</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon you're right, fer they were Welsh&mdash;his paw's folks way back.
+He used to say the' wa'n't no name older'n hisn since the Bible. I told
+him 'twar time he got a new one if 'twere that old, but he said he
+reckoned a name war like whiskey&mdash;hit needed a right smart o' age to
+make hit worth anything."</p>
+
+<p>Thryng laid the antique silver pot on the bed beside the old mother's
+hand and again took up the small volumes. As he held them, a thought
+flashed through his mind, yet hardly a thought,&mdash;it was more of an
+illumination,&mdash;like a vista suddenly opened through what had seemed an
+impenetrable, impalpable wall, beyond which lay a joy yet to be, but
+before unseen. In that instant of time, a vision appeared to him of what
+life might bring, glorified by a tender light as of red fire seen
+through a sweet, blue, obscuring mist, and making thus a halo about the
+one figure of the vision outlined against it, clear and fine.</p>
+
+<p>"'Pears like you find somethin' right interestin' in that book; be you readin' hit?"</p>
+
+<p>"I find a glorious prophecy. Was your first husband born and raised here
+as you were?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not on this spot; but he was born an' raised like we-uns here in the
+mountains&mdash;ovah th'other side Pisgah. I seed him first when I wa'n't
+more'n seventeen. He come here fer&mdash;I don't rightly recollect what, only
+he had been deer huntin' an' come late evenin' he drapped in. He had
+lost his dog, an' he had a bag o' birds, an' he axed maw could she cook
+'em an' give him suppah, an' maw, she took to him right smaht.</p>
+
+<p>"Aftah suppah&mdash;I remember like hit war last evenin'&mdash;he took gran'paw's
+old fiddle an' tuned hit up an' sot thar an' played everything you evah
+heered. He played like the' war birds singin' an' rain fallin', an' like
+the wind when hit goes wailin' round the house in the pine tops&mdash;soft
+an' sad&mdash;like that-a-way. Gran'paw's old fiddle. I used to keer a heap
+fer hit, but one time Farwell got religion, an' he took an' broke hit
+'cause he war 'feared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> Frale mount larn to play an' hit would be a
+temptation of the devil to him."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I say! That was a crime, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Sometimes I lay here an' say what-all did I marry Farwell fer,
+anyway. Well&mdash;every man has his failin's, the' say, an' Farwell, he sure had hisn."</p>
+
+<p>"May I keep these books a short time? I will be very careful of them.
+You know that, or you would not have shown them to me."</p>
+
+<p>"You take them as long as you like. Hit ain't like hit used to be. Books
+is easy come by these days&mdash;too easy, I reckon. Cassandry, she brung a
+whole basketful of 'em with her. Thar they be on that cheer behin' my spinnin'-wheel."</p>
+
+<p>"Was the basket full of books? So, that was why it was so heavy. Might I
+have a look at them?"</p>
+
+<p>"Look 'em ovah all you want to. She won't keer, I reckon. She hain't had
+a mite o' time since she come home to look at 'em."</p>
+
+<p>But David thought better of it. He would not look in her basket and pry
+among her treasures without her permission.</p>
+
+<p>"When is she coming back?" he asked, awakened to desire further
+knowledge of the silent girl's aspirations.</p>
+
+<p>"Soon, I reckon. She's been a right smart spell longah now 'n she 'lowed
+she'd be. Hit's old man Irwin. He's been hurted some way. She went ovah
+to see could Aunt Sally Carew go an' help Miz Irwin keer fer him&mdash;she's
+a fool thing, don't know nothin'. They sont down fer me&mdash;but here I be,
+so she rode the colt ovah fer Sally."</p>
+
+<p>David wrapped and tied the piece of silver as he had found it. As he
+replaced it in the box, he discovered the pieces of the broken fiddle
+loosely tied in a sack, precious relics of a joy that was past.
+Carefully he locked the box and returned the key, but the books he
+folded in the strip of gingham and carried away with him.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be back to-night or in the morning. If she doesn't return, send
+Hoyle for me. You mustn't be too long alone. Shall I mend the fire?"</p>
+
+<p>He threw on another log, then lifted her a little and brought her a
+glass of cool water, and climbed back to his cabin, walking lightly and swiftly.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DAVID ACCOMPANIES CASSANDRA ON AN ERRAND OF MERCY</h3>
+
+<p>Filled with the enthusiasm of his thoughts, David climbed too rapidly,
+and now he found he must take the more gradual rise of the mule trail
+without haste. His cap thrust in his pocket, the breeze lifted his hair
+and dried the perspiration which would still come with any too eager
+exertion. But why should he care? Even to be alive these days was joy.
+This was continually the refrain of his heart, nor had he begun to
+exhaust his resources for entertainment in his solitary life.</p>
+
+<p>Never were the days too long. Each was filled with such new and lively
+interest as to preclude the thought of ennui. To provide against it, he
+had sent for books&mdash;more than he had had time to read in all the busy
+days of the last three years. These and his microscope and his surgical
+instruments had been brought him on a mule team by Jerry Carew, who did
+his "toting" for him, fetching all he needed for work or comfort, in
+this way, from the nearest station where goods could be sent until the
+hotel opened in the early summer. Not that he needed them, but that, as
+an artist loves to keep a supply of paints and canvas, or a writer&mdash;even
+when idle&mdash;is happier to know that he has at hand plenty of pens and
+blank paper, he liked to have them.</p>
+
+<p>Thus far he had felt no more need of his books than he had for his
+surgical instruments, but now he was glad he had them for the sake of
+the girl who was "that sot on all such." He would open the box the
+moment he had eaten, and look them over. The little brother should take
+them down to her one at a time&mdash;or better&mdash;he would take them himself
+and watch the smile which came so rarely and sweetly to play about her
+lips, and in her eyes, and vanish. Surely he had a right to that for his pains.</p>
+
+<p>He heard the sound of rapid hoof beats approaching across the level
+space from the cabin above him, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>looking up, as if conjured from his
+innermost thought, he saw her coming, allowing the colt to swing along
+as he would. Her bonnet hung by the strings from her arm, her hair blew
+in crinkling wisps across her face, and the rapid exercise had brought
+roses into the creamy whiteness of her skin. She kept to the brow of the
+ridge and would have passed him unseeing, her eyes fixed on the distant
+hills, had he not called to her in his clear Alpine jodel.</p>
+
+<p>She reined in sharply and, slipping from the saddle, walked quickly to
+him, leading the colt, which was warm and panting as if he had carried
+her a good distance at that pace.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Doctor Thryng, we need you right bad. That's why I took this way
+home. Have you been to the house?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I have just come from there."</p>
+
+<p>"Is mother all right?"</p>
+
+<p>"Doing splendidly." He waited, and she lifted her face to him anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"We need you bad, Doctor."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;but not you&mdash;you're not&mdash;" he began stupidly.</p>
+
+<p>"It's Mr. Irwin. I went there to see could I help any, and seemed like I
+couldn't get here soon enough. When I found you were not at home, I was
+that troubled. Can&mdash;can you go up there and see why I can't rest for
+thinking he's a heap worse than he reckons? He thinks he's better,
+but&mdash;but&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Come in and rest and tell me about it."</p>
+
+<p>"Mistress Irwin isn't quite well, and I must go back as soon as I can
+get everything done at home. I must get dinner for mother and Hoyle. You
+have been that kind to mother&mdash;I thought&mdash;I thought&mdash;if you could only
+see him&mdash;they can't spare him to die."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed, I'll go, gladly. But you must tell me more, so that I may know
+what to take with me. What is the matter with the man? Is he ill or
+hurt? Let me&mdash;oh, you are an independent young woman."</p>
+
+<p>She had turned from him to mount, and he stepped forward with
+outstretched hand to aid her, but, in a breath, not seeing his offer,
+she placed her two hands on the horn of the saddle, and from the slight
+rise of ground whereon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> she stood, with one agile spring, landed easily
+in the saddle and wheeled about.</p>
+
+<p>"He's been cutting trees to clear a patch for corn, and some way he hurt
+his foot, and he's been lying there nigh a week with the misery. Last
+evening she sent one of the children for mother, not knowing she was bad
+herself, so I went for Aunt Sally; but she was gone, so I rode on to the
+Irwins to see could I help. He said he wasn't suffering so much to-day,
+and it made my heart just stop to hear that, when he couldn't lift
+himself. You see, my stepfather&mdash;he&mdash;he was shot in the arm, and right
+soon when the misery left him, he died, so I didn't say much&mdash;but on the
+way home I thought of you, and I came here fast. We know so little here
+on the mountains," she added sadly, as she looked earnestly down at him.</p>
+
+<p>"You have acted wisely. Just ride on, Miss Cassandra, and I will follow as soon as&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Come down with me now and have dinnah at our place. Then we can start togethah."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, I will. You are more expert in the art of dinner getting
+than I am, so we will lose less time." He laughed and was rewarded with
+the flash of a grateful smile as she started on without another word.</p>
+
+<p>It took David but a few minutes to select what articles he suspected,
+from her account, might be required. He hurried his preparations, and,
+being his own groom, stable boy, and man-of-all-work, he was very busy about it.</p>
+
+<p>As a strain of music or a floating melody will linger in the background
+with insistent repetition, while the brain is at the same time busily
+occupied with surface affairs, so he found himself repeating some of her
+quaint phrases, and seeing her eyes&mdash;the wisps of wind-blown hair&mdash;and
+the smile on her lips, as she turned away, like an accompaniment to all
+he was thinking and doing.</p>
+
+<p>Soon, equipped for whatever the emergency might demand, he was at the
+widow's door. His horse nickered and stretched out his nose toward
+Cassandra's colt as if glad to have once more a little horse
+companionship. Side by side they stood, with bridles slipped back and
+hung to their saddles, while they crunched contentedly at the corn on
+the ear, which Hoyle had brought them.</p>
+
+<p>While at dinner, Cassandra showed David her books,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> pleased that he
+asked to see them. "I brought them to study, should I get time. It's
+right hard to give up hope&mdash;" she glanced at her mother and lowered her
+voice. "To stop&mdash;anyhow&mdash;I thought I might teach Hoyle a little."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, these are mostly school-books," he said, glancing them over.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I was at school this time&mdash;near Farington it was. Once I stayed
+with Bishop Towahs and helped do housework. I could learn a heap
+there&mdash;between times. They let me have all the books I wanted to read."
+She looked lovingly at her few precious school-books. "I haven't touched
+these since I got back&mdash;we're that busy."</p>
+
+<p>Then she resumed her work about the house, cooking at the fireplace,
+waiting upon David, and serving her mother, while directing Hoyle what
+to do, should she be detained that night. He demurred and hung about
+her, begging her not to stay.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't, son, without I can't help it. You won't care so much
+now&mdash;mother's not bad like she was."</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, I will," he mourned.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon I'll have to call you 'baby' again," said his mother. "You're
+gettin' that babyfied since Cass come back doin' all fer ye. You has a
+heap o' company. Thar's the cow to keer fer, 'n' ol' Pete hollerin' at
+ye, an' the chickens tellin' how many aigs they've laid fer ye. Run now.
+Thar's ol' Frizzle cacklin'. Get the aig, an' we'll send hit to the pore
+sick man. Thar, Cass," she added, as Hoyle ran out, half ashamed, to do
+her bidding&mdash;"hit's your own fault fer makin' such a baby of him. I 'low
+you betteh take 'long a few fresh aigs; likely they'll need 'em, so
+triflin' they be. I don't guess you'll find a thing in the house fer him to eat."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra packed one of her oddly shaped little baskets, as her mother
+suggested, for the sadly demoralized and distracted family to which they
+were going, and tucked in with the rest the warm, newly laid egg Hoyle
+brought her, smiling indulgently, and kissing his upturned face as she
+took it from him.</p>
+
+<p>Toward David she was always entirely simple and natural, except when
+abashed by his speech, which seemed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> to her most elaborate and sometimes
+mystifying. She would pause and gaze on him an instant when he extended
+to her a courtesy, as if to give it its exact value. Not that she in the
+least distrusted him, quite the contrary, but that she was wholly unused
+to hearing phrased courtesies, or enthusiasms expressed in the form of words.</p>
+
+<p>She had seen something of it in the bishop's pretty complimentary
+pleasantries with his wife, but David's manner of handing her a chair,
+offering her a suggestion&mdash;with a "May I be allowed?" was foreign to
+her, and she accepted such remarks with a moment's hesitation and a
+certain aloofness hardly understood by him.</p>
+
+<p>He found himself treating her with a measure of freedom from the
+constraint which men often place upon themselves because of the
+recognition of the personal element which will obtrude between them and
+femininity in general. He recognized the reason for this in her absolute
+lack of coquetry toward him, but analyze the phenomenon, as yet, he could not.</p>
+
+<p>To her he was a being from another world, strange and delightful, but
+set as far from her as if the sea divided them. She turned toward him
+sweet, expectant eyes. She listened attentively, gropingly sometimes.
+She would understand him if she could,&mdash;would learn from him and trust
+him implicitly,&mdash;but her femininity never obtruded itself. Her
+personality seemed to be enclosed within herself and never to lean
+toward him with the subtile flattery men feel and like to awaken, but
+which they often fear to arouse when they wish to remain themselves
+unstirred. Her dignified poise and perfect freedom from all arts to
+attract his favor and attention pleased him, but while it gave him the
+safe and unconstrained feeling when with her, it still piqued his man's
+nature a little to see her so capable of showing tenderness to her own,
+yet so unstirred by himself.</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra had never been up to his cabin when he was there, until
+to-day, since the morning she came to consult him about Frale, nor had
+that young man's name been uttered between them. David had said nothing
+to her of the return of the valise, not wishing to touch on the subject
+unless she gave the opportunity for him to ask what she knew about it.
+Now, since his morning's talk with her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> mother had envisioned an ideal,
+and shown a glory beyond, he was glad to have this opportunity of being
+alone with her and of sounding her depths.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time they rode in silence, and he remembered her mother's
+words, "He may have told Cass, but she is that still." She carried her
+basket carefully before her on the pommel of her saddle. Gradually the
+large sunbonnet which quite hid her face slipped back, and the sun
+lighted the bronze tints of her hair. As he rode at her side he studied
+her watchfully, so simply dressed in homespun material which had faded
+from its original color to a sort of turquoise green. The stuff was
+heavy and clung closely to her figure, and she rode easily, perched on
+her small, old-fashioned side-saddle, swaying with lithe movement to the
+motion of her horse. She wore no wrap, only a soft silk kerchief knotted
+about her neck, the fluttering ends of which caressed her chin.</p>
+
+<p>Her cheeks became rosy with the exercise, and her gray eyes, under the
+green pines and among the dense laurel thickets, took on a warm,
+luminous green tint like the hue of her dress. David at last found it
+difficult to keep his eyes from her,&mdash;this veritable flower of the
+wilderness,&mdash;and all this time no word had been spoken between them. How
+impersonal and far away from him she seemed! While he was filled with
+interest in her and eager to learn the secret springs of her life, she
+was riding on and on, swaying to her horse as a flower on its slender
+stem sways in a breeze, as undisturbed by him as if she were not a human
+breathing girl, subject to man's dominating power.</p>
+
+<p>Was she, then, so utterly untouched by his masculine presence? he
+wondered. If he did not speak first, would she keep silent forever?
+Should he wait and see? Should he will her to speak and of herself unfold to him?</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly she turned and looked clearly and pleasantly in his eyes.
+"We'll be on a straight road for a piece after this hill; shall we hurry a little then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, if you think best. You set the pace, and I'll follow." Again silence fell.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you feel in a hurry?" he asked at length.</p>
+
+<p>"I would like to get there soon. We can't tell what might be." She
+pressed her hand an instant to her throat and drew in her breath as if
+something hurt her.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p><p>"What is it?" he asked, drawing his horse nearer.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing. Only I wish we were there now."</p>
+
+<p>"You are suffering in anticipation, and it isn't necessary. Better not,
+indeed. Think of something else."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh." The two little words sounded humbly submissive. He had never
+been so baffled in an endeavor to bring another soul into a mood
+responsive to his own. This gentle acquiescence was not what he wished,
+but that she should reveal herself and betray to him even a hint&mdash;a
+gleam&mdash;of the deep undercurrent of her life.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly they emerged on the crest of a narrow ridge from which they
+could see off over range after range of mountain peaks on one side,
+growing dimmer, bluer, and more evanescent until lost in a heavenly
+distance, and on the other side a valley dropping down and down into a
+deep and purple gloom richly wooded and dense, surrounded by precipices
+topped with scrubby, wind-blown pines and oaks&mdash;a wild and rocky descent
+into mystery and seclusion. Here and there a slender thread of smoke,
+intensely blue, rose circling and filtering through the purple density
+against a black-green background of hemlocks.</p>
+
+<p>Contrasted with the view on the other side, so celestially fair, this
+seemed to present something sinister, yet weirdly beautiful&mdash;a baffling,
+untamed wilderness. Along this ridge the road ran straight before them
+for a distance, stony and bleak, and the air swept over it sweet and
+strong from the sea, far away.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait&mdash;wait a moment," he called, as his panting horse rounded the last
+curve of the climb, and she had already put her own to a gallop. She
+reined in sharply and came back to him, a glowing vision. "Stand a
+moment near me. We'll let our horses rest a bit and ourselves, too.
+There is strength and vitality in this air; breathe it in deeply. What
+joy to be alive!"</p>
+
+<p>She came near, and their horses held quiet communion, putting their
+noses together contentedly. Cassandra lifted her head high and turned
+her face toward the billowed mountains, and did what Thryng had not
+known her to do, what he had wondered if she ever did&mdash; She
+laughed&mdash;laughed aloud and joyously.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you laugh?" he asked, and laughed with her.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm that glad all at once. I don't know why. If the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> mountains could
+feel and be glad, seems like they'd be laughing now away off there by
+the sea. I wonder will I ever see the ocean."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you will. You are not going to live always shut up in these
+mountains. Laugh again. Let me hear you."</p>
+
+<p>But she turned on him startled eyes. "I clean forgot that poor man down
+below, so like to die I am 'most afraid to get back there. Look down. It
+must have been in a place like that where Christian slew Apollyon in the
+dark valley, like I was reading to Hoyle last night."</p>
+
+<p>"Does he live down in there? I mean the man Irwin&mdash;not Apollyon. He's
+dead, for Christian slew him."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, the Irwins live there. See yonder that spot of cleared red ground?
+There's their place. The house is hid by the dark trees nigh the red
+spot. Can you make it out?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but I call that far."</p>
+
+<p>"It's easy riding. Shall we go on? I'm that frightened&mdash;we'd better hurry."</p>
+
+<p>"Is that your way when you are afraid to do a thing; you hurry to do it
+all the more?"</p>
+
+<p>"Seems like we have to a heap of times. Seems like if I were only a man,
+I could be brave, but being a girl so, it is right hard."</p>
+
+<p>She started her horse to a gallop, and side by side they hurried over
+the level top of the ridge&mdash;to Thryng an exhilarating moment, to her a
+speeding toward some terrible, unknown trial.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH CASSANDRA AND DAVID VISIT THE HOME OF DECATUR IRWIN</h3>
+
+<p>Soon the way became steep and difficult and the path so narrow they were
+forced to go single file. Then Cassandra led and David followed. They
+passed no dwellings, and even the little home to which they were going
+was lost to view. He wondered if she were not weary, remembering that
+she had been over the distance twice before that day, and begged her, as
+he had done when they set out, to allow him to carry the basket, but
+still she would not.</p>
+
+<p>"I never think of it. I often carry things this way.&mdash;We have to here in
+the mountains." She glanced back at him and smiled. "I reckon you find
+it hard because you are not used to living like we do; we're soon there
+now, see yonder?"</p>
+
+<p>A turn in the path brought them in sight of the cabin, set in its bare,
+desolate patch of red soil. About the door swarmed unkempt children of
+all sizes, as bees hang out of an over-filled hive, the largest not more
+than twelve years old, and the youngest carried on the mother's arm. It
+was David's first visit to one of the poorest of the mountain homes, and
+he surveyed the scene before him with dismay.</p>
+
+<p>Below the house was a spring, and there, suspended from the
+long-reaching branch of a huge beech tree, now leafless and bare, a
+great, black iron pot swung by a chain over a fire built on the ground
+among a heap of stones. On a board at one side lay wet, gray garments,
+twisted in knots as they had been wrung out of the soapy water. The
+woman had been washing, and the vapor was rising from the black pot of
+boiling suds, but, seeing their approach, she had gone to her door, her
+babe on her arm and the other children trooping at her heels and
+clinging to her skirts. They peered up from under frowzy, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>overhanging
+locks of hair like a group of ragged, bedraggled Scotch terriers.</p>
+
+<p>The mother herself seemed scarcely older than the oldest, and Thryng
+regarded her with amazement when he noticed her infantile, undeveloped
+face and learned that she had brought into the world all those who
+clustered about her. His amazement grew as he entered the dark little
+cabin and saw that they must all eat and sleep in its one small room,
+which they seemed to fill to overflowing as they crowded in after him,
+accompanied by three lean hounds, who sniffed suspiciously at his
+leggings.</p>
+
+<p>Far in the darkest corner lay the father on a pallet of corn-husks
+covered with soiled bedclothing. The windows were mere holes in the
+walls, unglazed, unframed, and closed at night or in bad weather by
+wooden shutters, when the room was lighted only by the flames from the
+now black and empty fireplace. Here, while mother and children were out
+by "the branch" washing, the injured man lay alone, stoically patient,
+declaring that his "laig" was some better, that he did not feel "so much
+misery in hit as yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>Thryng had seen much squalor and wretchedness, but never before in a
+home in the country where women and children were to be found. For a
+moment he looked helplessly at the silent, staring group, and at the
+man, who feebly tried to indicate to his wife the extending of some
+courtesy to the stranger.</p>
+
+<p>"Set a cheer, Polly," he said weakly, offering his great hand. "You are
+right welcome, suh. Are you visitin' these parts?"</p>
+
+<p>"This is the doctor I was telling you about, Cate,&mdash;Doctor Thryng. I
+begged him to come up and see could he do anything for you," said
+Cassandra. Then she urged the woman to go back to her work and take the
+children with her. "Doctor and I will look after your old man awhile."
+She succeeded in clearing the place of all but one lean hound, who
+continued to stand by his master and lick his hand, whining presciently,
+and one or two of the children, who lingered around the door to peer in
+curiously at the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>A shutter near the bed was tightly closed and, in struggling to open it,
+Cassandra discovered it was broken at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> hinges and had been nailed in
+place. David flew to her assistance and, wrenching out the nails, tore
+it free, letting in a flood of light upon the wretchedness around them.
+Then he turned his attention to the patient, a man of powerful frame,
+but lean almost to emaciation, who watched the young physician's face
+silently with widely opened blue eyes, their pale color intensified by
+the surrounding shock of matted, curling, vividly red hair and beard.</p>
+
+<p>It required but a few moments to ascertain that the man's condition was
+indeed critical. Cassandra had gone out and now returned with her hands
+full of dry pine sticks. Bending on one knee before the empty fireplace,
+she arranged them and hung a kettle over them full of fresh water. David
+turned and watched her light the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Good. We shall need hot water immediately. How long since you have
+eaten?" he asked the man.</p>
+
+<p>"He hain't eat nothing all day," said the wife, who had returned and
+again stood in the door with all her flock, gazing at him. Then the
+woman grew plaintively garrulous about the trouble she had had "doin'
+fer him," and begged David to tell her "could he he'p 'im." At last
+Thryng put a hurried end to her talk by saying he could do
+nothing&mdash;nothing at all for her old man, unless she took herself and the
+children all away. She looked terror-stricken, and her mouth drew
+together in a stubborn, resentful line as if in some way he had
+precipitated ill luck upon them by his coming. Cassandra at once took
+her basket and walked out toward the stream, and they all followed,
+leaving David and the father in sole possession of the place.</p>
+
+<p>Then he turned to the bed and began a kindly explanation. He found the
+man more intelligent and much more tractable than the woman, but it was
+hard to make him believe that he must inevitably lose either his life or
+his foot, and that they had not an hour&mdash;not a half hour&mdash;to spare, but
+must decide at once. David's manner, gentle, but firmly urgent, at last
+succeeded. The big man broke down and wept weakly, but yielded; only he
+stipulated that his wife must not be told.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no! She and the children must be kept away;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> but I need help. Is
+there no one&mdash;no man whom we can get to come here quickly?"</p>
+
+<p>"They is nobody&mdash;naw&mdash;I reckon not."</p>
+
+<p>David was distressed, but he searched about until he found an old
+battered pail in which to prepare his antiseptic, and busied himself in
+replenishing the fire and boiling the water; all the time his every move
+was watched by the hound and the pathetic blue eyes of his master.</p>
+
+<p>Soon Cassandra returned, to David's great relief, alone. She smiled as
+she looked in his face, and spoke quietly: "I told her to take the
+children and gather dock and mullein leaves and such like to make tea
+for her old man, and if she'd stay awhile, I'd look after him and have
+supper for them when they got back. Is there anything I can do now?"</p>
+
+<p>David was troubled indeed, but what could he do? He explained his need
+of her quickly, in low tones, outside the door. "I believe you are
+strong and brave and can do it as well as a man, but I hate to ask it of
+you. There is not time to wait. It must be done to-day, now."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll help you," she said simply, and walked into the hut. She had
+become deadly pale, and he followed her and placed his fingers on her
+pulse, holding her hand and looking down in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"You trust me?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes. I must."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;you must&mdash;dear child. You are all right. Don't be troubled, but
+just think we are trying to save his life. Look at me now, and take in all I say."</p>
+
+<p>Then he placed her with her back to his work, taught her how to count
+the man's pulse and to give the ether; but the patient demurred. He would not take it.</p>
+
+<p>"Naw, I kin stand hit. Go ahead, Doctor."</p>
+
+<p>"See here, Cate Irwin. You are bound to do as Doctor Thryng says or
+die," she said, bending over him. "Take this, and I'll sit by you every
+minute and never take my hand off yours. Stop tossing. There!" He obeyed
+her, and she sat rigidly still and waited.</p>
+
+<p>The moments passed in absolute silence. Her heart pounded in her breast
+and she grew cold, but never took her eyes from the still, deathlike
+face before her. In her heart she was praying&mdash;praying to be strong
+enough<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> to endure the horror of it&mdash;not to faint nor fall&mdash;until at last
+it seemed to her that she had turned to stone in her place; but all the
+time she could feel the faintly beating pulse beneath her fingers, and
+kept repeating David's words: "We are trying to save his life&mdash;we are
+trying to save his life."</p>
+
+<p>David finished. Moving rapidly about, he washed, covered, and carried
+away, and set all in order so that nothing betrayed his grewsome task.
+Then he came to her and took both her cold hands in his warm ones and
+led her to the door. She swayed and walked weakly. He supported her with
+his arm and, once out in the sweet air, she quickly recovered. He
+praised her warmly, eagerly, taking her hands in his, and for the first
+time, as the faint rose crept into her cheeks, he felt her to be moved
+by his words; but she only smiled as she drew her hands away and turned toward the house.</p>
+
+<p>"They'll be back directly, and I promised to have something for them to eat."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll help you, for our man is coming out all right now, and I
+feel&mdash;if he can have any kind of care&mdash;he will live."</p>
+
+<p>The sky had become overcast with heavy clouds and the wind had risen,
+blowing cold from the north. David replaced the shutter he had torn off
+and mended the fire with fuel he found scattered about the yard; while
+Cassandra swept and set the place in order and the resuscitated patient
+looked about a room neater and more homelike than he had ever slept in
+before. Cassandra searched out a few articles with which to prepare a
+meal&mdash;the usual food of the mountain poor&mdash;salt pork, and corn-meal
+mixed with water and salt and baked in the ashes. David watched her as
+she moved about the dark cabin, lighted only by the fitful flames of the
+fireplace, to perform those gracious, homely tasks, and would have
+helped her, but he could not.</p>
+
+<p>At last the woman and her brood came streaming in, and Cassandra and the
+doctor were glad to escape into the outer air. He tried to make the
+mother understand his directions as to the care of her husband, but her
+passive "Yas, suh" did not reassure him that his wishes would be carried
+out, and his hopes for the man's recovery<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> grew less as he realized the
+conditions of the home. After riding a short distance, he turned to Cassandra.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you go back and make her understand that he is to be left
+absolutely alone? Scare her into making the children keep away from his
+bed, and not climb into it. You made him do as I wished, with only a
+word, and maybe you can do something with her. I can't."</p>
+
+<p>She turned back, and David watched her at the door talking with the
+woman, who came out to her and handed her a bundle of something tied in
+a meal sack. He wondered what it might be, and Cassandra explained.</p>
+
+<p>"These are the yarbs I sent her and the children aftah. I didn't know
+how to rid the cabin of them without I sent for something, and now I
+don't know what to do with these. We&mdash;we're obliged to use them some
+way." She hesitated&mdash;"I reckon I didn't do right telling her that&mdash;do
+you guess? I had to make out like you needed them and had sent back for
+them; it&mdash;it wouldn't do to mad her&mdash;not one of her sort." Her head
+drooped with shame and she added pleadingly, "Mother has used these
+plants for making tea for sick folks&mdash;but&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He rode to her side and lifted the unwieldy load to his own horse, "Be
+ye wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove," he said, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"You were wise. You did right where I would only have done harm and been
+brutal. Can't you see these have already served their purpose?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand."</p>
+
+<p>"You told her to get them because you wished to make her think she was
+doing something for her husband, didn't you? And you couldn't say to her
+that she would help most by taking herself out of the way, could you?
+She could not understand, and so they have served their purpose as a
+means of getting her quietly and harmlessly away so we could properly do our work."</p>
+
+<p>"But I didn't say so&mdash;not rightly; I made her think&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind what you said or made her think. You did right, God knows.
+We are all made to work out good&mdash;often when we think erroneously, just
+as you made her uncomprehendingly do what she ought. If<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> ever she grows
+wise enough to understand, well and good; if not, no harm is done."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra listened, but doubtingly. At last she stopped her horse. "If
+you can't use them, I feel like I ought to go back and explain," she
+said. Her face gleamed whitely out of the gathering dusk, and he saw her
+shiver in the cold and bitter wind. He was more warmly dressed than she,
+and still he felt it cut through him icily.</p>
+
+<p>"No. You shall not go back one step. It would be a useless waste of your
+time and strength. Later, if you still feel that you must, you can explain. Come."</p>
+
+<p>She yielded, touched her horse lightly with her whip, and they hurried
+on. The night was rapidly closing in, the thick, dark shadows creeping
+up from the gorges below as they climbed the rugged steep they had
+descended three hours earlier. They picked their way in silence, she
+ahead, and he following closely. He wondered what might be her thoughts,
+and if she had inherited, along with much else that he could perceive,
+the Puritan conscience which had possibly driven some ancestor here to
+live undisturbed of his precious scruples.</p>
+
+<p>When they emerged at last on the level ridge where she had so joyously
+laughed out, Thryng hurried forward and again rode at her side. She sat
+wearily now, holding the reins with chilled hands. Had she forgotten the
+happy moment? He had not. The wind blew more shrewdly past them, and a
+few drops of rain, large and icy cold, struck their faces.</p>
+
+<p>"Put these on your hands, please," he begged, pulling off his thick
+gloves; but she would not.</p>
+
+<p>He reached for the bridle of her horse and drew him nearer, then caught
+her cold hands and began chafing them, first one and then the other.
+Then he slipped the warm gloves over them. "Wear them a little while to
+please me," he urged. "You have no coat, and mine is thick and warm."</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he became aware that she was and had been silently weeping, and
+he was filled with anxiety for her, so brave she had been, so tired she
+must be&mdash;worn out&mdash;poor little heart!</p>
+
+<p>"Are you so tired?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, no."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p><p>"Won't you tell me what troubles you? Let me put this over your
+shoulders to keep off the rain."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, no!" she cried, as he began to remove his coat. "You need it a
+heap more than I. You have been sick, and I am well."</p>
+
+<p>"Please wear it. I will walk a little to keep warm."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I can't. I'm not cold, Doctor Thryng. It isn't that."</p>
+
+<p>He became imperative through anxiety. "Then tell me what it is," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't stop thinking of Decatur Irwin. I can feel you working there
+yet, and seems like I never will forget. I keep going over it and over
+it and can't stop. Doctor, are you sure&mdash;sure&mdash;it was right for us to do
+what we did?"</p>
+
+<p>"Poor child! It was terrible for you, and you were fine, you know&mdash;fine;
+you are a heroine&mdash;you are&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care for me. It isn't me. Was it right, Doctor? Was there no
+other way?" she wailed.</p>
+
+<p>"As far as human knowledge goes, there was no other way. Listen, Miss
+Cassandra, I have been where such accidents were frequent. Many a man's
+leg have I taken off. Surgery is my work in life&mdash;don't be horrified. I
+chose it because I wished to be a saver of life and a helper of my
+fellows." She was shivering more from the nervous reaction than from the
+cold, and to David it seemed as if she were trying to draw farther away from him.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't shrink from me. There are so many in the world to kill and wound,
+some there must be to mend where it is possible. I saw in a moment that
+your intuition had led you rightly, and soon I knew what must be done; I
+only hope we were not too late. Don't cry, Miss Cassandra. It makes me
+feel such a brute to have put you through it."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no. You were right kind and good. I'm only crying now because I can't stop."</p>
+
+<p>"There, there, child! We'll ride a little faster. I must get you home
+and do something for you." He spoke out of the tenderness of his heart toward her.</p>
+
+<p>But soon they were again descending, and the horses, careful for their
+own safety if not for their riders', continued slowly and stumblingly to
+pick their footing in the darkness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> Now the rain began to beat more
+fiercely, and before they reached the Fall Place they were wet to the skin.</p>
+
+<p>David feared neither the wetting nor the cold for himself; only for her
+in her utter weariness was he anxious. She would help him stable the
+horses and led away one while he led the other, but once in the house he
+took matters in his own hands peremptorily. He rebuilt the fire and
+himself removed her wet garments and her shoes. She was too exhausted to
+resist. Following the old mother's directions, he found woollen blankets
+and, wrapping her about, he took her up like a baby and laid her on her
+bed. Then he brewed her a hot milk punch and made her take it.</p>
+
+<p>"You need this more than I, Doctah. If you'll just take some yourself,
+as soon as I can I'll make your bed in the loom shed again, and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Drink it; drink it and go to sleep. Yes, yes. I'll have some, too."</p>
+
+<p>"Cass, you lie still and do as doctah says. You nigh about dade, child.
+If only I could get off'n this bed an' walk a leetle, I'd 'a' had your
+place all ready fer ye, Doctah. The' is a featheh bade up garret, if ye
+could tote hit down an' drap on the floor here fer&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>David laughed cheerily. "Why, this is nothing for me." He stood turning
+himself about to dry his clothing on all sides before the blaze. "As
+soon as Miss Cassandra closes her eyes and sleeps, I will look after
+myself. It's a shame to bring all these wet things in here, I say!"</p>
+
+<p>"You are a-steamin' like you are a steam engine," piped little Hoyle,
+peering at him over his mother's shoulder from the far corner of her bed.</p>
+
+<p>"You lie down and go to sleep again, youngster," said David.</p>
+
+<p>And gradually they all fell asleep, while Thryng sat long before the
+fire and pondered until Cassandra slept. Once and again a deep quivering
+sigh trembled through her parted lips, as he watched beside her. A warm
+rose hue played over her still features, cast by the dancing red flames,
+and her hair in a dishevelled mass swept across the pillow and down to
+the floor. At last the rain ceased; warmed and dried, Thryng stole away
+from the silent house and rode back to his own cabin.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH SPRING COMES TO THE MOUNTAINS, AND CASSANDRA TELLS DAVID OF HER FATHER</h3>
+
+<p>Ere long such a spring as David had never dreamed of swept up the
+mountain, with a charm so surpassing and transcending any imagined
+beauty that he was filled with a sort of ecstasy. He was constantly out
+upon the hills revelling in the lavish bounty of earth and sky, of
+rushing waters, and all the subtile changes in growing things, as if at
+last he had been clasped to the heart of nature. He visited the cabins
+wherever he was called, and when there was need for Cassandra's
+ministrations he often took her with him; thus they fell naturally into
+good camaraderie. Thus, also, quite as naturally, Cassandra's speech
+became more correct and fluent, even while it lost none of its lingering
+delicacy of intonation.</p>
+
+<p>David provided her with books, as he had promised himself. Sometimes he
+brought them down to her, and they read together; sometimes he left them
+with her and she read them by herself eagerly and happily; but so busy
+was she that she found very little time to be with him. Not only did all
+the work of the household fall on her, but the weaving, which her mother
+had done heretofore, and the care of the animals, which had been done by Frale.</p>
+
+<p>The life she had hoped to lead and the good she had longed to do when
+she left home for school, encouraged by the bishop and his wife, she now
+resolutely put away from her, determined to lead in the best way the
+life that she knew must henceforth be hers. She hoped at least she might
+be able to bring the home place back to what it used to be in her
+Grandfather Caswell's time, and to this end she labored patiently, albeit sadly.</p>
+
+<p>David was ever aware of a barrier past which he might never step, no
+matter how merry or how intimate they might seem to be, and always about
+her a silent air of waiting, which deterred him in his efforts to draw
+her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> into more confidential relations. Yet as the days passed, he became
+more interested in her, influenced by her nearness to him, and still
+more by her remoteness.</p>
+
+<p>Allured and baffled, often in the early morning or late evening he would
+sit in the doorway of his cabin, or out on his rock with his flute, when
+his thoughts were full of her. Simple, maidenly, and strong, his heart
+yearned toward her, while instinctively she held herself aloof in quiet
+dignity. Never had she presented herself at his door unless impelled by
+necessity. Never had she sat with him in his cabin since that first time
+when she came to him so heavy hearted for Frale.</p>
+
+<p>Only when she knew him to be absent had she gone to his cabin and set
+all its disorder to rights. Then he would return to find it swept and
+cleaned, and sweet with wild flowers and pine greenery and vines, his
+cooking utensils washed and scoured, the floor whitened with scrubbing,
+in his larder newly baked corn-bread and white beaten biscuits, his
+honey jar refilled and fresh butter pats in the spring. Sometimes a
+brown, earthen jug of cool, refreshing buttermilk stood on his table,
+but always his thanks would be swept aside with the words:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Mother sent me up to see could I do anything for you. You are always
+that kind and we can't do much."</p>
+
+<p>"And you never come up when I am at home?"</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't every time I can get to go up, I'm that busy here most days."</p>
+
+<p>"Only the days when I am absent can you 'get to go up'?" he would say
+teasingly. "Don't I ever deserve a visit?"</p>
+
+<p>"Cass don't get time fer visitin' these days. Since Frale lef' she have
+all his work an' hern too on her, an' mine too, only the leetle help she
+gets out'n Hoyle, an' hit hain't much," said the mother. "Doctah, don't
+ye guess I can get up an' try walkin' a leetle?"</p>
+
+<p>"If you will promise me you will only try it when I am here to help you,
+I will take off the weight, and we'll see what you can do to-day."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra loved to watch David attend on her mother, so tender was he;
+and he adopted a playful manner that always dispelled her pessimism and
+left her smiling and talkative. Ere he was aware, also, he made a place
+for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> himself In Cassandra's heart when he became interested in the case
+of her little brother, and attempted gradually to overcome his deformity.</p>
+
+<p>Every morning when the child climbed to his eyrie and brought his supply
+of milk, David took him in and gently, out of his knowledge and skill,
+gave him systematic care, and taught him how to help himself; but he
+soon saw that a more strenuous course would be the only way to bring
+permanent relief, or surely the trouble would increase.</p>
+
+<p>"What did Doctor Hoyle say about it?" he asked one day.</p>
+
+<p>"He wa'n't that-a-way when doctah war here last. Hit war nigh on five
+year ago that come on him. He had fevah, an' a right smart o' times when
+we thought he war a-gettin' bettah he jes' went back, ontwell he began
+to kind o' draw sideways this-a-way, an' he hain't nevah been straight
+sence, an' he has been that sickly, too. When doctah saw him last, he
+war nigh three year old an' straight as they make 'em, an' fat&mdash;you
+couldn't see a bone in him."</p>
+
+<p>David pondered a moment. "Suppose you give him to me awhile," he said.
+"Let him live with me in my cabin&mdash;eat there, sleep there&mdash;everything,
+and we'll see what can be done for him."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm willin', more'n willin', when only I can get to help Cass some.
+Hoyle, he's a heap o' help, with me not able to do a lick. He can milk
+nigh as well as she can, an' tote in water, an' feed the chick'ns an'
+th' pig, an' rid'n' to mill fer meal&mdash;yas, he's a heap o' help. Cass,
+she got to get on with th' weavin'. We promised bed kivers an' such fer
+Miss Mayhew. She sells 'em fer ladies 'at comes to the hotel in summah.
+We nevah would have a cent o' money in hand these days 'thout that, only
+what chick'ns 'nd aigs she can raise fer the hotel, too. Hit's only in
+summah. I don't rightly see how we can spare Hoyle."</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Miss Cassandra now?" he asked, only more determined on his
+course the more he was hampered by circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>"She's in the loom shed weavin'. I throwed on the warp fer a blue and
+white bed kiver 'fore I war hurt, an' she hain't had time to more'n half
+finish hit. I war helpin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> to get the weavin' done whilst she war at
+school this winter, an' come spring she war 'lowin' to come back an'
+help Frale with the plantin' an' makin' crap fer next year. Here in the
+mountains we-uns have to be forehanded, an' here I be an' can't crawl scarcely yet."</p>
+
+<p>After the thrifty soul had taken a few steps, instead of realizing her
+good fortune in being able to take any, she was bitterly disappointed to
+find that weeks must still pass ere she could walk by herself. She was
+seated on her little porch where David had helped her, looking out on
+the growing things and the blossoming spring all about&mdash;a sight to make
+the heart glad; but she saw only that the time was passing, and it would
+soon be too late to make a crop that year.</p>
+
+<p>She was such a neat, self-respecting old woman as she sat there. Her
+work-worn old hands were not idle, for she turned and mended Hoyle's
+funny little trousers, home-made, with suspenders attached.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what-all we can do ef we can't make a crap. We won't have
+no corn nor nothin', an' nothin' to feed stock, let alone we-uns. We'll
+be in a fix just like all the poor white trash, me not able to do a lick."</p>
+
+<p>David came and sat beside her a few moments and said a great many
+comforting things, and when he rose to go the world had taken on a new
+aspect for her eyes&mdash;bright, dark eyes, looking up at him with a gleam of hope.</p>
+
+<p>"I believe ye," she said. "We'll do anything you say, Doctah."</p>
+
+<p>Thryng walked out past the loom shed and paused to look in on the young
+girl as she sat swaying rhythmically, throwing the shuttles with a sweep
+of her arm, and drawing the great beam toward her with steady beat,
+driving the threads in place, and shifting the veil of warp stretched
+before her with a sure touch of her feet upon the treadles, all her
+lithe body intent and atune. It seemed to him as he sat himself on the
+step to watch, that music must come from the flow of her action. The
+noise of the loom prevented her hearing his approach, and silently he
+watched and waited, fascinated in seeing the fabric grow under her hand.</p>
+
+<p>As silently she worked on, and slowly, even as the pattern took shape
+and became plain before her, his thoughts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> grew and took definite shape
+also, until he became filled with a set purpose. He would not disturb
+her now nor make her look around. It was enough just to watch her in her
+sweet serious unconsciousness, with the flush of exercise on her cheeks
+as he could see when she slightly turned her head with every throw of the shuttle.</p>
+
+<p>When at last she rose, he saw a look of care and weariness on her face
+that disturbed him. He sprang up and came to her. She little dreamed how
+long he had been there.</p>
+
+<p>"Please don't go. Stay here and talk to me a moment. Your mother is all
+right; I have just been with her. May I examine what you have been
+doing? It is very interesting to me, you know." He made her show him all
+the manner of her work and drew her on to tell him of the different
+patterns her mother had learned from her grandmother and had taught her.</p>
+
+<p>"They don't do much on the hand-looms now in the mountains, but Miss
+Mayhew at the hotel last summer&mdash;I told you about her&mdash;sold some of
+mother's work up North, and I promised more, but I'm afraid&mdash;I don't
+guess I can get it all done now."</p>
+
+<p>"You are tired. Sit here on the step awhile with me and rest. I want to
+talk to you a little, and I want you alone." She looked hesitatingly
+toward the declining sun. He took her hand and led her to the door.
+"Can't you give me a few, a very few moments? You hold me off and won't
+let me say what I often have in mind to ask you." She sat beside him
+where he placed her and looked wonderingly into his face, but not in the
+least as if she feared what his question might be, or as if she
+suspected anything personal. "You know it's not right that this sort of
+thing should go on indefinitely?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what sort of thing you mean." She lifted grave, wide eyes
+to his&mdash;those clear gray eyes&mdash;and his heart admonished him that he had
+begun to love to look into their blue and green depths, but heed the
+admonishment he would not.</p>
+
+<p>"I mean working day in and day out, as you do. You have grown much
+thinner since I saw you first, and look at your hands." He took one of
+them in his and gently stroked it. "See how thin they are, and here are
+callous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> places. And you are stooping over with weariness, and, except
+when you have been exercising, your face is far too white."</p>
+
+<p>She looked off toward the mountain top and slowly drew her hand from
+his. "I must do it. There is no one else," she said in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>"But it can't go on always&mdash;this way."</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon so. Once I thought&mdash;it might&mdash;be some different, but now&mdash;"
+She waited an instant in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"But now&mdash;what?"</p>
+
+<p>"It seems as if it must go on&mdash;like this way&mdash;always, as if I were
+chained here with iron."</p>
+
+<p>"But why? Won't you tell me so I may help you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't," she said sadly and with finality. "It must be."</p>
+
+<p>He brooded a moment, clasping his hands about one knee and gazing at
+her. "Maybe," he said at last, "maybe I can help you, even if you can't
+tell me what is holding you."</p>
+
+<p>She smiled a faintly fleeting smile. "Thank you&mdash;but I reckon not."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Cassandra, when you know I am at your service, and will do
+anything you ask of me, why do you hold something back from me? I can
+understand, and I may have ways&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It's just that, suh. Even if I could tell you, I don't guess you could
+understand. Even if I went yonder on the mountain and cried to heaven to
+set me free, I'd have to bide here and do the work that is mine to do,
+as mother has done hers, and her mother before her."</p>
+
+<p>"But they did it contentedly and happily&mdash;because they wished it. Your
+mother married your father because she loved him, and was glad&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I reckon she did&mdash;but he was different. She could do it for him.
+He lived alone&mdash;alone. Mother knew he did&mdash;she could understand. It was
+like he had a room to himself high up on the mountain, where she never
+could climb, nor open the door."</p>
+
+<p>David leaned toward her. "What do you see when you look off at the
+mountain like that?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's like I could see him. He would take his little books up there and
+walk the high path. I never have showed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> you his path. It was his, and
+he would walk in it, up and down, up and down, and read words I couldn't
+understand, reading like he was singing. Sometimes I would climb up to
+him, and he'd take me in his arms and carry me like I was a baby, and
+read. Sometimes he would sit on a bank of moss under those trees&mdash;see
+near the top by that open spot of sky a right dark place? There are no
+other trees like them. They are his trees. He would sit with me there
+and tell me the stories of the strange words; but we never told mother,
+for she said they were heathen and I mustn't give heed to him." When
+deeply absorbed, she often lapsed into her old speech. David liked it.
+He almost wished she would never change it for his. "After father died I
+hunted and hunted for those little books, but I never could find them."</p>
+
+<p>"You remember him so well, won't you tell me how he looked?"</p>
+
+<p>She slowly brought her eyes down from the mountain top and fixed them on
+his face. "Sometimes&mdash;just for a minute&mdash;you make me think of him&mdash;but
+you don't look like him. I never heard any one laugh like he could
+laugh&mdash;and with his eyes, too. He was tall like you, and he carried his
+shoulders high like you do when you hurry, but he was a dark man. When
+he stood here in the door of the loom shed, his head touched the top. I
+thought of it when you stood here a bit ago and had to stoop. He always
+did that." She lifted her gaze again to the mountain, and was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me a little more? Just a little? Don't you remember anything he said?"</p>
+
+<p>"He used to preach, but I was too little to remember what he said. They
+used to have preaching in the schoolhouse, and in winter he used to
+teach there&mdash;when he could get the children to come. They had no books,
+but he marked with charcoal where they could all see, and showed them
+writing and figures; but somehow they got the idea he didn't know
+religion right, and they wouldn't go to hear him any more. Mother says
+it nigh broke his heart, for he fell to ailing and grew that thin and
+white he couldn't climb to his path any more." She stopped and put her
+hand to her throat, as her way was. She too had grown white with the
+ache of sorrowful <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>remembrance. He thought it cruel to urge her, but
+felt impelled to ask for more.</p>
+
+<p>"And then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. One day we were all alone sitting right here in the loom shed
+door. He put one hand on my head, and then he put the other hand under
+my chin and turned my face to look in his eyes&mdash;so great and far&mdash;like
+they could see through your heart. Seems like I can feel the touch of
+his hand here yet and hear him say: 'Little daughter, never be like the
+rest. Be separate, and God will send for you some day here on the
+mountain. He will send for you on the mountain top. He will compass you
+about and lift you up and you shall be blessed.' Then he kissed me and
+went into the house. I could hear him still saying it as he walked, 'On
+the mountain top one will come for you, on the mountain top.' He went in
+and lay down, and I sat here and waited. It seemed like my heart stood
+still waiting for him to come back to me, and it must have been more
+than an hour I sat, and mother came home and went in and found him gone.
+He never spoke again. He lay there dead."</p>
+
+<p>She paused and drew in a long, sighing breath. "I have never said those
+words aloud until now, to you, but hundreds of times when I look up on
+the mountain I have said them in my heart. I reckon he meant I was to
+bide here until my time was come, and do all like I ought to do it. I
+did think I could go to school and learn and come back and teach like he
+used to, and so keep myself separate like he did, but the Lord called me
+back and laid a hard thing on me, and I must do it. But in my heart I
+can keep separate like father did."</p>
+
+<p>She rose and stood calmly, her eyes fixed on the mountain. David stood
+near and longed to touch her passive hand&mdash;to lift it to his lips&mdash;but
+forebore to startle her soul by so unusual an act. For all she had given
+him a confidence she had never bestowed on another, he felt himself held
+aloof, her spirit withdrawn from him and lifted to the mountain top.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH CASSANDRA HEARS THE VOICES, AND DAVID LEASES A FARM</h3>
+
+<p>That evening David sat long on his rock holding his flute and watching
+the thin golden crescent of the new moon floating through a pale amber
+sky, and one star near its tip slowly sliding down with it toward the deepening horizon.</p>
+
+<p>The glowing sky bending to the purple hilltops&mdash;the crescent moon and
+the lone shining star&mdash;the evening breeze singing in the pines above
+him&mdash;the delicate arbutus blossoms hiding near his feet&mdash;the call of a
+bird to its mate, and the faint answering call from some distant
+shade&mdash;the call in his own heart that as yet returned to him unanswered,
+but with its quiet surety of ultimate response&mdash;the joy of these moments
+perfect in beauty and a more abundant assurance of gladness near at
+hand&mdash;filled him and lifted his soul to follow the star.</p>
+
+<p>Guided by the unseen hand that held the earth, the crescent moon and the
+star to their orbits, would he find the great happiness that should be
+not his alone, but also for the eyes uplifted to the mountain top and
+the heart waiting in the shadows for the one to be sent? Ah, surely,
+surely, for this had he come. He stooped to the arbutus blossoms to
+inhale their fragrance. He rose and, lifting his flute to his lips,
+played to solace his own waiting, inventing new caprices and tossing
+forth the notes daringly&mdash;delicately&mdash;rapturously&mdash;now penetrating and
+strong, now faintly following and scarcely heard, uttering a wordless gladness.</p>
+
+<p>Under the great holly tree in the shadows Cassandra sat, watching, as he
+watched, the crescent moon and the lone star sailing in the pale amber
+light, with the deepening purple mountain hiding the dim distance below
+them. Often in the early evening when her mother and Hoyle were
+sleeping, she would climb up here to pray for Frale that he might truly
+repent, and for herself that she might<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> be strong in her purpose to give
+up all her cherished hopes and plans, if thereby she might save him from
+his own wild, reckless self.</p>
+
+<p>It was here his boy's passion had been revealed to her, and here she had
+seen him changed from boy to man, filled with a man's hunger for her,
+which had led him to crime, and held him unrepentant and glad could he
+thus hold her his own. She must give up the life she had hoped to lead
+and take upon her the life of the wife of Cain, to help him expiate his
+deed. For this must she bow her head to the yoke her mother had borne
+before her. In the sadness of her heart she said again and again:
+"Christ will understand. He was a man of sorrows and acquainted with
+grief! He will understand."</p>
+
+<p>Again came to her, as they had often come of late, dropping down through
+the still air, down through the leafless boughs like joyful hopes yet to
+be realized, the flute notes. What were they, those sweet sounds? She
+held her breath and lifted her face toward the sky. Once, long ago in
+France, the peasant girl had heard the "Voices." Were they heavenly
+sweet, like these sounds? Did they drop from the sky and fill the air
+like these? Oh, why should they seem like hopes to her who had put away
+from her all hope? Were they bringing hope to her who must rise to toil
+and lie down in weariness for labor never done; who must hold always
+with sorrowing heart and clinging hands to the soul of a murderer&mdash;hold
+and cling, if haply she might save&mdash;and weep for that which, for her,
+might never be? Were they bringing hope that she might yet live gladly
+as the birds live; that she might go beyond that and live like those who
+have no sin imposed on them, to walk with the gods, she knew not how,
+but to rise to things beyond her ken?</p>
+
+<p>Down came the notes, sweet, shrill, white notes,&mdash;hurrying, drifting,
+lingering, calling her to follow; down on her heart with healing and
+comfort they fell, lightly as dew on flowers, sparkling with life,
+joy-giving and pure.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly she began climbing, listening, waiting, one step upward after
+another, following the sound. As if in a trance she moved. Below her the
+noise of falling water made a murmuring accompaniment to the music
+dropping from above&mdash;an earth-made accompaniment to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>heaven-sent melody,
+meeting and forming a perfect harmony in her heart as she climbed.
+Gradually the horror and the sorrow fell away from her even, as the soul
+shall one day shed its garment of earth, until at last she stood alone
+and silent near David, etherealized in the faint light to a spirit-like
+semblance of a woman.</p>
+
+<p>With a glad pounding of his heart he sprang towards her. Scarcely
+conscious of the act he held out both his arms, but she did not move.
+She stood silently regarding him, her hands dropped at her side, then
+with drooping head she turned and began wearily to descend the way she
+had come. He followed her and took her hand. She let it lie passively in
+his and walked on. He wished he might feel her fingers close warmly
+about his own, but no, they were cold. She seemed wholly withdrawn from
+him, and her face bore the look of one who was walking in her sleep, yet
+he knew her to be awake.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Cassandra, speak to me," he begged, in quiet tones. "Don't walk
+away until you tell me why you came."</p>
+
+<p>She seemed then to become aware that he was holding her by the hand and
+withdrew it, and in the faint light he thought she smiled. "It was just
+foolishness. You will laugh at me. I heard the music, and I thought it
+might be&mdash;you made it I reckon, but down there it sounded like it might
+be the 'Voices.' You remember how they came to Joan of Arc, like we were
+reading last week?" She began to walk on more hurriedly.</p>
+
+<p>"I will go down with you," he said, "you thought it might be the voices?
+What did they say to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't go with me. I never heed the dark."</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you let me go with you? What did the flute say to you? Can't you tell me?"</p>
+
+<p>She laughed a little then. "It was only foolishness. I reckon the
+'Voices' never come these days. I have heard it before, but didn't know
+where it came from. It just seemed to drop down from heaven like, and
+this time it seemed some different, as if it might be the 'Voices'
+calling. It was pretty, suh, far away and soft&mdash;like part&mdash;of
+everything. My father's playing sounded sad most times, like sweet
+crying, but this was more like sweet laughing. I never heard anything so
+glad like this was, so I tried to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> find it. Now I know it is you who
+make it I won't disturb you again, suh. Good evening." She hastened away
+and was soon lost in the gloom.</p>
+
+<p>David stood until he heard her footsteps no more, then turned and
+entered his cabin, his mind and heart full of her. Surely he had called
+her, and the sound of his call was to her like "sweet laughing." Her
+face and her quaint expressions went with him into his dreams.</p>
+
+<p>When he hurried down to the widow's place next morning, his mind filled
+with plans which he meant to carry out and was sure, with the boyish
+certainty of his nature he could compass, he heard the voice of little
+Hoyle shrilly calling to old Pete: "Whoa, mule. Haw there. Haw there,
+mule. What ye goin' that side fer; come 'round here."</p>
+
+<p>Below the widow's house, the stream, after its riotous descent from the
+fall, meandered quietly through the rich bit of meadow and field, her
+inheritance for over a hundred years, establishing her claim to
+distinction among her neighbors. Here Martha Caswell had lived with her
+mother and her two brothers until she married and went with her young
+husband over "t'other side Pisgah"; then her mother sent for them to
+return, begging her son-in-law to come and care for the place. Her two
+sons, reckless and wild, were allowing the land to run to waste, and the
+buildings to fall in pieces through neglect.</p>
+
+<p>The daughter Martha, true to her name, was thrifty and careful, and
+under her influence, her gentle dreamer of a husband, who cared more for
+his fiddle, his books, and his sermons, gradually redeemed the soil from
+weeds and the buildings from dilapidation, until at last, with the
+proceeds of her weaving and his own hard labor, they saved enough to buy
+out the brothers' interests.</p>
+
+<p>By that time the younger son had fallen a victim to his wild life, and
+the other moved down into the low country among his wife's people. Thus
+were the Merlins left alone on their primitive estate. Here they lived
+contentedly with Cassandra, their only child, and her father's constant
+companion, until the tragedy which she had so simply related to David.</p>
+
+<p>Her father's learning had been peculiar. Only a little classic lore,
+treasured where schools were none and books<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> were few, handed down from
+grandfather to grandson. His Greek he had learned from the two small
+books the widow had so carefully preserved, their marginal notes his
+only lexicon. They and his Bible and a copy of Bunyan's <i>Pilgrim's
+Progress</i> were all that were left of his treasures. A teething puppy had
+torn his <i>Dialogues of Plato</i> to shreds, and when his successor had come
+into the home, he had used the <i>Marcus Aurelius</i> for gun wadding, ere
+his wife's precaution of placing the padlock from the door on her
+mother's old linen chest.</p>
+
+<p>To-day, as David passed the house, the old mother sat on her little
+porch churning butter in a small dasher churn. She was glad, as he could
+see, because she could do something once more.</p>
+
+<p>"Now are you happy?" he called laughingly, as he paused beside her.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I be. Hit's been a right smart o' while since I been able to do a
+lick o' work. We sure do have a heap to thank you fer. Be Decatur Irwin
+as glad to lose his foot as I be to git my laig back?" she queried
+whimsically; "I reckon not."</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon not, too, but with him it was a case of losing his life or his
+foot, while with you it was only a question of walking about, or being
+bedridden for the next twenty years."</p>
+
+<p>"They be ignorant, them Irwins, an' she's more'n that, fer she's a fool.
+She come round yest'day wantin' to borry a hoe to fix up her gyarden
+patch, an' she 'lowed ef you'n Cass had only lef' him be, he'd 'a' come
+through all right, fer hit war a-gettin' better the day you-uns took hit
+off. I told her yas, he'd 'a' come cl'ar through to the nex' world, like
+Farwell done. When the misery left him, he up an' died, an' Lord knows whar he went."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll get him an artificial foot as soon as he is able to wear one.
+He'll get on very well with a peg under his knee until then. What's
+Hoyle doing with the mule?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's rid'n' him fer Cass. She's tryin' to get the ground ready fer a
+crap. Hit's all we can do. Our women nevah war used to do such work
+neither, but she would try."</p>
+
+<p>"What's that? Is she ploughing?" he asked sharply, and strode away.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p><p>"I reckon she don't want ye there, Doctah," the widow called after him,
+but he walked on.</p>
+
+<p>The land lay in a warm hollow completely surrounded by hills. It had
+been many years cleared, and the mellow soil was free from stumps and
+roots. When Thryng arrived, three furrows had been run rather crookedly
+the length of the patch, and Cassandra stood surveying them ruefully,
+flushed and troubled, holding to the handles of the small plough and
+struggling to set it straight for the next furrow.</p>
+
+<p>The noise of the fall behind them covered his approach, and ere she was
+aware he was at her side. Placing his two hands over hers which clung
+stubbornly to the handles of the plough, he possessed himself of them.
+Laughingly he turned her about after the short tussle, and looked down
+into her warm, flushed face. Still holding her hands, he pulled her away
+from the plough to the grassy edge of the field, leaving Hoyle waiting
+astride the mule.</p>
+
+<p>"Whoa, mule. Stand still thar," he shrilled, as the beast sought to
+cross the bit of ploughed ground to reach the grass beyond.</p>
+
+<p>"Let him eat a minute, Hoyle," said David. "Let him eat until I come.
+Now, Miss Cassandra, what does this mean? Do you think you can plough
+all that land? Is that it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I must."</p>
+
+<p>"You must not."</p>
+
+<p>"There is no one else now. I must." He could feel her hands quiver in
+his, as he forcibly held them, and knew from her panting breath how her
+heart was beating. She held her head high, nevertheless, and looked
+bravely back into his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"You must let me&mdash;" he paused. Intuitively he knew he must not say as
+yet what he would. "Let me direct you a little. You have been most kind
+to me&mdash;and&mdash;it is my place; I am a doctor, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"If I were sick or hurt, I would give heed to you, I would do anything
+you say; but I'm not, and this is laid on me to do. Leave go my hands,
+Doctor Thryng."</p>
+
+<p>"If you'll sit down here a moment and talk this thing out with me, I
+will. Now tell me first of all, why is this laid on you?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p><p>"Frale is gone and it must be done, or we will have no crop, and then
+we must sell the animals, and then go down and live like poor white
+trash." Her low, passive monotone sounded like a moan of sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>"You must hire some one to do this heavy work."</p>
+
+<p>"Every one is working his own patch now, and&mdash;no, I have no money to
+hire with. I reckon I've thought it all over every way, Doctor." She
+looked sadly down at her hands and then up at the mountain top. "I know
+you think this is no work for a girl to do, and you are right. Our women
+never have done such. Only in the war times my Grandmother Caswell did
+it, and I can now. A girl can do what she must. I have no way to turn
+but to live as my people have lived before me. I thought once I might do
+different, go to school and keep separate&mdash;but&mdash;" She spread out her
+hands with a hopeless gesture, and rose to resume her work.</p>
+
+<p>"Give me a moment longer. I'm not through yet. That's right, now listen.
+I see the truth of what you say, and I came down this morning to make a
+proposition to your mother&mdash;not for your sake only&mdash;don't be afraid, for
+my own as well; but I didn't make it because I hadn't time. She told me
+what you were doing, and I hurried off to stop you. Don't speak yet, let
+me finish. I feel I have the right, because I know&mdash;I know I was sent
+here just now for a purpose&mdash;guided to come here." He paused to allow
+his words to have their full weight. Whether she would perceive his
+meaning remained to be seen.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand." She spoke quietly. "Doctor Hoyle sent you to be helped
+like he was&mdash;and you have been right kind to more than us. You've helped
+that many it seems like you were sent here for we-all as well as for
+your own sake, but that can't help me now, Doctor; it&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, yes it can. I'm far from well yet. I shall be, but I must stay on
+for a long time, and I want some interest here. I want to see things of
+my own growing. The ground up around my little cabin is stony and very
+poor, and I want to rent this little farm of yours. Listen&mdash;I'll pay
+enough so you need not sell your cattle, and you&mdash;you can go on with
+your weaving. You can work in the house again as you have always done.
+Sometime,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> when your mother is stronger, you can take up your life again
+and go to school&mdash;as you meant to live&mdash;can't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"That can never be now. If you take the farm or not, I must bide on here
+in the old way. I must take up the life my mother lived and my
+grandmother, and hers before her. It is mine, forever, to live it that way&mdash;or die."</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you talk so?"</p>
+
+<p>"God knows, but I can't tell you. Thank you, suh. I will be right glad
+to rent you the farm. I'd a heap rather you had it than any one else I
+ever knew, for we care more for it than you would guess, but for the
+rest&mdash;no. I must bide and work till I die; only maybe I can save little
+Hoyle and give him a chance to learn something, for he never could
+work&mdash;being like he is."</p>
+
+<p>Thryng's eyes danced with joy as he regarded her. "Hoyle is not going to
+be always as he is, and he shall have the chance to learn something
+also. Look up, Miss Cassandra, look squarely into my eyes and laugh. Be
+happy, Miss Cassandra, and laugh. I say it."</p>
+
+<p>She laughed softly then. She could not help it.</p>
+
+<p>"Wasn't that what the 'Voices' were saying last night when you followed?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes. They seemed like they were calling, 'Hope, hope,' but they
+were not the real 'Voices.' You made it."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I made it; and I was truly calling that to you. And you replied;
+you came to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but that is different from the 'Voices' she heard."</p>
+
+<p>"But if they called the truth to you&mdash;what then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Doctah, there is no longer any hope for me. God called me and let me
+cut off all hope, once. I did it, and now, only death can change it."</p>
+
+<p>"If I believe you, you must believe me. We won't talk of it any more.
+I'm hungry. Your mother was churning up there; let's go and get some
+buttermilk, and settle the business of the rent. You've run three good
+furrows and I'll run three more beside them&mdash;my first, remember, in all
+my life. Then we'll plant that strip to sunflowers. Come, Hoyle, tie the
+mule and follow us."</p>
+
+<p>So David carried his way. They walked merrily back to the house,
+chattering of his plans and what he would raise. He knew nothing
+whatever of the sort of crops to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> be raised, and she was na&iuml;vely gay at
+his expense, a mood he was overjoyed to awaken in her. He vowed that
+merely to walk over ploughed ground made a man stronger.</p>
+
+<p>On the porch he sat and drank his buttermilk and, placing his paper on
+the step, drew up a contract for rent. Then Cassandra went to her
+weaving, and he and Hoyle returned to the field, where with much labor
+he succeeded in turning three furrows beside Cassandra's, rather crooked
+and uncertain ones, it is true, but quite as good as hers, as Hoyle
+reluctantly admitted, which served to give David a higher respect for
+farmers in general and ploughmen especially.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DAVID DISCOVERS CASSANDRA'S TROUBLE</h3>
+
+<p>After turning his furrows, David told Hoyle to ride the mule to the
+stable, then he sat himself on the fence, and meditated. He bethought
+him that in the paper he had drawn up he had made no provision for the
+use of the mule. He wiped his forehead and rubbed the perspiration from
+his hair, and coughed a little after his exertion, glad at heart to find
+himself so well off.</p>
+
+<p>He would come and plough a little every day. Then he began to calculate
+the number of days it would take him to finish the patch, measuring the
+distance covered by the six furrows with his eye, and comparing it with
+the whole. He laughed to find that, at the rate of six furrows a day,
+the task would take him well on into the summer. Plainly he must find a ploughman.</p>
+
+<p>Then the laying out of the ground! Why should he not have a vineyard up
+on the farther hill slope? He never could have any fruit from it, but
+what of that! Even if he went away and never returned, he would know it
+to be adding its beauty to this wonderful dream. Who could know what the
+future held for him&mdash;what this little spot might mean to him in the days
+to come? That he would go out, fully recovered and strong to play his
+part in life, he never doubted. Might not this idyl be a part of it? He
+thought of the girl sitting at her loom, swaying as she threw her
+shuttle with the rhythm of a poem, and weaving&mdash;weaving his life and his
+heart into her web, unknown to herself&mdash;weaving a thread of joy through
+it all which as yet she could not see. He knocked the ashes from his
+pipe and stood a moment gazing about him.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, he really must have a vineyard, and a bit of pasture somewhere, and
+a field of clover. What grew best there he little knew, so he decided to
+go up and consult the widow.</p>
+
+<p>There were other things also to claim his thoughts.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> Over toward "Wild
+Cat Hole" there was a woman who needed his care; and he must not become
+so absorbed in his pastoral romance as to forget Hoyle. He was looking
+actually haggard these last few days, and his mother said he would not
+eat. It might be that he needed more than the casual care he was giving
+him. Possibly he could take him to Doctor Hoyle's hospital for radical
+treatment later in the season, when his crops were well started. He
+smiled as he thought of his crops, then laughed outright, and strolled
+back to the house, weary and hungry, and happy as a boy.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, now, I like the look of ye," called the old mother from the
+porch, where she still sat. "'Pears like it's done ye good a-ready to
+turn planter. The' hain't nothin' better'n the smell o' new sile fer
+them 'at's consumpted."</p>
+
+<p>"Mother," cried Cassandra from within, "don't call the doctor that! Come
+up and have dinner with us, Doctor." She set a chair for him as she
+spoke, but he would not. As he stood below them, looking up and
+exchanging merry banter with her mother, he laughed his contagious laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"I bet he's tired," shrilled Hoyle, from his perch on the porch roof.
+"He be'n settin' on the fence smokin' an' rubbin' his hade with his
+handkercher like he'd had enough with his ploughin'. You can nigh about
+beat him, Cass. Hisn didn't look no better'n what yourn looked."</p>
+
+<p>"Here, you young rascal you, come down from there," cried David.
+Catching him by the foot, which hung far enough over to be within reach
+of his long arm, he pulled him headlong from his high position and
+caught him in mid-air. "Now, how shall I punish you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ye bettah whollop him. He hain't nevah been switched good in his hull
+life. Maybe that's what ails him."</p>
+
+<p>The child grinned. "I hain't afeared. Get me down on the ground oncet,
+an' I c'n run faster'n he can."</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose I duck him in the water trough yonder?"</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon he needs it. He generally do," smiled Cassandra from the
+doorway. "Come, son, go wash up." David allowed the child to slip to the
+ground. "Seems like Hoyle is right enough about you, though. Don't go
+away up the hill; bide here and have dinner first."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p><p>David dropped on the step for a moment's rest. "I see I must make a way
+up to my cabin that will not pass your door. How about that? Was dinner
+included in the rent, and the mule and the mule's dinner? And what is
+Hoyle going to pay me for allowing him to ride Pete up and down while I plough?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, an' what are ye goin' to give him fer 'lowin' ye to set his hade
+round straight, an' what are ye goin' to give me fer 'lowin' ye to set
+me on my laigs again? Ef ye go a-countin' that-a-way, I'm 'feared ye're
+layin' up a right smart o' debt to we-uns. I reckon you'll use that mule
+all ye want to, an' ye'll lick him good, too, when he needs hit, an'
+take keer o' yourself, fer he's a mean critter; an' ye'll keep that path
+right whar hit is, fer hit goes with the farm long's you bide up yandah."</p>
+
+<p>"You good people have the best of me; we'll call it all even. Ever since
+I leaped off that train in the snow, I have been dependent on you for my
+comfort. Well, I must hurry on; since I've turned farmer I'm a busy man.
+Can you suggest any one I might get to do that ploughing? Miss Cassandra
+here may be able to do it without help, but I confess I'm not equal to it."</p>
+
+<p>"I be'n tellin' Cass that thar Elwine Timms, he ought to be able to do
+the hull o' that work. Widow Timmses' son. They live ovah nigh the
+Gerret place thar at Lone Pine Creek. He used to help Frale with the
+still. An' then thar's Hoke Belew&mdash;he ought to do sumthin' fer all you
+done fer his wife&mdash;sittin' up the hull night long, an' gettin' up at
+midnight to run to them. Oh, I hearn a heap sittin' here. Things comes
+to me that-a-way. Thar hain't much goin' on within twenty mile o' here
+'at I don't know. They is plenty hereabouts owes you a heap."</p>
+
+<p>"I think I've been treated very well. They keep me supplied with all I
+need. What more can a man ask? The other day, a man brought me a sack of
+corn meal, fresh and sweet from the mill&mdash;a man with six children and a
+sick mother to feed, but what could I do? He would leave it, and
+I&mdash;well, I&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"When they bring ye things, you take 'em. Ye'll help 'em a heap more
+that-a-way 'n ye will curin' 'em. The' hain't nothin' so good fer a man
+as payin' his debts. Hit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> keeps his hade up whar a man 'at's good fer
+anything ought to keep hit. I hearn a heap o' talk here in these
+mountains 'bouts bein' stuck up, but I tell 'em if a body feels he
+hain't good fer nothin', he pretty generally hain't. He'd a heap better
+feel stuck up to my thinkin'."</p>
+
+<p>"They've done pretty well, all who could. They've brought me everything
+from corn whiskey to fodder for my horse. A woman brought me a bag of
+dried blueberries the other day. I don't know what to do with them. I
+have to take them, for I can't be graceless enough to send them away
+with their gifts."</p>
+
+<p>"You bring 'em here, an' Cass'll make ye a blueberry cake to eat hot
+with butter melt'n' on hit 'at'll make ye think the world's a good place to live in."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll do it," he said, laughing, and took his solitary path up the
+steep. Halfway to his cabin, he heard quick, scrambling steps behind
+him, and, turning, saw little Hoyle bringing Cassandra's small
+melon-shaped basket, covered with a white cloth.</p>
+
+<p>"I said I could run faster'n you could. Cass, she sont some th' chick'n
+fry." He thrust the basket at Thryng and turned to run home.</p>
+
+<p>"Here, here!" David called after the twisted, hunched little figure.
+"You tell your sister 'thank you very much,' for me. Will you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, suh," and the queer little gnome disappeared among the laurel below.</p>
+
+<p>In the morning, David found the place of the Widow Timms, and her son
+agreed to come down the next day and accept wages for work. A weary,
+spiritless young man he was, and the home as poverty-stricken as was
+that of Decatur Irwin, and with almost as many children. It was with a
+feeling of depression that David rode on after his call, leaving the
+grandmother seated in the doorway, snuff stick between her yellow teeth,
+the grandchildren clustering about her knees, or squatting in the dirt,
+like young savages. Their father lounged in the wretched cabin, hardly
+to be seen in the windowless, smoke-blackened space nearly filled with
+beds heaped with ragged bedclothes, and broken splint-bottomed chairs
+hung about with torn and soiled garments.</p>
+
+<p>The dirt and disorder irritated David, and he felt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> angered at the
+clay-faced son for not being out preparing his little patch of ground.
+Fortunately, he had been able to conceal his annoyance enough to secure
+the man's promise to begin work next day, or he would have gained
+nothing but the family's resentment for his pains. Already David had
+learned that a sort of resentful pride was the last shred of
+respectability to which the poorest and most thriftless of the mountain
+people clung&mdash;pride of he knew not what, and resentfulness toward any
+who, by thrift and labor, were better off than themselves.</p>
+
+<p>He reasoned that as the young man had been Frale's helper at the still,
+no doubt corn whiskey was at the bottom of their misery. This brought
+his mind to the thought of Frale himself. The young man had not been
+mentioned between him and Cassandra since the day she sought his help.
+He thought he could not be far from the still, as he forded Lone Pine
+Creek, on his way to the home of Hoke Belew, whose wife he was going to see.</p>
+
+<p>David was interested in this young family; they seemed to him to be
+quite of the better sort, and as he put space between himself and the
+Widow Timms' deplorable state, his irritation gradually passed, and he
+was able to take note of the changes a week had wrought in the growing
+things about him.</p>
+
+<p>More than once he diverged to investigate blossoming shrubs which were
+new to him, attracted now by a sweet odor where no flowers appeared,
+until closer inspection revealed them, and now by a blaze of color
+against the dark background of laurel leaves and gray rocks. Ah, the
+flaming azalea had made its appearance at last, huge clusters of
+brilliant bloom on leafless shrubs. How dazzlingly gay!</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of his observance of things about him, and underneath his
+surface thoughts, he carried with him a continual feeling of
+satisfaction in the remembrance of the little farm below the Fall Place,
+and in an amused way planned about it, and built idly his "Castles in
+Spain." A bit of stone wall whose lower end was overgrown with vines
+pleased him especially, and a few enormous trees, which had been left
+standing when the spot had been originally cleared, and the
+vine-entangled, drooping trees along the banks of the small river that
+coursed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> crookedly through it,&mdash;what possibilities it all presented to
+his imagination! If only he could find the right man to carry out his
+ideas for him, he would lease the place for fifty years for the
+privilege of doing as he would with it.</p>
+
+<p>After a time he came out upon the cleared farm of Hoke Belew, who was
+industriously ploughing his field for cotton, and called out to him,
+"How's the wife?"</p>
+
+<p>"She hain't not to say right smart, an' the baby don't act like he's
+well, neither, suh. Ride on to th' house an' light. She's thar, an' I'll
+be up d'rectly."</p>
+
+<p>Thryng rode on and dismounted, tying his horse to a sapling near the
+door. The place was an old one. A rose vine, very ancient, covered the
+small porch and the black, old, moss-grown roof. The small green foliage
+had come out all over it in the week since he was last there. The glazed
+windows were open, and white homespun curtains were swaying in the light
+breeze. A small fire blazed on the hearth, and before it, in a
+huge-splint-bottomed rocking-chair, the pale young mother reclined
+languidly, wrapped in a patchwork quilt. The hearth was swept and all
+was neat, but very bare.</p>
+
+<p>Close to the black fireplace on a low chair, with the month-old baby on
+her knees, sat Cassandra. She was warming something at the fire, which
+she reached over to stir now and then, while the red light played
+brightly over her sweet, grave face. Very intent she was, and lovely to
+see. She wore a creamy white homespun gown, coarse in texture, such as
+she had begun to wear about the house since the warm days had come.
+Thryng had seen her in such a dress but once before, and he liked it.
+With one arm guarding the little bundle in her lap, dividing her
+attention between it and the porridge she was making, she sat, a living
+embodiment of David's vision, silhouetted against and haloed by the red
+fire, softened by the blue, obscuring smoke-wreaths that slowly circled
+in great rings and then swept up the wide, overarching chimney.</p>
+
+<p>He heard her low voice speaking, and his heart leaped toward her as he
+stood an instant, unheeded by them, ere he rapped lightly. They both
+turned with a slight start. Cassandra rose, holding the sleeping babe in
+the hollow of her arm, and set a chair for him before the fire. Then
+she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> laid the child carefully in the mother's arms, and removed the
+porridge from the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I call Hoke?" she asked, moving toward the door.</p>
+
+<p>David did not want her to leave them, loving the sight of her. "Don't
+go. I saw him as I came along," he said.</p>
+
+<p>But she went on, and sat herself on a seat under a huge locust tree.
+Tardiest of all the trees, it had not yet leaved out. Later it would be
+covered with a wealth of sweet white blossoms swarming with honey-bees,
+and the air all about it would be filled with its lavish fragrance and
+the noise of humming wings.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Hoke came plodding up from the field, and smiled as he passed
+her. "Doc inside?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>She nodded. When David came out, he found her still seated there, her
+head resting wearily against the rough tree. She rose and came toward him.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought I wouldn't leave until I knew if there was anything more I
+could do," she said simply.</p>
+
+<p>"No, you've done all you can. She'll be all right. Where's your horse?"</p>
+
+<p>"I walked."</p>
+
+<p>"Why did you do that? You ought not, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Hoyle rode the colt down to see could Aunt Sally come here for a day or
+two, until Miz Belew can do for herself better." She turned back to the house.</p>
+
+<p>"Come home now with me. Ride my horse, and I'll walk. I'd like to walk," urged David.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no. Thank you, Doctor, I must speak to Azalie first. Don't wait."</p>
+
+<p>She went in, and David mounted and rode slowly on, but not far. Where
+the trail led through a small stream which he knew she must cross, he
+dismounted and allowed the horse to drink, while he stood looking back
+along the way for her to come to him. Soon he saw her white dress among
+the glossy rhododendron leaves as she moved swiftly along, and he walked
+back to meet her.</p>
+
+<p>"I have waited for you. You are not used to this kind of a saddle, I
+know, but what's the difference? You can ride cross-saddle as the young
+ladies do in the North, can't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon I could." She laughed a little. "Do they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> ride that way where
+you come from? It must look right funny. I don't guess I'd like it."</p>
+
+<p>"But just try&mdash;to please me? Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"If you don't mind, I'd rather walk, please, suh. Don't wait."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I will walk with you. I may do that, may I not?" He caught the
+bridle-rein on the saddle, leaving the horse to browse along behind as
+he would, and walked at her side. She made no further protest, but was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't object to this, do you?" he insisted.</p>
+
+<p>"It's pleasanter than being alone, but it's right far to walk, seems like, for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why not for you?" She smiled her mysterious, quiet smile. "You
+must know that I am stronger than you?" he persisted.</p>
+
+<p>"I ought to think so, since that day we rode over to Cate Irwin's, but I
+was right afraid for you that time, lest you get cold; and then it was
+me&mdash;" she paused, and looked squarely in his eyes and laughed. "You
+wouldn't say 'it was me,' would you?"</p>
+
+<p>He joined merrily in her laughter. "I never corrected you on that."</p>
+
+<p>"You never did, but you didn't need to. I often know, after I've said
+something&mdash;not&mdash;right&mdash;as you would say it."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you, indeed?" he walked nearer, boyishly happy because she was close
+beside him. He wanted to touch her, to take her hand and walk as
+children do, but could not because of the subtile barrier he felt
+between them. He determined to break it down. "Finish what you were
+saying? And then it was me&mdash;what?"</p>
+
+<p>"And then it was I who gave out, not you."</p>
+
+<p>"But you were a heroine&mdash;a heroine from the ground up, and I love you."
+He spoke with such boyish impulsiveness that she took the remark as one
+of his extravagances, and merely smiled indulgently, as if amused at it.
+She did not even flush, but accepted it as she would an outburst from Hoyle.</p>
+
+<p>David was amazed. It only served to show him how completely outside that
+charmed circle within which she lived he still was. He was maddened by
+it. He came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> nearer and bent to look in her face, until she lifted her
+eyes to look fairly in his.</p>
+
+<p>"That's right. Look at me and understand me. I waited there only that I
+might tell you. Why do you put a wall between us? I tell you I love you.
+I love you, Cassandra; do you understand?"</p>
+
+<p>She stood quite still and gazed at him in amazement, almost as if in
+terror. Her face grew white, and she pressed her two hands on her heart,
+then slowly slid them up to her round white throat as if it hurt her&mdash;a
+movement he had seen in her twice before, when suffering emotion.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Cassandra, does it hurt you for me to tell you that I love you?
+Beautiful girl, does it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh," she said huskily.</p>
+
+<p>He would have taken her in his arms, but refrained for very love of her.
+She should be sacred even from his touch, if she so wished, and the
+barrier, whatever it might be, should halo her. He had spoken so
+tenderly he had no need to tell her. The love was in his eyes and his
+voice, but he went on.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I must be cruel and hurt you. I love you all the days and the
+nights&mdash;all the moments of the days&mdash;I love you."</p>
+
+<p>In very terror, she flung out her hands and placed them on his breast,
+holding him thus at arm's-length, and with head thrown back, still
+looked into his eyes piteously, imploringly. With trembling lips, she
+seemed to be speaking, but no voice came. He covered her hands with his,
+and held them where she had placed them.</p>
+
+<p>"You have put a wall between us. Why have you done it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't&mdash;didn't know; I thought you were&mdash;as far&mdash;as far away from us
+as the star&mdash;the star of gold is&mdash;from our world in the night&mdash;so far&mdash;I
+didn't guess&mdash;you could come so&mdash;near." She bowed her head and wept.</p>
+
+<p>"You are the star yourself, you beautiful&mdash;you are&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>But she stopped him, crying out. She could not draw her hands away, for
+he still held them clasped to his heart.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no! The wall is there. It must be between us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> for always, I am
+promised." The grief wailed and wept in her tones, and her eyes were
+wide and pleading. "I must lead my life, and you&mdash;you must stay outside
+the wall. If you love me&mdash;Doctor,&mdash;you must never know it, and I must
+never know it." Her beating heart stopped her speech and they both stood
+thus a moment, each seeing only the other's soul.</p>
+
+<p>"Promised?" The word sank into his heart like lead. "Promised?" Slowly
+he released her hands, and she covered her face with them and sank at
+his feet. He bent down to her and asked almost in a whisper: "Promised?
+Did you say that word?"</p>
+
+<p>She drooped lower and was silent.</p>
+
+<p>All the chivalry of his nature rose within him. Should he come into her
+life only to torment and trouble her? Ought he to leave the place? Could
+he bear to live so near her? What had she done&mdash;this flower? Was she to
+be devoured by swine? The questions clamored at the door of his heart.
+But one thing could he see clearly. He must wait without the wall,
+seeking only to serve and protect her.</p>
+
+<p>With the unerring instinct which led her always straight to the mark,
+she had seen the only right course. He repeated her words over and over
+to himself. "If you love me, you must never know it, and I must never
+know it." Her heart should be sacred from his personal intrusion, and
+their old relations must be re&euml;stablished, at whatever cost to himself.</p>
+
+<p>With flash-light clearness he saw his difficulty, and that only by the
+elimination of self could he serve her, and also that her manner of
+receiving his revelation had but intensified his feeling for her. The
+few short moments seemed hours of struggle with himself ere he raised
+her to her feet and spoke quietly, in his old way.</p>
+
+<p>He lifted her hand to his lips. "It is past, Miss Cassandra. We will
+drop these few moments out of your life into a deep well, and it shall
+be as if they had never been." He thought as he spoke that the well was
+his own heart, but that he would not say, for henceforth his love and
+service must be selfless. "We may be good friends still? Just as we were?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh," she spoke meekly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p><p>"And we can go right on helping each other, as we have done all these
+weeks? I do not need to leave you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, no!" She spoke with a gasp of dismay at the thought. "It&mdash;won't
+hurt so much if I can see you going right on&mdash;getting strong&mdash;like you
+have been, and being happy&mdash;and&mdash;" She paused in her slowly trailing
+speech and looked about her. They were down in a little glen, and there
+were no mountain tops in sight for her to look up to as was her custom.</p>
+
+<p>"And what, Cassandra? Finish what you were saying." Still for a while
+she was silent, and they walked on together. "And now won't you say what
+you were going to say?" He could not talk himself, and he longed to hear her voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I was thinking of the music you made. It was so glad. I can't talk and
+say always what I think, like you do, but seems like it won't hurt me so
+here," she put her hand to her throat, "where it always hurts me when I
+am sorry at anything, if I can hear you glad in the music&mdash;like you were
+that&mdash;night I thought you were the 'Voices.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Cassandra, it shall be glad for you, always."</p>
+
+<p>She looked into his eyes an instant with the clear light of
+understanding in her own. "But for you? It is for you I want it to be glad."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DAVID VISITS THE BISHOP, AND FRALE SEES HIS ENEMY</h3>
+
+<p>The bishop was seated in a deep canvas chair on his wide veranda,
+looking out over his garden toward a distant line of blue hills. His
+little wife sat close to his side on a low rocker, very busy with the
+making of buttonholes in a small girl's frock of white dimity and lace.
+Betty Towers loved lace and pretty things.</p>
+
+<p>The small girl was playing about the garden paths with her puppy and
+chattering with Frale in her high, happy, childish voice, while he bent
+weeding among the beds of okra and egg-plant. His face wore a more than
+usually discontented look, even when answering the child with teasing
+banter. Now and then he lifted his eyes from his work and watched
+furtively the movements of David Thryng, who was pacing restlessly up
+and down the long veranda in earnest conversation with the bishop and his wife.</p>
+
+<p>The two in the garden could not understand what was being said at the
+house, but each party could hear the voices of the other, and by calling
+out a little could easily converse across the dividing hedge and the intervening space.</p>
+
+<p>"Talk about the influence of the beautiful in nature upon the human
+soul,&mdash;it is all very pretty, but I believe the soul must be more or
+less enlightened to feel it. I've learned a few things among your people
+up there in the mountains. Strange beings they are."</p>
+
+<p>"It only goes to show that heredity alone won't do everything," said the
+bishop, placing the tips of his fingers together and frowning meditatively.</p>
+
+<p>"Heredity? It means a lot to us over there in England."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes. But your old families need a little new blood in them now and
+then, even if they have to come over here for it."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p><p>"For that and&mdash;your money&mdash;yes." Thryng laughed. "But these mountain
+people of yours, who are they anyway?"</p>
+
+<p>"Most of them are of as pure a strain of British as any in the world&mdash;as
+any you will find at home. They have their heredity&mdash;and only that&mdash;from
+all your classes over there, but it is from those of a hundred or more
+years ago. They are the unmixed descendants of those you sent over here
+for gain, drove over by tyranny, or exported for crime."</p>
+
+<p>"How unmixed in your most horribly mixed and mongrel population?"</p>
+
+<p>"Circumstances and environment have kept them to the pure stock, and
+neglect has left them untrammelled by civilization and unaided by
+education. Time and generations of ignorance have deteriorated them, and
+nature alone&mdash;as you were but now admitting&mdash;has hardly served to arrest
+the process by the survival of the fittest."</p>
+
+<p>"Nature&mdash;yes&mdash;how do you account for it? I have been in the grandest,
+most wonderful places, I venture to say, that are to be found on earth,
+and among all the glory that nature can throw around a man, he is still,
+if left to himself, more bestial than the beasts. He destroys and
+defaces and defiles nature; he kills&mdash;for the mere sake of killing&mdash;more
+than he needs; he enslaves himself to his appetites and passions,
+follows them wildly, yields to them recklessly; and destroys himself and
+all the beauty around him that he can reach, wantonly. Why, Bishop
+Towers, sometimes I've gone out and looked up at the stars above me and
+wondered which was real, they and the marvellous beauty all around me,
+or the three hundred reeking humanity sleeping in the camp beneath them.
+Sometimes it seemed as if only hell were real, and the camp was a bit of
+it let loose to mock at heaven."</p>
+
+<p>"We mustn't forget that what is transitory is not a part of God's
+eternity of spirit and truth."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, yes! But we do forget. And some transitory things are mighty
+hard to endure, especially if they must endure for a lifetime."</p>
+
+<p>David was thinking of Cassandra and what in all probability would be her
+doom. He had not mentioned her name, but he had come down with the
+intention of learning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> all he could about her, and if possible to whom
+she was "promised." He feared it might be the low-browed, handsome youth
+bending over the garden beds beyond the hedge, and his heart rebelled
+and cried out fiercely within him, "What a waste, what a waste!"</p>
+
+<p>Betty Towers, intent on her sewing, felt the thrill that intensified
+David's tone, and she, too, thought of Cassandra. She dropped her work
+in her lap and looked earnestly in her husband's face.</p>
+
+<p>"James, I feel just as Doctor Thryng does&mdash;when I think of some things.
+When I see a tragedy coming to a human soul, I feel that a lifetime of
+transitory things like that is hard to endure. Fancy, James! Think of
+Cassandra. You know her, Doctor Thryng, of course. They live just below
+your place. She is the Widow Farwell's daughter, but her name is Merlin."</p>
+
+<p>David arrested his impatient stride and, drawing a chair near her,
+dropped into it. "What about her?" he said. "What is the tragedy?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think, Betty, the hills must keep their own secrets," said the bishop.</p>
+
+<p>His little wife compressed her lips, glanced over the hedge at the young
+man who happened at the moment to have straightened from his bent
+position among the plants and was gazing at their guest, then resumed her sewing.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it something I must not be told?" asked David, quietly. "But I may
+have my suspicions. Naturally we can't help that."</p>
+
+<p>"I think it is better to know the truth. I don't like suspicions. They
+are sure to lead to harm. James, let me put it to the doctor as I see
+it, and see what he thinks of it."</p>
+
+<p>"As you please, dear."</p>
+
+<p>"It's like this. Have you seen anything of that girl or observed her much?"</p>
+
+<p>"I certainly have."</p>
+
+<p>"Then, of course, you can see that she is one of the best of the
+mountain people, can't you? Well! She has promised to marry&mdash;promised to
+marry&mdash;think of it! one of the wildest, most reckless of those mountain
+boys, one that she knows very well has been in illicit distilling.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> He
+is a lawbreaker in that way; and, more than that, he drinks, and in a
+drunken row he shot dead his friend."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" David rose, turned away, and again paced the piazza. Then he
+returned to his seat. "I see. The young man I tried to help off when I first arrived."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. There he is."</p>
+
+<p>"I see. Handsome type."</p>
+
+<p>"He's down here now, keeping quiet. How long it will last, no one knows.
+Justice is lax in the mountains. His father shot three or four men
+before he died himself of a gunshot wound which he received while
+resisting the officers of the law. If there's a man left in the family
+to follow this thing up, Frale will be hunted down and arrested or shot;
+otherwise, when things have cooled off a little up there, he will go
+back and open up the old business, and the tragedy will be repeated.
+James, you know how often after the best you could do and all their
+promises, they go back to it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I admit it's always a question. They don't seem to be content in the
+low country. I think it is often a sort of natural gravitation back to
+the mountains where they were born and bred, more than it is depravity."</p>
+
+<p>"I know, James, but that excuse won't help Cassandra."</p>
+
+<p>"Why did she do it?" asked David. "She must have known to what such a
+marriage would bring her."</p>
+
+<p>"Do it? That is the sort of girl she is. If she thought she ought, she
+would leap over that fall there."</p>
+
+<p>"But why should she think she ought? Had she given her&mdash;promise&mdash;" David
+saw her as she appeared to him when she had said that word to him on the
+mountain, and it silenced him, but only for a moment. He would learn all
+he could of her motives now. He must&mdash;he would know. "I mean before he
+did this, before she went away to study&mdash;had she made him such a&mdash;promise?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. You tell him about it, James. You have seen her and talked with
+her. They were quarrelling about her, as I understand, and she thinks
+because she was the cause of the deed she must help him make
+retribution. Isn't that it, James? She knows perfectly well what it
+means for her, for she has had her aspirations. I can see it all. Frale
+says he was not drunk nor his friend either. He says the other man
+claimed&mdash;but I won't go into that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>&mdash;only Cassandra promised him before
+God, he says, that if he would repent, she would marry him. And when she
+was here she used to talk about the way those women live. How her own
+mother has worked and aged! Why, she is not yet sixty. You have seen how
+they live in their wretched little cabins, Doctor; that's what Frale
+would doom her to. He never in life will understand her. He'll grow old
+like his father,&mdash;a passionate, ignorant, untamed animal, and worse, for
+he would be drunken as well. He's been drunk twice since he came down
+here. James, you know they think it's perfectly right to get drunk Saturday afternoon."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it seems a terrible waste; but if she has children, she will be
+able to do more for them than her mother has done for her, and they will
+have her inheritance; so her life can't be wholly wasted, even if she is
+not able to live up to her aspirations."</p>
+
+<p>"James Towers! I&mdash;that&mdash;it's because you are a man that you can talk so!
+I'm ashamed, and you a bishop! I wish&mdash;" Betty's eyes were full of angry
+tears. "I only wish you were a woman. Slowly improve the race by bearing
+children&mdash;giving them her inheritance! How would she bear them? Year
+after year&mdash;ill fed, half clothed, slaving to raise enough to hold their
+souls in their bodies, bringing them into the world for a brute who
+knows only enough to make corn whiskey&mdash;to sell it&mdash;and drink it&mdash;and
+reproduce his kind&mdash;when&mdash;when she knows all the time what ought to be!
+Oh, James, James, think of it!"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, my dear, you forget, he has promised to repent and live a
+different life. If he does, things will be better than we now see them.
+If he does not change, then we may interfere&mdash;perhaps."</p>
+
+<p>"I know, James. But&mdash;but&mdash;suppose he repents and she becomes his wife,
+and puts aside all her natural tastes, and the studies she loves, and
+goes on living with him there on the home place, and he does the best he
+can&mdash;even. Don't you see that her nature is fine and&mdash;and so
+different&mdash;even at the best, James, for her it will be death in life.
+And then there is the terrible chance, after all, that he might go back
+and be like his father before him, and then what?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p><p>"Well, their lives and destinies are not in our hands; we can only
+watch out for them and help them."</p>
+
+<p>"James, he has been drunk twice!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, Betty, my little tempest, and if he gets drunk twice more,
+and twice more, she will still forgive him until seventy times seven. We
+must make her see that unless he keeps his promise to her, she must give
+him up."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course. I suppose that's all we can do. I&mdash;don't know what you'll
+think of me, Doctor Thryng; I'm a dreadful scold. If James were not an angel&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It's perfectly delicious. I would rather hear you scold than&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Than hear James preach," laughed the bishop. "I agree with you."</p>
+
+<p>"I agree with her," said David, emphatically. "It ought to be stopped if&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"If it ought to be, it will be. What do you think she said to me about
+it when I went to reason with her? 'If Christ can forgive and stand such
+as he, I can. It is laid on my soul to do this.' I had no more to say."</p>
+
+<p>"That is one point of view, but we mustn't lose sight of the practical,
+either. To be his wife and bear his children&mdash;I call it a waste, a&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes. So it is." And what more could the bishop say? After a
+little, he added, "But still we must not forget that he, too, is a human
+soul and has a value as great as hers."</p>
+
+<p>"According to your viewpoint, but not to mine&mdash;not to mine. If a man is
+enslaved to his own appetites, he has no right to enslave another to them."</p>
+
+<p>The following day David took himself back to his hermitage, setting
+aside all persuasions to remain.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't make a recluse of yourself," begged the bishop's wife. "The
+amenities of life can't always be dispensed with, and we need you, James
+and I, you and your music."</p>
+
+<p>David laughed. "I'm too fatally human to become a recluse, and as for
+the amenities, they are not all of one order, you know. I find plenty of
+scope for exercising them on others, and I often submit to having them
+exercised on me,&mdash;after their own ideas." He laughed again. "I wish you
+could look into my larder. You'd find me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> provided with all the hills
+afford. They have loaded me with gifts."</p>
+
+<p>"No wonder! I know what your life up there means to them, taking care of
+their mothers and babies, and sitting up with them nights, going to them
+when they are in trouble, rain or shine, and visiting them in their
+bare, wretched, crowded homes."</p>
+
+<p>"It wouldn't be so bad often, if it weren't that when a family is in
+serious trouble or has a case needing quiet and care, the sympathies of
+all their relatives are roused, and they come crowding in. In one case,
+the father was ill with pneumonia. I did all I could for him, and next
+day&mdash;would you believe it?&mdash;I found his sister and her 'old man' and
+their three youngsters, his old mother and a brother and a widowed
+sister, all camped down on them, all in one room. The sister sat by the
+fire nursing her three-months-old baby, his mother was smoking at her
+side, and the sick man's six little children and their three cousins
+were raising Ned, in and out, with three or four hounds. Not one of the
+visitors was helping, or, as they say up there, 'doing a lick,' but the
+wife was cooking for the whole raft when her husband needed all her
+care. Marvellous ideas they have, some of them."</p>
+
+<p>"You ought to write out some of your experiences."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I can't. It would seem like a sort of betrayal of friendship. They
+have adopted me, so to speak, and are so na&iuml;ve and kind, and have
+trusted me&mdash;I think they are my friends. I may be very odd&mdash;you know."</p>
+
+<p>"I know how you feel," said Betty.</p>
+
+<p>The bishop's little daughter had assumed the proprietorship of the
+doctor. She even preferred his companionship to that of her puppy. She
+clung to his hand as he walked away, pulling and swinging upon his arm
+to coax him back. He took her in his arms and carried her out upon the
+walk, the small dog barking and snapping at his heels, as David
+threatened to bear his tyrannical young mistress away to the station.</p>
+
+<p>"Doggie wants you to leave me here," she cried, pounding him vigorously
+with her two little fists.</p>
+
+<p>He brought her back and placed her on the broad, flat top of the high
+gate-post. "Very well, doggie may have you. I will leave you here."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p><p>"Doggie wants you to stay, too." She held him with her small arms about
+his neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, doggie can't have me." He unclinched her chubby hands, crossed
+them in her lap, and held them fast while he kissed her tanned and rosy
+cheek. "Good-by, you young rogue," he said, and strode away.</p>
+
+<p>"Come and lift me down," she wailed. But he knew well she could scramble
+down by herself when she chose, and walked on. She continued to call
+after him; then, spying Frale in the wood yard, she imperatively
+summoned him to her aid, and trotted at his side back to the woodpile,
+where they sat comfortably upon a log and visited together.</p>
+
+<p>They were the best of friends and chattered with each other as if both
+were children. In the slender shadow of a juniper tree that stood like a
+sentinel in the corner of the wood yard they sat, where a high board
+fence separated them from the back street.</p>
+
+<p>The bishop's place was well planted, and this corner had been the
+quarters of the house servants in slave times. It was one of Frale's
+duties to pile here, for winter use, the firewood which he cut in short
+lengths for the kitchen fire, and long lengths for the open fireplaces.</p>
+
+<p>He hated the hampered village life, and round of small duties&mdash;the
+weeding in the garden, cleaning of piazzas and windows, and the sweeping
+of the paths. The woodcutting was not so bad, but the rest he held in
+contempt as women's work. He longed to throw his gun in the hollow of
+his arm and tramp off over his own mountains. At night he often wept,
+for homesickness, and wished he might spend a day tending still, or
+lying on a ridge watching the trail below for intruders on his privacy.</p>
+
+<p>The joy of life had gone out for him. He thought continually of
+Cassandra and desired her; and his soul wearied for her, until he was
+tempted to go back to the mountains at all risks, merely for a sight of
+her. Painfully he had tried to learn to write, working at the copies
+Betty Towers had set for him,&mdash;and certainly she had done all her
+conscientious heart prompted to interest him and keep him away from the
+village loungers. He had even progressed far enough to send two horribly
+spelled missives to Cassandra, feeling great pride in them. And now he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>
+had begun to weary of learning. To be able to write those badly scrawled
+notes was in his eyes surely enough to distinguish him from his
+companions at home; of what use was more?</p>
+
+<p>"What's that you are tossing up in the air? Let me see it," demanded the
+child, as Frale tossed and caught again a small, bright object. He kept
+on tossing it and catching it away from the two little hands stretched
+out to receive it. "Give it to me. Give it to me, Frale. Let me see it."</p>
+
+<p>He dropped it lightly in her palm. "Don't you lose hit. That thar's
+somethin' 'at's got a charm to hit."</p>
+
+<p>"What's a 'charm to hit'? I don't see any charm."</p>
+
+<p>Then Frale laughed aloud. He took it with his thumb and forefinger and
+held it between his eye and the sun. "Is that the way you see the 'charm
+to hit'? Let me try."</p>
+
+<p>But he slipped it in his pocket, first placing it in a small bag which
+he drew up tightly with a string. "Hit hain't nothing you kin see. Hit's
+only a charm 'at makes hit plumb sure to kill anybody 'at hit hits.
+Hit's plumb sure to hit an' plumb sure to kill, too."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Frale! What if it had hit me when you threw it up that
+way&mdash;and&mdash;killed me? Then you'd be sorry, wouldn't you, Frale?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hit nevah wouldn't kill a girl&mdash;a nice little girl&mdash;like you be. Hit's
+charmed that-a-way, 'at hit won't kill nobody what I don't want hit to."</p>
+
+<p>"Then what do you keep it in your pocket for? You don't want to kill
+anybody, do you, Frale?"</p>
+
+<p>"Naw&mdash;I reckon not; not 'thout I have to."</p>
+
+<p>"But you don't have to, do you, Frale?" piped the child.</p>
+
+<p>He rose, and selecting an armful of stove wood carried it into the shed
+and began packing it away. Dorothy sat still on the log, her elbows on
+her knees, her chin in her hands, meditating. A tall man slouched by and
+peered over the high board fence at her. His eyes roved all about the
+place eagerly, keen and black. His matted hair hung long beneath his
+soft felt hat. The child looked up at him with fearless, questioning
+glance, then trotted in to her friend.</p>
+
+<p>"Frale, did you see that man lookin' over the fence?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> You think he was
+lookin' for you, Frale? Come see who 'tis. P'r'aps he's a friend of yours."</p>
+
+<p>"Dorothy, Dorothy," called her mother from the piazza, and the child
+bounded away, her puppy yelping and leaping at her side. The tall man
+turned at the corner and looked back at the child.</p>
+
+<p>The bishop's place occupied one corner of the block, and the fence with
+a hedge beneath it ran the whole length of two sides. Slowly sauntering
+along the second side, the gaunt, hungry-eyed man continued his way,
+searching every part of the yard and garden, even endeavoring, with
+backward, furtive glances, to see into the woodhouse, where in the
+darkness Frale crouched, once more pallid with abject fear, peering
+through the crack where on its hinges the door swung half open.</p>
+
+<p>As the man disappeared down the straggling village street, Frale dropped
+down on the wheelbarrow and buried his haggard face in his hands. A long
+time he sat thus, until the dinner-hour was past, and black Carrie had
+to send Dorothy to call him. Then he rose, but in the place of the white
+and haunted look was one of stubborn recklessness. He strolled to the
+house with the nonchalant air of one who fears no foes, but rather
+glories in meeting them, and sat himself down at his place by the
+kitchen table, where he bantered and badgered Carrie, who waited on him
+reluctantly, with contemptuous tosses of her woolly head. From the day
+of his first appearance there had been war between them, and now Frale
+knew that if the stranger asked her, she would gladly and slyly inform against him.</p>
+
+<p>The afternoon wore on. Again Frale sat on the wheelbarrow, thinking,
+thinking. He took the small bag from his pocket and felt of the bullet
+through the thin covering, then replaced it, and, drawing forth another
+bag, began counting his money over and over. There it was, all he had
+saved, five dollars in bills, and a few quarters and dimes.</p>
+
+<p>He did not like to leave the shelter of the shed, and his eyes showed
+only the narrow glint of blue as, with half-closed lids, he still peered
+out and watched the street where his enemy had disappeared. Suddenly he
+rose and climbed with swift, catlike movements up the ladder stairs
+behind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> him, which led to his sleeping loft. There he rapidly donned his
+best suit of dyed homespun, tied his few remaining articles of clothing
+in a large red kerchief, and before a bit of mirror arranged his tie and
+hair to look as like as possible to the village youth of Farington. The
+distinguishing silken lock that would fall over his brow had grown
+again, since he had shorn it away in Doctor Thryng's cabin. Now he
+thrust it well up under his soft felt hat, and, taking his bundle,
+descended. Again his eyes searched up and down the street and all about
+the house and yard before he ventured out in the daylight.</p>
+
+<p>Dorothy and her dog came bounding down the kitchen steps. She carried
+two great fried cakes in her little hands, warm from the hot fat, and
+she laughed with glee as she danced toward him.</p>
+
+<p>"Frale, Frale. I stole these, I did, for you. I told Carrie I wanted two
+for you, an' she said 'G'long, chile.'" She thrust them in his hands.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter, Frale? What you all dressed up for? This isn't
+Sunday, Frale. Is they going to be a circus, Frale, is they?" She poured
+forth her questions rapidly, as she hopped from one foot to the other.
+"Will you take me, Frale, if it's a circus? I'll ask mamma. I want to
+see the el'phant."</p>
+
+<p>"'Tain't no circus," he replied grimly.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter, Frale? Don't you like your fried cakes? Then why
+don't you eat them? What you wrapping them up for? You ought to say
+thank you, when I bring you nice cakes 'at I went an' stole for you,"
+she remonstrated severely.</p>
+
+<p>His throat worked convulsively as he stood, now looking at the child,
+now watching the street. Suddenly he lifted her in his arms and buried
+his face in her gingham apron.</p>
+
+<p>"I had a little sister oncet, only she's growed up now, an' she hain't
+my little sister any more." He kissed her brown cheek tenderly, even as
+David had done, and set her gently down on her two stubby feet. "You run
+in an' tell yer maw thank you, fer me, will ye? Mind, now. Listen at me
+whilst I tell you what to tell yer paw an' maw fer me. Say, 'Frale seen
+a houn' dog on his scent, an' he's gone home to git shet of him.'"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p><p>"Where's the 'houn' dog,' Frale?" She gazed fearfully about.</p>
+
+<p>"He's gone now. He won't bite&mdash;not you, he won't."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Frale! I wish it was a circus."</p>
+
+<p>"Yas," drawled the young man, with a sullen smile curling his lips, "may
+be hit be a sort of a circus. Kin ye remember what I tol' you to tell yer paw?"</p>
+
+<p>"You&mdash;you seen a houn' dog on&mdash;on a cent&mdash;how could he be on a cent?"</p>
+
+<p>"Say, 'Frale seen a houn' dog on his scent, an' he's gone home to git shet of him.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Frale seen a houn' dog on&mdash;on a&mdash;a cent, an'&mdash;an'&mdash;an' he's gone home
+to&mdash;to get shet of him. What's 'get shet of him,' Frale?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nevah mind, honey; yer paw'll know. Run in an' tell him 'fore you
+forgit hit. Good-by."</p>
+
+<p>She danced gayly off toward the house, but turned to call back at him,
+as he stood watching her. "Are you going to hit the 'houn'' dog with the
+pretty ball, Frale?"</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon." He laughed and strode off toward the one small station in
+the opposite direction from the way the man had taken.</p>
+
+<p>Frale knew well where he had gone. On the outskirts of the village was a
+small grove of sycamore and gum trees, by a little stream, where it was
+the custom for the mountain people to camp with their canvas-covered
+wagons. There they would build their fires on a charred place between
+stones, and heat their coffee. There they would feed their oxen or mule
+team, tied to the rear wheels of their wagons, with corn thrown on the
+ground before them. At nightfall they would crawl under the canvas cover
+and sleep on the corn fodder within.</p>
+
+<p>Often beneath the fodder might be found a few jugs of raw corn whiskey
+hidden away, while the articles they had brought down for sale or barter
+at the village stores were placed on top in plain view. Sometimes they
+brought vegetables, or baskets of splints and willow withes, made by
+their women, or they might have a few yards of homespun towelling.</p>
+
+<p>The man Frale had seen was the older brother of his friend Ferdinand
+Teasley, and well Frale knew that he was camped with his ox team down by
+the spring, where it had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> been his habit to wait for the cover of
+darkness, when he could steal forth and leave his jugs where the money
+might be found for them, placed on some rock or stump or fallen trunk
+half concealed by laurel shrubs. How often had the products of Frale's
+still been conveyed down the mountain by that same ox team, in that same unwieldy vehicle!</p>
+
+<p>Giles Teasley's cabin and patch of soil, planted always to corn, was a
+long distance from his father's mill, and also from his brother's still,
+hence he could with the more safety dispose of their illicit drink.</p>
+
+<p>In the slow but deadly sure manner of his people, he had but just
+aroused himself to the fact that his brother's murderer was still alive
+and the deed unavenged; and Frale knew he had come now, not to dispose
+of the whiskey, since the still had been destroyed, but to find his
+brother's slayer and accord him the justice of the hills.</p>
+
+<p>To the mountain people the processes of the law seemed vague and
+uncertain. They preferred their own methods. A well-loaded gun, a sure
+aim, and a few months of hiding among relatives and friends until the
+vigilance of the emissaries of the law had subsided was the rule with
+them. Thus had Frale's father twice escaped either prison or the rope,
+and during the last four years of his life he had never once ventured
+from his mountain home for a day at the settlements below; while among
+his friends his prowess and his skill in evading pursuit were his glory.</p>
+
+<p>Now it was Frale's thought to dare the worst,&mdash;to walk to the station
+like any village youth, buy his ticket, and take the train for Carew's
+Crossing, and from there make his way to his haunt while yet Giles
+Teasley was taking his first sleep.</p>
+
+<p>He reasoned, and rightly, that his enemy would linger about several days
+searching for him, and never dream of his having made his escape by
+means of the train. Since the first scurry of search was over, it was no
+longer the officers of the law Frale feared, but this same lank,
+ill-favored mountaineer, who was now warming his coffee and eating his
+raw salt pork and corn-bread by the stream, while his drooling cattle
+stood near, sleepily chewing their cuds.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH JERRY CAREW GIVES DAVID HIS VIEWS ON FUTURE PUNISHMENT, AND
+LITTLE HOYLE PAYS HIM A VISIT AND IS MADE HAPPY</h3>
+
+<p>Uncle Jerry Carew had led David's horse down to the station ready
+saddled to meet him, according to agreement, and side by side they rode
+back, the old man beguiling the way with talk of mountain affairs most
+interesting to the young doctor, who led him on from tales of his own
+youthful prowess, "when catamounts and painters war nigh as frequent as
+woodchucks is now," until he felt he knew pretty well the history of all
+the mountain side.</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, when I war a littlin', no highah'n my horse's knees, I kin
+remember thar war a gatherin' fer a catamount hunt on Reed's Hill ovah
+to'ds Pisgah. Catamounts war mighty pesterin' creeters them days. Ev'y
+man able to tote a gun war thar. Ol' man Caswell&mdash;that war Miz
+Merlin&mdash;she war only a mite of a baby then&mdash;her gran'paw, he war the
+oldest man in th' country; he went an' carried his rifle his paw fit in
+th' Revolution with. He fit at King's Mountain, an' all about here he fit."</p>
+
+<p>"Did he fight in the Civil War, too?"</p>
+
+<p>"Her gran'paw's paw? No. He war too ol' fer that, but his gran'son
+Caswell, he fit in hit, an' he nevah come back, neither. Ol' Miz
+Caswell&mdash;Cassandry Merlin's gran'maw, she lived a widow nigh on to
+thirty year. She an' her daughter&mdash;that's ol' Miz Farwell that is
+now&mdash;they lived thar an' managed the place ontwell she married Merlin."</p>
+
+<p>"You knew her first husband, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, know him? Ev'ybody knew Thad Merlin. He come f'om ovah Pisgah way,
+an' he took Marthy thar. Hit's quare how things goes. I always liked
+Thad Merlin. The' wa'n't no harm in him."</p>
+
+<p>David saw a quaint, whimsical smile play about the old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> man's mouth. "He
+war a preacher&mdash;kind of a mixtur of a preacher an' teacher an hunter.
+Couldn't anybody beat him huntin'&mdash;and farmin'&mdash;well he could farm,
+too,&mdash;better'n most. He done well whatever he done, but he had a right
+quare way. He built that thar rock wall an' he 'lowed he'd have hit run
+plumb 'round the place.</p>
+
+<p>"He war a fiddler, and he'd build awhile, and fetch his fiddle&mdash;he
+warn't right strong&mdash;an' then he'd set thar on the wall an' fiddle to
+the birds; an' the wild creeturs, they'd come an' hear to him. I seen
+squerrels settin' on end hearkin' to him, myself. Arter a while, folks
+begun to think 'at he didn't preach the right kind of religion, an' they
+wouldn't go to hear him no more without hit war to listen did he say
+anythin' they could fin' fault with. 'Pears like they got in that-a-way
+they didn' go fer nothin' else. Hit cl'ar plumb broke him all up. He
+quit preachin' an' took more to fiddlin', an' he sorter grew puny, an'
+one day jes' natch'ly lay down an' died, all fer nothin', 'at anybody could see."</p>
+
+<p>"What was the matter with his preaching?" asked David, and again the
+whimsical smile played around the old man's mouth, and his thin lips twitched.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon thar wa'n't 'nuff hell 'n' damnation in hit. Our people here
+on the mountain, they're right kind an' soft therselves. They don't whop
+ther chillen, nor do nothin' much 'cept a shootin' now an' then, but
+that's only amongst the men. The women tends mostly to the religion, an'
+they likes a heap o' hell 'n' damnation. Hit sorter stirs 'em up an'
+gives 'em somethin' to chaw on, an' keeps 'em contented like. They has
+somethin' to threat'n ther men folks with an' keep ther chillen straight
+on, an' a place to sen' ther neighbors to when they don't suit. Yas,
+hit's right handy fer th' women. I reckon they couldn't git on without hit."</p>
+
+<p>"Do they think they will have bodies that can be hurt by any such thing
+in the next world?"</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon so. But preacher Merlin, he said that thar war paths o' light
+an' paths o' darkness, an' that eve'y man he 'bided right whar he war at
+when he died. Ef he hed tuk the path o' darkness, thar he war in hit;
+but ef he hed tuk the path o' light whar war heaven, then he war thar.
+An' he said the Lord nevah made no hell, hit war jes'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> our own selves
+made sech es that, an' he took an' cut that thar place cl'ar plumb out'n
+the Scripturs an' the worl' to come. But he sure hed a heap o larnin',
+only some said a sight on hit war heathen, an' that war why he lef' all
+the hell an' damnation outen his religion."</p>
+
+<p>Thus enlightened concerning many things, both of this particular bit of
+mountain world, which was all the world to his companion, and of the
+world to come, Thryng rode on, quietly amused.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes he dismounted to investigate plants new to him, or to gather a
+bit of moss or fungi or parasite&mdash;anything that promised an elucidating
+hour with his splendid microscope. For these he always carried at the
+pommel of his saddle an air-tight box. The mountain people supposed he
+collected such things for the compounding of his drugs.</p>
+
+<p>When they reached the Fall Place, David continued along the main road
+below and took a trail farther on, merely a foot trail little used, to
+his eyrie. He had not seen Cassandra since they had walked together down
+from Hoke Belew's place. He had gone to Farington partly to avoid seeing
+her, nor did he wish to see her again until he should have so mastered
+himself as to betray nothing by his manner that might embarrass her or
+remind her painfully of their last interview, knowing he must eliminate
+self to re&euml;stablish their previous relations.</p>
+
+<p>David rode directly to his log stable, put up his horse, then unslung
+his box and walked with it toward his cabin. Suddenly he stopped. From
+the thick shrubbery where he stood he could see in at the large window
+where his microscope was placed quite through his cabin into the light,
+white canvas room beyond. Before the fireplace, clearly relieved against
+the whiteness of the farther room, stood Cassandra, gazing intently at
+something she held in her hand. David recognized it as a small, framed
+picture of his mother&mdash;a delicately painted miniature. He kept it always
+on the shelf near which she was standing. He saw her reach up and
+replace it, then brush her hand quickly across her eyes, and knew she
+had been weeping. He was ashamed to stand there watching her, but he
+could not move. Always, it seemed to him, she was being presented to him
+thus strongly against a surrounding halo<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> of light, revealing every
+gracious line of her figure and her sweet, clean profile.</p>
+
+<p>He turned his eyes away, but as quickly gazed again; she had
+disappeared. He waited, and again she passed between his eyes and the
+light, here and there, moving quietly about, seeing that all was in
+order, as her custom was when she knew him to be absent.</p>
+
+<p>He saw her brushing about the hearth, carefully wiping the dust from his
+disordered table, lifting the books, touching everything tenderly and
+lightly. His flute lay there. She took it in her hands and looked down
+at it solemnly, then slowly raised it to her lips. What? Was she going
+to try to play upon it? No, but she kissed it. Again and again she
+kissed the slender, magic wand, hurriedly, then laid it very gently down
+and with one backward glance walked swiftly out of the cabin and away
+from him, down the trail, with long, easy steps. Only once more she drew
+her hand across her eyes, and with head held high moved rapidly on.
+Never did she look to the right or the left or she must have seen him as
+he stood, scarcely breathing and hard beset to hold himself back and
+allow her to pass him thus.</p>
+
+<p>Now he knew that she had been deeply stirred by him, and the revelation
+fell upon his spirit, filling him with a joy more intense than anything
+he had ever felt or experienced before, so poignantly sweet that it hurt
+him. Had he indeed entered into her dreams and become an undercurrent in
+her life even as she had in his, and did her soul and body ache for him
+as his for her?</p>
+
+<p>Then he suffered remorse for what he had done. How long she had defended
+herself by that wall of impersonality with which she had surrounded
+herself! He had beaten down the ramparts and trampled in the garden of
+her soul. As he stood in the door of his cabin, the place seemed to
+breathe of her presence. She had made a veritable bower of it for his
+return. Every sweet thing she had gathered for him, as if, out of her
+love and her sorrow, she had meant to bring to him an especial blessing.</p>
+
+<p>A shallow basin filled with wild forget-me-nots stood on the shelf
+before his mother's picture. Ferns and vines fell over the stone mantle,
+and in earthen jars of mountain ware the early rhododendron, with its
+delicate, pearly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> pink blossoms, filled the dark corners. Masses of the
+plumed white ash shook feathery tassels along the walls, making the air
+sweet with their fragrance. Ah, how clean and fresh everything was! All
+his disorder was set to rights, and fresh linen was on his bed in his canvas room.</p>
+
+<p>Even his table was laid with his small store of dishes, and food placed
+upon it, still covered in the basket he was now so accustomed to see.
+Sweet and dainty it all was. He had only to light the fat pine sticks
+laid beneath the kettle swung above and make his tea, and his meal was
+ready. Had she divined he would not stop at the Fall Place this time,
+when in the past it had been his custom to do so? Ah, she knew; for is
+not the little winged god a wonderful teacher?</p>
+
+<p>Thryng was humbled in the very dust and ashes of repentance as he sat
+down to his late dinner. The fragrance in the room, all he ate,
+everything he touched, filled his senses with her; and he&mdash;he had only
+brought her sorrow. He had come into her life but to bruise her spirit
+and leave her sad at heart with a deep sadness he dared not and could
+not alleviate. He lifted a pale purple orchid she had placed in a
+tumbler at his hand and examined it. Evidently she had thought this the
+choicest of all the woodland treasures she had brought him, and had
+placed it there, a sweet message. What should he do? Ah, what could he
+do? He must not see her yet&mdash;at least not until to-morrow.</p>
+
+<p>Later, David brought in his specimens and occupied himself with his
+microscope. He had begun a careful study of certain destructive things.
+Even here in the wild he found them, evil and unwholesome, clinging to
+the well and strong, slowly but surely sapping the vitality of those who
+gave them life. Every evil, he thought, must, in the economy of nature,
+have its antidote. So, with the ardor of the scientist, he divided with
+care the nasty, pasty growth he had found and prepared his plates.
+Systematically he made drawings and notes as he studied the magnified
+atoms beneath his powerful lens, and while he sat absorbed in his work,
+Hoyle's childish voice piped at him from the doorway.</p>
+
+<p>"Howdy, Doctah Thryng."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p><p>"Why, hello! Howdy!" said David, without looking up from his work.</p>
+
+<p>"What you got in that thar gol' machine? Kin I look, too?"</p>
+
+<p>"What have I got? Why&mdash;I've got a bit of the devil in here."</p>
+
+<p>"Whar'd you git him? Huh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I found him along the road between here and the station."</p>
+
+<p>"Did&mdash;did he come on the cyars with you? Whar war he at? Hu come he in
+thar?" David did not reply for an instant, and the awed child drew a
+step nearer. "Whar war he at?" he insisted. "Hu come he in thar?"</p>
+
+<p>"He was hanging to a bush as I came along, and I put him in my box and
+brought him home and cut him up and put a little bit of him in here."</p>
+
+<p>Then there was silence, and David forgot the small boy until he heard a
+deep-drawn sigh behind him. Looking up for the first time, he saw him
+standing aloof, a look of terror in his wide eyes as if he fain would
+run away, but could not from sheer fright. Poor little mite! David in
+his playful speech had not dreamed of being taken in earnest. He drew
+the child to his side, where he cuddled gladly, nestling his twisted
+little body close, partly for protection, and partly in love.</p>
+
+<p>"You reckon he's plumb dade?" David could feel the child's heart beating
+in a heavy labored way against his arm as he held him, and, pushing his
+papers one side, he lifted him to his knee.</p>
+
+<p>"Do I reckon who's dead?" he asked absently, with his ear pressed to the child's back.</p>
+
+<p>"The devil what you done brought home in yuer box."</p>
+
+<p>"Dead? Oh, yes. He's dead&mdash;good and dead. Sit still a moment&mdash;so&mdash;now
+take a long breath. A long one&mdash;deep&mdash;that's right. Now another&mdash;so."</p>
+
+<p>"What fer?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want to hear your heart beat."</p>
+
+<p>"Kin you hear hit?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;don't talk, a minute,&mdash;that'll do."</p>
+
+<p>"What you want to hear my heart beat fer? I kin feel hit. Kin you feel
+yourn? Be they more'n one devil?"</p>
+
+<p>"Heaps of them."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p><p>"When I go back, you reckon I'll find 'em hanging on the bushes? Do
+they hang by ther tails, like 'possums does?"</p>
+
+<p>Comfortable and happy where he was, the little fellow dreaded the
+distance he must traverse to reach his home under the peculiar phenomena
+of devils hanging to the bushes along his route.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, no. Here, I'll show you what I mean." Then he explained
+carefully to the child what he really meant, showing him some of the
+strange and beautiful ways of nature, and at last allowing him to look
+into the microscope to see the little cells and rays. As he patiently
+and kindly taught, he was pleased with the child's eager, receptive mind
+and na&iuml;ve admiration. Towards evening Hoyle was sent home, quite at rest
+concerning devils and all their kin, and radiantly happy with a box of
+many colored pencils and a blank drawing-book, which David had brought
+him from Farington.</p>
+
+<p>"I kin larn to make things like you b'en makin' with these, an' Cass,
+she'll he'p me," he cried.</p>
+
+<p>"What is Cass doing to-day?" David ventured.</p>
+
+<p>"She be'n up here most all mornin', an' I he'ped get the light ud fer
+fire, an' then she sont me home to he'p maw whilst she stayed to fix up."</p>
+
+<p>"But now, I mean, when you came up here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Weavin' in the loom shed. Maw, she has a lot o' little biddies. The ol'
+hen hatched 'em, she did."</p>
+
+<p>"What have you done to your thumb?" asked David, seeing it tied about with a rag.</p>
+
+<p>"I plunked hit with the hammer when I war a-makin' houses fer the
+biddies. I nailed 'em, I did."</p>
+
+<p>"You made the chicken coops? Well, you are a clever little chap. Let me
+see your hand."</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, maw said I war that, too."</p>
+
+<p>"But you weren't very clever to do this. Whew! What did you hit your
+thumb like that for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dunno." He looked ruefully at the crushed member which the doctor laved
+gently and soothingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Why didn't you come to me with it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maw 'lowed the' wa'n't no use pesterin' you with eve'ything. She tol'
+me eve'y man had to larn to hit a nail on the haid."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p><p>David laughed, and the child trotted away happy, his hand in a sling
+made of one of the doctor's linen handkerchiefs, and his box of pencils
+and his book hugged to his irregularly beating heart; but it was with a
+grave face that Thryng saw him disappear among the great masses of pink laurel bloom.</p>
+
+<p>That evening, as the glow in the west deepened and died away and the
+stars came out one by one and sent their slender rays down upon the
+hills, David sat on his rock with his flute in his hand, waiting for a
+moment to arrive when he could put it to his lips and send out the
+message of glad hopes he had sent before. She had asked that one little
+thing, that his music might still be glad, and so for Cassandra's sake it must be.</p>
+
+<p>He tried once and again, but he could not play. At last, putting away
+from him his repentant thoughts, he gave his heart full sway, saying to
+himself: "For this moment I will imagine harmlessly that my vision is
+all mine and my dream come true. It is the only way." Then he played as
+if it were he whom she had kissed so passionately, instead of his flute;
+and thus it was the glad notes were falling on her spirit when Frale found her.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH FRALE RETURNS AND LISTENS TO THE COMPLAINTS OF DECATUR IRWIN'S WIFE</h3>
+
+<p>All was quiet and lonely around Carew's Crossing when Frale dropped from
+the train and struck off over the mountain. Soon there would be bustle
+and stir and life about the place, for the hotel would be open and
+people would be crowding in, some to escape the heat of the far South
+and the low countries, some from the cities either North or South to
+whom the bracing air of the mountains would bring renewed
+vitality&mdash;business men with shattered nerves and women whose high play
+during the winter at the game of social life had left them nervous wrecks.</p>
+
+<p>But now the beauty of the spring and the sweet silences were undisturbed
+by alien chatter. As yet were to be heard only the noises of the
+forest&mdash;of wind and stream&mdash;of bird calls and the piping of turtles and
+the shrilling of insects or vibrant croaking of frogs&mdash;or mayhap the
+occasional sound of a gun, discharged by some solitary mountain boy,
+regardless of game laws, to provide a supper at home,&mdash;only these, as
+Frale climbed rapidly away from the station toward the Fall Place, and
+Cassandra. He would stop there first and then strike for his old haunts
+and hiding-places.</p>
+
+<p>He felt a leaping joy in his veins to be again among his hills. How
+lonely he had been for them he had not known until now, when, with
+lifted head and bounding heart, he trod lightly and easily the difficult
+way. And yet the undercurrent of a tragedy lay quiet beneath his joy and
+haunted him, keeping him to the trails above,&mdash;the secret paths which
+led circuitously to his home,&mdash;even while the thought of Cassandra made
+his heart buoyant and eager.</p>
+
+<p>The sight of Doctor Thryng who during these months had been near
+her&mdash;perhaps seeing her daily&mdash;aroused all the primitive jealousy of his
+nature. He would go now and persuade her to marry him and stand by him
+until he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> could fight his way through to the unquestioned right to live
+there as his father had done, defying any who would interfere with his
+course. Had he not a silver bullet for the heart of the man who would
+dare contest his rights? It only remained for him to meet Giles Teasley
+face to face to settle the matter forever.</p>
+
+<p>Since it was purely a mountain affair, and the officers of the law had
+already searched to their satisfaction, there was little chance that the
+pursuit would be renewed by the State. It would, however, be impossible
+for him to go back to the Fall Place and live there openly until the
+last member of the Teasley family capable of wreaking vengeance on his
+head had been settled with; but as the father was crippled with
+rheumatism and could do no more than totter about his mill and talk,
+only this one brother was left with whom to deal. Now that Frale was
+back in his own hills again, all terror slipped from him, and the old
+excitement in the presence of danger to be met, or avoided, stimulated
+him to a feeling of exuberance and triumph. With childlike facility he
+tossed aside the thought of his promise to Cassandra. It all seemed to
+him as a dream&mdash;all the horror and the remorse. Time had quickly dulled this last.</p>
+
+<p>"Ef I hadn't 'a' killed Ferd, he would 'a' shot me. Anyhow, he hadn't
+ought to 'a' riled me that-a-way."</p>
+
+<p>He thought with shame of how he had sat cowering at the head of the
+fall, and had hurled his own dog to destruction, in his fear. "I war
+jes' plumb crazy," he soliloquized.</p>
+
+<p>As to how he could deal with Cassandra, he did not as yet know, but he
+would find a way. In his heart, he reached out to her and already
+possessed her. His blood leaped madly through his veins that he was so
+soon to see her and touch her. Have her he would, if he must continue to
+kill his way to her through an army of opponents.</p>
+
+<p>The evening was falling, and, imagining they would all be sleeping, he
+meant to creep quietly up and spend the night in the loom shed. There
+was no dog there now to disturb them with joyful bark of recognition. At
+last he found himself above the home, where, by striking through the
+undergrowth a short distance, he would come out by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> the great holly tree
+near the head of the fall. Already he could hear the welcome sound of rushing water.</p>
+
+<p>He drew nearer through the thick laurel and azalea shrubs now in full
+bloom; their pollen clung to his clothing as he brushed among them.
+Cautiously he approached the spot which recalled to him the emotions he
+had experienced there&mdash;now throbbing through him anew. He peered into
+the gathering dusk with eager eyes as if he thought to find her still
+there. Ah, he could crush her in his mad joy!</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he paused and listened. Other sounds than those of the night
+and the running water fell on his ear&mdash;sounds deliciously sweet and
+thrilling, filling all the air, mingling with the rushing of the fall
+and accenting its flow. From whence did they come&mdash;those new sounds? He
+had never heard them before. Did they drop from the sky&mdash;from the stars
+twinkling brightly down on him&mdash;now faint and far as if born in
+heaven&mdash;now near and clear&mdash;silvery clear and strong and
+sweet&mdash;penetrating his very soul and making every nerve quiver to their
+pulsating rhythm? He felt a certain fear of a new kind creep tinglingly
+through him, holding him cold and still&mdash;for the moment breathless. Was
+she there? Had she died, and was this her spirit trying to speak?</p>
+
+<p>Very quietly he drew nearer to the great rock. Yes, she was there,
+standing with her back to the silvery gray bole of the holly tree, her
+face lifted toward the mountain top and her expression rapt and
+listening&mdash;holy and pure&mdash;far removed from him as was the star above the
+peak toward which her gaze was turned. He could not touch her, nor crush
+her to him as a moment before he had felt he must, but he slowly approached.</p>
+
+<p>She heard his step and then saw him waiting there in the dim light of
+the starry dusk. For an instant she regarded him in silence, then she
+essayed to speak, but her lips only trembled over the words voicelessly.
+He could not see her emotion, but he felt it, although her stillness
+made her seem calm. Hungrily he stood and watched her. At last she spoke:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Frale, Frale!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's me, Cass."</p>
+
+<p>"Have&mdash;have you been down to the house, Frale?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p><p>"Naw, I jes' come this-a-way from the station."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it&mdash;is it safe for you to come here, Frale?"</p>
+
+<p>She stood a short distance from him, speaking so softly, and yet he
+could not touch her; his hands seemed numb, and his breath came
+pantingly.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon hit's safe here as thar," he said huskily. "An' I'm come to stay, too."</p>
+
+<p>"Then let's go down to mother. Likely she's a-bed by now, but she'll be
+right glad to see you. She can walk a little now." She hastened to fill
+the moments with words, anything to divert that fixed gaze and take his
+thoughts from her. Instinctively she groped thus for time, she who like
+a deer would flee if flight were possible, even while her heart welled
+with pity for him. "Come. You can talk with her whilst I get you some
+supper." She felt his pent-up emotion and secretly feared it, but held
+herself bravely. "Hoyle will nigh jump out of his skin, he'll be that
+glad you come back."</p>
+
+<p>He stood stubbornly where he was, and lifted his hand to grasp her arm,
+but she glided on just beyond his reach, either not seeing it, or
+avoiding it, he could not decide which, and still she said, "Come,
+Frale." He followed stumblingly in her wake, as a man follows an ignis
+fatuus, unconscious of the roughness of the way or of the steps he was
+taking&mdash;and the flute notes followed them from
+above&mdash;sweetly&mdash;mockingly, as it seemed to him. What were they? Why were
+they? How came Cassandra there listening? He could stand this mystery no
+longer&mdash;and he cried out to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Cass, hear. Listen to that."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Frale." She spoke wearily, but did not pause.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait, Cass. What be hit, ye reckon? Hit sure hain't no fiddle. Thar!
+Heark to hit. Whar be hit at?"</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon it's up yonder at Doctor Thryng's cabin. He has a little pipe
+like, that he blows on and it makes music like that."</p>
+
+<p>"An' you clum' up thar to heark to him?" He bounded forward in the
+darkness and walked close to her. She quivered like a leaf, but held her
+voice low and steady as she replied.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Frale. I go there evenings when I'm not too tired. I've been going
+there ever since you left to&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p><p>"That doctah, he's be'n castin' a spell on you, Cass. I kin see
+hit&mdash;how you walkin' off an' nevah 'low me to touch you. Ye hain't said
+howd'y to me nor how you glad I come. You like a col' white drift o'
+snow blowin' on ahead o' me. You hain't no human girl like you used to
+be. I got somethin' to put a spell on him, too, ef he don't watch out."</p>
+
+<p>He spoke in his mild, low-voiced drawl, but he kept close to her side,
+and she could hear his breathing, quick and panting. She felt as if a
+tiger were keeping pace with her, and she knew the sinister meaning
+beneath his words. She knew that all she could do now was to take him
+back to his promise and hold him to it.</p>
+
+<p>"There's no such thing as spell casting, Frale. You know that, and you
+have my promise and I have yours. Have you forgot? Talking that way
+seems like you have forgot." She walked on rapidly, taking him nearer
+and nearer their home, and in her haste she stumbled. In an instant his
+arm was thrown around her, holding her on her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Look at you now, like to fall cl'ar headlong, runnin' that-a-way to get
+shet o' me. 'Pears like you mad that I come."</p>
+
+<p>He held her back, and they went slowly, but he did not release her, nor
+did she struggle futilely against his strength, knowing it wiser to
+continue calmly leading him on; but she could not reply. The start of
+her fall and her wildly beating heart rendered her breathless and weak.</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you that thar doctah man, he have put a spell on you. He done
+drawed you up thar to hear to him. I seed you lookin' like he'd done
+drawed yuer soul outen yuer body. I have heard o' sech. He's be'n down
+to Bishop Towahs', too, whar I be'n workin' at. I seed him watchin' me
+like he come to spy on me, an' he no sooner gone than I seed that thar
+Giles Teasley sneakin' 'long the fence lookin' over an' searchin' eve'y
+place like he war a-hungerin' fer a sight o' me." He stopped and
+swallowed angrily. They had arrived at the trough of running water, and
+she breathed easier to find herself so near her haven.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you done with your dog, Frale? You reckon he followed you
+off? I haven't seen him since you left."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p><p>He released her then and, stooping to the water-pipe, drank a long
+draft, and thrust his head beneath it, allowing the water to drench his
+thick hair. Then he stood a moment, shaking his curling locks like a spaniel.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait here. I'll fetch a towel." She hastened within. "Mother, Frale's
+come back," she said quietly, not to awaken Hoyle; then returned and
+tossed him the towel which he caught and rubbed vigorously over his head and face.</p>
+
+<p>"Now you are like yourself again, Frale."</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, I'm here an' I'm myself, I reckon. Who'd ye think I be?" He caught
+her and kissed her, and, with his arm about her, entered the cabin.</p>
+
+<p>His mood changed with childish ease according to whatever the moments
+brought him. Cassandra lighted a candle, for now that the days had grown
+warm, the fire was allowed to go out unless needed for cooking. His
+stepmother had roused herself and peered at him from out her dark
+corner, where little Hoyle lay sleeping soundly in the farther side of
+her bed. Frale strode across the uneven floor and kissed her also,
+resoundingly. Astounded, she dropped back on her pillow.</p>
+
+<p>"What ails ye, Frale!" The mountain people are for the most part too
+reserved to be lavish with their kisses.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothin' ails me. I'm kissin' you fer Cass's sake. Me an' her's goin' to
+get jined an' set up togethah. I'm come back fer to marry with her, and
+we're goin' ovah t'othah side Lone Pine, an' I'm goin' to build a cabin
+thar. That's how I'm kissin' you. Will you have anothah, or shall I give hit to Cass?"</p>
+
+<p>"You hush an' go 'long," said the mother, half contemptuously.</p>
+
+<p>"Frale's making fool talk, mothah. Don't give heed to him. He's
+light-headed, I reckon, and I'm going to get him something to eat right quick."</p>
+
+<p>"I 'low he be light-headed. Nobody's goin' to git Cass whilst I'm
+livin', 'thout he's got more'n a cabin ovah t'othah side Lone Pine.
+She's right well off here, an' here she'll 'bide."</p>
+
+<p>Frale turned darkly on the mother. "I reckon you'd bettah give heed to
+me mor'n to her," he said, in the low drawl which boded much with him.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p><p>Cassandra, on her knees at the hearth, was arranging sticks of fat pine
+to light the fire. Her hands shook as she held them. This Frale saw, and
+his eyes gleamed. He came to her side and, kneeling also, took them from her.</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's my place to do this fer you now, Cass. F'om now on&mdash;I reckon.
+I'll hang the kittle fer ye, too, an' fetch the water."</p>
+
+<p>The mother stared at them in silence, and Cassandra, taking up the
+coffee-pot, rose and went out. When she returned, the fire was crackling
+merrily, and the great kettle swung over it. Hoyle was up and seated on
+his half-brother's knee. Cassandra's eyes looked heavy and showed traces of tears.</p>
+
+<p>Frale saw it all, with eyes gleaming blue through narrowly drawn lids.
+His lips quivered a little as he talked with Hoyle. He drew out his
+money for the child to count over gleefully, thus diverting himself with
+the boy, while he watched Cassandra furtively. He decided to say no more
+at present until she should have had time to adjust her mind to the
+thought he had so daringly announced to her mother. The two cakes little
+Dorothy had given him he took from his bundle and gave to Hoyle, then
+carried him back and put him to bed and told him to sleep again.</p>
+
+<p>For all of her promise, Cassandra had not expected this to come upon her
+so suddenly, like lightning out of a clear sky, startling her very soul
+with fear. As Frale ate what she set before him, she went over to the
+bedside, and sat there holding her mother's hand and talking in low
+tones, while Hoyle, with wide eyes, strove to hear.</p>
+
+<p>"Be hit true, what he says, Cass?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not all, mother. I never told him I would go and live over beyond Lone
+Pine. I meant always to live right here with you, but I am promised to
+him. I gave him my word that night he left, to get him to go and save
+him. Oh, God! Mother, I didn't guess it would come so soon. He promised
+me he would repent his deed and live right."</p>
+
+<p>The mother brightened and drew her daughter down and spoke low in her
+ear. "Make him keep to his promise first, child. Yuer safe thar. I
+reckon he's doin' a heap o' repentin' this-a-way. I ain' goin' 'low you
+throw you'se'f away on no Farwell, ef he be good-lookin', 'thout he
+holds to his word good fer a year. Hit's jes' the way his paw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> done me.
+He gin me his word 'at he'd stop 'stillin' an' drinkin', an' he helt to
+hit fer three months, an' then he come on me this-a-way an' I married
+him, an' he opened up his still again in three weeks, an' thar he went
+his own way f'om that day."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra rose and went to the door. "I'm going to make you a bed in the
+loom shed like I made it for the doctor. There is no bed up garret now.
+I emptied out all the ticks and thought I'd have them fresh filled
+against you come back&mdash;but I've been that busy."</p>
+
+<p>Soon he followed her out. "I reckon I won't sleep thar whar that doctah
+have slep'. He might put a spell on me, too," he said, standing in the
+door of the shed and looking in on her. The night was lighter now, for
+the full moon had glided up over the hills, and she worked by its light
+streaming through the open door.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't see with you standing there, Frale. I reckon you'll have to
+sleep here, because it's too late to fill your bed to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, leave that be and come and sit here with me," he said, dropping on
+the step where the doctor had sat when she opened her heart to him and
+told him about her father. It all surged back upon her now. She could
+not sit there with Frale. "I'll make my bed myself, an' I'll&mdash;I'll sleep
+wharevah you want me to, ef hit's up on the roof or out yandah in the
+water trough. Come, sit."</p>
+
+<p>"We'll go back on the porch, and I'll take mother's chair. I'm right tired."</p>
+
+<p>"When we git in our own cabin ovah t'othah side Lone Pine, you won't
+have nothin' to do only tend on me," he said, drawing her to him. He led
+her across the open space and placed her gently in her mother's chair on
+the little porch.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Frale, sit down there and listen," she said, pointing to the step
+at her feet where Thryng had sat only a few days before to make out the
+lease of their land. Everything seemed to cry out to her of him
+to-night, but she must steel her heart against the thought.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to talk to you straight, just what I mean, Frale. You've been
+talking as you pleased in there, and I 'lowed you to, I was that set
+back. Anyway, I'd rather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> talk to you alone. Frale, our promise was made
+before God, and you know I will keep to mine. But you must keep to
+yours, too. Listen at me. Mrs. Towers wrote me you had been drunk twice.
+Is that keeping your promise to leave whiskey alone? Is it, Frale?"</p>
+
+<p>"You have somebody down thar watchin' me, an' I hain't nobody a-watchin'
+you," he said sullenly. She felt degraded by his words.</p>
+
+<p>"Frale, do you know me all these years to think such as that of me now?"</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you he have put a spell on you. I kin feel hit an' see hit. Hit
+ain't your fault, Cass. I'd put one on you myself, ef I could. Anyhow,
+I'll take you out of this fer he have done hit."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you never say that word to me again as long as you live, Frale," she
+said sternly. "Listen at me, I say. You go back there and work like you
+said you would&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't I tell you that thar houn' dog Giles Teasley war on my scent? I
+seen him. I got to come back ontwell I c'n git shet o' him."</p>
+
+<p>"And that means another murder! Oh, Frale, Frale!" She covered her face
+with her hands and moaned. Then they sat silent awhile.</p>
+
+<p>After a little she lifted her head. "Frale, I'll go over to Teasleys'
+and beg for them to leave you be. I'll beg Giles Teasley on my knees, I
+will. Then when you have bided your year and kept your promise like you
+swore before God, I'll marry you like I promised, and we'll live here
+and keep the old place like it ought to be kept. You hear, Frale? Good
+night, now. It's only fair you should give heed to me, Frale, if I do
+that for you. Good night."</p>
+
+<p>She glided past him into the house like a wraith, and he rose without a
+word of reply and stretched himself on the half-made bed in the loom
+shed, as he was. Sullen and angry, he lay far into the night with the
+moonlight streaming over him, but he did not sleep, and his mood only
+grew more bitter and dangerous.</p>
+
+<p>When the first streak of dawn was drawn across the eastern sky, he rose
+unrefreshed, and began a search, feeling along the rafters high above
+the bags of cotton. Presently he drew forth an ancient, long-barrelled
+rifle, and,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> taking it out into the light, examined it carefully. He
+rubbed and cleaned the barrel and polished the stock and oiled the
+hammer and trigger. Then he brought from the same hiding-place a horn of
+powder and gun wadding, and at last took from his pocket the silver
+bullet, with which he loaded his old weapon even as he had seen it
+charged in past days by his father's hand.</p>
+
+<p>Below the house, built over a clear welling spring which ran in a bright
+little rivulet to the larger stream, was the spring-house. Here, after
+the warm days came, the milk and butter were kept, and here Frale
+sauntered down&mdash;his gun slung across his arm, his powder-horn at his
+belt, in his old clothes&mdash;with his trousers thrust in his boot-tops&mdash;to
+search for provisions for the day and his breakfast as well. He had no
+mind to allow the family to oppose his action or reason him out of his course.</p>
+
+<p>He found a jug of buttermilk placed there the evening before for Hoyle
+to carry to the doctor in the morning, and slung it by a strap over his
+shoulder. In one of the sheds lay two chickens, ready dressed to be cut
+up for the frying-pan, and one of these, with a generous strip of salt
+pork from the keg of dry salt where it was kept, he dropped in a sack.
+He would not enter the house for corn-bread, even though he knew he was
+welcome to all the home afforded, but planned to arrive at some mountain
+cabin where friends would give him what he required to complete his
+stock of food. His gun would provide him with an occasional meal of
+game, and he thus felt himself prepared for as long a period of ambush
+as might be necessary.</p>
+
+<p>Before sunrise he was well on his way over the mountain. He did not
+attempt to go directly to his old haunt, but turned aside and took the
+trail leading along the ridge&mdash;the same Thryng and Cassandra had taken
+to go to the cabin of Decatur Irwin. Frale had no definite idea of going
+there, but took the high ridge instinctively. So long had he been in the
+low country that he craved now to reach the heights where he might see
+the far blue distances and feel the strong sweet air blowing past him.
+It was much the same feeling that had caused him to thrust his head
+under the trough of running water the evening before.</p>
+
+<p>As a wild creature loves the freedom of the plains, or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> an eagle rises
+and circles about in the blue ether aimless and untrammelled, so this
+man of the hills moved now in his natural environment, living in the
+present moment, glad to be above the low levels and out from under all
+restraint, seeing but a little way into his future, content to satisfy
+present needs and the cravings of his strong, virile body.</p>
+
+<p>Moments of exaltation and aspiration came to him, as they must come to
+every one, but they were moments only, and were quickly swept aside and
+but vaguely comprehended by him. As a child will weep one minute over
+some creature his heedlessness has hurt and the next forget it all in
+the pursuit of some new delight, so this child of nature took his way,
+swayed by his moods and desires&mdash;an elemental force, like a swollen
+torrent taking its vengeful way&mdash;forgetful of promises&mdash;glad of
+freedom&mdash;angry at being held in restraint, and willing to crush or tear
+away any opposing force.</p>
+
+<p>At last, breakfastless and weary after his long climb, his sleepless
+night, and the depression following his talk with Cassandra the evening
+before, he paused at the edge of the descent, loath to leave the open
+height behind him, and stretched himself under a great black cedar to
+rest. As he lay there dreaming and scheming, with half-shut eyes, he
+spied below him the bare red patch of soil around the cabin of Decatur
+Irwin. Instantly he rose and began rapidly to descend.</p>
+
+<p>Decatur was away. He had got a "job of hauling," his wife said, and had
+to be away all day, but she willingly set herself to bake a fresh
+corn-cake and make him coffee. He had already taken a little of his
+buttermilk, but he did not care for raw salt pork alone. He wanted his
+corn-bread and coffee,&mdash;the staple of the mountaineer.</p>
+
+<p>She talked much, in a languid way, as she worked, and he sat in the
+doorway. Now and then she asked questions about his home and
+"Cassandry," which he answered evasively. She gossiped much about all
+the happenings and sayings of her neighbors far and near, and complained
+much, when she came to take pay from him for what she provided, of the
+times which had come upon them since "Cate had hurt his foot." She told
+how that fool doctor had come there and taken "hit off,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> makin' out like
+Cate'd die of hit ef he didn't," and how "Cassandry Merlin had done
+cheated her into goin' off so 't she could bide thar at the cabin alone
+with that doctah man herself an' he'p him do hit."</p>
+
+<p>With her snuff stick between her yellow teeth and her numerous progeny
+squatting in the dirt all about the doorway, idly gazing at Frale, she
+retailed her grievances without reserve. How the wife of Hoke Belew had
+been "ailin'," and Cassandra had "be'n thar ev'y day keerin' fer her. I
+'low she jes' goes 'cause she 'lows she'll see that doctah man thar an'
+ride back with him like she done when she brung him here," said the
+pallid, spiteful creature, and spat as she talked. "She nevah done that
+fer me. I be'n sick a heap o' times, an' she hain't nevah come nigh me to do a lick."</p>
+
+<p>Frale was annoyed to hear Cassandra thus spoken against, for was she not
+his own? He chose to defend her, while purposely concealing his bitter
+anger against the doctor. "The' hain't nothin' agin Cassandry. She's
+sorter kin to me, an' I 'low the' hain't."</p>
+
+<p>"Naw," said the woman, changing instantly at the threatening tone, "the'
+hain't nothin' agin her. I reckon he tells her whar to go, an' she jes'
+goes like he tells her."</p>
+
+<p>Frale threw his sack over his shoulder and started on in silence, and
+the woman smiled evilly after him as she sat there and licked her lips,
+and chewed on her snuff stick and spat.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG MEETS AN ENEMY</h3>
+
+<p>The next day David gave his attention to the letters which he found
+awaiting him. One was from Doctor Hoyle in Canada. He had but just
+returned from a visit to England, and it was full of news of David's family there.</p>
+
+<p>"Your two cousins and your brother are gone with their regiments to
+South Africa," he wrote. "They are jubilant to be called to active
+service, as they ought to be, but your mother is heartbroken over their
+departure. You stay where you are, my boy. She is glad enough to have
+you out of England now, and far from the temptation which besets youth
+in times of war. It has already caused a serious blood-letting for Old
+England. I have grave doubts about this contention. In these days there
+ought to be a way of preventing such disaster. Write to your mother and
+comfort her heart,&mdash;she needs it. I was careful not to betray to her
+what your condition has been, as I discovered you had not done so. Hold
+fast and fight for health, and be content. Your recuperative power is good."</p>
+
+<p>David was filled with contrition as he opened his mother's letter, which
+was several weeks old and had come by way of Canada, since she did not
+know he had gone South. For some time he had sent home only casual
+notes, partly to save her anxiety, and partly because writing was
+irksome to him unless he had something particularly pleasant to tell
+her. His plans and actions had been so much discussed at home and he had
+been considered so censurably odd&mdash;so different from his relatives and
+friends in his opinions, and so impossible of comprehension (which
+branded him in his own circle as being quite at fault)&mdash;that he had long
+ago abandoned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> all effort to make himself understood by them, and had
+retired behind his mask of reserve and silence to pursue his own course
+undisturbed. Thus, at best, an occasional perfunctory letter that all
+was well with him was the sum total of news they received. Thryng had no
+money anxieties for his family. The needs of his mother and his
+sister&mdash;not yet of age&mdash;were amply provided for by a moderate annuity,
+while his brother had his position in the army, and help from his uncle
+besides. For himself, he had saved enough, with his simple tastes and
+much hard work, to tide him over this period of rest.</p>
+
+<p>David sat now and turned his mother's letter over and over. He read and
+reread it. It was very sad. Her splendid boys both gone from her, one
+possibly never to return&mdash;neither of them married and with no hope of
+grandchildren to solace her declining years. "Stay where you are,
+David," she wrote; "Doctor Hoyle tells us you are doing well. Don't, oh,
+don't enter the army! One son I have surrendered to my country's
+service; let me feel that I still have one on whom I may depend to care
+for Laura and me in the years to come. We do not need you now, but some day we may."</p>
+
+<p>David's quandary was how to give her as much of his confidence as filial
+duty required without betraying himself so far as to arouse the
+antagonistic comment of her immediate circle upon his course.</p>
+
+<p>At last he found a way. Telling her he did not know how soon he might
+return to Canada, he requested her to continue to address him there. He
+then filled his letter with loving thoughts for her and Laura, and a
+humorous description of what he had seen and experienced in the "States"
+and the country about him, all so foreign and utterly strange to her as
+to be equal to a small manuscript romance. It was a cleverly written
+letter, so hiding the vital matters of his soul, which he could not
+reveal even to the most loving scrutiny, that all her motherly intuition
+failed to read between the lines. The humorous portions she gave to the
+rector's wife,&mdash;her most intimate friend,&mdash;and the dear son's love
+expressed therein she treasured in her heart and was comforted.</p>
+
+<p>Then David rode away up the mountain without descending to his little
+farm. He craved to get far into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> the very heart of the wildest parts,
+for with the letters the old conventional and stereotyped ideals seemed
+to have intruded into his cabin.</p>
+
+<p>He passed the home of Hoke Belew and stopped there to see that all was
+well with them. The rose vine covering the porch roof was filled with
+pink blossoms, hundreds of them swinging out over his head. The air was
+sweet with the odor of honeysuckle. The old locust tree would soon be
+alive with bees, for it was already budded. He took the baby in his arms
+and saw that its cheeks were growing round and plump, and that the young
+mother looked well and happy, and he was glad.</p>
+
+<p>"Take good care of them, Hoke; they are worth it," he said to the young
+father, as he passed him coming in from the field.</p>
+
+<p>"I will that," said the man.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you tell me how to reach a place called 'Wild Cat Hole'? I have a
+fancy to do a little exploring."</p>
+
+<p>"Waal, hit's sorter round about. I don't guess ye c'n find hit easy."
+The man spat as if reluctant to give the information asked, which only
+stimulated David all the more to find the spot.</p>
+
+<p>"Keep right on this way, do I?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, you keep on fer a spell, an' then you turn to th' right an' foller
+the stream fer a spell, an' you keep on follerin' hit off an' on till
+you git thar. Ye'll know hit when you do git thar, but th' still's all broke up."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't care a rap about the still."</p>
+
+<p>"Naw, I reckon not. Better light an' have dinner 'fore you go on.
+Azalie, keep the doc to dinner. I'm comin' in a minute," he called to
+his wife, who stood smiling in the doorway.</p>
+
+<p>David willingly accepted the proffered hospitality, as he had often done
+before, knowing it would be well after nightfall ere he could return to
+his cabin, and rode back to the house.</p>
+
+<p>While Azalea prepared dinner, Hoke sat in the open door and held his
+baby and smoked. David took a splint-bottomed chair out on the porch and
+smoked with him, watching pleasantly the pride of the young father, who
+allowed the tiny fist to close tightly around his great work-roughened finger.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p><p>"Look a-thar now. See that hand. Hit ain't bigger'n a bumble-bee, an'
+see how he kin hang on."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said David, absently regarding them. "He's a fine boy."</p>
+
+<p>"He sure is. The' hain't no finer on this mountain."</p>
+
+<p>Azalea came and looked down over her husband's shoulder. "Don't do
+that-a-way, Hoke. You'll wake him up, bobbin' his arm up an' down like
+you a-doin'. Hoke, he's that proud, you can't touch him."</p>
+
+<p>"You hear that, Doc? Azalie, she's that sot on him she's like to turn me
+outen the house fer jes' lookin' at him. She 'lows he'll grow up a
+preacher, on account o' the way he kin holler an' thrash with his fists,
+but I tell her hit hain't nothin' but madness an' devilment 'at gits in him."</p>
+
+<p>With a mother's superior smile playing about her lips, she glanced
+understandingly at David, and went on with her cooking. As they came in
+to the table, she called David's attention to a low box set on rockers,
+and, taking the baby from her husband's arms, carefully placed him,
+still asleep, in the quaint nest.</p>
+
+<p>"Hoke made that hisself," she said with pride. "And Cassandry, she made that kiver."</p>
+
+<p>Thryng touched the cover reverently, bending over it, and left the
+cradle rocking as he sat down at Hoke's side and began to put fresh
+butter between his hot biscuit, as he had learned to do. His mother
+would have flung up her hands in horror had she seen him doing this, or
+could she have known how many such he had devoured since coming to
+recuperate in these mountain wilds.</p>
+
+<p>The home was very bare and simple, but sweet and clean, and love was in
+it. To sit there for a while with the childlike young couple, enjoying
+their home and their baby and the hospitality generously offered
+according to their ability, warmed David's heart, and he rode away
+happier than he came.</p>
+
+<p>With mind absorbed and idle rein, he allowed his horse to stray as he
+would, while his thoughts and memory played strange tricks, presenting
+contrasting pictures to his inward vision. Now it was his mother reading
+by the evening lamp, carelessly scanning a late magazine, only half
+interested, her white hair arranged in shining puffs high on her head,
+and soft lace&mdash;old lace&mdash;falling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> from open sleeves over her shapely
+arms; and Laura, red-cheeked and plump, curled, feet and all, in a great
+lounging chair, poring over a novel and yawning now and then, her dark
+hair carelessly tied, with straight, straying ends hanging about her
+face as he had many a time seen her after playing a game of hockey with
+her active, romping friends.</p>
+
+<p>His mother and Laura were the only ones at home now, since the big elder
+brother was gone. Of course they would miss him and be sad sometimes,
+but Laura would enjoy life as much as ever and keep the home bright with
+youth. Even as he thought of them, the room faded and his own cabin
+appeared as he had seen it the day before, through the open window, with
+Cassandra moving about in her quiet, gliding way, haloed with light.
+Again he would see a picture of another room, all white and gold, with
+slight French chairs and tables, and couches and cushions, and
+candelabra of quivering crystals, with pale green walls and gold-framed
+paintings, and a great, three-cornered piano, massive and dark, where a
+slight, fair girl sat idly playing tinkling music in keeping with
+herself and the room, but quite out of keeping with the splendid instrument.</p>
+
+<p>He saw people all about her, chatting, laughing, sipping tea, and eating
+thin bread and butter. He saw, as if from a distance, another man,
+himself, in that room, standing near the piano to turn her music, while
+the tinkling runs and glib, expressionless trills wove in and out, a
+ceaseless nothing.</p>
+
+<p>She spent years learning to do that, he thought, and any amount of
+money. Oh, well. She had it to spend, and of what else were they
+capable&mdash;those hands? He could see them fluttering caressingly over the
+keys, pink, slender, pretty,&mdash;and then he saw other hands, somewhat
+work-worn, not small nor yet too large, but white and shapely. Ah! Of
+what were they not capable? And the other girl in coarse white homespun,
+seated before the fire in Hoke Belew's cabin, holding in her arms the
+small bundle&mdash;and her smile, so rare and fleeting!</p>
+
+<p>He saw again the handsome sullen youth in Bishop Towers' garden,
+regarding him over the hedge with narrowed eyes, and his whole nature
+rebelled and cried out as before, "What a waste!" Why should he allow it
+to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> go on? He must thrash this thing out once for all before he returned
+to his cabin&mdash;the right and the wrong of the case before he should see
+her again, while as yet he could be engineer of his own forces and hold
+his hand on the throttle to guide himself safely and wisely.</p>
+
+<p>Could he succeed in influencing her to set her young lover's claims one
+side? But in his heart he knew if such a thing were possible, she would
+not be herself; she would be another being, and his love for her would
+cease. No, he must see her but little, and let the tragedy go on even as
+the bishop had said&mdash;go on as if he never had known her. As soon as
+possible he must return and take up his work where he could not see the
+slow wreck of her life. A heavy dread settled down upon him, and he rode
+on with bowed head, until his horse stumbled and thus roused him from his revery.</p>
+
+<p>To what wild spot had the animal brought him? David lifted his head and
+looked about him, and it was as if he had been caught up and dropped in
+an enchanted wood. The horse had climbed among great boulders and paused
+beneath an enormous overhanging rock. He heard, off at one side, the
+rushing sound of a mountain stream and judged he was near the head of
+Lone Pine Creek. But oh, the wildness of the spot and the beauty of it
+and the lonely charm! He tied his horse to a lithe limb that swung above
+his head and, dismounting, clambered on towards the rushing water.</p>
+
+<p>The place was so screened in as to leave no vista anywhere, hiding the
+mountains on all sides. Light green foliage overhead, where branches
+thickly interlaced from great trees growing out of the bank high above,
+made a cool, lucent shadowiness all around him. There was a delicious
+odor of sweet-shrub in the air, and the fruity fragrance of the dark,
+wild wake-robin underfoot. The tremendous rocks were covered with the
+most exquisite forms of lichen in all their varied shades of richness and delicacy.</p>
+
+<p>He began carefully removing portions here and there to examine under his
+microscope, when he noticed, almost crushed under his foot, a pale
+purple orchid like the one Cassandra had placed on his table. Always
+thinking of her, he stooped suddenly to lift the frail thing, and at the
+instant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> a rifle-shot rang out in the still air, and a bullet meant for
+his heart cut across his shoulders like a trail of fire and flattened
+itself on the rock where he had been at work. At the same moment, with a
+bound of tiger-like ferocity and swiftness, one leaped toward him from a
+near mass of laurel, and he found himself grappling for life or death
+with the man who fired the shot.</p>
+
+<p>Not a word was spoken. The quick, short breathing, the scuffling of feet
+among the leaves, and the snapping of dead twigs underfoot were the only
+sounds. Had the youth been a trained wrestler, David would have known
+what to expect, and would have been able to use method in his defence.
+As it was, he had to deal with an enraged creature who fought with the
+desperate instinct of an antagonist who fights to the death. He knew
+that the odds were against him, and felt rising within him a wild
+determination to win the combat, and, thinking only of Cassandra, to
+settle thus the vexed question, to fight with the blind passion and the
+primitive right of the strongest to win his mate. He gathered all his
+strength, his good English mettle and nerve, and grappled with a grip of steel.</p>
+
+<p>This way and that, twisting, turning, stumbling on the uneven ground,
+with set teeth and faces drawn and fierce, they struggled, and all the
+time the light tweed coat on David's back showed a deeper stain from his
+heart's blood, and his face grew paler and his breath shorter. Yet a joy
+leaped within him. It was thus he might save her, either to win her or
+to die for her, for should Frale kill him, she would turn from him in
+hopeless horror, and David, even in dying, would save her.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the battle was ended. Thryng's foot turned, on a rounded stone,
+causing him to lose his foothold. At the same instant, with terrible
+forward impetus, Frale closed with him, bending him backward until his
+head struck the lichen-covered rock. The purple orchid was bruised
+beneath him, and its color deepened with his blood. Then Frale rose and
+looked down upon the pallid, upturned face and inert body, which lay as
+he had crushed it down. As he stood thus, a white figure, bareheaded and
+alone, came swiftly through the wall of laurel which hid them and
+pausing terror-stricken in the open space, looked from one to the other.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="center"><a name="i170.jpg" id="i170.jpg"></a><img src="images/i170.jpg" width='499' height='700' alt="I take it back back from God the promise I gave you
+there by the fall. Page 171." /></div>
+
+<p>For an instant Cassandra waited thus, as if she too were struck dead
+where she stood. Then she looked no more on the fallen man, but only at
+Frale, with eyes immovable and yet withdrawn, as if she were searching
+in her own soul for a thing to do, while her heart stood still and her
+throat closed. Those great gray eyes, with the green sea depths in them,
+began to glow with a cruel light, as if she too could kill,&mdash;as if they
+were drawing slowly from the deep well of her being, as it were, a sword
+from its scabbard wherewith to cut him through the heart. Her hand stole
+to her throat and pressed hard. Then she lifted it high above her head
+and held it, as if in an instant more one might see the invisible sword
+flash forth and strike him. Frale cried out then, "Don't, don't curse
+me, Cass," and lifted his arm to shield his face, while great beads of
+moisture stood out on his face.</p>
+
+<p>"It's not for me to curse, Frale." Her voice was low and clear. "Curses
+come from hell, like what you been carrying in your heart that made you
+do this." Her voice grew louder, and her hand trembled and shut as if it
+grasped something. "I take it back&mdash;back from God&mdash;the promise I gave
+you there by the fall." Then, looking up, her voice grew low again,
+though still distinct. "I take that promise back forever, oh, God!" Her
+hand dropped. The cruel light died slowly out of her eyes, and she
+turned and knelt by the prostrate man, and began pulling open his coat.
+Frale took one step toward her.</p>
+
+<p>"Cass," he said, with shaking voice, "I'll he'p you."</p>
+
+<p>Her hands clinched into David's coat as she held it. "Go back. Don't you
+touch even his least finger," she cried, looking up at him from where
+she knelt like a creature hurt to the heart, defending its own. "You've
+done your work. Take your face where I never can see it again."</p>
+
+<p>He still stood and looked down on her. She turned again to David, and,
+thrusting her hand into his bosom, drew it forth with blood upon it.</p>
+
+<p>"I say, you Frale!" she cried, holding it toward him, quivering with the
+ferocity she could no longer restrain, "leave here, or with this blood
+on my hand I'll call all hell to curse you."</p>
+
+<p>Frale turned with bowed head and left her there.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG AWAKES</h3>
+
+<p>Thryng lay in Hoke Belew's cabin,&mdash;not in the one great living-room
+where were the fireplace and the large bed and the tiny cradle, but in
+the smaller addition at the side, entered only from the porch which
+extended along the front of both parts.</p>
+
+<p>He still lay on the litter upon which he had been placed to carry him
+down the mountain,&mdash;an improvised thing made by stretching quilts across
+two poles of slender green pines. The litter was placed on low trestles
+to raise it from the floor, and close to the open door to give him air.
+David had not regained consciousness since his hurt, but lay like one
+dead, with closed eyes and blanched lips; yet they knew him to be living.</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra sat beside him alone. All night long she had been there
+unsleeping, hollow-eyed, and worn with tearless grief. She had done all
+she knew how to do. Before going for help she had removed his clothing
+and bound about his body strips torn from her dress to stop the bleeding
+of his shoulders where the silver bullet had torn across them. How the
+ball had missed giving a mortal wound was like a miracle.</p>
+
+<p>Hoke Belew had tried to arouse him, but had failed. At intervals, during
+the night, Cassandra had managed to drop a little whiskey between his
+lips with a spoon, and she had bathed him with the stimulant over heart
+and lungs, and chafed his hands, and had tried to warm his feet by
+rubbing them and wrapping them up between jugs of hot water. She had
+bathed his bruised head and cut away the softly curling hair from the
+spot where his head had struck the rock. What more she could do she knew
+not, and now she sat at his side still chafing his hands and waiting for
+Hoke Belew's return.</p>
+
+<p>Hoke had gone to the station to telegraph for Bishop<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> Towers.
+Fortunately, as the hotel was so soon to be opened and the busy summer
+life to begin, the operator was already there.</p>
+
+<p>Azalea, in the great room, was preparing dinner, stopping now and then
+to touch her baby's cradle, or to stoop a moment over the treasure
+therein. Aunt Sally sat in the doorway smoking her cob pipe and telling
+grewsome tales of how she had "seen people hurted that-a-way and nevah
+come out en hit." Sally had ridden over to give help and sympathy, but
+Cassandra had said she would watch alone. She had eaten nothing since
+the day before, only sipping the coffee Azalea had brought her.</p>
+
+<p>It was one of those breathless hours before a rain when not a leaf
+stirs; even the birds were silent. Cassandra tried once more to give
+David a few drops of the whiskey, and this time it seemed as if he
+swallowed a little. She thought she saw his eyelids quiver, and her
+heart pounded suffocatingly in her breast. She dropped beside him on her
+knees and once again tried to give him the only stimulant they had. This
+time she was sure he took it, and, still kneeling there, she bowed her
+head and pressed her lips upon the hand she had been chafing. Did it
+move or not? She could not tell, and again she sat gazing in the still,
+white face. Oh, the suspense! Oh, the joy that was agony! If this were
+truly the awakening and meant life! In her intensity of longing for some
+further signs she drew slowly nearer and nearer, until at last her lips
+touched his. Then in shame she hid her face in the quilt at his side
+and, weak with the exhaustion of her long anguish and fasting and
+watching, she wept the first tears&mdash;tears of hope she was not strong
+enough to bear. As she thus knelt, weeping softly, his fluttering
+eyelids lifted and he saw her there, and felt the quivering hand beneath his head.</p>
+
+<p>Not understanding how or why this should be, he waited perfectly still,
+trying to gather his thoughts. A great peace was in his heart&mdash;a peace
+and content so sweet he did not wish to move. Lingering beneath this
+content, he held a dim memory of a great anger&mdash;a horror of anger, when
+he saw red, and hungered for blood. Vaguely it seemed to him now that
+all was as he wished it to be with Cassandra near. He liked to feel her
+hand beneath his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> head and her other hand upon his own, and her heavy
+bronze hair so close, and he closed his eyes once more to shut out all
+else, for the room was strange to him&mdash;this raftered place all
+whitewashed from ceiling to floor.</p>
+
+<p>He had forgotten what had happened, but Cassandra was there, and he was
+content. Something had touched his lips and brought him back, he was
+sure of that, and his weakly beating heart stirred to more vigorous
+action. He turned his head a little, a very little, toward her, and his
+fingers closed about her hand to hold it there. She lifted her head
+then, and they looked into each other's eyes, a long, deep look. Later,
+when Azalea entered, she found them both sleeping, Cassandra's hand
+still beneath his head, his face pressed to her soft hair and his free
+arm flung about her.</p>
+
+<p>Azalea stole away and hurried with the news to old Sally, who also crept
+in and looked on them and stole away.</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, she sure have saved his life," said Sally. "Heap o' times they
+nevah do come out en that thar kin' o' sleep. I done seed sech before."</p>
+
+<p>"Ef he have come to hisself, you reckon I bettah wake 'em up and give
+her a leetle hot milk? She hain't eat nothin' sence yestiday."</p>
+
+<p>"Naw, leave 'em be. No body nevah hain't starved in his sleep yit, I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>"He hain't eat nothin', neithah. He sure have been bad hurted."</p>
+
+<p>The two women sat in the large room and talked in low tones, while at
+intervals Azalea crept to the door and looked in on them.</p>
+
+<p>At last the baby wailed out with lusty cry, which sounded through the
+stillness of the house and roused Cassandra, but as she lifted her head,
+David clung to her and drew her cheek to his lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you hurt?" he murmured. In some strange way he had confused
+matters, and thought it was she who had been shot.</p>
+
+<p>"It's not me that's hurt," she said tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>Azalea hurried away and returned with the warm milk she had prepared for
+Cassandra, who took it and held it to David's lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Drink it, Doctah. She won't touch anything till you do."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p><p>Then he obeyed, slowly drinking it all, his eyes fixed on Cassandra's
+as a child looks up to his mother. As she rose, he held her with his free hand.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it? How long&mdash;" His voice sounded thin and weak. "Strange&mdash;I
+can't lift this arm at all. Tell me&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Seems like I can't. When you are strong again, I will."</p>
+
+<p>Feebly he tried to raise himself. "Don't, oh, don't, Doctah Thryng. If
+you bleed again, you'll die," she wailed.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit near me."</p>
+
+<p>She drew a low chair and sat near him, as she had through the slow and
+anxious hours, and again he drowsed off, only to open his eyes from time
+to time as if to assure himself that she was still there. Again Azalea
+brought her milk and white beaten biscuit, hot and sweet, and Cassandra
+ate. When David opened his eyes to look at her, she smiled on him, but
+would not let him talk to her.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless his mind was busy trying to understand why he was lying
+thus, and dimly the events of the last few days came back to him,
+shadowy and confused. When he looked up and saw her smile, his heart was
+satisfied, but when he closed his eyes again, a strange sense of tragedy
+settled down upon him, but what or why he knew not. Suddenly he called
+to her as if from his sleep, "Have I killed some one?" and there was
+horror in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, Doctor Thryng. You been nigh about killed yourself. Oh, why
+didn't I send for a doctor who could do you right! Bishop Towers won't
+know anything about this."</p>
+
+<p>"What have you done?"</p>
+
+<p>"I sent for Bishop Towers."</p>
+
+<p>"Who did me up like this?"</p>
+
+<p>She was silent and, rising quickly, stepped out on the porch, her cheeks
+flaming crimson. Yesterday in her terror and frenzy she could have done
+anything; but now&mdash;with his eyes fixed on her face so intently&mdash;she
+could not reply nor tell how, alone, she had stripped him to the waist
+and bound him about with the homespun cotton of her dress to stanch the
+bleeding before hurrying down the mountain for help.</p>
+
+<p>Instinctively she had done the right thing and had done<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> it well, but
+now she could not talk about it. David tried to call after her, but she
+had gone around into the next room and taken the baby from his cradle,
+where he was wailing his demands for attention. Azalea had gone out for
+a moment, and Aunt Sally "lowed the' wa'n't no use sp'ilin him by takin'
+him up every time he fretted fer hit. Hit would do him good to holler
+an' stretch." So she sat still and smoked.</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra walked up and down the porch, comforted by the feeling of the
+child in her arms. The small head bobbed this way and that until she
+pressed it against her cheek and held him close, and he gradually
+settled down on her bosom, his face tucked softly in the curve of her
+neck, and slept. She heard David speaking her name and went to him, but
+he only looked up at her and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry I left you alone," she said tenderly; "I'll call Aunt Sally."</p>
+
+<p>"No&mdash;wait&mdash;I only want&mdash;to look at you."</p>
+
+<p>She stood swaying her lithe body to rock the sleeping child. David
+thought he never had seen anything lovelier. How serious his wounds
+were, he did not know. But one thing he knew well, and to that one
+thought he clung. He wanted Cassandra where he could see her all the
+time. He wished she would talk to him, and not let him lose
+consciousness, relapsing into the horror of a strange dream that
+continued to haunt him.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you love that baby?" he asked, his voice faint and high.</p>
+
+<p>"He's a right nice baby."</p>
+
+<p>"I say&mdash;do you love him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why&mdash;I reckon I do. Don't try to move that way, Doctah. You may not be
+done right, and you'll bleed again. Oh, we don't know&mdash;we are so
+ignorant&mdash;Azalie and me&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He smiled. "Nothing matters now," he said.</p>
+
+<p>They heard voices, and she looked out from the doorway. "It's Hoke.
+They've sent old Doctor Bartlett. I'm so glad. Aunt Sally, I reckon
+they'll need hot water. Get some ready, will you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Cassandra, Cassandra!" called David, almost irritably.</p>
+
+<p>She came back to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are they?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p><p>"Down the road a piece. I'm glad. You'll be done right now."</p>
+
+<p>"Stoop to me." She obeyed, and the free arm caught and held her, then,
+as the voices drew near, released her with glowing eyes and burning cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>She stepped out on the porch to meet them, half hiding her face behind
+the babe in her arms, and old Dr. Bartlett, as he looked on her with
+less prejudiced and more experienced eyes, thought he too never had seen anything lovelier.</p>
+
+<p>"He's awake," said Cassandra quietly to Hoke, and the two men went to
+David. She carried the child back and asked Aunt Sally to wait on them,
+while she sat down in a low splint rocker, clinging to the little one
+and listening, with throbbing nerves, to the voices in the room beyond.</p>
+
+<p>When Hoke came out to them a moment later, Azalea began eagerly to
+question him, but Cassandra was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"Doctah says we bettah tote 'im ovah to his own place to-day. Aunt Sally
+'lows she can bide thar fer a while an' see him well again."</p>
+
+<p>"You hain't goin' to 'low that, be ye, Hoke? Hit mount look like we
+wa'n't willin' fer him to bide 'long of us."</p>
+
+<p>"Hit hain't what looks like, hit's what's best fer him," said Hoke,
+sagely. "Whatevah doctah says, we'll do." Then Hoke laughed quietly. "He
+done tol' Doctor Bartlett 'at he reckoned somebody mus' 'a' took him fer
+some sorter wild creetur an' shot him by mistake. I guess Frale's safe
+enough f'om him, if the fool boy only know'd hit."</p>
+
+<p>"Frale, he's plumb crazy, the way he's b'en actin'," said Azalea.</p>
+
+<p>"An' Bishop Towahs he telegrafted 'at he'd send this here doctah, an'
+he'd come up to-morrer with Miz Towahs to stop ovah with you, so I
+reckon yer maw wants you down thar, Cass."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra rose quickly and placed the sleeping child gently in his
+cradle box. "I'll go," she said. "There's no need for me here now.
+Hoke&mdash;you've been right good&mdash;" She stopped abruptly and turned to his
+wife. "I must wear your dress off, Azalie, but I'll send it back by Hoke
+as soon as hit's been washed." She went out the door almost as if she
+were eager to escape.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p><p>"Hain't ye goin' to wait fer yer horse?" said Hoke, laughing. "Set a
+minute till I fetch him."</p>
+
+<p>"I clean forgot," she said, and when he had left, she turned to her
+friend. "Azalie&mdash;don't say anything to Hoke about me&mdash;us. Did Aunt Sally
+see? You know I didn't know myself until I woke and found myself there.
+I'd been trying to make him take a little whiskey&mdash;and&mdash;I must have gone
+asleep like I was&mdash;and he woke up and must 'a' felt like he had to kiss
+somebody&mdash;he was that glad to be alive."</p>
+
+<p>"Nevah you fret, child." Azalea smiled a quiet smile. "I'm not one to
+talk; anyway, I reckon Doctah Thryng's about right. He sure have been good to me."</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>The widow sat on her little stoop, waiting and watching, as her daughter
+rode to the door and wearily alighted.</p>
+
+<p>"Cassandry Merlin! For the Lord's sake! What-all is up now? Hoyle&mdash;where
+is that boy?&mdash;Hoyle, come here an' take the horse fer sister. Be ye most
+dade, honey? I reckon ye be. Ye look like hit."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra kissed her mother and passed on into the house. "I couldn't
+send you word last night; anyway, I reckoned you'd rest better if you
+didn't know, for we-all thought Doctor Thryng was sure killed. Did Hoke
+tell you this morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"I 'lowed you was stoppin' with Azalie&mdash;'at baby was sick or
+somethin'&mdash;when Hoyle went up to the cabin an' said doctah wa'n't there.
+Frale sure have done for hisself. I reckon you are cl'ar shet o' him
+now, an' I'm glad ye be, since he done took to the idee o' marryin' with
+you. What-all have he done the doctah this-a-way fer? The' wa'n't
+nothin' 'twixt him an' doctah. Pore fool boy he! I'll be glad fer yuer
+sake, Cass, if he'll quit these here mountains."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mother, mother! Don't talk about me, don't think of me! The
+doctor's nigh about killed&mdash;let alone the sin Frale has on him now."
+Wearied beyond further endurance, she flung herself on her bed and broke
+into uncontrollable sobbing, while Hoyle stood in the middle of the room
+and gazed with wide-eyed wonder.</p>
+
+<p>"Be the doctah dade, maw?" he asked, in an awed whisper.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p><p>"No, child, no. You fetch a leetle light ud an' chips, an' we'll make
+her some coffee. Sister's that tired, pore child! Have ye been up all night, Cass?"</p>
+
+<p>She nodded her head and still sobbed on.</p>
+
+<p>"He's gettin' on all right now, be he?"</p>
+
+<p>Again she nodded, but did not take her hands from her face.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you'd ought to be glad. Hit ain't like Frale had of killed him.
+Farwell, he had many a time sech as that with one an' another, an' he
+nevah come to no harm f'om hit. I reckon Frale'll be safe. Be ye cryin'
+fer him, Cass? Pore child! I nevah did think you keered fer Frale that-a-way."</p>
+
+<p>Then Cassandra burst forth with impetuous fire. "Oh, mother, mother!
+Never say that name to me again. Mother, I saw them! I saw them
+fighting&mdash;and all the time the doctor was bleeding&mdash;bleeding and dying,
+where Frale had shot him. I don't know how long they'd been fighting,
+but I came there and I saw them. I saw him slip and how Frale crushed
+him down&mdash;down&mdash;and his head struck the rock. I saw&mdash;and I almost cursed
+Frale. I hope I didn't&mdash;oh, I hope not! But mother, mother! Don't ask me
+anything more now. Oh, I want to cry! I want to cry and never stop."</p>
+
+<p>While she lay thus weeping, the soft rain that had been threatening all
+day began pattering down, blessed and soothing, the rain to the earth
+and the tears to the girl.</p>
+
+<p>In spite of the rain, Thryng was carried home that afternoon according
+to the physician's orders, and placed in his cabin with Aunt Sally to
+stand guard over him and provide for his wants. A bed was improvised for
+her on the floor of the cabin, while David lay in his own bed in his
+canvas room, bandaged about both body and head, and withal moderately
+comfortable, sufficiently himself to realize what had occurred, and
+overjoyed because of the reward his wounds had brought him.</p>
+
+<p>Doctor Bartlett came down to the Fall Place and was given the bed in the
+loom shed as David had been, and had the pleasure of again seeing
+Cassandra, who, her tears dried, and her manner composed, looked after
+his needs as if no storms had ever shaken her soul.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DAVID SENDS HOKE BELEW ON A COMMISSION, AND CASSANDRA MAKES A CONFESSION</h3>
+
+<p>Early one morning Hoke Belew put his head in at the door of Thryng's
+cabin, where Aunt Sally was squatted before the fireplace, preparing
+breakfast for the patient.</p>
+
+<p>"How's doc?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"He's right fa'r. He mount be worse an' he mount be bettah."</p>
+
+<p>"You reckon I mount go in yandah whar he is at?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ye can look an' see is he awake. I'm gittin' his hot bread an' coffee.
+You bettah bide an' have a leetle," she said, with ever ready hospitality.</p>
+
+<p>He crossed the floor with careful steps and paused in the doorway of the
+canvas room, big and smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"That you, Hoke? Come in," said David, cheerfully. He extended a hand
+which Hoke took in his and held awkwardly, shocked at the white face before him.</p>
+
+<p>"Ye do look puny," he said at last. "But we-uns sure be glad yer livin'.
+Ye tol' me to come early, so I come."</p>
+
+<p>"It's awfully good of you. Bring a chair and sit near, so we can talk a
+bit. Now, Hoke, laid up here as I am, I need your help. I want to send
+you to Farington or Lone Pine&mdash;somewhere&mdash;I don't know where such things
+are to be had&mdash;but, Hoke, you've been married and know all about what's needed here."</p>
+
+<p>"Ye want me to git ye a license, I reckon," said Hoke, grinning, "an' ye
+mount send me a errant I'd like a heap worse&mdash;that's so; but what good
+will hit be to ye now? You can't stan' on your feet."</p>
+
+<p>"I can put it under my pillow and keep it to get well on. See here,
+Hoke. I don't even know if she'll marry me; she has not said so, but
+I'll be ready. You'll keep this quiet for me, Hoke? Because it would
+trouble her if the whole mountain side should know what I have done
+before she does. Yet a girl like Cassandra is worth winning if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> you have
+to go to the edge of the grave to do it, so whenever she will have me, I
+want to be ready."</p>
+
+<p>They talked in low tones, Hoke leaning forward close to David, his
+elbows on his knees. "I reckon you are a-thinkin' to bide on here 'long
+o' we-uns an' not carry her off nowhar else?" he asked gravely.</p>
+
+<p>David's paleness left him for a moment, as the warm tide swept upward
+from his heart. "My home is not in this country, and wherever a man
+goes, he expects to take his wife with him. Don't you people here in the
+mountains do the same?"</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon so, but hit would nigh about kill Azalie if she war to lose
+Cass. They have been frien's evah sence they war littlin's."</p>
+
+<p>"Hoke, if you were to find it necessary to go away anywhere, would you
+leave your wife behind to please Cassandra Merlin?" The man was silent,
+and David continued. "Before you were married if you had known there was
+another man, and a criminal at that, hanging around determined to get
+her, wouldn't you have married her out of hand as soon as you could get
+her consent? It's my opinion, knowing the sort of man you are, that you would."</p>
+
+<p>"I sure would."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you can understand why I wish to have a marriage license under my pillow."</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon so&mdash;but&mdash;you&mdash;you-all hain't quite our kind&mdash;not bein' kin to
+none of us&mdash; You understand me, suh. We-uns are a proud people here, an'
+we think a heap o' our women. Hit would be right hard should you git
+sorter tired o' Cassandry when you come to git her amongst your
+people&mdash;bein' she hain't like none o' your folks, understand; an'
+Cassandry, she's sorter hard hit jest now, she don't rightly know
+what-all she do think. Me an' Azalie, we been speakin' right smart
+together&mdash;an'&mdash;well, we do sure think a heap o' you, Doc&mdash;an' hit ain't
+no disrespect to you-uns, neither. Have you said anything to her maw?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not a word. When I learned another man was before me, I stood one side
+as an honorable man should and gave him his chance. But when it comes to
+being attacked by the other man and shot in the back&mdash; by heaven! no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>
+power on earth will hold me from trying to win her. As for the other
+matter, never you fear. Be my friend, Hoke."</p>
+
+<p>"Waal, I reckon you'll have yer own way, an' I mount as well git hit fer
+ye, but I did promise Azalie 'at I'd speak that word to ye," said the
+young man, rising with an air of relief.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell your wife that you are both of you quite right, and that I am
+right also. Just hunt up my trousers, will you? I want my pocket-book.
+If I have to sign anything before anybody&mdash;bring him here. I don't care
+what you do, so you get it. There, on that card you have it all&mdash;my full
+name and all that, you know."</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>David tried to eat what Sally prepared for him, using his unbound hand;
+but his egg was hard, his coffee thick and boiled. He could not drink it
+very well for his head was too low, and he could not raise himself, so
+he lay silent and uncomfortable, watching her move about his rooms,
+wearing her great black sunbonnet. She appeared kindly and pleasant when
+he could see her face, which was thin and very much lined, but motherly
+and good. He fell in the way of calling her "Aunt Sally" as others did,
+and this seemed to please her. She treated him as if he were a big boy
+who did not know what was good for himself. She called all the green
+blossoming things with which Cassandra had adorned the cabin, "trash,"
+and asked who had "toted hit thar."</p>
+
+<p>Waiting and listening, sure Cassandra would not leave him all day
+without coming to him, even though Aunt Sally had taken him in charge,
+David's mind was full of her. If he closed his eyes, he saw her. If he
+opened them and watched Sally's meagre form and black sunbonnet moving
+about, he thought what it might be to see Cassandra there.</p>
+
+<p>He could not and would not look at the future. The picture Hoke Belew
+had summoned up when he had suggested the taking of Cassandra away among
+people alien to her, he put from him. He would not see it nor think of
+it. The present was his, and it was all he had, perhaps all he ever
+would have; and now he would not allow one little joy of it to escape
+him. He would be greedy of it and have all the gladness of the moments as they came.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p><p>He could see her down below making ready for their visitors, and he
+knew she would not come until the last task was done, but meantime his
+patience was wearing away. Aunt Sally finished her work, and David could
+see her from where he lay, seated in the doorway with her pipe, looking
+out on the gently falling rain.</p>
+
+<p>Without, all was very peaceful; only within himself was turmoil and
+impatience. But he knew that to remain calm and unmoved was to keep back
+his fever and hasten recuperation, so he closed his eyes and tried to
+live for the moment in the remembrance of that awakening when he had
+found her kneeling at his side. Thus he dropped to sleep, and again,
+when he awoke, he found Cassandra there as if in answer to his silent call.</p>
+
+<p>She was seated quietly sewing, as if it were no unusual thing for her to
+visit him thus, and when his earnest gaze caused her to look up, she
+only smiled without perturbation and came to him.</p>
+
+<p>"I sent Aunt Sally down to see mother while I could stay by you and do
+for you a little," she said.</p>
+
+<p>Calm and restful she seemed, yet when he extended his free hand and took
+hers, he felt a tremor in her touch that delighted his heart. He brought
+it to his lips.</p>
+
+<p>"I've been needing you all the morning. Aunt Sally has done
+everything&mdash;all she could. If I should let you have this hand again,
+would you go so far away from me that I could not reach you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not if you want me near."</p>
+
+<p>"Then put away your sewing and bring your chair close to me, and let us
+talk together while we may."</p>
+
+<p>She obeyed and sat looking away from him out through the open door. Were
+her eyes searching for the mountain top?</p>
+
+<p>"You have thoughts&mdash;sweet, big thoughts, dear girl; put them in words
+for me now, while we are so blessedly alone."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't say rightly what I think. Seems like if I had some other
+way&mdash;something besides words to tell my thoughts with, I could do it
+better; but words are all we have&mdash;and seems like when I want them most
+they won't come."</p>
+
+<p>"That's the way with all of us. Don't you see you are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> still beyond my
+reach? Come. If you can't tell your thoughts in words, give them by the
+touch of your hands as you did a moment ago."</p>
+
+<p>She did as he bade her and, leaning forward, took his hand in both her own.</p>
+
+<p>"That's right. I'll teach you how to tell your thoughts without words.
+Now, how came you to find us the other day?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know myself. It was a strange way. First I rode down to
+Teasley's Mill to&mdash;to try to persuade them&mdash;Giles Teasley&mdash;to allow him
+to go free." She paused and put her hand to her throat, as her way was.
+"I think, Doctor Thryng, I'd better build up the fire and get you some
+hot milk. Doctor Bartlett said you must have it often&mdash;and&mdash;to keep you
+very quiet."</p>
+
+<p>"Not until you tell me now&mdash;this moment&mdash;what I ask you. You went to the
+mill to try to help Frale out of his trouble. Cassandra, have you loved that boy?"</p>
+
+<p>Her face assumed its old look of masklike impassivity. "I reckoned he
+might hold himself steady and do right&mdash;would they only leave him
+be&mdash;and give him the chance&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Cassandra, answer me. Was it for love of him that you gave him your promise?"</p>
+
+<p>Her face grew white, and for a moment she bowed her head on his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Please, Doctor Thryng, let me tell you the strange part first, then you
+can answer that question in your own way." She lifted her head and
+looked steadily in his eyes. "You remember that day we went to Cate
+Irwin's? When we came to the place where we can see far&mdash;far over the
+mountains&mdash;I laughed&mdash;with something glad in my heart. It was the same
+this time when I got to that far open place. All at once it seemed like
+I was so free&mdash;free from the heavy burden&mdash;and all in a kind of light
+that was only the same gladness in my heart.</p>
+
+<p>"I stopped there and waited and thought how you said that time, 'It's
+good just to be alive,' and I thought if you were there with me and
+should put your hand on my bridle as you did that night in the rain, and
+if you should lead me away off&mdash;even into the 'Valley of the shadow of
+death' into those deep shadows below us I would go and never say a word.
+All at once it seemed as if you were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> doing that, and I forgot Frale and
+kept on and on; and wherever it seemed like you were leading me, I went.</p>
+
+<p>"It seemed like I was dreaming, or feeling like a hand was on my
+heart&mdash;a hand I could not see, pulling me and making me feel, 'This way,
+this way, I must go this way.' I never had been where my horse took me
+before. I didn't think how I ever could get back again. I didn't seem to
+see anything around me&mdash;only to go on&mdash;on&mdash;on, and at last it seemed I
+couldn't go fast enough, until all at once I came to your horse tied
+there, and I heard strange trampling sounds a little farther on where my
+horse could not go&mdash;and I got off and ran.</p>
+
+<p>"I fell down and got up and ran again; and it seemed as if my feet
+wouldn't leave the ground, but only held me back. It seemed like they
+hadn't any more power to run&mdash;and&mdash;then I came there and I saw." She
+paused, covering her face with her hand as if to shut out the sight, and
+slipped to her knees beside him. "Oh, I saw your faces&mdash;all terrible&mdash;"
+He put his arm about her and drew her close. "I saw you fall, and your
+face when it seemed like you were dying as you fought. I saw&mdash;" Her sobs
+shook her, and she could not go on.</p>
+
+<p>"My beautiful priestess of good and holy things!" he said.</p>
+
+<p>She leaned to him then and, placing her arms about him, ever mindful of
+his hurt, she lifted his head to her shoulder. The flood-gates of her
+reserve once lifted, the full tide of her intense nature swept over him
+and enveloped him. It was as light to his soul and healing to his body.
+How often it had seemed as if he saw her with that halo of light about
+her, and now it was as if he had been drawn within its charmed radius,
+as surely he had.</p>
+
+<p>"And then, dear heart, what did you do?"</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you were killed, and almost&mdash;almost I cursed him. I hope now
+I wasn't so wicked. But I&mdash;I&mdash;called back from God the promise I had given him."</p>
+
+<p>"And then&mdash;tell me all the blessed truth&mdash;and then&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You were bleeding&mdash;bleeding&mdash;and I took off your clothes&mdash;and I saw
+where you were bleeding your life away, and I tied my dress around you.
+I tore it in pieces and wound it all around you as well as I could, and
+then I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> put your coat back on you, and still you didn't waken. It seemed
+as if you had stopped breathing. And then I saw the bruise on your head,
+and I thought maybe you were only stunned. I brought water from the
+branch and put your head on the wet cloth and bound it all around, but
+still you looked like he had killed you, and then&mdash;" he stirred in her
+arms to feel their clasp.</p>
+
+<p>"And then&mdash;then&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I went for help," she said, in so low a tone it seemed hardly spoken.</p>
+
+<p>"First you did something you have not told me."</p>
+
+<p>She waited in a sweet shame he recognized and gloried in, but he wanted
+the confession from her lips.</p>
+
+<p>"And then?"</p>
+
+<p>"You said you would teach me to say things without words," she said tremulously.</p>
+
+<p>"Not now. Later. Put everything you did in words. And then&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you were dying." She drew in a long, sighing breath.</p>
+
+<p>"And you kissed me. I have a right to know, for I missed them all&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I did, I did," she cried vehemently. "A hundred times I kissed you. I
+had called my promise back from God&mdash;and I dared it. I wasn't ashamed. I
+would have done it if all the mountain side had been there to see&mdash;but
+afterwards&mdash;when that strange doctor from Farington came, and I knew he
+must uncover you and find my torn dress around you&mdash;somehow, then I felt
+I didn't want for him to look at me, and I was glad to go away."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you want to know what he said when he saw it? 'Whoever did this kept
+you alive, young man.' So you see how you are my beautiful bringer of
+good. You are&mdash;Oh, I have only one arm now. I am at a disadvantage. When
+I can stand on my feet, I will pay them all back&mdash;those kisses you threw
+away on me then. We shan't need words then, dearest. I'll teach you the
+sweet lesson. Your arms tremble; they are tired, dear. Could you let
+your head rest here and sleep as you did the other day? To think how I
+woke and found you beside me sleeping&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Let me go now. I have things I ought to do for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet. I have things I must say to you."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p><p>"Please, Doctor Thryng."</p>
+
+<p>"My name is David. You must call me by it."</p>
+
+<p>"Please, Doctor David, let me go."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"To warm some milk. I brought it up for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Pity we must eat to live. Then if I let you take your arms away, will
+you come back to me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I'll bring the milk."</p>
+
+<p>"There, go. I'm giving you your own way because I know I will recover
+the sooner the strength I have lost. A man flat on his back, with but
+one arm free, is no good."</p>
+
+<p>"But you don't let me go."</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Cassandra. You brought me back to life. Do you know what for?
+What did your father tell you? That one should be sent for you? It is I,
+dearest. From away over on the other side of the earth, I have come for
+you. We fought like beasts&mdash;Frale and I. I had given you
+up&mdash;you&mdash;Cassandra; had said in my heart, 'I will go away and leave her
+to the one she has chosen, if that be right,' and even at that moment,
+Frale shot me and sprang upon me, and I fought. I was glad the chance
+was given me there in the wilderness in that old and primitive way, to
+settle it and win you.</p>
+
+<p>"I put all the force and strength of my body into it, and more; all the
+strength of my love for you. It was with that in my heart, we clinched.
+I said I will fight to the death for her. She shall be mine whether I
+live or die. Stop crying, sweet; be glad as I am. Give thanks that it
+was to the life and not to the death. Listen, once more, while I can
+feel and know; give way to your great heart of love and treat me as you
+did after you had bound up my wounds. Learn the sweet lesson I said I would teach you."</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>Late that evening, Hoke Belew rode up to the door of David's cabin and
+called Aunt Sally out to speak with him.</p>
+
+<p>"How's doc?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's doin' right well. He's asleep now. Won't ye 'light an' come in?"</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon not. Azalie, she's been alone all day, an' I guess she'll be
+some 'feared. Will you put that thar under doc's pillow whar he kin find
+hit in the mawnin'? Hit's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> a papah he sont me fer. Tell 'im I reckon
+hit's all straight. He kin see. Them people Cassandry was expectin' from
+Farington, did they come to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, they come. They're down to Miz Farwell's."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you tell doc 'at Azalie an' me, we'll be here 'long 'leven in the
+mawnin'." Hoke rode off under the winking stars, for the clouds after
+the long day of rain had lifted, and in the still night were rolling
+away over the mountain tops.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Sally slipped quietly back into the cabin and softly closed the
+door of the canvas room, lest the rustling of paper should waken her
+charge, for she meant to examine that paper, quite innocently, since she
+could neither read nor write, but out of sheer childish curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>She need not have feared waking David, however, for, all his physical
+discomfort forgotten, dominated by the supreme happiness that possessed
+him, yet weak in body to the point of exhaustion, he slept profoundly
+and calmly on, even when she came stealthily and slipped the paper
+beneath his pillow, as Hoke had requested.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH THE BISHOP AND HIS WIFE PASS AN EVENTFUL DAT AT THE FALL PLACE</h3>
+
+<p>"Do you know, James," said Betty Towers, as she walked at her husband's
+side in the sweet morning, slowly climbing up to David's cabin from the
+Fall Place, "I feel almost vexed with you for never bringing me here before."</p>
+
+<p>"Why&mdash;my dear!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I do. To think of all this loveliness, and for six years you have
+been here many times, and never once told me you knew a place hardly two
+hours away as entrancing as heaven. Even now, James, if it hadn't been
+for Cassandra, I wouldn't have come. Why&mdash;it's the loveliest spot on
+earth. Stand still a minute, James, and listen. That's a thrush. Oh,
+something smells so sweet! It's a locust! And that's a redbird's note.
+There he is, like a red blossom in those bushes. There&mdash;no, there. You
+will look in the wrong direction, James, and now he's gone. You remember
+what David Thryng wrote? 'It's good just to be alive.' He's always
+saying that, and now I understand&mdash;in such a place as this. Oh, just
+breathe the air, James!"</p>
+
+<p>"I certainly can't help doing that, dear." The bishop was puffing a
+little over the climb his slight young wife took so easily.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care. Here I've lived in cities all my life, while you have
+lived down here, and it has lost its charm to you. Only think of all
+this gorgeous display of nature just for these mountain people, and what is it to them?"</p>
+
+<p>"To them it's the natural order of things, just as you implied in regard to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Hark, James. Now, that's a catbird!"</p>
+
+<p>"And not a thrush?"</p>
+
+<p>"The other was a thrush. I know the difference."</p>
+
+<p>"Wise little woman! Come. There's that young man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> getting up a fever by
+fretting. We said&mdash;I said we would come early."</p>
+
+<p>"James, I'm going to stay up here and let you go to that stupid wedding
+down in Farington without me."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps we may have something interesting up here, if you'll hurry a little."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, James?"</p>
+
+<p>"I really can't say, dear." She took his hand, and they walked on.</p>
+
+<p>"Wouldn't this be an ideal spot to spend a honeymoon? Hear that fall
+away down below us. How cool it sounds! Why don't you pay attention to
+me? What are you thinking about, James?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am making a little poem for you, dear. Listen:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div>"Chatter, chatter, little tongue,</div>
+<div>What a wonder how you're hung!</div>
+<div>Up above the epiglottis,</div>
+<div>Tied on with a little knot 'tis."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"Only geniuses may be silly, James, but perhaps you can't help it. I
+think married people ought to establish the custom of sabbatical
+honeymoons to counteract the divorce habit. Suppose we set the example,
+now we have arrived at just the right time for one, and spend ours here."</p>
+
+<p>"Anything you say, dear."</p>
+
+<p>Being an absent-minded man, the bishop had fallen in the way of saying
+that, when, had he paused to think, he would have admitted that
+everything was made to bend to his will or wish by the spirited little
+being at his side. Moreover, being an absent-minded man, he drew her to
+him and kissed her. Aunt Sally, watching them from the cabin door,
+wondered if the bishop were going away on a journey, to leave his wife
+behind, for why else should he kiss her thus?</p>
+
+<p>"Will you sit there on the rock and enjoy the mountains while I see how
+he is?" said the bishop.</p>
+
+<p>So they parted at the door, and Aunt Sally brought her a chair and stood
+beside her, giving her every detail of the affair as far as she knew it.
+She sat bareheaded in the sun, to Sally's amazement, for she had her hat
+in her lap and could have worn it.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p><p>The wind blew wisps of her fine straight hair across her pink cheeks
+and in her eyes, as she gazed out upon the blue mountains and listened
+to Sally's tale of "How hit all come about." For Sally went back into
+the family history of the Teasleys, and the Caswells, and the Merlins,
+and the Farwells, until Betty forgot the flight of time and the bishop
+called her. Then she went in to see David.</p>
+
+<p>He had worked his right hand free from its bandages and was able to lift
+it a little. She took it in hers, and looked brightly down at him.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Doctor Thryng, you look better than when you were in Farington!
+Doesn't he, James? Aunt Sally gave me to understand you were nearly dead."</p>
+
+<p>David laughed happily. "I was, but I am very much alive now. I am to be
+married, Mrs. Towers; our wedding is to be quite <i>comme il faut</i>. It is
+to be at high noon, and the ceremony performed by a bishop."</p>
+
+<p>"James!" Betty dropped into a chair and looked helplessly at her
+husband. "You haven't your vestments here!"</p>
+
+<p>"I have all I need, dear. You know, Doctor, from Mr. Belew's telegram we
+were led to expect&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"A death instead of a wedding?" David finished.</p>
+
+<p>Betty turned to him. "Why didn't you tell us when you were down? You
+never gave the slightest hint of your state of mind, and there I was
+with my heart aching for Cassandra, when you&mdash;you stood ready to save
+her. I'm so glad for Cassandra; I could hug you, Doctor Thryng."
+Suddenly she turned on her husband. "James! Have you thought of
+everything&mdash;all the consequences? What will his mother&mdash;and the family
+over in England say?"</p>
+
+<p>James threw up his hand and laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't laugh, James. Have you thought this all out, Doctor? Are you sure
+you can make them understand over there? Won't they think this awfully
+irregular? Will they ever be reconciled? I know how they are. My father was English."</p>
+
+<p>"They never need be reconciled. It's our affair, and there's nothing to
+call me back there to live. What I do, or whom I make my wife, is
+nothing to them. I may visit my mother, of course, but for the rest,
+they gave me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> up years ago, when I had no use for the life they mapped
+out for me. I have nothing to inherit there. It would go to my older
+brother, anyway. I may follow my own inclination&mdash;thank God! And as for
+it's being irregular&mdash;on the contrary&mdash;we are distinguished enough to
+have a bishop perform the ceremony. That will be considered a great
+thing at home&mdash;when they do come to hear of it."</p>
+
+<p>"But it is very sudden, Doctor; I suppose that's why I said irregular."
+Betty Towers paused a moment with a little frown, then laughed outright.
+"Does Cassandra know she is to be married to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"She learned the fact yesterday&mdash;incidentally&mdash;bless her! and her only
+objection was a most feminine one. She had no proper dress. She said she
+was wearing her best when she found me and&mdash;but&mdash;I told her the
+trousseau was to come later."</p>
+
+<p>Betty rose with impulsive importance. "Well, James, we've so little
+time, I must go and help her prepare. And you'll rest now, won't you,
+Doctor? You stay up here with him, James, and I'll find some way of
+sending your things up."</p>
+
+<p>"Thar's Hoyle; he kin he'p a heap. He kin ride the mule an' tote
+anything ye like; and Marthy, I reckon ye kin git her up here on my
+horse&mdash;hit's thar at her place," said Sally, who had been standing in
+the doorway, keenly interested.</p>
+
+<p>When they were alone she said to David: "Hit's a right quare way o'
+doin' things&mdash;gitt'n married in bed, but if Bishop Towahs do hit, hit
+sure must be all right&mdash;leastways Cassandry'll think so."</p>
+
+<p>David took the superintendence of the arrangement of his cabin upon
+himself, and Hoke Belew, with the bishop's aid, carried out his
+directions. One side of his canvas room was rolled to the top, leaving
+the place open to the hills and the beauty without. His bed was placed
+so that he might face the open space, and that Cassandra could kneel at
+his right side. His writing-table, draped with a white cloth and covered
+with green hemlock boughs, formed the altar. It was all very quickly and
+simply done, and then David lay quiet, with closed eyes, listening to
+his musicians in the tree-tops, fluting their own <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>gladness, while Hoke
+Belew went down below, and the bishop sat out on the rock and meditated.</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra came up to the cabin alone and sat with David, while the
+bishop donned his priestly vestments, and the wedding procession wound
+slowly up the trail from the Fall Place, decorously and gravely, clad in
+their best. Azalea and Betty came, side by side, the mother rode Sally's
+speckled white horse, and little Hoyle ran on ahead; Hoke carried his
+baby in his arms. Behind them all rode Uncle Jerry Carew, full of the
+liveliest interest and curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>Said David: "This is May-day. I know what they're doing at home now, if
+the weather will let them. They're having gay times with out-of-door
+f&ecirc;tes. The country girls are wearing their prettiest gowns, and the men
+are wearing sprigs of May in their buttonholes. Where did you get your roses?"</p>
+
+<p>"Azalie brought them."</p>
+
+<p>"And who put them in your hair?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Towahs did that. Do you like me this way, David?"</p>
+
+<p>"You are the loveliest being my eyes ever rested on."</p>
+
+<p>"This was my best dress last year. I did it up and mended it this
+morning. It's home-woven like the one I&mdash;like the other one you said you liked."</p>
+
+<p>David smiled, looking up into the gray eyes with the green lights and
+blue depths in them. How serene and poised her manner was, on the verge
+of the momentous step she was about to take, while his own heart was
+beating high. He wondered if she really comprehended the change it was
+to make in her life, that she showed no apprehension or fear.</p>
+
+<p>"Cassandra, do you realize that in fifteen minutes you will be my wife?
+It will be a great change for you, dearest. In spite of all I can do,
+you may be sad sometimes, and I may ask of you things you don't want to do."</p>
+
+<p>"I've been sad already in my life, and done things I didn't want to do.
+I don't guess you could change that&mdash;only God could."</p>
+
+<p>"And you don't feel in the least disturbed? Your heart doesn't beat any
+harder nor your breath come quicker? Tell me how you feel."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p><p>She smiled and drew a long breath. "I don't know how it is. Everything
+is right peaceful and sweet outside&mdash;the sky and the hills and all the
+birds&mdash;even the wind is still in the trees, like everything was waiting
+for something good to happen."</p>
+
+<p>"In your heart it is sweet and peaceful, too, and waiting for something good to happen?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, David."</p>
+
+<p>"God forgive me if ever I fail you," he said, drawing her down to him.
+"God make me worthy of you."</p>
+
+<p>Then the bishop entered, and the little procession followed, and
+gathered about while the solemn words of the service were uttered.
+Cassandra knelt at David's side, as together they partook of the bread
+and wine, and with the worn circlet of gold which had been tied to her
+father's little Greek books, they were pronounced man and wife. Then,
+rising from her knees, she bent and kissed David, the long first kiss of
+the wedded pair, and turned her gravely happy face to the bishop, who
+admitted to Betty afterward that he had never kissed a bride, other than
+his own, with such unalloyed satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>It was all over quickly, and Cassandra was standing in a new world. Her
+eyes shone with the love-light no longer held back and veiled. She
+accompanied them all to the door and parted from them, even her mother
+and little Hoyle, as a hostess parting from her guests. She would not
+allow any one to stay behind, for the wedding feast had been spread in
+her mother's house, and thither they repaired to eat, and talk everything over.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother felt right bad to leave us alone. She meant to bring everything
+up and all eat together here, but I thought it would be better, just we
+two, and me to set things out for you. Lie quiet and close your eyes,
+David, and make out like you are sleeping while I do it."</p>
+
+<p>With perfect contentment he obeyed, and lay watching her through
+half-closed lids. It was always the same vision. She moved between him
+and a halo of light that seemed to be a part of her and to go with her,
+now at his bedside, now bending before the fireplace. At last the small
+pine table, which had served as an altar, was set with their first meal.
+The home was established.</p>
+
+<p>He opened his eyes and looked on the feast she had set<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> before him. The
+pink rose was still in her hair, and one at her throat, and two perfect
+ones were in a glass near his plate. The table was drawn close to his
+bedside, and strawberries were upon it, and a glass pitcher of cream.
+There were white beaten biscuit, and tea&mdash;as he had made it for her so
+long ago on her first and only visit to his cabin when he was at home,
+so she had made it for him now. There were chicken and green peas, also.</p>
+
+<p>"How quickly everything has happened! How perfect it all is! How did you
+get all these things together?"</p>
+
+<p>So she told him where everything came from. "Mother churned the butter
+to have it right fresh, and she left it without salt for you, like you
+said you used to have it in England. Uncle Jerry brought the peas from
+his garden, and he shelled them himself. I made the biscuit this
+morning, and Aunt Sally fried the chicken when she came down, and Azalie
+prepared the peas, and we kept them all hot in the fireplace, theirs
+down there, and ours up here." Cassandra laughed merrily. "I reckon it
+looked funny. Every one carried something when they came up. Hoyle had
+the peas in a tin pail, and mother rode Aunt Sally's Speckle and carried
+the biscuit in a pan on front. Shut your eyes and you can see them come
+that way, David, while I sit here with you, talking and feeling that
+happy. Don't try to use your right hand that way; I can see it hurts
+you. Let me go on feeding you like I am. Don't I do it right?"</p>
+
+<p>"Perfectly, but I want you to bring that cushion over here and put it
+under my pillow so you won't have to lift my head. That's right. Now I
+want to see you eat. You can't feed me and yourself at the same time.
+You won't? Then we'll take it turn about."</p>
+
+<p>"How have you managed these days? Did Aunt Sally feed you? Oh, I don't
+believe you ate anything. You couldn't, could you?"</p>
+
+<p>She spoke so sadly, he laughed. "It's a lucky thing you sent for the
+bishop instead of the doctor, or I would have had no wife and would have
+starved to death. I couldn't have survived another day."</p>
+
+<p>Again she laughed out, as she seemed so suddenly to have learned to do.
+"And I would have stayed away and let<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> you starve to death? You must
+open your mouth, David, and not try to talk now."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, no, that's enough. We've a thousand things to say and plans to
+make. You eat while I talk. When I am up, we must find some one to stay
+with your mother. She should not be left alone." Cassandra paled a
+little. He was watching her face. "You will be staying up here with me,
+you know, all the time."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;I know." Her throat seemed to tighten, and she looked off toward
+the hills, as her way was.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you like the thought of staying up here with me? Make your
+confession, dearest one." He drew her down to look in his eyes. "It's
+done. We are man and wife."</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes swam with tears, but her lips smiled. "I do. I do want to bide
+with you. All the way before me now looks like a long path of
+light&mdash;like what I have dreamed sometimes when the moon shines long down
+the mists at night. Only one place&mdash;I can't quite see&mdash;is it shadow or
+not. Perhaps it's only the thought of mother down there alone."</p>
+
+<p>She spoke dreamily and with the same look of seeing things beyond,
+except that now she fixed her eyes, not on the mountain top, but on his own.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it in my eyes you see the long path of light? Are we together in it?
+I see you always with the light about you. I saw you so first in your
+own home before the blazing fire&mdash;such a hearth fire as I had never seen
+before. You have appeared to me in my dreams with light about you ever
+since, and in my visions when I have been riding over these hills alone.
+What are you seeing now?"</p>
+
+<p>"You, as you helped me that first time, there in the snow. You looked so
+ill, but your way was strong, and I thought&mdash;all at once, in a
+flash&mdash;like it came from&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Go on."</p>
+
+<p>"Like it came from my father: 'One will come for you.'" She hid her face
+in his bosom, and her words came smothered and brokenly, "All the ride
+home I put them away, but they would come back, his words: 'On the
+mountain top, one will come for you'; but we were in such trouble&mdash;I
+thought it was just the thought of my father. It's always strongest when
+trouble comes, like he would comfort me."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p><p>"Don't you have it also when happiness comes to you, as on this morning
+while we waited together?"</p>
+
+<p>"No great happiness like this ever came before. I have been glad, like
+when mother said I might go to Farington to school; and when I knelt and
+was confirmed, I was glad then. The first gladness I can remember was
+when my father used to carry me in his arms up and down his path and
+repeat strange poetry to me. When you are well, we will go there, won't we?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dearest; but didn't the remembrance come to you just now, when you
+saw the long path of light before us?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think no, David. I'm afraid I forgot every one but you then, when you
+asked would I like to bide here with you; and the long path of light was
+our love&mdash;for it reaches up to heaven, doesn't it, David?"</p>
+
+<p>"It reaches to heaven, Cassandra."</p>
+
+<p>Then they were silent, for there was no more to say.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH THE SUMMER PASSES</h3>
+
+<p>Midsummer arrived, and David, healed of his wounds, pronounced himself
+as "strong as a cricketer." What he meant by that Hoyle could only
+conjecture, and, after much pondering, decided that his strength was now
+so great that should he desire to do so, he could leap into the air or
+jump long distances after the manner of crickets.</p>
+
+<p>"You reckon you could jump as fer in one jump now as from here to
+t'other side the water trough yandah?" he asked one day, as they sat on
+the porch steps together.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't reckon so," said David, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, could you jump ovah this here house and the loom shed in one jump?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't reckon so."</p>
+
+<p>"Be sensible, honey son. You mustn't 'low him to ax ye fool questions,
+Doctah. You knows they hain't nobody kin do such as that, Hoyle," called
+his mother from within.</p>
+
+<p>"He has some idea in his head. What is it, brother Hoyle?"</p>
+
+<p>"I heered you tellin' Cass 'at you was gettin' strong as one o' these
+here cricket bugs, an' I had one t'other day; he could jump as fer as
+cl'ar acrost the po'ch&mdash;and he was only 'bout a inch long&mdash;er less 'n a
+inch. I thought if brothah David was that strong, he could jump a heap."</p>
+
+<p>David had comforted Hoyle for the loss of Cassandra from the home by
+explaining that they were now become brothers for the rest of their
+lives, and in order to give this assurance appreciable significance, he
+had taken the small chap to the circus and had treated him to pink
+lemonade and a toy balloon.</p>
+
+<p>They had remained over until the next day, and Doctor Bartlett and David
+had examined him all over at the old physician's office and then had
+gone into a little room by themselves and stayed a long time, leaving
+him outside.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> Then, to compensate for such gross neglect, David had
+taken him to a clothing store and bought him a complete suit of store
+clothing, very neat and pretty. Hoyle would have been in the seventh
+heaven over all this, were it not, alas! that there the child for the
+first time in his life looked into a mirror that revealed him to himself
+from head to foot, little wry neck, hunched back and all.</p>
+
+<p>David, not realizing this was a revelation to the little man, wondered,
+as they walked away, that all his enthusiasm and exuberance of spirits
+had left him, and that he walked at his side wearily and sadly silent.
+His pathetic little legs spindled down from the smart new trousers, and
+his hands dangled weakly from his thin wrists, albeit his fingers clung
+tightly to his toy balloon.</p>
+
+<p>"We're going back to the bishop's now, and we'll have a good dinner, and
+then you'll have a whole hour to play with Dorothy before we leave for
+home," said David, cheeringly. The child made no response other than to
+slip his hand into David's. "What are you thinking about, brother Hoyle?"</p>
+
+<p>"Jest nothin'. I war a-wonderin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, there is a difference? What were you wondering?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maw told me if you war that good to take me to a circus, I mustn't
+bothah you with a heap o' questions 'at wa'n't no good."</p>
+
+<p>"That's all right. I'm questioning you now."</p>
+
+<p>"What war you an' that old man feelin' me all ovah for? War you tryin'
+to make out hu' come my hade is sot like this-a-way? Reckon you r'aly
+could set hit straight an' get this 'er lump off'n my back?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't worry about your head and your back. You have a very good head.
+That's more than some can say."</p>
+
+<p>"I nevah see nary othah boy like I be. You reckon that li'l' girl, she
+thought I war quare?"</p>
+
+<p>"What little girl?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Towahs's li'l' girl. She said 'turn roun',' an' when I done hit,
+she said 'turn roun' agin.' Then she said, 'Whyn't you hol' your hade like I do?'"</p>
+
+<p>"What did you say?"</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't say nothin.' Jes' axed her whyn't she hol' her head like I did?
+an' she said, 'Don't want to.' So<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> I said, 'Don't want to.'" He twisted
+his head about to look up in David's face, and his lips smiled, but in
+his eyes was a suspicion of tears. His heart heavy for the child, David
+praised him for a brave little chap, comforting him as best he could.</p>
+
+<p>"You reckon she'd like me if I war to give her this here balloon?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, you take that home to sister. The little girl can get one when the
+circus comes again." But after dinner, David did not send Hoyle off to
+play the hour with Dorothy. He took her on his knee and entertained them
+both with tales and mimicry until he had them in gales of laughter, and
+for the time being Hoyle forgot his troubles.</p>
+
+<p>As the days passed, David became more and more interested in his patch
+of ground and the growing things in his garden. Never had he labored
+with his hands in this fashion, and each night he lay down to sleep
+physically weary, in contentment of spirit. Steadily he progressed
+toward the desired goal of health. In his young wife, also, he found a
+rich satisfaction, watching her unfold and blossom into the gracious
+wifehood and ladyhood he had dreamed of for her.</p>
+
+<p>Together they used to stroll to the little farm, where she told him all
+she knew about the crops&mdash;what was best for the animals, and what would
+be needed for themselves. Long before David was able to oversee the work
+himself, she had set Elwine Timms to sowing cow-peas and planting corn.</p>
+
+<p>"Behold your heritage!" David said to her one morning, as they strolled
+thus among the thrifty greenness and patches of vetch where the cow was
+contentedly feeding. He laughed joyously and drew his wife's arm through
+his. She looked up at him wistfully. He thought she sighed, and bent his
+head to listen. "What was that little sound?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was only thinking."</p>
+
+<p>"We'll sit here where we sat that morning when we both put our hands to
+the plough, and you tell me what you were thinking."</p>
+
+<p>"I ought not to stop now, David. I've left all for mother to do. I was
+that busy at the cabin I didn't get down to her this morning."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p><p>"You can't keep two homes going with only your own two dear hands,
+Cassandra. It must be stopped. We'll find some one to live with your
+mother and take your place." She gave a little gasp, then sat silently,
+her hands dropped passively in her lap, and he thought she seemed sad.
+He took her face between his hands and made her look into his eyes.
+"Don't be worried, sweetheart; we'll make a few changes. You're mine
+now, you know&mdash;not only to serve me and labor for me as you have been
+doing all these weeks, but&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But I like it, David. I like doing for you. I hope it may always be so
+I can do for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you like me to become an invalid again so you could keep on in
+the way you began?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not that&mdash;but sometimes I think what if you shouldn't really need me!"
+She hid her face on his breast. "I&mdash;I want you to need me&mdash;David!" It
+was almost like a cry for help, as she said it.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear heart, dear heart! What are you thinking and fearing? Can't you
+understand? You are mine now, to be cared for and loved and held very
+near and dear to my heart. We are no more twain, we are one."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but&mdash;but&mdash;David, I&mdash;I want you to need me," she sobbed, and he
+knew some thought was stirring in her heart which she could not yet put
+into words. He comforted her and soothed her, explaining certain plans
+which later he put into execution, so that her duties at the Fall Place
+were brought to an end and he could have her always with him.</p>
+
+<p>A daughter of her Uncle Cotton, who had gone down into South Carolina to
+live, was induced to come and stay with the widow, and the girl's
+brother came with her and helped David on the farm.</p>
+
+<p>Then David made changes in and about his cabin. He built on another room
+and put therein a cook stove. He could not bear to see his young wife
+bending at the hearth preparing their meals, and when she demurred, he
+explained that he wished to keep her as she was and not see her growing
+old and wrinkled before her time, with the burning heat of the open fire
+in her face, like many of the mountain women.</p>
+
+<p>One evening,&mdash;they had eaten their supper out under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> the trees,&mdash;she
+proposed they should walk up to her father's path, as she called the
+spot toward which she so often lifted her eyes, and David was well
+pleased to go with her. As they set out, she asked him to wait a moment
+while she went back for something, and quickly returned, bringing his flute.</p>
+
+<p>"I've often wished father could have heard you play on this," she said,
+as he took it from her hand.</p>
+
+<p>They crossed the little river that tumbled and rushed among great
+moss-covered boulders on its way to the fall, and followed its wayward
+course toward its head, where the way was untrodden and wild, as if no
+human foot had ever climbed along its banks. After a little they turned
+off toward a tremendous rock of solid granite that had been cleft
+smoothly in twain by some gigantic force of nature, and, walking between
+the towering walls of stone, came out on the farther side upon a small
+level space, where immense ferns and flags grew thickly in the rich
+soil, held in place and kept damp by the great cool masses of stone.</p>
+
+<p>Above this little dell the hill rose steeply, and Cassandra led him to a
+narrow opening in the dense shrubbery surrounding the spot from which a
+beaten path wound upward, overarched with thickly interlacing branches
+of birch wood and hemlocks. Along this winding trail they climbed, until
+they reached a cluster of enormous cedars which made the dark place on
+the mountain Cassandra had pointed out to him from below. Here the path
+widened so they could walk side by side, and continued along a level
+line at the foot of the dark mass of trees.</p>
+
+<p>"Here father used to walk up and down reading in his little books; seems
+like I can hear his voice now. Sometimes he would look off over the
+valley below us there and repeat parts by heart. Isn't it beautiful here, David?"</p>
+
+<p>"Heavenly beautiful!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad we never came here before."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, dearest?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because." She hesitated with parted lips, and cheeks flushed from the
+climb. David stood with bared head. He felt as if he were in a cathedral.</p>
+
+<p>"And why because?" he asked again.</p>
+
+<p>"For now we bring just happiness with us. We're not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> troubled or
+wondering about anything. No sorrow comes with us. In our hearts we are
+sure&mdash;sure&mdash;" She paused again and lifted her eyes to his.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure that all is right when we belong to each other&mdash;this way?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sure! Oh, David, sure&mdash;sure!" She threw her arms about his neck
+and drew his face down to hers. "It's even a greater happiness than when
+he used to carry me in his arms here. There's no sorrow near us. It's all far away."</p>
+
+<p>Thus, sometimes she would throw off all the habitual reserve of her
+manner and open her heart to him, following the rich impulses of her
+nature to their glorious revelation.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, David, sit here and play; play your flute as you did that first
+time when I learned who made the music that I thought must be the
+'Voices,' that time I climbed up to see."</p>
+
+<p>They sat under the great cedars on a bank of moss, and David took the
+flute from her hand, smiling as he thought of that moment when he had
+stood among the blossoming laurel and watched her as she moved about his
+cabin, the day before his hurt, and how she had kissed it.</p>
+
+<p>"I used to sit here like this." She bent forward and rested her head on
+his knee. She had a way of putting her two hands together as a child is
+taught to hold them in prayer and placing them beneath her cheek; and so
+she waited while David paused, his hand on her hair, and his eyes fixed
+on the sea of hilltops where they melted into the sky,&mdash;a mysterious,
+undulating line of the faintest blue, seen through the arching branches
+above, and the swaying hemlocks on either side, and over the tops of a
+hundred varieties of pines and deciduous trees beneath them, all down
+the long slope up which they had climbed.</p>
+
+<p>Thus they waited, until she lifted her head and looked into his eyes
+questioningly. He bent forward and kissed her lips and then lifted the
+flute to his own&mdash;but again paused.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you thinking now, David?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"So you really thought it was the 'Voices'? What was their message, Cassandra?"</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't make it out then, but I thought of this place and of father,
+and it was all at once like as if he would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> make me know something, and
+I prayed God would he lead me to understand was it a message or not. So
+that was the way I kept on following&mdash;until I&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You came to me, dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"And what did you think the interpretation was then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it was you&mdash;you, David. It was love&mdash;and hope&mdash;and
+gladness&mdash;everything, everything&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Go on."</p>
+
+<p>"Everything good and beautiful&mdash;but&mdash;sometimes it comes again&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"What comes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Play, David, play. I'll tell you another time in another place, not here. No, no."</p>
+
+<p>So he played for her until the dusk deepened around and below them, and
+they had to make their way back stumblingly. When they came to the wild,
+untrodden bank of the little river, David resigned the choosing of their
+path entirely to her and followed close, holding her hand where she led.
+When at last they reached their cabin, they did not light candles, but
+sat long in the doorway conversing on the deep things of their souls.</p>
+
+<p>It still seemed to David as if she held something back from him, and now
+he begged her for a more perfect self-revealing.</p>
+
+<p>"It is no longer as if we were separate, dearest; can't you remember and
+feel that we are one?"</p>
+
+<p>"In a way I do. It is very sweet."</p>
+
+<p>"You say in a way. In what way?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, David?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want your point of view."</p>
+
+<p>"I see. We're not really one until we see from each other's hilltop, are we?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, and you never take me into the secret places of your heart and let
+me look off from your own hilltop."</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't I this very evening, David?"</p>
+
+<p>"We stood on the same spot of earth and looked off on the same distance,
+yet in my soul I know I did not see what you saw."</p>
+
+<p>"Pictures come to me very suddenly and just float by, hardly understood
+by myself. I didn't want you to see all I saw, David. I don't know how
+comes it, but all the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> time, even in the midst of our great
+gladness&mdash;right when it is most beautiful&mdash;far before me, right across
+our way, is a place that is dim. It seems 'most like the shadows that
+fall on the hills when those great piles of clouds pass through the sky,
+when it is deep blue all around them and the sun shines everywhere else."</p>
+
+<p>"Your soul is still an undiscovered country to me, Cassandra."</p>
+
+<p>"I should think you'd like that. Don't men love to go discovering? And
+if you could get into the secret chambers, as you call them, you
+wouldn't find much. Then you'd be sorry."</p>
+
+<p>"Cassandra, what are you covering and holding back?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, David. It's like it was when I couldn't understand the
+message of the 'Voices'! When it comes clear and strong, I'll tell you."</p>
+
+<p>"Then there is something?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>With a little sigh, she rose and entered the cabin. He sat in silence as
+she had left him, but soon she returned. Standing behind him in the
+darkness, she put her interlaced fingers under his chin and drew his
+face backward until she could see it, white in the dusk, beneath her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"You have come back to explain?"</p>
+
+<p>"If I can, David. It's hard for me to put in words what is so dim&mdash;what
+I see. It's all just love for you, David. The love burns and blazes up
+in me like the fire when it's fiercest on the hearth, when the day is
+cold outside. You've seen it so. In the little books my father used to
+read, there was a tale of a woman who had my name. She foretold the
+sorrows to come. Perhaps she saw as I see things in the dim pictures,
+only more clearly, and wisdom was given her to interpret them.</p>
+
+<p>"Often and often I've felt that in me&mdash;that strange seeing and knowing
+before, and I don't like it. Only once it made me feel glad&mdash;when it led
+me to you and Frale that terrible moment. But it wasn't a picture that
+time; it was a feeling that pulled me and made me go. I would have gone
+that time if I had died for it."</p>
+
+<p>He took her two hands and covered them with kisses, there in the
+darkness. "I told you you were my priestess of all that is good."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p><p>"But I don't want to be always seeing the shadows and foreboding. I
+want to be all happy&mdash;happy&mdash;the way you are."</p>
+
+<p>"I believe you are one of the blessed ones of God who have 'the gift';
+but you are right to feel as you do. Your life will be more normal and
+wholesome not to try to probe into the future. I'll not attempt to take
+my coarser humanity into your holy places, dear."</p>
+
+<p>He led her into their canvas sleeping chamber, and there she was soon
+calmly slumbering at his side; but he lay long pondering and trying to
+see his way out of a certain dilemma of unrest that had been creeping
+into his veins and prodding him forward ever since his re&euml;stablished
+health had become an assured fact. He recognized it as no more than the
+proper impulse of his manhood not to stagnate and slumber in a lotus
+dream, even as delicious a dream as this. Ah, it was inevitable. His
+world must become her world.</p>
+
+<p>Herein lay the dilemma. This unsullied, beautiful being must enter that
+sordid old world, that had so pressed upon him and broken him down. This
+idyl might go on for perhaps a year longer&mdash;but not for always&mdash;not for always.</p>
+
+<p>He slept at last, and dreamed that they were being driven along a dark,
+cold river, wide and swift; that they had entered it where it was only a
+narrow, rushing stream, sparkling and tumbling over rocks, and winding
+in intricate turnings on itself; that they had laughed as they followed
+it, plashing among the stones where she led him by the hand, until it
+grew wider and deeper and colder, and they were lifted from their feet
+and were tossed and swirled about, and she cried and clung to him, and
+even as he clasped her and held her, he knew her to be slipping from
+him. Then in terror he awoke, and, reaching out in the darkness, drew
+her into his embrace and slept again.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DAVID TAKES LITTLE HOYLE TO CANADA</h3>
+
+<p>"David," said his wife next day, as he came whistling up to his cabin
+from the farm below, "do you mind if I give mother a little help with
+the weaving? Mattie can't do it. She's right nigh spoiled the
+counterpane we had on when she came, and since mother's hurt, she can't
+work the treadles, so now the hotel's open Miss Mayhew may come and find
+them not half done."</p>
+
+<p>"Do I mind? Why should I mind, if you don't 'right nigh' spoil your back
+and wear yourself out?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll go down with you after dinner and see can I patch up Mattie's
+mistakes. It takes so much patience&mdash;a loom does, to understand it."</p>
+
+<p>Mattie was the cousin David had imported from the low country to relieve
+Cassandra from the burden of the work in the home below. Although a
+disappointment to them, she still did her work after her own fashion,
+clumsily and slowly, but her Aunt 'Marthy' was never at rest, prodding
+the dull nature forward, trying to make her take the interest Cassandra had done.</p>
+
+<p>David had wisely persuaded his wife to leave them to themselves, to work
+out the problem of adjustment to the new conditions as best they might,
+and his persuasions had been of a more peremptory nature than he
+realized. To Cassandra they had been as commands, but now&mdash;when the
+weaving on which the widow had counted so much was likely to be ruined
+by Mattie's unskilled hands&mdash;the old mother had declared she could not
+bear to see her niece around and should "pack her off whar she come from."</p>
+
+<p>Therefore Cassandra had made her timid request&mdash;the first evidence of
+shrinking from her husband she had ever given. Why was it? he asked
+himself. What had he ever said or done to make her prefer a request in
+that way?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> But it was over in an instant, and her own poised manner
+returned as they ate and chatted together.</p>
+
+<p>Little Hoyle came running up to eat with them. He had conceived a
+dislike to the home below since the incumbent had come to take his
+sister's place, and evaded thus, as often as possible, his mother's
+vigilance. David did not mind the intrusion, but suffered the adoring
+little chap to sit at his side, ever twisting his small body about to
+fix his great eyes on David's face, while he plied him with questions
+and hung on his words too intent to attend to his own eating unless
+admonished thereto by his sister.</p>
+
+<p>"If you don't eat, son, I'll send you back to mother," she threatened.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't go," he rebelled joyously. "I'll jes' set here 'longside brothah David."</p>
+
+<p>"No, you won't, young man. You'll do whatever sister says. That's what I
+do." He put his hand on the boy's tousled head and turned him about to
+his plate, well filled with food still untouched, but he noticed that
+the child ate listlessly, more as an act of obedience than from a normal
+desire. He glanced up at his wife and saw that she also noticed Hoyle's
+languor. They finished the meal in a silence only broken by Hoyle's
+questions and David's replies, now serious, now teasing and bantering.</p>
+
+<p>"You are so full of interrogation points you have no room for your
+dinner. Here&mdash;drink this milk&mdash;slowly; don't gulp it."</p>
+
+<p>"I know what they be. They go this-a-way." The boy set down his glass to
+illustrate with his slender little hand the form of the question mark.
+Then he laughed out gayly. "You know hu' come I got filled up with them
+things? I done swallered that thar catechism Cass b'en teachin' me Sundays."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I'm thinking you just are one yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"'Cause I'm crooked like this-a-way?" He twisted about and looked up at David gravely.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, son. Doctor didn't mean that," said his sister.</p>
+
+<p>"Finish your milk," said David. "We'll have some fun with the
+microscope." And once again the child essayed to eat and drink a little.</p>
+
+<p>But the languor and pallor grew in spite of all David<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> could do for him,
+and as the weeks passed his large eyes burned more brilliantly and his
+thin form grew more meagre. Cassandra got in the way of keeping him up
+at the cabin with her, and when she went down to weave, he went also and
+used to lie on the bundles of cotton, poring over the books which David
+procured for him from time to time.</p>
+
+<p>"What he gets in that way won't hurt him. It's not like having set tasks
+to learn, and he's not burdened with any 'ought' or 'ought not' about
+it. Let him vegetate until cooler weather. Then, if he doesn't improve,
+we'll see what can be done. Something radical, I imagine."</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>The fall arrived in a splendor that was truly oriental in its
+gorgeousness. The changing colors of the foliage surpassed in brilliancy
+anything David had ever seen or imagined possible. The mantle of deepest
+green which had clothed the mountain sides all summer, became
+transmuted, until all the world was glorified and glowing as if the heat
+of the summer sun had been stored up during the drowsy days to burst
+forth thus in warmest reds and golds.</p>
+
+<p>"The hills look as if they had clothed themselves in Turkish rugs,
+ancient and fine," said David one evening, as he sat on his rock,
+watching them burn in the afterglow of the setting sun.</p>
+
+<p>"How much there is for me to learn and know," Cassandra replied in a low
+voice. "I never saw a Turkish rug. You often speak of things I know nothing about."</p>
+
+<p>David laughed and turned upon her happy eyes. "Why so sad for that? Did
+you think I loved you and married you for your worldly knowledge?" She
+smiled back at him and was silent. Presently he continued. "Now, while
+Hoyle is not here, I wish to talk to you a little about him."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, David." Her heart fluttered with a nameless fear, but she betrayed
+no sign of emotion.</p>
+
+<p>"You've seen, of course. It's not necessary to tell you."</p>
+
+<p>"No, David&mdash;only&mdash;does it mean death?" She put her hand out to him, and
+he took it in his and stroked it.</p>
+
+<p>"Not surely. We'll make a fight for him, won't we, dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, David! What can we do?" she moaned.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a thing to do that I've been reserving as a last<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> resort. I
+think the time has come to try it. This curvature presses on some vital
+part, and the action of his heart is uncertain. He needs the tonic of
+the cold,&mdash;the ice and snow. Would you trust him to me, dear? I'll take
+him to Doctor Hoyle. You know very well everything kindness and skill
+can do will be done for him there."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, David. You are so good to him always! Would&mdash;would you
+go&mdash;alone with him?" She drew closer to him, her head on his shoulder
+and her hand in his, but he could not see her face.</p>
+
+<p>"You mean without you, dearest?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"That may be as you say. Would you prefer to go with us?"</p>
+
+<p>She drew a long breath, slowly, like an indrawn sigh, and something
+trembled to pass her heart, but suddenly the old habit of reserve sealed
+her lips and she remained silent.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you say?" he urged.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me first&mdash;do you want me to go?"</p>
+
+<p>He was silent, and they sat waiting for each other. Then he said, "I do
+want you to go&mdash;and yet I don't want you to go&mdash;yet. Sometime, of
+course, we must go where I may find wider scope for my activities." He
+felt her quiver of anxiety. "Not until you are quite ready yourself,
+dear, always remember that." Still she was silent, and he continued: "I
+can't say that I'm quite ready myself. I would prefer one more year
+here, but Hoyle must be removed without delay. We may have waited too
+long as it is. Will your mother consent? She must, if she cares to see him live."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, David! Go, go. Take him and go to-morrow. Leave me here and
+go&mdash;but&mdash;come back to me, David, soon&mdash;very soon. I&mdash;I shall need you,
+I&mdash; Can you leave Hoyle there and come back, David? Or must you bide
+there, too?" Suddenly she bowed her face in her hands. "Oh, I'm so
+wicked and selfish to think of leaving him there without you or me or
+mother&mdash;one. David, what can we do? He might die there, and you&mdash;you
+must come back for the winter; what would save him, might kill you. Oh,
+David! Take me with you, and leave me there with him, and you come back.
+Doctor Hoyle will take care of him&mdash;of us&mdash;once we are there."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p><p>"Now, now, now! hold your dear heart in peace. Why, I'm well. To stay
+another winter would only be to establish myself in a more rugged
+condition of body&mdash;not that I must do so. We'll talk with your mother
+to-morrow. It may be hard to persuade her."</p>
+
+<p>But he found the mother most reasonable and practical. He even tried to
+abate her perfect trust in him and his ability to bring the child back
+to her quite well and strong.</p>
+
+<p>"This isn't a trouble that is ever really cured, you know. When taken
+young enough, it may be helped, and I've known people who have lived
+long and useful lives in spite of it. That's all we may hope for."</p>
+
+<p>"Waal, I 'low ye can't git him no younger'n he be now, an' he's that
+peart, I reckon he's worth hit&mdash;leastways to we-uns."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course he's worth it."</p>
+
+<p>"You are right good to keer fer him like you have. I'd do a heap fer you
+ef I could. All I have is jest this here farm, an' hit's fer you an'
+Cass. On'y ef ye'd 'low me an' leetle Hoyle to bide on here whilst we live&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>David was touched. "Do you realize I've found here the two greatest
+things in the world, love and health? All I want is for you to know and
+remember that if I can't succeed in doing all I would like for the boy,
+at least I tried my very best. I may not succeed, you know, but this is
+the only thing to do now&mdash;the only thing."</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>David parted from his young wife, leaving her standing in the door of
+their cabin, clad in her white homespun frock, smiling, yet tearful and
+pale. He was to walk down to the Fall Place, where Jerry Carew waited
+with the wagon in which he had arrived, and where his baggage had been
+brought the day before. When he came to the steepest part of the
+descent, he looked back and saw Cassandra still standing as if in a
+trance, gazing after him. He felt his heart lean towards her, and,
+turning sharply, walked swiftly to her and took her once more in his
+arms and looked down into those deep springs&mdash;her sweet gray eyes. Thus
+for a long moment he held her to his heart with never a word. Then she
+entered the little home, and he walked away, looking back no more.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DOCTOR HOYLE SPEAKS HIS MIND</h3>
+
+<p>Doctor Hoyle sat in his office staring straight before him, not as if he
+were looking at David Thryng, who sat in range of his vision, but as if
+seeing beyond him into some other time and place. David had been
+speaking, but now they both were silent, and the young man wondered if
+his old friend had really been paying attention to his words or not.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Doctor," he said at last.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, David."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't seem satisfied. Is it with my condition?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your condition? No, no, no! It's not your condition. Yes, yes&mdash;fine,
+fine. I never saw such a marvellous change in my life, never!"</p>
+
+<p>David smiled over the old doctor's stammer of enthusiasm. It was as if
+his thoughts, fertile and vehement, and the feelings of his great, warm
+heart welled up within him, and, trying to burst forth all at once,
+tumbled over themselves, unable to secure words rapidly enough in which
+to give themselves utterance.</p>
+
+<p>"Then why so silent and dubious?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why&mdash;why&mdash;y&mdash;young man, I wasn't thinking anything about you just
+then." And again David laughed, while his wiry old friend jumped up and
+walked rapidly and restlessly about the small apartment and laughed in
+sympathy. "It's not&mdash;not&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I know." David grew instantly sober again. "Of course the little chap's
+case is serious&mdash;very&mdash;or I would not have brought him to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, no, I'm not thinking of Adam, bless you, no." The doctor always
+called his little namesake Adam. "I'm thinking of her&mdash;the little girl
+you left behind you. Yes&mdash;yes. Of her."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p><p>"She's not so little now, Doctor; she's tall&mdash;tall enough to be
+beautiful."</p>
+
+<p>"I remember her,&mdash;slight&mdash;slight little creature, all eyes and hair, all
+soul and mind. Now what are you going to do with her, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"What is she going to do with me, rather! I'll go back to her as soon as
+I dare leave the boy."</p>
+
+<p>"But, man alive! what&mdash;what are&mdash;you can't live down there all your
+days. It's to be life and work for you, sir, and what are you going to
+do with her, I say?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll bring her here with me. She'll come."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you'll bring her here with you, and you&mdash;you'll have plenty
+of friends. Maybe they'll appreciate her, and maybe they won't; maybe
+they won't, I say; Understand? And she'll c&mdash;come. Oh, yes, she'll come!
+she'll do whatever you say, and presently she'll break her heart and die
+for you. She'll never say a word, but that's what she'll do."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Doctor!" cried David, appalled. "I love her as my own life&mdash;my very soul."</p>
+
+<p>"Of&mdash;of course. That goes without saying. We all do, we men, but
+we&mdash;damn it all! Do you suppose I've lived all these years and not seen?
+Why&mdash;we think of ourselves first every time. D&mdash;don't we, though? Rather!"</p>
+
+<p>"But selfish as we are, we can love&mdash;a man can, if he sets himself to it
+honestly,&mdash;love a woman and make her happy, even without the
+appreciation of others, in spite of environment,&mdash;everything. It's the
+destiny of women to love us, thank God. She would have been doomed
+surely to die if she had married the one who wanted her first&mdash;or to
+live a life for her worse than death."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Lord bless you, boy, yes. It's a woman's destiny. I'm an old fool.
+There&mdash;there's my own little girl, she's m&mdash;married and gone&mdash;gone to
+live in England. They will do it&mdash;the women will. Come, we'll go see Adam."</p>
+
+<p>The doctor sprang up, brushed his hand across his eyes, and caught up a
+battered silk hat. He turned it about and looked at it ruefully, with a
+quizzical smile playing about the corners of his eyes. "Remember that hat?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p><p>"Well do I remember it. You've driven many a mile in many a rainstorm
+by my side under that hat! When you're done with it, leave it to me in
+your will. I have a fancy for it. Will you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Here, take it&mdash;take it. I'm done with it. Mary scolds me every day
+about it. No p&mdash;peace in life because of it. Here's a new one I bought
+the other day&mdash;good one&mdash;good enough."</p>
+
+<p>He lifted a box which had fallen from his cluttered office table, and
+took from it a new hat which had evidently not been unpacked before. He
+tried it on his head, turned it about and about, took it off and gazed
+at it within and without, then hastily tossed it aside and, snatching
+his old one from David put it on his head, and they started off.</p>
+
+<p>Hoyle had been placed in a small ward where were only two other little
+beds, both occupied, with one nurse to attend on the three patients. One
+of them had broken his leg and had to lie in a cast, and the other was
+convalescing from fever, but both were well enough to be companionable
+with the lonely little Southerner. Hoyle's face beamed upon David as he bent over him.</p>
+
+<p>"I kin make pi'chers whilst I'm a-lyin' here," he cried ecstatically.
+"That thar lady, she 'lows me to make 'em. She 'lows mine're good uns."
+David glanced at the young woman indicated. She was pleasant-faced and
+rosy, and looked practical and good.</p>
+
+<p>"He's such an odd little chap," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"What be that&mdash;odd? Does hit mean this 'er lump on my back?" He pulled
+David down and whispered the question in his ear.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no. She only means that you're a dear, queer little chap."</p>
+
+<p>"What be I quare fer?"</p>
+
+<p>"What are all these drawings? Tell us what they mean."</p>
+
+<p>"This'n, hit's the ocean, an' that thar, hit's a steamship sailin' on
+th' ocean, like you done tol' me about. An' this'n, hit's our house an'
+here's whar ol' Pete bides at; an' this'n's ol' Pete kickin' out like he
+hated somethin' like he does when we give Frale's colt his corn first."
+The other small boys from their beds laughed out merrily and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> strained
+their necks to see. "These're theirn. I made this'n fer him an' this'n fer him."</p>
+
+<p>He tossed the pictures feebly toward them, and they fluttered to the
+floor. David gathered them up and gave them to their respective owners.
+The old doctor stood beside the cot and looked down on the little
+artist. His lips twitched and his eyes twinkled.</p>
+
+<p>"Which one is y&mdash;yours?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I keep this'n with the sea&mdash;an'&mdash;here, I made this'n fer you." He
+paused, and selected carefully among the pile of papers under his hand.
+"You reckon you kin tell what 'tis?"</p>
+
+<p>The doctor took the paper and regarded it gravely a moment, then lifted
+his eyebrows and made grimaces of wonderment until the three patients in
+the three little beds were in gales of laughter. At last he said:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"It's a pile of s&mdash;sausages."</p>
+
+<p>"Hit hain't no sausages. Hit's jest a straight, cl'ar pi'cher of a
+house, an' hit's your house, too, whar brothah David lives at. See?
+Thar's the winder, an' the other winder hit's on t'othah side whar you can't see hit."</p>
+
+<p>The doctor turned the paper over and regarded it a moment. "Show me the
+window. I&mdash;I see no window on the other side."</p>
+
+<p>Again the three little invalids laughed uproariously at their visitor.
+David smilingly looked on. How often had he seen the delightful old man
+amuse himself thus with the children! He would contort his mobile face
+into all the varying expressions of wonder and dismay, of terror or
+stupefaction, and his entrance to the children's ward was always greeted
+with outcries of delight, when the little ones were well enough to allow of such freedom.</p>
+
+<p>"Haven't you one to send to your sister?" asked David, stooping low to
+the child and speaking quietly. The boy's face lighted with a radiant
+smile that caused the old man to stand regarding him more intently.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll sen' her this'n of the sea. You reckon hit looks like the ocean
+whar the ships go a-sailin' to t'othah side o' the world?" He held it in
+his slender fingers and eyed it critically.</p>
+
+<p>"How did you come to try to make a picture of the sea when you never saw it?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p><p>"Do' know. I feel like I done seed th' ocean when I'm settin' thar on
+the rock an' them white, big clouds go a-sailin' far&mdash;far, like they're
+goin' to anothah world an' hain't quite touchin' this'n."</p>
+
+<p>"I wondered why you had your ship so high above the sea."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't guess hit's a very good'n," said the child, ruefully, clinging
+to the scrap of paper with reluctant grasp. "You reckon she'd keer fer this'n?"</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon she'd care for anything you made. Give it to me, and I'll send it to her."</p>
+
+<p>"She tol' me the sea, hit war blue, an' I can't make hit right blue an'
+soft like she said. That thar blue pencil, hit's too slick. I can't make
+hit stay on the papah."</p>
+
+<p>"What are these mounds here on either side of the sea?"</p>
+
+<p>"Them's mountains."</p>
+
+<p>"But why did you put mountains in the sea?" The boy looked with wide
+eyes dreamily past the two men so attentively regarding him.</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I reckon I jes' put 'em thar fer to look like the sea hit war on the
+world. I don't guess the'd be no ocean nor no world 'thout the' war
+mountains fer to hold everything whar hit belongs at."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall bring you a box of paints to-morrow if the nurse will allow you
+to have them. I'll provide an oilcloth to spread around so he won't
+throw paint over your nice clean bed," he said to the pleasant-faced young woman.</p>
+
+<p>"That's all right, Doctor," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you can make the blue stay on, and you can make the ocean with
+real water, and real blue for the sky and the sea."</p>
+
+<p>The child's eyes glowed. He pulled David down and held him with his arm
+about his neck, and whispered in his ear, and what he said was:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"When they're a-pullin' on me to git my hade straight an' my back right,
+I jes' think 'bout the far&mdash;far-away sea, with the ships a-sailin' an'
+how hit look, an' hit don't hurt so much. I kin b'ar hit a heap bettah.
+When you comin' back, brothah David?"</p>
+
+<p>"Does it hurt you very much, Hoyle?"</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon hit have to hurt," said the child, with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>fatalistic
+resignation. "I don't guess he'd hurt me 'thout he had to." He released
+David slowly, then pulled him down again. "Don't tell him I 'lowed hit
+hurted me. I reckon he'd ruthah hurt hisself if he could do me right
+that-a-way. You guess I&mdash;I'm goin' to git shet o' the misery some day?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's what we're trying for, my brave little brother," and the two
+physicians bade the small patients good-by and walked out upon the street.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG HAS NEWS FROM ENGLAND</h3>
+
+<p>As they passed down the street, David shivered and buttoned his light
+overcoat closer about him.</p>
+
+<p>"Cold?" said the older man.</p>
+
+<p>"Your air is a bit keen here already. I hope it will be the needed tonic
+for that little chap."</p>
+
+<p>"What were his s&mdash;secrets?" David told him.</p>
+
+<p>"He's imaginative&mdash;yes&mdash;yes. I really would rather hurt myself. He may
+come on&mdash;he may. I've known&mdash;I've known&mdash;curious,
+but&mdash;Why&mdash;Hello&mdash;hello! Why&mdash;where&mdash;" and Doctor Hoyle suddenly darted
+forward and shook hands with another old gentleman, who was alertly
+stepping toward them, also thin and wiry, but with a face as impassive
+as the doctor's was mobile and expressive. "Mr. Stretton, why&mdash;why!
+David&mdash;Mr. Stretton, David Thryng&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, Mr. Thryng. I am most happy to find you here."</p>
+
+<p>"Doctor Thryng&mdash;over here on this side, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, yes. I had really forgotten. But speaking of titles&mdash;I must give
+this young man his correctly. Lord Thryng&mdash;allow me to congratulate you, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"I fear you mistake me for my cousin, sir," said David, smiling. "I hope
+you have no ill news from my good uncle; but I am not the David who
+inherits. I think he is in South Africa&mdash;or was by the latest home letters."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stretton did not reply directly, but continued smiling, as his
+manner was, and turned toward David's companion.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we go to my hotel? I have a great deal to talk over&mdash;business
+which concerns&mdash;ahem&mdash;ahem&mdash;your lordship, on behalf of your mother,
+having come expressly&mdash;" he turned again to David. "Ah, now don't be at
+all alarmed, I beg of you. I see I have disturbed you. She is quite
+well, or was a week or more ago. Doctor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> Hoyle, you'll accompany us? At
+my request. Undoubtedly you are interested in your young friend."</p>
+
+<p>Mechanically David walked with the two older men, filled with a strange
+sinking of the heart, and at the same time with a vague elation. Was he
+called home by his mother to help her sustain a new calamity? Had the
+impossible happened? Mr. Stretton's manner continued to be mysteriously
+deferential toward him, and something in his air reminded David of
+England and the atmosphere of his uncle's stately home. Had he ever seen
+the man before? He really did not know.</p>
+
+<p>They reached the hotel shortly and were conducted to Mr. Stretton's
+private apartment, where wine was ordered, and promptly served. For
+years thereafter, David never heard the clinking of glasses and bottles
+borne on a tray without an instant's sickening sinking of the heart, and
+the foreboding that seemed to drench him with dismay as the glasses were
+placed on the stand at Mr. Stretton's elbow. When that gentleman, after
+seeing the waiter disappear, and placing certain papers before him,
+began speaking, David sat dazedly listening.</p>
+
+<p>What was it all&mdash;what was it? The glasses seemed to quiver and shake,
+throwing dancing flecks of light; and the wine in them&mdash;why did it make
+him think of blood? Were they dead then&mdash;all three&mdash;his two cousins and
+his brother&mdash;dead? Shot! Killed in a bloody and useless war! He was
+confounded, and bowing his head in his hands sat thus&mdash;his elbows on his
+knees&mdash;waiting, hearing, but not comprehending.</p>
+
+<p>He could think only of his mother. He saw her face, aged and
+grief-stricken. He knew how she loved the boy she had lost, above all,
+and now she must turn to himself. He sat thus while the lawyer read a
+lengthy document, and at the end personally addressed him. Then he lifted his head.</p>
+
+<p>"What is this? My uncle? My uncle gone, too? Do you mean dead? My uncle
+dead, and I&mdash;I his heir?"</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer replied formally, "You are now the head of a most ancient and
+honorable house. You will have the dignity of the old name to maintain,
+and are called upon to return to your fatherland and occupy the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> home of
+your ancestors." He took up one of the papers and adjusted his monocle.</p>
+
+<p>For a time David did not speak. At last he rose and, with head erect,
+extended his hand to the lawyer. "I thank you, sir, for your
+trouble,&mdash;but now, Doctor, shall we return to your house? I must take a
+little time to adjust my mind to these terrible events. It is like being
+overtaken with an avalanche at the moment when all is most smiling and perfect."</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer began a few congratulatory remarks, but David stopped him,
+with uplifted hand.</p>
+
+<p>"It is calamitous. It is too terrible," he said sadly. "And what it
+brings may be far more of a burden than a joy."</p>
+
+<p>"But the name, my lord,&mdash;the ancient and honorable lineage!"</p>
+
+<p>"That last was already mine, and for the title&mdash;I have never coveted it,
+far less all that it entails. I must think it over."</p>
+
+<p>"But, my lord, it is yours! You can't help yourself, you know;
+a&mdash;the&mdash;the position is yours, and you will a&mdash;fill it with dignity,
+and&mdash;a&mdash;let me hope will follow the conservative policy of your honored uncle."</p>
+
+<p>"And I say I must think it over. May I not have a day&mdash;a single day&mdash;in
+which to mourn the loss of my splendid brother? Would God he had lived
+to fill this place!" he said desperately.</p>
+
+<p>The lawyer bowed deferentially, and Doctor Hoyle took David's arm and
+led him away as if he were his son. Not a word was spoken by either of
+them until they were again in the doctor's office. There lay the new
+silk hat, as he had tossed it one side. He took it up and turned it about in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, David, an old hat is like an old friend, and it takes some
+time to get wonted to a new one." He gravely laid the old one within
+easy reach of his arm and restored the new one to its box. Then he sat
+himself near David and placed his hand kindly on his knee. "You&mdash;you
+have your work laid out for you, my young friend. It's the way in Old
+England. The stability of our society&mdash;our national life demands it."</p>
+
+<p>"I know."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p><p>"You must go to your mother."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I must go to her."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, of course, and without delay. Well, I'll take care of the little chap."</p>
+
+<p>"I know you will, better than I could." David lifted his eyes to his old
+friend's, then turned them away. "I feel him to be a sacred trust."
+Again he paused. "It&mdash;would take a&mdash;long time to go to her first?"</p>
+
+<p>"To&mdash;her?" For the instant the old man had forgotten Cassandra. Not so David.</p>
+
+<p>"My wife. It will be desperately hard&mdash;for her."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes. But your uncle, you know, died of grief, and your
+m&mdash;mother&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I know&mdash;so the lawyer said. Now at last we'll read mother's letter. He
+wondered, I suppose, that I didn't look at it when he gave it to me, but
+I felt conscience-stricken. I've been so filled with my life down
+there&mdash;the peace, the blessed peace and happiness&mdash;that I have neglected
+her&mdash;my own mother. I couldn't open and read it with that man's eyes on
+me. No, no. Stay here, I beg of you, stay. You are different. I want you."</p>
+
+<p>He opened his mother's letter and slowly read it, then passed it to his
+friend and, rising, walked to the window and stood gazing down into the
+square. Autumn leaves were being tossed and swirled in dancing flights,
+like flocks of brown and yellow birds along the street. The sky was
+overcast, with thin hurrying clouds, and the feeling of autumn was in
+the air, but David's eyes were blurred, and he saw nothing before him.
+The doctor's voice broke the silence with sudden impulse.</p>
+
+<p>"In this she speaks as if she knew nothing about your marriage."</p>
+
+<p>"I told you I had neglected her," cried David, contritely.</p>
+
+<p>"But, m&mdash;man alive! why&mdash;why in the name of all the gods&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"All England is filled with fools," cried the younger man, desperately.
+"I could never in the world make them understand me or my motives. I
+gave it up long ago. I've not told my mother, to save her from a
+needless sorrow that would be inflicted on her by her friends. They
+would all flock to her and pester her with their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> outcry of 'How very
+extraordinary!' I can hear them and see them now. I tell you, if a man
+steps out of the beaten track over there&mdash;if he attempts to order his
+own life, marry to please himself, or cut his coat after any pattern
+other than the ordinary conventional lines,&mdash;even the boys on the street
+will fling stones at him. Her patronizing friends would, at the very
+least, politely raise their eyebrows. She is proud and sensitive, and
+any fling at her sons is a blow to her."</p>
+
+<p>"But what&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I say I couldn't tell her. I tell you I have been drinking from the cup
+of happiness. I have drained it to the last drop. My wife is mine. She
+does not belong to those people over there, to be talked over, and dined
+over, and all her beauty and fineness overlooked through their
+monocles&mdash;brutes! My mountain flower in her homespun dress&mdash;only poets
+could understand and appreciate her."</p>
+
+<p>"B&mdash;but what were you going to do about it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do about it? I meant to keep her to myself until the right time came.
+Perhaps in another year bring her here and begin life in a modest way,
+and let my mother visit us and see for herself. I was planning it out,
+slowly&mdash;but this&mdash; You see, Doctor, their ideas are all warped over
+there. They accept all that custom decrees and have but the one point of
+view. The true values of life are lost sight of. They have no hilltops
+like Cassandra's. Only the poets have."</p>
+
+<p>A quizzical smile played about the old man's mouth. He came and laid his
+arm across David's shoulders, and the act softened the slight sting of
+his words. "And&mdash;you call yourself a poet?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not that," said the young man, humbly, "but I have been learning. I
+would have scorned to be called a poet until I learned of this girl and
+her father. I thought I had ideals, and felt my superiority in
+consequence, until I came down to the beginnings of things with them."</p>
+
+<p>"Her&mdash;her father? Why&mdash;he's dead&mdash;he&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And yet through her I have learned of him. I believe he was a man who
+walked with God, and at Cassandra's side I have trod in his secret places."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right. I'm satisfied now, about her. You're all right,
+but&mdash;but&mdash;your mother."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p><p>David turned and walked to the table and sat with his head bowed on his
+arms. Had he been alone, he would have wept. As it was, he spoke
+brokenly of his old home, and the responsibilities now so ruthlessly
+thrust upon him. Of his mother's grief and his own, and of this
+inheritance that he had never dreamed would be his, and therefore had
+never desired, now given him by so cruel a blow. He would not shrink
+from whatever duty or obligation might rest upon him, but how could he
+adjust his changed circumstances to the conditions he had made for
+himself by his sudden marriage. At last it was decided that he should
+sail for England without delay, taking the passage already provisionally
+engaged for him by Mr. Stretton.</p>
+
+<p>"I can write to Cassandra. She will understand more easily than my
+mother. She sees into the heart of things. Her thoughts go to the truth
+like arrows of light. She will see that I must go, but she must never
+know&mdash;I must save her from it if I have to do so at the expense of my
+own soul&mdash;that the reason I cannot take her with me now is that our
+great friends over there are too small to understand her nature and
+might despise her. I must go to my mother first and feel my way&mdash;see
+what can be done. Neither of them must be made to suffer."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right, perfectly&mdash;but don't wait too long. Just have it out with
+your mother&mdash;all of them; the sooner the simpler, the sooner the simpler."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG VISITS HIS MOTHER</h3>
+
+<p>How wise was the advice of the old doctor to make short work of the
+confession to his mother, and to face the matter of his marriage bravely
+with his august friends and connections, David little knew. If his
+marriage had been rash in its haste, nothing in the future should be
+done rashly. Possibly he might be obliged to return to America before he
+made a full revelation that a wife awaited him in that far and but dimly
+appreciated land. In his mind the matter resolved itself into a question
+of time and careful adjustment.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly as the boat ploughed through the never resting waters,&mdash;slowly as
+the western land with its dreams and realities drifted farther into the
+vapors that blended the line of the land and the sea,&mdash;so slowly the
+future unveiled itself and drew him on, into its new dreams, revealing,
+with the inevitable progression of the hours, a life heretofore shrouded
+and only vaguely imagined, as a glowing reality filled with opportunity and power.</p>
+
+<p>He felt his whole nature expand and become imbued with intoxicating
+ambitions, as if hereafter he would be swept onward to ride through life
+triumphant, even as the boat was riding the sea, surmounting its
+mysterious depths and taking its unerring way in spite of buffeting of
+winds and beating of waves.</p>
+
+<p>Still young, with renewed vitality, his hopes turned to the future,
+recognizing the tremendous scope for his energies which his own
+particular prospects presented. Often he stood alone in the prow, among
+the coils of rope, and watched the distance unroll before him, while the
+salt breeze played with his clustering hair and filled his lungs. He
+loved the long sweep of the prow, as it divided the water and cast it
+foaming on either side, in opaline and turquoise tints, shifting and
+falling into the indigo depths of the vastness around.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p><p>In thought he spanned the wide spaces and leaped still toward the
+future; before him the gray-haired mother who trembled to hold him once
+more in her arms, behind him the young wife waiting his return,
+enclosing him serenely and adoringly in her heart.</p>
+
+<p>Each day while on shipboard, David wrote to Cassandra, voluminously. He
+found it a pleasant way of passing the hours. He described his
+surroundings and unfolded such of his anticipations as he felt she could
+best understand and with which she could sympathize, trying to explain
+to her what the years to come might hold for them both, and telling her
+always to wait with patience for his return. This could not be known
+definitely until he had looked into the state of his uncle's
+affairs&mdash;which would hereafter be his own.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes his letter contained only a review of some of the happiest
+hours they had spent together, as if he were placing his thoughts of
+those blessed days on paper, that they might be for their mutual
+communing. Sometimes he discoursed of the calamity he had suffered, the
+uselessness of his brother's death, and the cruelty and wastefulness of
+war. At such times he was minded to write her of the opportunity now
+given him to serve his country, and the power he might some day attain
+to promote peace and avert rash legislation.</p>
+
+<p>Never once did he allow an inadvertent word to slip from his pen,
+whereby she could suspect that she, as his wife, might be a cause of
+embarrassment to him, or a clog in the wheel of the chariot which from
+now on was to bear him triumphantly among his social friends or
+political enemies. Never would he disturb the sweet serenity that
+encompassed her. Yet well he knew what an incongruity she would appear
+should he present her now&mdash;as she had stood by her loom, or in the
+ploughed field at his side&mdash;to the company he would find in his mother's home.</p>
+
+<p>Simple and direct as she was, she would walk over their conventions and
+proprieties, and never know it. How strange many of those customs of
+theirs would appear to her, and how unnecessary! He feared for her most
+in her utter ignorance of everything pertaining to the daily existence
+of the over-civilized circle to which the changed conditions of his life would bring her.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p><p>Much, he knew, would pass unseen by her, but soon she would begin to
+understand, and to wince under their exclamations of "How
+extraordinary!" The masklike expression would steal over her face, her
+pride would encase her spirit in the deep reserve he himself had found
+so hard to penetrate, and he could see her withdrawing more and more
+from all, until at last&mdash; Ah! it must not be. He must manage very
+carefully, lest Doctor Hoyle's prophecy indeed be fulfilled.</p>
+
+<p>At last the lifting of the veil to the eastward revealed the bold
+promontory of Land's End, and soon, beyond, the fair green slopes of his
+own beautiful Old England. For all of the captious criticism he had
+fallen in the way of bestowing upon her, how he loved her! He felt as if
+he must throw up his arms and shout for joy. Suddenly she had become
+his, with a sense of possession new to him, and sweet to feel. The
+orderliness and stereotyped lines of her social system against which he
+had rebelled, and the iron bars of her customs which his soul had
+abhorred in the past,&mdash;against which his spirit had bruised and beaten
+itself,&mdash;now lured him on as a security for things stable and fine. In
+subtile ways as yet unrealized, he was being drawn back into the cage
+from which he had fled for freedom and life.</p>
+
+<p>How quickly he had become accustomed to the air of deference in Mr.
+Stretton's continual use of his newly acquired title&mdash;"my lord." Why
+not? It was his right. The same laws which had held him subservient
+before, now gave him this, and he who a few months earlier had been
+proudly ploughing his first furrows in his little leased farm on a
+mountain meadow, now walked with lifted head, "to the manor born," along
+the platform, and entered the first-class compartment with Mr. Stretton,
+where a few rich Americans had already installed themselves.</p>
+
+<p>David noticed, with inward amusement, their surreptitious glances, when
+the lawyer addressed him; how they plumed themselves, yet tried to
+appear nonchalant and indifferent to the fact that they were riding in
+the same compartment with a lord. In time he would cease to notice even
+such incongruities as this tacit homage from a professedly title-scorning people.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p><p>David's mother had moved into the town house, whither his uncle had
+sent for her, when, stricken with grief, he had lain down for his last
+brief illness. The old servants had all been retained, and David was
+ushered to his mother's own sitting-room by the same household dignitary
+who was wont to preside there when, as a lad, he had been allowed rare
+visits to his cousins in the city.</p>
+
+<p>How well he remembered his fine, punctilious old uncle, and the feeling
+of awe tempered by anticipation with which he used to enter those halls.
+He was overwhelmed with a sense of loss and disaster as he glanced up
+the great stairway where his cousins were wont to come bounding down to
+him, handsome, hearty, romping lads.</p>
+
+<p>It had been a man's household, for his aunt had been dead many years&mdash;a
+man's household characterized by a man's sense of heavy order without
+the many touches of feminine occupation and arrangement which tend to
+soften a man's half military reign. As he was being led through the
+halls, he noticed a subtile change which warmed his quick senses. Was it
+the presence of his mother and Laura? His entrance interrupted an
+animated conversation which was being held between the two as the
+manservant announced his name, and, in another instant, his mother was in his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear little mother! Dear little mother!" But she was not small. She was
+tall and dignified, and David had to stoop but little to bring his eyes level with hers.</p>
+
+<p>"David, I'm here, too." A hand was laid on his arm, and he released his
+mother to turn and look into two warm brown eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"And so the little sister is grown up," he said, embracing her, then
+holding her off at arm's-length. "Five years! When I look at you,
+mother, they don't seem so long&mdash;but Laura here!"</p>
+
+<p>"You didn't expect me to stay a little girl all my life, did you, David?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no." He took her by the shoulder and shook her a little and pinched
+her cheeks. "What roses! Why, sis, I say, you know, I'm proud of you.
+What have you been up to, anyway?" He flung himself on the sofa and
+pulled her down beside him. "Give an account of yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"I've gone in for athletics."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p><p>"Right."</p>
+
+<p>"And&mdash; Oh! lots of things. You give an account of yourself."</p>
+
+<p>David glanced at his mother. She was seated opposite them, regarding him
+with brimming eyes. No, he could not give an account of himself yet. He
+would wait until he and his mother were alone. He lifted Laura's heavy
+hair, which, confined only by a great bow of black ribbon, hung
+streaming down her back, in a dark mass that gave her a tousled, unkempt
+look, and which, taken together with her dead black dress, and her dark
+tanned skin, roughened by exposure to wind and sun, greatly marred her
+beauty, in spite of her roses and the warmth of her large dark eyes.</p>
+
+<p>As David surveyed his sister, he thought of Cassandra, and was minded
+then and there to describe her&mdash;to attempt to unveil the events of the
+past year, and make them see and know, as far as possible, what his life
+had been. He held this thought a moment, poised ready for utterance&mdash;a
+moment of hesitation as to how to begin, and then forever lost, as his
+mother began speaking.</p>
+
+<p>"Laura hasn't come out yet. As events have turned, it is just as well,
+for her chances, naturally, will be much better now than they would have
+been if we had had her coming out last year."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see how, mamma, with all this heavy black. I can't come out
+until I leave it off, and it will be so long to wait." Laura pouted a
+little, discontentedly, then flushed a disfiguring flush of shame under
+her dark skin, as she caught the look in her brother's eyes. "Not but
+what I shall keep on mourning for Bob, as long as I live&mdash;he was such a
+dear," she added, her eyes filling with quick, impulsive tears. "But how
+you make out my chances will be better now, mamma, I can't see,
+really,&mdash;I look such a fright."</p>
+
+<p>"Chances for what?" asked David, dryly.</p>
+
+<p>"For matrimony&mdash;naturally," his sister flung out defiantly, half smiling
+through her tears. "Don't you know that's all a girl of my age lives
+for&mdash;matrimony and a kennel? I mean to have one, now we will have our
+own preserves. It will be ripping, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, our own preserves," said David, still dryly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> thinking how
+Cassandra would wonder what preserves were, and what she would say if
+told that in preserves, wild harmless animals were kept from being
+killed by the common people for food, in order that those of his own
+class might chase them down and kill them for their amusement.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, David, I remember how you used to be always putting on a look like
+that, and thinking a lot of nasty things under your breath. I hoped you
+would come home vastly improved. Was it what I said about matrimony?
+Mamma knows it's true."</p>
+
+<p>"Hardly as you put it, my child; there is much besides for a girl to think about."</p>
+
+<p>"You said 'chances' yourself, mamma."</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, but that is for me to consider. You must remember that it
+was you who refused to have your coming out last year."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't want my good times cut short then, mamma, and have to take up
+proprieties&mdash;or at least I would have had to be dreadfully proper for a
+while, anyway&mdash;and now&mdash;why I have to be naturally; and here I am unable
+to come out for another year yet and my hair streaming down my back all
+the time. I'm sure I can't see how my chances are in the least improved
+by it all; and by that time I shall be so old."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you will be quite young enough," said David.</p>
+
+<p>"You occupy a far different position now, child. To make your d&eacute;but as
+Lady Laura will give you quite another place in the world. Your
+headstrong postponement, fortunately, will do no harm. It will make your
+introduction to the circle where you are eventually to move, much simpler."</p>
+
+<p>Laura lifted her eyebrows and glanced from her mother to her brother.
+"Very well, mamma, but one thing you might as well know now. I shan't
+drop some of my friends&mdash;if being Lady Laura lifts me above them as high
+as the moon. I like them, and I don't care."</p>
+
+<p>She whistled, and a beautiful, silken-haired setter crept from under the
+sofa whereon she had been sitting, and wriggled about after the manner of guilty dogs.</p>
+
+<p>"Laura, dear!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mamma, I've been hiding him with my skirts by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> sitting there. He
+was bad and followed me in. We've been out riding together." She stroked
+his silken coat with her riding crop. "Mamma won't allow him in here,
+and he jolly well knows it. Bad Zip, bad, sir! Look at him. Isn't he
+clever? I must go and dress for dinner. Mamma wants you to herself, I
+know, and Mr. Stretton will be here soon. You can't think, David, how
+glad I am we have you back! You couldn't think it from my way&mdash;but I
+am&mdash;rather! It's been awful here&mdash;simply awful, since the boys all left."</p>
+
+<p>Again her eyes filled with quick tears, and she dashed out with the dog
+bounding about her and leaping up to thrust his great tongue in her
+face. "You are too big for the house, Zip. Down, sir!" In an instant she
+was back, putting her tousled head in at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"David, when mamma is finished with you, come out and see my dogs. I
+have five already, and Nancy is going to litter soon. Calkins is to take
+them into the country to-morrow, for they are just cooped up here." She
+withdrew, and David heard her heavy-soled shoes clatter down the long
+halls. He and his mother smiled as they listened, looking into each other's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"She is a dear child, but life means only a good time to her as yet."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, let it. She has splendid stuff in her and is bound to make a splendid woman."</p>
+
+<p>"She's right, David. It has been awful since your brother left." David
+sat beside her and placed his hand on hers. Again it was in his mind to
+tell her of Cassandra, and again he was stopped by the tenor of her next
+remark. "You see how it is, my son; Laura can't understand, but you will."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not sure that I do. Open your heart to me, mother; tell me what you mean."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear son. I don't like to begin with worries. It is so sweet to have
+you back in the home. May you always stay with us."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't mind the worries, mother," he said tenderly; "I am here to help
+you. What is it?</p>
+
+<p>"It is only that, although we have inherited the title and estates, we
+are not there. We will be received, of course, but at first only by
+those who have axes to grind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> There are so many such, and it is hard to
+protect one's self from them. For instance, there is Lady Willisbeck.
+Her own set have cut her completely for&mdash;certain reasons&mdash;there is no
+need to retail unpleasant gossip,&mdash;but she was one of the first to call.
+Her daughter, Lady Isabel, gave Laura that dog,&mdash;but all the more
+because Laura and Lady Isabel were in school together, and were on the
+same hockey team, they will have that excuse for clinging to us like burs.</p>
+
+<p>"Lady Willisbeck would like very much now, for her daughter's sake, to
+win back her place in society, although she did not seem to value it for
+herself. Long before her mother's life became common talk,&mdash;because she
+was infatuated with your cousin Lyon, Lady Isabel chose Laura for her
+chum, and the two have worked up a very romantic situation out of the
+affair. You see I have cause for anxiety, David."</p>
+
+<p>He still held her hand, looking kindly in her face. "Is Lady Isabel the
+right sort?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean by 'the right sort,' David? She isn't like her mother,
+naturally, or I would have been more decided; but she is not the right
+sort for us. Lady Willisbeck is ostracized, and it is a grave matter.
+Her daughter will be ostracized with her, unless she can find a chaperon
+of quality to champion her&mdash;to&mdash;to&mdash;well, you understand that Laura
+can't afford to make her d&eacute;but handicapped with such a friendship. Not now."</p>
+
+<p>"I fail to see until I know more of her friend."</p>
+
+<p>"But, David, we can't be visionary now. We must be practical and face
+the difficulties of our situation. We are honorably entitled to all that
+the inheritance implies, but it is another thing to avail ourselves of
+it. Your uncle led a most secluded life. He had no visitors, and was
+known only among men, and politically as a close conservative. His seat
+in the House meant only that. So now we enter a circle in which we never
+moved before, and we are not of it. For the present, our deep mourning
+is prohibitory, but it is also Laura's protection, although she does not
+know it." His mother paused. She was not regarding him. She seemed to be
+looking into the future, and a little line, which had formed during the
+years of David's absence, deepened in her forehead.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p><p>"Be a little more explicit, mother. Protection from what?"</p>
+
+<p>"From undesirable people, dear. We are very conspicuous; to be frank, we
+are new. My own family connections are all good, but they will not be
+the slightest help to Laura in maintaining her position. We have always
+lived in the country, and know no one."</p>
+
+<p>"You have refinement and good taste, mother."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it; that and this inheritance and the title."</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't that 'protection' enough? I really fail to see&mdash; Whatever would
+please you would be right. You may have what friendships you&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all, David. Everything is iron-bound. They are simply watching
+lest we bring a lot of common people in our train. Things grow worse and
+worse in that way. There are so many rich tradespeople who are
+struggling to get in, and clinging desperately to the skirts of the
+poorer nobility. Of course, it all goes to show what a tremendous thing
+good birth is, and the iron laws of custom are, after all, a proper
+safeguard and should be respected. Nevertheless we, who are so new, must
+not allow ourselves to become stepping-stones. It is perfectly right.</p>
+
+<p>"That is why I said this period of mourning is Laura's protection. She
+will have time to know what friendships are best, and an opportunity to
+avoid undesirable ones. You have been away so long, David, where the
+class lines are not so rigidly drawn, that you forget&mdash;or never knew. It
+is my duty, without any foolish sentiment, to guard Laura and see to it
+that her coming out is what it should be. For one thing, she is so very
+plain. If she were a beauty, it would help, but her plainness must be
+compensated for in other ways. She will have a large settlement, Mr.
+Stretton thinks, if your uncle's interests are not too much jeopardized
+in South Africa by this terrible war. That is something you will have to
+look into before you take your seat in the House."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mother, mother! I can't&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear boy, your brother died for his country, and can you not give a
+little of your life for it? I can rely on you to be practically
+inclined, now that you are placed at the head of such a family? I'm glad
+now you never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> cared for Muriel Hunt. She could never have filled the
+position as her ladyship, your uncle's wife, did. She was Lady Thomasia
+Harcourt Glendyne of Wales. Beside her, Muriel would appear silly. It is
+most fortunate you have no such entanglement now."</p>
+
+<p>"Mother, mother! I am astounded! I never dreamed my dear, beautiful
+mother could descend to such worldliness. You are changed, mother. There
+is something fundamentally wrong in all this."</p>
+
+<p>She looked up at him, aghast at his vehemence.</p>
+
+<p>"My son, my son! Let us have only love between us&mdash;only love. I am not
+changed. I was content as I was, nor ever tried to enter a sphere above
+me. Now that this comes to me&mdash;forced on me by right of English law&mdash;I
+take it thankfully, with all it brings. I will fill the place as it
+should be filled, and Laura shall do the same, and you also, my son. As
+for Muriel Hunt, I will make concessions if&mdash;if your happiness demands it."</p>
+
+<p>David groaned inwardly. "No, mother, no. It goes deeper than Muriel; it
+goes deeper." They had both risen. She placed her hands on his shoulders
+and looked levelly in his eyes, and her own lightened, through tears held bravely back.</p>
+
+<p>"It may well go deeper than Muriel, and still not go very deep."</p>
+
+<p>"And yet the time was when Muriel Hunt was thought quite deep enough,"
+he said sadly, still looking in his mother's eyes&mdash;but she only continued:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Never doubt for a moment, dear, that Laura's welfare and yours are
+dearer to me than life. You are very weary; I see it in your eyes. Have
+you been to your apartment? Clark will show you." She kissed his brow and departed.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG ADJUSTS HIS LIFE TO NEW CONDITIONS</h3>
+
+<p>David stood where his mother had left him, dazed, hurt, sad. He was
+desperately minded to leave all and flee back to the hills&mdash;back to the
+life he had left in Canada. He saw the clear, true look of Cassandra's
+eyes meeting his. His heart called for her; his soul cried out within
+him. He felt like one launched on an irresistible current which was
+sweeping him ever nearer to a maelstrom wherein he was inevitably to be swallowed up.</p>
+
+<p>He perceived that to his mother the established order of things there in
+her little island was sacred&mdash;an arrangement to be still further upheld
+and solidified. She had suddenly become a part of a great system,
+intrusted with a care for its maintenance and stability, as one of its
+guardians. Before, it had mattered little to her, for she was not of it.
+Now it was very different.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly David followed Clark to his own apartments. He had been given
+those of the old lord, his uncle. Everything about him was dark,
+massive, and rich, but without grace. His bags and boxes had been
+unpacked and his dinner suit laid in readiness, and Clark stood stiffly awaiting orders.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you have a shave, my lord?"</p>
+
+<p>The man's manner jarred on him. It was obsequious, and he hated it. Yet
+it was only the custom. Clark was simple-hearted and kindly, filling his
+little place in the upholding of the system of which he was a part; had
+his manner been different, a shade more familiar, David would have
+resented it and ordered him out,&mdash;but of this David was not conscious.
+In spite of his scruples, he was born and bred an aristocrat.</p>
+
+<p>"No&mdash;a&mdash;I'll shave myself." Still the man waited, and, taking up David's
+coat, flicked a particle of dust from the collar. "I don't want
+anything. You may go."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p><p>"Thank you." Clark melted quietly out of the apartment.</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks me for being rude to him," thought David, irritably; "I shall
+take pleasure in being rude to him. My God! What a farce life is over
+here! The whole thing is a farce."</p>
+
+<p>He shaved himself and cut his chin, and when he appeared later with a
+patch of court-plaster thereon, Clark commented to himself on "his
+lordship's" inability to do the shaving properly.</p>
+
+<p>As David thought over his mother's words&mdash;her outlook on life&mdash;his
+sister's idle aims&mdash;the companionships she must have and the kind of
+talk to which she must listen&mdash;he grew more and more annoyed. He
+contrasted it all with the past. His mother, who had been so noble and
+fine, seemed to have lost individuality, to have become only a segment
+of a circle which it was henceforth to be her highest care to keep
+intact. Laura must become a part of the same sacred ring, and he, too,
+must join hands with those who formed it and make it his duty to keep others out.</p>
+
+<p>There were also other circles guarded and protected by this one&mdash;circles
+within circles&mdash;each smaller and more exclusive than the last. The
+object of the huge game of life over here seemed to be to keep the great
+mass of those whom they regarded as commonalty out of any one of the
+circles, while striving individually each to climb into the one next
+above, and more contracted. The most maddening thing of all was to find
+his grave, dignified mother drawn in and made a partaker in this meaningless strife.</p>
+
+<p>Still essentially an outsider, David could look with larger vision&mdash;the
+far-seeing vision of the western land, the hilltops and the dividing
+sea,&mdash;and to him now the circles seemed verily the concentric rings of
+the maelstrom into which events were hurrying him. Would he be able to
+rise from the swirling flotsam and ride free?</p>
+
+<p>The deeper philosophy underlying it all he as yet but vaguely
+understood; that the highest good for all could only be maintained by
+stability in the commonwealth; as the tremendous rock foundations of the
+earth are a support for the growth thereon of all perfection, all grace
+and beauty; that the concentric rings, when rightly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> understood, should
+become a means of purification&mdash;of reward for true worth&mdash;of power for
+noblest service, and not for personal ambition and the unmolested
+gratification of vicious tastes.</p>
+
+<p>David did not as yet know that his clear-seeing wife could help him to
+the attainment of his greatest possibilities, right here where he feared
+to bring her&mdash;the wife of whom he dare not tell his mother. Blinded by
+the world's estimates which he still had sense enough to despise, he did
+not know that the key to its deepest secrets lay in her heart, nor that
+of the two, her heritage of the large spirit and the inward-seeing eye
+direct to the Creator's meanings was the greater heritage.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Thryng found it possible to have a few words with the lawyer before
+David appeared, and impressed upon him the necessity of interesting her
+son in this new field by showing him avenues for power and work.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't quite understand the boy," she said. "After seeing the world
+and going his own way, I really thought he would outgrow that sort of
+moody sentimentalism, but it seems to be returning. He is quixotic
+enough to turn away from everything here and go back to Canada, unless
+you can awaken his interest."</p>
+
+<p>"I see, I see," said the lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>"Mere personal ambition will not satisfy him," added his mother,
+proudly. "He must see opportunities for service. He must understand that he is needed."</p>
+
+<p>"I see. I understand. He must be dealt with along the line of his nobler
+impulses&mdash;ahem&mdash;ahem&mdash;" and David appeared.</p>
+
+<p>His mother rose and took his arm to walk out to dinner, while Laura, who
+should have gone with Mr. Stretton, did not see his proffered arm, but,
+provokingly indifferent, strolled out by herself.</p>
+
+<p>David, absorbed in his own thoughts, did not notice his sister's
+careless mien, but the mother observed the independent and boyish swing
+of her daughter's shoulders, and resented it with a slightly reproving
+glance after they were seated.</p>
+
+<p>Laura lifted her eyebrows and one shoulder with an irritating half
+shrug. "What is it, mamma?" she asked, but Lady Thryng allowed the
+question to go unheeded, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> turned her attention to the two gentlemen
+during the rest of the meal.</p>
+
+<p>All through dinner David was haunted by Cassandra's talk with him, the
+night he dreamed she was being swept out of his arms forever by a swift,
+cold current which, from a little purling stream high up on a mountain
+top, had become a dark, relentless flood, overwhelming them utterly.
+What was she doing now? Did she know she was in that terrible flood? Was
+she really being swept from him? Ah, never, never! He would not allow
+it, if he must break all hearts but hers.</p>
+
+<p>The meal progressed sombrely and heavily, with much ceremony, although
+they were so few. Was his mother practising for the future that she kept
+such rigid state? He suspected as much, and that Laura was being trained
+to the right way of carrying herself, but that and the real sorrow of
+the family over their bereavement made a most oppressive atmosphere.
+Might this be the shadow Cassandra had seen lying across their future?
+Only a passing cloud&mdash;a vapor; it must be only that.</p>
+
+<p>Laura and her mother withdrew early, leaving David and the lawyer
+together, when Mr. Stretton immediately launched into talk of David's
+prospects and resources. In spite of himself, the gloom of the dinner
+hour slipped from him, and soon he was taking the liveliest interest in
+what might be possible for him here and now.</p>
+
+<p>Although not one to be easily turned from a chosen path by outside
+influence, David yet had that almost fatal gift of the imaginative mind
+of seeing things from many sides, until at times they took on a
+kaleidoscopic reversibility. Now this unlooked-for development of his
+life opened to him a vista&mdash;new&mdash;and yet old, old as England herself.</p>
+
+<p>While digging deep into the causes of his former discontent, he had come
+to strike his spade upon the rock foundations whereon all this
+complicated superstructure of English society and national life was
+builded. He saw that every nobleman inherited with his title and his
+lands a responsibility for the welfare of the whole people, from the
+poorest laborer in the ditch or the coal mine, to the head wearing the
+crown; and that it was the blindness of individuals like himself or his
+uncle before him, their misuse or unscrupulous indifference to and abuse
+of power, which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> had brought about those conditions under which the
+masses were writhing, and against which they were crying out. He saw
+that it was only by the earnest efforts of the few who did
+understand&mdash;the few who were not indifferent&mdash;that the stability of
+English government was still her glory.</p>
+
+<p>At last he rose and lifted his arms high above his head, then dropped
+them to his side. "I see." He held up his head and looked off as he had
+done when he stood on the prow of the steamship, with the salt breeze
+tossing his hair. "A little of this came to me as I crossed the ocean,
+when I saw the green slopes of England again. I knew I loved her, and
+the old feeling of impotence that hounded me in the past, when I could
+do nothing but rebel, slipped from me. I felt what it might be to have
+power&mdash;to become effective instead of being obliged to chafe under the
+yoke of an imposed submission to things which are wrong&mdash;things which
+those who are in power might set right if they would. I believe, for a
+moment, Mr. Stretton, I felt it all."</p>
+
+<p>He paused and bowed his head. All at once in the midst of his
+exaltation, he saw Cassandra standing white and still, as he had seen
+her on the hilltop before their little cabin, looking after him when he
+bade her good-by; and just as he then turned and went swiftly back to
+her, so now in his soul he turned to her yearningly and took her to his
+breast. Still penetrating the sweet, white halo of this vision, he heard
+the voice of Mr. Stretton deferentially droning on.</p>
+
+<p>"And with your resources&mdash;the wealth which, with a little care and
+thought just now at this crucial moment, will be yours&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Still David stood with bowed head.</p>
+
+<p>"It is as if you were predestined, my lord, to step in at a critical
+time of your country's need&mdash;with brains, education, conscience, and
+wealth&mdash;with every obstacle swept away."</p>
+
+<p>Still before him stood Cassandra, white and silent; he could see only her.</p>
+
+<p>"Every obstacle swept away," repeated the lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>"And Cassandra, God help her and me." David slowly turned, lifted a
+glass of wine from the table, and drank it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> "Well, so be it, so be it,"
+he said aloud. "We'll join mother and Laura." At the door he paused,
+"You spoke of education&mdash;the learning of a physician is but little in
+the line of statesmanship. How soon will I be expected to take my seat?"</p>
+
+<p>"If you ask my advice, my lord, I would say better wait a year. It will
+be advisable for you to go yourself to South Africa and look into your
+uncle's investments there&mdash;as a private individual, of course, not as a
+public servant. Two-thirds of the receipts have fallen off since the
+war; learn what may be saved from the wreckage, or if there be a
+wreckage. I'm inclined to think not all, for the investments were
+varied. Your uncle may have been a silent member, but he was certainly a
+man of good business judgment&mdash;" Mr. Stretton paused and coughed a
+little apologetically before adding: "Not an inherited talent,
+only&mdash;ah&mdash;cultivated&mdash;cultivated&mdash;you know. Good business judgment is
+not a trait inherent in our peerage, as a rule."</p>
+
+<p>David was amused and entered the drawing-room with a smile on his face.
+His mother was pleased and rose instantly, coming forward with both
+hands extended to take his. He understood it as a welcome back to the
+family circle, the quiet talks and the evening lamp, less formal than
+the oppressive dinner had been. He held her hands thus offered and
+kissed the little anxious line on her brow, then playfully smoothed it with his finger.</p>
+
+<p>"We mustn't let it become permanent, you know, mother."</p>
+
+<p>"No, David. It will go now you are at home."</p>
+
+<p>He did not know that his mother and Laura had been having a lively
+discussion apropos of the silent tilt at the dinner-table, his sister
+pleading for a return to the old ways, and a release from such state and
+ceremony. "At least while we are by ourselves, mamma. Anyway, I know
+David will just hate it, and I don't see what good a title is if we must
+become perfect slaves to it."</p>
+
+<p>David crossed the room and sat down before the piano. "How strange this
+old place seems without the others&mdash;Bob, and the cousins, and uncle
+himself! We weren't admitted often&mdash;but&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Sh&mdash;sh&mdash;" said Laura, who had followed him and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> stood at his ride.
+"Don't remind mamma. She remembers too much&mdash;all the time. Play the
+'King's Hunting Jig,' David. Remember how you used to play it for me
+every evening after dinner, when I was a girl?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do I remember? Rather! I have done nothing with the piano since
+then&mdash;when you were a girl. I'll play it for you now, while you are a girl."</p>
+
+<p>"But I really am grown up now, David. It's quite absurd for me to go
+about like this. It's only because mamma chooses to have it so. She even
+keeps a governess for me still."</p>
+
+<p>"To her you are a child, and to me you are still a girl, and a mighty fine one."</p>
+
+<p>"It's so good to have you back, David! You haven't forgotten the Jig!
+Where's your flute? Get it, and I'll accompany you. I can drum a little
+now&mdash;after a fashion. We'll let them talk."</p>
+
+<p>So they amused themselves for the rest of the evening with music, and
+Lady Thryng's face lost the strained and harassed expression it had worn
+all during dinner, and took on a look of contentment. After this the
+days were spent by David in going over his uncle's large mass of papers
+and correspondence, with the aid of Mr. Stretton and a secretary. A
+colossal task it proved to be.</p>
+
+<p>No one, even his lawyer, who had his confidence more than any one else,
+knew in what the old Lord Thryng's wealth really consisted, although Mr.
+Stretton surmised much of his surplus income of late years had been
+placed in Africa. As his papers had not been set in order or tabulated
+for years, every note, land loan, mortgage, and rental had to be
+unearthed slowly and laboriously from among a mass of written matter and
+figures, more or less worthless; for the old lord had a habit of saving
+every scrap of paper&mdash;the backs of notes and letters&mdash;for summing up
+accounts and jotting down memoranda and dates.</p>
+
+<p>Certain hours of each day David devoted to this labor, collecting his
+papers in a small room opening off from the law chambers of Mr.
+Stretton, where for years his uncle had kept a private safe.
+Conscientiously he toiled at the monotonous task, until weeks, then
+months, slipped by, hardly noticed, ignoring all social life. When his
+mother<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> or Laura broached the subject, he would say: "'Sufficient unto
+the day is the evil thereof,' and this must be done first."</p>
+
+<p>He was not unmindful of his wife during this interval, but wrote
+frequently, and, to guard against any danger of her being left without
+resources should something unforeseen befall him, he placed in Bishop
+Towers's hands the residue of money remaining to him in Canada, for
+Cassandra. He wrote her to use it as occasion required, and not to spare
+it, that it was hers without restriction. He sent her the names of books
+he wished she would read&mdash;that she should write the publishers for them.
+He begged her to do no more weaving for money&mdash;but only for her own
+amusement, and above all to trust and be happy, not to be sorrowful for
+this long delay, which he would cut as short as he could.</p>
+
+<p>Much of his occupation he could not explain to her, and ofttimes it was
+hard to find matter for his letters; then he would revert to
+reminiscence. These were the letters she loved best and sometimes wept
+over, and these were the letters that often left him dreamy and sad, and
+sometimes made him distraught when his mother and Laura talked over
+their affairs, so utterly alien to his thoughts and longings.</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra's replies were for the most part short, but they were sent
+with unfailing regularity, and always they seemed to bring with them a
+breath from her own mountain top&mdash;na&iuml;ve&mdash;tender&mdash;absolutely
+trusting&mdash;often quaintly worded, and telling of the simple, innocent
+things of her life. He could see that she held herself in reserve, even
+as her nature was; a psychologic something was held back. He could not
+dream what it might be, but reasoned with himself that it was only that
+she found it harder to unveil her thoughts by means of the pen than in speech.</p>
+
+<p>One day, as he rode alone in the park, he noticed that the leaf buds
+were swelling. What! Was spring upon them? A white fog was lifting, and
+every twig and stem held its tiny pearl of wetness. All the earth
+glistened and was clean and looked as if greenness was returning. He
+regarded the artificial effects around him, the long lines of trees and
+set clumps of shrubbery, and was seized with a desire well-nigh
+irresistible for the wild roads and rugged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> steeps&mdash;the wandering
+streams and sound of falling waters.</p>
+
+<p>He saw it all again, the blossoming spring where Cassandra sat waiting
+for him, and he resolved to start without delay&mdash;to go to her and bring
+her back with him. All this sordid calculation of the amount of his
+fortune&mdash;his mother's and sister's shares&mdash;the annuities of poor
+dependents&mdash;stocks to be bought&mdash;interest to be invested&mdash;the
+government, and his future part therein, pah! It must wait! He would
+have his own. His heritage should not be his curse.</p>
+
+<p>He returned in haste that day, only to learn that certain facts had been
+unearthed which necessitated a journey into Wales, where interests of
+the former Lady Thryng's estates were concerned. His uncle had inherited
+all from her with the exception of certain bequests to relatives with
+which he had been intrusted. Some of the records had been lost, and
+whether the beneficiaries were dead or not, none knew, but now and then
+letters came pleading for a continuance of former favors, and recalling obligations.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stretton had been ill for a week, and now that the records were
+found, David must go, and go at once. The lawyer had many subjects for
+investigation to deliver to David. There was the death-bed request of an
+old nurse of his aunt, who had an annuity, that it be extended to her
+crippled granddaughter. She lived among the Cornish hills. Would he hunt
+the family up and learn if they were worthy or impostors? His uncle had
+been endlessly plagued with such importunities&mdash;and so on&mdash;and so on.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, certainly David would go. He made a mental reservation that he
+would sail, without returning to London, and then make a clean breast of
+his affairs by letter to his mother. She had improved in health during
+the winter, and he thought his information would be received by her with
+more equanimity than it would have been earlier. Moreover, she had
+broached the subject of marriage to him more than once, but always in
+one of her most worldly moods, when he shrank from hearing Cassandra
+spoken of as he knew she would be&mdash;when he could not hear her discussed,
+nor reply with calmness to such questions as he knew must ensue.</p>
+
+<p>David had little time to brood over his peculiar difficulty,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> as his
+short journey was full of business interest and new experiences. Yet the
+Cornish hills awoke in him a still greater eagerness for the mountains
+of his dreams, and, after securing his passage, he went to his hotel to
+prepare the letter to his mother.</p>
+
+<p>It is marvellous what trivial events alter destinies. In this instance
+it was the yapping of a small dog which changed David's plans, and
+finally sent him to South Africa instead of America. While paying his
+bill at the hotel, a telegram was handed him, which he tore open as the
+clerk was counting out his change. He still held in his hand the letter
+to his mother which he was on the point of dropping in the letter-box at
+his elbow. Instead, he thrust it in his pocket, along with the crushed
+telegram, and, taking a cab, hastened to the steamship offices to cancel
+his date for sailing.</p>
+
+<p>The message read: "Return with all speed to London. Mr. Stretton lying
+in the hospital with a fractured skull." Thus it was that Lady
+Tredwell's pet spaniel, old and vicious, yapping at the heels of Mr.
+Stretton's restive horse, while my lady's maid&mdash;who should have been
+leading him out for an airing&mdash;was absorbed in listening to the
+compliments of one of the park guards, played so dire a part in the
+affairs of David Thryng.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH THE OLD DOCTOR AND LITTLE HOYLE COME BACK TO THE MOUNTAINS</h3>
+
+<p>Cassandra, seated on the great hanging rock before her cabin, watched
+the sunrise where David had so often stood and waited for the dawn
+during his winter there alone. This morning the mists obscured the
+valleys and the base of the mountains, while the sky and the whole earth
+glowed with warm rose color.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she rose and walked with lifted head into the cabin, and
+prepared to light a fire on the hearth. In the canvas room the bed was
+made smoothly, as she had made it the morning David left. No one had
+slept in it since, although Cassandra spent most of her days there.
+Everything he had used was carefully kept as he had left it. His
+microscope, covered from dust, stood with the last specimen still under
+the lens. A book they were reading together lay on the corner shelf,
+with the mark still in the place where they had read last.</p>
+
+<p>After lighting the fire, she sat near it, watching the flames steal up
+from the small pile of fat pine chips underneath, sending up red tongues
+of fire, until the great logs were wrapped in the hot embrace of the
+flames, trembling, quivering, and leaping high in their mad joy,
+transmuting all they touched.</p>
+
+<p>"It's like love," she murmured, and smiled. "Only it's quicker. It does
+in one hour what love takes a lifetime to do. Those logs might have lain
+on the ground and rotted if they'd been left alone, but now the fire
+just holds them and caresses them like, and they grow warm and glow like
+the sun, and give all they can while they last, until they're almost too
+bright to look at. I reckon God has been right good to me not to let me
+lie and rot my life away. He sent David to set my heart on fire, and I
+guess I can wait for him to come back to me in God's own time."</p>
+
+<p>She rose and brought from the canvas room a basket of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> willow, woven in
+open-work pattern. It was a gift from Azalea, who had learned from her
+mother the art of basket weaving. Some said Azalea's grandmother was
+half Indian, and that it was from her they had learned their quaint
+patterns and shapes, and that she, and her Indian mother before her, had
+been famous basket weavers.</p>
+
+<p>This pretty basket was filled with very delicate work of fine muslin,
+much finer than anything Cassandra had ever worked upon before. Her
+hands no longer showed signs of having been employed in rough, coarse
+tasks; they were soft and white. She placed the basket of dainty sewing
+on the same table which had served as an altar when she knelt beside
+David and was made his wife. It was serving as an altar still, bearing
+that basket of delicate work.</p>
+
+<p>She had become absorbed in a book&mdash;not one of those David had suggested.
+It is doubtful, had he been there, whether he would have really liked to
+see her reading this one, although it was written by Thackeray, dear to
+all English hearts. It is more than probable that he would have thought
+his young wife hardly need be enlightened upon just the sort of things
+with which <i>Vanity Fair</i> enriches the understanding.</p>
+
+<p>Be it how it may, Cassandra was reading <i>Vanity Fair</i>, which she found
+in the box of books David had opened so long before. While she read she
+worked with her fingers, incessantly, at a piece of narrow lace, with a
+shuttle and very fine thread. This she did so mechanically that she
+could easily read at the same time by propping the book open on the
+table before her. For a long time she sat thus, growing more and more
+interested, until the fire burned low, and she rose to replenish it.</p>
+
+<p>The logs were piled beside the door of the small kitchen David had built
+for her, and where he had placed the cook stove. She had come up early
+this morning, because she was sad over his last letter, in which he had
+told her of his disappointment in having to cancel his passage to
+America. Hopeful and cheery though the letter was, it had struck dismay
+to her heart; it was her way when sad, and longing for her husband, to
+go up to her little cabin&mdash;her own home&mdash;and think it all over alone and
+thus regain her equanimity.</p>
+
+<p>Here she read and thought things out by herself. What<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> strange people
+they were over there! Or perhaps that was so long ago&mdash;they might have
+changed by this time. Surely they must have changed, or David would have
+said something about it. He never would become a lord, to be one of such
+people&mdash;never&mdash;never! It was not at all like David.</p>
+
+<p>A figure appeared in the doorway. "Cassandra! What are you doing here
+all by yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>It was Betty Towers. Cassandra ran joyfully forward and clasped the
+little woman in her arms. Almost carrying her in, she sat her by the
+pleasant open fire. Then, seeing Betty's eyes regarding her
+questioningly, she suddenly dropped into her own chair by the table,
+leaned her head upon her arms, and began to weep, silently.</p>
+
+<p>In an instant Betty was kneeling by her side, holding the lovely head to
+her breast. "Dearest! You shan't cry. You shan't cry like that. Tell me
+all about it. Why on earth doesn't Doctor Thryng come home?"</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra lifted her head and dried her tears. "He was coming. The last
+letter but one said he was to sail next day. Then last night came
+another saying the only man who could look after very important business
+for him had been thrown from his horse and hurt so bad he may die, and
+David had to give up his passage and go back to London. He may have to
+go to Africa. He felt right bad&mdash;but&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Goodness me, child! Why, he has no business now more important than
+you! What a chump!"</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra stiffened proudly and drew away, taking up her shuttle and
+beginning her work calmly as if nothing had happened to destroy her composure.</p>
+
+<p>"I've not written David&mdash;anything to disturb him&mdash;or make him hurry home."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Cassandra, Cassandra! You're not treating either him or yourself fairly."</p>
+
+<p>"For him&mdash;I can't help it; and for me, I don't care. Other women have
+got along as best they could in these mountains, and I can bear what they have borne."</p>
+
+<p>"But why on earth haven't you told him?"</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra bent her head lower over her bit of lace and was silent. Betty
+drew her chair nearer and put her arms about the drooping girl.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p><p>"Can't you tell me all about it, dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not if you are going to blame David."</p>
+
+<p>"I won't, you lovely thing! I can't, since he doesn't know&mdash;but why&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"At first I couldn't speak. I tried, but I couldn't. Then he had to take
+Hoyle North, and I thought he would see for himself when he came
+back&mdash;or I could tell him by that time. Then came that dreadful
+news&mdash;you know&mdash;four, all dead. His brother and his two cousins all
+killed, and his uncle dying of grief; and he had to go to his mother or
+she might die, too, and then he found so much to do. Now, you know he
+has to be a&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She was going to say "a lord," but, happening to glance down at her open
+book, the name of "Lord Steyne" caught her eye, and it seemed to her a
+title of disgrace. She must talk with David before she allowed him to be
+known as "a lord," so she ended hurriedly: "He has to be a different
+kind of a man, now&mdash;not a doctor. He has a great many things to do and
+look after. If I told him, he would leave everything and come to me,
+even if he ought not, and if he couldn't come, he would be troubled and
+unhappy. Why should I make him unhappy? When he does come home, he'll be
+glad&mdash;oh, so glad! Why need he know when the knowing will do no good,
+and when he will come to me as soon as he can, anyway?"</p>
+
+<p>"You strange girl, Cassandra! You brave old dear! But he must come,
+that's all. It is his right to know and to come. I can tell him. Let me."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no. Please, Mrs. Towers, you must not. He will come back as soon as
+he can; and now&mdash;now&mdash;he will be too late, since he&mdash;he did not sail
+when he meant to."</p>
+
+<p>Betty rose with a set look about the mouth. "Unless we cable him,
+Cassandra. Would there be time in that case? Come, you must tell me."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," wailed the girl. "And now he must not know until he comes. It
+would be cruel. I will not let you write him or cable him either."</p>
+
+<p>"Then what will you do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't know. I'll think out a way. You'll help me think, but you
+must promise me not to write to David. I send him a letter every day,
+but I never tell him anything that would make him uneasy, because he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>
+has very important business there for his mother and sister, even more
+than for himself. You see how bad I would be to write troubling things
+to him when he couldn't help me or come to me." A light broke over Betty Towers's face.</p>
+
+<p>"I can think out a way, dear, of course I can. Just leave matters to me."</p>
+
+<p>Thus it was that Doctor Hoyle received a letter in Betty's own
+impassioned and impulsive style, begging him, for love's sake, to leave
+all and come back to the mountains and his own little cabin, where
+Cassandra needed him.</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind Doctor Thryng or anything surprising about his being absent;
+just come if you possibly can and hear what Cassandra has to say about
+it before you judge him. She is quaint and queer and wholly lovely. If
+you can bring little Hoyle with you, do so, for I fear his mother is
+grieving to see him. She wrote me a most peculiar and pathetic letter,
+saying her daughter was so silent about her affairs that she herself
+'war nigh about dead fer worryin', and would I please come and see could
+I make Cass talk a leetle,' so you may be sure there is need of you. The
+winter is glorious in the mountains this year. Your appearance will set
+everything right at the Fall Place, and Cassandra will be safe."</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>Old Time, the unfailing, who always marches apace, bringing with him
+changes for good or evil, brought the dear old doctor back to the Fall
+Place&mdash;brought the small Adam Hoyle, with his queer little twisted neck
+and hunched back, drawn by harness and plaster into a much improved
+condition, although not straight yet&mdash;brought many letters from David
+filled with postponements and regrets therefor&mdash;and brought also a
+little son for Cassandra to hold to her bosom and dream and pray over.</p>
+
+<p>And the dreams and the prayers travelled far&mdash;far, to the sunny-haired
+Englishman wrapped in the intricate affairs of a great estate. How much
+money would accrue? How should it be spent? What improvements should be
+made in their country home? When Laura's coming out should be? How many
+of her old companions might she retain? How many might she call friends?
+How<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> many were to be hereafter thrust out as quite impossible? Should
+she be allowed a kennel, or should her sporting tendencies be discouraged?</p>
+
+<p>All these things were forced upon David's consideration; how then could
+he return to his young wife, especially when he could not yet bring
+himself to say to his world that he had a young wife. Impatient he might
+be, nervous, and even irritable, but still what could he do? While there
+in the faraway hills sat Cassandra, loving him, brooding over him with
+serene and peaceful longing, holding his baby to her white breast,
+holding his baby's hand to her lips, full of courage, strong in her
+faith, patient in spirit, until as days and weeks passed she grew well
+and strong in body.</p>
+
+<p>Being sadly in need of rest, the old doctor lingered on in the mountains
+until spring was well advanced. Slight of body, but vigorous and wiry,
+and as full of scientific enthusiasm as when he was thirty years
+younger, he tramped the hills, taking long walks and climbs alone, or
+shorter ones with Hoyle at his heels like a devoted dog, shrilling
+questions as he ran to keep up. These the good doctor answered according
+to his own code, or passed over as beyond possibility of reply with
+quizzical counter-questioning.</p>
+
+<p>They sat together one day, eating their luncheon in the shelter of a
+great wall of rock, and below them lay a pool of clear water which
+trickled from a spring higher up. Now and then a bullfrog would sound
+his deep bass note, and all the time the high piping of the peepers made
+shrill accompaniment to their voices as they conversed.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor had made an aquarium for Hoyle, using a great glass jar which
+he obtained from a druggist in Farington. They had come to-day on a
+quest for snails to eat the green growth, which had so covered the sides
+of the jar as to hide the interesting water world within from the boy's
+eyes. Many things had already occurred in that small world to set the boy thinking.</p>
+
+<p>"Doctah Hoyle, you remembeh that thar quare bunch of leetle sticks an'
+stones you put in my 'quar'um first day you fixed hit up fer me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, the' is a right quare thing with a big hade come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> outen hit, an'
+he done eat up some o' the leetle black bugs. I seed him jump quicker'n
+lightnin' at that leetlist fish only so long, an' try to bite a piece
+outen his fin&mdash;his lowest fin. What did he do that fer?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why&mdash;why&mdash;he was hungry. He made his dinner off the little black bugs,
+and he wanted the fin for his dessert."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't like that kind of a beast. Oncet he was a worm in a kind of a
+hole-box, an' then he turned into a leetle beast-crittah; an' what'll he be next?"</p>
+
+<p>"Next&mdash;why, next he'll be a fly&mdash;a&mdash;a beautiful fly with four wings all
+blue and gold and green&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I seen them things flyin' round in the summeh. Hit's quare how things
+gits therselves changed that-a-way into somethin' else&mdash;from a worm into
+that beast-crittah an' then into one o' these here devil flies. You
+reckon hit'll eveh git changed into something diff'ent&mdash;some kind er a bird?"</p>
+
+<p>"A bird? No, no. When he becomes a f&mdash;fly, he's finished and done for."</p>
+
+<p>"P'r'aps ther is some folks that-a-way, too. You reckon that's what ails me?"</p>
+
+<p>"You? Why,&mdash;why what ails you?"</p>
+
+<p>"You reckon p'r'aps I mount git changed some way outen this here quare
+back I got, so't I can hol' my hade like otheh folks? Jes' go to sleep
+like, an' wake up straight like Frale?"</p>
+
+<p>The old doctor turned and looked down a moment on the child sitting
+hunched at his side. His mouth worked as he meditated a reply.</p>
+
+<p>"What would you do if you could c&mdash;arry your head straight like Frale?
+If you had been like him, you would be running a 'still' pretty soon.
+You never would have come to me to set you straight, and so you would
+n&mdash;never have seen all the pictures and the great cities. You are going
+to be a man before you know it, and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And I'll do a heap o' things when I'm a man, too&mdash;but I wisht&mdash;I
+wisht&mdash; These here snails we b'en hunt'n', you reckon they're done
+growed to ther shells so they can't get out? What did God make 'em that-a-way fer?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's all in the order of things. Everything has its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> place in the world
+and its work to do. They don't want to get out. They like to carry their
+bones on the outside of their bodies. They're made so. Yes, yes, all in
+the order of things. They like it."</p>
+
+<p>"You reckon you can tell me hu' come God 'lowed me to have this-er lump
+on my back? Hit hain't in no ordeh o' things fer humans to be like I be."</p>
+
+<p>The sceptical old man looked down on the child quizzically, yet sadly.
+His flexible mouth twitched to reply, but he was silent. Hoyle looked
+back into the old doctor's eyes with grave, direct gaze, and turned
+away. "You reckon why he done hit?"</p>
+
+<p>"See here. Suppose&mdash;just suppose you were given your choice this minute
+to change places with Frale&mdash;Lord knows where he is now, or what he's
+doing&mdash;or be as you are and live your own life; which would you be?
+Think it over; think it out."</p>
+
+<p>"Ef I had 'a' been straight, brother David never would 'a' took me up to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No&mdash;no&mdash;no. You would have been a&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You mean if a magic man should come by here an' just touch me so, an'
+change me into Frale, would I 'low him to do hit?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's what I mean."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't guess Frale, he'd like to be done that-a-way." The loving
+little chap nestled closer to the doctor's side. "I like you a heap,
+Doctah Hoyle. Frale, he fit brothah David&mdash;an' nigh about killed him. I
+reckon I rutheh be like I be, an' bide nigh Cass an' th' baby&mdash;an' have
+the 'quar'um&mdash;an' see maw&mdash;an' go with you. You reckon I can go back with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Go back? Of course&mdash;go back."</p>
+
+<p>"Be I heap o' trouble to you? You reckon God 'lowed me to have this er
+hump, so't I could get to go an' bide whar you were at, like I done?"</p>
+
+<p>A suspicious moisture gathered in the doctor's eyes, and he sprang up
+and went to examine earnestly a thorny shrub some paces away, while the
+child continued to pipe his questions, for the most part unanswerable.
+"You reckon God just gin my neck er twist so't brothah David would take
+me to Canada to you, an' so't maw'd 'low me to go? You reckon if I'm
+right good, He'll 'low me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> to make a picture o' th' ocean some day, like
+the one we seed in that big house? You reckon if I tried right hard I
+could paint a picture o' th' mountain, yandah&mdash;an' th' sea&mdash;an'&mdash;all
+the&mdash;all the&mdash;ships?"</p>
+
+<p>The doctor laughed heartily and merrily. "Come, come. We must go home
+now to Cassandra and the baby. Paint? Of&mdash;of course you could paint! You
+could paint p&mdash;pictures enough to fill a house."</p>
+
+<p>"We don't want no magic man, do we, Doctah Hoyle? I cried a heap after I
+seed myself in the big lookin'-glass down in Farington whar brothah
+David took me. I cried when hit war dark an' maw war sleepin'. Next time
+I reckon I bettah tell God much obleeged fer twistin' my hade 'roun'
+'stead er cryin' an' takin' on like I been doin'. You reckon so, Doctah Hoyle?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;yes&mdash;yes. I reckon so," said the doctor, meditatively, as they
+descended the trail. From that day the child's strength increased. Sunny
+and buoyant, he shook off the thought of his deformity, and his
+beauty-loving soul ceased introspective brooding and found delight in
+searching out beauty, and in his creative faculty.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH FRALE RETURNS TO THE MOUNTAINS</h3>
+
+<p>Doctor Hoyle lingered until the last of the laurel bloom was gone, and
+the widow had become so absorbed in her grandchild as to make the
+parting much easier. Then he took the small Adam and departed for the
+North. Never did the kind old man dream that his frail and twisted
+little namesake would one day be the pride of his life and the comfort
+of his declining years.</p>
+
+<p>"Hoyle sure do look a heap bettah'n when Doctah David took him off that
+day. Hit did seem like I'd nevah see him again. Don't you guess 'at he's
+beginnin' to grow some? Seems like he do."</p>
+
+<p>The widow was seated on her little porch with the doctor, the evening
+before they left, and Cassandra, who, since the birth of the heir, had
+been living again in her own little cabin, had brought the baby down. He
+lay on his grandmother's lap quietly sleeping, while his mother gathered
+Hoyle's treasures, and packed his diminutive trunk. The boy followed
+her, chattering happily as she worked. She also had noticed the change
+in him, and suggested that perhaps, as he had gained such a start toward
+health, he need not return, but would do quite well at home.</p>
+
+<p>"He's a care to you, Doctor, although you're that kind and patient,&mdash;I
+don't see how ever we can thank you enough for all you've done!" Then
+Hoyle, to their utter astonishment, threw himself on the ground at the
+doctor's feet and burst into bitter weeping.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, son, are ye cryin' that-a-way so's you can get to go off an' leave
+maw here 'lone?" But he continued to weep, and at last explained to them
+that the "Lord done crooked him up that-a-way so't he could git to go
+an' learn to be a painter an' make a house full of pictures," and that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>
+the doctor had said he might. Doctor Hoyle lifted him to his knees with
+many assurances that he would keep his word, but for a long time the
+child sobbed hysterically, his face pressed against the old man's sleeve.</p>
+
+<p>"What's that you sayin', child, 'bouts the Lord twistin' yer neck?
+Bettah lay sech as that to the devil, more'n likely."</p>
+
+<p>At the mention of that sinister individual, the babe wakened and
+stretched out his plump, bare arms, with little pink fists tightly
+closed. He yawned a prodigious yawn for so small a countenance, and
+gazed vacantly in his grandmother's face. Then a look of intelligence
+crept into his eyes, and he smiled one of those sweet, evanescent smiles of infancy.</p>
+
+<p>"Look at him now, laughin' at me that-a-way. He be the peartest I eveh
+did see. Cass, she sure be mean not to tell his fathah 'at he have a son, she sure be."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra came and tenderly took the babe in her arms and held him to
+her breast. "There, there. Sleep, honey son, sleep again," she cooed,
+swaying her body to the rhythm of her speech. "Sleep, honey son, sleep again."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you reckon she be mean to Doctah David, nevah to let on 'at he
+have a son, and he a-growin' that fast? You a-doin' his fathah mean,
+Cassandry." Still Cassandra swayed and sang.</p>
+
+<p>"Sleep, honey son, sleep again."</p>
+
+<p>"He nevah will forgive you when he finds out how you have done him. I
+can't make out what-all ails ye, nohow."</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, mother. I'm just leaving his heart in peace. He'll come when he
+can, and then he'll forgive me."</p>
+
+<p>As the doctor walked slowly at her side that evening, carrying the
+sleeping child back to her cabin, he also ventured a remonstrance, but without avail.</p>
+
+<p>"It's hardly fair to his father&mdash;such a fine little chap. You&mdash;you have
+a monopoly of him this way, you know."</p>
+
+<p>She flushed at the implication of selfishness, but said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"How&mdash;how is that? Don't you think so?" he persisted kindly.</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon you can't feel what I feel, Doctor. Why should I make his
+heart troubled when he must stay there?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> David knows I hate it to bide
+so long without him. He&mdash;he knows. If he could get to come back, don't
+you guess he'd come right quick, anyway? Would he come any sooner for
+his son than for me?" It was the doctor's turn for silence. She asked
+again, this time with a tremor in her voice. "You reckon he would, Doctor?"</p>
+
+<p>"No! Of&mdash;of course not," he cried.</p>
+
+<p>"Then what would be the use of telling him, only to trouble him?"</p>
+
+<p>"He&mdash;he might like to think about him&mdash;you know&mdash;might like it."</p>
+
+<p>"He said he must go to Africa in May, so now he must have started&mdash;and
+our wedding was on May-day. Now it's the last of May; he must be there.
+He might be obliged to bide in that country a whole month&mdash;maybe two.
+It's so far away, and his letters take so long to come! Doctor, are they
+fighting there now? Sometimes I wake in the night and think what if he
+should die away off there in that far place&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no. That's done. Not fighting, thank God. Rest your heart in peace.
+Now, after I'm gone, don't stay up here alone too much. I'm a physician,
+and I know what's best for you."</p>
+
+<p>She took the now soundly sleeping child from the doctor's arms and laid
+him on the bed in the canvas room. The day had been warm, and the fire
+was out in the great fireplace; the evening wind, light and cool, laden
+with sweet odors, swept through the cabin.</p>
+
+<p>They talked late that night of Hoyle and his future, but never a word
+more of David. The old man thought he now understood her feeling, and
+respected it. She certainly had a right to one small weakness, this
+strong fair creature of the hills. Her husband must release himself from
+his absorbing cares and return simply for love of her&mdash;not at the call
+of his baby's wail.</p>
+
+<p>So the doctor and his diminutive namesake drove contentedly away next
+morning in the great covered wagon, and Cassandra, standing by her
+mother's door, smiled and lifted her baby for one last embrace from his
+loving little uncle.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm goin' to grow a big man, an' I'll teach him to make pictures&mdash;big
+ones," he called back.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p><p>"Yas, you'll do a heap. You bettah watch out to be right good and
+peart; that's what you bettah do."</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>David, not unmindful of affairs on the far-away mountain side, made it
+quite worth the while of the two cousins to stay on with the widow and
+run the small farm under Cassandra's directions, and she found herself
+fully occupied. She wrote David all the details: when and where things
+were planted&mdash;how the vines he had set on the hill slope were
+growing&mdash;how the pink rose he had brought from Hoke Belew's and planted
+by their threshold had grown to the top of the door, and had three sweet
+blossoms. She had shaken the petals of one between the pages of her
+letter on May-day, and sent it to remind him, she said.</p>
+
+<p>Nearly a month later than he had intended to sail, David left England,
+overwhelmed with many small matters which seemed so great to his mother
+and sister, and burdened with duties imposed upon him by the realization
+that he had come into the possession of enormous wealth, more than he
+could comprehendingly estimate; and that he was now setting out to
+secure and prevent the loss of possibly double what he already possessed.</p>
+
+<p>People gathered about him and presented him with worthy and unworthy
+opportunities for its disposal. They flocked to him in herds, with
+importunities and flatteries. The tower which he had built up with his
+ideals, and in which he had intrenched himself, was in danger of being
+undermined and toppled into ruins, burying his soul beneath the debris.
+When seated on the deck, the rose petals dropped into his hand as he
+tore open Cassandra's letter. Some, ere he could catch them, were caught
+up and blown away into the sea.</p>
+
+<p>He held them and inhaled their sweetness, and everything seemed to find
+its true value and proportion and to fall into its right place. Again on
+the mountain top, with Cassandra at his side, he viewed in a perspective
+of varying gradations his life, his aims, and his possessions.</p>
+
+<p>The personality of his young wife, of late a vague thing to him, distant
+and fair, and haloed about with sweet memories dimly discerned like a
+dream that is past, presented itself to him all at once vivid and clear,
+as if he held her in his arms with her head on his breast.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p><p>He heard again her voice with its quaint inflections and lingering
+tones. Their love for each other loomed large, and became for him at
+once the one truly vital thing in all his share of the universe. Had his
+body been endowed with the wings of his soul, he would have left all and
+gone to her; but, alas for the restrictions of matter! he was gliding
+rapidly away and away, farther from the immediate attainment. Yet was
+his tower strengthened wherein he had intrenched himself with his
+ideals. The withered rose petals had brought him exaltation of purpose.</p>
+
+<p>In the mountains, July came with unusually sultry heat, yet the rich
+pocket of soil, watered by its never failing stream, suffered little
+from the drought. Weeds grew apace, and Cassandra had much ado to hold
+her cousin Cotton Caswell, easy-going and thriftless, to his task of
+keeping the small farm in order.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time now, Cassandra had avoided those moments of far-seeing
+and brooding. Had not David said he feared them for her? In these days
+of waiting, she dreaded lest they show her something to which she would
+rather remain blind. In the evenings, looking over the hilltops from her
+rock, visions came to her out of the changing mists, but she put them
+from her and calmed her breast with the babe on her bosom, and solaced
+her longing by keeping all in readiness for David's return. Perhaps at
+any moment, with wind-lifted hair and buoyant smile, he might come up the laurel path.</p>
+
+<p>For this reason she preferred living in her own cabin home, and, that
+she might not be alone at night, Martha Caswell or her brother slept on
+a cot in the large cabin room, but Cassandra cared little for their
+company. They might come or not as they chose. She was never afraid now
+that she was strong again and baby was well.</p>
+
+<p>One evening sitting thus, her babe lying asleep on her knees and her
+heart over the sea, something caused her to start from her revery and
+look away from the blue distance, toward the cabin. There, a few paces
+away, regarding her intently, stalwart and dark, handsome and eager,
+stood Frale. Much older he seemed, more reckless he appeared, yet still
+a youth in his undisciplined impulse. She sat pale as death, unable to
+move, in breathless amazement.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p><p>He smiled upon her out of the gathering dusk. For some minutes he had
+been regarding her, and the tumult within him had become riotous with
+long restraint. He came swiftly forward and, ere she could turn her
+head, his arms were about her, and his lips upon hers, and she felt
+herself pinioned in her chair&mdash;nor, for guarding her baby unhurt by his
+vehemence, could she use her hands to hold him from her; nor for the
+suffocating beating of her heart could she cry out; neither would her
+cry have availed, for there were none near to hear her.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop, Frale! I am not yours; stop, Frale," she implored.</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, you are mine," he said, in his low drawl, lifting his head to gaze
+in her face. "You gin me your promise. That doctah man, he done gone an'
+lef' you all alone, and he ain't nevah goin' to come back to these here mountins."</p>
+
+<p>She snatched her hands from the child on her knees, and, with sudden
+movement, pushed him violently; but he only held her closer, and it was
+as if she struggled against muscles of iron.</p>
+
+<p>"Naw, you don't! I have you now, an' I won't nevah leave you go again."
+He had not been drinking, yet he was like one drunken, so long had he
+brooded and waited.</p>
+
+<p>Rapidly she tried to think how she might gain control over him, when,
+wakened by the struggle, the babe wailed out and he started to his feet,
+his hands clutching into his hair as if he were struck with sudden fear.
+He had not noticed or given heed to what lay upon her knees, and the cry
+penetrated his heart like a knife.</p>
+
+<p>A child! His child&mdash;that doctor's child? He hated the thought of it, and
+the old impulse to strike down anything or any creature that stood in
+his way seized him&mdash;the impulse that, unchecked, had made him a
+murderer. He could kill, kill! Cassandra gathered the little body to her
+heart and, standing still before him, looked into his eyes.
+Instinctively she knew that only calmness and faith in his right action
+would give her the mastery now, and with a prayer in her heart she spoke quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"How came you here, Frale? You wrote mother you'd gone to Texas." His
+figure relaxed, and his arms dropped, but still he bent forward and
+gazed eagerly into her eyes.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p><p>"I come back when I heered he war gone. I come back right soon. Cate
+Irwin's wife writ me 'at he war gone; an' now she done tol' me he ain't
+nevah goin' to come back to these here mountins. Ev'ybody on the
+mountins knows that. He jes' have fooled you-all that-a-way, makin' out
+to marry you whilst he war in bed, like he couldn' stand on his feet,
+an' then gittin' up an' goin' off this-a-way, an' bidin' nigh on to a
+year. We don't 'low our women to be done that-a-way, like they war pore
+white trash. I come back fer you like I promised, an' you done gin me
+your promise, too. I reckon you won't go back on that now." He stepped
+nearer, and she clasped the babe closer, but did not flinch.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Frale, you promised, and I&mdash;I&mdash;promised&mdash;to save you from
+yourself&mdash;to be a good man; but you broke yours. You didn't repent, and
+you went on drinking, and&mdash;then you tried to kill an innocent man when
+he was alone and unarmed; like a coward you shot him. I called back my
+words from God; I gave them to the man I loved&mdash;promise for promise, Frale."</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, and curse for curse. You cursed me, Cass." He made one more step
+forward, but she stood her ground and lifted one hand above her head,
+the gesture he so well remembered.</p>
+
+<p>"Keep back, Frale. I did not curse you. I let you go free, and no one
+followed you. Go back&mdash;farther&mdash;farther&mdash;or I will do it now&mdash; Oh,
+God&mdash;" He cowered, his arm before his eyes, and moved backward.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't, Cass," he cried. For a moment she stood regally before him, her
+babe resting easily in the hollow of her arm. Then she slowly lowered
+her hand and spoke again, in quiet, distinct tones.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, for that lie they have told you, I am going to my husband. I start
+to-morrow. He has sent me money to come to him. You tell that word all
+up and down the mountain side, wherever there bides one to hear."</p>
+
+<p>She lifted her baby, pressing his little face to her cheek, and turning,
+walked slowly toward her cabin door.</p>
+
+<p>"Cass," he called.</p>
+
+<p>She paused. "Well, Frale?"</p>
+
+<p>"Cass, you hev cursed me."</p>
+
+<p>"No, Frale, it is the curse of Cain that rests on your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> soul. You
+brought it on you by your own hand. If you will live right and repent,
+Christ will take it off."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you ask him for me, Cass? I sure hev lost you now&mdash;forever, Cass!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Frale. I'll ask him to cover up all this year out of your life. It
+has been full of mad badness. Be like you used to be, Frale, and leave
+off thinking on me this way. It is sin. Go marry somebody who can love
+you and care for you like you need, and come back here and do for mother
+like you used to. Giles Teasley can't pester you. He's half dead with
+his badness&mdash;drinking his own liquor."</p>
+
+<p>She came to him, and, taking his hand, led him toward the laurel path.
+"Go down to mother now, Frale, and have supper and sleep in your own
+bed, like no evil had ever come into your neart," she pleaded. "The good
+is in you, Frale. God sees it, and I see it. Heed to me, Frale. Good-night."</p>
+
+<p>Slowly, with bent head, he walked away.</p>
+
+<p>Trembling, Cassandra laid her baby in the cradle Hoke Belew had made
+her, and, kneeling beside the rude little bed, she bowed her head over
+it and wept scalding, bitter tears. She felt herself shamed before the
+whole mountain side. Oh, why&mdash;why need David have left her so long&mdash;so
+long! The first reproach against him entered her heart, and at the same
+time she reasoned with herself.</p>
+
+<p>He could not help it&mdash;surely he could not. He was good and true, and
+they should all know it if she had to lie for it. When she had sobbed
+herself into a measure of calmness, she heard a step cross the cabin
+floor. Quickly drying her tears, she rose and stood in the doorway of
+the canvas room, with dilated eyes and indrawn breath, peering into' the
+dusk, barring the way. It was only her mother.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, mothah!" she cried, relieved and overjoyed.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you seen Frale?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mothah. He was here. Sit down and get your breath. You have
+climbed too fast."</p>
+
+<p>Her mother dropped into a chair and placed a small bundle on the table at her side.</p>
+
+<p>"What-all is this Frale say you have told him? Have David writ fer you
+like Frale say? What-all have Frale<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> been up to now? He come down
+creepin' like he a half-dade man&mdash;that soft an' quiet."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to David, mother. You know he sent me money to use any way I
+choose, and I'm going." She caught her breath and faltered.</p>
+
+<p>The mother rose and took her in her arms, and, drawing her head down to
+her wrinkled cheek, patted her softly.</p>
+
+<p>"Thar, honey, thar. I reckon your ol' maw knows a heap more'n you think.
+You keep mighty still, but you can't fool her."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra drew herself together. "Why didn't Martha come up this evening?"</p>
+
+<p>"She war makin' ready, in her triflin' slow way, an' then Frale come
+down an' said that word, an' I knew right quick 'at ther war somethin'
+behind&mdash;his way war that quare&mdash;so I told Marthy to set him out a good
+suppah, an' I'd stop up here myself this night. She war right glad to do
+hit. Fool, she be! I could see how she went plumb silly ovah Frale all to onc't."</p>
+
+<p>"Mothah, you know right well what they're saying about David and me. Is
+it true, that word Frale said, that everyone says he nevah will come
+back?" The mother was silent. "That's all right, mothah. We'll pack up
+to-night, and I'll go down to Farington to-morrow. Mrs. Towahs will help
+me to start right."</p>
+
+<p>She lighted candles and began to lay out her baby's wardrobe. "I haven't
+anything to put these in, but I can carry everything I need down there
+in baskets, and she will help me. They've always been that good to
+me&mdash;all my life."</p>
+
+<p>"Cass, Cass, don't go," wailed her mother. "I'm afraid somethin'll
+happen you if you go that far away. If you could leave baby with me,
+Cass! Give hit up. Be ye 'feared o' Frale, honey?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, mother, the man doesn't live that I'm afraid of." She paused,
+holding the candle in her hand, lighting her face that shone whitely out
+of the darkness. Her eyes glowed, and she held her head high. Then she
+turned again to her work, gathering her few small treasures and placing
+them on one of the highest shelves of the chimney cupboard. As she
+worked, she tried to say comforting things to her mother.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p><p>"I'll write to you every day, like David does me, mother. See? I've
+kept all his letters. They're in this box. I don't want to burn them
+because I love them; and I don't want any one else to read them; and I
+don't want to carry them with me because I'll have him there. Will you
+lock them in your box, mother, and if anything happens to me, will you
+sure&mdash;sure burn them?" She laid them on the table at her mother's elbow.
+"You promise, mothah?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, Cass, yas."</p>
+
+<p>"What's in that bundle, mothah?"</p>
+
+<p>With trembling fingers the widow opened her parcel and displayed the
+silver teapot, from which the spout had been melted to be moulded into silver bullets.</p>
+
+<p>"Thar," she said, holding it out by the handle, "hit's yourn. Farwell,
+he done that one day whilst I war gone, an' the last bullet war the one
+Frale used when he nigh killed your man. No, I reckon you nevah did see
+hit before, fer I've kept hit hid good. I knowed ther were somethin' to
+come outen hit some day. Hit do show your fathah come from some fine
+high fambly somewhar. I done showed hit to Doctah David, fer I 'lowed he
+mount know was hit wuth anything, but he seemed to set more by them two
+leetle books. He has them books yet, I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he has them."</p>
+
+<p>"When Frale told me you war a-goin' to David, I guessed 'at thar war
+somethin' 'at I'd ought to know, an' I clum up here right quick, fer if
+he war a-lyin', I meant to find out the reason why." She looked keenly
+in her daughter's face, which remained passive under the scrutiny.</p>
+
+<p>"Has Frale been a-pesterin' you?"</p>
+
+<p>"He did&mdash;some&mdash;at first; but I sent him away."</p>
+
+<p>"I reckoned so. Now heark. You tell me straight, did David send fer ye, er didn't he?"</p>
+
+<p>In silence Cassandra turned to her work, until it seemed as if the room
+were filled with the suspense of the unanswered question. Then she tried evasion.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you ask in that way, mothah?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because if he sont fer ye, I'll help ye all I can; but if he didn't,
+I'll hinder ye, and ye'll bide right whar ye be."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p><p>"You won't do that, mothah."</p>
+
+<p>"I sure will. If David haven't sont fer ye, an' ye go, ye'll have to
+walk ovah me to get thar, hear?"</p>
+
+<p>The mother's voice was raised to a higher pitch than was her wont, and
+the little silver pot shook in her hand. Cassandra took it and regarded
+it without interest, absorbed in other thoughts. Then, throwing off her
+abstraction, she began questioning her mother about it, and why she had
+brought it to her now. The widow told all she knew, as she had told
+David, and pointed out the half obliterated coat of arms on the side.</p>
+
+<p>"I've heered your paw say 'at ther war more pieces'n this, oncet, but
+this'n come straight to him from his grandpaw, an' now hit's yourn. If
+he have sont fer ye, take hit with ye. Hit may be wuth more'n you think
+fer now. I been told they do think a heap o' fambly ovah thar, jest like
+we do here in the mounting. Leastways, hit's all we do have&mdash;some of us.
+My fambly war all good stock, capable and peart; an' now heark to me.
+Wharevah you go, just you hold your hade up. The' hain't nothin' more
+despisable than a body 'at goes meachin' around like some old
+sheep-stealin' houn' dog. Now if he sure 'nough have sont fer ye, go,
+an' I'll help ye, but if he haven't, bide whar ye be."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra drew in her breath sharply, no longer able to evade the
+question, with her mother's keen eyes searching her face. All her
+reasons for going flashed through her mind in a moment's space of time.
+The book she had been reading&mdash;what were English people really like? And
+David&mdash;her David&mdash;her boy's father&mdash;what shameful things were they
+saying of him all over the mountain that Frale should dare come to her
+as he had done? She could not stay now; she would not. Her cheeks
+flamed, and she walked silently into the canvas room and stood by her
+baby's cradle. Her mother began wrapping up the silver pot.</p>
+
+<p>"I guess I'll take this back an' lock hit up again. You sure hain't to
+go if ye can't give me that word."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra went quickly and took it from her mother's hand. "No, mother,
+give it to me. I told Frale David had sent for me, and I'm going."</p>
+
+<p>"And he have sont fer ye?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p><p>"Yes, mothah." Her reply was low as she turned again to her work.</p>
+
+<p>"Waal, now, why couldn't you have give me that word first off? Hit's his
+right to have ye, an' I'll he'p ye. You'd ought to go to him if he can't come to you."</p>
+
+<p>Instantly up and alert, putting bravely aside her own feelings at the
+thought of parting, the mother began helping her daughter; but long
+after they were finished and settled for the night, she lay wakeful and
+dreading the coming day.</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra slept less, and lay quietly thinking, sorrowful that she must
+leave her home, and not a little anxious over what might be her future
+and what might be her fate in that strange land.</p>
+
+<p>When at last she slept, she dreamed of the people she had met in <i>Vanity
+Fair</i>, with David strangely mixed up among them, and Frale ever alert
+and watchful, moving wherever she moved, silently lingering near and
+never taking his eyes from her face.</p>
+
+<p>In the morning, mother and daughter were up betimes, but no word was
+spoken between them to betoken hesitation or fear. Cassandra walked in a
+sort of dumb wonder at herself, and smouldering deep beneath the surface
+was a fierce resentment against those who, having known her from
+childhood, and receiving many favors and kindnesses from her, should now
+presume to so speak against her husband as to make Frale dare to
+approach her as he had. Oh, the burning shame of those kisses! The shame
+of the thought against David that pervaded her beloved mountains! For
+the sake of his good name, she would put away her pride and go to him.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH CASSANDRA VISITS DAVID THRYNG'S ANCESTORS</h3>
+
+<p>It was a pleasant morning in London, with as clear a sky as is ever
+permitted to that great city. Cassandra had placed her little son in the
+middle of a huge bed which nearly filled the small room she had been
+given in a hotel, recommended to her by Betty Towers as one where "nice
+ladies travelling alone" could stop.</p>
+
+<p>The child was dressed in a fresh white coat, and Cassandra had much ado
+to keep him clean. She heaped him about with pillows and bedclothing to
+make a nest for him, and gave him a spoon and a drinking cup for
+entertainment, while she arranged her own toilet before a cloudy mirror
+by a slant ray of daylight that managed to sift through the heavy
+draperies and lace curtains that obscured the one high, narrow window of her room.</p>
+
+<p>She had tried to put them one side that she might look out when she
+awoke, but she could see only chimney-pots and grimy, irregularly tiled
+roofs. A narrow opening at the top of the window let in a little air;
+still she felt smothered, and tried to raise the lower sash, but could
+not move it. She thought of the books she had read about great cities,
+and how some people had to live in places like this always; and her
+heart filled with a large pity for them. Here only a small triangle of
+blue sky could be seen&mdash;not a tree, not a bit of earth&mdash;and in the small
+room all those heavy furnishings closed around her, dark red, stuffy,
+and greasy with London smoke. She could not touch them without
+blackening her hands, nor let her baby sit on the floor for the dirt he
+wiped up on his clothing as he rolled and kicked about.</p>
+
+<p>The room seemed to sway and tip as the ship had done, and there was a
+continuous sound as of thunder, a strange undercurrent that seemed to
+her strained nerves like the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> moaning of the lost souls of all the ages,
+who had lived and toiled and smothered in this monstrous and terrible city.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, she must get out of it. She must hurry&mdash;hurry and find David. He
+would be glad to see his little son. He would take him in his arms. He
+would hold them both to his heart. She would see him smile again and
+look in his eyes, and all this foreboding would cease, and the woful
+sounds die out of the air and become only the natural roar of the
+activities and traffic of a great city. She must get used to all this,
+and not expect to find all the world like her own sunny mountains.</p>
+
+<p>The bishop's careful little wife had tried to explain to her how to meet
+her new experiences. She was to go nowhere alone, without taking a cab,
+and never start out on foot, carrying her baby in her arms, as she might
+do at home. She had given her written instructions how to conduct
+herself under all ordinary circumstances, at her hotel or on the
+street&mdash;how to ring for a servant, order her meals, or call a cab.</p>
+
+<p>Now, standing before her mirror, Cassandra essayed to arrange her hair
+as she had seen other young women wear theirs, but she thought the new
+way looked untidy, and she took it all down and rearranged it as she was
+used to wear it. David would not mind if she did not do her hair as
+others did, he would be so glad to see her and his little son. Ah, the
+comfort of that little son! She leaned over the bed, half dressed as she
+was, and murmured pretty cooing phrases, kissing and cuddling him to contented laughter.</p>
+
+<p>Betty Towers had procured clothing for her&mdash;a modest supply&mdash;using her
+own good taste, and not disguising Cassandra's natural grace and dignity
+by a too-close adherence to the prevailing mode. There were a blue
+travelling gown and jacket, and a toque of the same color with a white
+wing; a soft clinging black silk, made with girlish simplicity which
+admirably became her, and a wide, flexible brimmed hat with a single
+heavy plume taken from Betty's own hat of the last winter. Cassandra
+stood a long moment before the two gowns. She desired to don the silk,
+but Betty had told her always to wear the blue in the morning, so at
+last she obeyed her kind adviser.</p>
+
+<p>While waiting with her baby in her arms for the hotel boy to call her
+cab, she observed another lady, young and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> graceful, enter a cab, and a
+maid following her wearing a pretty cap, and carrying a child. Eager,
+for David's sake, to draw no adverse comment upon herself, she took note
+of everything. Ought she then to arrive attended by a maid, carrying her
+baby? But David would know she did not need one; bringing him his little
+son in her own arms, what would he care for anything more? So the
+address was given the cabman, and they were rattled away over the rough
+paving, a long, lonely ride through the wonderful city&mdash;so many miles of
+houses and splendid buildings, of gardens and monuments.</p>
+
+<p>Strangely, the people of <i>Vanity Fair</i> leaped out of the book she had
+read, and walked the streets or dashed by her in cabs&mdash;albeit in modern
+dress. The soldiers&mdash;the guardsmen&mdash;the liveried lackeys&mdash;the errand
+boys&mdash;all were there, and the ladies in fine carriages. There were the
+nursemaids&mdash;the babies&mdash;the beggars&mdash;the ragged urchins and the venders
+of the street, with their raucous cries rending the air. Her brain
+whirled, and a new feeling to which she had hitherto been blessedly a
+stranger crept over her, a feeling of fear.</p>
+
+<p>As the great two-story coaches and trams thundered by, she clasped her
+baby closer, until he looked up in her face with round-eyed wonder and
+put up his lip in pitiful protest. She soothed and comforted him until
+her panic passed, and when, at last, they stopped before a great house
+built in on either side by other houses, with wide steps of stone
+descending directly upon the street, she had regained a measure of
+composure. She was assured by the cabman, leaning respectfully down to
+her with his cap in his hand, that this was "the 'ouse, ma'm," and should he wait?</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes. Wait," cried Cassandra. What if David were not there! And of
+course, he might be out. Then they were swallowed up in the dark
+interior. She was admitted to a hall that seemed to her empty and vast,
+by a little old man in livery. For a moment, bewildered, she could
+hardly understand what he was saying to her. "'Er ladyship's at 'er
+country 'ome and the 'ouse closed."</p>
+
+<p>Although dazed and baffled, Cassandra betrayed no sign of the tumult
+within, and the little old man stood before her hesitating, his
+curiosity piqued into a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>determination to discover her business and
+identity. Her gravity and silence gave her a poise and dignity that
+allayed suspicion, but he and his old wife liked diversion, and a spice
+of gossip lightened the monotony of their lives, so he waited, then
+coughed behind his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, 'er ladyship and Lady Laura are at their country 'ome now, ma'm.
+Maybe you came to see the 'ouse, ma'm?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, it was not the house&mdash;it was&mdash;" Again she waited, not knowing how
+to introduce her husband's name.</p>
+
+<p>A mystery! A visitor at this hour, and seemingly a lady, yet with a baby
+in her arms, and alone, and not to see the house. Again he coughed behind his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"A many do come to see the 'ouse, ma'm, with a permit from 'is lordship,
+ma'm. 'E's not 'ere now, but strangers are halways welcome&mdash;to the gallery, ma'm."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I'm a stranger." She caught at the word. Seized by an inward
+terror of the small eyes fixed curiously on her, she intuitively shrank
+from betraying her identity, and the old servant had told her what she
+needed to know. Of course her husband was "his lordship," over here. "I
+am from America, and I would like to see the gallery." She must do so to
+give a pretext for having come to visit an empty house. David must not
+be compromised before the old servant, but a great lump filled her
+throat, and tears were burning unshed beneath her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>For all of the warm August sun shining without, a chill struck to her
+bones as they passed through the vast, closed rooms. She held her now
+sleeping baby close to her breast as she followed the old man about from
+picture to picture.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, a many do come 'ere&mdash;especially hartists&mdash;to see this gallery.
+They say as 'ow 'is lordship wouldn't take a thousand pounds for this
+one, ma'm. We'll let in a little more light. A Vandyke&mdash;and worth it's
+weight in gold."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra watched him cross the floor, his short bow legs reflected
+grotesquely in its shining surface as he walked, then turned and gazed
+again at the life-size, half-length portrait of a young man with sunny
+hair like David's and warm brown eyes.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p><p>"There, you see, it's more than a Vandyke to the family, ma'm, for it's
+a hancestor, and my wife says it's as like as two peas to 'is young
+lordship, who has just come into the title, ma'm. And that's strange,
+isn't it, for 'im to look so like, being as 'e belonged to the younger
+branch who 'aven't 'eld the title for four generations; but come to
+dress 'im in velvet and gold lace, and the likeness would be nigh as
+perfect as if 'e 'ad stood for it."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra gazed so long silently at this picture that again the little
+man coughed his deprecatory cough and essayed to lead her on; but she
+was seeing visions and did not heed him. When at last she turned, her
+gray eyes had deepened, and a clearly defined spot of delicate red
+burned on one pale cheek. She drew a deep breath and looked down the
+length of the long gallery. Everything was being impressed upon her mind
+as upon sensitized paper.</p>
+
+<p>She followed slowly in the old man's wake, never opening her lips until
+they had made the circuit and were again standing before the portrait of
+the fair-haired youth. Then, roused suddenly by a direct question, she responded.</p>
+
+<p>The old servant was saying: "You 'aven't 'appened to meet a Samuel
+Cutter in America, 'ave you? 'E's our son. England was too slow for 'im.
+Young men aren't like old ones; they wants hadventure, and they gets it.
+That's 'ow so many of 'em joins the harmy and gets killed like 'is
+lordship's two sons, and young Lord Thryng's brother as would 'ave been
+'is lordship, if 'e' ad lived. You 'aven't 'appened to know a Samuel
+Cutter over there? 'E went to Canada."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I never met any one by that name. I live a long way from Canada."</p>
+
+<p>"About 'ow far do you think, ma'm?"</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra had no idea of the distance, but she knew how long David and
+Hoyle were journeying there, so she answered as best she could. "It
+takes three or four days to get there from my home."</p>
+
+<p>The old man's eyes opened wide, and his jaw dropped. "It's a big
+country&mdash;America is. England may be a small place, but she 'as
+tremendous big possessions." He felt it all belonged to England, and
+spoke with swelling pride as his short legs carried him toward the door.
+There again he paused. He had learned nothing of this young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> woman to
+tell his old wife, except that she came from America, and had never met
+Samuel Cutter. The mystery was still unsolved.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, 'is young lordship do look amazing like that picture. If you'd
+ever seen 'im, you'd think 'e'd dressed up in velvet and lace and stood
+for it. 'E's lived in America five years, but if you never were in
+Canada and never met our Sammy, it's more likely you never saw 'im either."</p>
+
+<p>"Is he at their country home also?" Cassandra asked. She had seated
+herself in the hall, for her heart throbbed chokingly, and the lump was
+heavy in her throat. It was as she had dreamed sometimes, when her feet
+seemed to cling to the earth, and would not lift her weight up some steep hill.</p>
+
+<p>"'Is lordship is still in Hafrica, mam. 'E 'ave been a great traveller,
+but 'e can't stay much longer now, for Lady Laura is to 'ave a grand
+coming out, and 'is lordship is to be married. Her ladyship's 'eart is
+set on it, and on 'is marrying 'igh, too. That's gossip, you know."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra rose and stood suddenly poised for flight. She must get out of
+that house and hear no more. She had a silver shilling in her hand, for
+Betty Towers had told her all servants expected a tip, and this was
+intended for the cabman. Had she followed her impulse, she would have
+darted by with her fingers in her ears, but instead, she dropped the
+shilling in the old man's hand, and quietly turned toward the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," his fingers closed over the shilling. Her pallor struck him
+then, even as the red spot on her cheek deepened, and he held out his
+arms for the child.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me carry 'im for you, ma'm. Is it a boy?"</p>
+
+<p>But her arms closed tighter about her baby. "He is my little son." It
+was almost a cry, as she said it, but again she forced herself to
+calmness, and, walking slowly out, added, with a quiet smile: "I always
+keep him myself. We do in America."</p>
+
+<p>In a moment she was gone. The warm sunlight burst in on them and flooded
+the cold hall as the old man stood in the doorway looking after the
+retreating cab, and down at the silver shilling.</p>
+
+<p>Darker, dingier, stuffier, seemed the box of a room, as she walked into
+it and laid her still sleeping babe on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> bed. She felt herself moving
+in an unreal world. David&mdash;her David&mdash;she had not come to him after all;
+she had come to an empty place. She knelt and threw her arms about her
+little son, encircling his head and his feet. She neither wept nor
+prayed; and the red spot burned against the creamy whiteness of her
+skin. She was not thinking, only looking, seeing into the past and down
+the long vista of her future.</p>
+
+<p>Pictures came to her&mdash;pictures of her girlhood&mdash;her dim aspirations&mdash;her
+melancholy-eyed father&mdash;his hilltop&mdash;and beloved, sunlit mountains. In
+the radiance of the spring, she saw them, and in the glory of the
+autumn; she breathed the fragrance of the pines in winter and heard the
+soft patter of summer rains on widespreading leaves. She saw David
+walking at her side, and heard his laugh, sun-bright and glorious he
+seemed, her Ph&oelig;bus Apollo&mdash;the father of her little son.</p>
+
+<p>She saw the terrible sea which she had crossed to come to him&mdash;the
+white-crested waves, with turquoise lights and indigo depths, shifting
+and sliding unceasingly where all the world seemed swallowed in space,
+and the huge steamship so small a thing in the vast and perilous deep;
+and now&mdash;now she was here. What was she? What was life?</p>
+
+<p>She had tried to find him, her David, and had been shown the dead, and
+the glory of the dead&mdash;all past and gone&mdash;her David's glory. Shown that
+long, empty gallery resounding with those aged footsteps, and the
+pictures&mdash;pictures&mdash;pictures&mdash;of men and women who had once been babes
+like her little son and David's, now dead and gone&mdash;not one soul among
+them all to greet her. Proud lords and dames in frames of gold; young
+men and maidens in costly silks and velvets of marvellous dyes,
+red-cheeked, red-lipped, and soullessly silent; and she, alone and
+undefended in their midst, holding in her arms their last descendant.
+All those painted fingers seemed lifted to point at her; those silent
+red lips parted to cry out at her, "Look at this stranger claiming to be
+one of us; send her away."</p>
+
+<p>And David&mdash;her David&mdash;was one of these! What they had felt&mdash;what they
+had thought and striven for&mdash;was it all intensified and concentrated in
+him? Oh, if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> her soul could only reach to him, wherever he was, and
+penetrate this impalpable veil that stretched between them! If her hands
+could only touch him, her eyes look into his and see what lay in their depths for her!</p>
+
+<p>Then her babe stirred and tossed up his pretty hands, waking her from
+her sad, vision-seeing trance. He opened his large, clear eyes, and
+suddenly it seemed that her wish was granted,&mdash;that the veil was rent
+and she was looking into David's eyes and seeing his soul free, no
+longer chained by invisible links to those dead and gone beings, and
+their traditions. This had been all a dream&mdash;a dream.</p>
+
+<p>She gathered the child in her arms and held him with his sweet, warm
+lips pressed to her breast and his soft little hand thrust in her bosom.
+David's little son&mdash;David's little son! Surely all was good and well
+with the world! Did not the old man say it was only gossip? Had not evil
+things been said of David even on her own mountain? It was the trail of
+the serpent of ill report. He had not confided his sacred secret to
+these people, and they had thought what they pleased. Surely he had told
+his mother about his wife. She would go to his mother and wait for his
+return, and there she would bring her precious gift&mdash;David's little son.</p>
+
+<p>Quickly she packed her few belongings and rang for a messenger, and as
+she stood an instant waiting for an answer to her ring, the white-capped
+nurse she had noticed in the morning passed by with the baby in her
+arms. Yes, surely women of David's state did not travel about alone. Had
+she not read in <i>Vanity Fair</i> how Becky Sharp always had her maid? And
+now she was in "Vanity Fair," and must be wise and not go to David's
+mother unattended. Then, too, if only she had some one with her to whom
+she could speak now and then, it would be better. Therefore, without
+further consideration, she walked swiftly down the corridor after the tidy nurse.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you tell me, please, have you a sister?" she said. The young woman
+stood still in astonishment. "Or&mdash;any friend like yourself? I&mdash;I am a
+stranger from America." The look of surprise changed to one of
+curiosity. "And it is right hard to go about alone with my baby, so I
+thought I would ask you if you have a sister."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p><p>"Is it to the country you wish to go, ma'm?" The baby in her arms
+stirred, and the nurse swayed gently back and forth to hush it.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't go with you myself, ma'm&mdash;but&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no! I didn't mean you. I only thought if you had a sister&mdash;or a
+friend, maybe, who could help me for a little while."</p>
+
+<p>"I saw you this morning, ma'm, as you went out. I'll see what I can do.
+What number is your room? and what name? I mustn't talk here. Mrs.
+Darling is very particular."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, never mind, then." Cassandra turned away in sudden shame lest she
+had not done the right thing. The nurse watched her return to her room
+as swiftly as she had left it, and took note of the number.</p>
+
+<p>"How very odd!" said the young woman to herself.</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra felt more abashed under the round-eyed gaze of the maid than
+if she had encountered the queen. Her ring for a messenger had not been
+answered, and she did not know how to find her husband's country-seat.
+She felt faint and weary, but did not think of hunger, nor that it was
+long past the dinner-hour, and that she had eaten nothing since her
+early breakfast. She only thought that she must be brave and try&mdash;try to
+think how to reach David's people.</p>
+
+<p>Resolutely she closed her door, and dressed her baby carefully; then she
+arrayed herself in the soft silk gown, and the wide hat with the heavy
+plume, and then&mdash;could David have seen her with her courageous eyes and
+lifted head, and the faint color from excitement in her cheeks&mdash;he would
+no longer have feared to take her by the hand and lead her to his mother
+and say, "She is my wife, and the loveliest lady in the land."</p>
+
+<p>People looked at her as she passed, and turned to look again. Down wide,
+carpeted stairs she went, until she came to a broad landing with
+recessed windows, where were round polished tables and people seated,
+sipping tea and eating thin bread and butter and muffins. Then Cassandra
+knew that she was hungry and sat herself in one of the windows apart,
+before a table. Presently a young man came and bent down to her as if
+listening. She looked up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> at him in bewilderment, but at the same
+instant, seeing another young man similarly dressed bearing a tray of
+muffins and tea to a lady and gentleman near by, she said:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I would like tea, please."</p>
+
+<p>"W'ot kind, ma'm?" She did not care what kind, nor know for what to ask,
+only to have something soon, so she said:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I will take what they have."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'm. Muffins, ma'm?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she replied wearily, and turned to gaze out of the window. Cabs
+and carriages were rushing up and down the street below them. She placed
+her little son on the seat beside her and held him with sheltering arm,
+while he watched the moving vehicles and looked from them to his mother's face.</p>
+
+<p>"What a perfectly lovely child!" said a pleasant voice. "Is it a boy?
+How old is he?"</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra looked up to see a rosy-cheeked girl, a little too stout and
+florid, with a great mop of dark hair tied with a wide black ribbon. A
+gray-haired lady followed, and paused beside her.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Cassandra, faintly. "He is almost six months old."</p>
+
+<p>The girl reached over and patted his cheek. "How perfectly dear. See
+him, mamma. Isn't he, though?"</p>
+
+<p>"Babies are always dear," said the mother, with a smile. "Come, Laura,
+we can't wait, you know," and they passed on. As Cassandra looked up in
+the mother's face, something stirred vaguely in her heart. Had she seen
+her before? Possibly, so many had paused to speak to her in this casual
+way since she left home.</p>
+
+<p>Then her tea and crisp, hot muffins were brought. The young girl's
+pleasant words had warmed her heart, and the refreshment gave her more
+courage. She made her way to the office and inquired how she might find
+Lord Thryng's country home. The clerk wrote the address promptly on a
+card, but the keen look of interest with which he handed it to her
+caused her to shrink inwardly. Why, what was it to him what place she
+asked for? She lifted her head proudly. She must not falter.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to go there. Will you tell me how, please?"</p>
+
+<p>But the surprise of the clerk was quite natural, as she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> had signed the
+hotel register the evening before with her whole name, giving no thought
+to it; and now he wondered what relation she might be to the family so
+lately come into the title, since she bore the name, yet seemed to know
+so little about them. He explained to her courteously&mdash;almost deferentially.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you go to Daneshead Castle itself, ma'm, or stop in Queensderry?"
+As she had no idea what the question involved, she replied at hazard.</p>
+
+<p>"I will stop in Queensderry." And her bags were brought down, and she
+was despatched to the right station without more delay.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH CASSANDRA GOES TO QUEENSDERRY AND TAKES A DRIVE IN A PONY CARRIAGE</h3>
+
+<p>Glad to be borne away from the city and out through fresh green fields
+and past pretty church-spired villages, alone in the compartment,
+Cassandra comforted herself with her baby, playing with him until he
+dropped to sleep, when she made a bed for him on the car seat with rugs,
+and, taking out her purse, began to count her remaining resources. Her
+bill at the hotel had appalled her. So much to pay to stay only a night!
+What would David say? But he had told her to use the money as she liked,
+and now she was here, there was nothing else to do.</p>
+
+<p>Laboriously she computed the amount in English money, and, reckoned
+thus, her dollars and cents seemed to shrink and vanish. Still, more
+than half remained of what she had brought with her, and she viewed the matter calmly.</p>
+
+<p>The shadows fell long over the smooth greensward as she arrived in the
+village of Queensderry and was driven to a small inn, the only house of
+entertainment in the place. She was given a pleasant room overlooking
+fields and orchards and bright gardens, and the sight rested her eyes,
+and still further calmed her troubled heart. She would rest to-night,
+and to-morrow all would be well.</p>
+
+<p>Never had food tasted better to her than the supper served in her pretty
+room,&mdash;toast in a silver rack, and fresh butter, such as David loved,
+and curds and whey, and gingerbread, and a small jar of marmalade. She
+ate, seated in the window, looking out over the sweet English landscape
+in the warm twilight&mdash;the breeze stirring the white curtains&mdash;her little
+son in her lap gurgling and smiling up at her&mdash;and her heart with David,
+wherever he might be.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly the dusk veiled all, and one star glimmered above the slender
+church spire. A pretty maid brought candles<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> and a book in which she was
+asked to write her name. She was the landlady's daughter and looked
+wholesome and bright. Cassandra glanced in her face as she set the
+candles down, and took up the pen mechanically.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother says will you sign here, please?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes." Cassandra turned the leaves slowly and read other names and
+addresses&mdash;many of them. She wrote "Cassandra Merlin&mdash;" and paused;
+then, making a long dash, added simply, "America," and, handing back the
+book and pen, turned again to the window.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you. Is that all?" said the maid, lingering.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Cassandra again; then she laid her baby on the bed and began
+taking his night clothing from her bag.</p>
+
+<p>"How pretty he is! Shan't I help you unpack, ma'm?"</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra paused, looking dreamily before her as if scarcely
+comprehending, then she said: "Not to-night, thank you. Perhaps
+to-morrow." The maid deftly piled the supper dishes and, taking them and
+the book with her, departed with a pleasant "Good night, ma'm."</p>
+
+<p>In spite of her calmness, Cassandra lay wakeful and patient, and when at
+last she did sleep, it seemed to her she stood with her husband on her
+father's path, looking out under overarching boughs, upon blue distances
+of heaped-up mountain tops, and David's flute notes, silvery sweet, were
+raining down upon her. She awoke to discover day was breaking, and a
+pealing of bells from some distant church tower was announcing the fact.</p>
+
+<p>She gathered her babe to her throbbing heart and thought, to-day she was
+to go out and meet her husband's people. How should she go? How should
+she conduct herself? Should she go at once, or wait until the afternoon?
+Why had she not written her name fully in the travellers' book? What
+mysterious foreboding had caught her fingers and stayed them at her
+maiden name? Was she afraid? When she arose, she found herself trembling
+from head to foot, and called for her breakfast, before bathing and
+dressing her little son.</p>
+
+<p>The same pretty maid brought it, and came again, while Cassandra bathed
+and nursed her baby, to set the room to rights.</p>
+
+<p>"Shan't I unpack your box for you now, ma'm?" And, without waiting for a
+reply, she took out Cassandra's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> clothing, pausing now and then to
+admire and pet the lovely boy. Her simple friendliness pleased
+Cassandra, who was minded to ask some of the questions which were burdening her.</p>
+
+<p>"When do people make visits here, in the morning or afternoon?"</p>
+
+<p>"That depends, ma'm."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you mean? I'm a stranger in England, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'm. If they make polite visits, they go about tea time, ma'm.
+But if it's parish visits, or on business, or on people they know very
+well, they may go in the morning, ma'm."</p>
+
+<p>"And when is tea time here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, ma'm, everybody has their tea in the afternoon along four or
+thereabouts, and sees their friends."</p>
+
+<p>"Can I get a carriage here, do you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can get a pony carriage, ma'm. We hires it when we need it, only we
+must speak for it early, or it may be taken."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Then will you please speak for it soon? I would like to have it."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'm. Will you drive yourself, ma'm, or shall I ask for a boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I don't know. I can drive&mdash;but&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"They are gentle ponies, ma'm. Any one can drive them."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but I don't know the way."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'm. Where would you like to go, ma'm?"</p>
+
+<p>"To Daneshead Castle."</p>
+
+<p>The bright-cheeked maid opened her round eyes wider and looked at
+Cassandra with new interest. "But, ma'm,&mdash;that is quite far, though the
+ponies are smart, too."</p>
+
+<p>"How far is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's quite a bit away from here, ma'm; you'd have to start at two or
+thereabouts. I could take you myself if mother would let me, and tell
+you all the interesting places, but"&mdash;the girl looked at her shrewdly, a
+quickly withdrawn glance&mdash;"that depends on how well acquainted you are
+there, ma'm. Maybe you'd like better to have a man drive, and just let
+me go along to mind the baby for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I would," said Cassandra, gladly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p><p>"Thank you. I'll run for the ponies now, ma'm."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra heard her boots clatter rapidly down the wooden stairs at the
+back of the house, and presently saw her dashing across the inn yard,
+bareheaded and with her bare arms rolled in her apron.</p>
+
+<p>The girl's manner of receiving the statement that she wished to drive to
+the castle was not lost on Cassandra's sensitive spirit. She sat a
+moment, thoughtful and sad, then rose and set herself to prepare
+carefully for the visit. In the afternoon! Then she might wear the silk
+gown and lovely hat. Once more she tried to arrange her hair as she saw
+other young women wear theirs, and again swept its heavy masses back
+loosely from her brow and coiled it low as her custom was.</p>
+
+<p>The landlady's daughter chattered happily as they drove. She held the
+baby on her knee, and he played with the blue beads she wore about her
+neck, while Cassandra sat with hands dropped passively in her lap, her
+body leaning a little forward, straight and poised as if to move more
+rapidly along, her red lips parted as if listening and waiting, and her
+eyes courteously turning toward the places and objects pointed out to
+her, yet neither seeing nor hearing, except vaguely.</p>
+
+<p>Presently becoming aware that the chatter was about the family at
+Daneshead Castle, her interest suddenly awoke. About the old lord&mdash;how
+vast his possessions&mdash;how ancient the family&mdash;how neglected the castle
+had been ever since Lady Thryng's death,&mdash;everything allowed to run
+down, even though they were so vastly rich&mdash;how different everything was
+now the parsimonious old lord was dead and the new lord had come in, and
+there were once more ladies in the family&mdash;what a time since there had
+been a Lady Thryng at Daneshead&mdash;how much Lady Laura was like her cousin
+Lyon&mdash;how reckless she would be if her mother did not hold her with a
+firm hand&mdash;and so the chatter ran on.</p>
+
+<p>The girl enjoyed the distinction of knowing all about the great family
+and enlightening this stranger from America, whose silent attention and
+occasional monosyllabic replies were sufficient to inspire her friendly
+efforts to entertain. Moreover, her curiosity concerning Cassandra and
+her errand, where she was evidently neither expected nor known,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> was
+piqued and lively, and she threw out many tentative remarks to probe if
+possible the stranger lady's thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you ever seen Lord Thryng&mdash;the new lord, I mean, ma'm?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Cassandra, simply, a chill striking to her heart to hear him mentioned thus.</p>
+
+<p>"He's been out here directing the repairs himself, and getting the place
+ready for his mother and Lady Laura; but I never saw him. They say he's
+perfectly stunning. Quite the lord. Is he so very handsome, do you think?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes." Cassandra looked away from the girl's searching eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"They say he never has married, and that is fortunate too; for he has
+lived so long in America, and never expecting to come into the title, he
+might have married somebody his own set over here never could have
+received, and that would have been bad, wouldn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra turned and looked gravely at the girl. She wished to stop her,
+but could not think how to do it. She could not bear to hear her husband
+talked over in this way.</p>
+
+<p>"They are tremendous swells. Lady Thryng looks high for him, and well
+she may, for mother says he's worthy of a princess, he's that rich and
+high bred, too, for all that he was only a doctor over in America.
+Mother says it's very fortunate he never married some common sort over
+there. They say Lady Thryng wants him to marry Lady Geraldine Temple's
+daughter. She is a great beauty, and has a pretty fortune in her own
+right, too. They'll be rich enough to entertain the king! And they may
+do it, too, some day."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra sat still and cold. She could not stop the girl now. "Lady
+Laura's coming out is to be next week, so his lordship must be home
+soon. They say it will be a very grand affair! And I am to see it all,
+for mother says she will have a maid, and I may go out there to serve,
+and I shall see all the decorations and the fine dresses. That will be
+fine, won't it, baby?"</p>
+
+<p>She untied the blue beads and dangled them before the baby's eyes, and
+he caught at them and gurgled in baby glee. Cassandra sat silent, rigid,
+and cold, unheeding the child or the girl, only vaguely hearing the chatter.</p>
+
+<p>"And that will be grand, won't it, baby? But he is a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> love, this boy!
+There is Daneshead Castle now, ma'm. You see it through the trees, but
+the grounds are so large we have to drive a good bit before we are there."</p>
+
+<p>The driver turned the ponies' heads, and they scampered through a high
+stone gateway and along a smooth road which wound through a dense wood,
+with green open spaces interspersed, where deer were browsing. All was
+very beautiful and quiet and sweet, but Cassandra, sitting with
+wide-open eyes, gravely beautiful, did not see it.</p>
+
+<p>To the girl everything was delightful. She had not the slightest doubt
+that the American lady was very rich. That she travelled so simply and
+alone was nothing. They all did queer things&mdash;the Americans. She was
+obtusely unconscious that she had been speaking slightingly of them to
+one of themselves, and she talked on after the romantic manner of girls
+the world over, giving the gossip of the inn parlors as she listened to
+it evening after evening, where the affairs of the nobility were freely
+discussed and enlarged and commented upon with eager interest.</p>
+
+<p>What was spoken in her ladyship's chamber and Lady Laura's
+boudoir&mdash;their half-formed plans and aspirations&mdash;carelessly dropped
+words and unfinished sentences&mdash;quickly travelled to the housekeeper's
+parlor&mdash;to the servant's table&mdash;to the haunts of grooms and stable
+boys&mdash;to the farmer's daughters&mdash;and to the public rooms of the
+Queensderry Inn.</p>
+
+<p>Thus it was Cassandra heard tales of the brother and sister and mother
+of her David, and of him also. How it was said that once he was engaged
+to a rich tradesman's daughter but had broken it off and gone to America
+against the wishes of all his family, and had become a common
+practitioner there to the disgust of all his relatives; and again
+Cassandra felt that she had left a sweet and lovely world behind her to
+step into "Vanity Fair."</p>
+
+<p>She tried to hold fast her faith in goodness and high purpose. She was
+sure&mdash;sure&mdash;David had been moved by noble motives; why should she not
+trust him now? Did this girl know him better than she&mdash;his wife? Yet, in
+spite of her valiant spirit, two facts fell like leaden weights upon her
+heart. David had not told his people that he had a wife, and they would
+be offended that he had "tied himself to a common sort over there." This
+David<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> whom she loved was so high above her in the eyes of all his
+relatives and perhaps even in his own. What&mdash;ah, what could she do!
+Might she still hold him in her heart? She could not walk in upon them
+now and betray him&mdash;never&mdash;never.</p>
+
+<p>Her lips grew pale, and her head swam, but she sat still, leaning a
+little forward in the moving phaeton, her hands tightly clasped in her
+lap and her babe unheeded at her side, until the red returned to her
+lips and again burned in a clearly defined spot against the pallor of
+her cheek. She did not know that a strange, unearthly beauty was hers. A
+carriage met them filled with gay people. She did not notice them, but
+they gazed at her and turned to look again as they passed.</p>
+
+<p>"I say, you know!" said one of the men, as they whirled by.</p>
+
+<p>"There, that was Lady Geraldine Temple in that carriage, and the young
+man who stared so hard is her son. They've been paying a visit, or maybe
+they've brought Lady Clara to stay a bit. They say both families are
+keen for the match&mdash;and why shouldn't they be? Oh, they'll entertain the
+king here some day, and then there'll be high times at Daneshead!"</p>
+
+<p>An automobile flashed by them, and then another. "There must be a party
+here to-day, or likely it's visitors dropping in, now it's getting
+toward tea time. It's all right, ma'm," she added, as Cassandra stirred
+uneasily. "It must be only visitors, or I would have heard of it.
+They're keeping open house now, though they don't go anywhere themselves
+yet. You see it's a year since the deaths, so they could mourn them all
+at once, and not spin it along. They had to wait a year before Lady
+Laura's coming out&mdash;rightly. Let the ponies walk now, driver. I beg
+pardon, ma'm." The girl had so taken possession of Cassandra, the baby,
+and the whole expedition, that she gave the order unthinkingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, let them walk," said Cassandra, and drew a long breath. She heard
+gay laughter, and caught sight through the trees of light dresses and
+wide, plumed hats. Some one sat on the terrace at a table whereon was shining silver.</p>
+
+<p>"There, I said so! That's Lady Clara pouring tea.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> I say, but she's a
+beauty! Isn't she? No, no. Go to the front, driver. American ladies
+don't call at the side."</p>
+
+<p>"There's a hautomobile there, ma'm."</p>
+
+<p>"Then wait a moment. Don't be a stupid."</p>
+
+<p>Thus, aided by the innkeeper's clever daughter, Cassandra at last made
+her entrance properly and was guided to the presence of David's mother,
+who had not joined her guests, having but just closed an interview with
+Mr. Stretton. As she saw Cassandra standing in the drawing-room waiting
+her, Lady Thryng came graciously forward. The lovely August weather had
+tempted every one out of doors, and the great room was left empty save
+for these two, David's mother and his wife.</p>
+
+<p>The beauty of other-worldliness which had infused Cassandra's whole
+being as she fought her silent battle during the long drive, still
+enveloped her. If she could have followed her impulses, she would have
+held out both hands and cried: "Take me and love me. I am David's wife."
+But she would not&mdash;she must not. Her heritage of faith in goodness&mdash;both
+of God and man&mdash;kept her heart open, and gave her power to think and act
+rightly in this her hour of terrible trial; even as a little child,
+being behind the veil which separates the soul from God, may, in its
+innocent prattle, utter words of superhuman wisdom.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry if I have interrupted you when you have company," she said
+slowly. "I am a stranger&mdash;an American."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you Americans are a happy lot and may go where you please. Take
+this seat by the window; it is very warm. My son has been in America,
+but he tells us so little, we are none the wiser for that, about your
+part of the world."</p>
+
+<p>"I knew him in America. That is why I called."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?" The mother bent forward and regarded her curiously, attentively.</p>
+
+<p>"He lived very near us. He did a great deal of good&mdash;among the poor."
+She put her hand to her slender white throat, then dropped it again in
+her lap. Then, looking in Lady Thryng's eyes, she said: "I have seen
+your picture. I should have known you from that, but you are more beautiful."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p><p>"Oh! That can hardly be, my dear! It was taken many years ago, you
+know."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he said so&mdash;his lordship&mdash;only there we called him Doctah Thryng."</p>
+
+<p>A shadow flitted over the mother's face. "He was a practitioner over
+there&mdash;never in England."</p>
+
+<p>"That is a pity; it is such noble work. But perhaps he has other things to do here."</p>
+
+<p>"He has&mdash;even more noble work than the practice of medicine."</p>
+
+<p>"What does he do here?" asked Cassandra, in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>"He must take part in the affairs of government. Very ordinary men may
+study and practise medicine, but unless men who are wise, and are nobly
+born and bred, make it their business to care for the affairs of their
+country, the nation would soon be wrecked. That is what saves England
+and makes her great."</p>
+
+<p>"I see." Cassandra sat silent then, and Lady Thryng waited expectantly
+for her errand to be declared, curious about this beautiful young
+creature who had stepped into her home unannounced from out of the
+unknown, yet graciously kindly and unhurried. "I think I know. With us
+men are too careless. They think it isn't necessary, I suppose." Again
+she paused with parted lips, as if she would speak on, but could not.</p>
+
+<p>"With you, men are too busy making money, I am told. It is necessary to
+have a leisure class like ours."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" Cassandra caught her breath and smiled. She was thinking of the
+silver pot her mother had enjoined her to take with her, and why. "But
+we do think a great deal of family; even the simplest of us care for
+that, although we have no leisure class&mdash;only the loafers. I'm afraid
+you think it very strange I should come to you in this way, but
+I&mdash;thought I would like to see Doctah Thryng again, and when I heard he
+was not in England, I thought I would come to you and bring the messages
+from those who loved him when he was with us. But I mustn't stop now and
+take your time. I'll write them instead, only that wouldn't be like
+seeing him. He stayed a whole year at our place."</p>
+
+<p>"And you came from Canada?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, no. A long way from there. My home is in North Carolina."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, indeed! How very interesting! That must have been when he was so
+ill." Then, noticing Cassandra's extreme pallor, she begged her most
+kindly to come out on the terrace and have tea; but she would not. She
+felt her fortitude giving way, and knew she must hasten. "But you must,
+you know. The heat and your long ride have made you faint."</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I'm afraid so. It&mdash;won't&mdash;last."</p>
+
+<p>"Wait, then. You must take a little wine; you need it." Roused to
+sympathy, Lady Thryng left her a moment and returned immediately with a
+glass of wine, which she held to her lips with her own hand. "There, you
+will soon be better. Here is a fan. It really is very warm. Indeed, you
+must have tea before you go."</p>
+
+<p>She took her passive hand and led her out on the terrace unresisting,
+and again Cassandra was minded to throw her arms about the lovely
+woman's neck, who was so sweet and kind, and sob on her bosom and tell
+her all&mdash;but David had his own reasons, and she would not.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you stay long in England?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am going to-morrow. Oh!" she exclaimed, as they stepped out, and she
+saw the number of elaborately dressed guests moving about and gayly
+chatting and laughing. "I can't go out there. I am a strangah." It was a
+low melancholy wail as she said it, and long afterward Lady Thryng
+remembered that moaning cry, "I am a strangah."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no. You are an American and a very beautiful one. Come, they will
+be glad to meet you. Give me your name again."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you&mdash;but I must&mdash;must go back." Suddenly, with a cry, "My baby,
+he is mine," she swept forward with long, swinging steps toward a group
+who were bending over a rosy-cheeked girl, who was seated on the steps
+of the terrace with a child in her arms. She was comforting him and
+cuddling and petting him, and those around her were exclaiming as young
+girls will: "Isn't he a dear!"&mdash;"Oh, let me hold him a moment!"&mdash;"There,
+he is going to cry again. No wonder, poor little chap!"&mdash;"Oh, look at
+his curls&mdash;so cunning&mdash;give him to me."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p><p>Seeing his mother, he put up his arms to her and smiled, while two
+tears rolled down his round baby cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"I found him in the pony carriage with Hetty Giles, and he was crying
+so&mdash;and such a darling! I just took him away&mdash;the love!" cried Laura.
+"Why, we saw you yesterday at the Victoria. I could not pass him by, you remember?"</p>
+
+<p>The baby, one beaming smile, nestled his face bashfully in his mother's
+neck and patted her cheek, glancing sidewise at his admirers through
+brimming tears, while Cassandra, her eyes large and pathetic, turned now
+on Laura, now on her mother, stood silent, quivering like one of her own
+mountain creatures brought to bay. But she was strengthened as she felt
+her baby again in her arms, and as she stood thus looking about her,
+every one became silent, and she was constrained to speak. She did not
+know that something in her manner and appearance had commanded
+silence&mdash;something tragic&mdash;despairing. It was but for an instant, then
+she turned to Lady Laura.</p>
+
+<div class="center"><a name="i286.jpg" id="i286.jpg"></a><img src="images/i286.jpg" width='700' height='618' alt="Cassandra stood silent, quivering like one of her own
+mountain creatures brought to bay. Page 286." /></div>
+
+<p>"Thank you for comforting him. I ought not to have left him. I nevah did
+before, with strangahs." She tried to bid Lady Thryng good-by, but Laura
+again besought her to stop and have tea.</p>
+
+<p>"Please do. I fairly adore Americans. I want to talk to you; I mean, to
+hear you talk."</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra had mastered herself at last, and replied quietly: "I don't
+guess I can stay, thank you. You have been so kind." Then she said to
+Lady Thryng, "Good-by," and moved away. Laura walked by her side to the carriage.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you'll come again sometime, and let me know you."</p>
+
+<p>"You are right kind to say that. I shall nevah forget." Then, leaning
+down from the carriage seat, and looking steadily in Laura's warm, dark
+eyes, she added: "No, I shall nevah forget. May I kiss you?"</p>
+
+<p>"You sweet thing!" said the girl, impulsively, and, reaching up, they
+kissed. Cassandra said in her heart, "For David," and was driven away.</p>
+
+<p>Laura found her mother standing where they had left her. She had been
+deeply stirred by the sight of Cassandra with the child in her arms. Not
+that beautiful mothers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> and lovely children were rare in England; but
+that, except for the children of the poor, no little one like this had
+been in her own home or so near her in all the years of her widowhood.
+It was the sight of that strong mother love, overpowering and sweeping
+all before it, recognizing no lesser call&mdash;the secret and holy power
+that lies in the Christ-mother, for all periods and all peoples&mdash;she
+herself had felt it&mdash;and the cry that had burst from Cassandra's lips,
+"My baby&mdash;he is mine." Tears stood in Lady Thryng's eyes, and yet it was
+such a simple little thing. Mothers and babies? Why, they were everywhere.</p>
+
+<p>"She moved like a tragic queen," said Lady Clara. "What was the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing, only her baby had been crying; but wasn't he a love?" said Lady Laura.</p>
+
+<p>"I say! He was a perfect dear!" said one and another.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care much for babies," said Lady Clara. "They ought to be
+trained to stay with their nurses and not cry after their mammas like
+that. Fancy having to take such a child around with one everywhere, even
+in making a formal call, you know! Isn't it absurd? American women spoil
+their children dreadfully, I have heard."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH DAVID AND HIS MOTHER DO NOT AGREE</h3>
+
+<p>The day after Cassandra's flight from Queensderry David returned.
+Although greatly prolonged, his African expedition had been successful,
+and he was pleased. He had improved his opportunities to learn political
+conditions and know what might best advance England's power in that
+remote portion of her possessions.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Stretton had informed him that he might soon be called to a seat in
+the House, and he was glad to be in a measure prepared to hold opinions
+of his own on a few, at least, of the vital issues. Canada he already
+knew well, and to be conversant also with the state of affairs in South
+Africa gave him greater confidence.</p>
+
+<p>The first afternoon of his return he spent in looking over the changes
+which had been in progress at Daneshead during his absence. In spite of
+his weariness, he seemed buoyant and gay, more so, his mother thought,
+than at any time since his return from America. She said nothing about
+the episode of Cassandra's call,&mdash;possibly for the time it was
+forgotten,&mdash;but as they parted for the night, when they were alone
+together, Lady Thryng again broached to her son the subject of his marriage.</p>
+
+<p>"We have had a visit from Lady Clara Temple," she said.</p>
+
+<p>David lay upon a divan with his hands clasped beneath his head, and the
+light from a reading lamp streamed upon his sunny hair, which always
+looked as if some playful breeze had just lifted it. His whole frame had
+the sinewy appearance of energy and power. His mother's heart swelled
+with love and pride as she looked at his smiling, thoughtful face, and
+down upon his lean, strong body that in its lassitude expressed the
+vigor of a splendid animal at rest.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p><p>Still more would she have given thanks for the restoration of this
+beloved son could she have been able to contrast his present state with
+his condition when, ill and discouraged, he had gone to the lonely log
+cabin in a wilderness, struggling to build up both body and spirit, far
+from the sympathy and fellowship of his own.</p>
+
+<p>Now she thrilled with the thought of what he might achieve if only he
+would, but her heart misgave her that he still held some strange notions
+of life. She thought the surest way to control his quixotic impulses was
+to provide him with a good, practical wife,&mdash;one who would see the world
+as it is and accept conditions that are stable, not trying to move
+mountains, yet with sufficient ambition for both her husband and
+herself. With a wife and children a man could not afford to be erratic.</p>
+
+<p>"What were you saying, mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"What were you thinking, David, that you did not hear me? I am telling
+you we have just had a very delightful visit from Lady Clara Temple, and
+Lady Temple and her son have called."</p>
+
+<p>David made no reply. He seemed to think the remark called for none. "Well, David?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, mother?" and then: "I think I will go to bed. I am rarely tired,
+and bed is the place for me." He kissed his mother, then took hold of
+her chin and lifted her face to look in his eyes. "What is it, little
+mother, what is it?" he asked gayly and obtusely.</p>
+
+<p>"Aren't you a bit stupid, David, not to see? I wish&mdash;I do wish you could
+care for Lady Clara. She really is charming."</p>
+
+<p>"I do care for her&mdash;as Lady Clara Temple. She is charming, and, as you
+say of me, a bit stupid. What has Laura been doing these two months?"</p>
+
+<p>"Preparing for her coming out after her own fashion. We've been a good
+deal in town, but she has a reckless way of doing anything she pleases,
+quite regardless."</p>
+
+<p>"She is a big-hearted fine lass, mother. Don't let her ways trouble you."</p>
+
+<p>"She needs the right influence, and Lady Clara seems to exert it over
+her&mdash;at least I think she will in time."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, very good, let her. I won't interfere. Good night, little mother;
+sleep well. If I am late in the morning,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> don't be annoyed. I've had
+three wakeful nights. The sea was very rough."</p>
+
+<p>"David!" Lady Thryng placed her hands on his shoulders and held him,
+looking in his eyes. "Marry Lady Clara. You are worthy of a princess, my
+son. You can afford to be ambitious. The day may come when you can
+entertain the king."</p>
+
+<p>"Now really, mother; I'll entertain the king with pleasure. He's a fine
+old chap. A little gay, you know, but quite the right sort. But Lady
+Clara is a step too high. She'd rub it into me some day that I'd married
+above my station, you know. Good night. Dream of the king, mother, but
+not of Lady Clara."</p>
+
+<p>He sought his bed, and was soon soundly sleeping, content with the
+thought that next week he would sail for America and have Laura's coming
+out postponed. The family festivity was following too closely on the
+year of mourning, at any rate. The announcement that he already had a
+penniless American wife would naturally be a blow to them, all the more
+so if his mother was seriously cherishing such hopes as she had
+expressed; but he couldn't be a cad. His conscience smote him that his
+conduct already bordered closely on the caddish, but to be an out and
+out cad,&mdash;no, no.</p>
+
+<p>When he awoke,&mdash;late, as he had said, but refreshed and jubilant,&mdash;the
+revelation he must make seemed to him less formidable, and he was minded
+to make it with no more delay as he tossed over his mail, while
+breakfasting in his room.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, what is this?" A letter in his wife's hand, bearing the Liverpool
+postmark! Was she on her way to him, then? "Good God!" He tore off the
+cover hastily, but sat a moment with bowed head, his hand over his eyes,
+before reading it.</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap">My dear David,</span>&mdash;My husband, forgive me. I have done wrong, but I meant
+to do right. They said words of you,&mdash;on our mountain, David,&mdash;words I
+hated; and I lied to them and came to you. I told them you had sent for
+me. I did it to prove to them that what they were saying was not true. I
+took the money you gave me and came to England, and now God has
+punished<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> me, and I am going back. I know you will be surprised when I
+tell you how wrong I have been. I would not write you I had borne you a
+little son, because I did not want you to come back to America for his
+sake, but for mine. My heart was that proud. Oh! David, forgive me."
+David's face grew pale, and the paper trembled in his hand, but he read eagerly on.</p>
+
+<p>"My heart cries to you all the time. He is yours, David; forgive me. He
+is very beautiful. He is like you. Your sister held him in her arms, and
+I kissed her for love of you, but she did not know why. She did not
+guess the beautiful baby was yours&mdash;your very own. Your mother saw him,
+but she did not guess he was hers&mdash;her little grandson. I took him away
+quickly. They might have kept him if they knew. You will let me have him
+a little longer, won't you, David? When he is older, you will have to
+take him home and educate him, but now&mdash;now&mdash;he is all I have of you.
+Soon the terrible ocean will be between us again.</p>
+
+<p>"It will be just the same in your home now as if I had never come. I did
+not say I was your wife&mdash;for you had not&mdash;and I would not tell them. I
+want you to know this, so nothing will be changed by me. In London,
+before I knew, when I thought you were there, when I did not understand,
+I wrote my name in the hotel book, but in Queensderry something in my
+heart stopped me and I only wrote my old name, Cassandra Merlin. I must
+have been beginning to understand."</p>
+
+<p>David paused and dashed the tears from his eyes. "Poor little heart!
+Poor little heart!" he cried. He paced the room, then tried to read
+again. The letters, blurred by his tears, seemed to dance about and run together.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I see it all clearly, David, and, after a little, God will help me
+to live on the happiness you brought me in our sweet year together.
+There was happiness for a lifetime in that year. Comfort your heart with
+that thought when you think of me, and do not be too sad.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, David! I did not know that to save me from marrying Frale and
+living a life worse than death you sacrificed yourself. But you did not
+need to do it. After knowing you and after doing what he did to you, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>
+never could have married him. I only knew you came to me and saved me
+from the terrible life I might have led, and I took you as from God. I
+have seen the beautiful lady you should have married, and I don't know
+what to do, nor how to give you back to yourself. I suppose there may be
+a way, but we have made our vows to each other before God, and we must
+do no sin. My heart is heavy. I would give you all, all, but I can't
+take back the love I gave you. I could die to set you free again, for in
+that way I could keep the blessed love which is part of my soul, in
+heaven with me, only for our little son. My life is his now, too, and I
+have no right to die, not yet, even to set you free.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, David, David! This must be the shadow I saw clouding our long path
+of light. In some terrible way it has been laid on me to do you a wrong
+in the eyes of your family and all your world. Your mother told me you
+had work to do for your country, great and glorious work. I believe it,
+and you must do it and not let an ignorant mountain girl stand in your way.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I can't think it out to-night. When I try to see a way, I can't.
+The visions are lost to my eyes, and they may never come again. The
+windows of my soul are clouded, and the clear seeing is gone, because,
+David, I know it is myself that comes between. I can only cry to you now
+to forgive me. Don't let me mar your great, good life. Don't try to come
+back to me. Stay on and live your life and do your work, and I will keep
+your little son safe for you, and teach him to love you and call you
+father, and he shall be called David. He has no name yet; I was waiting
+for you. It will only be a little while before he will need you, then
+you may take him. Your mother and sister will love him. He will be a
+great boy full of laughter and light, like you, David, and then your
+mountain girl wife will be gone and your sacrifice at an end, and your
+reward will come at last.</p>
+
+<p>"I will go back and stay quietly where I belong. Don't send me any more
+money. I have enough to take me home, and I can earn all we need after
+that. Earning will help me by giving me something to do for our baby and
+so for you. Sometimes I will send you word that all is well with him,
+but do not write to me any more. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> will be easier for you so, and
+don't let your heart be too much troubled for me, David. It will
+interfere with your power and usefulness in your own world. Grieving is
+like fire set to a great tree. It burns the heart out of it first, and
+leaves the rest. A man must not be like that. With a woman it is
+different. Be glad that you did save me and brought me all these months
+of sweet, sweet happiness. I will live on the remembrance.</p>
+
+<p>"People have to bear the separation of death, and we will call the ocean
+that divides us Death, for our two worlds are divided by it. I sail
+to-morrow. You took me into your heart to save me, and now, David my
+love, I go out of your heart to save you, and give you back to your own
+life. Some day the cords that bind us to each other, the cords our vows
+have made, will part and set you free. Good-by, good-by, David my heart,
+David my love, David, David, good-by.</p>
+
+<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Cassandra Merlin.</span>"</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>For a long instant David sat with the letter crushed in his hand, then
+suddenly awoke to energetic action.</p>
+
+<p>"To-day? When does the boat leave? Good God! there may be time." He rang
+for a servant and began tossing his clothing together. "Curses on me for
+a cad&mdash;a boor&mdash;a lout&mdash;. Why did I leave my mail until this morning and
+then oversleep! Clark," he said, as the man appeared, "tell Hicks to
+bring the machine around immediately, then come for my bag."</p>
+
+<p>"Beg pardon, but the machine's out of order, my lord, and her ladyship's
+just going out in the carriage."</p>
+
+<p>"Why is it out of order? Hicks is a fool. Ask Lady Thryng to wait. No,
+pack my bag and send my boxes on after me as they are. I'll speak to her myself."</p>
+
+<p>He threw off his jacket, thrust his cap in his pocket, and dashed away,
+pulling on his coat as he went, holding the crushed pages of the letter
+in his hand. He overtook his mother as she was walking down the terrace.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother, wait," he cried, "I'm going with you. Where's Laura?"</p>
+
+<p>"She was coming. I can't think what is delaying her."</p>
+
+<p>David hurried on to the carriage. "Get in, mother, I'll take her place.
+Get in, get in. We must be off."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p><p>"David, are you out of your head?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mother. Drive on, drive on. I must catch the first train for
+Liverpool&mdash;I may catch it. Put the horses through, John. Make them
+sweat," he said, leaning out of the carriage window.</p>
+
+<p>"Explain yourself, David. Are you in trouble?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mother. Wait a little."</p>
+
+<p>She looked at her son and saw his mouth set, his eyes stern and
+anguished, and she placed her hand gently on his as they were being
+whirled away. "Your bags are not in, David, if you are going a journey."</p>
+
+<p>"Clark will follow with them, and I can wait in Liverpool, if I can only
+catch this boat."</p>
+
+<p>"David, explain. If you can't, then let me read this," she pleaded,
+touching the letter in his hand; but he clutched it the tighter.</p>
+
+<p>"No one may read this, not even you." He pressed the crumpled sheets to
+his lips, then folded them carefully away. "It's just that I've been a
+cad&mdash;a fiendish cad and an idiot in one. I thought myself a man of high
+ideals&mdash; My God, I am a cad!"</p>
+
+<p>"David, you sacrificed yourself to ideals, but you are still a boy and
+have much to learn. When men try to set new laws for themselves and get
+out of the ordinary, they are more than apt to make fools of themselves,
+and may do positive harm. What is it now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you get over the ground any faster, John?" he cried, thrusting
+his head again out of the window. "These horses are overfed and lazy,
+like all the English people. Why was the machine out of order? Hicks is
+a fool&mdash;I say!" He put his hand inside his collar and pulled and worked
+it loose. "We are all hidebound here. Even our clothes choke us."</p>
+
+<p>"David, tell me the truth."</p>
+
+<p>"I am telling you the truth. I am a cad, I say. And you&mdash;you, too, are a
+part of the system that makes cads of us all."</p>
+
+<p>"I am your mother, David," said Lady Thryng, reprovingly.</p>
+
+<p>"You have reason to be proud of your son! Oh! curse me! I won't be more
+of a cad than I am now by laying the blame on you. I could have helped
+it, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> you couldn't. We are born and bred that way, over here. The
+petty lines of distinction our ancestors drew for us,&mdash;we bow down and
+worship them, and say God drew them. Over here a man hides the sun with
+his own hand and then cries out, 'Where is it?'"</p>
+
+<p>"I would comfort you if I could, but this sounds very much like ranting.
+I thought you had outlived that sort of thing, my son."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank God, no. I've been very hard pressed of late, but I've not outlived it."</p>
+
+<p>"You will tell me this trouble&mdash;now&mdash;before you leave me? You must, dear
+boy." He took the hand she put out to him, and held it in silence; then,
+incoherently, in a voice humbled and low,&mdash;almost lost in the rumbling
+of the carriage,&mdash;he told her. It was a revelation of the soul, and as
+the mother listened she too suffered and wept, but did not relent.</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra's cry, "I am a strangah!" sounded in her ears, but her sorrow
+was for her son. Yes, she was a stranger, and had wisely taken herself
+back to her own place; what else could she do? Was it not in the nature
+of a Providence that David had been delayed until after her departure?
+The duty now devolved upon herself to comfort him without further
+reproof, but nevertheless to make him see and do his duty in the
+position he had been called to fill.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course she has charm, David, and evidently good sense as well."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"To perceive the inevitable and return without fuss or complaint to her
+own station in life."</p>
+
+<p>For an instant he sat stunned, and ere he could give utterance to his
+rage, she resumed, "Naturally, marriage now, in your own class can't be;
+you'll simply have to live as a bachelor." David groaned. "Why, my son,
+many do, of their own choice, and you have managed to be happy during this year."</p>
+
+<p>He glanced at his watch. "Eleven o'clock,&mdash;can't&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"There's no use urging the horses so; we can't make it."</p>
+
+<p>"We may, mother, we may." He half rose as if he would leap from the
+vehicle. "I could go faster on foot.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> There's a quarter of an hour yet
+before the Liverpool express. John, can't we get on faster than this?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, my lord. One of the 'orses has picked up a stone. If you'll 'old
+'em I'll dig it out in 'alf a minute, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>David sprang out and took the reins. "Where's the footman?" he asked testily.</p>
+
+<p>"You left 'im behind, my lord. He was 'elping Lady Laura cut roses."</p>
+
+<p>"David, this is useless. The last train from London went through an hour
+ago and we haven't ten minutes for the next. Order him to return and
+we'll consider calmly."</p>
+
+<p>David laughed bitterly, and only sprang into the coach and shut the door
+with a crash. "Drive on, John," he shouted through the window, and again
+they were off at a mad gallop.</p>
+
+<p>His mother turned and looked at him astounded. "Let me read what she has
+written you, my son," she implored, half frightened at his frenzy.</p>
+
+<p>"It's of no use for you to read it. We can't talk now, not rationally."</p>
+
+<p>"Then tell him not to drive so furiously, so we can hear each other."</p>
+
+<p>"I would avoid useless discussion, mother, but you force it." An instant
+he paused, and his teeth ground together and his jaw set rigidly, then
+he continued with a savage force that appalled her, throwing out short
+sentences like daggers. "Lord H&mdash;&mdash; brings home an American wife. His
+family are well pleased. She is every where received. Her father is a
+rich brewer. Her brother has turned out his millions from the business
+of pork packing. The stench from his establishment pollutes miles of
+country, but does not reach England&mdash;why? Because of the disinfectant
+process of transmuting their greasy American dollars into golden English
+sovereigns. There's justice."</p>
+
+<p>"Be reasonable, David. Their estates were involved to the last degree
+and those sovereigns saved the family. Without them they would have
+passed out of their possession utterly, and been divided among our rich
+tradespeople, and the family would have descended rapidly to the
+undergrades. It goes to show the value of birth, what is more, and how
+those Americans, who made a pretence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> long ago of scorning birth and
+title and casting it all off, are glad enough now to buy their way back
+again, if not for themselves, for their children. But, David, for a man
+to voluntarily degrade his family by marrying beneath him, with no such
+need as that of Lord H&mdash;&mdash;, of ultimately by that very means lifting it
+up is&mdash;is&mdash;inexpressible&mdash;why&mdash;! In the case of Lord H&mdash;&mdash; there was a
+certain nobility in marrying beneath him."</p>
+
+<p>"Beneath him! For me, I married above me, over all of us, when I took my
+sweet, clean mountain girl. The nobility of Lord H&mdash;&mdash; is unique. Lady
+H&mdash;&mdash; made a poor bargain when she left the mingled stenches of brewing
+and butchering to step into the moral stench which depleted the Stonebreck estates."</p>
+
+<p>"You are not like my son, David. You are violent."</p>
+
+<p>"Your son has been a cad. Now he is a man, and must either be violent or
+weep." He looked away from her out at the flying hedgerows, then took up
+the fruitless discussion again, striving with more patience to arouse in
+his mother a sense of the utter worldliness of her stand. She met him at
+every point with the obtuse and age-long arguments of her class. When at
+last he cried out, "But what of my son, mother, my little son, and the
+heir to all this grandeur which means so much to you?" Her eyelids
+quivered and she looked down, merely saying, "His mother has offered you
+a solution to that difficulty which seems to me the only wise one. You
+say she proposes to keep him a year or two and then send him to us."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you are like steel, mother." David spoke pleadingly, "You thought
+him a beautiful child?"</p>
+
+<p>"I did, and a wholesome one, which goes to show that you may safely
+trust him with her for a time. Moreover, his mother has a right to him
+and the comfort she may find in him for a few years. You see I would be
+quite just to her. I do not accuse her of being designing in marrying
+you. No doubt it was quite your own fault. It is a position you two
+young people rushed into romantically and most foolishly, and you must
+both suffer the consequences. It is sad, but it must be regarded in the
+light of hard common sense, and my ungrateful task seems to be to place
+it in that light for both your sakes."</p>
+
+<p>Still David watched the hedgerows with averted face.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p><p>"You are listening, David?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mother, yes. Common sense you said."</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you see, that to bring her here, where she does not belong&mdash;where
+she never will be received as belonging, even though she is your
+wife&mdash;will only cause suffering to you both? Eventually
+misunderstandings will arise, then will come alienation and unhappiness.
+Then again, yours must be in a measure a public life, unless you mean to
+shirk responsibility. Has your country no claim on you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have no thought of shirking my duty, and am prepared to think and act also&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You wish it to be effective? Has it never occurred to you how your
+avenues will be cut off if you marry a wife beneath your class?"</p>
+
+<p>"What in God's name will my wife have to do with England's African policy? Damme&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"David!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mother&mdash;I beg your pardon&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"She may have everything to do with it. No man can stand alone and foist
+his ideas upon such a body of men, without backing. Instead of hampering
+yourself with an ignorant mountain girl from America, you should have
+allied yourself to a strong family of position here, if you would be a
+power in England. What sort of a Lady Thryng will your present wife
+make? What kind of a leader socially in your own class? You might better
+try to place a girl from the bogs of Ireland at the head of your table."</p>
+
+<p>Again David's rage surged through him in a hot wave, but he controlled
+himself. "You admitted Cassandra has both beauty and charm?"</p>
+
+<p>"Would my son have been attracted to her else? Nevertheless, what I say
+stands. As a help to you&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You have done your duty, mother. I will say this for you&mdash;that for
+sophistry undiluted, a woman of the present day who stands where you do,
+can out-Greek the ancients. How is it we see so differently? Is it that
+I am like my father? How did he see things?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your father was as much a nobleman as your uncle. Only by the accident
+of birth was he differently placed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> Did I never tell you that but for
+his death he would have been created bishop of his diocese? So you see&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I see. By dying he just escaped a bishopric. Did it make a difference
+in his reception up above&mdash;do you think?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, David, David!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry mother&mdash;never mind. We're nearly there and I have something I
+must say to you before I leave you to end this discussion forever. There
+are two kinds of men in this world,&mdash;one sort is made by his
+circumstances, and the other makes his circumstances. You would respect
+your son more if he belonged to the first variety, but I tell you no. I
+will make my own conditions. Before all else, I am a man. My lordship
+was thrust upon me. Don't interrupt, I beg. I know all you would say,
+but you do not know all I would say&mdash; My birth gave it to me certainly,
+but a cruel and bloody war was the means by which it came to me. Very
+well. I will take it and the responsibility which it entails; but the
+cruelty that brought me my title is ended and in no form shall it be
+continued, social or otherwise. I hold to the rights of my manhood. I
+will bring to England whom I please as my wife, and my world shall
+recognize her, and you will receive her because I bring her, and because
+she will stand head and soul above any one you have here to propose for
+me. Here we are, mother dear. One kiss? Thank you, thank you. Postpone
+Laura's coming out until&mdash;I return&mdash;which will be&mdash;when&mdash;you know."</p>
+
+<p>He leaped from the carriage before it had time to halt, and ran, but
+alas! baffled and enraged at his ill success, he stood on the platform
+and watched the train pull out. It was only a slow local puffing away
+there.</p>
+
+<p>"Liverpool express left five minutes ago, my lord," said the guard.</p>
+
+<p>His mother leaned out, watching him with sad, yet eager eyes, satisfied
+that it should be so. He might return now, and there was by no means an
+end to her opposition.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH CASSANDRA BRINGS THE HEIR OF DANESHEAD CASTLE BACK TO HER
+HILLTOP, AND THE SHADOW LIFTS</h3>
+
+<p>"Cassandry Merlin, whar did you drap from?" cried the Widow Farwell, as
+she looked up from the supper she was preparing at the great fireplace,
+and saw her daughter in the doorway with her baby. Her old face radiated
+light and warmth and love as she took them both in her arms. "Whar's David?"</p>
+
+<p>Cassandra smiled wearily, returning her mother's kiss and yielding her
+the baby. "You'll have to be satisfied with me and little son, mother.
+David was still in Africa, so I came home again." She spoke as if a trip
+to England were a casual little matter, and this was all the explanation
+she gave that night. "I got the hotel carriage to bring me up from the station."</p>
+
+<p>The mother, with quaint simplicity, accepted it, asking no troublesome
+questions. If David was not there, why should not her daughter return.
+After their supper together, in the warm, starlit evening, each member
+of the family carrying something for the traveller's comfort, they all
+climbed up to Cassandra's cabin, and the old life began as if it had
+suffered no interruption. Cassandra so filled the pauses with questions
+of all that had happened during her absence that it was only after her
+mother was in bed and dropping off to sleep she remembered questions of
+her own that had been unasked, or left unanswered.</p>
+
+<p>The next day Cassandra pleaded weariness and stayed in her cabin,
+sending Martha down for her necessary supplies, and quietly occupying
+herself with setting her simple home in its accustomed order. The day
+after, she spent overlooking the little farm with Cotton, and hearing
+from him all about the animals. The cows, two little calves, Frale's
+colt, and her own filly, and how "some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> ol' houn' dog" had got into the
+sheep-pen and killed the mother sheep, and "Marthy" had brought the twin
+lambs up by hand. And while Cassandra busied herself thus, the widow
+kept charge of the little grandson, warming her heart with his baby
+ways, petting him and solacing herself for his long absence.</p>
+
+<p>Thus the first days were lived through, and no further explanation made,
+for something held Cassandra silent in a strange waiting suspense. It
+was not hope, for she felt that she had taken a stand which was
+conclusive, and there was nothing more for which to hope. What else
+could she do, and what could David do? The conditions were made for
+them; each must bide in his own world, and she had named the ocean which
+divided them, "Death."</p>
+
+<p>At night she did not weep, for weeping made her ill, and she must
+conserve her strength for her little son, so she lay staring out at the
+stars. Sometimes she found herself holding her breath and
+listening,&mdash;half lifting her head from her pillow,&mdash;but listening for
+what? Then she would lean over her baby's cradle, and hear his soft
+breathing, trying to make herself think she was listening for that and
+not for David's step. Then she would lie back and try again to sleep,
+and her heart would cry to God to give her peace, and let her rest. So
+the long nights passed, tearlessly and sleeplessly.</p>
+
+<p>On the boat she had slept, lulled by its rocking and swaying, but here
+in her home&mdash;in her accustomed routine&mdash;sleep had fled, and old thoughts
+and dreams came like the dead to haunt her. The paleness which had come
+upon her in London, and which the sea breeze had supplanted with
+fleeting roses, returned, and she moved about looking as if only her
+wraith had come back to its old haunts.</p>
+
+<p>On the third day after Cassandra's return, David found himself climbing
+the laurel path a far different man from the one who, two years before,
+had slowly and wearily toiled up to the little house of logs which was
+to be his shelter. With strong, free step and heart uplifted and glad,
+he now climbed that winding path. He had conquered the ills of his body,
+and his spirit had lived and loved, and he had learned to know happiness
+from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> its counterfeit. He had gone out and seen men chasing phantoms and
+shadows thinking therein to find joy&mdash;joy&mdash;the need of the world&mdash;one in
+a coronet, one in a crown, and the beggar in a golden sovereign&mdash;while
+he&mdash;he had found it in his own heart and in Cassandra's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>David had passed the Fall Place, seeing no one; for the widow had ridden
+over to spend the day with Sally Carew, her niece was in the
+spring-house skimming cream, while Cotton was dawdling in the corn patch
+whistling and pulling the ripened ears from the stalks. A cool breeze
+had dispelled the heat of the September afternoon, and the hills were
+already beginning to don their gorgeous apparel after the summer's
+drouth; their wonderful beauty struck him anew and steeped his senses
+with their charm.</p>
+
+<p>If only all was well with his wife&mdash;his wife and his little son! His
+heart beat so madly as he neared the thicket of laurel where once he had
+stood to watch her moving about his cabin, that he was forced to pause;
+and again he saw her, standing in her homespun dress, strongly relieved
+against the whiteness of the canvas room beyond&mdash;but this time not
+alone&mdash; Ah, not alone! Holding his little son in her arms, her body
+swaying with rhythmic motion, lulling him to drowsiness and sleep, she
+stooped to lay him in the rude little cradle box.</p>
+
+<p>David trembled as he watched, and dashed the tears from his eyes, but
+could not move to break too soon this breathless, poignant spell of
+gladness. Suddenly he could wait no longer, but his feet clung to the
+earth when he would move, and his mouth went dry. Ah, could he never
+reach her? He stood holding out his arms, when, oh, wonder of wonders!
+she raised herself and stood as if listening, then, moving swiftly,
+walked from the cabin and came to him as if she had heard him call,
+although he had made no sound&mdash;her arms outstretched to him as were his to her.</p>
+
+<p>She did not cry out, but with parted lips and radiant, glowing face,
+fled to him and was clasped to his heart. She could feel its beating
+against her breast, and his silence spoke to her through his eyes, which
+saw not her face but her soul; his lips brought the roses to her cheeks
+as the sea breezes had done&mdash;roses that came and fled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> and came
+again&mdash;until at last it was Cassandra who spoke first.</p>
+
+<p>"I want you to see him, David."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, my wife," was all he said, his eyes on hers, but he did not move.</p>
+
+<p>"I want you to see our little son, David." A strange pang shot through
+his heart. Still he stood, holding her and marvelling at himself. What!
+Was it that this young usurper had stolen into his place?</p>
+
+<p>"Love is selfish, dear. Let me recover from one joy before you overwhelm
+me with another. First, I must have my own, and know that it is all mine."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand, David. I can't wait. Oh! David&mdash;David!"</p>
+
+<p>"You turn my name to music with your tones lingering over it. I had
+forgotten how sweet it was."</p>
+
+<p>"But I don't understand, David. Come and see him." And as she drew him
+forward, they moved as one being, not two.</p>
+
+<p>"No, you don't understand, thank God. But I will teach you something you
+never knew. Love is not only blind, dearest; he is a greedy, selfish little god."</p>
+
+<p>Then she laughed happily, holding him at arm's-length and looking in his
+eyes. "I know it. I know it. I found it out all by myself. Didn't I tell
+you in my letter? Oh, David, so was I!" She drew him to her again and
+nestled her face in his bosom. "I was jealous of our little son. I
+wanted you, David&mdash; Oh! I wanted you." At last came the tears, the
+blessed human tears which she had held back so long. But now they did no
+harm except to drench her husband's gray tie, and they brought a lovely
+flush to her face. "I can't stop, David; I can't stop. I haven't cried
+for so long, and now I can't stop."</p>
+
+<p>"Sweetheart, don't try to stop. Cry it all out. Wash the stains from me
+of the cruel old world where I have been; cleanse me so that I may see
+as clearly as you see; but you would have to cry forever to do that,
+wouldn't you, sweet? And soon you must laugh again."</p>
+
+<p>He clasped and comforted her as she was used to comfort her baby,
+soothing her and drying her eyes with his own handkerchief. "Yours isn't
+large enough for such a flood, is it, sweet?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p><p>"No, a&mdash;a&mdash;and I&mdash;I can-can't find mine," she sobbed "I&mdash;I&mdash;left it
+tucked under baby's chin&mdash;and now I've spoiled your pretty gray tie."</p>
+
+<p>"Bless you! They are my tears, and it is my tie&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"David! He is crying&mdash;hark!"</p>
+
+<p>"Helping his mother, is he? Come then, his father will comfort him."</p>
+
+<p>"Hear him. Isn't it a sweet little cry, David?" She smiled at him from
+under tear-wet lashes.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, bless you again! Yours was a sweet little cry." They went in, and
+he bent over the odd little cradle and lifted the child tenderly from
+its soft nest. The wailing ceased, and the fatherhood awoke in him and
+laughed with joy as he held the warm little body to his heart, wherein
+now, he knew, lay the key of life&mdash;the complete and rounded love, God's
+gift to man, to be cherished when found, and fought for and held in the
+holy of holies of his own soul.</p>
+
+<p>"He isn't afraid, you see, David. How he stares at you! Does he feel it
+in his own little heart that you are his father? I have whispered it to
+him a thousand, thousand times. Sit here with him, David, and I'll make
+you some tea." She busied herself with the tea things&mdash;the old life
+beginning anew&mdash;with a new interest.</p>
+
+<p>"I always make it just as you taught me that first day when I came up
+here so choked with trouble I couldn't speak. You always brought me good, David."</p>
+
+<p>He saw as he watched her that some new and subtile charm had been added
+to her personality. Was it motherhood that had given it to her, or the
+long year of patient waiting and trusting; or had she passed through
+depths of which he as yet knew nothing, to cause this evanescent breath
+of pathos? He felt and knew it was all of these. What must she have
+endured as she wrote that letter!</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>David fell easily and happily into his life on the mountain again&mdash;not
+the English lord, but the vital, human being, the man in splendid
+possession of himself and his impulses, holding sacred his rights as a
+man, not to be coerced by custom or bound by any chains save those he
+himself had forged to bind his heart before God.</p>
+
+<p>For a time he would not allow himself to think of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> future,
+preferring to live thus with the world completely shut away. Buoyantly,
+jubilantly, he tramped the hills and visited the homes where he had been
+wont to bring help and often comforts, and found himself therein lauded
+and idolized as few of his station ever are.</p>
+
+<p>Again he was "Doctah Thryng," and the love that accompanied the title,
+in the hearts of those mountain people, was regal. He enjoyed his little
+farm, and the gathering of his first "crap," counting his bundles of
+fodder and his bushels of corn. Sometimes he rode with Cassandra,
+visiting the old haunts; at such times David insisted that the boy be
+left with the grandmother or that Martha should come up to mind him,
+that he might have his wife free and quite to himself as in their first days.</p>
+
+<p>But all this time, although silent about it, Cassandra kept in her heart
+the thought of David's real state. She felt he was playing a part to
+bring her joy, and was grateful, but she knew he must return to his own
+world and live his own life. Therefore she existed in a state of
+breathless suspense, to enjoy these moments to the fullest,&mdash;not to miss
+or mar an instant of the blessed time while it lasted.</p>
+
+<p>The days were flying&mdash;flying&mdash;so rapidly she dared not think, and here
+was splendid October trailing her wonderful draperies over the hills
+like a lavish princess. When would David speak? But perhaps he was
+waiting for her to speak first? If so, how long ought she to remain
+silent? Often he caught the wistful look in her eyes, and half divined the meaning.</p>
+
+<p>One day when they had wandered up her father's path, and the wind came
+in warm, soft gusts, sweeping over the miles of splendor from the sea,
+David drew her to him, determined to win from her a full expression.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, Cassandra? Open your heart. Don't shut anything away from
+me. What have you been dreaming lately?"</p>
+
+<p>"You have never said a word of fault with me yet, David&mdash;for what I did,
+going away off there and not waiting quietly until you could come back,
+as you wrote me to do."</p>
+
+<p>"That was the bravest, finest thing you ever did&mdash;but one." He was
+thinking of her renunciation.</p>
+
+<p>"You are so good to forgive me, David. In one way it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> was better that I
+went, because it made me understand as I never could have done
+otherwise. You would never have told me, but now I know."</p>
+
+<p>"Unfold a little of this wisdom, so I may judge of its value."</p>
+
+<p>"Can you, David? I'm afraid not. You have a way of bewildering me, so I
+can't see the rights and wrongs of things myself. But there! It is just
+part of the difference. Why, even the nursemaids over there, and Hetty
+Giles, the landlady's daughter, are wiser than I. I came to see it every
+instant, the difference between you and me&mdash;between our two worlds.
+David, how did you ever dare marry me?"</p>
+
+<p>He only laughed happily and kissed her. "Tell it all," he said tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>"I felt it first when I went to the town house. It was hard to find the
+address. I only had Mr. Stretton's." David set his teeth grimly in anger
+at himself at giving her only his lawyer's address, in stupid fear lest
+her letters betray him to his mother and sister.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, do not hide one thing from me&mdash;not one," he said sternly, and she
+continued, with a conscientious fear of disobedience, to open her heart.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw by the look in the old man's eyes that I had not done the right
+thing, coming in that way with a baby in my arms, like a beggar. I saw
+he was very curious, and I was that proud I didn't know what to tell him
+I had come for, when I found you were not there, so when he said artists
+often came to see the gallery, I said I had come to see the gallery; and
+David, I didn't even know what a gallery was. I thought it was a high
+piazza around a house, and I found it was a great room full of pictures.
+I was that ignorant.</p>
+
+<p>"I felt like I was some wild creature that had got lost in that splendid
+palace and didn't know where to run to get away; and they all fixed
+their eyes on me as if they were saying: 'How does she dare come here?
+She isn't one of us!' and one was a boy who looked like you. The old man
+kept saying how like it was to the new Lord Thryng, and it made me cold
+to hear it,&mdash;so cold that after I had escaped from there and was out in
+the sun, my teeth chattered."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p><p>David sat silent and humbled; at last he said: "Go on, Cassandra. Don't
+cover up anything."</p>
+
+<p>"When I got back to the hotel, everything seemed so splendid and stuffy
+and horrid&mdash;and every way I turned it seemed as if those dead ancestors
+of yours were there staring at me still; and I thought what right had
+they over the living that they dared stand between you and me; and I was
+angry." She stirred in his arms, and pressed closer to him.
+"David&mdash;forgive me&mdash;I can't tell it over&mdash;it hurts me."</p>
+
+<p>"Go on," he said hoarsely.</p>
+
+<p>"The old man told me what was expected of you because of them&mdash;how your
+mother wished you to marry a great lady&mdash;and I knew they could never
+have heard of me&mdash;and I forgot to eat my dinner and stayed in my room
+and fought and fought with myself&mdash;I'm sorry I felt that way, David.
+Don't mind. I understand now." She put up her hand and touched his
+cheek, and he took it in his and kissed it. Then she laughed a sad little laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Remember that funny little old silver teapot. Mother brought it to me
+before I left, and I took it with me! She is so proud of our family,
+although she has only that poor little pot to show for it, with its nose
+all melted off to make silver bullets sure to kill. Did you know it was
+one of those bullets Frale tried to kill you with? Oh, David, David!"</p>
+
+<p>"And yet your mother is right, dear. That little wrecked bit of silver
+helps to interpret you&mdash;indicates your ancestors&mdash;how you come to be
+you&mdash;just as you are. How could I ever have loved you, if you had been
+different from what you are?"</p>
+
+<p>For a long moment she lay still&mdash;scarcely breathing&mdash;then she lifted her
+head and looked in his eyes. One of her silences was on her, and while
+her lips trembled as if to speak, she said no word. He tried to draw her
+to him again, but she held him off.</p>
+
+<p>"Then tell me what it is," he said gently. But she only shook her head
+and rose to walk away from him. He did not try to call her back to him,
+respecting her silence, and she moved on up the path with long, swift steps.</p>
+
+<p>When she returned, he held out his arms to her, but she stood before him
+looking down into his eyes, "I couldn't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> tell you sitting there with
+your arms around me, David, and what I have to say must be said now; I
+may never be strong enough to say it another time, and it must be said."</p>
+
+<p>Then she told him all that had occurred while she was in Queensderry,
+from the moment she came, going down into her heart and revealing the
+hidden thoughts never before expressed even to herself, while he gazed
+back into her eyes fascinated by her spiritual beauty which was her power.</p>
+
+<p>She told of the chatter of Hetty Giles, and how she had pointed out the
+beautiful lady his mother wished him to marry&mdash;and how slowly everything
+had dawned upon her&mdash;the real differences. Of the guests she had seen on
+the Daneshead terrace and how they wore such lovely dresses and moved so
+easily and laughed and talked all at once, as if they were used to it
+all, and perhaps wore such charming things for every day&mdash;the wonderful
+colors and wide, beautiful hats with plumes&mdash;and how even the servants
+wore pretty clothes and went about as if they all knew how to do things,
+passing cups and plates.</p>
+
+<p>Then she told of her talk with his mother and how carefully she had
+guarded her tongue lest a word escape her he would rather not have had
+her speak. "I had wronged you in not telling you you had a son, and I
+meant to leave him with your mother so he could be raised right." She
+paused, and put her hand to her throat, then went bravely on. "Your
+mother was kind&mdash;she gave me wine&mdash;she brought it to me herself. I knew
+what I ought to do, but I wasn't strong enough. It seemed as if
+something here in my breast was bleeding, and my baby would die if I did
+it. When I came out, he was in your sister's arms and had been crying,
+and it seemed as if all I had planned had happened, and I took him and
+carried him away quickly. I couldn't go fast enough, and I left the inn
+that night. The world seemed all like <i>Vanity Fair</i>."</p>
+
+<p>David rose and stood before her looking down into her eyes. He could not
+control his voice in speaking, and she felt his hands quiver as they
+rested on her shoulders. "When did you read that book, Cassandra? Where
+did you find it?" he asked, in dismay.</p>
+
+<p>"Among your books in the cabin. I felt at first that it must be a kind
+of a disgrace to be a lord&mdash;as if every one who had a title or education
+must be mean and low, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> all the rest of the world over there must be
+fools; but because of you, David, I knew better than to believe that.
+Your mother is not like those women, either. She was kind and beautiful,
+and&mdash;I&mdash;loved her, but all the more I saw the difference. But now you
+have come to me and made me strong, I can do it. Everything has grown
+clear to me again, and I see how you gave yourself to me&mdash;to save
+me&mdash;when you did not dream of what was to be for you in the future; and
+out of your giving has come the&mdash;little son, and he is yours. Wait!
+Don't take me in your arms." She placed her hands on his breast and held him from her.</p>
+
+<p>"So it was just now&mdash;when you spoke as if people would understand me
+better because of that little silver pot, showing I had somewhere in the
+past a name and a family like theirs over there&mdash;I thought of 'Vanity
+Fair,' and I hated it. I wish you had never seen it. There is, nor has
+been, nothing on earth to make me possible for you, now&mdash;your
+inheritance has come to you. I have a pride, too, David, a different
+kind of pride from theirs. You loved me first, I know, as I was&mdash;just
+me. It was a foolish love for you to have, David dear,&mdash;but I know it is
+true; you could not have given yourself to save me else, and I like to
+keep that thought of you in my heart, big and noble and true&mdash;that you
+did love just me." She faltered, but still held him from her. "Do you
+think I would not do all I can to keep from spoiling your life over there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Stop, stop. It is enough," he cried. In spite of herself, he took her
+hands in his and drew her to him in penitent tenderness. "I'm no great
+lord with wide distances between me and your mountain world here,
+Cassandra; never think it. I'm tremendously near to the soul of things,
+and the man of the wilderness is strong in me. One thing you have not
+touched upon. Tell me, what did Frale say or do to you to so trouble you
+and send you off?"</p>
+
+<p>She stirred in his arms and waited, then murmured, "He pestered me."</p>
+
+<p>"Explain. Did he come often?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no. He&mdash;I&mdash;he came one evening up to our cabin, and&mdash;I sent him off
+and started next day."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p><p>"But explain, dearest. How did he act? What was it?"</p>
+
+<p>She was silent, but drew her husband's head down and hid her face in his
+neck. "There! Never mind, love. You needn't tell me if you don't wish."</p>
+
+<p>"He kissed me and held me in his arms like they were iron bands&mdash;and I
+hated it. He said you had gone away never to come back, and that the
+whole mountain side knew it; and that he had a right to come and claim
+my promise to him. Oh, David, David, this is the last. I have kept
+nothing back from you now, nothing. My heart cried out for you&mdash;like I
+heard you call&mdash;and I went&mdash;to&mdash;to prove to them all that word was a
+lie. I knew nothing they said here could touch you, but I couldn't bear
+that the meanest hound living should dare think wrong of you. Seems like
+I would have done it if I had had to crawl on my knees and swim the ocean."</p>
+
+<p>"My fingers tingle to grasp the throat of that young man. I fought him
+for you once, and if it hadn't been for a rolling stone under my foot,
+it would have been death for one of us. As it was, I won&mdash;with you to
+save me&mdash;bless you."</p>
+
+<p>"But now, David&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but now&mdash;what? Are you happy?"</p>
+
+<p>"That isn't what I mean. You have your future&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I have my now. It is all we ever have. The past is gone, and lives only
+in our memories, and the future exists only in anticipation; but
+now&mdash;now is all we have or can have. Live in it and love in it and be happy."</p>
+
+<p>"But we must be wise. We've got to face it sometime. Let&mdash;me help
+you&mdash;now while I have the strength," she pleaded earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>But David only laughed out joyously, and looked at his wife until she
+turned her face away from him. "Look at me," he cried. "Dear, troubled
+eyes. Tears? Tears in them? Love, you have kept nothing back this time,
+and now it is my turn, but I shall keep something back from you. I'm not
+going to reprove your idolatry by turning iconoclast and throwing your
+miserable old idol down from his pedestal all at once. I tell you what
+it is, though, if I could feel that I was worthy of your smallest
+finger&mdash;that I deserved only one of those big
+tears&mdash;there&mdash;there&mdash;there! Listen, dearest, I'll come to the point.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p><p>"Who is it now, making so much of the estimates of the world? Somehow
+our viewpoints have got mixed. Sacrifice myself? Why, Cassandra, if I
+were to lose you out of my life, I should be a broken-hearted man. What
+did I sacrifice? Phantoms, vanities, and emptiness. Oh, Cassandra,
+Cassandra, my priestess of all that is good! Open your eyes, love, and
+see as I see&mdash;as you have taught me to see.</p>
+
+<p>"Much that we strive for and reckon as gain is really worthless. Why,
+sweet, I would far, far rather have you at your loom for the mother of
+my son, than Lady Clara at her piano. Your heritage of the great
+nature&mdash;the far-seeing&mdash;the trusting spirit&mdash;harboring no evil and
+construing all things to righteousness&mdash;going out into the world and
+finding among all the dust and dross, even of centuries, only the pure
+gold&mdash;the eye that sees into a man's soul, searching out the true and
+lovely qualities there and transmuting all the rest into pure metal&mdash;my
+own soul's alchemist&mdash;your heritage is the secret of power."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe I understand all you are saying, David. I only see that
+I have a very hard task before me, and now I know it is hard for you,
+too. Your mother made it clear to me that your true place is not living
+here as a doctor, even though you do so much good among us. I saw all at
+once that men are born each to fill a place in the world, and I think
+each man's measure should be the height of his own power and ability,
+nothing lower than that; and I see it&mdash;your power will be there, not
+here, where it must be limited by our limits and ignorance. That is your
+own country over there. It claims you&mdash;and I&mdash;I&mdash;there is the
+difference, you know. Think of your mother, and then of mine. David, I
+must not&mdash; Oh, David! You must be unhampered&mdash;free&mdash;what can I&mdash;what can
+we do?"</p>
+
+<p>"We can just go down the mountain, sane beings, to our own little cabin,
+belonging to each other first of all." He took her hand and led her
+along the path, carpeted with pine needles and fallen leaves. "And then,
+when you are ready and willing&mdash;not before, love&mdash;we will go home&mdash;to my
+home&mdash;just like this, together."</p>
+
+<p>She caught her breath. "Listen, for I am seeing visions<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> too, now, as
+you have taught me. I will lead you through those halls and show you to
+all those dead ancestors, and I will dress you in a silken gown, the
+color of the evening star we used to watch together from our cabin door,
+and around your neck I will hang the yellow pearls that have been worn
+by all those great ladies who stared at you from out their frames of
+gold the day you came alone and unrecognized, bearing your priceless
+gift in your arms. You shall wear the rich old lace of the family on
+your bosom, and the jewelled coronet on your head; and no one will see
+the silk and the jewels and the lace, for looking at you and at the gift you bring.</p>
+
+<p>"No, don't speak; it is my turn now to see the pictures. All will be
+yours, whatever you see and touch in those stately homes&mdash;for you will
+be the Lady Thryng, and, being the Lady Thryng, you will be no more
+wonderful or beautiful than you were when you climbed to me, following
+my flute notes, or when you bent between me and the fire preparing my
+supper, or when you were weaving at your loom, or when you came to me
+from our cabin door with your arms outstretched and the light of all the
+stars of heaven in your eyes."</p>
+
+<p>Then they were silent, a long silence, until, seated together in their
+cabin before a bright log fire, as she held their baby to her breast,
+Cassandra broke the stillness.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I see it better, David. As you came here and lived my life, and
+loved me just as I was&mdash;so to be truly one, I must go with you and live
+your life. I must not fail you there."</p>
+
+<p>"You have been tried as by fire and have not failed&mdash;nor are you the
+kind of woman who ever fails."</p>
+
+<p>Then she smiled up at him one of those rare and fleeting smiles that
+always touched David with poignant pleasure, and said: "I think I
+understand now. God meant us to feel this way, when he married us to each other."</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mountain Girl, by Payne Erskine
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,13271 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mountain Girl, by Payne Erskine
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Mountain Girl
+
+Author: Payne Erskine
+
+Illustrator: J. Duncan Gleason
+
+Release Date: May 19, 2010 [EBook #32429]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOUNTAIN GIRL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Garcia, Martin Pettit and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE MOUNTAIN GIRL
+
+[Illustration: _"We will go home--to my home--just like this,
+together."_
+
+FRONTISPIECE. _See Page 311._]
+
+
+The Mountain Girl
+
+By PAYNE ERSKINE
+
+Author of "When the Gates Lift Up Their Heads."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. DUNCAN GLEASON
+
+A. L. BURT COMPANY
+PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1911, 1912, BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
+
+_All rights reserved._
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+CHAPTER                                                            PAGE
+
+     I. In which David Thryng arrives at Carew's Crossing             1
+
+    II. In which David Thryng experiences the Hospitality of
+          the Mountain People                                        10
+
+   III. In which Aunt Sally takes her Departure and meets Frale      25
+
+    IV. David spends his First Day at his Cabin, and Frale makes
+          his Confession                                             35
+
+     V. In which Cassandra goes to David with her Trouble, and
+          gives Frale her Promise                                    47
+
+    VI. In which David aids Frale to make his Escape                 59
+
+   VII. In which Frale goes down to Farington in his own Way         68
+
+  VIII. In which David Thryng makes a Discovery                      76
+
+    IX. In which David accompanies Cassandra on an Errand of Mercy   86
+
+     X. In which Cassandra and David visit the Home of Decatur
+          Irwin                                                      94
+
+    XI. In which Spring comes to the Mountains, and Cassandra
+          tells David of her Father                                 103
+
+   XII. In which Cassandra hears the Voices, and David leases
+          a Farm                                                    111
+
+  XIII. In which David discovers Cassandra's Trouble                120
+
+   XIV. In which David visits the Bishop, and Frale sees his Enemy  131
+
+    XV. In which Jerry Carew gives David his Views on Future
+          Punishment, and Little Hoyle pays him a Visit and is
+          made Happy                                                144
+
+   XVI. In which Frale returns and listens to the Complaints of
+          Decatur Irwin's Wife                                      152
+
+  XVII. In which David Thryng meets an Enemy                        164
+
+ XVIII. In which David Thryng Awakes                                172
+
+   XIX. In which David sends Hoke Belew on a Commission, and
+          Cassandra makes a Confession                              180
+
+    XX. In which the Bishop and his Wife pass an Eventful Day at
+          the Fall Place                                            189
+
+   XXI. In which the Summer Passes                                  198
+
+  XXII. In which David takes little Hoyle to Canada                 207
+
+ XXIII. In which Doctor Hoyle speaks his Mind                       212
+
+  XXIV. In which David Thryng has News from England                 218
+
+   XXV. In which David Thryng visits his Mother                     224
+
+  XXVI. In which David Thryng adjusts his Life to New Conditions    234
+
+ XXVII. In which the Old Doctor and Little Hoyle come back to
+          the Mountains                                             244
+
+XXVIII. In which Frale returns to the Mountains                     253
+
+  XXIX. In which Cassandra visits David Thryng's Ancestors          265
+
+   XXX. In which Cassandra goes to Queensderry and takes a Drive
+          in a Pony Carriage                                        276
+
+  XXXI. In which David and his Mother do not Agree                  288
+
+ XXXII. In which Cassandra brings the Heir of Daneshead Castle
+          back to her Hilltop, and the Shadow Lifts                 300
+
+
+
+
+THE MOUNTAIN GIRL
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG ARRIVES AT CAREW'S CROSSING
+
+
+The snow had ceased falling. No wind stirred among the trees that
+covered the hillsides, and every shrub, every leaf and twig, still bore
+its feathery, white load. Slowly the train labored upward, with two
+engines to take it the steepest part of the climb from the valley below.
+David Thryng gazed out into the quiet, white wilderness and was glad. He
+hoped Carew's Crossing was not beyond all this, where the ragged edge of
+civilization, out of which the toiling train had so lately lifted them,
+would begin again.
+
+He glanced from time to time at the young woman near the door who sat as
+the bishop had left her, one slight hand grasping the handle of her
+basket, and with an expression on her face as placid and fraught with
+mystery as the scene without. The train began to crawl more heavily,
+and, looking down, Thryng saw that they were crossing a trestle over a
+deep gorge before skirting the mountain on the other side. Suddenly it
+occurred to him that he might be carried beyond his station. He stopped
+the smiling young brakeman who was passing with his flag.
+
+"Let me know when we come to Carew's Crossing, will you?"
+
+"Next stop, suh. Are you foh there, suh?"
+
+"Yes. How soon?"
+
+"Half an houh mo', suh. I'll be back d'rectly and help you off, suh.
+It's a flag station. We don't stop there in winter 'thout we're called
+to, suh. Hotel's closed now."
+
+"Hotel? Is there a hotel?" Thryng's voice betokened dismay.
+
+"Yes, suh. It's a right gay little place in summah, suh." He passed on,
+and Thryng gathered his scattered effects. Ill and weary, he was glad
+to find his long journey so nearly at an end.
+
+On either side of the track, as far as eye could see, was a
+snow-whitened wilderness, seemingly untouched by the hand of man, and he
+felt as if he had been carried back two hundred years. The only hint
+that these fastnesses had been invaded by human beings was an occasional
+rough, deeply red wagon road, winding off among the hills.
+
+The long trestle crossed, the engines labored slowly upward for a time,
+then, turning a sharp curve, began to descend, tearing along the narrow
+track with a speed that caused the coaches to rock and sway; and thus
+they reached Carew's Crossing, dropping down to it like a rushing
+torrent.
+
+Immediately Thryng found himself deposited in the melting snow some
+distance from the station platform, and at the same instant, above the
+noise of the retreating train, he heard a cry: "Oh, suh, help him, help
+him! It's poor little Hoyle!" The girl whom he had watched, and about
+whom he had been wondering, flashed by him and caught at the bridle of a
+fractious colt, that was rearing and plunging near the corner of the
+station.
+
+"Poor little Hoyle! Help him, suh, help him!" she cried, clinging
+desperately, while the frantic animal swung her off her feet, close to
+the flying heels of the kicking mule at his side.
+
+Under the heavy vehicle to which the ill-assorted animals were attached,
+a child lay unconscious, and David sprang forward, his weakness
+forgotten in the demand for action. In an instant he had drawn the
+little chap from his perilous position and, seizing the mule, succeeded
+in backing him to his place. The cause of its fright having by this time
+disappeared, the colt became tractable and stood quivering and snorting,
+as David took the bridle from the girl's hand.
+
+"I'll quiet them now," he said, and she ran to the boy, who had
+recovered sufficiently to sit up and gaze in a dazed way about him. As
+she bent over him, murmuring soothing words, he threw his arms around
+her neck and burst into wild sobbing.
+
+"There, honey, there! No one is hurt. You are not, are you, honey son?"
+
+"I couldn't keep a holt of 'em," he sobbed.
+
+"You shouldn't have done it, honey. You should have let me get home as
+best I could." Her face was one which could express much, passive as it
+had been before. "Where was Frale?"
+
+"He took the othah ho'se and lit out. They was aftah him. They--"
+
+"S-sh. There, hush! You can stand now; try, Hoyle. You are a man now."
+
+The little fellow rose, and, perceiving Thryng for the first time,
+stepped shyly behind his sister. David noticed that he had a deformity
+which caused him to carry his head twisted stiffly to one side, and also
+that he had great, beautiful brown eyes, so like those of a hunted fawn
+as he turned them upon the stranger with wide appeal, that he seemed a
+veritable creature of the wilderness by which they were surrounded.
+
+Then the girl stepped forward and thanked him with voice and eyes; but
+he scarcely understood the words she said, as her tones trailed
+lingeringly over the vowels, and almost eliminated the "r," so lightly
+was it touched, while her accent fell utterly strange upon his English
+ear. She looked to the harness with practised eye, and then laid her
+hand beside Thryng's, on the bridle. It was a strong, shapely hand and
+wrist.
+
+"I can manage now," she said. "Hoyle, get my basket foh me."
+
+But Thryng suggested that she climb in and take the reins first,
+although the animals stood quietly enough now; the mule looked even
+dejected, with hanging head and forward-drooping ears.
+
+The girl spoke gently to the colt, stroking him along the side and
+murmuring to him in a cooing voice as she mounted to the high seat and
+gathered up the reins. Then the two beasts settled themselves to their
+places with a wontedness that assured Thryng they would be perfectly
+manageable under her hand.
+
+David turned to the child, relieved him of the basket, which was heavy
+with unusual weight, and would have lifted him up, but Hoyle eluded his
+grasp, and, scrambling over the wheel with catlike agility, slipped
+shyly into his place close to the girl's side. Then, with more than
+childlike thoughtfulness, the boy looked up into her face and said in a
+low voice:--
+
+"The gen'l'man's things is ovah yandah by the track, Cass. He cyant tote
+'em alone, I reckon. Whar is he goin'?"
+
+Then Thryng remembered himself and his needs. He looked at the line of
+track curving away up the mountain side in one direction, and in the
+other lost in a deep cut in the hills; at the steep red banks rising
+high on each side, arched over by leafy forest growth, with all the
+interlacing branches and smallest twigs bearing their delicate burden of
+white, feathery snow. He caught his breath as a sense of the strange,
+untamed beauty, marvellous and utterly lonely, struck upon him. Beyond
+the tracks, high up on the mountain slope, he thought he spied,
+well-nigh hid from sight by the pines, the gambrel roof of a large
+building--or was it a snow-covered rock?
+
+"Is that a house up there?" he asked, turning to the girl, who sat
+leaning forward and looking steadily down at him.
+
+"That is the hotel."
+
+"A road must lead to it, then. If I could get up there, I could send
+down for my things."
+
+"They is no one thar," piped the boy; and Thryng remembered the
+brakeman's words, and how he had rebelled at the thought of a hotel
+incongruously set amid this primeval beauty; but now he longed for the
+comfort of a warm room and tea at a hospitable table. He wished he had
+accepted the bishop's invitation. It was a predicament to be dropped in
+this wild spot, without a store, a cabin, or even a thread of blue smoke
+to be seen as indicating a human habitation, and no soul near save these
+two children.
+
+The sun was sinking toward the western hilltops, and a chillness began
+creeping about him as the shadows lengthened across the base of the
+mountain, leaving only the heights in the glowing light.
+
+"Really, you know, I can't say what I am to do. I'm a stranger here--"
+
+It seemed odd to him at the moment, but her face, framed in the huge
+sunbonnet,--a delicate flower set in a rough calyx,--suddenly lost all
+expression. She did not move nor open her lips. Thryng thought he
+detected a look of fear in the boy's eyes, as he crept closer to her.
+
+In a flash came to him the realization of the difficulty. His friend had
+told him of these people,--their occupations, their fear of the world
+outside and below their fastnesses, and how zealously they guarded their
+homes and their rights from outside intrusion, yet how hospitable and
+generous they were to all who could not be considered their hereditary
+enemies.
+
+He hastened to speak reassuring words, and, bethinking himself that she
+had called the boy Hoyle, he explained how one Adam Hoyle had sent him.
+
+"The doctor is my friend, you know. He built a cabin somewhere within a
+day's walk, he told me, of Carew's Crossing, on a mountain top. Maybe
+you knew him?"
+
+A slight smile crept about the girl's lips, and her eyes brightened.
+"Yes, suh, we-all know Doctah Hoyle."
+
+"I am to have the cabin--if I can find it--live there as he did, and see
+what your hills will do for me." He laughed a little as he spoke,
+deprecating his evident weakness, and, lifting his cap, wiped the cold
+moisture from his forehead.
+
+She noted his fatigue and hesitated. The boy's questioning eyes were
+fixed on her face, and she glanced down into them an answering look. Her
+lips parted, and her eyes glowed as she turned them again on David, but
+she spoke still in the same passive monotone.
+
+"Oh, yes. My little brothah was named foh him,--Adam Hoyle,--but we only
+call him Hoyle. It's a right long spell since the Doctah was heah. His
+cabin is right nigh us, a little highah up. Theah is no place wheah you
+could stop nighah than ouahs. Hoyle, jump out and help fetch his things
+ovah. You can put them in the back of the wagon, suh, and ride up with
+us. I have a sight of room foh them."
+
+The child was out and across the tracks in an instant, seizing a valise
+much too heavy for him, and Thryng cut his thanks short to go to his
+relief.
+
+"I kin tote it," said the boy shrilly.
+
+"No, no. I am the biggest, so I'll take the big ones. You bring the
+bundle with the strap around it--so. Now we shall get on, shan't we?
+But you are pretty strong for a little chap;" and the child's face
+radiated smiles at the praise.
+
+Then David tossed in valise and rug, without which last no Englishman
+ever goes on a journey, and with much effort they managed to pull the
+box along and hoist it also into the wagon, the body of which was filled
+with corn fodder, covered with an old patchwork quilt.
+
+The wagon was of the rudest, clumsiest construction, the heavy box set
+on axles without springs, but the young physician was thankful for any
+kind of a conveyance. He had been used to life in the wild, taking
+things as he found them--bunking in a tent, a board shanty, or out under
+the open sky; with men brought heterogeneously together, some merely
+rough woodsmen in their natural environment, others the scum of the
+cities to whom crime was become first nature, decency second, and
+others, fleeing from justice and civilized law, hiding ofttimes a fine
+nature delicately reared. During this time he had seldom seen a woman
+other than an occasional camp follower of the most degraded sort.
+
+Inured thus, he did not find his ride, embedded with good corn fodder,
+much of a hardship, even in a springless wagon over mountain roads.
+Wrapped in his rug, he braced himself against his box, with his face
+toward the rear of the wagon, and gazed out from under its arching
+canvas hood at the wild way, as it slowly unrolled behind them, and was
+pleased that he did not have to spend the night under the lee of the
+station.
+
+The lingering sunlight made flaming banners of the snow clouds now
+slowly drifting across the sky above the white world, and touched the
+highest peaks with rose and gold. The shadows, ever changing, deepened
+from faintest pink-mauve through heliotrope tints, to the richest violet
+in the heart of the gorges. Over and through all was the witching
+mystery of fairy-like, snow-wreathed branches and twigs, interwoven and
+arching up and up in faint perspective to the heights above, and down,
+far down, to the depths of the regions below them; and all the time,
+mingled with the murmur of the voices behind him, and the creaking of
+the vehicle in which they rode, and the tramp of the animals when they
+came to a hard roadbed with rock foundation,--noises which were not
+loud, but which seemed to be covered and subdued by the soft snow even
+as it covered everything,--could be heard a light dropping and
+pattering, as the overladen last year's leaves and twigs dropped their
+white burden to the ground. Sometimes the great hood of the wagon struck
+an overhanging bough and sent the snow down in showers as they passed.
+
+Heavily they climbed up, and warily made their descent of rocky steeps,
+passing through boggy places or splashing in clear streams which issued
+from springs in the mountain side or fell from some distant height, then
+climbing again only to wind about and again descend. Often the way was
+rough with boulders that had never been blasted out,--sometimes steeply
+shelving where the gorge was deepest and the precipice sheerest. Past
+all dangers the girl drove with skilful hand, now encouraging her team
+with her low voice, now restraining them, where their load crowded upon
+them over slippery, shelving rocks, with strong pulls and sharp command.
+David marvelled at her serenity under the strain, and at her courage and
+deftness. With the calmness of the boy nestling at her side, he resigned
+himself to the sweet witchery of the time and place. Glancing up at the
+high seat behind him, he saw the child's feet dangling, and knew they
+must be cold.
+
+"Why can't your little brother sit back here with me?" he said; "I'll
+cover him with my rug, and we'll keep each other warm."
+
+He saw the small hunched back stiffen, and try to appear big and manly,
+but she checked the team at a level dip in the road.
+
+"Yes, sonny, get ovah theah with the gentleman. It'll be some coldah now
+the sun's gone." But the little man was shyly reluctant to move. "Come,
+honey. Sistah'd a heap rathah you would."
+
+Then David reached up and gently lifted the atom of manhood, of pride,
+sensitiveness, and affection, over where he caused him to snuggle down
+in the fodder close to his side.
+
+For a while the child sat stiffly aloof, but gradually his little form
+relaxed, and his head drooped sideways in the hollow of the stranger's
+shoulder, held comfortably by Thryng's kindly encircling arm. Soon,
+with his small feet wrapped in the warm, soft rug, he slept soundly and
+sweetly, rocked, albeit rather roughly, in the jolting wagon.
+
+Thryng also dreamed, but not in sleep. His mind was stirred to unusual
+depths by his strange surroundings--the silence, the mystery, the beauty
+of the night, and the suggestions of grandeur and power dimly revealed
+by the moonlight which bathed the world in a flood of glory.
+
+He was uplifted and drawn out of himself, and at the same time he was
+thrown back to review his life and to see his most inward self, and to
+marvel and question the wherefore of it all. Why was he here, away from
+the active, practical affairs which interest other men? Was he a
+creature of ideals only, or was he also a practical man, taking the
+wisest means of reaching and achieving results most worth while? He saw
+himself in his childhood--in his youth--in his young manhood--even to
+the present moment, jogging slowly along in a far country, rough and
+wild, utterly dependent on the courtesy of a slight girl, who held, for
+the moment, his life in her hands; for often, as he gazed into the void
+of darkness over narrow ledges, he knew that only the skill of those two
+small hands kept them from sliding into eternity: yet there was about
+her such an air of wontedness to the situation that he was stirred by no
+sense of anxiety for himself or for her.
+
+He took out his pipe and smoked, still dreaming, comparing, and
+questioning. Of ancient family, yet the younger son of three generations
+of younger sons, all probability of great inheritance or title so far
+removed from him, it behooved that he build for himself--what? Fortune,
+name, everything. Character? Ah, that was his heritage, all the heritage
+the laws of England allowed him, and that not by right of English law,
+but because, fixed in the immutable, eternal Will, some laws there are
+beyond the power of man to supersede. With an involuntary stiffening of
+his body, he disturbed for an instant the slumbering child, and quite as
+involuntarily he drew him closer and soothed him back to forgetfulness;
+and they both dreamed on, the child in his sleep, and the man in his
+wide wakefulness and intense searching.
+
+His uncle, it is true, would have boosted him far toward creating both
+name and fame for himself, in either army or navy, but he would none of
+it. There was his older brother to be advanced, and the younger son of
+this same uncle to be placed in life, or married to wealth. This also he
+might have done; well married he might have been ere now, and could be
+still, for she was waiting--only--an ideal stood in his way. Whom he
+would marry he would love. Not merely respect or like,--not even
+both,--but love he must; and in order to hold to this ideal he must fly
+the country, or remain to be unduly urged to his own discomfiture and
+possibly to their mutual undoing.
+
+As for the alternatives, the army or the navy, again his ideals had
+formed for him impassable bars. He would found his career on the saving
+rather than the taking of life. Perhaps he might yet follow in the wake
+of armies to mend bodies they have torn and cut and maimed, and heal
+diseases they have engendered--yes--perhaps--the ideals loomed big. But
+what had he done? Fled his country and deftly avoided the most
+heart-satisfying of human delights--children to call him father, and
+wife to make him a home; peace and wealth; thrust aside the helping hand
+to power and a career considered most worthy of a strong and resourceful
+man, and thrown personal ambition to the winds. Why? Because of his
+ideals--preferring to mend rather than to mar his neighbor.
+
+Surely he was right--and yet--and yet. What had he accomplished? Taken
+the making of his life into his own hands and lost--all--if health were
+really gone. One thing remained to him--the last rag and remnant of his
+cherished ideals--to live long enough to triumph over his own disease
+and take up work again. Why should he succumb? Was it fate? Was there
+the guidance of a higher will? Might he reach out and partake of the
+Divine power? But one thing he knew; but one thing could he do. As the
+glory of white light around him served to reveal a few feet only of the
+way, even as the density beyond seemed impenetrable, still it was but
+seeming. There was a beyond--vast--mysterious--which he must search out,
+slowly, painfully, if need be, seeing a little way only, but seeing that
+little clearly, revealed by the white light of spirit. His own or God's?
+Into the infinite he must search--search--and at last surely find.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG EXPERIENCES THE HOSPITALITY OF THE MOUNTAIN
+PEOPLE.
+
+
+Suddenly the jolting ceased. The deep stillness of the night seemed only
+intensified by the low panting of the animals and the soft dropping of
+the wet snow from the trees.
+
+"What is it?" said Thryng, peering from under the canvas cover.
+"Anything the matter?"
+
+The beasts stood with low-swung heads, the vapor rising white from their
+warm bodies, wet with the melting snow. His question fell unheard, and
+the girl who was climbing down over the front wheel began to unhitch the
+team in silence. He rolled the sleeping child in his rug and leaped out.
+
+"Let me help you. What is the trouble? Oh, are you at home?"
+
+"I can do this, suh. I have done it a heap of times. Don't go nigh Pete,
+suh. He's mighty quick, and he's mean." The beast laid back his ears
+viciously as David approached.
+
+"You ought not go near him yourself," he said, taking a firm grip of the
+bridle.
+
+"Oh, he's safe enough with me--or Frale. Hold him tight, suh, now you
+have him, till I get round there. Keep his head towa'ds you. He
+certainly is mean."
+
+The colt walked off to a low stack of corn fodder, as she turned him
+loose with a light slap on the flank; and the mule, impatient, stamping
+and sidling about, stretched forth his nose and let out his raucous and
+hideous cry. While he was thus occupied, the girl slipped off his
+harness and, taking the bridle, led the beast away to a small railed
+enclosure on the far side of the stack; and David stood alone in the
+snow and looked about him.
+
+He saw a low, rambling house, which, although one structure, appeared to
+be a series of houses, built of logs plastered with clay in the chinks.
+It stood in a tangle of wild growth, on what seemed to be a wide ledge
+jutting out from the side of the mountain, which loomed dark and high
+behind it. An incessant, rushing sound pervaded the place, as it were a
+part of the silence or a breathing of the mountain itself. Was it wind
+among the trees, or the rushing of water? No wind stirred now, and yet
+the sound never ceased. It must be a torrent swollen by the melting
+snow.
+
+He saw the girl moving in and out among the shadows, about the open log
+stable, like a wraith. The braying of the mule had disturbed the
+occupants of the house, for a candle was placed in a window, and its
+little ray streamed forth and was swallowed up in the moonlight and
+black shades. The child, awakened by the horrible noise of the beast,
+rustled in the corn fodder where Thryng had left him. Dazed and
+wondering, he peered out at the young man for some moments, too shy to
+descend until his sister should return. Now she came, and he scrambled
+down and stood close to her side, looking up weirdly, his twisted little
+form shivering and quaking.
+
+"Run in, Hoyle," she said, looking kindly down upon him. "Tell mothah
+we're all right, son."
+
+A woman came to the door holding a candle, which she shaded with a
+gnarled and bony hand.
+
+"That you, Cass?" she quavered. "Who aire ye talkin' to?"
+
+"Yes, Aunt Sally, we'll be there directly. Don't let mothah get cold."
+She turned again to David. "I reckon you'll have to stop with us
+to-night. It's a right smart way to the cabin, and it'll be cold, and
+nothing to eat. We'll bring in your things now, and in the morning we
+can tote them up to your place with the mule, and Hoyle can go with you
+to show you the way."
+
+She turned toward the wagon as if all were settled, and Thryng could not
+be effusive in the face of her direct and conclusive manner; but he took
+the basket from her hand.
+
+"Let me--no, no--I will bring in everything. Thank you very much. I can
+do it quite easily, taking one at a time." Then she left him, but at the
+door she met him and helped to lift his heavy belongings into the house.
+
+The room he entered was warm and brightly lighted by a pile of blazing
+logs in the great chimneyplace. He walked toward it and stretched his
+hands to the fire--a generous fire--the mountain home's luxury.
+
+Something was cooking in the ashes on the hearth which sent up a savory
+odor most pleasant and appealing to the hungry man. The meagre boy stood
+near, also warming his little body, on which his coarse garments hung
+limply. He kept his great eyes fixed on David's face in a manner
+disconcerting, even in a child, had Thryng given his attention to it,
+but at the moment he was interested in other things. Dropped thus
+suddenly into this utterly alien environment, he was observing the girl
+and the old woman as intently, though less openly, as the boy was
+watching him.
+
+Presently he felt himself uncannily the object of a scrutiny far
+different from the child's wide-eyed gaze, and glancing over his
+shoulder toward the corner from which the sensation seemed to emanate,
+he saw in the depths of an old four-posted bed, set in their hollow
+sockets and roofed over by projecting light eyebrows, a pair of keen,
+glittering eyes.
+
+"Yas, you see me now, do ye?" said a high, thin voice in toothless
+speech. "Who be ye?"
+
+His physician's feeling instantly alert, he stepped to the bedside and
+bent over the wasted form, which seemed hardly to raise the clothing
+from its level smoothness, as if she had lain motionless since some
+careful hand had arranged it.
+
+"No, ye don't know me, I reckon. 'Tain't likely. Who be ye?" she
+iterated, still looking unflinchingly in his eyes.
+
+"Hit's a gentleman who knows Doctah Hoyle, mothah. He sent him. Don't
+fret you'se'f," said the girl soothingly.
+
+"I'm not one of the frettin' kind," retorted the mother, never taking
+her eyes from his face, and again speaking in a weak monotone. "Who be
+ye?"
+
+"My name is David Thryng, and I am a doctor," he said quietly.
+
+"Where be ye from?"
+
+"I came from Canada, the country where Doctor Hoyle lives."
+
+"I reckon so. He used to tell 'at his home was thar." A pallid hand was
+reached slowly out to him. "I'm right glad to see ye. Take a cheer and
+set. Bring a cheer, Sally."
+
+But the girl had already placed him a chair, which he drew close to the
+bedside. He took the feeble old hand and slipped his fingers along to
+rest lightly on the wrist.
+
+"You needn't stan' watchin' me, Cass. You 'n' Sally set suthin' fer th'
+doctah to eat. I reckon ye're all about gone fer hunger."
+
+"Yes, mothah, right soon. Fry a little pork to go with the pone, Aunt
+Sally. Is any coffee left in the pot?"
+
+"I done put in a leetle mo' when I heered the mule hollah. I knowed ye'd
+want it. Might throw in a mite mo' now th' gentleman's come."
+
+The two women resumed their preparations for supper, the boy continued
+to stand and gaze, and the high voice of the frail occupant of the bed
+began again to talk and question.
+
+"When did you come down f'om that thar country whar Doctah Hoyle lives
+at?" she said, in her monotonous wail.
+
+"Four days ago. I travelled slowly, for I have been ill myself."
+
+"Hit's right quare now; 'pears like ef I was a doctah I wouldn't 'low
+myself fer to get sick. An' you seed Doctah Hoyle fo' days back!"
+
+"No, he has gone to England on a visit. I saw his wife, though, and his
+daughter. She is a young lady--is to be married soon."
+
+"They do grow up--the leetle ones. Hit don't seem mo'n yestahday 'at
+Cass was like leetle Hoyle yandah, an' hit don't seem that since Doctah
+Hoyle was here an' leetle Hoyle came. We named him fer th' doctah. Waal,
+I reckon ef th' doctah was here now 'at he could he'p me some. Maybe ef
+he'd 'a' stayed here I nevah would 'a' got down whar I be now. He was a
+right good doctah, bettah'n a yarb doctah--most--I reckon so."
+
+David smiled. "I think so myself," he said. "Are there many herb doctors
+here about?"
+
+"Not rightly doctahs, so to speak, but they is some 'at knows a heap
+about yarbs."
+
+"Good. Perhaps they can teach me something."
+
+The old face was feebly lifted a bit from the pillow, and the dark eyes
+grew suddenly sharp in their scrutiny.
+
+"Who be ye, anyhow? What aire ye here fer? Sech as you knows a heap
+a'ready 'thout makin' out to larn o' we-uns."
+
+David saw his mistake and hastened to allay the suspicion which gleamed
+out at him almost malignantly.
+
+"I am just what I said, a doctor like Adam Hoyle, only that I don't know
+as much as he--not yet. The wisest man in the world can learn more if he
+watches out to do so. Your herb doctors might be able to teach me a good
+many things."
+
+"I 'spect ye're right thar, on'y a heap o' folks thinks they knows it
+all fust."
+
+There was a pause, and Thryng leaned back in his stiff, splint-bottomed
+chair and glanced around him. He saw that the girl, although moving
+about setting to rights and brushing here and there with an unique,
+home-made broom, was at the same time intently listening.
+
+Presently the old woman spoke again, her threadlike voice penetrating
+far.
+
+"What do you 'low to do here in ouah mountains? They hain't no
+settlement nighabouts here, an' them what's sick hain't no money to pay
+doctahs with. I reckon they'll hev to stay sick fer all o' you-uns."
+
+David looked into her eyes a moment quietly; then he smiled. The way to
+her heart he saw was through the magic of one name.
+
+"What did Doctor Hoyle do when he was down here?"
+
+"Him? They hain't no one livin' like he was."
+
+Then David laughed outright, a gay, contagious laugh, and after an
+instant she laughed also.
+
+"I agree with you," he said. "But you see, I am a countryman of his, and
+he sent me here--he knows me well--and I mean to do as he did, if--I
+can."
+
+He drew in a deep breath of utter weariness, and leaned forward, his
+elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, and gazed into the blazing
+fire. The memories which had taken possession of his soul during the
+long ride seemed to envelop him so that in a moment the present was
+swept away into oblivion and his spirit was, as it were, suddenly
+withdrawn from the body and projected into the past. He had been unable
+to touch any of the greasy cold stuff which had been offered him during
+the latter part of his journey, and the heat brought a drowsiness on him
+and a faintness from lack of food.
+
+"Cass--Cassandry! Look to him," called the mother shrilly, but the girl
+had already noticed his strange abstraction, and the small Adam Hoyle
+had drawn back, in awe, to his mother.
+
+"Get some whiskey, Sally," said the girl, and David roused himself to
+see her bending over him.
+
+"I must have gone off in a doze," he said weakly. "The long ride and
+then this warmth--" Seeing the anxious faces around him, he laughed
+again. "It's nothing, I assure you, only the comfort and the smell of
+something good to eat;" he sniffed a little. "What is it?" he asked.
+
+Old Sally was tossing and shaking the frying salt pork in the skillet at
+the fireplace, and the odor aggravated his already too keen appetite.
+
+"Ye was more'n sleepy, I reckon," shrilled the woman from the bed.
+"Hain't that pone done, Sally? No, 'tain't liquor he needs; hit's
+suthin' to eat."
+
+Then the girl hastened her slow, gliding movements, drew splint chairs
+to a table of rough pine that stood against the side of the room, and,
+stooping between him and the fire, pulled something from among the hot
+ashes. The fire made the only light in the room, and David never forgot
+the supple grace of her as she bent thus silhouetted--the perfect line
+of chin and throat black against the blaze, contrasted with the weird,
+witchlike old woman with roughly knotted hair, who still squatted in the
+heat, and shook the skillet of frying pork.
+
+"Thar, now hit's done, I reckon," said old Sally, slowly rising and
+straightening her bent back; and the woman from the bed called her
+orders.
+
+"Not that cup," she cried, as Sally began pouring black coffee into a
+cracked white cup. "Git th' chany one. I hid hit yandah in th' cornder
+'hind that tin can, to keep 'em f'om usin' hit every day. I had a hull
+set o' that when I married Farwell. Give hit here." She took the
+precious relic in her work-worn hands and peered into it, then wiped it
+out with the corner of the sheet which covered her. This Thryng did not
+see. He was watching the girl, as she broke open the hot, fragrant
+corn-bread and placed it beside his plate.
+
+"Come," she said. "You sure must be right hungry. Sit here and eat."
+David felt like one drunken with weariness when he rose, and caught at
+the edge of the table to steady himself.
+
+"Aren't you hungry, too?" he asked, "and Hoyle, here? Sit beside me;
+we're going to have a feast, little chap."
+
+The girl placed an earthen crock on the table and took from it honey in
+the broken comb, rich and dark.
+
+"Have a little of this with your pone. It's right good," she said.
+
+"Frale, he found a bee tree," piped the child suddenly, gaining
+confidence as he saw the stranger engaged in the very normal act of
+eating with the relish of an ordinary man. He edged forward and sat
+himself gingerly on the outer corner of the next chair, and accepted a
+huge piece of the pone from David's hand. His sister gave him honey, and
+Sally dropped pieces of the sizzling hot pork on their plates, from the
+skillet.
+
+David sipped his coffee from the flowered "chany cup" contentedly.
+Served without milk or sugar, it was strong, hot, and reviving. The girl
+shyly offered more of the corn-bread as she saw it rapidly disappearing,
+pleased to see him eat so eagerly, yet abashed at having nothing else to
+offer.
+
+"I'm sorry we can give you only such as this. We don't live like you do
+in the no'th. Have a little more of the honey."
+
+"Ah, but this is fine. Good, hey, little chap? You are doing a very
+beneficent thing, do you know, saving a man's life?" He glanced up at
+her flushed face, and she smiled deprecatingly. He fancied her smiles
+were rare.
+
+"But it is quite true. Where would I be now but for you and Hoyle here?
+Lying under the lee side of the station coughing my life away,--and all
+my own fault, too. I should have accepted the bishop's invitation."
+
+"You helped me when the colt was bad." Her soft voice, low and
+monotonous, fell musically on his ear when she spoke.
+
+"Naturally--but how about that, anyway? It's a wonder you weren't
+killed. How came a youngster like you there alone with those beasts?"
+Thryng had an abrupt manner of springing a question which startled the
+child, and he edged away, furtively watching his sister.
+
+[Illustration: _"Casabianca, was it?" said Thryng, smiling. Page 17._]
+
+"Did you hitch that kicking brute alone and drive all that distance?"
+
+"Aunt Sally, she he'ped me to tie up; she give him co'n whilst I th'owed
+on the strops, an' when he's oncet tied up, he goes all right." The atom
+grinned. "Hit's his way. He's mean, but he nevah works both ends to
+oncet."
+
+"Good thing to know; but you're a hero, do you understand that?" The
+child continued to edge away, and David reached out and drew him to his
+side. Holding him by his two sharp little elbows, he gave him a playful
+shake. "I say, do you know what a hero is?"
+
+The startled boy stopped grinning and looked wildly to his sister, but
+receiving only a smile of reassurance from her, he lifted his great eyes
+to Thryng's face, then slowly the little form relaxed, and he was drawn
+within the doctor's encircling arm.
+
+"I don't reckon," was all his reply, which ambiguous remark caused
+David, in his turn, to look to the sister for elucidation. She held a
+long, lighted candle in her hand, and paused to look back as she was
+leaving the room.
+
+"Yes, you do, honey son. You remembah the boy with the quare long name
+sistah told you about, who stood there when the ship was all afiah and
+wouldn't leave because his fathah had told him to bide? He was a hero."
+But Hoyle was too shy to respond, and David could feel his little heart
+thumping against his arm as he held him.
+
+"Tell the gentleman, Hoyle. He don't bite, I reckon," called the mother
+from her corner.
+
+"His name begun like yourn, Cass, but I cyan't remembah the hull of it."
+
+"Casabianca, was it?" said Thryng, smiling.
+
+"I reckon. Did you-uns know him?"
+
+"When I was a small chap like you, I used to read about him." Then the
+atom yielded entirely, and leaned comfortably against David, and his
+sister left them, carrying the candle with her.
+
+Old Sally threw another log on the fire, and the flames leaped up the
+cavernous chimney, lighting the room with dramatic splendor. Thryng
+took note of its unique furnishing. In the corner opposite the one where
+the mother lay was another immense four-poster bed, and before it hung a
+coarse homespun curtain, half concealing it. At its foot was a huge box
+of dark wood, well-made and strong, with a padlock. This and the beds
+seemed to belong to another time and place, in contrast to the other
+articles, which were evidently mountain made, rude in construction and
+hewn out by hand, the chairs unstained and unpolished, and seated with
+splints.
+
+The walls were the roughly dressed logs of which the house was built,
+the chinks plastered with deep red-brown clay. Depending from nails
+driven in the logs were festoons of dried apple and strips of dried
+pumpkin, and hanging by their braided husks were bunches of Indian corn,
+not yellow like that of the north, but white or purple.
+
+There were bags also, containing Thryng knew not what, although he was
+to learn later, when his own larder came to be eked out by sundry gifts
+of dried fruit and sweet corn, together with the staple of beans and
+peas from the widow's store.
+
+Beside the window of small panes was a shelf, on which were a few worn
+books, and beneath hung an almanac; at the foot of the mother's bed
+stood a small spinning-wheel, with the wool still hanging to the
+spindle. David wondered how long since it had been used. The scrupulous
+cleanliness of the place satisfied his fastidious nature, and gave him a
+sense of comfort in the homely interior. He liked the look of the bed in
+the corner, made up high and round, and covered with marvellous
+patchwork.
+
+As he sat thus, noting all his surroundings, Hoyle still nestled at his
+side, leaning his elbows on the doctor's knees, his chin in his hands,
+and his soft eyes fixed steadily on the doctor's face. Thus they
+advanced rapidly toward an amicable acquaintance, each questioning and
+being questioned.
+
+"What is a 'bee tree'?" said David. "You said somebody found one."
+
+"Hit's a big holler tree, an' hit's plumb full o' bees an' honey. Frale,
+he found this'n."
+
+"Tell me about it. Where was it?"
+
+"Hit war up yandah, highah up th' mountain. They is a hole thar what
+wil' cats live in, Wil' Cat Hole. Frale, he war a hunt'n fer a cat. Some
+men thar at th' hotel, they war plumb mad to hunt a wil' cat with th'
+dogs, an' Frale, he 'lowed to git th' cat fer 'em."
+
+"And when was that?"
+
+"Las' summah, when th' hotel war open. They war a heap o' men at th'
+hotel."
+
+"And now about the bee tree?"
+
+"Frale, he nevah let on like he know'd thar war a bee tree, an' then
+this fall he took me with him, an' we made a big fire, an' then we cut
+down th' tree, an' we stayed thar th' hull day, too, an' eat thar an'
+had ros'n ears by th' fire, too."
+
+"I say, you know. There seem to be a lot of things you will have to
+enlighten me about. After you get through with the bee tree you must
+tell me what 'ros'n ears' are. And then what did you do?"
+
+"Thar war a heap o' honey. That tree, hit war nigh-about plumb full o'
+honey, and th' bees war that mad you couldn't let 'em come nigh ye
+'thout they'd sting you. They stung me, an' I nevah hollered. Frale, he
+'lowed ef you hollered, you wa'n't good fer nothin', goin' bee hunt'n'."
+
+"Is Frale your brother?"
+
+"Yas. He c'n do a heap o' things, Frale can. They war a heap o' honey in
+that thar tree, 'bout a bar'l full, er more'n that. We hev a hull tub o'
+honey out thar in th' loom shed yet, an' maw done sont all th' rest to
+th' neighbors, 'cause maw said they wa'n't no use in humans bein' fool
+hogs like th' bees war, a-keepin' more'n they could eat jes' fer
+therselves."
+
+"Yas," called the mother from her corner, where she had been admiringly
+listening; "they is a heap like that-a-way, but hit ain't our way here
+in th' mountains. Let th' doctah tell you suthin' now, Hoyle,--ye mount
+larn a heap if ye'd hark to him right smart, 'thout talkin' th' hull
+time youse'f."
+
+"I has to tell him 'bouts th' ros'n ears--he said so. Thar they be." He
+pointed to a bunch of Indian corn. "You wrop 'em up in ther shucks,
+whilst ther green an' sof', and kiver 'em up in th' ashes whar hit's
+right hot, and then when ther rosted, eat 'em so. Now, what do you
+know?"
+
+"Why, he knows a heap, son. Don't ax that-a-way."
+
+"In my country, away across the ocean--" began David.
+
+"Tell 'bout th' ocean, how hit look."
+
+"In my country we don't have Indian corn nor bee trees, nor wild cat
+holes, but we have the ocean all around us, and we see the ships and--"
+
+"Like that thar one whar th' boy stood whilst hit war on fire?"
+
+"Something like, yes." Then he told about the sea and the ships and the
+great fishes, and was interrupted with the query:--
+
+"Reckon you done seed that thar fish what swallered the man in th' Bible
+an' then th'ow'd him up agin?"
+
+"Why no, son, you know that thar fish war dade long 'fore we-uns war
+born. You mustn't ax fool questions, honey."
+
+Old Sally sat crouched by the hearth intently listening and asking as
+naive questions as the child, whose pallid face grew pink and animated,
+and whose eyes grew larger as he strove to see with inward vision the
+things Thryng described. It was a happy evening for little Hoyle.
+Leaning confidingly against David, he sighed with repletion of joy. He
+was not eager for his sister to return--not he. He could lean forever
+against this wonderful man and listen to his tales. But the doctor's
+weariness was growing heavier, and he bethought himself that the girl
+had not eaten with them, and feared she was taking trouble to prepare
+quarters for him, when if she only knew how gladly he would bunk down
+anywhere,--only to sleep while this blessed and delicious drowsiness was
+overpowering him.
+
+"Where is your sister, Hoyle? Don't you reckon it's time you and I were
+abed?" he asked, adopting the child's vernacular.
+
+"She's makin' yer bed ready in th' loom shed, likely," said the mother,
+ever alert. With her pale, prematurely wrinkled face and uncannily
+bright and watchful eyes, she seemed the controlling, all-pervading
+spirit of the place. "Run, child, an' see what's keepin' her so long."
+
+"Hit's dark out thar," said the boy, stirring himself slowly.
+
+"Run, honey, you hain't afeared, kin drive a team all by you'se'f. Dark
+hain't nothin'; I ben all ovah these heah mountains when thar wa'n't one
+star o' light. Maybe you kin he'p her."
+
+At that moment she entered, holding the candle high to light her way
+through what seemed to be a dark passage, her still, sweet face a bit
+flushed and stray taches of white cotton down clinging to her blue
+homespun dress. "The doctah's mos' dade fer sleep, Cass."
+
+"I am right sorry to keep you so long, but we are obleeged--"
+
+She lifted troubled eyes to his face, as Thryng interrupted her.
+
+"Ah, no, no! I really beg your pardon--for coming in on you this way--it
+was not right, you know. It was a--a--predicament, wasn't it? It
+certainly wasn't right to put you about so; if--you will just let me go
+anywhere, only to sleep, I shall be greatly obliged. I'm making you a
+lot of trouble, and I'm so sorry."
+
+His profusion of manner, of which he was entirely unaware, embarrassed
+her; although not shy like her brother, she had never encountered any
+one who spoke with such rapid abruptness, and his swift, penetrating
+glance and pleasant ease of the world abashed her. For an instant she
+stood perfectly still before him, slowly comprehending his thought, then
+hastened with her inherited, inborn ladyhood to relieve him from any
+sense that his sudden descent upon their privacy was an intrusion.
+
+Her mind moved along direct lines from thought to expression--from
+impulse to action. She knew no conventional tricks of words or phrases
+for covering an awkward situation, and her only way of avoiding a
+self-betrayal was by silence and a masklike impassivity. During this
+moment of stillness while she waited to regain her poise, he, quick and
+intuitive as a woman, took in the situation, yet he failed to comprehend
+the character before him.
+
+To one accustomed to the conventional, perfect simplicity seems to
+conceal something held back. It is hard to believe that all is being
+revealed, hence her slower thought, in reality, comprehended him the
+more truly. What he supposed to be pride and shame over their meagre
+accommodations was, in reality, genuine concern for his comfort, and
+embarrassment before his ease and ready phrases. As in a swift breeze
+her thoughts were caught up and borne away upon them, but after a moment
+they would sweep back to her--a flock of innocent, startled doves.
+
+Still holding her candle aloft, she raised her eyes to his and smiled.
+"We-uns are right glad you came. If you can be comfortable where we are
+obliged to put you to sleep, you must bide awhile." She did not say
+"obleeged" this time. He had not pronounced it so, and he must know.
+
+"That is so good of you. And now you are very tired yourself and have
+eaten nothing. You must have your own supper. Hoyle can look after me."
+He took the candle from her and gave it to the boy, then turned his own
+chair back to the table and looked inquiringly at Sally squatted before
+the fire. "Not another thing shall you do for me until you are waited
+on. Take my place here."
+
+David's manner seemed like a command to her, and she slid into the chair
+with a weary, drooping movement. Hoyle stood holding the candle, his wry
+neck twisting his head to one side, a smile on his face, eying them
+sharply. He turned a questioning look to his sister, as he stiffened
+himself to his newly acquired importance as host.
+
+Thryng walked over to the bedside. "In the morning, when we are all
+rested, I'll see what can be done for you," he said, taking the
+proffered old hand in his. "I am not Dr. Hoyle, but he has taught me a
+little. I studied and practised with him, you know."
+
+"Hev ye? Then ye must know a heap. Hit's right like th' Lord sont ye.
+You see suthin' 'peared like to give way whilst I war a-cuttin' light
+'ud th' othah day, an' I went all er a heap 'crost a log, an' I reckon
+hit hurt me some. I hain't ben able to move a foot sence, an' I lay out
+thar nigh on to a hull day, whilst Hoyle here run clar down to Sally's
+place to git her. He couldn't lif' me hisse'f, he's that weak; he tried
+to haul me in, but when I hollered,--sufferin' so I war jes' 'bleeged to
+holler,--he kivered me up whar I lay and lit out fer Sally, an' she an'
+her man they got me up here, an' here I ben ever since. I reckon I never
+will leave this bed ontwell I'm cyarried out in a box."
+
+"Oh, no, not that! You're too much alive for that. We'll see about it
+to-morrow. Good night."
+
+"Hoyle may show you the way," said the girl, rising. "Your bed is in the
+loom shed. I'm right sorry it's so cold. I put blankets there, and you
+can use all you like of them. I would have given you Frale's place up
+garret--only--he might come in any time, and--"
+
+"Naw, he won't. He's too skeered 'at--" Hoyle's interruption stopped
+abruptly, checked by a glance of his sister's eye.
+
+"I hope you'll sleep well--"
+
+"Sleep? I shall sleep like a log. I feel as if I could sleep for a week.
+It's awfully good of you. I hope we haven't eaten all the supper, Hoyle
+and I. Come, little chap. Good night." He took up his valise and
+followed the boy, leaving her standing by the uncleared table, gazing
+after him.
+
+"Now you eat, Cassandry. You are nigh about perished you are that
+tired," said her mother.
+
+Then old Sally brought more pork and hot pone from the ashes, and they
+sat down together, eating and sipping their black coffee in silence.
+Presently Hoyle returned and began removing his clumsy shoes, by the
+fire.
+
+"Did he ax ye a heap o' questions, Hoyle?" queried the old woman
+sharply.
+
+"Naw. Did'n' ax noth'n'."
+
+"Waal, look out 'at you don't let on nothin' ef he does. Talkin' may
+hurt, an' hit may not."
+
+"He hain't no government man, maw."
+
+"Hit's all right, I reckon, but them 'at larns young to hold ther
+tongues saves a heap o' trouble fer therselves."
+
+After they had eaten, old Sally gathered the few dishes together and
+placed all the splint-bottomed chairs back against the sides of the
+room, and, only half disrobing, crawled into the far side of the bed
+opposite to the mother's, behind the homespun curtain.
+
+"To-morrow I reckon I kin go home to my old man, now you've come, Cass."
+
+"Yes," said the girl in a low voice, "you have been right kind to
+we-all, Aunt Sally."
+
+Then she bent over her mother, ministering to her few wants; lifting her
+forward, she shook up the pillow, and gently laid her back upon it, and
+lightly kissed her cheek. The child had quickly dropped to sleep, curled
+up like a ball in the farther side of his mother's bed, undisturbed by
+the low murmur of conversation. Cassandra drew her chair close to the
+fire and sat long gazing into the burning logs that were fast crumbling
+to a heap of glowing embers. She uncoiled her heavy bronze hair and
+combed it slowly out, until it fell a rippling mass to the floor, as she
+sat. It shone in the firelight as if it had drawn its tint from the fire
+itself, and the cold night had so filled it with electricity that it
+flew out and followed the comb, as if each hair were alive, and made a
+moving aureola of warm red amber about her drooping figure in the midst
+of the sombre shadows of the room. Her face grew sad and her hands moved
+listlessly, and at last she slipped from her chair to her knees and wept
+softly and prayed, her lips forming the words soundlessly. Once her
+mother awoke, lifted her head slightly from her pillow and gazed an
+instant at her, then slowly subsided, and again slept.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+IN WHICH AUNT SALLY TAKES HER DEPARTURE AND MEETS FRALE
+
+
+The loom shed was one of the log cabins connected with the main building
+by a roofed passage, which Thryng had noticed the evening before as
+being an odd fashion of house architecture, giving the appearance of a
+small flock of cabins all nestling under the wings of the old building
+in the centre.
+
+The shed was dark, having but one small window with glass panes near the
+loom, the other and larger opening being tightly closed by a wooden
+shutter. David slept late, and awoke at last to find himself thousands
+of miles away from his dreams in this unique room, all in the deepest
+shadow, except for the one warm bar of sunlight which fell across his
+face. He drowsed off again, and his mind began piecing together
+fragments and scenes from the previous day and evening, and immediately
+he was surrounded by mystery, moonlit, fairylike, and white, a little
+crooked being at his side looking up at him like some gnome creature of
+the hills, revealed as a part of the enchantment. Then slowly resolving
+and melting away after the manner of dreams, the wide spaces of the
+mystery drew closer and warmer, and a great centre of blazing logs threw
+grotesque, dancing lights among them, and an old face peered out with
+bright, keen eyes, now seen, now lost in the fitful shadows, now pale
+and appealing or cautiously withdrawn, but always watching--watching
+while the little crooked being came and watched also. Then between him
+and the blazing light came a dark figure silhouetted blackly against it,
+moving, stooping, rising, going and coming--a sweet girl's head with
+heavily coiled hair through which the firelight played with flashes of
+its own color, and a delicate profile cut in pure, clean lines melting
+into throat and gently rounded breast; like a spirit, now here, now
+gone, again near and bending over him,--a ministering spirit bringing
+him food,--until gradually this half wake, dreaming reminiscence
+concentrated upon her, and again he saw her standing holding the candle
+high and looking up at him,--a wondering, questioning spirit,--then
+drooping wearily into the chair by the uncleared table, and again
+waiting with almost a smile on her parted lips as he said "good night."
+Good night? Ah, yes. It was morning.
+
+Again he heard the continuous rushing noise to which he had listened in
+the white mystery, that had soothed him to slumber the night before,
+rising and falling--never ceasing. He roused himself with sudden energy
+and bounded from his couch. He would go out and investigate. His sleep
+had been sound, and he felt a rejuvenation he had not experienced in
+many months. When he threw open the shutter of the large unglazed window
+space and looked out on his strange surroundings, he found himself in a
+new world, sparkling, fresh, clear, shining with sunlight and glistening
+with wetness, as though the whole earth had been newly washed and
+varnished. The sunshine streamed in and warmed him, and the air, filled
+with winelike fragrance, stirred his blood and set his pulses leaping.
+
+He had been too exhausted the previous evening to do more than fall into
+the bed which had been provided him and sleep his long, uninterrupted
+sleep. Now he saw why they had called this part of the home the loom
+shed, for between the two windows stood a cloth loom left just as it had
+been used, the warp like a tightly stretched veil of white threads, and
+the web of cloth begun.
+
+In one corner were a few bundles of cotton, one of which had been torn
+open and the contents placed in a thick layer over the long bench on
+which he had slept, and covered with a blue and white homespun
+counterpane. The head had been built high with it, and sheets spread
+over all. He noticed the blankets which had covered him, and saw that
+they were evidently of home manufacture, and that the white spread which
+covered them was also of coarse, clean homespun, ornamented in squares
+with rude, primitive needlework. He marvelled at the industry here
+represented.
+
+As for his toilet, the preparation had been most simple. A shelf placed
+on pegs driven between the logs supported a piece of looking-glass; a
+splint chair set against the wall served as wash-stand and
+towel-rack--the homespun cotton towels neatly folded and hung over the
+back; a wooden pail at one side was filled with clear water, over which
+hung a dipper of gourd; a white porcelain basin was placed on the chair,
+over which a clean towel had been spread, and to complete all, a square
+cut from the end of a bar of yellow soap lay beside the basin.
+
+David smiled as he bent himself to the refreshing task of bathing in
+water so cold as to be really icy. Indeed, ice had formed over still
+pools without during the night, although now fast disappearing under the
+glowing morning sun. Above his head, laid upon cross-beams, were bundles
+of wool uncarded, and carding-boards hung from nails in the logs. In one
+corner was a rudely constructed reel, and from the loom dangled the idle
+shuttle filled with fine blue yarn of wool. Thryng thought of the worn
+old hands which had so often thrown it, and thinking of them he hastened
+his toilet that he might go in and do what he could to help the patient.
+It was small enough return for the kindness shown him. He feared to
+offer money for his lodgment, at least until he could find a way.
+
+At last, full of new vigor and very hungry, he issued from his
+sleeping-room, sadly in need of a shave, but biding his time, satisfied
+if only breakfast might be forthcoming. He had no need to knock, for the
+house door stood open, flooding the place with sunlight and frosty air.
+The huge pile of logs was blazing on the hearth as if it had never
+ceased since the night before, and the flames leaped hot and red up the
+great chimney.
+
+Old Sally no longer presided at the cookery. With a large cup of black
+coffee before her, she now sat at the table eating corn-bread and bacon.
+A drooping black sunbonnet on her head covered her unkempt, grizzly
+hair, and a cob pipe and bag of tobacco lay at her hand. She was ready
+for departure. Cassandra had returned, and her gratuitous neighborly
+offices were at an end. The girl was stooping before the fire, arranging
+a cake of corn-bread to cook in the ashes. A crane swung over the flames
+on which a fat iron kettle was hung, and the large coffee-pot stood on
+the hearth. The odor of breakfast was savory and appetizing. As David's
+tall form cast a shadow across the sunlit space on the floor, the old
+mother's voice called to him from the corner.
+
+"Come right in, Doctah; take a cheer and set. Your breakfast's ready, I
+reckon. How have you slept, suh?"
+
+The girl at the fire rose and greeted him, but he missed the boy.
+"Where's the little chap?" he asked.
+
+"Cassandry sont him out to wash up. F'ust thing she do when she gets
+home is to begin on Hoyle and wash him up."
+
+"He do get that dirty, poor little son," said the girl. "It's like I
+have to torment him some. Will you have breakfast now, suh? Just take
+your chair to the table, and I'll fetch it directly."
+
+"Won't I, though! What air you have up here! It makes me hungry merely
+to breathe. Is it this way all the time?"
+
+"Hit's this-a-way a good deal," said Sally, from under her sunbonnet,
+"Oh, the' is days hit's some colder, like to make water freeze right
+hard, but most days hit's a heap warmer than this."
+
+"That's so," said the invalid. "I hev seen it so warm a heap o' winters
+'at the trees gits fooled into thinkin' hit's spring an' blossoms all
+out, an' then come along a late freez'n' spell an' gits their fruit all
+killed. Hit's quare how they does do that-a-way. We-all hates it when
+the days come warm in Feb'uary."
+
+"Then you must have been glad to have snow yesterday. I was
+disappointed. I was running away from that sort of thing, you know."
+
+Thryng's breakfast was served to him as had been his supper of the
+evening before, directly from the fire. As he ate he looked out upon the
+usual litter of corn fodder scattered about near the house, and a few
+implements of the simplest character for cultivating the small pocket of
+rich soil below, but beyond this and surrounding it was a scene of the
+wildest beauty. Giant forest trees, intertwined and almost overgrown by
+a tangle of wild grapevines, hid the fall from sight, and behind them
+the mountain rose abruptly. A continuous stream of clearest water, icy
+cold, fell from high above into a long trough made of a hollow log.
+There at the running water stood little Hoyle, his coarse cotton towel
+hung on an azalia shrub, giving himself a thorough scrubbing. In a
+moment he came in panting, shivering, and shining, and still wet about
+the hair and ears.
+
+"Why, you are not half dry, son," said his sister. She took the towel
+from him and gave his head a vigorous rubbing. "Go and get warm, honey,
+and sister'll give you breakfast by the fire." She turned to David:
+"Likely you take milk in your coffee. I never thought to ask you." She
+left the room and returned with a cup of new milk, warm and sweet. He
+was glad to get it, finding his black coffee sweetened only with
+molasses unpalatable.
+
+"Don't you take milk in your coffee? How came you to think of it for
+me?"
+
+"I knew a lady at the hotel last summer. She said that up no'th 'most
+everybody does take milk or cream, one, in their coffee."
+
+"I never seed sech. Hit's clar waste to my thinkin'."
+
+Cassandra smiled. "That's because you never could abide milk. Mothah
+thinks it's only fit to make buttah and raise pigs on."
+
+
+Old Sally's horse, a thin, wiry beast, gray and speckled, stood ready
+saddled near the door, his bridle hanging from his neck, the bit
+dangling while he also made his repast. When he had finished his corn
+and she had finished her elaborate farewells at the bedside, and little
+Hoyle had with much effort succeeded in bridling her steed, she stepped
+quickly out and gained her seat on the high, narrow saddle with the ease
+of a young girl. Meagre as a willow withe in her scant black cotton
+gown, perched on her bony gray beast, and only the bowl of her cob pipe
+projecting beyond the rim of her sunbonnet as indication that a face
+might be hidden in its depths, with a meal sack containing in either end
+sundry gifts--salt pork, chicken, corn-bread, and meal--slung over the
+horse's back behind her, and with contentment in her heart, Aunt Sally
+rode slowly over the hills to rejoin her old man.
+
+Soon she left the main road and struck out into a steep, narrow trail,
+merely a mule track arched with hornbeam and dogwood and mulberry trees,
+and towered over by giant chestnuts and oaks and great white pines and
+deep green hemlocks. Through myriad leafless branches the wind soughed
+pleasantly overhead, unfelt by her, so completely was she protected by
+the thickly growing laurel and rhododendron on either side of her path.
+The snow of the day before was gone, leaving only the glistening wetness
+of it on stones and fallen leaves and twigs underfoot, while in open
+spaces the sun beat warmly down upon her.
+
+The trail led by many steep scrambles and sharp descents more directly
+to her home than the road, which wound and turned so frequently as to
+more than double the distance. At intervals it cut across the road or
+followed it a little way, only to diverge again. Here and there other
+trails crossed it or branched from it, leading higher up the mountain,
+or off into some gorge following the course of a stream, so that, except
+to one accustomed to its intricacies, the path might easily be lost.
+
+Old Sally paid no heed to her course, apparently leaving the choice of
+trails to her horse. She sat easily on the beast and smoked her pipe
+until it was quite out, when she stowed it away in the black cloth bag,
+which dangled from her elbow by its strings. Spying a small sassafras
+shrub leaning toward her from the bank above her head, she gave it a
+vigorous pull as she passed and drew it, root and all, from its hold in
+the soil, beat it against the mossy bank, and swished it upon her skirt
+to remove the earth clinging to it. Then, breaking off a bit of the
+root, she chewed it, while she thrust the rest in her bag and used the
+top for a switch with which to hasten the pace of her nag.
+
+The small stones, loosened when she tore the shrub from the bank,
+rattled down where the soil had been washed away, leaving the steep
+shelving rock side of the mountain bare, and she heard them leap the
+smooth space and fall softly on the moss among the ferns and lodged
+leaves below. There, crouched in the sun, lay a man with a black felt
+hat covering his face. The stones falling about him caused him to raise
+himself stealthily and peer upward. Descrying only the lone woman and
+the gray horse, he gave a low peculiar cry, almost like that of an
+animal in distress. She drew rein sharply and listened. The cry was
+repeated a little louder.
+
+"Come on up hyar, Frale. Hit's on'y me. Hu' come you thar?"
+
+He climbed rapidly up through the dense undergrowth, and stood at her
+side, breathing quickly. For a moment they waited thus, regarding each
+other, neither speaking. The boy--he seemed little more than a
+youth--looked up at her with a singularly innocent and appealing
+expression, but gradually as he saw her impassive and unrelenting face,
+his own resumed a hard and sullen look, which made him appear years
+older. His forehead was damp and cold, and a lock of silken black hair,
+slightly curling over it, increased its whiteness. Dark, heavy rings
+were under his eyes, which gleamed blue as the sky between long dark
+lashes. His arms dropped listlessly at his side, and he stood before
+her, as before a dread judge, bareheaded and silent. He bore her look
+only for a minute, then dropped his eyes, and his hand clinched more
+tightly the rim of his old felt hat. When he ceased looking at her, her
+eyes softened.
+
+"I 'low ye mus' hev suthin' to say fer yourse'f," she said.
+
+"I reckon." The corners of his mouth drooped, and he did not look up. He
+made as if to speak further, but only swallowed and was silent.
+
+"Ye reckon? Waal, why'n't ye say?"
+
+"They hain't nothin' to say. He war mean an'--an'--he's dade. I reckon
+he's dade."
+
+"Yas, he's dade--an' they done had the buryin'." Her voice was
+monotonous and plaintive. A pallor swept over his face, and he drew the
+back of his hand across his mouth.
+
+"He knowed he hadn't ought to rile me like he done. I be'n tryin' to
+make his hoss go home, but I cyan't. Hit jes' hangs round thar. I done
+brung him down an' lef' him in your shed, an' I 'lowed p'rhaps Uncle
+Jerry'd take him ovah to his paw." Again he swallowed and turned his
+face away. "The critter'd starve up yander. Anyhow, I ain't hoss
+stealin'. Hit war mo'n a hoss 'twixt him an' me." From the low, quiet
+tones of the two no one would have dreamed that a tragedy lay beneath
+their words.
+
+"Look a-hyar, Frale. Thar wa'n't nothin' 'twixt him an' you. Ye war
+both on ye full o' mean corn whiskey, an' ye war quarrellin' 'bouts
+Cass." A faint red stole into the boy's cheeks, and the blue gleam of
+his eyes between the dark lashes narrowed to a mere line, as he looked
+an instant in her face and then off up the trail.
+
+"Hain't ye seed nobody?" he asked.
+
+"You knows I hain't seed nobody to hurt you-uns 'thout I'd tell ye. Look
+a-hyar, son, you are hungerin'. Come home with me, an' I'll get ye
+suthin' to eat. Ef you don't, ye'll go back an' fill up on whiskey agin,
+an' thar'll be the end of ye." He walked on a few steps at her side,
+then stopped suddenly.
+
+"I 'low I better bide whar I be. You-uns hain't been yandah to the fall,
+have ye?"
+
+"I have. You done a heap mo'n you reckoned on. When Marthy heered o' the
+killin', she jes' drapped whar she stood. She war out doin' work 'at
+you'd ought to 'a' been doin' fer her, an' she hain't moved sence. She
+like to 'a' perished lyin' out thar. Pore little Hoyle, he run all the
+way to our place he war that skeered, an' 'lowed she war dade, an' me
+an' the ol' man went ovah, an' thar we found her lyin' in the yard, an'
+the cow war lowin' to be milked, an' the pig squeelin' like hit war
+stuck, fer hunger. Hit do make me clar plumb mad when I think how you
+hev acted,--jes' like you' paw. Ef he'd nevah 'a' started that thar
+still, you'd nevah 'a' been what ye be now, a-drinkin' yer own whiskey
+at that. Come on home with me."
+
+"I reckon I'm bettah hyar. They mount be thar huntin' me."
+
+"I know you're hungerin'. I got suthin' ye can eat, but I 'lowed if
+you'd come, I'd get you an' the ol' man a good chick'n fry." She took
+from her stores, slung over the nag, a piece of corn-bread and a large
+chunk of salt pork, and gave them into his hand. "Thar! Eat. Hit's
+heart'nin'."
+
+He was suffering, as she thought, and reached eagerly for the food, but
+before tasting it he looked up again into her face, and the infantile
+appeal had returned to his eyes.
+
+"Tell me more 'bouts maw," he said.
+
+"You eat, an' I'll talk," she replied. He broke a large piece from the
+corn-cake and crowded the rest into his pocket. Then he drew forth a
+huge clasp-knife and cut a thick slice from the raw salt pork, and
+pulling a red cotton handkerchief from his belt, he wrapped it around
+the remainder and held it under his arm as he ate.
+
+"She hain't able to move 'thout hollerin', she's that bad hurted. Paw
+an' I, we got her to bed, an' I been thar ever since with all to do
+ontwell Cass come. Likely she done broke her hip."
+
+"Is Cass thar now? Hu' come she thar?" Again the blood sought his
+cheeks.
+
+"Paw rode down to the settlement and telegrafted fer her. Pore thing!
+You don't reckon what-all you have done. I wisht you'd 'a' took aftah
+your maw. She war my own sister, 'nd she war that good she must 'a' went
+straight to glory when she died. Your paw, he like to 'a' died too that
+time, an' when he married Marthy Merlin, I reckoned he war cured o' his
+ways; but hit did'n' last long. Marthy, she done well by him, an' she
+done well by you, too. They hain't nothin' agin Marthy. She be'n a good
+stepmaw to ye, she hev, an' now see how you done her, an' Cass givin' up
+her school an' comin' home thar to ten' beastes an' do your work like
+she war a man. Her family wa'n't brought up that-a-way, nor mine wa'n't
+neither. Big fool Marthy war to marry with your paw. Hit's that-a-way
+with all the Farwells; they been that quarellin' an' bad, makin' mean
+whiskey an' drinkin' hit raw, killin' hyar an' thar, an' now you go
+doin' the same, an' my own nephew, too." Her face remained impassive,
+and her voice droned on monotonously, but two tears stole down her
+wrinkled cheeks. His face settled into its harder lines as she talked,
+but he made no reply, and she continued querulously: "Why'n't you pay
+heed to me long ago, when I tol' ye not to open that thar still again?
+You are a heap too young to go that-a-way,--my own kin, like to be hung
+fer man-killin'."
+
+"When did Cass come?" he interrupted sullenly.
+
+"Las' evenin'."
+
+"I'll drap 'round thar this evenin' er late night, I reckon. I have to
+get feed fer my own hoss an' tote hit up er take him back--one. All I
+fetched up last week he done et." He turned to walk away, but stood with
+averted head as she began speaking again.
+
+"Don't you do no such fool thing. You keep clar o' thar. Bring the hoss
+to me, an' I'll ride him home. What you want o' the beast on the
+mountain, anyhow? Hit's only like to give away whar ye'r' at. All you
+want is to git to see Cass, but hit won't do you no good, leastways not
+now. You done so bad she won't look at ye no more, I reckon. They is a
+man thar, too, now." He started back, his hands clinched, his head
+lifted, in his whole air an animal-like ferocity. "Thar now, look at ye.
+'Tain't you he's after."
+
+"'Tain't me I'm feared he's after. How come he thar?"
+
+"He come with her las' evenin'--" A sound of horses' hoofs on the road
+far below arrested her. They both waited, listening intently. "Thar they
+be. Git," she whispered. "Cass tol' me ef I met up with ye, to say 'at
+she'd leave suthin' fer ye to eat on the big rock 'hind the holly tree
+at the head o' the fall." She leaned down to him and held him by the
+coat an instant, "Son, leave whiskey alone. Hit's the only way you kin
+do to get her."
+
+"Yas, Aunt Sally," he murmured. His eyes thanked her with one look for
+the tone or the hope her words held out.
+
+Again the laugh, nearer this time, and again the wild look of haunting
+fear in his face. He dropped where he stood and slipped stealthily as a
+cat back to the place where he had lain, and crawling on his belly
+toward a heap of dead leaves caught by the brush of an old fallen pine,
+he crept beneath them and lay still. His aunt did not stir. Patting her
+horse's neck, she sat and waited until the voices drew nearer, came
+close beneath her as the road wound, and passed on. Then she once more
+moved along toward her cabin.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+DAVID SPENDS HIS FIRST DAY AT HIS CABIN, AND FRALE MAKES HIS CONFESSION
+
+
+Doctor Hoyle had built his cabin on one of the pinnacles of the earth,
+and David, looking down on blue billowing mountain tops with only the
+spaces of the air between him and heaven--between him and the
+ocean--between him and his fair English home--felt that he knew why the
+old doctor had chosen it.
+
+Seated on a splint-bottomed chair in the doorway, pondering, he thought
+first of his mother, with a little secret sorrow that he could not have
+taken to his heart the bride she had selected for him, and settled in
+his own home to the comfortable ease the wife's wealth would have
+secured for him. It was not that the money had been made in commerce; he
+was neither a snob nor a cad. Although his own connections entitled him
+to honor, what more could he expect than to marry wealth and be happy,
+if--if happiness could come to either of them in that way. No, his heart
+did not lean toward her; it was better that he should bend to his
+profession in a strange land. But not this, to live a hermit's life in a
+cabin on a wild hilltop. How long must it be--how long?
+
+Brooding thus, he gazed at the distance of ever paling blue, and
+mechanically counted the ranges and peaks below him. An inaccessible
+tangle of laurel and rhododendron clothed the rough and precipitous wall
+of the mountain side, which fell sheer down until lost in purple shadow,
+with a mantle of green, deep and rich, varied by the gray of the
+lichen-covered rocks, the browns and reds of the bare branches of
+deciduous trees, and the paler tints of feathery pines. Here and there,
+from damp, springy places, dark hemlocks rose out of the mass, tall and
+majestic, waving their plumy tops, giant sentinels of the wilderness.
+
+Gradually his mood of brooding retrospect changed, and he knew himself
+to be glad to his heart's core. He could understand why, out of the
+turmoil of the Middle Ages, men chose to go to sequestered places and
+become hermits. No tragedies could be in this primeval spot, and here he
+would rest and build again for the future. He was pleased to sit thus
+musing, for the climb had taken more strength than he could well spare.
+His cabin was not yet habitable, for the simple things Doctor Hoyle had
+accumulated to serve his needs were still locked in well-built
+cupboards, as he had left them.
+
+Thryng meant soon to go to work, to take out the bed covers and air
+them, and to find the canvas and nail it over the framework beside the
+cabin which was to serve as a sleeping apartment. All should be done in
+time. That was a good framework, strongly built, with the corner posts
+set deep in the ground to keep it firm on this windswept height, and
+with a door in the side of the cabin opening into the canvas room. Ah,
+yes, all that the old doctor did was well and thoroughly done.
+
+His appetite sharpened by the climb and the bracing air, David
+investigated the contents of one of those melon-shaped baskets which
+Cassandra had given him when he started for his new home that morning,
+with little Hoyle as his guide.
+
+Ah, what hospitable kindness they had shown to him, a stranger! Here
+were delicate bits of fried chicken, sweet and white, corn-bread, a
+glass of honey, and a bottle of milk. Nothing better need a man ask; and
+what animals men are, after all, he thought, taking delight in the mere
+acts of eating and breathing and sleeping.
+
+Utterly weary, he would not trouble to open the cot which lay in the
+cabin, but rolled himself in his blanket on the wide, flat rock at the
+verge of the mountain. Here, warmed by the sun, he lay with his face
+toward the blue distance and slept dreamlessly and soundly,--very
+soundly, for he was not awakened by a crackling of the brush and
+scrambling of feet struggling up the mountain wall below his hard
+resting-place. Yet the sound kept on, and soon a head appeared above the
+rock, and two hands were placed upon it; then a strong, catlike spring
+landed the lithe young owner of the head only a few feet away from the
+sleeper.
+
+It was Frale, his soft felt hat on the back of his head and the curl of
+dark hair falling upon his forehead. For an instant, as he gazed on the
+sleeping figure, the wild look of fear was in his eyes; then, as he
+bethought himself of the words of Aunt Sally, "They is a man thar," the
+expression changed to one more malevolent and repulsive, transforming
+and aging the boyish face. Cautiously he crept nearer, and peered into
+the face of the unconscious Englishman. His hands clinched and his lips
+tightened, and he made a movement with his foot as if he would spurn him
+over the cliff.
+
+As suddenly the moment passed; he drew back in shame and looked down at
+his hands, blood-guilty hands as he knew them to be, and, with lowered
+head, he moved swiftly away.
+
+He was a youth again, hungry and sad, stumbling along the untrodden way,
+avoiding the beaten path, yet unerringly taking his course toward the
+cleft rock at the head of the fall behind the great holly tree. It was
+not the food Cassandra had promised him that he wanted now, but to look
+into the eyes of one who would pity and love him. Heartsick and weary as
+he never had been in all his young life, lonely beyond bearing, he
+hurried along.
+
+As he forced a path through the undergrowth, he heard the sound of a
+mountain stream, and, seeking it, he followed along its rocky bed,
+leaping from one huge block of stone to another, and swinging himself
+across by great overhanging sycamore boughs, drawing, by its many
+windings, nearer and nearer to the spot where it precipitated itself
+over the mountain wall. Ever the noise of the water grew louder, until
+at last, making a slight detour, he came upon the very edge of the
+descent, where he could look down and see his home nestled in the cove
+at the foot of the fall, the blue smoke curling upward from its great
+chimney.
+
+He seated himself upon a jutting rock well screened by laurel shrubs on
+all sides but the one toward the fall. There, his knees clasped about
+with his arms, and his chin resting upon them, he sat and watched.
+
+Behind the leafage and tangle of bare stems and twigs, he was so far
+above and so directly over the spot on which his gaze was fixed as to be
+out of the usual range of sight from below, thus enabling him to see
+plainly what was transpiring about the house and sheds, without himself
+being seen.
+
+Long and patiently he waited. Once a dog barked,--his own dog Nig. Some
+one must be approaching. What if the little creature should seek him out
+and betray him! He quivered with the thought. The day before he had
+driven him down the mountain, beating him off whenever he returned.
+Should the animal persist in tracking him, he would kill him.
+
+He peered more eagerly down, and saw little Hoyle run out of the cow
+shed and twist himself this way and that to see up and down the road.
+Both the child and the dog seemed excited. Yes, there they were, three
+horsemen coming along the highway. Now they were dismounting and
+questioning the boy. Now they disappeared in the house. He did not move.
+Why were they so long within? Hours, it seemed to Frale, but in reality
+it was only a short search they were making there. They were longer
+looking about the sheds and yard. Hoyle accompanied them everywhere, his
+hands in his pockets, standing about, shivering with excitement.
+
+All around they went peering and searching, thrusting their arms as far
+as they could reach into the stacks of fodder, looking into troughs and
+corn sacks, setting the fowls to cackling wildly, even hauling out the
+long corn stalks from the wagon which had served to make Thryng's ride
+the night before comfortable. No spot was overlooked.
+
+Frequently they stood and parleyed. Then Frale's heart would sink within
+him. What if they should set Nig to track him! Ah, he would strangle the
+beast and pitch him over the fall. He would spring over after him before
+he would let himself be taken and hanged. Oh, he could feel the
+strangling rope around his neck already! He could not bear it--he could
+not!
+
+Thus cowering, he waited, starting at every sound from below as if to
+run, then sinking back in fear, breathless with the pounding of his
+heart in his breast. Now the voices came up to him painfully clear. They
+were talking to little Hoyle angrily. What they were saying he could not
+make out, but he again cautiously lifted his head and looked below.
+Suddenly the child drew back and lifted his arm as if to ward off a
+blow, but the blow came. Frale saw one of the men turn as he mounted his
+horse to ride away, and cut the boy cruelly across his face and arm with
+his rawhide whip. The little one's shriek of fright and pain pierced his
+big brother to the heart and caused him to forget for the moment his own
+abject fear.
+
+He made as if he would leap the intervening space to punish the brute,
+but a cry of anger died in his throat as he realized his situation. The
+selfishness of his fear, however, was dispelled, and he no longer
+cringed as before, but had the courage again to watch, awake and alert
+to all that passed beneath him.
+
+Hoyle's cry brought Cassandra out of the house flying. She walked up to
+the man like an angry tigress. Frale rose to his knees and strained
+eagerly forward.
+
+"If you are such a coward you must hit something small and weak, you can
+strike a woman. Hit me," she panted, putting the child behind her.
+
+Muttering, the man rode sullenly away. "He no business hangin' roun'
+we-uns, list'nin' to all we say."
+
+Frale could not make out the words, but his face burned red with rage.
+Had he been in hiding down below, he would have wreaked vengeance on the
+man; as it was, he stood up and boldly watched them ride away in the
+opposite direction from which they had come.
+
+He sank back and waited, and again the hours passed. All was still but
+the rushing water and the gentle soughing of the wind in the tops of the
+towering pines. At last he heard a rustling and sniffing here and there.
+His heart stood still, then pounded again in terror. They had--they had
+set Nig to track him. Of course the dog would seek for his old friend
+and comrade, and they--they would wait until they heard his bark of joy,
+and then they would seize him.
+
+He crept close to the rock where the water rushed, not a foot away, and
+clinging to the tough laurel behind him, leaned far over. To drop down
+there would mean instant death on the rocks below. It would be
+terrible--almost as horrible as the strangling rope. He would wait until
+they were on him, and then--nearer and nearer came the erratic trotting
+and scratching of the dog among the leaves--and then, if only he could
+grapple with the man who had struck his little brother, he would drag
+him over with him. A look of fierce joy leaped in his eyes, which were
+drawn to a narrow blue gleam as he waited.
+
+Suddenly Nig burst through the undergrowth and sprang to his side, but
+before the dog could give his first bark of delight the yelp was crushed
+in his throat, and he was hurled with the mighty force of frenzy, a
+black, writhing streak of animate nature into the rushing water, and
+there swept down, tossed on the rocks, taken up and swirled about and
+thrown again upon the rocks, no longer animate, but a part of nature's
+own, to return to his primal elements.
+
+It was done, and Frale looked at his hands helplessly, feeling himself a
+second time a murderer. Yet he was in no way more to blame for the first
+than for this. As yet a boy untaught by life, he had not learned what to
+do with the forces within him. They rose up madly and mastered him. With
+a man's power to love and hate, a man's instincts, his untamed nature
+ready to assert itself for tenderness or cruelty, without a man's
+knowledge of the necessity for self-control, where some of his kind
+would have been inert and listless, his inheritance had made him intense
+and fierce. Loving and gentle and kind he could be, yet when stirred by
+liquor, or anger, or fear,--most terrible.
+
+His deed had been accomplished with such savage deftness that none
+pursuing could have guessed the tragedy. They might have waited long in
+the open spaces for the dog's return or the sound of his joyous yelp of
+recognition, but the sacrifice was needless. The affectionate creature
+had been searching on his own behalf, careless of the blows with which
+his master had driven him from his side the day before.
+
+Trembling, Frale crouched again. The silence was filled with pain for
+him. The moments swept on, even as the water rushed on, and the sun
+began to drop behind the hills, leaving the hollows in deepening purple
+gloom. At last, deeming that the search for the time must have been
+given up, he crept cautiously toward the great holly tree, not for food,
+but for hope. There, back in the shadow, he sat on a huge log, his head
+bowed between his hands, and listened.
+
+Presently the silence was broken by a gentle stirring of the fallen
+leaves, not erratically this time, only a steady moving forward of human
+feet. Again Frale's heart bounded and the red sought his cheek, but now
+with a new emotion. He knew of but one footstep which would advance
+toward his ambush in that way. Peering out from among the deepest
+shadows, he watched the spot where Cassandra had promised food should be
+placed for him, his eyes no longer a narrow slit of blue, but wide and
+glad, his face transformed from the strain of fear with eager joy.
+
+Soon she emerged, walking wearily. She carried a bundle of food tied in
+a cloth, and an old overcoat of rough material trailed over one arm.
+These she deposited on the flat stone, then stood a moment leaning
+against the smooth gray hole of the holly tree, breathing quickly from
+the exertion of the steep climb.
+
+Her eyes followed the undulating line of the mountain above them, rising
+tree-fringed against the sky, to where the highest peak cut across the
+setting sun, haloed by its long rays of gold. No cloud was there, but
+sweeping down the mountain side were the earth mists, glowing with
+iridescent tints, draping the crags and floating over the purple
+hollows, the verdure of the pines showing through it all, gilded and
+glorified.
+
+Cassandra waiting there might have been the dryad of the tree come out
+to worship in the evening light and grow beautiful. So Thryng would have
+thought, could he have seen her with the glow on her face, and in her
+eyes, and lighting up the fires in her hair; but no such classic dream
+came to the youth lingering among the shadows, ashamed to appear before
+her, bestowing on her a dumb adoration, unformed and wordless.
+
+Because his friend had maudlinly boasted that he was the better man in
+her eyes, and could any day win her for himself, he had killed him.
+Despite all the anguish the deed had wrought in his soul, he felt
+unrepentant now, as his eyes rested on her. He would do it again, and
+yet it was that very boast that had first awakened in his heart such
+thought of her.
+
+For years Cassandra had been as his sister, although no tie of blood
+existed between them, but suddenly the idea of possession had sprung to
+life in him, when another had assumed the right as his. Frale had not
+looked on her since that moment of revelation, of which she was so
+ignorant and so innocent. Now, filled with the shame of his deed and his
+desires, he stood in a torment of longing, not daring to move. His knees
+shook and his arms ached at his sides, and his eyes filled with hot
+tears.
+
+Quickly the sun dropped below the edge of the mountain. Cassandra drew a
+long sigh, and the glow left her face. She looked an instant lingeringly
+at the articles she had brought, and turned sadly away. Then he took a
+step toward her with hands outstretched, forgetful of his shame, and
+all, except that she was slipping away from him. Arrested by the sound
+of his feet among the leaves, she spoke.
+
+"Frale, are you there?" Her voice was low as if she feared other ears
+than his might hear.
+
+He did not move again, and speak he could not, for remembrance rushed
+back stiflingly and overwhelmed him. Descrying his white face in the
+shadow, a pity as deep as his shame filled her heart and drew her
+nearer.
+
+"Why, Frale, come out here. No one can see you, only me."
+
+Still tongue-tied by his emotion, he came into the light and stood near
+her. In dismay she looked up in his face. The big boy brother who had
+taken her to the little Carew Crossing station only two months before,
+rough and prankish as the colt he drove, but gentle withal, was gone. He
+who stood at her side was older. Anger had left its mark about his
+mouth, and fear had put a strange wildness in his eyes--but--there was
+something else in his reckless, set lips that hurt her. She shrank from
+him, and he took a step closer. Then she placed a soothing hand on his
+arm and perceived he was quivering. She thought she understood, and the
+soft pity moistened her eyes and deepened in her heart.
+
+"Don't be afraid, Frale; they're gone long ago, and won't come back--not
+for a while, I reckon."
+
+He smiled faintly, never taking his eyes from her face. "I hain't
+afeared o' them. I hev been, but--" He shook her hand from his arm and
+made as if he would push her away, then suddenly he leaned toward her
+and caught her in his arms, clasping her so closely that she could feel
+his wildly beating heart.
+
+"Frale, Frale! Don't, Frale. You never used to do me this way."
+
+"No, I never done you this-a-way. I wisht I had. I be'n a big fool." He
+kissed her, the first kisses of his young manhood, on brow and cheeks
+and lips, in spite of her useless writhings. He continued muttering as
+he held her: "I sinned fer you. I killed a man. He said he'd hev you. He
+'lowed he'd go down yander to the school whar you war at an' marry you
+an' fetch you back. I war a fool to 'low you to go thar fer him to
+foller an' get you. I killed him. He's dade."
+
+The short, interrupted sentences fell on her ears like blows. She ceased
+struggling and, drooping upon his bosom, wept, sobbing heart-brokenly.
+
+"Oh, Frale!" she moaned, "if you had only told me, I could have given
+you my promise and you would have known he was lying and spared him and
+saved your own soul." He little knew the strength of his arms as he held
+her. "Frale! I am like to perish, you are hurting me so."
+
+He loosed her and she sank, a weary, frightened heap, at his feet. Then
+very tenderly he gathered her in his arms and carried her to the great
+flat rock and placed her on the old coat she had brought him.
+
+"You know I wouldn't hurt you fer the hull world, Cass." He knelt beside
+her, and throwing his arms across her lap buried his face in her dress,
+still trembling with his unmastered emotion. She thought him sobbing.
+
+"Can you give me your promise now, Cass?"
+
+"Now? Now, Frale, your hands are blood-guilty," she said, slowly and
+hopelessly.
+
+He grew cold and still, waiting in the silence. His hands clutched her
+clothing, but he did not lift his head. He had shed blood and had lost
+her. They might take him and hang him. At last he told her so, brokenly,
+and she knew not what to do.
+
+Gently she placed her hand on his head and drew the thick silken hair
+through her fingers, and the touch, to his stricken soul, was a
+benediction. The pity of her cooled the fever in his blood and swept
+over his spirit the breath of healing. For the first time, after the
+sin and the horror of it, after the passion and its anguish, came
+tears. He wept and wiped his tears with her dress.
+
+Then she told him how her mother had been hurt. How Hoyle had driven the
+half-broken colt and the mule all the way to Carew's alone, to bring her
+home, and how he had come nigh being killed. How a gentleman had helped
+her when the colt tried to run and the mule was mean, and how she had
+brought him home with her.
+
+Then he lifted his head and looked at her, his haggard face drawn with
+suffering, and the calmness of her eyes still further soothed and
+comforted him. They were filled with big tears, and he knew the tears
+were for him, for the change which had come upon him, lonely and
+wretched, doomed to hide out on the mountain, his clothes torn by the
+brambles and soiled by the red clay of the holes into which he had
+crawled to hide himself. He rose and sat at her side and held her head
+on his shoulder with gentle hand.
+
+"Pore little sister--pore little Cass! I been awful mean an' bad," he
+murmured. "Hit's a badness I cyan't 'count fer no ways. When I seed that
+thar doctah man--I reckon hit war him I seed lyin' asleep up yander on
+Hangin' Rock--a big tall man, right thin an' white in the face--" he
+paused and swallowed as if loath to continue.
+
+"Frale!" she cried, and would have drawn away but that he held her.
+
+"I didn't hurt him, Cass. I mount hev. I lef' him lie thar an' never
+woke him nor teched him, but--I felt hit here--the badness." He struck
+his chest with his fist. "I lef' thar fast an' come here. Ever sence I
+killed Ferd, hit's be'n follerin' me that-a-way. I reckon I'm cursed to
+hell-fire fer hit now, ef they take me er ef they don't--hit's all one;
+hit's thar whar I'm goin' at the las'."
+
+"Frale, there is a way--"
+
+"Yes, they is one way--only one. Ef you'll give me your promise, Cass,
+I'll get away down these mountains, an' I'll work; I'll work hard an'
+get you a house like one I seed to the settlement, Cass, I will. Hit's
+you, Cass. Ever sence Ferd said that word, I be'n plumb out'n my hade.
+Las' night I slep' in Wild Cat Hole, an' I war that hungered an' lone, I
+tried to pray like your maw done teached me, an' I couldn' think of
+nothin' to say, on'y just, 'Oh, Lord, Cass!' That-a-way--on'y your
+name, Cass, Cass, all night long."
+
+"I reckon Satan put my name in your heart, Frale; 'pears to me like it
+is sin."
+
+"Naw! Satan nevah put your name thar. He don't meddle with sech as you.
+He war a-tryin' to get your name out'n my heart, that's what he war
+tryin', fer he knowed I'd go bad right quick ef he could. Hit war your
+name kep' my hands off'n that doctah man thar on the rock. Give me your
+promise now, Cass. Hit'll save me."
+
+"Then why didn't it save you from killing Ferd?" she asked.
+
+"O Gawd!" he moaned, and was silent.
+
+"Listen, Frale," she said at last. "Can't you see it's sin for you and
+me to sit here like this--like we dared to be sweethearts, when you have
+shed blood for this? Take your hands off me, and let me go down to
+mothah."
+
+Slowly his hold relaxed and his head drooped, but he did not move his
+arms. She pushed them gently from her and stood a moment looking down at
+him. His arms dropped upon the stone at his side, listless and empty,
+and again her pitying soul reached out to him and enveloped him.
+
+"Frale, there is just one way that I can give you my promise," she said.
+He held out his arms to her. "No, I can't sit that way; you can see
+that. The good book says, 'Ye must repent and be born again.'" He
+groaned and covered his face with his hands. "Then you would be a new
+man, without sin. I reckon you have suffered a heap, and repented a
+heap--since you did that, Frale?"
+
+"I'm 'feared--I'm 'feared ef he war here an' riled me agin like he done
+that time--I'm 'feared I'd do hit agin--like he war talkin' 'bouts you,
+Cass." He rose and stood close to her.
+
+The soft dusk was wrapping them about, and she began to fear lest she
+lose her control over him. She took up the bundle of food and placed it
+in his hand.
+
+"Here, take this, and the coat, too, Frale. Come down and have suppah
+with mothah and me to-night, and sleep in your own bed. They won't
+search here for one while, I reckon, and you'll be safah than hiding in
+Wild Cat Hole. Hoyle heard them say they reckoned you'd lit off down
+the mountain, and were hiding in some near-by town. They'll hunt you
+there first; come."
+
+She walked on, and he obediently followed. "When we get nigh the house,
+I'll go first and see if the way is clear. You wait back. If I want you
+to run, I'll call twice, quick and sharp, but if I want you to come
+right in, I'll call once, low and long."
+
+After that no word was spoken. They clambered down the steep, winding
+path, and not far from the house she left him. She wondered Nig did not
+bound out to greet her, but supposed he must be curled up near the
+hearth in comfort. Frale also thought of the dog as he sat cowering
+under the laurel shrubs, and set his teeth in anguish and sorrow.
+
+"Cass'll hate hit when she finds out," he muttered.
+
+After a moment, waiting and listening, he heard her long, low call float
+out to him. Falling on his hurt spirit, it sounded heavenly sweet.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+IN WHICH CASSANDRA GOES TO DAVID WITH HER TROUBLE, AND GIVES FRALE HER
+PROMISE
+
+
+After his sleep on Hanging Rock, David, allured by the sunset, remained
+long in his doorway idly smoking his pipe, and ruminating, until a
+normal and delightful hunger sent him striding down the winding path
+toward the blazing hearth where he had found such kindly welcome the
+evening before. There, seated tilted back against the chimney side, he
+found a huge youth, innocent of face and gentle of mien, who rose as he
+entered and offered him his chair, and smiled and tossed back a falling
+lock from his forehead as he gave him greeting.
+
+"This hyar is Doctah Thryng, Frale, who done me up this-a-way. He 'lows
+he's goin' to git me well so's I can walk again. How air you, suh? You
+certainly do look a heap better'n when you come las' evenin'."
+
+"So I am, indeed. And you?" David's voice rang out gladly. He went to
+the bed and bent above the old woman, looking her over carefully. "Are
+you comfortable? Do the weights hurt you?" he asked.
+
+"I cyan't say as they air right comfortable, but ef they'll help me to
+git 'round agin, I reckon I can bar hit."
+
+Early that morning, with but the simplest means, David had arranged
+bandages and weights of wood to hold her in position.
+
+She was so slight he hoped the broken hip might right itself with
+patience and care, more especially as he learned that her age was not so
+advanced as her appearance had led him to suppose.
+
+Now all suspicion of him seemed to have vanished from the household.
+Hoyle, happy when the fascinating doctor noticed him, leaned against his
+chair, drinking in his words eagerly. But when Thryng drew him to his
+knee and discovered the cruel mark across his face and asked how it had
+happened, a curious change crept over them all. Every face became as
+expressionless as a mask; only the boy's eyes sought his brother's,
+then turned with a frightened look toward Cassandra as if seeking help.
+
+Thryng persisted in his examination, and lifted the boy's face toward
+the light. If the big brother had done this deed, he should be made to
+feel shame for it. The welt barely escaped the eye, which was swollen
+and discolored; and altogether the face presented a pitiable appearance.
+
+As David talked, the hard look which had been exorcised for a time by
+the gentle influence of that home, and more than all by the sight of
+Cassandra performing the gracious services of the household, settled
+again upon the youth's face. His lips were drawn, and his eyes ceased
+following Cassandra, and became fixed and narrowed on one spot.
+
+"You have come near losing that splendid eye of yours, do you know that,
+little chap?" Hoyle grinned. "It's a shame, you know. I have something
+up at the cabin would help to heal this, but--" he glanced about the
+room--"What are those dried herbs up there?"
+
+"Thar is witch hazel yandah in the cupboard. Cass, ye mount bile some up
+fer th' doctah," said the mother. "Tell th' doctah hu-come hit happened,
+son; you hain't afeared of him, be ye?" A trampling of horse's hoofs was
+heard outside. "Go up garret to your own place, Frale. What ye bid'n
+here fer?" she added, in a hushed voice, but the youth sat doggedly
+still.
+
+Cassandra went out and quickly returned. "It's your own horse, Frale.
+Poor beast! He's limping like he's been hurt. He's loose out there. You
+better look to him."
+
+"Uncle Carew rode him down an' lef' him, I reckon." Frale rose and went
+out, and David continued his care of the child.
+
+"How was it? Did your brother hurt you?"
+
+"Naw. He nevah hurted me all his life. Hit--war my own se'f--"
+
+Cassandra patted the child on his shoulder. "He can't beah to tell
+hu-come he is hurted this way, he is that proud. It was a mean, bad,
+coward man fetched him such a blow across the face. He asked little son
+something, and when Hoyle nevah said a word, he just lifted his arm and
+hit him, and then rode off like he had pleased himself." A flush of
+anger kindled in her cheeks. "Nevah mind, son. Doctah can fix you up all
+right."
+
+A sigh of relief trembled through the boy's lips, and David asked no
+more questions.
+
+"You hain't goin' to tie me up that-a-way, be you?" He pointed to the
+bed whereon his mother lay, and they all laughed, relieving the tension.
+
+"Naw," shrilled the mother's voice, "but I reckon doctah mount take off
+your hade an' set hit on straight agin."
+
+"I wisht he could," cried the child, no whit troubled by the suggestion.
+"I'd bar a heap fer to git my hade straight like Frale's." Just then his
+brother entered the room. "You reckon doctah kin take off my hade an'
+set hit straight like you carry yours, Frale?" Again they all laughed,
+and the big youth smiled such a sweet, infantile smile, as he looked
+down on his little brother, that David's heart warmed toward him.
+
+He tousled the boy's hair as he passed and drew him along to the chimney
+side, away from the doctor. "Hit's a right good hade I'm thinkin' ef hit
+be set too fer round. They is a heap in hit, too, more'n they is in
+mine, I reckon."
+
+"He's gettin' too big to set that-a-way on your knee, Frale. Ye make a
+baby of him," said the mother. The child made an effort to slip down,
+but Frale's arm closed more tightly about him, and he nestled back
+contentedly.
+
+So the evening passed, and Thryng retired early to the bed in the loom
+shed. He knew something serious was amiss, but of what nature he could
+not conjecture, unless it were that Frale had been making illicit
+whiskey. Whatever it was, he chose to manifest no curiosity.
+
+In the morning he saw nothing of the young man, and as a warm rain was
+steadily falling, he was glad to get the use of the horse, and rode away
+happily in the rain, with food provided for both himself and the beast
+sufficient for the day slung in a sack behind him.
+
+"Reckon ye'll come back hyar this evenin'?" queried the old mother, as
+he adjusted her bandages before leaving.
+
+"I'll see how the cabin feels after I have had a fire in the chimney all
+day."
+
+As he left, he paused by Cassandra's side. She was standing by the spout
+of running water waiting for her pail to fill. "If it happens that you
+need me for--anything at all, send Hoyle, and I'll come immediately.
+Will you?"
+
+She lifted her eyes to his gratefully. "Thank you," was all she said,
+but his look impelled more. "You are right kind," she added.
+
+Hardly satisfied, he departed, but turned in his saddle to glance back
+at her. She was swaying sidewise with the weight of the full pail,
+straining one slender arm as she bore it into the house. Who did all the
+work there, he wondered. That great youth ought to relieve her of such
+tasks. Where was he? Little did he dream that the eyes of the great
+youth were at that moment fixed darkly upon him from the small pane of
+glass set in under the cabin roof, which lighted Frale's garret room.
+
+David stabled the horse in the log shed built by Doctor Hoyle for his
+own beast,--for what is life in the mountains without a horse,--then
+lingered awhile in his doorway looking out over the billows of ranges
+seen dimly through the fine veil of the falling rain. Ah, wonderful,
+perfect world it seemed to him, seen through the veil of the rain.
+
+The fireplace in the cabin was built of rough stone, wide and high, and
+there he made him a brisk fire with fat pine and brushwood. He drew in
+great logs which he heaped on the broad stone hearth to dry. He piled
+them on the fire until the flames leaped and roared up the chimney, so
+long unused. He sat before it, delighting in it like a boy with a
+bonfire, and blessed his friend for sending him there, smoking a pipe in
+his honor. Among the doctor's few cooking utensils he found a stout iron
+tea-kettle and sallied out again in the wet to rinse it and fill it with
+fresh water from the spring. He had had only coffee since leaving
+Canada; now he would have a good cup of decent tea, so he hung the
+kettle on the crane and swung it over the fire.
+
+In his search for his tea, most of his belongings were unpacked and
+tossed about the room in wild disorder, and a copy of _Marius the
+Epicurean_ was brought to light. His kettle boiled over into the fire,
+and immediately the small articles on his pine table were shoved back in
+confusion to make room for his tea things, his bottle of milk, his corn
+pone, and his book.
+
+Being by this time weary, he threw himself on his couch, and
+contentment began--his hot tea within reach, his door wide open to the
+sweetness of the day, his fire dancing and crackling with good cheer,
+and his book in his hand. Ah! The delicious idleness and rest! No
+disorders to heal--no bones to mend--no problems to solve; a little
+sipping of his tea--a little reading of his book--a little luxuriating
+in the warmth and the pleasant odor of pine boughs burning--a little
+dreamy revery, watching through the open door the changing lights on the
+hills, and listening to an occasional bird note, liquid and sweet.
+
+The hour drew near to noon and the sky lightened and a rift of deep blue
+stretched across the open space before him. Lazily he speculated as to
+how he was to get his provisions brought up to him, and when and how he
+might get his mail, but laughed to think how little he cared for a
+hundred and one things which had filled his life and dogged his days ere
+this. Had he reached Nirvana? Nay, he could still hunger and thirst.
+
+A footstep was heard without, and a figure appeared in his doorway,
+quietly standing, making no move to enter. It was Cassandra, and he was
+pleased.
+
+"My first visitor!" he exclaimed. "Come in, come in. I'll make a place
+for you to sit in a minute." He shoved the couch away from before the
+fire, and removing a pair of trousers and a heap of hose from one of his
+splint-bottomed chairs, he threw them in a corner and placed it before
+the hearth. "You walked, didn't you? And your feet are wet, of course.
+Sit here and dry them."
+
+She pushed back her sunbonnet and held out to him a quaint little basket
+made of willow withes, which she carried, but she took no step forward.
+Although her lips smiled a fleeting wraith of a smile that came and went
+in an instant, he thought her eyes looked troubled as she lifted them to
+his face.
+
+He took the basket and lifted the cover. "I brought you some pa'triges,"
+she said simply.
+
+There lay three quail, and a large sweet potato, roasted in the ashes on
+their hearth as he had seen the corn pone baked the evening before, and
+a few round white cakes which he afterwards learned were beaten biscuit,
+all warm from the fire.
+
+"How am I ever to repay you people for your kindness to me?" he said.
+"Come in and dry your feet. Never mind the mud; see how I've tracked it
+in all the morning. Come."
+
+He led her to the fire, and replenished it, while she sat passively
+looking down on the hearth as if she scarcely heeded him. Not knowing
+how to talk to her, or what to do with her, he busied himself trying to
+bring a semblance of order to the cabin, occasionally dropping a remark
+to which she made no response. Then he also relapsed into silence, and
+the minutes dragged--age-long minutes, they seemed to him.
+
+In his efforts at order, he spread his rug over the couch, tossed a
+crimson cushion on it and sundry articles beneath it to get them out of
+his way, then occupied himself with his book, while vainly trying to
+solve the riddle which his enigmatical caller presented to his
+imagination.
+
+All at once she rose, sought out a few dishes from the cupboard, and,
+taking a neatly smoothed, coarse cloth from the basket, spread it over
+one end of the table and arranged thereon his dinner. Quietly David
+watched her, following her example of silence until forced to speak.
+Finally he decided to question her, if only he could think of questions
+which would not trespass on her private affairs, when at last she broke
+the stillness.
+
+"I can't find any coffee. I ought to have brought some; I'll go fetch
+some if you'll eat now. Your dinner'll get cold."
+
+He showed her how he had made tea and was in no need of coffee. "We'll
+throw this out and make fresh," he said gayly. "Then you must have a cup
+with me. Why, you have enough to eat here for three people!" She seemed
+weary and sad, and he determined to probe far enough to elicit some
+confidence, but the more fluent he became, the more effectively she
+withdrew from him.
+
+"See here," he said at last, "sit by the table with me, and I will eat
+to your heart's content. I'll prepare you a cup of tea as I do my own,
+and then I want you to drink it. Come."
+
+She yielded. His way of saying "Come" seemed like a command to be
+obeyed.
+
+"Now, that is more like." He began his dinner with a relish. "Won't you
+share this game with me? It is fine, you know."
+
+He could not think her silent from embarrassment, for her poise seemed
+undisturbed except for the anxious look in her eyes. He determined to
+fathom the cause, and since no finesse availed, there remained but one
+way,--the direct question.
+
+"What is it?" he said kindly. "Tell me the trouble, and let me help
+you."
+
+She looked full into his eyes then, and her lips quivered. Something
+rose in her throat, and she swallowed helplessly. It was so hard for her
+to speak. The trouble had struck deeper than he dreamed.
+
+"It is a trouble, isn't it? Can't you tell it to me?"
+
+"Yes. I reckon there isn't any trouble worse than ours--no, I reckon
+there is nothing worse."
+
+"Why, Miss Cassandra!"
+
+"Because it's sin, and--and 'the wages of sin is death.'" Her tone was
+hopeless, and the sadness of it went to his heart.
+
+"Is it whiskey?" he asked.
+
+"Yes--it's whiskey 'stilling and--worse; it's--" She turned deathly
+white. Too sad to weep, she still held control of her voice. "It's a
+heap worse--"
+
+"Don't try to tell me what it is," he cried. "Only tell me how I may
+help you. It's not your sin, surely, so you don't have to bear it."
+
+"It's not mine, but I do have to bear it. I wish my bearing it was all.
+Tell me, if--if a man has done--such a sin, is it right to help him get
+away?"
+
+"If it is that big brother of yours, whom I saw last night, I can't
+believe he has done anything so very wicked. You say it is not the
+whiskey?"
+
+"Maybe it was the whiskey first--then--I don't know exactly how came
+it--I reckon he doesn't himself. I--he's not my brothah--not rightly,
+but he has been the same as such. They telegraphed me to come home
+quick. Bishop Towahs told me a little--all he knew,--but he didn't know
+what all was it, only some wrong to call the officahs and set them aftah
+Frale--poor Frale. He--he told me himself--last evening." She paused
+again, and the pallor slowly left her face and the red surged into her
+cheeks and mounted to the waves of her heavy hair.
+
+"It is Frale, then, who is in trouble! And you wish me to help him get
+away?" She looked down and was silent. "But I am a stranger, and know
+nothing about the country."
+
+He pushed his chair away from the table and leaned back, regarding her
+intently.
+
+"Oh, I am afraid for him." She put her hand to her throat and turned
+away her face from his searching eyes, in shame.
+
+"I prefer not to know what he has done. Just explain to me your plan,
+and how I can help. You know better than I."
+
+"I can't understand how comes it I can tell you; you are a strangah to
+all of us--and yet it seems like it is right. If I could get some
+clothes nobody has evah seen Frale weah--if--I could make him look
+different from a mountain boy, maybe he could get to some town down the
+mountain, and find work; but now they would meet up with him before he
+was halfway there."
+
+Thryng rose and began pacing the room. "Is there any hurry?" he
+demanded, stopping suddenly before her.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then why have you waited all this time to tell me?"
+
+She lifted her eyes to his in silence, and he knew well that she had not
+spoken because she could not, and that had he not ventured with his
+direct questions, she would have left him, carrying her burden with her,
+as hopelessly silent as when she came.
+
+He sat beside her again and gently urged her to tell him without further
+delay all she had in her mind. "You feel quite sure that if he could get
+down the mountain side without being seen, he would be safe; where do
+you mean to send him? You don't think he would try to return?"
+
+"Why--no, I reckon not--if--I--" Her face flamed, and she drew on her
+bonnet, hiding the crimson flush in its deep shadow. She knew that
+without the promise he had asked, the boy would as surely return as that
+the sun would continue to rise and set.
+
+"He must stay," she spoke desperately and hurriedly. "If he can just
+make out to stay long enough to learn a little--how to live, and will
+keep away from bad men--if I--he only knows enough to make mean corn
+liquor now--but he nevah was bad. He has always been different--and he
+is awful smart. I can't think how came he to change so."
+
+Taking the empty basket with her, she walked toward the door, and David
+followed her. "Thank you for that good dinner," he said.
+
+"Aunt Sally fetched the pa'triges. Her old man got them for mothah, and
+she said you sure ought to have half. Sally said the sheriff had gone
+back up the mountain, and I'm afraid he'll come to our place again this
+evening. Likely they're breaking up Frale's 'still' now."
+
+"Well, that will be a good deed, won't it?"
+
+The huge bonnet had hid her face from him, but now she lifted her eyes
+frankly to his, with a flash of radiance through her tears. "I reckon,"
+was all she said.
+
+"Are they likely to come up here, do you think, those men?"
+
+"Not hardly. They would have to search on foot here. It's out of their
+way; only no place on the mountain is safe for Frale now."
+
+"Send him to me quickly, then. I have cast my lot with you mountain
+people for some time to come, and your cause shall be mine."
+
+She paused at the door with grateful words on her lips unuttered.
+
+"Don't stop for thanks, Miss Cassandra; they are wasted between us. You
+have opened your doors to me, a stranger, and that is enough. Hurry,
+don't grieve--and see here: I may not be able to do anything, but I'll
+try; and if I can't get down to-night, won't you come again in the
+morning and tell me all about it?"
+
+Instantly he thought better of his request, yet who was here to
+criticise? He laughed as he thought how firmly the world and its
+conventions held him. Sweet, simple-hearted child that she was, why,
+indeed, should she not come? Still he called after her. "If you are too
+busy, send Hoyle. I may be down to see your mother, anyway."
+
+She paused an instant in her hurried walk. "I'll be right glad to come,
+if I can help you any way."
+
+He stood watching her until she passed below his view, as her long easy
+steps took her rapidly on, although she seemed to move slowly. Then he
+went back to his fire, and her words repeated themselves insistently in
+his mind--"I'll be right glad to come, if I can help you any way."
+
+Aunt Sally was seated in the chimney-corner smoking, when Cassandra
+returned. "Where is he?" she cried.
+
+"He couldn't set a minute, he was that restless. He 'lowed he'd go up to
+the rock whar you found him las' evenin'."
+
+Without a word, Cassandra turned and fled up the steep toward the head
+of the fall. Every moment, she knew, was precious. Frale met her halfway
+down and took her hand, leading her as he had been used to do when she
+was his "little sister," and listened to her plans docilely enough.
+
+"I mean you to go down to Farington, to Bishop Towahs'. He will give you
+work." She had not mentioned Thryng.
+
+Frale laughed.
+
+"Don't, Frale. How can you laugh?"
+
+"I ra'ly hain't laughin', Cass. Seems like you fo'get how can I get down
+the mountain; but I reckon I'll try--if you say so."
+
+Then she explained how the doctor had sent for him to come up there
+quickly, and how he would help him. "You must go now, Frale, you hear?
+Now!"
+
+Again he laughed, bitterly this time. "Yas--I reckon he'll be right glad
+to help me get away from you. I'll go myse'f in my own way."
+
+Under the holly tree they had paused, and suddenly she feared lest the
+boy at her side return to his mood of the evening before. She seized his
+hand again and hurried him farther up the steep.
+
+"Come, come!" she cried. "I'll go with you, Frale."
+
+"Naw, you won't go with me neithah," he said stubbornly, drawing back.
+
+"Frale!" she pleaded. "Hear to me."
+
+"I'm a-listenin'."
+
+"Frale, I'm afraid. They may be on their way now. For all we know they
+may be right nigh."
+
+"I've done got used to fearin' now. Hit don't hurt none. On'y one thing
+hurts now."
+
+"I've been up to see Doctor Thryng, and he's promised he'll fix you up
+some way so that if anybody does see you, they--they'll think you belong
+somewhere else, and nevah guess who you be. Frale, go."
+
+He held her, with his arm about her waist, half carrying her with him,
+instead of allowing her to move her own free gait, and she tried vainly
+with her fingers to pull his hands away; but his muscles were like iron
+under her touch. He felt her helplessness and liked it. Her voice shook
+as she pleaded with him.
+
+"Oh, Frale! Hear to me!" she wailed.
+
+"I'll hear to you, ef you'll hear to me. Seems like I've lost my fear
+now. I hain't carin' no more. Ef I should see the sheriff this minute,
+an' he war a-puttin' his rope round my neck right now, I wouldn't care
+'thout one thing--jes' one thing. I'd walk straight down to hell fer
+hit,--I reckon I hev done that,--but I'd walk till I drapped, an' work
+till I died for hit." He stood still a moment, and again she essayed to
+move his hands, but he only held her closer.
+
+"Oh, hurry, Frale! I'm afraid. Oh, Frale, don't!"
+
+"Be ye 'feared fer me, Cass?"
+
+"You know that, Frale. Leave go, and hear to me."
+
+"Be ye 'feared 'nough to give me your promise, Cass?"
+
+"Take your hand off me, Frale."
+
+"We'll go back. I 'low they mount es well take me first as last. I
+hain't no heart lef' in me. I don't care fer that thar doctah man
+he'pin' me, nohow," he choked.
+
+"Leave me go, and I'll give you promise for promise, Frale. I can't make
+out is it sin or not; but if God can forgive and love--when you turn and
+seek Him--the Bible do say so, Frale, but--but seem like you don't
+repent your deed whilst you look at me like that way." She paused,
+trembling. "If you could be sorry like you ought to be, Frale, and turn
+your heart--I could die for that."
+
+He still held her, but lifted one shaking hand above his head.
+
+"Before God, I promise--"
+
+"What, Frale? Say what you promise."
+
+He still held his hand high. "All you ask of me, Cass. Tell me word by
+word, an' I'll promise fair."
+
+"You will repent, Frale?"
+
+"Yas."
+
+"You will not drink?"
+
+"I will not drink."
+
+"You will heed when your own heart tells you the right way?"
+
+"I will heed when my heart tells me the way: hit will be the way to you,
+Cass."
+
+"Oh, don't say it that way, Frale. Now say, 'So help me God,' and don't
+think of me whilst you say it."
+
+"Put your hand on mine, Cass. Lift hit up an' say with me that word."
+She placed her palm on his uplifted palm. "So help me, God," they said
+together. Then, with streaming tears, she put her arms about his neck
+and gently drew his face down to her own.
+
+"I'll go back now, Frale, and you do all I've said. Go quick. I'll write
+Bishop Towahs, and he'll watch out for you, and find you work. Let
+Doctah Thryng help you. He sure is a good man. Oh, if you only could
+write!"
+
+"I'll larn."
+
+"You'll have a heap more to learn than you guess. I've been there, and I
+know. Don't give up, Frale, and--and stay--"
+
+"I hain't going to give up with your promise here, Cass; kiss me."
+
+She did so, and he slowly released her, looking back as he walked away.
+
+"Oh, hurry, Frale! Don't look back. It's a bad omen." She turned, and
+without one backward glance descended the mountain.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+IN WHICH DAVID AIDS FRALE TO MAKE HIS ESCAPE
+
+
+Elated by his talk with Cassandra, Frale walked eagerly forward, but as
+he neared Thryng's cabin he moved more slowly. Why should he let that
+doctor help him? He could reach Farington some way--travelling by night
+and hiding in the daytime. But David was watching for him and strolled
+down to meet him.
+
+"Good morning. Your sister says there is no time to lose. Come in here,
+and we'll see if we can find a way out of this trouble."
+
+Having learned not to expect any response to remarks not absolutely
+demanding one, and not wishing the silence to dominate, David talked on,
+as he led Frale into the cabin and carefully closed the door behind
+them.
+
+Thryng's intuition was subtle and his nature intense and strong. He had
+been used to dealing with men, and knew that when he wished to, he
+usually gained his point. Feeling the antagonism in Frale's heart toward
+himself, he determined to overcome it. Be it pride, jealousy, or what
+not, it must give way.
+
+He had learned only that morning that circumlocution or pretence of any
+sort would only drive the youth further into his fortress of silence,
+and close his nature, a sealed well of turbid feeling, against him;
+therefore he chose a manner pleasantly frank, taking much for granted,
+and giving the boy no chance to refuse his help, by assuming it to have
+been already accepted.
+
+"We are about the same size, I think? Yes. Here are some things I laid
+out for you. You must look as much like me as possible, and as unlike
+yourself, you know. Sit here and we'll see what can be done for your
+head."
+
+"You're right fair, an' I'm dark."
+
+"Oh, that makes very little difference. It's the general appearance we
+must get at. Suppose I try to trim your hair a little so that lock on
+your forehead won't give you away."
+
+"I reckon I can do it. Hit's makin' you a heap o' trouble."
+
+David was pleased to note the boy's mood softening, and helped him on.
+
+"I'm no hand as a barber, but I'll try it a little; it's easier for me
+to get at than for you." He quickly and deftly cut away the falling
+curl, and even shaved the corners of the forehead a bit, and clipped the
+eyebrows to give them a different angle. "All this will grow again, you
+know. You only want it to last until the storm blows over."
+
+The youth surveyed himself in the mirror and smiled, but grimly. "I do
+look a heap different."
+
+"That's right; we want you to look like quite another man. And now for
+your chin. You can use a razor; here is warm water and soap. This suit
+of clothes is such as we tramp about in at home, different from anything
+you see up here, you know. I'll take my pipe and book and sit there on
+the rock and keep an eye out, lest any one climb up here to look around,
+and you can have the cabin all to yourself. You see what to do; make
+yourself look as if you came from my part of the world." Thryng glanced
+at his watch. "Work fast, but take time enough to do it well. Say half
+an hour,--will that do?"
+
+"Yas, I reckon."
+
+Then David left him, and the moments passed until an hour had slipped
+away, but still the youth did not appear, and he was on the point of
+calling out to him, when he saw the twisted form of little Hoyle
+scrambling up through the underbrush.
+
+"They're comin'," he panted, with wild and frightened eyes fixed on
+David's face. "I see 'em up the road, an' I heered 'em say they was
+goin' to hunt 'round the house good, an' then s'arch the cabin ovah
+Hanging Rock." The poor child burst into tears. "Do you 'low they'll
+shoot Frale, suh?"
+
+"They'd not reached the house when you saw them?"
+
+"They'll be thar by now, suh," sobbed the boy.
+
+"Then run and hide yourself. Crawl under the rock--into the smallest
+hole you can. They mustn't see that you have been here, and don't be
+frightened, little man. We'll look after Frale."
+
+The child disappeared like a squirrel in a hole, and Thryng went to the
+cabin door and knocked imperatively. It was opened instantly, and Frale
+stood transformed, his old, soiled garments lying in a heap at his side
+as if he had crept out of his chrysalis. A full half hour he had been
+lingering, abashed at himself and dreading to appear. The slight growth
+of adolescence was gone from lip and chin, and Thryng was amazed and
+satisfied.
+
+"Good," he cried. "You've done well."
+
+The youth smiled shamefacedly, yet held his head high. With the heavy
+golf stockings, knee breeches, and belted jacket, even to himself he
+seemed another man, and an older man he looked by five years.
+
+"Now keep your nerve, and square your shoulders and face the world with
+a straight look in the eye. You've thrown off the old man with these."
+David touched the heap of clothing on the floor with his foot. "Hoyle is
+here. He says the men are on their way here and have stopped at the
+house."
+
+Instead of turning pale as Thryng had expected, a dark flush came into
+Frale's face, and his hand clinched. It was the ferocity of fear, and
+not the deadliness of it, which seized him with a sort of terrible
+anger, that David felt through his silence.
+
+"Don't lose control of yourself, boy," he said, placing his hand gently
+on his shoulder and making his touch felt by the intimate closing of his
+slender fingers upon the firmly rounded, lean muscles beneath them.
+
+"Follow my directions, and be quick. Put your own clothes in this bag."
+He hastily tossed a few things out of his pigskin valise. "Cram them in;
+that's right. Don't leave a trace of yourself here for them to find.
+Pull this cap over your eyes, and walk straight down that path, and pass
+them by as if they were nothing to you. If they speak to you, of course
+nod to them and pass on. But if they ask you a question, say politely,
+'Beg pardon?' just like that, as though you did not
+understand--and--wait. Don't hurry away from them as if you were afraid
+of them. They won't recognize you unless you give yourself away by your
+manner. See? Now say it over after me. Good! Take these cigars." He
+placed his own case in the boy's vest pocket.
+
+"Better leave 'em free, suh. I don't like to take all your things
+this-a-way." He handed back the case, and put them loose in his pocket.
+
+"Very well. If you smoke, just light this and walk on, and if they ask
+you anything about yourself, if you have seen a chap of the sort,
+understand, offer them each a cigar, and tell them no. Don't say 'I
+reckon not,' for that will give you away, and don't lift your cap, or
+they will see how roughly your hair is cut. Touch it as if you were
+going to lift it, only--so. I would take care not to arrive at the house
+while they are there; it will be easier for you to meet them on the
+path. It will be the sooner over."
+
+Thryng held out his hand, and Frale took it awkwardly, then turned away,
+swallowing the thanks he did not know how to utter. For the time being,
+David had conquered.
+
+The lad took a few steps and then turned back. "I'd like to thank you,
+suh, an' I'd like to pay fer these here--I 'low to get work an' send the
+money fer 'em."
+
+"Don't be troubled about that; we'll see later. Only remember one thing.
+I don't know what you've done, nor why you must run away like this--I
+haven't asked. I may be breaking the laws of the land as much as you in
+helping you off. I am doing it because, until I know of some downright
+evil in you, I'm bound to help you, and the best way to repay me will be
+for you to--you know--do right."
+
+"Are you doin' this fer her?" He looked off at the hills as he spoke,
+and not at the doctor.
+
+"Yes, for her and for you. Don't linger now, and don't forget my
+directions."
+
+The youth turned on the doctor a quick look. Thryng could not determine,
+as he thought it over afterward, if there was in it a trace of
+malevolence. It was like a flash of steel between them, even as they
+smiled and again bade each other good-by.
+
+For a time all was silent around Hanging Rock. Thryng sat reading and
+pondering, expecting each moment to hear voices from the direction Frale
+had taken. He could not help smiling as he thought over his attempt to
+make this mountain boy into the typical English tourist, and how unique
+an imitation was the result.
+
+He called out to comfort Hoyle's fearful little heart: "Your brother's
+all safe now. Come out here until we hear men's voices."
+
+"I better stay whar I be, I reckon. They won't talk none when they get
+nigh hyar."
+
+"Are you comfortable down there?"
+
+"Yas, suh."
+
+Hoyle was right. The two men detailed for this climb walked in silence,
+to give no warning of their approach, until they appeared in the rear of
+the cabin, and entered the shed where Frale's horse was stabled. Sure
+were they then that its owner was trapped at last.
+
+They were greatly surprised at finding the premises occupied. David
+continued his reading, unconcerned until addressed.
+
+"Good evenin', suh."
+
+He greeted them genially and invited them into his cabin, determined to
+treat them with as royal hospitality as was in his power. To offer them
+tea was hardly the thing, he reasoned, so he stirred up the fire, while
+descanting on the beauty of the location and the health-giving quality
+of the air, and when his kettle was boiling, he brought out from his
+limited stores whiskey, lemons, and sugar, and proceeded to brew them so
+fine a quality of English toddy as to warm the cockles of their hearts.
+
+Questioning them on his own account, he learned how best to get his
+supplies brought up the mountains, and many things about the region
+interesting to him. At last one of them ventured a remark about the
+horse and how he came by him, at which he explained very frankly that
+the widow down below had allowed him the use of the animal for his keep
+until her son returned.
+
+They "'lowed he wa'n't comin' back to these parts very soon," and David
+expressed satisfaction. His evident ignorance of mountain affairs
+convinced them that nothing was to be gained from him, and they asked no
+direct questions, and finally took their departure, with a high opinion
+of their host, and quite content.
+
+Then David called his little accomplice from his hiding-place, took him
+into his cabin, and taught him to drink tea with milk and sugar in it,
+gave him crisp biscuits from his small remainder in store, and, still
+further to comfort his heart, searched out a card on which was a
+picture of an ocean liner on an open sea, with flags flying, great rolls
+of vapor and smoke trailing across the sky, with white-capped waves
+beneath and white clouds above. The boy's eyes shone with delight. He
+twisted himself about to look up in Thryng's face as he questioned him
+concerning it, and almost forgot Frale in his happiness, as he trudged
+home hugging the precious card to his bosom.
+
+Contentedly Thryng proceeded to set his abode in order after the
+disarray of the morning, undisturbed by any question as to the equity of
+his deed. His mind was in a state of rebellion against the usual
+workings of the criminal courts, and, biassed by his observation of the
+youth, he felt that his act might lead as surely toward absolute
+justice, perhaps more surely, than the opposite course would have done.
+
+Erelong he found a few tools carefully packed away, as was the habit of
+his old friend, and the labor of preparing his canvas room began. But
+first a ladder hanging under the eaves of the cabin must be repaired,
+and long before the slant rays of the setting sun fell across his
+hilltop, he found himself too weary to descend to the Fall Place, even
+with the aid of his horse. With a measure of discouragement at his
+undeniable weakness, he led the animal to water where a spring bubbled
+sweet and clear in an embowered hollow quite near his cabin, then
+stretched himself on the couch before the fire, with no other light than
+its cheerful blaze, too exhausted for his book and disinclined even to
+prepare his supper.
+
+After a time, David's weariness gave place to a pleasant drowsiness, and
+he rose, arranged his bed, and replenished the fire, drank a little hot
+milk, and dropped into a wholesome slumber as dreamless and sweet as
+that of a tired child.
+
+Such a sense of peace and retirement closed around him there alone on
+his mountain, that he slept with his cabin door open to the sweet air,
+crisp and cold, lulled by the murmuring of the swaying pine tops
+without, and the crackling and crumbling of burning logs within. Rolled
+in his warm Scotch rug, he did not feel the chill that came as his fire
+burned lower, but slept until daybreak, when the clear note of a
+Carolina wren, thrice repeated close to his open door, sounded his
+reveille.
+
+Deeply inhaling the cold air, he lay and mused over the events of the
+previous day. How quickly and naturally he had been drawn into the
+interests of his neighbors below him, and had absorbed the peculiar
+atmosphere of their isolation, making a place for himself, shutting out
+almost as if they had never existed the harassments and questionings of
+his previous life. Was it a buoyancy he had received from his mountain
+height and the morning air? Whatever the cause, he seemed to have
+settled with them all, and arrived at last where his spirit needed but
+to rest open and receptive before its Creator to be swept clear of the
+dross of the world's estimates of values, and exalted with aspiration.
+
+Every long breath he drew seemed to make his mental vision clearer. God
+and his own soul--was that all? Not quite. God and the souls of men and
+of women--of all who came within his environment--a world made
+beautiful, made sweet and health-giving for these--and with them to know
+God, to feel Him near. So Christ came to be close to humanity.
+
+A mist of scepticism that had hung over him and clouded the later years
+of his young manhood suddenly rolled away, dispelled by the splendor of
+this triumphant thought, even as the rays of the rising sun came at the
+same moment to dispel the earth mists and flood the hills with light.
+Light; that was it! "In Him is no darkness at all."
+
+Joyously he set himself to the preparation for the day. The true meaning
+of life was revealed to him. The discouragement of the evening before
+was gone. Yet now should he sit down in ecstatic dreaming? It must be
+joy in life--movement--in whatever was to be done, whether in satisfying
+a wholesome hunger, in creating warmth for his body, or in conquering
+the seeds of decay and disease therein, and keeping it strong and full
+of reactive power for his soul's sake.
+
+It was a revelation to him of the eternal God, wonder-working and
+all-pervading. Now no longer with a haunting sense of fear would he
+search and learn, but with a glad perception of the beautiful
+orderliness of the universe, so planned and arranged for the souls of
+men when only they should learn how to use their own lives, and attune
+themselves to give forth music to the touch of the God of Love.
+
+A cold bath, the pure air, and his abstemiousness of the previous
+evening gave him a compelling hunger, and it was with satisfaction he
+discovered so large a portion of his dinner of yesterday remaining to be
+warmed for his morning meal. What he should do later, when dinner-time
+arrived, he knew not, and he laughed to think how he was living from
+hour to hour, content as the small wren fluting beside his door his
+care-free note. Ah, yes! "God's in His heaven, all's right with the
+world."
+
+The wren's note reminded him of a slender box which always accompanied
+his wanderings, and which had come to light rolled in the jacket which
+he had given Frale as part of his disguise. He opened it and took
+therefrom the joints of a silver flute. How long it had lain untouched!
+
+He fitted the parts and strolled out to the rock, and there, as he gazed
+at the shifting, subtle beauty spread all before him and around him, he
+lifted the wandlike instrument to his lips and began to play. At first
+he only imitated the wren, a few short notes joyously uttered; then, as
+the springs of his own happiness welled up within him, he poured forth a
+tumultuous flood of trills--a dancing staccato of mounting notes,
+shifting and falling, rising, floating away, and then returning in
+silvery echoes, bringing their own gladness with them.
+
+The paean of praise ended, the work of the day began, and he set himself
+with all the nervous energy of his nature to the finishing of his canvas
+room. Again, ere the completion of the task, he found he had been
+expending his strength too lavishly, but this time he accepted his
+weariness more philosophically, glad if only he might labor and rest as
+the need came.
+
+Nearly the whole of the glorious day was still left him. In moving his
+couch nearer the door, he found his efforts impeded by some heavy object
+underneath it, and discovered, to his surprise and almost dismay, the
+identical pigskin valise which Frale had taken away with him the day
+before. How came it there? No one, he was certain, had been near his
+cabin since Hoyle had trotted home yesterday, hugging his picture to his
+breast.
+
+David drew it out into the light and opened it. There on the top lay
+the cigars he had placed in the youth's pocket, and there also every
+article of wearing apparel he had seen disappear down the laurel-grown
+path on Frale's lithe body twelve hours or more ago. He cast the
+articles out upon the floor and turned them over wonderingly, then
+shoved them aside and lay down for his quiet siesta. He would learn from
+Cassandra the meaning of this. He hoped the young man had got off
+safely, yet the fact of finding his kindly efforts thus thrust back upon
+him disturbed him. Why had it been done? As he pondered thereon, he saw
+again the steel-blue flash in the young man's eyes as he turned away,
+and resolved to ask no questions, even of Cassandra.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+IN WHICH FRALE GOES DOWN TO FARINGTON IN HIS OWN WAY
+
+
+Frale felt himself exalted by the oath he had sworn to Cassandra, as if
+those words had lifted the burden from his heart, and taken away the
+stain. As he walked away in his disguise, it seemed to him that he had
+acted under an irresistible spell cast upon him by this Englishman, who
+was to bide so near Cassandra--to be seen by her every day--to be
+admired by her, while he, who had the first right, must hide himself
+away from her, shielding himself in that man's clothes. Fine as they
+seemed to him, they only abashed him and filled him with a sense of
+obligation to a man he dreaded.
+
+Like a child, realizing his danger only when it was close upon him, his
+old recklessness returned, and he moved down the path with his head held
+high, looking neither to the right nor to the left, planning how he
+might be rid of these clothes and evade his pursuers unaided. The men,
+climbing toward him as he descended, hearing his footsteps above them,
+parted and stood watching, only half screened by the thick-leaved
+shrubs, not ten feet from him on either side; but so elated was he, and
+eager in his plans, that he passed them by, unseeing, and thus Thryng's
+efforts saved him in spite of himself; for so amazed were they at the
+presence of such a traveller in such a place that they allowed him to
+pass unchallenged until he was too far below them to make speech
+possible. Later, when they found David seated on his rock, they assumed
+the young man to be a friend, and thought no further of it.
+
+Frale soon left the path and followed the stream to the head of the
+fall, where he lingered, tormented by his own thoughts and filled with
+conflicting emotions, in sight of his home.
+
+To go down to the settlement and see the world had its allurements, but
+to go in this way, never to return, never to feel again the excitement
+of his mountain life, evading the law and conquering its harassments,
+was bitter. It had been his joy and delight in life to feel himself
+masterfully triumphant over those set to take him, too cunning to be
+found, too daring and strong to be overcome, to take desperate chances
+and win out; all these he considered his right and part of the game of
+life. But to slink away like a hunted fox followed by the dogs of the
+law because, in a blind frenzy, he had slain his own friend! What if he
+had promised to repent; there was the law after him still!
+
+If only his fate were a tangible thing, to be grappled with! To meet a
+foe and fight hand to hand to the death was not so hard as to yield
+himself to the inevitable. Sullenly he sat with his head in his hands,
+and life seemed to stretch before him, leading to a black chasm. But one
+ray of light was there to follow--"Cass, Cass." If only he would accept
+the help offered him and go to the station, take his seat in the train,
+and find himself in Farington, while still his pursuers were scouring
+the mountains for him, he might--he might win out. Moodily and
+stubbornly he resisted the thought.
+
+At last, screened by the darkness, he turned out his soiled and torn
+garments, and divesting himself of every article Thryng had given him,
+he placed them carefully in the valise. Then, relieved of one
+humiliation, he set himself again on the path toward Hanging Rock cabin.
+
+As he passed the great holly tree where Cassandra had sat beside him, he
+placed his hand on the stone and paused. His heart leaned toward her. He
+wanted her. Should he go down to her now and refuse to leave her? But
+no. He had promised. Something warm splashed down upon his hand as he
+bent over the rock. He sprang up, ashamed to weep, and, seizing the
+doctor's valise, plunged on through the shadows up the steep ascent.
+
+He had no definite idea of how he would explain his act, for he did not
+comprehend his own motives. It was only a wordless repugnance that
+possessed him, vague and sullen, against this man's offered friendship;
+and his relief was great when he found David asleep before his open
+door.
+
+Stealthily he entered and placed his burden beneath the couch, gazed a
+moment at the sleeping face whereon the firelight still played, and
+softly crept away. Cassandra should know that she had no need to thank
+the Englishman for his freedom.
+
+Then came the weary tramp down the mountain, skulking and hiding by day,
+and struggling on again by night--taking by-paths and unused
+trails--finding his uncertain way by moonlight and starlight--barked at
+by dogs, and followed by hounds baying loudly whenever he came near a
+human habitation--wading icy streams and plunging through gorges to
+avoid cabins or settlements--keeping life in him by gnawing raw turnips
+which had been left in the fields ungathered, until at last, pallid,
+weary, dirty, and utterly forlorn, he found himself, in the half-light
+of the dawn of the fourth day, near Farington. Shivering with cold, he
+stole along the village street and hid himself in the bishop's grounds
+until he should see some one astir in the house.
+
+The bishop had sat late the night before, half expecting him, for he had
+received Cassandra's letter, also one from Thryng. Neither letter threw
+light on Frale's deed, although Cassandra's gave him to understand that
+something more serious than illicit distilling had necessitated his
+flight. David's was a joyous letter, craving his companionship whenever
+his affairs might bring him near, but expressing the greatest
+contentment.
+
+When Black Carrie went out to unlock the chicken house door and fetch
+wood for her morning fire, she screamed with fright as the young man in
+his wretched plight stepped before her.
+
+"G'long, yo--pore white trash!" she cried.
+
+"I'm no poor white trash," he murmured. "Be Bishop Towah in the house?"
+
+"Co'se he in de haouse. Whar yo s'poses he be dis time de mawnin'?" She
+made with all haste toward her kitchen, bearing her armful of wood,
+muttering as she went.
+
+"I reckon I'll set hyar ontwell he kin see me," he said, dropping to the
+doorstep in sheer exhaustion. And there he was allowed to sit while she
+prepared breakfast in her own leisurely way, having no intention of
+disturbing her "white folkses fer no sech trash."
+
+The odor of coffee and hot cakes was maddening to the starving boy, as
+he watched her through the open door, yet he passively sat, withdrawn
+into himself, seeking in no way either to secure a portion of the food
+or to make himself known. After a time, he heard faintly voices beyond
+the kitchen, and knew the family must be there at breakfast, but still
+he sat, saying nothing.
+
+At last the door of the inner room was burst open, and a child ran out,
+demanding scraps for her puppy.
+
+"I may! I may, too, feed him in the dining room. Mamma says I may, after
+we're through."
+
+"Go off, honey chile, mussin' de flo' like dat-a-way fer me to clean up
+agin. Naw, honey. Go out on de stoop wif yer fool houn' dog." And the
+tiny, fair girl with her plate of scraps and her small black dog leaping
+and dancing at her heels, tumbled themselves out where Frale sat.
+
+Scattering her crusts as she ran, she darted back, calling: "Papa, papa!
+A man's come. He's here." The small dog further emphasized the fact by
+barking fiercely at the intruder, albeit from a safe distance.
+
+"Yas," said Carrie, as the bishop came out, led by his little daughter,
+"he b'en hyar sence long fo' sun-up."
+
+"Why didn't you call me?" he said sternly.
+
+"Sho--how I know anybody wan' see yo, hangin' 'roun' de back do'? He
+ain' say nuthin', jes' set dar." She continued muttering her crusty
+dislike of tramps, as the bishop led his caller through her kitchen and
+sent his little daughter to look after her puppy.
+
+He took Frale into his private study, and presently returned and himself
+carried him food, placing it before him on a small table where many a
+hungry caller had been fed before. Then he occupied himself at his desk
+while he quietly observed the boy. He saw that the youth was too worn
+and weak to be dealt with rationally at first, and he felt it difficult
+to affix the thought of a desperate crime upon one so gentle of mien and
+innocent of face; but he knew his people well, and what masterful
+passions often slept beneath a mild and harmless exterior.
+
+Nor was it the first time he had been called upon to adjust a conflict
+between his own conscience and the law. Often in his office of priest he
+had been the recipient of confidences which no human pressure of law
+could ever wrest from him. So now he proceeded to draw from Frale his
+full and free confession.
+
+Very carefully and lovingly he trespassed in the secret chambers of this
+troubled soul, until at last the boy laid bare his heart.
+
+He told of the cause of his anger and his drunken quarrel, of his
+evasion of his pursuers and his vow with Cassandra before God, of his
+rejection of Doctor Thryng's help and his flight by night, of his
+suffering and hunger. All was told without fervor,--a simple passive
+narration of events. No one could believe, while listening to him, that
+storms of passion and hatred and fear had torn him, or the overwhelming
+longing he had suffered at the thought of Cassandra.
+
+But when the bishop touched on the subject of repentance, the hidden
+force was revealed. It was as if the tormenting spirit within him had
+cried out loudly, instead of the low, monotonous tone in which he
+said:--
+
+"Yas, I kin repent now he's dade, but ef he war livin' an' riled me agin
+that-a-way like he done--I reckon--I reckon God don't want no repentin'
+like I repents."
+
+It was steel against flint, the spark in the narrow blue line of his
+eyes as he said the words, and the bishop understood.
+
+But what to do with this man of the mountains--this force of nature in
+the wild; how guard him from a far more pernicious element in the
+civilized town life than any he would find in his rugged solitudes?
+
+And Cassandra! The bishop bowed his head and sat with the tips of his
+fingers pressed together. The thought of Cassandra weighed heavily upon
+him. She had given her promise, with the devotion of her kind, to save;
+had truly offered herself a living sacrifice. All hopes for her growth
+into the gracious womanhood her inheritance impelled her toward,--her
+sweet ambitions for study, gone to the winds--scattered like the
+fragrant wild rose petals on her own hillside--doomed by that promise to
+live as her mother had lived, and like other women of her kin, to age
+before her time with the bearing of children in the midst of toil too
+heavy for her--dispirited by privation and the sorrow of relinquished
+hopes. Oh, well the bishop knew! He dreaded most to see the beautiful
+light of aspiration die out of her eyes, and her spirit grow sordid in
+the life to which this untamed savage would inevitably bring her. "What
+a waste!"
+
+And again he repeated the words, "What a waste!" The youth looked up,
+thinking himself addressed, but the bishop saw only the girl. It was as
+if she rose and stood there, dominant in the sweet power of her girlish
+self-sacrifice, appealing to him to help save this soul. Somehow, at the
+moment, he failed to appreciate the beauty of such giving. Almost it
+seemed to him a pity Frale had thus far succeeded in evading his
+pursuers. It would have saved her in spite of herself had he been taken.
+
+But now the situation was forced upon the bishop, either to give him up,
+which seemed an arbitrary taking into his own hands of power which
+belonged only to the Almighty, or to shield him as best he might, giving
+heed to the thought that even if in his eyes the value of the girl was
+immeasurably the greater, yet the youth also was valued, or why was he
+here?
+
+He lifted his head and saw Frale's eyes fixed upon him sadly--almost as
+if he knew the bishop's thoughts. Yes, here was a soul worth while.
+Plainly there was but one course to pursue, and but one thread left to
+hold the young man to steadfast purpose. Using that thread, he would
+try. If he could be made to sacrifice for Cassandra some of his physical
+joy of life, seeking to give more than to appropriate to himself for his
+own satisfaction--if he could teach him the value of what she had
+done--could he rise to such a height, and learn self-control?
+
+The argument for repentance having come back to him void, the bishop
+began again. "You tell me Cassandra has given you her promise? What are
+you going to do about it?"
+
+"Hit's 'twixt her an' me," said the youth proudly.
+
+"No," thundered the bishop, all the man in him roused to beat into this
+crude, triumphant animal some sense of what Cassandra had really done.
+"No. It's betwixt you and the God who made you. You have to answer to
+God for what you do." He towered above him, and bending down, looked
+into Frale's eyes until the boy cowered and looked down, with lowered
+head, and there was silence.
+
+Then the bishop straightened himself and began pacing the room. At last
+he came to a stand and spoke quietly. "You have Cassandra's promise;
+what are you going to do about it?"
+
+Frale did not move or speak, and the bishop felt baffled. What was going
+on under that passive mask he dared not think. To talk seemed futile,
+like hammering upon a flint wall; but hammer he must, and again he
+tried.
+
+"You have taken a man's life; do you know what that means?"
+
+"Hangin', I reckon."
+
+"If it were only to hang, boy, it might be better for Cassandra. Think
+about it. If I help you, and shield you here, what are you going to do?
+What do you care most for in all this world? You who can kill a man and
+then not repent."
+
+"He hadn't ought to have riled me like he done; I--keer fer her."
+
+"More than for Frale Farwell?"
+
+The boy looked vaguely before him. "I reckon," was all he said.
+
+Again the bishop paced the floor, and waited.
+
+"I hain't afeared to work--right hard."
+
+"Good; what kind of work can you do?" Frale flushed a dark red and was
+silent. "Yes, I know you can make corn whiskey, but that is the devil's
+work. You're not to work for him any more."
+
+Again silence. At last, in a low voice, he ventured: "I'll do any kind
+o' work you-all gin' me to do--ef--ef only the officers will leave me
+be--an' I tol' Cass I'd larn writin'."
+
+"Good, very good. Can you drive a horse? Yes, of course."
+
+Frale's eyes shone. "I reckon."
+
+The bishop grew more hopeful. The holy greed for souls fell upon him.
+The young man must be guarded and watched; he must be washed and
+clothed, as well as fed, and right here the little wife must be
+consulted. He went out, leaving the youth to himself, and sought his
+brown-eyed, sweet-faced little wisp of a woman, where she sat writing
+his most pressing business letters for him.
+
+"Dearest, may I interrupt you?"
+
+"In a minute, James; in a minute. I'll just address these."
+
+He dropped into a deep chair and waited, with troubled eyes regarding
+her. "There!" She rubbed vigorously down on the blotter. "These are all
+done, every blessed one, James. Now what?"
+
+In an instant she was curled up, feet and all, like a kitten in his lap,
+her small brown head, its wisps of fine, straight hair straying over
+temples and rounded cheeks, tucked comfortably under his chin; and thus
+every point was carefully talked over.
+
+With many exclamations of anxiety and doubt, and much discreet
+suggestion from the small adviser, it was at last settled. Frale was to
+be properly clothed from the missionary boxes sent every year from the
+North. He should stay with them for a while until a suitable place could
+be found for him. Above all things he must be kept out of bad company.
+
+"Oh, dear! Poor Cassandra! After all her hopes--and she might have done
+so much for her people--if only--" Tears stood in the brown eyes and
+even ran over and dropped upon the bishop's coat and had to be carefully
+wiped off, for, as he feelingly remarked,--
+
+"I can't go about wearing my wife's tears in plain view, now, can I?"
+
+And then Doctor Hoyle's young friend--she must hear his letter. How
+interesting he must be! Couldn't they have him down? And when the bishop
+next went up the mountain, might she accompany him? Oh, no. The trip was
+not too rough. It was quite possible for her. She would go to see
+Cassandra and the old mother. "Poor Cassandra!"
+
+But the self-respecting old stepmother and her daughter did not allow
+these kind friends to trespass on any missionary supplies, for Uncle
+Jerry was despatched down the mountain with a bundle on the back of his
+saddle, which was quietly left at the bishop's door; and Frale next
+appeared in a neat suit of homespun, home woven and dyed, and home-made
+clothing.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG MAKES A DISCOVERY
+
+
+Standing on the great hanging rock before his cabin, Thryng imagined
+himself absolutely solitary in the centre of a wide wilderness. Even the
+Fall Place, where lived the Widow Farwell, although so near, was not
+visible from this point; but when he began exploring the region about
+him, now on foot and now on horseback, he discovered it to be really a
+country of homes.
+
+Every mule path branching off into what seemed an inaccessible wild led
+to some cabin, often set in a hollow on a few acres of rich soil,
+watered by a never failing spring, where the forest growth had been cut
+away to make cultivation possible. Sometimes the little log house would
+be perched like a lonely eagle's nest on a mere shelflike ledge jutting
+out from the mountain wall, but always below it or above it or off at
+one side he found the inevitable pocket of rich soil accumulated by the
+wash of years, where enough corn and cow-peas could be raised for
+cattle, and cotton and a few sheep to provide material for clothing the
+family, with a few fowls and pigs to provide their food.
+
+Here they lived, those isolated people, in quiet independence and
+contented poverty, craving little and often having less, caring nothing
+for the great world outside their own environment, looking after each
+other in times of sickness and trouble, keeping alive the traditions of
+their forefathers, and clinging to the ancient family feuds and
+friendships from generation to generation.
+
+David soon learned that they had among themselves their class
+distinctions, certain among them holding their heads high, in the
+knowledge of having a self-respecting ancestry, and training their
+children to reckon themselves no "common trash," however much they
+deprecated showing the pride that was in them.
+
+Many days passed after Frale's departure before David learned more of
+the young man's unhappy deed. He had gone down to give the old mother
+some necessary care and, finding her alone, remained to talk with her.
+Pleased with her quaint expressions and virile intellect, he led her on
+to speak of her youth; and one morning, weary of the solitude and
+silence, she poured out tales of Cassandra's father, and how, after his
+death, she "came to marry Farwell." She told of her own mother, and the
+hard times that fell upon them during the bitter days of the Civil War.
+
+The traditions of her family were dear to her, and she was well pleased
+to show this young doctor who had found the key to her warm, yet
+reserved, heart that she "wa'n't no common trash," and her "chillen
+wa'n't like the run o' chillen."
+
+"Seems like I'm talkin' a heap too much o' we-uns," she said, at last.
+
+"No, no. Go on. You say you had no school; how did you learn? You were
+reading your Bible when I came in."
+
+"No. Thar wa'n't no schools in my day, not nigh enough fer me to go to.
+Maw, she could read, an' write, too, but aftah paw jined the ahmy, she
+had to work right ha'd and had nothin' to do with. Paw, he had to jine
+one side or t'othah. Some went with the North and some went with the
+South,--they didn't keer much. The' wa'n't no niggahs up here to fight
+ovah. But them war cruel times when the bushwackers come searchin'
+'round an' raidin' our homes. They were a bad lot--most of 'em war
+desertahs from both ahmies. We-uns war obleeged to hide in the bresh or
+up the branch--anywhar we could find a place to creep into. Them were
+bad times fer the women an' chillen left at home.
+
+"Maw used to save ev'y scrap of papah she could find with printin' on
+hit to larn we-uns our lettahs off'n. One time come 'long a right decent
+captain and axed maw could she get he an' his men suthin' to eat. He had
+nigh about a dozen sogers with him; an' maw, she done the bes' she
+could,--cooked corn-bread, an' chick'n an' sich. I c'n remember how he
+sot right on the hearth where you're settin' now, an' tossed flapjacks
+fer th' hull crowd.
+
+"He war right civil when he lef', an' said he'd like to give maw
+suthin', but they hadn't nothin' but Confed'rate money, an' hit wa'n't
+worth nothin' up here; an' maw said would he give her the newspapah he
+had. She seed the end of hit standin' out of his pocket; an' he laughed
+and give hit out quick, an' axed her what did she want with hit; and she
+'lowed she could teach me a heap o' readin' out o' that papah, an' he
+laughed again, an' said likely, fer that hit war worth more'n the money.
+All the schoolin' I had war just that thar papah, an' that old
+spellin'-book you see on the shelf; I c'n remembah how maw come by that,
+too."
+
+"Tell me how she came by the spelling-book, will you?"
+
+"Hit war about that time. Paw, he nevah come home again. I cyan't
+remembah much 'bouts my paw. Maw used to say a heap o' times if she only
+had a spellin'-book like she used to larn out'n, 'at she could larn
+we-uns right smart. Well, one day one o' the neighbors told her 'at he'd
+seed one at Gerret's, ovah t'othah side Lone Pine Creek, nigh about
+eight mile, I reckon; an' she 'lowed she'd get hit. So she sont we-uns
+ovah to Teasley's mill--she war that scared o' the Gorillas she didn't
+like leavin' we-uns home alone--an' she walked thar an' axed could she
+do suthin' to earn that thar book; an' ol' Miz Gerret, she 'lowed if
+maw'd come Monday follerin' an' wash fer her, 'at she mount have hit.
+Them days we-uns an' the Teasleys war right friendly. The' wa'n't no
+feud 'twixt we-uns an' Teasleys then--but now I reckon thar's bound to
+be blood feud." She spoke very sadly and waited, leaving the tale of the
+spelling-book half told.
+
+"Why must there be 'blood feud' now? Why can't you go on in the old
+way?"
+
+"Hit's Frale done hit. He an' Ferd'nan' Teasley, they set up 'stillin'
+ovah in Dark Cornder yandah. Hit do work a heap o' trouble, that thar. I
+reckon you-uns don't have nothin' sich whar you come from?"
+
+"We have things quite as bad. So they quarrelled, did they?"
+
+"Yaas, they quarrelled, an' they fit."
+
+"No doubt they had been drinking."
+
+"Yas, I reckon."
+
+"But just a drunken quarrel between those two ought not to affect all
+the rest. Couldn't you patch it up among you, and keep the boy at home?
+You must need his help on the place."
+
+"We need him bad here, but the' is no way fer to make up an' right a
+blood feud. Frale done them mean. He lifted his hand an' killed his
+friend. Hit war Sunday evenin' he done hit. They had been havin' a
+singin' thar at the mill, an' preachah, he war thar too, an' all war
+kind an' peaceable; an' Ferd an' Frale, they sot out fer thar
+'still'--Ferd on foot an' Frale rid'n' his horse--the one you have
+now--they used to go that-a-way, rid'n' turn about--one horse with them
+an' one horse kep' alluz hid nigh the 'still' lest the gov'nment men
+come on 'em suddent like. Frale, he war right cute, he nevah war come up
+with.
+
+"'Pears like they stopped 'fore they'd gone fer, disputin' 'bouts
+somethin'. Ol' Miz Teasley say she heered ther voices high an' loud, an'
+then she heered a shot right quick, that-a-way, an' nothin' more; an'
+she sont ol' man Teasley an' the preachah out, an' the hull houseful
+follered, an' thar they found Ferd lyin' shot dade--an' Frale--he an'
+the horse war gone. Ferd, he still held his own gun in his hand tight,
+like he war goin' to shoot, with the triggah open an' his fingah on
+hit--but he nevah got the chance. Likely if he had, hit would have been
+him a-hidin' now, an' Frale dade. I reckon so."
+
+Thryng listened in silence. It made him think of the old tales of the
+Scottish border. So, in plain words, the young man was a murderer. With
+deep pity he recalled the haunted look in Frale's eyes, and the sadness
+that trembled around Cassandra's lips as she said, "I reckon there is no
+trouble worse than ours." A thought struck him, and he asked:--
+
+"Do you know what they quarrelled about?"
+
+"He nevah let on what-all was the fuss. Likely he told Cass, but she is
+that still. Hit's right hard to raise a blood feud thar when we-uns an'
+the Teasleys alluz war friends. She took keer o' me when my chillen
+come, an' I took keer o' her with hern. Ferd'nan' too, he war like my
+own, fer I nursed him when she had the fever an' her milk lef' her. Cass
+war only three weeks old then, an' he war nigh on a year, but that
+little an' sickly--he like to 'a' died if I hadn't took him." She paused
+and wiped away a tear that trickled down the furrow of her thin cheek.
+"If hit war lef' to us women fer to stir 'em up, I reckon thar wouldn't
+be no feuds, fer hit's hard on we-uns when we're friendly, an' Ferd like
+my own boy that-a-way."
+
+"But perhaps--" David spoke musingly--"perhaps it was a woman who
+stirred up the trouble between them."
+
+The widow looked a moment with startled glance into his face, then
+turned her gaze away. "I reckon not. The' is no woman far or near as I
+evah heern o' Frale goin' with."
+
+Still pondering, David rose to go, but quickly resumed his seat, and
+turned her thoughts again to the past. He would not leave her thus sad
+at heart.
+
+"Won't you finish telling me about the spelling-book?"
+
+"I forget how come hit, but maw didn't leave we chillen to Teasleys'
+that day she went to do the washin'. Likely Miz Teasley war sick--anyway
+she lef' us here. She baked corn-bread--hit war all we had in the house
+to eat them days, an' she fotched water fer the day, an' kivered up the
+fire. Then she locked the door an' took the key with her, an' tol'
+we-uns did we hear a noise like anybody tryin' to get in, to go up
+garret an' make out like thar wa'n't nobody to home. The' war three o'
+us chillen. I war the oldest. We war Caswells, my fam'ly. My little
+brothah Whitson, he war sca'cely more'n a baby, runnin' 'round pullin'
+things down on his hade whar he could reach, an Cotton war mos' as much
+keer--that reckless."
+
+She paused and smiled as she recalled the cares of her childhood, then
+wandered on in her slow narration. "They done a heap o' things that day
+to about drive me plumb crazy, an' all the time we was thinkin' we
+heered men talkin' or horses trompin' outside, an' kep' ourselves right
+busy runnin' up garret to hide.
+
+"Along towa'ds night hit come on to snow, an' then turned to rain, a
+right cold hard rain, an' we war that cold an' hungry--an' Whit, he
+cried fer maw,--an' hit come dark an' we had et all the' war to eat long
+before, so we had no suppah, an' the poor leetle fellers war that cold
+an' shiverin' thar in the dark--I made 'em climb into bed like they war,
+an' kivered 'em up good, an' thar I lay tryin' to make out like I war
+maw, gettin' my arms 'round both of 'em to oncet. Whit cried hisself to
+sleep, but Cotton he kep' sayin' he heered men knockin' 'round outside,
+an' at last he fell asleep, too. He alluz war a natch'ly skeered kind o'
+child.
+
+"Then I lay thar still, list'nin' to the rain beat on the roof, an'
+thinkin' would maw ever get back again, an' list'nin' to hear her
+workin' with the lock--hit war a padlock on the outside--an' thar I must
+o' drapped off to sleep that-a-way, fer I didn't hear nothin', no more
+until I woke up with a soft murmurin' sound in my ears, an' thar I seed
+maw. The rain had stopped an' hit war mos' day, I reckon, with a mornin'
+moon shinin' in an' fallin' on her whar she knelt by the bed, clost nigh
+to me. I can see hit now, that long line o' white light streamin' acrost
+the floor an' fallin' on her, makin' her look like a white ghost spirit,
+an' her two hands held up with that thar book 'twixt 'em.
+
+"I knew hit war maw, fer I'd seed her pray before, but I war skeered fer
+all that. I lay right still an' held my breath, an' heered her thank the
+Lord fer keerin' fer we-uns whilst she war gone, an' fer 'lowin' her to
+get that thar book.
+
+"I don't guess she knew I seed her, fer she got up right still an' soft,
+like not to wake we-uns, an' began to light the fire an' make some yarb
+tea. She war that wet an' cold I could see her hand shake whilst she
+held the match to the light'ud stick. Them days maw made coffee out'n
+burnt corn-bread, an' tea out'n dried blackberry leaves an' sassafrax
+root." She paused and turned her face toward the open door. David
+thought she had lost somewhat the appearance of age; certainly, what
+with the long rest, and Cassandra's loving care, she had no longer the
+weary, haggard look that had struck him when he saw her first.
+
+Following the direction of her gaze, he went to the shelf and took down
+the old spelling-book, and turned the leaves, now limp and worn. So this
+was Cassandra's inheritance--part of it--the inward impulse that would
+urge to toil all day, then walk miles in rain and darkness through a
+wilderness, and thank the Lord for the privilege--to own this book--not
+for herself, but for the generations to come. David touched it
+reverently, glad to know so much of her past, and turned to the old
+mother for more.
+
+"Have you anything else--like this?"
+
+Her sharp eyes sparkled as she looked narrowly at him. "I have suthin'
+'at I hain't nevah told anybody livin' a word of, not even Doctah
+Hoyle--only he war some differ'nt from you. But I'm gettin' old, an' I
+may as well tell you. Likely with all your larnin' you can tell me is
+it any good to Cass. She be that sot on all sech." She fumbled at her
+throat a moment and drew from the bosom of her gown a leather
+shoe-lacing, from which dangled an iron key. Slowly she undid the knot,
+and handed it toward him.
+
+"I nevah 'low nobody on earth to touch that thar box, an' the' ain't a
+soul livin' knows what's in hit. I been gyardin' them like they war
+gold, fer they belonged to my ol' man--the first one--Cassandra's
+fathah; but I reckon if I die the' won't nobody see any good in them
+things. If you'll onlock that thar padlock on that box yander, you'll
+find it wropped in a piece o' gingham. My paw's mothah spun an' wove
+that gingham--ol' Miz Caswell. They don't many do work like that
+nowadays. They lived right whar we a' livin' now."
+
+David unlocked the chest and lifted the heavy lid.
+
+"Hit's down in the further cornder--that's hit, I reckon. Just step to
+the door, will you, an' see is they anybody nigh."
+
+He went to the door, but saw no one; only from the shed came an
+intermittent rat-tat-tat.
+
+"I don't see any one, but I hear some one pounding."
+
+"Hit's only Hoyle makin' his traps." She sighed, then slowly and
+tenderly untied the parcel and placed in his hands two small
+leather-bound books. Tied to one by a faded silk cord which marked the
+pages was a thin, worn ring of gold.
+
+"That ring war his maw's, an' when we war married, I wore hit, but when
+I took Farwell fer my ol' man, I nevah wore hit any more, fer he 'lowed,
+bein' hit war gold that-a-way, we'd ought to sell hit. That time I took
+the lock off'n the door an' put hit on that thar box. Hit war my
+gran'maw's box, an' I done wore the key hyar evah since. Can you tell
+what they be? Hit's the quarest kind of print I evah see. He used to
+make out like he could read hit. Likely he did, fer whatevah he said, he
+done."
+
+It seemed to her little short of a miracle that any one could read it,
+but David soon learned that her confidence in her first "old man" was
+unlimited.
+
+"What-all's in hit?" She grew restless while he carefully and silently
+examined her treasure, the true significance of which she so little
+knew. Filled with amazement and with a keen pleasure, he took the books
+to the light. The print was fine, even, and clear.
+
+"What-all be they?" she reiterated. "Reckon the're no good?"
+
+David smiled. "In one way they're all the good in the world, but not for
+money, you know."
+
+"No, I don't guess. Can you read that thar quare printin'?"
+
+"Yes. The letters are Greek, and these books are about a hundred years
+old."
+
+"Be they? Then they won't be much good to Cass, I reckon. He sot a heap
+by them, but I war 'feared they mount be heathen. Greek--that thar be
+heathen. Hain't hit?"
+
+David continued, speaking more to himself than to her. "They were
+published in London in eighteen twelve. They have been read by some one
+who knew them well, I can see by these marginal notes."
+
+"What be they?" Her curiosity was eager and intent.
+
+"They are explanations and comments, written here on the
+margin--see?--with a fine pen."
+
+"His grandpaw done that thar. What be they about, anyhow?"
+
+"They are very old poems written long before this country was
+discovered."
+
+"An' that must 'a' been before the Revolution. His grandpaw fit in that.
+The' is somethin' more in thar. I kept hit hid, fer Farwell, he war
+bound to melt hit up fer silver bullets. He 'lowed them bullets war
+plumb sure to kill. Reckon you can find hit? Thar 'tis." Her eyes shone
+as Thryng drew out another object also wrapped in gingham. "Hit's a
+teapot, I guess, but Farwell, he got a-hold of hit an' melted off the
+spout to make his silvah bullets. That time I hid all in the box an' put
+on the bolt an' lock whilst he war away 'stillin'. The' is one bullet
+left, but I reckon Frale has hit."
+
+David took it from her hand and turned it about. "Surely! This is a
+treasure. Here is a coat of arms--but it is so worn I can't make out the
+emblem. Was this your husband's also? Is there anything else?"
+
+"That's all. Yes, they war hisn. I war plumb mad at Farwell. I nevah
+could get ovah what he done, all so't he mount sure kill somebody.
+Likely he meant them bullets fer the revenue officers, should they come
+up with him."
+
+"It would have been a great pity if he had destroyed this mark. I
+think--I'm not sure--but if it's what I imagine, it is from an old
+family in Wales."
+
+"I reckon you're right, fer they were Welsh--his paw's folks way back.
+He used to say the' wa'n't no name older'n hisn since the Bible. I told
+him 'twar time he got a new one if 'twere that old, but he said he
+reckoned a name war like whiskey--hit needed a right smart o' age to
+make hit worth anything."
+
+Thryng laid the antique silver pot on the bed beside the old mother's
+hand and again took up the small volumes. As he held them, a thought
+flashed through his mind, yet hardly a thought,--it was more of an
+illumination,--like a vista suddenly opened through what had seemed an
+impenetrable, impalpable wall, beyond which lay a joy yet to be, but
+before unseen. In that instant of time, a vision appeared to him of what
+life might bring, glorified by a tender light as of red fire seen
+through a sweet, blue, obscuring mist, and making thus a halo about the
+one figure of the vision outlined against it, clear and fine.
+
+"'Pears like you find somethin' right interestin' in that book; be you
+readin' hit?"
+
+"I find a glorious prophecy. Was your first husband born and raised here
+as you were?"
+
+"Not on this spot; but he was born an' raised like we-uns here in the
+mountains--ovah th'other side Pisgah. I seed him first when I wa'n't
+more'n seventeen. He come here fer--I don't rightly recollect what, only
+he had been deer huntin' an' come late evenin' he drapped in. He had
+lost his dog, an' he had a bag o' birds, an' he axed maw could she cook
+'em an' give him suppah, an' maw, she took to him right smaht.
+
+"Aftah suppah--I remember like hit war last evenin'--he took gran'paw's
+old fiddle an' tuned hit up an' sot thar an' played everything you evah
+heered. He played like the' war birds singin' an' rain fallin', an' like
+the wind when hit goes wailin' round the house in the pine tops--soft
+an' sad--like that-a-way. Gran'paw's old fiddle. I used to keer a heap
+fer hit, but one time Farwell got religion, an' he took an' broke hit
+'cause he war 'feared Frale mount larn to play an' hit would be a
+temptation of the devil to him."
+
+"Well, I say! That was a crime, you know."
+
+"Yes. Sometimes I lay here an' say what-all did I marry Farwell fer,
+anyway. Well--every man has his failin's, the' say, an' Farwell, he sure
+had hisn."
+
+"May I keep these books a short time? I will be very careful of them.
+You know that, or you would not have shown them to me."
+
+"You take them as long as you like. Hit ain't like hit used to be. Books
+is easy come by these days--too easy, I reckon. Cassandry, she brung a
+whole basketful of 'em with her. Thar they be on that cheer behin' my
+spinnin'-wheel."
+
+"Was the basket full of books? So, that was why it was so heavy. Might I
+have a look at them?"
+
+"Look 'em ovah all you want to. She won't keer, I reckon. She hain't had
+a mite o' time since she come home to look at 'em."
+
+But David thought better of it. He would not look in her basket and pry
+among her treasures without her permission.
+
+"When is she coming back?" he asked, awakened to desire further
+knowledge of the silent girl's aspirations.
+
+"Soon, I reckon. She's been a right smart spell longah now 'n she 'lowed
+she'd be. Hit's old man Irwin. He's been hurted some way. She went ovah
+to see could Aunt Sally Carew go an' help Miz Irwin keer fer him--she's
+a fool thing, don't know nothin'. They sont down fer me--but here I be,
+so she rode the colt ovah fer Sally."
+
+David wrapped and tied the piece of silver as he had found it. As he
+replaced it in the box, he discovered the pieces of the broken fiddle
+loosely tied in a sack, precious relics of a joy that was past.
+Carefully he locked the box and returned the key, but the books he
+folded in the strip of gingham and carried away with him.
+
+"I'll be back to-night or in the morning. If she doesn't return, send
+Hoyle for me. You mustn't be too long alone. Shall I mend the fire?"
+
+He threw on another log, then lifted her a little and brought her a
+glass of cool water, and climbed back to his cabin, walking lightly and
+swiftly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+IN WHICH DAVID ACCOMPANIES CASSANDRA ON AN ERRAND OF MERCY
+
+
+Filled with the enthusiasm of his thoughts, David climbed too rapidly,
+and now he found he must take the more gradual rise of the mule trail
+without haste. His cap thrust in his pocket, the breeze lifted his hair
+and dried the perspiration which would still come with any too eager
+exertion. But why should he care? Even to be alive these days was joy.
+This was continually the refrain of his heart, nor had he begun to
+exhaust his resources for entertainment in his solitary life.
+
+Never were the days too long. Each was filled with such new and lively
+interest as to preclude the thought of ennui. To provide against it, he
+had sent for books--more than he had had time to read in all the busy
+days of the last three years. These and his microscope and his surgical
+instruments had been brought him on a mule team by Jerry Carew, who did
+his "toting" for him, fetching all he needed for work or comfort, in
+this way, from the nearest station where goods could be sent until the
+hotel opened in the early summer. Not that he needed them, but that, as
+an artist loves to keep a supply of paints and canvas, or a writer--even
+when idle--is happier to know that he has at hand plenty of pens and
+blank paper, he liked to have them.
+
+Thus far he had felt no more need of his books than he had for his
+surgical instruments, but now he was glad he had them for the sake of
+the girl who was "that sot on all such." He would open the box the
+moment he had eaten, and look them over. The little brother should take
+them down to her one at a time--or better--he would take them himself
+and watch the smile which came so rarely and sweetly to play about her
+lips, and in her eyes, and vanish. Surely he had a right to that for his
+pains.
+
+He heard the sound of rapid hoof beats approaching across the level
+space from the cabin above him, and looking up, as if conjured from his
+innermost thought, he saw her coming, allowing the colt to swing along
+as he would. Her bonnet hung by the strings from her arm, her hair blew
+in crinkling wisps across her face, and the rapid exercise had brought
+roses into the creamy whiteness of her skin. She kept to the brow of the
+ridge and would have passed him unseeing, her eyes fixed on the distant
+hills, had he not called to her in his clear Alpine jodel.
+
+She reined in sharply and, slipping from the saddle, walked quickly to
+him, leading the colt, which was warm and panting as if he had carried
+her a good distance at that pace.
+
+"Oh, Doctor Thryng, we need you right bad. That's why I took this way
+home. Have you been to the house?"
+
+"Yes. I have just come from there."
+
+"Is mother all right?"
+
+"Doing splendidly." He waited, and she lifted her face to him anxiously.
+
+"We need you bad, Doctor."
+
+"Yes--but not you--you're not--" he began stupidly.
+
+"It's Mr. Irwin. I went there to see could I help any, and seemed like I
+couldn't get here soon enough. When I found you were not at home, I was
+that troubled. Can--can you go up there and see why I can't rest for
+thinking he's a heap worse than he reckons? He thinks he's better,
+but--but--"
+
+"Come in and rest and tell me about it."
+
+"Mistress Irwin isn't quite well, and I must go back as soon as I can
+get everything done at home. I must get dinner for mother and Hoyle. You
+have been that kind to mother--I thought--I thought--if you could only
+see him--they can't spare him to die."
+
+"Indeed, I'll go, gladly. But you must tell me more, so that I may know
+what to take with me. What is the matter with the man? Is he ill or
+hurt? Let me--oh, you are an independent young woman."
+
+She had turned from him to mount, and he stepped forward with
+outstretched hand to aid her, but, in a breath, not seeing his offer,
+she placed her two hands on the horn of the saddle, and from the slight
+rise of ground whereon she stood, with one agile spring, landed easily
+in the saddle and wheeled about.
+
+"He's been cutting trees to clear a patch for corn, and some way he hurt
+his foot, and he's been lying there nigh a week with the misery. Last
+evening she sent one of the children for mother, not knowing she was bad
+herself, so I went for Aunt Sally; but she was gone, so I rode on to the
+Irwins to see could I help. He said he wasn't suffering so much to-day,
+and it made my heart just stop to hear that, when he couldn't lift
+himself. You see, my stepfather--he--he was shot in the arm, and right
+soon when the misery left him, he died, so I didn't say much--but on the
+way home I thought of you, and I came here fast. We know so little here
+on the mountains," she added sadly, as she looked earnestly down at him.
+
+"You have acted wisely. Just ride on, Miss Cassandra, and I will follow
+as soon as--"
+
+"Come down with me now and have dinnah at our place. Then we can start
+togethah."
+
+"Thank you, I will. You are more expert in the art of dinner getting
+than I am, so we will lose less time." He laughed and was rewarded with
+the flash of a grateful smile as she started on without another word.
+
+It took David but a few minutes to select what articles he suspected,
+from her account, might be required. He hurried his preparations, and,
+being his own groom, stable boy, and man-of-all-work, he was very busy
+about it.
+
+As a strain of music or a floating melody will linger in the background
+with insistent repetition, while the brain is at the same time busily
+occupied with surface affairs, so he found himself repeating some of her
+quaint phrases, and seeing her eyes--the wisps of wind-blown hair--and
+the smile on her lips, as she turned away, like an accompaniment to all
+he was thinking and doing.
+
+Soon, equipped for whatever the emergency might demand, he was at the
+widow's door. His horse nickered and stretched out his nose toward
+Cassandra's colt as if glad to have once more a little horse
+companionship. Side by side they stood, with bridles slipped back and
+hung to their saddles, while they crunched contentedly at the corn on
+the ear, which Hoyle had brought them.
+
+While at dinner, Cassandra showed David her books, pleased that he
+asked to see them. "I brought them to study, should I get time. It's
+right hard to give up hope--" she glanced at her mother and lowered her
+voice. "To stop--anyhow--I thought I might teach Hoyle a little."
+
+"Ah, these are mostly school-books," he said, glancing them over.
+
+"Yes, I was at school this time--near Farington it was. Once I stayed
+with Bishop Towahs and helped do housework. I could learn a heap
+there--between times. They let me have all the books I wanted to read."
+She looked lovingly at her few precious school-books. "I haven't touched
+these since I got back--we're that busy."
+
+Then she resumed her work about the house, cooking at the fireplace,
+waiting upon David, and serving her mother, while directing Hoyle what
+to do, should she be detained that night. He demurred and hung about
+her, begging her not to stay.
+
+"I won't, son, without I can't help it. You won't care so much
+now--mother's not bad like she was."
+
+"Yas, I will," he mourned.
+
+"I reckon I'll have to call you 'baby' again," said his mother. "You're
+gettin' that babyfied since Cass come back doin' all fer ye. You has a
+heap o' company. Thar's the cow to keer fer, 'n' ol' Pete hollerin' at
+ye, an' the chickens tellin' how many aigs they've laid fer ye. Run now.
+Thar's ol' Frizzle cacklin'. Get the aig, an' we'll send hit to the pore
+sick man. Thar, Cass," she added, as Hoyle ran out, half ashamed, to do
+her bidding--"hit's your own fault fer makin' such a baby of him. I 'low
+you betteh take 'long a few fresh aigs; likely they'll need 'em, so
+triflin' they be. I don't guess you'll find a thing in the house fer him
+to eat."
+
+Cassandra packed one of her oddly shaped little baskets, as her mother
+suggested, for the sadly demoralized and distracted family to which they
+were going, and tucked in with the rest the warm, newly laid egg Hoyle
+brought her, smiling indulgently, and kissing his upturned face as she
+took it from him.
+
+Toward David she was always entirely simple and natural, except when
+abashed by his speech, which seemed to her most elaborate and sometimes
+mystifying. She would pause and gaze on him an instant when he extended
+to her a courtesy, as if to give it its exact value. Not that she in the
+least distrusted him, quite the contrary, but that she was wholly unused
+to hearing phrased courtesies, or enthusiasms expressed in the form of
+words.
+
+She had seen something of it in the bishop's pretty complimentary
+pleasantries with his wife, but David's manner of handing her a chair,
+offering her a suggestion--with a "May I be allowed?" was foreign to
+her, and she accepted such remarks with a moment's hesitation and a
+certain aloofness hardly understood by him.
+
+He found himself treating her with a measure of freedom from the
+constraint which men often place upon themselves because of the
+recognition of the personal element which will obtrude between them and
+femininity in general. He recognized the reason for this in her absolute
+lack of coquetry toward him, but analyze the phenomenon, as yet, he
+could not.
+
+To her he was a being from another world, strange and delightful, but
+set as far from her as if the sea divided them. She turned toward him
+sweet, expectant eyes. She listened attentively, gropingly sometimes.
+She would understand him if she could,--would learn from him and trust
+him implicitly,--but her femininity never obtruded itself. Her
+personality seemed to be enclosed within herself and never to lean
+toward him with the subtile flattery men feel and like to awaken, but
+which they often fear to arouse when they wish to remain themselves
+unstirred. Her dignified poise and perfect freedom from all arts to
+attract his favor and attention pleased him, but while it gave him the
+safe and unconstrained feeling when with her, it still piqued his man's
+nature a little to see her so capable of showing tenderness to her own,
+yet so unstirred by himself.
+
+Cassandra had never been up to his cabin when he was there, until
+to-day, since the morning she came to consult him about Frale, nor had
+that young man's name been uttered between them. David had said nothing
+to her of the return of the valise, not wishing to touch on the subject
+unless she gave the opportunity for him to ask what she knew about it.
+Now, since his morning's talk with her mother had envisioned an ideal,
+and shown a glory beyond, he was glad to have this opportunity of being
+alone with her and of sounding her depths.
+
+For a long time they rode in silence, and he remembered her mother's
+words, "He may have told Cass, but she is that still." She carried her
+basket carefully before her on the pommel of her saddle. Gradually the
+large sunbonnet which quite hid her face slipped back, and the sun
+lighted the bronze tints of her hair. As he rode at her side he studied
+her watchfully, so simply dressed in homespun material which had faded
+from its original color to a sort of turquoise green. The stuff was
+heavy and clung closely to her figure, and she rode easily, perched on
+her small, old-fashioned side-saddle, swaying with lithe movement to the
+motion of her horse. She wore no wrap, only a soft silk kerchief knotted
+about her neck, the fluttering ends of which caressed her chin.
+
+Her cheeks became rosy with the exercise, and her gray eyes, under the
+green pines and among the dense laurel thickets, took on a warm,
+luminous green tint like the hue of her dress. David at last found it
+difficult to keep his eyes from her,--this veritable flower of the
+wilderness,--and all this time no word had been spoken between them. How
+impersonal and far away from him she seemed! While he was filled with
+interest in her and eager to learn the secret springs of her life, she
+was riding on and on, swaying to her horse as a flower on its slender
+stem sways in a breeze, as undisturbed by him as if she were not a human
+breathing girl, subject to man's dominating power.
+
+Was she, then, so utterly untouched by his masculine presence? he
+wondered. If he did not speak first, would she keep silent forever?
+Should he wait and see? Should he will her to speak and of herself
+unfold to him?
+
+Suddenly she turned and looked clearly and pleasantly in his eyes.
+"We'll be on a straight road for a piece after this hill; shall we hurry
+a little then?"
+
+"Certainly, if you think best. You set the pace, and I'll follow." Again
+silence fell.
+
+"Do you feel in a hurry?" he asked at length.
+
+"I would like to get there soon. We can't tell what might be." She
+pressed her hand an instant to her throat and drew in her breath as if
+something hurt her.
+
+"What is it?" he asked, drawing his horse nearer.
+
+"Nothing. Only I wish we were there now."
+
+"You are suffering in anticipation, and it isn't necessary. Better not,
+indeed. Think of something else."
+
+"Yes, suh." The two little words sounded humbly submissive. He had never
+been so baffled in an endeavor to bring another soul into a mood
+responsive to his own. This gentle acquiescence was not what he wished,
+but that she should reveal herself and betray to him even a hint--a
+gleam--of the deep undercurrent of her life.
+
+Suddenly they emerged on the crest of a narrow ridge from which they
+could see off over range after range of mountain peaks on one side,
+growing dimmer, bluer, and more evanescent until lost in a heavenly
+distance, and on the other side a valley dropping down and down into a
+deep and purple gloom richly wooded and dense, surrounded by precipices
+topped with scrubby, wind-blown pines and oaks--a wild and rocky descent
+into mystery and seclusion. Here and there a slender thread of smoke,
+intensely blue, rose circling and filtering through the purple density
+against a black-green background of hemlocks.
+
+Contrasted with the view on the other side, so celestially fair, this
+seemed to present something sinister, yet weirdly beautiful--a baffling,
+untamed wilderness. Along this ridge the road ran straight before them
+for a distance, stony and bleak, and the air swept over it sweet and
+strong from the sea, far away.
+
+"Wait--wait a moment," he called, as his panting horse rounded the last
+curve of the climb, and she had already put her own to a gallop. She
+reined in sharply and came back to him, a glowing vision. "Stand a
+moment near me. We'll let our horses rest a bit and ourselves, too.
+There is strength and vitality in this air; breathe it in deeply. What
+joy to be alive!"
+
+She came near, and their horses held quiet communion, putting their
+noses together contentedly. Cassandra lifted her head high and turned
+her face toward the billowed mountains, and did what Thryng had not
+known her to do, what he had wondered if she ever did-- She
+laughed--laughed aloud and joyously.
+
+"Why do you laugh?" he asked, and laughed with her.
+
+"I'm that glad all at once. I don't know why. If the mountains could
+feel and be glad, seems like they'd be laughing now away off there by
+the sea. I wonder will I ever see the ocean."
+
+"Of course you will. You are not going to live always shut up in these
+mountains. Laugh again. Let me hear you."
+
+But she turned on him startled eyes. "I clean forgot that poor man down
+below, so like to die I am 'most afraid to get back there. Look down. It
+must have been in a place like that where Christian slew Apollyon in the
+dark valley, like I was reading to Hoyle last night."
+
+"Does he live down in there? I mean the man Irwin--not Apollyon. He's
+dead, for Christian slew him."
+
+"Yes, the Irwins live there. See yonder that spot of cleared red ground?
+There's their place. The house is hid by the dark trees nigh the red
+spot. Can you make it out?"
+
+"Yes, but I call that far."
+
+"It's easy riding. Shall we go on? I'm that frightened--we'd better
+hurry."
+
+"Is that your way when you are afraid to do a thing; you hurry to do it
+all the more?"
+
+"Seems like we have to a heap of times. Seems like if I were only a man,
+I could be brave, but being a girl so, it is right hard."
+
+She started her horse to a gallop, and side by side they hurried over
+the level top of the ridge--to Thryng an exhilarating moment, to her a
+speeding toward some terrible, unknown trial.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+IN WHICH CASSANDRA AND DAVID VISIT THE HOME OF DECATUR IRWIN
+
+
+Soon the way became steep and difficult and the path so narrow they were
+forced to go single file. Then Cassandra led and David followed. They
+passed no dwellings, and even the little home to which they were going
+was lost to view. He wondered if she were not weary, remembering that
+she had been over the distance twice before that day, and begged her, as
+he had done when they set out, to allow him to carry the basket, but
+still she would not.
+
+"I never think of it. I often carry things this way.--We have to here in
+the mountains." She glanced back at him and smiled. "I reckon you find
+it hard because you are not used to living like we do; we're soon there
+now, see yonder?"
+
+A turn in the path brought them in sight of the cabin, set in its bare,
+desolate patch of red soil. About the door swarmed unkempt children of
+all sizes, as bees hang out of an over-filled hive, the largest not more
+than twelve years old, and the youngest carried on the mother's arm. It
+was David's first visit to one of the poorest of the mountain homes, and
+he surveyed the scene before him with dismay.
+
+Below the house was a spring, and there, suspended from the
+long-reaching branch of a huge beech tree, now leafless and bare, a
+great, black iron pot swung by a chain over a fire built on the ground
+among a heap of stones. On a board at one side lay wet, gray garments,
+twisted in knots as they had been wrung out of the soapy water. The
+woman had been washing, and the vapor was rising from the black pot of
+boiling suds, but, seeing their approach, she had gone to her door, her
+babe on her arm and the other children trooping at her heels and
+clinging to her skirts. They peered up from under frowzy, overhanging
+locks of hair like a group of ragged, bedraggled Scotch terriers.
+
+The mother herself seemed scarcely older than the oldest, and Thryng
+regarded her with amazement when he noticed her infantile, undeveloped
+face and learned that she had brought into the world all those who
+clustered about her. His amazement grew as he entered the dark little
+cabin and saw that they must all eat and sleep in its one small room,
+which they seemed to fill to overflowing as they crowded in after him,
+accompanied by three lean hounds, who sniffed suspiciously at his
+leggings.
+
+Far in the darkest corner lay the father on a pallet of corn-husks
+covered with soiled bedclothing. The windows were mere holes in the
+walls, unglazed, unframed, and closed at night or in bad weather by
+wooden shutters, when the room was lighted only by the flames from the
+now black and empty fireplace. Here, while mother and children were out
+by "the branch" washing, the injured man lay alone, stoically patient,
+declaring that his "laig" was some better, that he did not feel "so much
+misery in hit as yesterday."
+
+Thryng had seen much squalor and wretchedness, but never before in a
+home in the country where women and children were to be found. For a
+moment he looked helplessly at the silent, staring group, and at the
+man, who feebly tried to indicate to his wife the extending of some
+courtesy to the stranger.
+
+"Set a cheer, Polly," he said weakly, offering his great hand. "You are
+right welcome, suh. Are you visitin' these parts?"
+
+"This is the doctor I was telling you about, Cate,--Doctor Thryng. I
+begged him to come up and see could he do anything for you," said
+Cassandra. Then she urged the woman to go back to her work and take the
+children with her. "Doctor and I will look after your old man awhile."
+She succeeded in clearing the place of all but one lean hound, who
+continued to stand by his master and lick his hand, whining presciently,
+and one or two of the children, who lingered around the door to peer in
+curiously at the doctor.
+
+A shutter near the bed was tightly closed and, in struggling to open it,
+Cassandra discovered it was broken at the hinges and had been nailed in
+place. David flew to her assistance and, wrenching out the nails, tore
+it free, letting in a flood of light upon the wretchedness around them.
+Then he turned his attention to the patient, a man of powerful frame,
+but lean almost to emaciation, who watched the young physician's face
+silently with widely opened blue eyes, their pale color intensified by
+the surrounding shock of matted, curling, vividly red hair and beard.
+
+It required but a few moments to ascertain that the man's condition was
+indeed critical. Cassandra had gone out and now returned with her hands
+full of dry pine sticks. Bending on one knee before the empty fireplace,
+she arranged them and hung a kettle over them full of fresh water. David
+turned and watched her light the fire.
+
+"Good. We shall need hot water immediately. How long since you have
+eaten?" he asked the man.
+
+"He hain't eat nothing all day," said the wife, who had returned and
+again stood in the door with all her flock, gazing at him. Then the
+woman grew plaintively garrulous about the trouble she had had "doin'
+fer him," and begged David to tell her "could he he'p 'im." At last
+Thryng put a hurried end to her talk by saying he could do
+nothing--nothing at all for her old man, unless she took herself and the
+children all away. She looked terror-stricken, and her mouth drew
+together in a stubborn, resentful line as if in some way he had
+precipitated ill luck upon them by his coming. Cassandra at once took
+her basket and walked out toward the stream, and they all followed,
+leaving David and the father in sole possession of the place.
+
+Then he turned to the bed and began a kindly explanation. He found the
+man more intelligent and much more tractable than the woman, but it was
+hard to make him believe that he must inevitably lose either his life or
+his foot, and that they had not an hour--not a half hour--to spare, but
+must decide at once. David's manner, gentle, but firmly urgent, at last
+succeeded. The big man broke down and wept weakly, but yielded; only he
+stipulated that his wife must not be told.
+
+"No, no! She and the children must be kept away; but I need help. Is
+there no one--no man whom we can get to come here quickly?"
+
+"They is nobody--naw--I reckon not."
+
+David was distressed, but he searched about until he found an old
+battered pail in which to prepare his antiseptic, and busied himself in
+replenishing the fire and boiling the water; all the time his every move
+was watched by the hound and the pathetic blue eyes of his master.
+
+Soon Cassandra returned, to David's great relief, alone. She smiled as
+she looked in his face, and spoke quietly: "I told her to take the
+children and gather dock and mullein leaves and such like to make tea
+for her old man, and if she'd stay awhile, I'd look after him and have
+supper for them when they got back. Is there anything I can do now?"
+
+David was troubled indeed, but what could he do? He explained his need
+of her quickly, in low tones, outside the door. "I believe you are
+strong and brave and can do it as well as a man, but I hate to ask it of
+you. There is not time to wait. It must be done to-day, now."
+
+"I'll help you," she said simply, and walked into the hut. She had
+become deadly pale, and he followed her and placed his fingers on her
+pulse, holding her hand and looking down in her eyes.
+
+"You trust me?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, yes. I must."
+
+"Yes--you must--dear child. You are all right. Don't be troubled, but
+just think we are trying to save his life. Look at me now, and take in
+all I say."
+
+Then he placed her with her back to his work, taught her how to count
+the man's pulse and to give the ether; but the patient demurred. He
+would not take it.
+
+"Naw, I kin stand hit. Go ahead, Doctor."
+
+"See here, Cate Irwin. You are bound to do as Doctor Thryng says or
+die," she said, bending over him. "Take this, and I'll sit by you every
+minute and never take my hand off yours. Stop tossing. There!" He obeyed
+her, and she sat rigidly still and waited.
+
+The moments passed in absolute silence. Her heart pounded in her breast
+and she grew cold, but never took her eyes from the still, deathlike
+face before her. In her heart she was praying--praying to be strong
+enough to endure the horror of it--not to faint nor fall--until at last
+it seemed to her that she had turned to stone in her place; but all the
+time she could feel the faintly beating pulse beneath her fingers, and
+kept repeating David's words: "We are trying to save his life--we are
+trying to save his life."
+
+David finished. Moving rapidly about, he washed, covered, and carried
+away, and set all in order so that nothing betrayed his grewsome task.
+Then he came to her and took both her cold hands in his warm ones and
+led her to the door. She swayed and walked weakly. He supported her with
+his arm and, once out in the sweet air, she quickly recovered. He
+praised her warmly, eagerly, taking her hands in his, and for the first
+time, as the faint rose crept into her cheeks, he felt her to be moved
+by his words; but she only smiled as she drew her hands away and turned
+toward the house.
+
+"They'll be back directly, and I promised to have something for them to
+eat."
+
+"Then I'll help you, for our man is coming out all right now, and I
+feel--if he can have any kind of care--he will live."
+
+The sky had become overcast with heavy clouds and the wind had risen,
+blowing cold from the north. David replaced the shutter he had torn off
+and mended the fire with fuel he found scattered about the yard; while
+Cassandra swept and set the place in order and the resuscitated patient
+looked about a room neater and more homelike than he had ever slept in
+before. Cassandra searched out a few articles with which to prepare a
+meal--the usual food of the mountain poor--salt pork, and corn-meal
+mixed with water and salt and baked in the ashes. David watched her as
+she moved about the dark cabin, lighted only by the fitful flames of the
+fireplace, to perform those gracious, homely tasks, and would have
+helped her, but he could not.
+
+At last the woman and her brood came streaming in, and Cassandra and the
+doctor were glad to escape into the outer air. He tried to make the
+mother understand his directions as to the care of her husband, but her
+passive "Yas, suh" did not reassure him that his wishes would be carried
+out, and his hopes for the man's recovery grew less as he realized the
+conditions of the home. After riding a short distance, he turned to
+Cassandra.
+
+"Won't you go back and make her understand that he is to be left
+absolutely alone? Scare her into making the children keep away from his
+bed, and not climb into it. You made him do as I wished, with only a
+word, and maybe you can do something with her. I can't."
+
+She turned back, and David watched her at the door talking with the
+woman, who came out to her and handed her a bundle of something tied in
+a meal sack. He wondered what it might be, and Cassandra explained.
+
+"These are the yarbs I sent her and the children aftah. I didn't know
+how to rid the cabin of them without I sent for something, and now I
+don't know what to do with these. We--we're obliged to use them some
+way." She hesitated--"I reckon I didn't do right telling her that--do
+you guess? I had to make out like you needed them and had sent back for
+them; it--it wouldn't do to mad her--not one of her sort." Her head
+drooped with shame and she added pleadingly, "Mother has used these
+plants for making tea for sick folks--but--"
+
+He rode to her side and lifted the unwieldy load to his own horse, "Be
+ye wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove," he said, laughing.
+
+"How do you mean?"
+
+"You were wise. You did right where I would only have done harm and been
+brutal. Can't you see these have already served their purpose?"
+
+"I don't understand."
+
+"You told her to get them because you wished to make her think she was
+doing something for her husband, didn't you? And you couldn't say to her
+that she would help most by taking herself out of the way, could you?
+She could not understand, and so they have served their purpose as a
+means of getting her quietly and harmlessly away so we could properly do
+our work."
+
+"But I didn't say so--not rightly; I made her think--"
+
+"Never mind what you said or made her think. You did right, God knows.
+We are all made to work out good--often when we think erroneously, just
+as you made her uncomprehendingly do what she ought. If ever she grows
+wise enough to understand, well and good; if not, no harm is done."
+
+Cassandra listened, but doubtingly. At last she stopped her horse. "If
+you can't use them, I feel like I ought to go back and explain," she
+said. Her face gleamed whitely out of the gathering dusk, and he saw her
+shiver in the cold and bitter wind. He was more warmly dressed than she,
+and still he felt it cut through him icily.
+
+"No. You shall not go back one step. It would be a useless waste of your
+time and strength. Later, if you still feel that you must, you can
+explain. Come."
+
+She yielded, touched her horse lightly with her whip, and they hurried
+on. The night was rapidly closing in, the thick, dark shadows creeping
+up from the gorges below as they climbed the rugged steep they had
+descended three hours earlier. They picked their way in silence, she
+ahead, and he following closely. He wondered what might be her thoughts,
+and if she had inherited, along with much else that he could perceive,
+the Puritan conscience which had possibly driven some ancestor here to
+live undisturbed of his precious scruples.
+
+When they emerged at last on the level ridge where she had so joyously
+laughed out, Thryng hurried forward and again rode at her side. She sat
+wearily now, holding the reins with chilled hands. Had she forgotten the
+happy moment? He had not. The wind blew more shrewdly past them, and a
+few drops of rain, large and icy cold, struck their faces.
+
+"Put these on your hands, please," he begged, pulling off his thick
+gloves; but she would not.
+
+He reached for the bridle of her horse and drew him nearer, then caught
+her cold hands and began chafing them, first one and then the other.
+Then he slipped the warm gloves over them. "Wear them a little while to
+please me," he urged. "You have no coat, and mine is thick and warm."
+
+Suddenly he became aware that she was and had been silently weeping, and
+he was filled with anxiety for her, so brave she had been, so tired she
+must be--worn out--poor little heart!
+
+"Are you so tired?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, no, no."
+
+"Won't you tell me what troubles you? Let me put this over your
+shoulders to keep off the rain."
+
+"Oh, no, no!" she cried, as he began to remove his coat. "You need it a
+heap more than I. You have been sick, and I am well."
+
+"Please wear it. I will walk a little to keep warm."
+
+"Oh! I can't. I'm not cold, Doctor Thryng. It isn't that."
+
+He became imperative through anxiety. "Then tell me what it is," he
+said.
+
+"I can't stop thinking of Decatur Irwin. I can feel you working there
+yet, and seems like I never will forget. I keep going over it and over
+it and can't stop. Doctor, are you sure--sure--it was right for us to do
+what we did?"
+
+"Poor child! It was terrible for you, and you were fine, you know--fine;
+you are a heroine--you are--"
+
+"I don't care for me. It isn't me. Was it right, Doctor? Was there no
+other way?" she wailed.
+
+"As far as human knowledge goes, there was no other way. Listen, Miss
+Cassandra, I have been where such accidents were frequent. Many a man's
+leg have I taken off. Surgery is my work in life--don't be horrified. I
+chose it because I wished to be a saver of life and a helper of my
+fellows." She was shivering more from the nervous reaction than from the
+cold, and to David it seemed as if she were trying to draw farther away
+from him.
+
+"Don't shrink from me. There are so many in the world to kill and wound,
+some there must be to mend where it is possible. I saw in a moment that
+your intuition had led you rightly, and soon I knew what must be done; I
+only hope we were not too late. Don't cry, Miss Cassandra. It makes me
+feel such a brute to have put you through it."
+
+"No, no. You were right kind and good. I'm only crying now because I
+can't stop."
+
+"There, there, child! We'll ride a little faster. I must get you home
+and do something for you." He spoke out of the tenderness of his heart
+toward her.
+
+But soon they were again descending, and the horses, careful for their
+own safety if not for their riders', continued slowly and stumblingly to
+pick their footing in the darkness. Now the rain began to beat more
+fiercely, and before they reached the Fall Place they were wet to the
+skin.
+
+David feared neither the wetting nor the cold for himself; only for her
+in her utter weariness was he anxious. She would help him stable the
+horses and led away one while he led the other, but once in the house he
+took matters in his own hands peremptorily. He rebuilt the fire and
+himself removed her wet garments and her shoes. She was too exhausted to
+resist. Following the old mother's directions, he found woollen blankets
+and, wrapping her about, he took her up like a baby and laid her on her
+bed. Then he brewed her a hot milk punch and made her take it.
+
+"You need this more than I, Doctah. If you'll just take some yourself,
+as soon as I can I'll make your bed in the loom shed again, and--"
+
+"Drink it; drink it and go to sleep. Yes, yes. I'll have some, too."
+
+"Cass, you lie still and do as doctah says. You nigh about dade, child.
+If only I could get off'n this bed an' walk a leetle, I'd 'a' had your
+place all ready fer ye, Doctah. The' is a featheh bade up garret, if ye
+could tote hit down an' drap on the floor here fer--"
+
+David laughed cheerily. "Why, this is nothing for me." He stood turning
+himself about to dry his clothing on all sides before the blaze. "As
+soon as Miss Cassandra closes her eyes and sleeps, I will look after
+myself. It's a shame to bring all these wet things in here, I say!"
+
+"You are a-steamin' like you are a steam engine," piped little Hoyle,
+peering at him over his mother's shoulder from the far corner of her
+bed.
+
+"You lie down and go to sleep again, youngster," said David.
+
+And gradually they all fell asleep, while Thryng sat long before the
+fire and pondered until Cassandra slept. Once and again a deep quivering
+sigh trembled through her parted lips, as he watched beside her. A warm
+rose hue played over her still features, cast by the dancing red flames,
+and her hair in a dishevelled mass swept across the pillow and down to
+the floor. At last the rain ceased; warmed and dried, Thryng stole away
+from the silent house and rode back to his own cabin.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+IN WHICH SPRING COMES TO THE MOUNTAINS, AND CASSANDRA TELLS DAVID OF HER
+FATHER
+
+
+Ere long such a spring as David had never dreamed of swept up the
+mountain, with a charm so surpassing and transcending any imagined
+beauty that he was filled with a sort of ecstasy. He was constantly out
+upon the hills revelling in the lavish bounty of earth and sky, of
+rushing waters, and all the subtile changes in growing things, as if at
+last he had been clasped to the heart of nature. He visited the cabins
+wherever he was called, and when there was need for Cassandra's
+ministrations he often took her with him; thus they fell naturally into
+good camaraderie. Thus, also, quite as naturally, Cassandra's speech
+became more correct and fluent, even while it lost none of its lingering
+delicacy of intonation.
+
+David provided her with books, as he had promised himself. Sometimes he
+brought them down to her, and they read together; sometimes he left them
+with her and she read them by herself eagerly and happily; but so busy
+was she that she found very little time to be with him. Not only did all
+the work of the household fall on her, but the weaving, which her mother
+had done heretofore, and the care of the animals, which had been done by
+Frale.
+
+The life she had hoped to lead and the good she had longed to do when
+she left home for school, encouraged by the bishop and his wife, she now
+resolutely put away from her, determined to lead in the best way the
+life that she knew must henceforth be hers. She hoped at least she might
+be able to bring the home place back to what it used to be in her
+Grandfather Caswell's time, and to this end she labored patiently,
+albeit sadly.
+
+David was ever aware of a barrier past which he might never step, no
+matter how merry or how intimate they might seem to be, and always about
+her a silent air of waiting, which deterred him in his efforts to draw
+her into more confidential relations. Yet as the days passed, he became
+more interested in her, influenced by her nearness to him, and still
+more by her remoteness.
+
+Allured and baffled, often in the early morning or late evening he would
+sit in the doorway of his cabin, or out on his rock with his flute, when
+his thoughts were full of her. Simple, maidenly, and strong, his heart
+yearned toward her, while instinctively she held herself aloof in quiet
+dignity. Never had she presented herself at his door unless impelled by
+necessity. Never had she sat with him in his cabin since that first time
+when she came to him so heavy hearted for Frale.
+
+Only when she knew him to be absent had she gone to his cabin and set
+all its disorder to rights. Then he would return to find it swept and
+cleaned, and sweet with wild flowers and pine greenery and vines, his
+cooking utensils washed and scoured, the floor whitened with scrubbing,
+in his larder newly baked corn-bread and white beaten biscuits, his
+honey jar refilled and fresh butter pats in the spring. Sometimes a
+brown, earthen jug of cool, refreshing buttermilk stood on his table,
+but always his thanks would be swept aside with the words:--
+
+"Mother sent me up to see could I do anything for you. You are always
+that kind and we can't do much."
+
+"And you never come up when I am at home?"
+
+"It isn't every time I can get to go up, I'm that busy here most days."
+
+"Only the days when I am absent can you 'get to go up'?" he would say
+teasingly. "Don't I ever deserve a visit?"
+
+"Cass don't get time fer visitin' these days. Since Frale lef' she have
+all his work an' hern too on her, an' mine too, only the leetle help she
+gets out'n Hoyle, an' hit hain't much," said the mother. "Doctah, don't
+ye guess I can get up an' try walkin' a leetle?"
+
+"If you will promise me you will only try it when I am here to help you,
+I will take off the weight, and we'll see what you can do to-day."
+
+Cassandra loved to watch David attend on her mother, so tender was he;
+and he adopted a playful manner that always dispelled her pessimism and
+left her smiling and talkative. Ere he was aware, also, he made a place
+for himself In Cassandra's heart when he became interested in the case
+of her little brother, and attempted gradually to overcome his
+deformity.
+
+Every morning when the child climbed to his eyrie and brought his supply
+of milk, David took him in and gently, out of his knowledge and skill,
+gave him systematic care, and taught him how to help himself; but he
+soon saw that a more strenuous course would be the only way to bring
+permanent relief, or surely the trouble would increase.
+
+"What did Doctor Hoyle say about it?" he asked one day.
+
+"He wa'n't that-a-way when doctah war here last. Hit war nigh on five
+year ago that come on him. He had fevah, an' a right smart o' times when
+we thought he war a-gettin' bettah he jes' went back, ontwell he began
+to kind o' draw sideways this-a-way, an' he hain't nevah been straight
+sence, an' he has been that sickly, too. When doctah saw him last, he
+war nigh three year old an' straight as they make 'em, an' fat--you
+couldn't see a bone in him."
+
+David pondered a moment. "Suppose you give him to me awhile," he said.
+"Let him live with me in my cabin--eat there, sleep there--everything,
+and we'll see what can be done for him."
+
+"I'm willin', more'n willin', when only I can get to help Cass some.
+Hoyle, he's a heap o' help, with me not able to do a lick. He can milk
+nigh as well as she can, an' tote in water, an' feed the chick'ns an'
+th' pig, an' rid'n' to mill fer meal--yas, he's a heap o' help. Cass,
+she got to get on with th' weavin'. We promised bed kivers an' such fer
+Miss Mayhew. She sells 'em fer ladies 'at comes to the hotel in summah.
+We nevah would have a cent o' money in hand these days 'thout that, only
+what chick'ns 'nd aigs she can raise fer the hotel, too. Hit's only in
+summah. I don't rightly see how we can spare Hoyle."
+
+"Where's Miss Cassandra now?" he asked, only more determined on his
+course the more he was hampered by circumstances.
+
+"She's in the loom shed weavin'. I throwed on the warp fer a blue and
+white bed kiver 'fore I war hurt, an' she hain't had time to more'n half
+finish hit. I war helpin' to get the weavin' done whilst she war at
+school this winter, an' come spring she war 'lowin' to come back an'
+help Frale with the plantin' an' makin' crap fer next year. Here in the
+mountains we-uns have to be forehanded, an' here I be an' can't crawl
+scarcely yet."
+
+After the thrifty soul had taken a few steps, instead of realizing her
+good fortune in being able to take any, she was bitterly disappointed to
+find that weeks must still pass ere she could walk by herself. She was
+seated on her little porch where David had helped her, looking out on
+the growing things and the blossoming spring all about--a sight to make
+the heart glad; but she saw only that the time was passing, and it would
+soon be too late to make a crop that year.
+
+She was such a neat, self-respecting old woman as she sat there. Her
+work-worn old hands were not idle, for she turned and mended Hoyle's
+funny little trousers, home-made, with suspenders attached.
+
+"I don't know what-all we can do ef we can't make a crap. We won't have
+no corn nor nothin', an' nothin' to feed stock, let alone we-uns. We'll
+be in a fix just like all the poor white trash, me not able to do a
+lick."
+
+David came and sat beside her a few moments and said a great many
+comforting things, and when he rose to go the world had taken on a new
+aspect for her eyes--bright, dark eyes, looking up at him with a gleam
+of hope.
+
+"I believe ye," she said. "We'll do anything you say, Doctah."
+
+Thryng walked out past the loom shed and paused to look in on the young
+girl as she sat swaying rhythmically, throwing the shuttles with a sweep
+of her arm, and drawing the great beam toward her with steady beat,
+driving the threads in place, and shifting the veil of warp stretched
+before her with a sure touch of her feet upon the treadles, all her
+lithe body intent and atune. It seemed to him as he sat himself on the
+step to watch, that music must come from the flow of her action. The
+noise of the loom prevented her hearing his approach, and silently he
+watched and waited, fascinated in seeing the fabric grow under her hand.
+
+As silently she worked on, and slowly, even as the pattern took shape
+and became plain before her, his thoughts grew and took definite shape
+also, until he became filled with a set purpose. He would not disturb
+her now nor make her look around. It was enough just to watch her in her
+sweet serious unconsciousness, with the flush of exercise on her cheeks
+as he could see when she slightly turned her head with every throw of
+the shuttle.
+
+When at last she rose, he saw a look of care and weariness on her face
+that disturbed him. He sprang up and came to her. She little dreamed how
+long he had been there.
+
+"Please don't go. Stay here and talk to me a moment. Your mother is all
+right; I have just been with her. May I examine what you have been
+doing? It is very interesting to me, you know." He made her show him all
+the manner of her work and drew her on to tell him of the different
+patterns her mother had learned from her grandmother and had taught her.
+
+"They don't do much on the hand-looms now in the mountains, but Miss
+Mayhew at the hotel last summer--I told you about her--sold some of
+mother's work up North, and I promised more, but I'm afraid--I don't
+guess I can get it all done now."
+
+"You are tired. Sit here on the step awhile with me and rest. I want to
+talk to you a little, and I want you alone." She looked hesitatingly
+toward the declining sun. He took her hand and led her to the door.
+"Can't you give me a few, a very few moments? You hold me off and won't
+let me say what I often have in mind to ask you." She sat beside him
+where he placed her and looked wonderingly into his face, but not in the
+least as if she feared what his question might be, or as if she
+suspected anything personal. "You know it's not right that this sort of
+thing should go on indefinitely?"
+
+"I don't know what sort of thing you mean." She lifted grave, wide eyes
+to his--those clear gray eyes--and his heart admonished him that he had
+begun to love to look into their blue and green depths, but heed the
+admonishment he would not.
+
+"I mean working day in and day out, as you do. You have grown much
+thinner since I saw you first, and look at your hands." He took one of
+them in his and gently stroked it. "See how thin they are, and here are
+callous places. And you are stooping over with weariness, and, except
+when you have been exercising, your face is far too white."
+
+She looked off toward the mountain top and slowly drew her hand from
+his. "I must do it. There is no one else," she said in a low voice.
+
+"But it can't go on always--this way."
+
+"I reckon so. Once I thought--it might--be some different, but now--"
+She waited an instant in silence.
+
+"But now--what?"
+
+"It seems as if it must go on--like this way--always, as if I were
+chained here with iron."
+
+"But why? Won't you tell me so I may help you?"
+
+"I can't," she said sadly and with finality. "It must be."
+
+He brooded a moment, clasping his hands about one knee and gazing at
+her. "Maybe," he said at last, "maybe I can help you, even if you can't
+tell me what is holding you."
+
+She smiled a faintly fleeting smile. "Thank you--but I reckon not."
+
+"Miss Cassandra, when you know I am at your service, and will do
+anything you ask of me, why do you hold something back from me? I can
+understand, and I may have ways--"
+
+"It's just that, suh. Even if I could tell you, I don't guess you could
+understand. Even if I went yonder on the mountain and cried to heaven to
+set me free, I'd have to bide here and do the work that is mine to do,
+as mother has done hers, and her mother before her."
+
+"But they did it contentedly and happily--because they wished it. Your
+mother married your father because she loved him, and was glad--"
+
+"Yes, I reckon she did--but he was different. She could do it for him.
+He lived alone--alone. Mother knew he did--she could understand. It was
+like he had a room to himself high up on the mountain, where she never
+could climb, nor open the door."
+
+David leaned toward her. "What do you see when you look off at the
+mountain like that?"
+
+"It's like I could see him. He would take his little books up there and
+walk the high path. I never have showed you his path. It was his, and
+he would walk in it, up and down, up and down, and read words I couldn't
+understand, reading like he was singing. Sometimes I would climb up to
+him, and he'd take me in his arms and carry me like I was a baby, and
+read. Sometimes he would sit on a bank of moss under those trees--see
+near the top by that open spot of sky a right dark place? There are no
+other trees like them. They are his trees. He would sit with me there
+and tell me the stories of the strange words; but we never told mother,
+for she said they were heathen and I mustn't give heed to him." When
+deeply absorbed, she often lapsed into her old speech. David liked it.
+He almost wished she would never change it for his. "After father died I
+hunted and hunted for those little books, but I never could find them."
+
+"You remember him so well, won't you tell me how he looked?"
+
+She slowly brought her eyes down from the mountain top and fixed them on
+his face. "Sometimes--just for a minute--you make me think of him--but
+you don't look like him. I never heard any one laugh like he could
+laugh--and with his eyes, too. He was tall like you, and he carried his
+shoulders high like you do when you hurry, but he was a dark man. When
+he stood here in the door of the loom shed, his head touched the top. I
+thought of it when you stood here a bit ago and had to stoop. He always
+did that." She lifted her gaze again to the mountain, and was silent.
+
+"Tell me a little more? Just a little? Don't you remember anything he
+said?"
+
+"He used to preach, but I was too little to remember what he said. They
+used to have preaching in the schoolhouse, and in winter he used to
+teach there--when he could get the children to come. They had no books,
+but he marked with charcoal where they could all see, and showed them
+writing and figures; but somehow they got the idea he didn't know
+religion right, and they wouldn't go to hear him any more. Mother says
+it nigh broke his heart, for he fell to ailing and grew that thin and
+white he couldn't climb to his path any more." She stopped and put her
+hand to her throat, as her way was. She too had grown white with the
+ache of sorrowful remembrance. He thought it cruel to urge her, but
+felt impelled to ask for more.
+
+"And then?"
+
+"Yes. One day we were all alone sitting right here in the loom shed
+door. He put one hand on my head, and then he put the other hand under
+my chin and turned my face to look in his eyes--so great and far--like
+they could see through your heart. Seems like I can feel the touch of
+his hand here yet and hear him say: 'Little daughter, never be like the
+rest. Be separate, and God will send for you some day here on the
+mountain. He will send for you on the mountain top. He will compass you
+about and lift you up and you shall be blessed.' Then he kissed me and
+went into the house. I could hear him still saying it as he walked, 'On
+the mountain top one will come for you, on the mountain top.' He went in
+and lay down, and I sat here and waited. It seemed like my heart stood
+still waiting for him to come back to me, and it must have been more
+than an hour I sat, and mother came home and went in and found him gone.
+He never spoke again. He lay there dead."
+
+She paused and drew in a long, sighing breath. "I have never said those
+words aloud until now, to you, but hundreds of times when I look up on
+the mountain I have said them in my heart. I reckon he meant I was to
+bide here until my time was come, and do all like I ought to do it. I
+did think I could go to school and learn and come back and teach like he
+used to, and so keep myself separate like he did, but the Lord called me
+back and laid a hard thing on me, and I must do it. But in my heart I
+can keep separate like father did."
+
+She rose and stood calmly, her eyes fixed on the mountain. David stood
+near and longed to touch her passive hand--to lift it to his lips--but
+forebore to startle her soul by so unusual an act. For all she had given
+him a confidence she had never bestowed on another, he felt himself held
+aloof, her spirit withdrawn from him and lifted to the mountain top.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+IN WHICH CASSANDRA HEARS THE VOICES, AND DAVID LEASES A FARM
+
+
+That evening David sat long on his rock holding his flute and watching
+the thin golden crescent of the new moon floating through a pale amber
+sky, and one star near its tip slowly sliding down with it toward the
+deepening horizon.
+
+The glowing sky bending to the purple hilltops--the crescent moon and
+the lone shining star--the evening breeze singing in the pines above
+him--the delicate arbutus blossoms hiding near his feet--the call of a
+bird to its mate, and the faint answering call from some distant
+shade--the call in his own heart that as yet returned to him unanswered,
+but with its quiet surety of ultimate response--the joy of these moments
+perfect in beauty and a more abundant assurance of gladness near at
+hand--filled him and lifted his soul to follow the star.
+
+Guided by the unseen hand that held the earth, the crescent moon and the
+star to their orbits, would he find the great happiness that should be
+not his alone, but also for the eyes uplifted to the mountain top and
+the heart waiting in the shadows for the one to be sent? Ah, surely,
+surely, for this had he come. He stooped to the arbutus blossoms to
+inhale their fragrance. He rose and, lifting his flute to his lips,
+played to solace his own waiting, inventing new caprices and tossing
+forth the notes daringly--delicately--rapturously--now penetrating and
+strong, now faintly following and scarcely heard, uttering a wordless
+gladness.
+
+Under the great holly tree in the shadows Cassandra sat, watching, as he
+watched, the crescent moon and the lone star sailing in the pale amber
+light, with the deepening purple mountain hiding the dim distance below
+them. Often in the early evening when her mother and Hoyle were
+sleeping, she would climb up here to pray for Frale that he might truly
+repent, and for herself that she might be strong in her purpose to give
+up all her cherished hopes and plans, if thereby she might save him from
+his own wild, reckless self.
+
+It was here his boy's passion had been revealed to her, and here she had
+seen him changed from boy to man, filled with a man's hunger for her,
+which had led him to crime, and held him unrepentant and glad could he
+thus hold her his own. She must give up the life she had hoped to lead
+and take upon her the life of the wife of Cain, to help him expiate his
+deed. For this must she bow her head to the yoke her mother had borne
+before her. In the sadness of her heart she said again and again:
+"Christ will understand. He was a man of sorrows and acquainted with
+grief! He will understand."
+
+Again came to her, as they had often come of late, dropping down through
+the still air, down through the leafless boughs like joyful hopes yet to
+be realized, the flute notes. What were they, those sweet sounds? She
+held her breath and lifted her face toward the sky. Once, long ago in
+France, the peasant girl had heard the "Voices." Were they heavenly
+sweet, like these sounds? Did they drop from the sky and fill the air
+like these? Oh, why should they seem like hopes to her who had put away
+from her all hope? Were they bringing hope to her who must rise to toil
+and lie down in weariness for labor never done; who must hold always
+with sorrowing heart and clinging hands to the soul of a murderer--hold
+and cling, if haply she might save--and weep for that which, for her,
+might never be? Were they bringing hope that she might yet live gladly
+as the birds live; that she might go beyond that and live like those who
+have no sin imposed on them, to walk with the gods, she knew not how,
+but to rise to things beyond her ken?
+
+Down came the notes, sweet, shrill, white notes,--hurrying, drifting,
+lingering, calling her to follow; down on her heart with healing and
+comfort they fell, lightly as dew on flowers, sparkling with life,
+joy-giving and pure.
+
+Slowly she began climbing, listening, waiting, one step upward after
+another, following the sound. As if in a trance she moved. Below her the
+noise of falling water made a murmuring accompaniment to the music
+dropping from above--an earth-made accompaniment to heaven-sent melody,
+meeting and forming a perfect harmony in her heart as she climbed.
+Gradually the horror and the sorrow fell away from her even, as the soul
+shall one day shed its garment of earth, until at last she stood alone
+and silent near David, etherealized in the faint light to a spirit-like
+semblance of a woman.
+
+With a glad pounding of his heart he sprang towards her. Scarcely
+conscious of the act he held out both his arms, but she did not move.
+She stood silently regarding him, her hands dropped at her side, then
+with drooping head she turned and began wearily to descend the way she
+had come. He followed her and took her hand. She let it lie passively in
+his and walked on. He wished he might feel her fingers close warmly
+about his own, but no, they were cold. She seemed wholly withdrawn from
+him, and her face bore the look of one who was walking in her sleep, yet
+he knew her to be awake.
+
+"Miss Cassandra, speak to me," he begged, in quiet tones. "Don't walk
+away until you tell me why you came."
+
+She seemed then to become aware that he was holding her by the hand and
+withdrew it, and in the faint light he thought she smiled. "It was just
+foolishness. You will laugh at me. I heard the music, and I thought it
+might be--you made it I reckon, but down there it sounded like it might
+be the 'Voices.' You remember how they came to Joan of Arc, like we were
+reading last week?" She began to walk on more hurriedly.
+
+"I will go down with you," he said, "you thought it might be the voices?
+What did they say to you?"
+
+"Oh, don't go with me. I never heed the dark."
+
+"Won't you let me go with you? What did the flute say to you? Can't you
+tell me?"
+
+She laughed a little then. "It was only foolishness. I reckon the
+'Voices' never come these days. I have heard it before, but didn't know
+where it came from. It just seemed to drop down from heaven like, and
+this time it seemed some different, as if it might be the 'Voices'
+calling. It was pretty, suh, far away and soft--like part--of
+everything. My father's playing sounded sad most times, like sweet
+crying, but this was more like sweet laughing. I never heard anything so
+glad like this was, so I tried to find it. Now I know it is you who
+make it I won't disturb you again, suh. Good evening." She hastened away
+and was soon lost in the gloom.
+
+David stood until he heard her footsteps no more, then turned and
+entered his cabin, his mind and heart full of her. Surely he had called
+her, and the sound of his call was to her like "sweet laughing." Her
+face and her quaint expressions went with him into his dreams.
+
+When he hurried down to the widow's place next morning, his mind filled
+with plans which he meant to carry out and was sure, with the boyish
+certainty of his nature he could compass, he heard the voice of little
+Hoyle shrilly calling to old Pete: "Whoa, mule. Haw there. Haw there,
+mule. What ye goin' that side fer; come 'round here."
+
+Below the widow's house, the stream, after its riotous descent from the
+fall, meandered quietly through the rich bit of meadow and field, her
+inheritance for over a hundred years, establishing her claim to
+distinction among her neighbors. Here Martha Caswell had lived with her
+mother and her two brothers until she married and went with her young
+husband over "t'other side Pisgah"; then her mother sent for them to
+return, begging her son-in-law to come and care for the place. Her two
+sons, reckless and wild, were allowing the land to run to waste, and the
+buildings to fall in pieces through neglect.
+
+The daughter Martha, true to her name, was thrifty and careful, and
+under her influence, her gentle dreamer of a husband, who cared more for
+his fiddle, his books, and his sermons, gradually redeemed the soil from
+weeds and the buildings from dilapidation, until at last, with the
+proceeds of her weaving and his own hard labor, they saved enough to buy
+out the brothers' interests.
+
+By that time the younger son had fallen a victim to his wild life, and
+the other moved down into the low country among his wife's people. Thus
+were the Merlins left alone on their primitive estate. Here they lived
+contentedly with Cassandra, their only child, and her father's constant
+companion, until the tragedy which she had so simply related to David.
+
+Her father's learning had been peculiar. Only a little classic lore,
+treasured where schools were none and books were few, handed down from
+grandfather to grandson. His Greek he had learned from the two small
+books the widow had so carefully preserved, their marginal notes his
+only lexicon. They and his Bible and a copy of Bunyan's _Pilgrim's
+Progress_ were all that were left of his treasures. A teething puppy had
+torn his _Dialogues of Plato_ to shreds, and when his successor had come
+into the home, he had used the _Marcus Aurelius_ for gun wadding, ere
+his wife's precaution of placing the padlock from the door on her
+mother's old linen chest.
+
+To-day, as David passed the house, the old mother sat on her little
+porch churning butter in a small dasher churn. She was glad, as he could
+see, because she could do something once more.
+
+"Now are you happy?" he called laughingly, as he paused beside her.
+
+"Well, I be. Hit's been a right smart o' while since I been able to do a
+lick o' work. We sure do have a heap to thank you fer. Be Decatur Irwin
+as glad to lose his foot as I be to git my laig back?" she queried
+whimsically; "I reckon not."
+
+"I reckon not, too, but with him it was a case of losing his life or his
+foot, while with you it was only a question of walking about, or being
+bedridden for the next twenty years."
+
+"They be ignorant, them Irwins, an' she's more'n that, fer she's a fool.
+She come round yest'day wantin' to borry a hoe to fix up her gyarden
+patch, an' she 'lowed ef you'n Cass had only lef' him be, he'd 'a' come
+through all right, fer hit war a-gettin' better the day you-uns took hit
+off. I told her yas, he'd 'a' come cl'ar through to the nex' world, like
+Farwell done. When the misery left him, he up an' died, an' Lord knows
+whar he went."
+
+"I'll get him an artificial foot as soon as he is able to wear one.
+He'll get on very well with a peg under his knee until then. What's
+Hoyle doing with the mule?"
+
+"He's rid'n' him fer Cass. She's tryin' to get the ground ready fer a
+crap. Hit's all we can do. Our women nevah war used to do such work
+neither, but she would try."
+
+"What's that? Is she ploughing?" he asked sharply, and strode away.
+
+"I reckon she don't want ye there, Doctah," the widow called after him,
+but he walked on.
+
+The land lay in a warm hollow completely surrounded by hills. It had
+been many years cleared, and the mellow soil was free from stumps and
+roots. When Thryng arrived, three furrows had been run rather crookedly
+the length of the patch, and Cassandra stood surveying them ruefully,
+flushed and troubled, holding to the handles of the small plough and
+struggling to set it straight for the next furrow.
+
+The noise of the fall behind them covered his approach, and ere she was
+aware he was at her side. Placing his two hands over hers which clung
+stubbornly to the handles of the plough, he possessed himself of them.
+Laughingly he turned her about after the short tussle, and looked down
+into her warm, flushed face. Still holding her hands, he pulled her away
+from the plough to the grassy edge of the field, leaving Hoyle waiting
+astride the mule.
+
+"Whoa, mule. Stand still thar," he shrilled, as the beast sought to
+cross the bit of ploughed ground to reach the grass beyond.
+
+"Let him eat a minute, Hoyle," said David. "Let him eat until I come.
+Now, Miss Cassandra, what does this mean? Do you think you can plough
+all that land? Is that it?"
+
+"I must."
+
+"You must not."
+
+"There is no one else now. I must." He could feel her hands quiver in
+his, as he forcibly held them, and knew from her panting breath how her
+heart was beating. She held her head high, nevertheless, and looked
+bravely back into his eyes.
+
+"You must let me--" he paused. Intuitively he knew he must not say as
+yet what he would. "Let me direct you a little. You have been most kind
+to me--and--it is my place; I am a doctor, you know."
+
+"If I were sick or hurt, I would give heed to you, I would do anything
+you say; but I'm not, and this is laid on me to do. Leave go my hands,
+Doctor Thryng."
+
+"If you'll sit down here a moment and talk this thing out with me, I
+will. Now tell me first of all, why is this laid on you?"
+
+"Frale is gone and it must be done, or we will have no crop, and then
+we must sell the animals, and then go down and live like poor white
+trash." Her low, passive monotone sounded like a moan of sorrow.
+
+"You must hire some one to do this heavy work."
+
+"Every one is working his own patch now, and--no, I have no money to
+hire with. I reckon I've thought it all over every way, Doctor." She
+looked sadly down at her hands and then up at the mountain top. "I know
+you think this is no work for a girl to do, and you are right. Our women
+never have done such. Only in the war times my Grandmother Caswell did
+it, and I can now. A girl can do what she must. I have no way to turn
+but to live as my people have lived before me. I thought once I might do
+different, go to school and keep separate--but--" She spread out her
+hands with a hopeless gesture, and rose to resume her work.
+
+"Give me a moment longer. I'm not through yet. That's right, now listen.
+I see the truth of what you say, and I came down this morning to make a
+proposition to your mother--not for your sake only--don't be afraid, for
+my own as well; but I didn't make it because I hadn't time. She told me
+what you were doing, and I hurried off to stop you. Don't speak yet, let
+me finish. I feel I have the right, because I know--I know I was sent
+here just now for a purpose--guided to come here." He paused to allow
+his words to have their full weight. Whether she would perceive his
+meaning remained to be seen.
+
+"I understand." She spoke quietly. "Doctor Hoyle sent you to be helped
+like he was--and you have been right kind to more than us. You've helped
+that many it seems like you were sent here for we-all as well as for
+your own sake, but that can't help me now, Doctor; it--"
+
+"Ah, yes it can. I'm far from well yet. I shall be, but I must stay on
+for a long time, and I want some interest here. I want to see things of
+my own growing. The ground up around my little cabin is stony and very
+poor, and I want to rent this little farm of yours. Listen--I'll pay
+enough so you need not sell your cattle, and you--you can go on with
+your weaving. You can work in the house again as you have always done.
+Sometime, when your mother is stronger, you can take up your life again
+and go to school--as you meant to live--can't you?"
+
+"That can never be now. If you take the farm or not, I must bide on here
+in the old way. I must take up the life my mother lived and my
+grandmother, and hers before her. It is mine, forever, to live it that
+way--or die."
+
+"Why do you talk so?"
+
+"God knows, but I can't tell you. Thank you, suh. I will be right glad
+to rent you the farm. I'd a heap rather you had it than any one else I
+ever knew, for we care more for it than you would guess, but for the
+rest--no. I must bide and work till I die; only maybe I can save little
+Hoyle and give him a chance to learn something, for he never could
+work--being like he is."
+
+Thryng's eyes danced with joy as he regarded her. "Hoyle is not going to
+be always as he is, and he shall have the chance to learn something
+also. Look up, Miss Cassandra, look squarely into my eyes and laugh. Be
+happy, Miss Cassandra, and laugh. I say it."
+
+She laughed softly then. She could not help it.
+
+"Wasn't that what the 'Voices' were saying last night when you
+followed?"
+
+"Yes, yes. They seemed like they were calling, 'Hope, hope,' but they
+were not the real 'Voices.' You made it."
+
+"Yes, I made it; and I was truly calling that to you. And you replied;
+you came to me."
+
+"Ah, but that is different from the 'Voices' she heard."
+
+"But if they called the truth to you--what then?"
+
+"Doctah, there is no longer any hope for me. God called me and let me
+cut off all hope, once. I did it, and now, only death can change it."
+
+"If I believe you, you must believe me. We won't talk of it any more.
+I'm hungry. Your mother was churning up there; let's go and get some
+buttermilk, and settle the business of the rent. You've run three good
+furrows and I'll run three more beside them--my first, remember, in all
+my life. Then we'll plant that strip to sunflowers. Come, Hoyle, tie the
+mule and follow us."
+
+So David carried his way. They walked merrily back to the house,
+chattering of his plans and what he would raise. He knew nothing
+whatever of the sort of crops to be raised, and she was naively gay at
+his expense, a mood he was overjoyed to awaken in her. He vowed that
+merely to walk over ploughed ground made a man stronger.
+
+On the porch he sat and drank his buttermilk and, placing his paper on
+the step, drew up a contract for rent. Then Cassandra went to her
+weaving, and he and Hoyle returned to the field, where with much labor
+he succeeded in turning three furrows beside Cassandra's, rather crooked
+and uncertain ones, it is true, but quite as good as hers, as Hoyle
+reluctantly admitted, which served to give David a higher respect for
+farmers in general and ploughmen especially.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+IN WHICH DAVID DISCOVERS CASSANDRA'S TROUBLE
+
+
+After turning his furrows, David told Hoyle to ride the mule to the
+stable, then he sat himself on the fence, and meditated. He bethought
+him that in the paper he had drawn up he had made no provision for the
+use of the mule. He wiped his forehead and rubbed the perspiration from
+his hair, and coughed a little after his exertion, glad at heart to find
+himself so well off.
+
+He would come and plough a little every day. Then he began to calculate
+the number of days it would take him to finish the patch, measuring the
+distance covered by the six furrows with his eye, and comparing it with
+the whole. He laughed to find that, at the rate of six furrows a day,
+the task would take him well on into the summer. Plainly he must find a
+ploughman.
+
+Then the laying out of the ground! Why should he not have a vineyard up
+on the farther hill slope? He never could have any fruit from it, but
+what of that! Even if he went away and never returned, he would know it
+to be adding its beauty to this wonderful dream. Who could know what the
+future held for him--what this little spot might mean to him in the days
+to come? That he would go out, fully recovered and strong to play his
+part in life, he never doubted. Might not this idyl be a part of it? He
+thought of the girl sitting at her loom, swaying as she threw her
+shuttle with the rhythm of a poem, and weaving--weaving his life and his
+heart into her web, unknown to herself--weaving a thread of joy through
+it all which as yet she could not see. He knocked the ashes from his
+pipe and stood a moment gazing about him.
+
+Yes, he really must have a vineyard, and a bit of pasture somewhere, and
+a field of clover. What grew best there he little knew, so he decided to
+go up and consult the widow.
+
+There were other things also to claim his thoughts. Over toward "Wild
+Cat Hole" there was a woman who needed his care; and he must not become
+so absorbed in his pastoral romance as to forget Hoyle. He was looking
+actually haggard these last few days, and his mother said he would not
+eat. It might be that he needed more than the casual care he was giving
+him. Possibly he could take him to Doctor Hoyle's hospital for radical
+treatment later in the season, when his crops were well started. He
+smiled as he thought of his crops, then laughed outright, and strolled
+back to the house, weary and hungry, and happy as a boy.
+
+"Well, now, I like the look of ye," called the old mother from the
+porch, where she still sat. "'Pears like it's done ye good a-ready to
+turn planter. The' hain't nothin' better'n the smell o' new sile fer
+them 'at's consumpted."
+
+"Mother," cried Cassandra from within, "don't call the doctor that! Come
+up and have dinner with us, Doctor." She set a chair for him as she
+spoke, but he would not. As he stood below them, looking up and
+exchanging merry banter with her mother, he laughed his contagious
+laugh.
+
+"I bet he's tired," shrilled Hoyle, from his perch on the porch roof.
+"He be'n settin' on the fence smokin' an' rubbin' his hade with his
+handkercher like he'd had enough with his ploughin'. You can nigh about
+beat him, Cass. Hisn didn't look no better'n what yourn looked."
+
+"Here, you young rascal you, come down from there," cried David.
+Catching him by the foot, which hung far enough over to be within reach
+of his long arm, he pulled him headlong from his high position and
+caught him in mid-air. "Now, how shall I punish you?"
+
+"Ye bettah whollop him. He hain't nevah been switched good in his hull
+life. Maybe that's what ails him."
+
+The child grinned. "I hain't afeared. Get me down on the ground oncet,
+an' I c'n run faster'n he can."
+
+"Suppose I duck him in the water trough yonder?"
+
+"I reckon he needs it. He generally do," smiled Cassandra from the
+doorway. "Come, son, go wash up." David allowed the child to slip to the
+ground. "Seems like Hoyle is right enough about you, though. Don't go
+away up the hill; bide here and have dinner first."
+
+David dropped on the step for a moment's rest. "I see I must make a way
+up to my cabin that will not pass your door. How about that? Was dinner
+included in the rent, and the mule and the mule's dinner? And what is
+Hoyle going to pay me for allowing him to ride Pete up and down while I
+plough?"
+
+"Yas, an' what are ye goin' to give him fer 'lowin' ye to set his hade
+round straight, an' what are ye goin' to give me fer 'lowin' ye to set
+me on my laigs again? Ef ye go a-countin' that-a-way, I'm 'feared ye're
+layin' up a right smart o' debt to we-uns. I reckon you'll use that mule
+all ye want to, an' ye'll lick him good, too, when he needs hit, an'
+take keer o' yourself, fer he's a mean critter; an' ye'll keep that path
+right whar hit is, fer hit goes with the farm long's you bide up
+yandah."
+
+"You good people have the best of me; we'll call it all even. Ever since
+I leaped off that train in the snow, I have been dependent on you for my
+comfort. Well, I must hurry on; since I've turned farmer I'm a busy man.
+Can you suggest any one I might get to do that ploughing? Miss Cassandra
+here may be able to do it without help, but I confess I'm not equal to
+it."
+
+"I be'n tellin' Cass that thar Elwine Timms, he ought to be able to do
+the hull o' that work. Widow Timmses' son. They live ovah nigh the
+Gerret place thar at Lone Pine Creek. He used to help Frale with the
+still. An' then thar's Hoke Belew--he ought to do sumthin' fer all you
+done fer his wife--sittin' up the hull night long, an' gettin' up at
+midnight to run to them. Oh, I hearn a heap sittin' here. Things comes
+to me that-a-way. Thar hain't much goin' on within twenty mile o' here
+'at I don't know. They is plenty hereabouts owes you a heap."
+
+"I think I've been treated very well. They keep me supplied with all I
+need. What more can a man ask? The other day, a man brought me a sack of
+corn meal, fresh and sweet from the mill--a man with six children and a
+sick mother to feed, but what could I do? He would leave it, and
+I--well, I--"
+
+"When they bring ye things, you take 'em. Ye'll help 'em a heap more
+that-a-way 'n ye will curin' 'em. The' hain't nothin' so good fer a man
+as payin' his debts. Hit keeps his hade up whar a man 'at's good fer
+anything ought to keep hit. I hearn a heap o' talk here in these
+mountains 'bouts bein' stuck up, but I tell 'em if a body feels he
+hain't good fer nothin', he pretty generally hain't. He'd a heap better
+feel stuck up to my thinkin'."
+
+"They've done pretty well, all who could. They've brought me everything
+from corn whiskey to fodder for my horse. A woman brought me a bag of
+dried blueberries the other day. I don't know what to do with them. I
+have to take them, for I can't be graceless enough to send them away
+with their gifts."
+
+"You bring 'em here, an' Cass'll make ye a blueberry cake to eat hot
+with butter melt'n' on hit 'at'll make ye think the world's a good place
+to live in."
+
+"I'll do it," he said, laughing, and took his solitary path up the
+steep. Halfway to his cabin, he heard quick, scrambling steps behind
+him, and, turning, saw little Hoyle bringing Cassandra's small
+melon-shaped basket, covered with a white cloth.
+
+"I said I could run faster'n you could. Cass, she sont some th' chick'n
+fry." He thrust the basket at Thryng and turned to run home.
+
+"Here, here!" David called after the twisted, hunched little figure.
+"You tell your sister 'thank you very much,' for me. Will you?"
+
+"Yas, suh," and the queer little gnome disappeared among the laurel
+below.
+
+In the morning, David found the place of the Widow Timms, and her son
+agreed to come down the next day and accept wages for work. A weary,
+spiritless young man he was, and the home as poverty-stricken as was
+that of Decatur Irwin, and with almost as many children. It was with a
+feeling of depression that David rode on after his call, leaving the
+grandmother seated in the doorway, snuff stick between her yellow teeth,
+the grandchildren clustering about her knees, or squatting in the dirt,
+like young savages. Their father lounged in the wretched cabin, hardly
+to be seen in the windowless, smoke-blackened space nearly filled with
+beds heaped with ragged bedclothes, and broken splint-bottomed chairs
+hung about with torn and soiled garments.
+
+The dirt and disorder irritated David, and he felt angered at the
+clay-faced son for not being out preparing his little patch of ground.
+Fortunately, he had been able to conceal his annoyance enough to secure
+the man's promise to begin work next day, or he would have gained
+nothing but the family's resentment for his pains. Already David had
+learned that a sort of resentful pride was the last shred of
+respectability to which the poorest and most thriftless of the mountain
+people clung--pride of he knew not what, and resentfulness toward any
+who, by thrift and labor, were better off than themselves.
+
+He reasoned that as the young man had been Frale's helper at the still,
+no doubt corn whiskey was at the bottom of their misery. This brought
+his mind to the thought of Frale himself. The young man had not been
+mentioned between him and Cassandra since the day she sought his help.
+He thought he could not be far from the still, as he forded Lone Pine
+Creek, on his way to the home of Hoke Belew, whose wife he was going to
+see.
+
+David was interested in this young family; they seemed to him to be
+quite of the better sort, and as he put space between himself and the
+Widow Timms' deplorable state, his irritation gradually passed, and he
+was able to take note of the changes a week had wrought in the growing
+things about him.
+
+More than once he diverged to investigate blossoming shrubs which were
+new to him, attracted now by a sweet odor where no flowers appeared,
+until closer inspection revealed them, and now by a blaze of color
+against the dark background of laurel leaves and gray rocks. Ah, the
+flaming azalea had made its appearance at last, huge clusters of
+brilliant bloom on leafless shrubs. How dazzlingly gay!
+
+In the midst of his observance of things about him, and underneath his
+surface thoughts, he carried with him a continual feeling of
+satisfaction in the remembrance of the little farm below the Fall Place,
+and in an amused way planned about it, and built idly his "Castles in
+Spain." A bit of stone wall whose lower end was overgrown with vines
+pleased him especially, and a few enormous trees, which had been left
+standing when the spot had been originally cleared, and the
+vine-entangled, drooping trees along the banks of the small river that
+coursed crookedly through it,--what possibilities it all presented to
+his imagination! If only he could find the right man to carry out his
+ideas for him, he would lease the place for fifty years for the
+privilege of doing as he would with it.
+
+After a time he came out upon the cleared farm of Hoke Belew, who was
+industriously ploughing his field for cotton, and called out to him,
+"How's the wife?"
+
+"She hain't not to say right smart, an' the baby don't act like he's
+well, neither, suh. Ride on to th' house an' light. She's thar, an' I'll
+be up d'rectly."
+
+Thryng rode on and dismounted, tying his horse to a sapling near the
+door. The place was an old one. A rose vine, very ancient, covered the
+small porch and the black, old, moss-grown roof. The small green foliage
+had come out all over it in the week since he was last there. The glazed
+windows were open, and white homespun curtains were swaying in the light
+breeze. A small fire blazed on the hearth, and before it, in a
+huge-splint-bottomed rocking-chair, the pale young mother reclined
+languidly, wrapped in a patchwork quilt. The hearth was swept and all
+was neat, but very bare.
+
+Close to the black fireplace on a low chair, with the month-old baby on
+her knees, sat Cassandra. She was warming something at the fire, which
+she reached over to stir now and then, while the red light played
+brightly over her sweet, grave face. Very intent she was, and lovely to
+see. She wore a creamy white homespun gown, coarse in texture, such as
+she had begun to wear about the house since the warm days had come.
+Thryng had seen her in such a dress but once before, and he liked it.
+With one arm guarding the little bundle in her lap, dividing her
+attention between it and the porridge she was making, she sat, a living
+embodiment of David's vision, silhouetted against and haloed by the red
+fire, softened by the blue, obscuring smoke-wreaths that slowly circled
+in great rings and then swept up the wide, overarching chimney.
+
+He heard her low voice speaking, and his heart leaped toward her as he
+stood an instant, unheeded by them, ere he rapped lightly. They both
+turned with a slight start. Cassandra rose, holding the sleeping babe in
+the hollow of her arm, and set a chair for him before the fire. Then
+she laid the child carefully in the mother's arms, and removed the
+porridge from the fire.
+
+"Shall I call Hoke?" she asked, moving toward the door.
+
+David did not want her to leave them, loving the sight of her. "Don't
+go. I saw him as I came along," he said.
+
+But she went on, and sat herself on a seat under a huge locust tree.
+Tardiest of all the trees, it had not yet leaved out. Later it would be
+covered with a wealth of sweet white blossoms swarming with honey-bees,
+and the air all about it would be filled with its lavish fragrance and
+the noise of humming wings.
+
+Presently Hoke came plodding up from the field, and smiled as he passed
+her. "Doc inside?" he asked.
+
+She nodded. When David came out, he found her still seated there, her
+head resting wearily against the rough tree. She rose and came toward
+him.
+
+"I thought I wouldn't leave until I knew if there was anything more I
+could do," she said simply.
+
+"No, you've done all you can. She'll be all right. Where's your horse?"
+
+"I walked."
+
+"Why did you do that? You ought not, you know."
+
+"Hoyle rode the colt down to see could Aunt Sally come here for a day or
+two, until Miz Belew can do for herself better." She turned back to the
+house.
+
+"Come home now with me. Ride my horse, and I'll walk. I'd like to walk,"
+urged David.
+
+"Oh, no. Thank you, Doctor, I must speak to Azalie first. Don't wait."
+
+She went in, and David mounted and rode slowly on, but not far. Where
+the trail led through a small stream which he knew she must cross, he
+dismounted and allowed the horse to drink, while he stood looking back
+along the way for her to come to him. Soon he saw her white dress among
+the glossy rhododendron leaves as she moved swiftly along, and he walked
+back to meet her.
+
+"I have waited for you. You are not used to this kind of a saddle, I
+know, but what's the difference? You can ride cross-saddle as the young
+ladies do in the North, can't you?"
+
+"I reckon I could." She laughed a little. "Do they ride that way where
+you come from? It must look right funny. I don't guess I'd like it."
+
+"But just try--to please me? Why not?"
+
+"If you don't mind, I'd rather walk, please, suh. Don't wait."
+
+"Then I will walk with you. I may do that, may I not?" He caught the
+bridle-rein on the saddle, leaving the horse to browse along behind as
+he would, and walked at her side. She made no further protest, but was
+silent.
+
+"You don't object to this, do you?" he insisted.
+
+"It's pleasanter than being alone, but it's right far to walk, seems
+like, for you."
+
+"Then why not for you?" She smiled her mysterious, quiet smile. "You
+must know that I am stronger than you?" he persisted.
+
+"I ought to think so, since that day we rode over to Cate Irwin's, but I
+was right afraid for you that time, lest you get cold; and then it was
+me--" she paused, and looked squarely in his eyes and laughed. "You
+wouldn't say 'it was me,' would you?"
+
+He joined merrily in her laughter. "I never corrected you on that."
+
+"You never did, but you didn't need to. I often know, after I've said
+something--not--right--as you would say it."
+
+"Do you, indeed?" he walked nearer, boyishly happy because she was close
+beside him. He wanted to touch her, to take her hand and walk as
+children do, but could not because of the subtile barrier he felt
+between them. He determined to break it down. "Finish what you were
+saying? And then it was me--what?"
+
+"And then it was I who gave out, not you."
+
+"But you were a heroine--a heroine from the ground up, and I love you."
+He spoke with such boyish impulsiveness that she took the remark as one
+of his extravagances, and merely smiled indulgently, as if amused at it.
+She did not even flush, but accepted it as she would an outburst from
+Hoyle.
+
+David was amazed. It only served to show him how completely outside that
+charmed circle within which she lived he still was. He was maddened by
+it. He came nearer and bent to look in her face, until she lifted her
+eyes to look fairly in his.
+
+"That's right. Look at me and understand me. I waited there only that I
+might tell you. Why do you put a wall between us? I tell you I love you.
+I love you, Cassandra; do you understand?"
+
+She stood quite still and gazed at him in amazement, almost as if in
+terror. Her face grew white, and she pressed her two hands on her heart,
+then slowly slid them up to her round white throat as if it hurt her--a
+movement he had seen in her twice before, when suffering emotion.
+
+"Why, Cassandra, does it hurt you for me to tell you that I love you?
+Beautiful girl, does it?"
+
+"Yes, suh," she said huskily.
+
+He would have taken her in his arms, but refrained for very love of her.
+She should be sacred even from his touch, if she so wished, and the
+barrier, whatever it might be, should halo her. He had spoken so
+tenderly he had no need to tell her. The love was in his eyes and his
+voice, but he went on.
+
+"Then I must be cruel and hurt you. I love you all the days and the
+nights--all the moments of the days--I love you."
+
+In very terror, she flung out her hands and placed them on his breast,
+holding him thus at arm's-length, and with head thrown back, still
+looked into his eyes piteously, imploringly. With trembling lips, she
+seemed to be speaking, but no voice came. He covered her hands with his,
+and held them where she had placed them.
+
+"You have put a wall between us. Why have you done it?"
+
+"I didn't--didn't know; I thought you were--as far--as far away from us
+as the star--the star of gold is--from our world in the night--so far--I
+didn't guess--you could come so--near." She bowed her head and wept.
+
+"You are the star yourself, you beautiful--you are--"
+
+But she stopped him, crying out. She could not draw her hands away, for
+he still held them clasped to his heart.
+
+"No, no! The wall is there. It must be between us for always, I am
+promised." The grief wailed and wept in her tones, and her eyes were
+wide and pleading. "I must lead my life, and you--you must stay outside
+the wall. If you love me--Doctor,--you must never know it, and I must
+never know it." Her beating heart stopped her speech and they both stood
+thus a moment, each seeing only the other's soul.
+
+"Promised?" The word sank into his heart like lead. "Promised?" Slowly
+he released her hands, and she covered her face with them and sank at
+his feet. He bent down to her and asked almost in a whisper: "Promised?
+Did you say that word?"
+
+She drooped lower and was silent.
+
+All the chivalry of his nature rose within him. Should he come into her
+life only to torment and trouble her? Ought he to leave the place? Could
+he bear to live so near her? What had she done--this flower? Was she to
+be devoured by swine? The questions clamored at the door of his heart.
+But one thing could he see clearly. He must wait without the wall,
+seeking only to serve and protect her.
+
+With the unerring instinct which led her always straight to the mark,
+she had seen the only right course. He repeated her words over and over
+to himself. "If you love me, you must never know it, and I must never
+know it." Her heart should be sacred from his personal intrusion, and
+their old relations must be reestablished, at whatever cost to himself.
+
+With flash-light clearness he saw his difficulty, and that only by the
+elimination of self could he serve her, and also that her manner of
+receiving his revelation had but intensified his feeling for her. The
+few short moments seemed hours of struggle with himself ere he raised
+her to her feet and spoke quietly, in his old way.
+
+He lifted her hand to his lips. "It is past, Miss Cassandra. We will
+drop these few moments out of your life into a deep well, and it shall
+be as if they had never been." He thought as he spoke that the well was
+his own heart, but that he would not say, for henceforth his love and
+service must be selfless. "We may be good friends still? Just as we
+were?"
+
+"Yes, suh," she spoke meekly.
+
+"And we can go right on helping each other, as we have done all these
+weeks? I do not need to leave you?"
+
+"Oh, no, no!" She spoke with a gasp of dismay at the thought. "It--won't
+hurt so much if I can see you going right on--getting strong--like you
+have been, and being happy--and--" She paused in her slowly trailing
+speech and looked about her. They were down in a little glen, and there
+were no mountain tops in sight for her to look up to as was her custom.
+
+"And what, Cassandra? Finish what you were saying." Still for a while
+she was silent, and they walked on together. "And now won't you say what
+you were going to say?" He could not talk himself, and he longed to hear
+her voice.
+
+"I was thinking of the music you made. It was so glad. I can't talk and
+say always what I think, like you do, but seems like it won't hurt me so
+here," she put her hand to her throat, "where it always hurts me when I
+am sorry at anything, if I can hear you glad in the music--like you were
+that--night I thought you were the 'Voices.'"
+
+"Cassandra, it shall be glad for you, always."
+
+She looked into his eyes an instant with the clear light of
+understanding in her own. "But for you? It is for you I want it to be
+glad."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+IN WHICH DAVID VISITS THE BISHOP, AND FRALE SEES HIS ENEMY
+
+
+The bishop was seated in a deep canvas chair on his wide veranda,
+looking out over his garden toward a distant line of blue hills. His
+little wife sat close to his side on a low rocker, very busy with the
+making of buttonholes in a small girl's frock of white dimity and lace.
+Betty Towers loved lace and pretty things.
+
+The small girl was playing about the garden paths with her puppy and
+chattering with Frale in her high, happy, childish voice, while he bent
+weeding among the beds of okra and egg-plant. His face wore a more than
+usually discontented look, even when answering the child with teasing
+banter. Now and then he lifted his eyes from his work and watched
+furtively the movements of David Thryng, who was pacing restlessly up
+and down the long veranda in earnest conversation with the bishop and
+his wife.
+
+The two in the garden could not understand what was being said at the
+house, but each party could hear the voices of the other, and by calling
+out a little could easily converse across the dividing hedge and the
+intervening space.
+
+"Talk about the influence of the beautiful in nature upon the human
+soul,--it is all very pretty, but I believe the soul must be more or
+less enlightened to feel it. I've learned a few things among your people
+up there in the mountains. Strange beings they are."
+
+"It only goes to show that heredity alone won't do everything," said the
+bishop, placing the tips of his fingers together and frowning
+meditatively.
+
+"Heredity? It means a lot to us over there in England."
+
+"Yes, yes. But your old families need a little new blood in them now and
+then, even if they have to come over here for it."
+
+"For that and--your money--yes." Thryng laughed. "But these mountain
+people of yours, who are they anyway?"
+
+"Most of them are of as pure a strain of British as any in the world--as
+any you will find at home. They have their heredity--and only that--from
+all your classes over there, but it is from those of a hundred or more
+years ago. They are the unmixed descendants of those you sent over here
+for gain, drove over by tyranny, or exported for crime."
+
+"How unmixed in your most horribly mixed and mongrel population?"
+
+"Circumstances and environment have kept them to the pure stock, and
+neglect has left them untrammelled by civilization and unaided by
+education. Time and generations of ignorance have deteriorated them, and
+nature alone--as you were but now admitting--has hardly served to arrest
+the process by the survival of the fittest."
+
+"Nature--yes--how do you account for it? I have been in the grandest,
+most wonderful places, I venture to say, that are to be found on earth,
+and among all the glory that nature can throw around a man, he is still,
+if left to himself, more bestial than the beasts. He destroys and
+defaces and defiles nature; he kills--for the mere sake of killing--more
+than he needs; he enslaves himself to his appetites and passions,
+follows them wildly, yields to them recklessly; and destroys himself and
+all the beauty around him that he can reach, wantonly. Why, Bishop
+Towers, sometimes I've gone out and looked up at the stars above me and
+wondered which was real, they and the marvellous beauty all around me,
+or the three hundred reeking humanity sleeping in the camp beneath them.
+Sometimes it seemed as if only hell were real, and the camp was a bit of
+it let loose to mock at heaven."
+
+"We mustn't forget that what is transitory is not a part of God's
+eternity of spirit and truth."
+
+"Oh, yes, yes! But we do forget. And some transitory things are mighty
+hard to endure, especially if they must endure for a lifetime."
+
+David was thinking of Cassandra and what in all probability would be her
+doom. He had not mentioned her name, but he had come down with the
+intention of learning all he could about her, and if possible to whom
+she was "promised." He feared it might be the low-browed, handsome youth
+bending over the garden beds beyond the hedge, and his heart rebelled
+and cried out fiercely within him, "What a waste, what a waste!"
+
+Betty Towers, intent on her sewing, felt the thrill that intensified
+David's tone, and she, too, thought of Cassandra. She dropped her work
+in her lap and looked earnestly in her husband's face.
+
+"James, I feel just as Doctor Thryng does--when I think of some things.
+When I see a tragedy coming to a human soul, I feel that a lifetime of
+transitory things like that is hard to endure. Fancy, James! Think of
+Cassandra. You know her, Doctor Thryng, of course. They live just below
+your place. She is the Widow Farwell's daughter, but her name is
+Merlin."
+
+David arrested his impatient stride and, drawing a chair near her,
+dropped into it. "What about her?" he said. "What is the tragedy?"
+
+"I think, Betty, the hills must keep their own secrets," said the
+bishop.
+
+His little wife compressed her lips, glanced over the hedge at the young
+man who happened at the moment to have straightened from his bent
+position among the plants and was gazing at their guest, then resumed
+her sewing.
+
+"Is it something I must not be told?" asked David, quietly. "But I may
+have my suspicions. Naturally we can't help that."
+
+"I think it is better to know the truth. I don't like suspicions. They
+are sure to lead to harm. James, let me put it to the doctor as I see
+it, and see what he thinks of it."
+
+"As you please, dear."
+
+"It's like this. Have you seen anything of that girl or observed her
+much?"
+
+"I certainly have."
+
+"Then, of course, you can see that she is one of the best of the
+mountain people, can't you? Well! She has promised to marry--promised to
+marry--think of it! one of the wildest, most reckless of those mountain
+boys, one that she knows very well has been in illicit distilling. He
+is a lawbreaker in that way; and, more than that, he drinks, and in a
+drunken row he shot dead his friend."
+
+"Ah!" David rose, turned away, and again paced the piazza. Then he
+returned to his seat. "I see. The young man I tried to help off when I
+first arrived."
+
+"Yes. There he is."
+
+"I see. Handsome type."
+
+"He's down here now, keeping quiet. How long it will last, no one knows.
+Justice is lax in the mountains. His father shot three or four men
+before he died himself of a gunshot wound which he received while
+resisting the officers of the law. If there's a man left in the family
+to follow this thing up, Frale will be hunted down and arrested or shot;
+otherwise, when things have cooled off a little up there, he will go
+back and open up the old business, and the tragedy will be repeated.
+James, you know how often after the best you could do and all their
+promises, they go back to it?"
+
+"I admit it's always a question. They don't seem to be content in the
+low country. I think it is often a sort of natural gravitation back to
+the mountains where they were born and bred, more than it is depravity."
+
+"I know, James, but that excuse won't help Cassandra."
+
+"Why did she do it?" asked David. "She must have known to what such a
+marriage would bring her."
+
+"Do it? That is the sort of girl she is. If she thought she ought, she
+would leap over that fall there."
+
+"But why should she think she ought? Had she given her--promise--" David
+saw her as she appeared to him when she had said that word to him on the
+mountain, and it silenced him, but only for a moment. He would learn all
+he could of her motives now. He must--he would know. "I mean before he
+did this, before she went away to study--had she made him such
+a--promise?"
+
+"No. You tell him about it, James. You have seen her and talked with
+her. They were quarrelling about her, as I understand, and she thinks
+because she was the cause of the deed she must help him make
+retribution. Isn't that it, James? She knows perfectly well what it
+means for her, for she has had her aspirations. I can see it all. Frale
+says he was not drunk nor his friend either. He says the other man
+claimed--but I won't go into that--only Cassandra promised him before
+God, he says, that if he would repent, she would marry him. And when she
+was here she used to talk about the way those women live. How her own
+mother has worked and aged! Why, she is not yet sixty. You have seen how
+they live in their wretched little cabins, Doctor; that's what Frale
+would doom her to. He never in life will understand her. He'll grow old
+like his father,--a passionate, ignorant, untamed animal, and worse, for
+he would be drunken as well. He's been drunk twice since he came down
+here. James, you know they think it's perfectly right to get drunk
+Saturday afternoon."
+
+"Yes, it seems a terrible waste; but if she has children, she will be
+able to do more for them than her mother has done for her, and they will
+have her inheritance; so her life can't be wholly wasted, even if she is
+not able to live up to her aspirations."
+
+"James Towers! I--that--it's because you are a man that you can talk so!
+I'm ashamed, and you a bishop! I wish--" Betty's eyes were full of angry
+tears. "I only wish you were a woman. Slowly improve the race by bearing
+children--giving them her inheritance! How would she bear them? Year
+after year--ill fed, half clothed, slaving to raise enough to hold their
+souls in their bodies, bringing them into the world for a brute who
+knows only enough to make corn whiskey--to sell it--and drink it--and
+reproduce his kind--when--when she knows all the time what ought to be!
+Oh, James, James, think of it!"
+
+"My dear, my dear, you forget, he has promised to repent and live a
+different life. If he does, things will be better than we now see them.
+If he does not change, then we may interfere--perhaps."
+
+"I know, James. But--but--suppose he repents and she becomes his wife,
+and puts aside all her natural tastes, and the studies she loves, and
+goes on living with him there on the home place, and he does the best he
+can--even. Don't you see that her nature is fine and--and so
+different--even at the best, James, for her it will be death in life.
+And then there is the terrible chance, after all, that he might go back
+and be like his father before him, and then what?"
+
+"Well, their lives and destinies are not in our hands; we can only
+watch out for them and help them."
+
+"James, he has been drunk twice!"
+
+"Yes, yes, Betty, my little tempest, and if he gets drunk twice more,
+and twice more, she will still forgive him until seventy times seven. We
+must make her see that unless he keeps his promise to her, she must give
+him up."
+
+"Of course. I suppose that's all we can do. I--don't know what you'll
+think of me, Doctor Thryng; I'm a dreadful scold. If James were not an
+angel--"
+
+"It's perfectly delicious. I would rather hear you scold than--"
+
+"Than hear James preach," laughed the bishop. "I agree with you."
+
+"I agree with her," said David, emphatically. "It ought to be stopped
+if--"
+
+"If it ought to be, it will be. What do you think she said to me about
+it when I went to reason with her? 'If Christ can forgive and stand such
+as he, I can. It is laid on my soul to do this.' I had no more to say."
+
+"That is one point of view, but we mustn't lose sight of the practical,
+either. To be his wife and bear his children--I call it a waste, a--"
+
+"Yes, yes. So it is." And what more could the bishop say? After a
+little, he added, "But still we must not forget that he, too, is a human
+soul and has a value as great as hers."
+
+"According to your viewpoint, but not to mine--not to mine. If a man is
+enslaved to his own appetites, he has no right to enslave another to
+them."
+
+The following day David took himself back to his hermitage, setting
+aside all persuasions to remain.
+
+"Don't make a recluse of yourself," begged the bishop's wife. "The
+amenities of life can't always be dispensed with, and we need you, James
+and I, you and your music."
+
+David laughed. "I'm too fatally human to become a recluse, and as for
+the amenities, they are not all of one order, you know. I find plenty of
+scope for exercising them on others, and I often submit to having them
+exercised on me,--after their own ideas." He laughed again. "I wish you
+could look into my larder. You'd find me provided with all the hills
+afford. They have loaded me with gifts."
+
+"No wonder! I know what your life up there means to them, taking care of
+their mothers and babies, and sitting up with them nights, going to them
+when they are in trouble, rain or shine, and visiting them in their
+bare, wretched, crowded homes."
+
+"It wouldn't be so bad often, if it weren't that when a family is in
+serious trouble or has a case needing quiet and care, the sympathies of
+all their relatives are roused, and they come crowding in. In one case,
+the father was ill with pneumonia. I did all I could for him, and next
+day--would you believe it?--I found his sister and her 'old man' and
+their three youngsters, his old mother and a brother and a widowed
+sister, all camped down on them, all in one room. The sister sat by the
+fire nursing her three-months-old baby, his mother was smoking at her
+side, and the sick man's six little children and their three cousins
+were raising Ned, in and out, with three or four hounds. Not one of the
+visitors was helping, or, as they say up there, 'doing a lick,' but the
+wife was cooking for the whole raft when her husband needed all her
+care. Marvellous ideas they have, some of them."
+
+"You ought to write out some of your experiences."
+
+"Oh, I can't. It would seem like a sort of betrayal of friendship. They
+have adopted me, so to speak, and are so naive and kind, and have
+trusted me--I think they are my friends. I may be very odd--you know."
+
+"I know how you feel," said Betty.
+
+The bishop's little daughter had assumed the proprietorship of the
+doctor. She even preferred his companionship to that of her puppy. She
+clung to his hand as he walked away, pulling and swinging upon his arm
+to coax him back. He took her in his arms and carried her out upon the
+walk, the small dog barking and snapping at his heels, as David
+threatened to bear his tyrannical young mistress away to the station.
+
+"Doggie wants you to leave me here," she cried, pounding him vigorously
+with her two little fists.
+
+He brought her back and placed her on the broad, flat top of the high
+gate-post. "Very well, doggie may have you. I will leave you here."
+
+"Doggie wants you to stay, too." She held him with her small arms about
+his neck.
+
+"Well, doggie can't have me." He unclinched her chubby hands, crossed
+them in her lap, and held them fast while he kissed her tanned and rosy
+cheek. "Good-by, you young rogue," he said, and strode away.
+
+"Come and lift me down," she wailed. But he knew well she could scramble
+down by herself when she chose, and walked on. She continued to call
+after him; then, spying Frale in the wood yard, she imperatively
+summoned him to her aid, and trotted at his side back to the woodpile,
+where they sat comfortably upon a log and visited together.
+
+They were the best of friends and chattered with each other as if both
+were children. In the slender shadow of a juniper tree that stood like a
+sentinel in the corner of the wood yard they sat, where a high board
+fence separated them from the back street.
+
+The bishop's place was well planted, and this corner had been the
+quarters of the house servants in slave times. It was one of Frale's
+duties to pile here, for winter use, the firewood which he cut in short
+lengths for the kitchen fire, and long lengths for the open fireplaces.
+
+He hated the hampered village life, and round of small duties--the
+weeding in the garden, cleaning of piazzas and windows, and the sweeping
+of the paths. The woodcutting was not so bad, but the rest he held in
+contempt as women's work. He longed to throw his gun in the hollow of
+his arm and tramp off over his own mountains. At night he often wept,
+for homesickness, and wished he might spend a day tending still, or
+lying on a ridge watching the trail below for intruders on his privacy.
+
+The joy of life had gone out for him. He thought continually of
+Cassandra and desired her; and his soul wearied for her, until he was
+tempted to go back to the mountains at all risks, merely for a sight of
+her. Painfully he had tried to learn to write, working at the copies
+Betty Towers had set for him,--and certainly she had done all her
+conscientious heart prompted to interest him and keep him away from the
+village loungers. He had even progressed far enough to send two horribly
+spelled missives to Cassandra, feeling great pride in them. And now he
+had begun to weary of learning. To be able to write those badly scrawled
+notes was in his eyes surely enough to distinguish him from his
+companions at home; of what use was more?
+
+"What's that you are tossing up in the air? Let me see it," demanded the
+child, as Frale tossed and caught again a small, bright object. He kept
+on tossing it and catching it away from the two little hands stretched
+out to receive it. "Give it to me. Give it to me, Frale. Let me see it."
+
+He dropped it lightly in her palm. "Don't you lose hit. That thar's
+somethin' 'at's got a charm to hit."
+
+"What's a 'charm to hit'? I don't see any charm."
+
+Then Frale laughed aloud. He took it with his thumb and forefinger and
+held it between his eye and the sun. "Is that the way you see the 'charm
+to hit'? Let me try."
+
+But he slipped it in his pocket, first placing it in a small bag which
+he drew up tightly with a string. "Hit hain't nothing you kin see. Hit's
+only a charm 'at makes hit plumb sure to kill anybody 'at hit hits.
+Hit's plumb sure to hit an' plumb sure to kill, too."
+
+"Oh, Frale! What if it had hit me when you threw it up that
+way--and--killed me? Then you'd be sorry, wouldn't you, Frale?"
+
+"Hit nevah wouldn't kill a girl--a nice little girl--like you be. Hit's
+charmed that-a-way, 'at hit won't kill nobody what I don't want hit to."
+
+"Then what do you keep it in your pocket for? You don't want to kill
+anybody, do you, Frale?"
+
+"Naw--I reckon not; not 'thout I have to."
+
+"But you don't have to, do you, Frale?" piped the child.
+
+He rose, and selecting an armful of stove wood carried it into the shed
+and began packing it away. Dorothy sat still on the log, her elbows on
+her knees, her chin in her hands, meditating. A tall man slouched by and
+peered over the high board fence at her. His eyes roved all about the
+place eagerly, keen and black. His matted hair hung long beneath his
+soft felt hat. The child looked up at him with fearless, questioning
+glance, then trotted in to her friend.
+
+"Frale, did you see that man lookin' over the fence? You think he was
+lookin' for you, Frale? Come see who 'tis. P'r'aps he's a friend of
+yours."
+
+"Dorothy, Dorothy," called her mother from the piazza, and the child
+bounded away, her puppy yelping and leaping at her side. The tall man
+turned at the corner and looked back at the child.
+
+The bishop's place occupied one corner of the block, and the fence with
+a hedge beneath it ran the whole length of two sides. Slowly sauntering
+along the second side, the gaunt, hungry-eyed man continued his way,
+searching every part of the yard and garden, even endeavoring, with
+backward, furtive glances, to see into the woodhouse, where in the
+darkness Frale crouched, once more pallid with abject fear, peering
+through the crack where on its hinges the door swung half open.
+
+As the man disappeared down the straggling village street, Frale dropped
+down on the wheelbarrow and buried his haggard face in his hands. A long
+time he sat thus, until the dinner-hour was past, and black Carrie had
+to send Dorothy to call him. Then he rose, but in the place of the white
+and haunted look was one of stubborn recklessness. He strolled to the
+house with the nonchalant air of one who fears no foes, but rather
+glories in meeting them, and sat himself down at his place by the
+kitchen table, where he bantered and badgered Carrie, who waited on him
+reluctantly, with contemptuous tosses of her woolly head. From the day
+of his first appearance there had been war between them, and now Frale
+knew that if the stranger asked her, she would gladly and slyly inform
+against him.
+
+The afternoon wore on. Again Frale sat on the wheelbarrow, thinking,
+thinking. He took the small bag from his pocket and felt of the bullet
+through the thin covering, then replaced it, and, drawing forth another
+bag, began counting his money over and over. There it was, all he had
+saved, five dollars in bills, and a few quarters and dimes.
+
+He did not like to leave the shelter of the shed, and his eyes showed
+only the narrow glint of blue as, with half-closed lids, he still peered
+out and watched the street where his enemy had disappeared. Suddenly he
+rose and climbed with swift, catlike movements up the ladder stairs
+behind him, which led to his sleeping loft. There he rapidly donned his
+best suit of dyed homespun, tied his few remaining articles of clothing
+in a large red kerchief, and before a bit of mirror arranged his tie and
+hair to look as like as possible to the village youth of Farington. The
+distinguishing silken lock that would fall over his brow had grown
+again, since he had shorn it away in Doctor Thryng's cabin. Now he
+thrust it well up under his soft felt hat, and, taking his bundle,
+descended. Again his eyes searched up and down the street and all about
+the house and yard before he ventured out in the daylight.
+
+Dorothy and her dog came bounding down the kitchen steps. She carried
+two great fried cakes in her little hands, warm from the hot fat, and
+she laughed with glee as she danced toward him.
+
+"Frale, Frale. I stole these, I did, for you. I told Carrie I wanted two
+for you, an' she said 'G'long, chile.'" She thrust them in his hands.
+
+"What's the matter, Frale? What you all dressed up for? This isn't
+Sunday, Frale. Is they going to be a circus, Frale, is they?" She poured
+forth her questions rapidly, as she hopped from one foot to the other.
+"Will you take me, Frale, if it's a circus? I'll ask mamma. I want to
+see the el'phant."
+
+"'Tain't no circus," he replied grimly.
+
+"What's the matter, Frale? Don't you like your fried cakes? Then why
+don't you eat them? What you wrapping them up for? You ought to say
+thank you, when I bring you nice cakes 'at I went an' stole for you,"
+she remonstrated severely.
+
+His throat worked convulsively as he stood, now looking at the child,
+now watching the street. Suddenly he lifted her in his arms and buried
+his face in her gingham apron.
+
+"I had a little sister oncet, only she's growed up now, an' she hain't
+my little sister any more." He kissed her brown cheek tenderly, even as
+David had done, and set her gently down on her two stubby feet. "You run
+in an' tell yer maw thank you, fer me, will ye? Mind, now. Listen at me
+whilst I tell you what to tell yer paw an' maw fer me. Say, 'Frale seen
+a houn' dog on his scent, an' he's gone home to git shet of him.'"
+
+"Where's the 'houn' dog,' Frale?" She gazed fearfully about.
+
+"He's gone now. He won't bite--not you, he won't."
+
+"Oh, Frale! I wish it was a circus."
+
+"Yas," drawled the young man, with a sullen smile curling his lips, "may
+be hit be a sort of a circus. Kin ye remember what I tol' you to tell
+yer paw?"
+
+"You--you seen a houn' dog on--on a cent--how could he be on a cent?"
+
+"Say, 'Frale seen a houn' dog on his scent, an' he's gone home to git
+shet of him.'"
+
+"Frale seen a houn' dog on--on a--a cent, an'--an'--an' he's gone home
+to--to get shet of him. What's 'get shet of him,' Frale?"
+
+"Nevah mind, honey; yer paw'll know. Run in an' tell him 'fore you
+forgit hit. Good-by."
+
+She danced gayly off toward the house, but turned to call back at him,
+as he stood watching her. "Are you going to hit the 'houn'' dog with the
+pretty ball, Frale?"
+
+"I reckon." He laughed and strode off toward the one small station in
+the opposite direction from the way the man had taken.
+
+Frale knew well where he had gone. On the outskirts of the village was a
+small grove of sycamore and gum trees, by a little stream, where it was
+the custom for the mountain people to camp with their canvas-covered
+wagons. There they would build their fires on a charred place between
+stones, and heat their coffee. There they would feed their oxen or mule
+team, tied to the rear wheels of their wagons, with corn thrown on the
+ground before them. At nightfall they would crawl under the canvas cover
+and sleep on the corn fodder within.
+
+Often beneath the fodder might be found a few jugs of raw corn whiskey
+hidden away, while the articles they had brought down for sale or barter
+at the village stores were placed on top in plain view. Sometimes they
+brought vegetables, or baskets of splints and willow withes, made by
+their women, or they might have a few yards of homespun towelling.
+
+The man Frale had seen was the older brother of his friend Ferdinand
+Teasley, and well Frale knew that he was camped with his ox team down by
+the spring, where it had been his habit to wait for the cover of
+darkness, when he could steal forth and leave his jugs where the money
+might be found for them, placed on some rock or stump or fallen trunk
+half concealed by laurel shrubs. How often had the products of Frale's
+still been conveyed down the mountain by that same ox team, in that same
+unwieldy vehicle!
+
+Giles Teasley's cabin and patch of soil, planted always to corn, was a
+long distance from his father's mill, and also from his brother's still,
+hence he could with the more safety dispose of their illicit drink.
+
+In the slow but deadly sure manner of his people, he had but just
+aroused himself to the fact that his brother's murderer was still alive
+and the deed unavenged; and Frale knew he had come now, not to dispose
+of the whiskey, since the still had been destroyed, but to find his
+brother's slayer and accord him the justice of the hills.
+
+To the mountain people the processes of the law seemed vague and
+uncertain. They preferred their own methods. A well-loaded gun, a sure
+aim, and a few months of hiding among relatives and friends until the
+vigilance of the emissaries of the law had subsided was the rule with
+them. Thus had Frale's father twice escaped either prison or the rope,
+and during the last four years of his life he had never once ventured
+from his mountain home for a day at the settlements below; while among
+his friends his prowess and his skill in evading pursuit were his glory.
+
+Now it was Frale's thought to dare the worst,--to walk to the station
+like any village youth, buy his ticket, and take the train for Carew's
+Crossing, and from there make his way to his haunt while yet Giles
+Teasley was taking his first sleep.
+
+He reasoned, and rightly, that his enemy would linger about several days
+searching for him, and never dream of his having made his escape by
+means of the train. Since the first scurry of search was over, it was no
+longer the officers of the law Frale feared, but this same lank,
+ill-favored mountaineer, who was now warming his coffee and eating his
+raw salt pork and corn-bread by the stream, while his drooling cattle
+stood near, sleepily chewing their cuds.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+IN WHICH JERRY CAREW GIVES DAVID HIS VIEWS ON FUTURE PUNISHMENT, AND
+LITTLE HOYLE PAYS HIM A VISIT AND IS MADE HAPPY
+
+
+Uncle Jerry Carew had led David's horse down to the station ready
+saddled to meet him, according to agreement, and side by side they rode
+back, the old man beguiling the way with talk of mountain affairs most
+interesting to the young doctor, who led him on from tales of his own
+youthful prowess, "when catamounts and painters war nigh as frequent as
+woodchucks is now," until he felt he knew pretty well the history of all
+the mountain side.
+
+"Yas, when I war a littlin', no highah'n my horse's knees, I kin
+remember thar war a gatherin' fer a catamount hunt on Reed's Hill ovah
+to'ds Pisgah. Catamounts war mighty pesterin' creeters them days. Ev'y
+man able to tote a gun war thar. Ol' man Caswell--that war Miz
+Merlin--she war only a mite of a baby then--her gran'paw, he war the
+oldest man in th' country; he went an' carried his rifle his paw fit in
+th' Revolution with. He fit at King's Mountain, an' all about here he
+fit."
+
+"Did he fight in the Civil War, too?"
+
+"Her gran'paw's paw? No. He war too ol' fer that, but his gran'son
+Caswell, he fit in hit, an' he nevah come back, neither. Ol' Miz
+Caswell--Cassandry Merlin's gran'maw, she lived a widow nigh on to
+thirty year. She an' her daughter--that's ol' Miz Farwell that is
+now--they lived thar an' managed the place ontwell she married Merlin."
+
+"You knew her first husband, then?"
+
+"Yas, know him? Ev'ybody knew Thad Merlin. He come f'om ovah Pisgah way,
+an' he took Marthy thar. Hit's quare how things goes. I always liked
+Thad Merlin. The' wa'n't no harm in him."
+
+David saw a quaint, whimsical smile play about the old man's mouth. "He
+war a preacher--kind of a mixtur of a preacher an' teacher an hunter.
+Couldn't anybody beat him huntin'--and farmin'--well he could farm,
+too,--better'n most. He done well whatever he done, but he had a right
+quare way. He built that thar rock wall an' he 'lowed he'd have hit run
+plumb 'round the place.
+
+"He war a fiddler, and he'd build awhile, and fetch his fiddle--he
+warn't right strong--an' then he'd set thar on the wall an' fiddle to
+the birds; an' the wild creeturs, they'd come an' hear to him. I seen
+squerrels settin' on end hearkin' to him, myself. Arter a while, folks
+begun to think 'at he didn't preach the right kind of religion, an' they
+wouldn't go to hear him no more without hit war to listen did he say
+anythin' they could fin' fault with. 'Pears like they got in that-a-way
+they didn' go fer nothin' else. Hit cl'ar plumb broke him all up. He
+quit preachin' an' took more to fiddlin', an' he sorter grew puny, an'
+one day jes' natch'ly lay down an' died, all fer nothin', 'at anybody
+could see."
+
+"What was the matter with his preaching?" asked David, and again the
+whimsical smile played around the old man's mouth, and his thin lips
+twitched.
+
+"I reckon thar wa'n't 'nuff hell 'n' damnation in hit. Our people here
+on the mountain, they're right kind an' soft therselves. They don't whop
+ther chillen, nor do nothin' much 'cept a shootin' now an' then, but
+that's only amongst the men. The women tends mostly to the religion, an'
+they likes a heap o' hell 'n' damnation. Hit sorter stirs 'em up an'
+gives 'em somethin' to chaw on, an' keeps 'em contented like. They has
+somethin' to threat'n ther men folks with an' keep ther chillen straight
+on, an' a place to sen' ther neighbors to when they don't suit. Yas,
+hit's right handy fer th' women. I reckon they couldn't git on without
+hit."
+
+"Do they think they will have bodies that can be hurt by any such thing
+in the next world?"
+
+"I reckon so. But preacher Merlin, he said that thar war paths o' light
+an' paths o' darkness, an' that eve'y man he 'bided right whar he war at
+when he died. Ef he hed tuk the path o' darkness, thar he war in hit;
+but ef he hed tuk the path o' light whar war heaven, then he war thar.
+An' he said the Lord nevah made no hell, hit war jes' our own selves
+made sech es that, an' he took an' cut that thar place cl'ar plumb out'n
+the Scripturs an' the worl' to come. But he sure hed a heap o larnin',
+only some said a sight on hit war heathen, an' that war why he lef' all
+the hell an' damnation outen his religion."
+
+Thus enlightened concerning many things, both of this particular bit of
+mountain world, which was all the world to his companion, and of the
+world to come, Thryng rode on, quietly amused.
+
+Sometimes he dismounted to investigate plants new to him, or to gather a
+bit of moss or fungi or parasite--anything that promised an elucidating
+hour with his splendid microscope. For these he always carried at the
+pommel of his saddle an air-tight box. The mountain people supposed he
+collected such things for the compounding of his drugs.
+
+When they reached the Fall Place, David continued along the main road
+below and took a trail farther on, merely a foot trail little used, to
+his eyrie. He had not seen Cassandra since they had walked together down
+from Hoke Belew's place. He had gone to Farington partly to avoid seeing
+her, nor did he wish to see her again until he should have so mastered
+himself as to betray nothing by his manner that might embarrass her or
+remind her painfully of their last interview, knowing he must eliminate
+self to reestablish their previous relations.
+
+David rode directly to his log stable, put up his horse, then unslung
+his box and walked with it toward his cabin. Suddenly he stopped. From
+the thick shrubbery where he stood he could see in at the large window
+where his microscope was placed quite through his cabin into the light,
+white canvas room beyond. Before the fireplace, clearly relieved against
+the whiteness of the farther room, stood Cassandra, gazing intently at
+something she held in her hand. David recognized it as a small, framed
+picture of his mother--a delicately painted miniature. He kept it always
+on the shelf near which she was standing. He saw her reach up and
+replace it, then brush her hand quickly across her eyes, and knew she
+had been weeping. He was ashamed to stand there watching her, but he
+could not move. Always, it seemed to him, she was being presented to him
+thus strongly against a surrounding halo of light, revealing every
+gracious line of her figure and her sweet, clean profile.
+
+He turned his eyes away, but as quickly gazed again; she had
+disappeared. He waited, and again she passed between his eyes and the
+light, here and there, moving quietly about, seeing that all was in
+order, as her custom was when she knew him to be absent.
+
+He saw her brushing about the hearth, carefully wiping the dust from his
+disordered table, lifting the books, touching everything tenderly and
+lightly. His flute lay there. She took it in her hands and looked down
+at it solemnly, then slowly raised it to her lips. What? Was she going
+to try to play upon it? No, but she kissed it. Again and again she
+kissed the slender, magic wand, hurriedly, then laid it very gently down
+and with one backward glance walked swiftly out of the cabin and away
+from him, down the trail, with long, easy steps. Only once more she drew
+her hand across her eyes, and with head held high moved rapidly on.
+Never did she look to the right or the left or she must have seen him as
+he stood, scarcely breathing and hard beset to hold himself back and
+allow her to pass him thus.
+
+Now he knew that she had been deeply stirred by him, and the revelation
+fell upon his spirit, filling him with a joy more intense than anything
+he had ever felt or experienced before, so poignantly sweet that it hurt
+him. Had he indeed entered into her dreams and become an undercurrent in
+her life even as she had in his, and did her soul and body ache for him
+as his for her?
+
+Then he suffered remorse for what he had done. How long she had defended
+herself by that wall of impersonality with which she had surrounded
+herself! He had beaten down the ramparts and trampled in the garden of
+her soul. As he stood in the door of his cabin, the place seemed to
+breathe of her presence. She had made a veritable bower of it for his
+return. Every sweet thing she had gathered for him, as if, out of her
+love and her sorrow, she had meant to bring to him an especial blessing.
+
+A shallow basin filled with wild forget-me-nots stood on the shelf
+before his mother's picture. Ferns and vines fell over the stone mantle,
+and in earthen jars of mountain ware the early rhododendron, with its
+delicate, pearly pink blossoms, filled the dark corners. Masses of the
+plumed white ash shook feathery tassels along the walls, making the air
+sweet with their fragrance. Ah, how clean and fresh everything was! All
+his disorder was set to rights, and fresh linen was on his bed in his
+canvas room.
+
+Even his table was laid with his small store of dishes, and food placed
+upon it, still covered in the basket he was now so accustomed to see.
+Sweet and dainty it all was. He had only to light the fat pine sticks
+laid beneath the kettle swung above and make his tea, and his meal was
+ready. Had she divined he would not stop at the Fall Place this time,
+when in the past it had been his custom to do so? Ah, she knew; for is
+not the little winged god a wonderful teacher?
+
+Thryng was humbled in the very dust and ashes of repentance as he sat
+down to his late dinner. The fragrance in the room, all he ate,
+everything he touched, filled his senses with her; and he--he had only
+brought her sorrow. He had come into her life but to bruise her spirit
+and leave her sad at heart with a deep sadness he dared not and could
+not alleviate. He lifted a pale purple orchid she had placed in a
+tumbler at his hand and examined it. Evidently she had thought this the
+choicest of all the woodland treasures she had brought him, and had
+placed it there, a sweet message. What should he do? Ah, what could he
+do? He must not see her yet--at least not until to-morrow.
+
+Later, David brought in his specimens and occupied himself with his
+microscope. He had begun a careful study of certain destructive things.
+Even here in the wild he found them, evil and unwholesome, clinging to
+the well and strong, slowly but surely sapping the vitality of those who
+gave them life. Every evil, he thought, must, in the economy of nature,
+have its antidote. So, with the ardor of the scientist, he divided with
+care the nasty, pasty growth he had found and prepared his plates.
+Systematically he made drawings and notes as he studied the magnified
+atoms beneath his powerful lens, and while he sat absorbed in his work,
+Hoyle's childish voice piped at him from the doorway.
+
+"Howdy, Doctah Thryng."
+
+"Why, hello! Howdy!" said David, without looking up from his work.
+
+"What you got in that thar gol' machine? Kin I look, too?"
+
+"What have I got? Why--I've got a bit of the devil in here."
+
+"Whar'd you git him? Huh?"
+
+"Oh, I found him along the road between here and the station."
+
+"Did--did he come on the cyars with you? Whar war he at? Hu come he in
+thar?" David did not reply for an instant, and the awed child drew a
+step nearer. "Whar war he at?" he insisted. "Hu come he in thar?"
+
+"He was hanging to a bush as I came along, and I put him in my box and
+brought him home and cut him up and put a little bit of him in here."
+
+Then there was silence, and David forgot the small boy until he heard a
+deep-drawn sigh behind him. Looking up for the first time, he saw him
+standing aloof, a look of terror in his wide eyes as if he fain would
+run away, but could not from sheer fright. Poor little mite! David in
+his playful speech had not dreamed of being taken in earnest. He drew
+the child to his side, where he cuddled gladly, nestling his twisted
+little body close, partly for protection, and partly in love.
+
+"You reckon he's plumb dade?" David could feel the child's heart beating
+in a heavy labored way against his arm as he held him, and, pushing his
+papers one side, he lifted him to his knee.
+
+"Do I reckon who's dead?" he asked absently, with his ear pressed to the
+child's back.
+
+"The devil what you done brought home in yuer box."
+
+"Dead? Oh, yes. He's dead--good and dead. Sit still a moment--so--now
+take a long breath. A long one--deep--that's right. Now another--so."
+
+"What fer?"
+
+"I want to hear your heart beat."
+
+"Kin you hear hit?"
+
+"Yes--don't talk, a minute,--that'll do."
+
+"What you want to hear my heart beat fer? I kin feel hit. Kin you feel
+yourn? Be they more'n one devil?"
+
+"Heaps of them."
+
+"When I go back, you reckon I'll find 'em hanging on the bushes? Do
+they hang by ther tails, like 'possums does?"
+
+Comfortable and happy where he was, the little fellow dreaded the
+distance he must traverse to reach his home under the peculiar phenomena
+of devils hanging to the bushes along his route.
+
+"Oh, no, no. Here, I'll show you what I mean." Then he explained
+carefully to the child what he really meant, showing him some of the
+strange and beautiful ways of nature, and at last allowing him to look
+into the microscope to see the little cells and rays. As he patiently
+and kindly taught, he was pleased with the child's eager, receptive mind
+and naive admiration. Towards evening Hoyle was sent home, quite at rest
+concerning devils and all their kin, and radiantly happy with a box of
+many colored pencils and a blank drawing-book, which David had brought
+him from Farington.
+
+"I kin larn to make things like you b'en makin' with these, an' Cass,
+she'll he'p me," he cried.
+
+"What is Cass doing to-day?" David ventured.
+
+"She be'n up here most all mornin', an' I he'ped get the light ud fer
+fire, an' then she sont me home to he'p maw whilst she stayed to fix
+up."
+
+"But now, I mean, when you came up here?"
+
+"Weavin' in the loom shed. Maw, she has a lot o' little biddies. The ol'
+hen hatched 'em, she did."
+
+"What have you done to your thumb?" asked David, seeing it tied about
+with a rag.
+
+"I plunked hit with the hammer when I war a-makin' houses fer the
+biddies. I nailed 'em, I did."
+
+"You made the chicken coops? Well, you are a clever little chap. Let me
+see your hand."
+
+"Yas, maw said I war that, too."
+
+"But you weren't very clever to do this. Whew! What did you hit your
+thumb like that for?"
+
+"Dunno." He looked ruefully at the crushed member which the doctor laved
+gently and soothingly.
+
+"Why didn't you come to me with it?"
+
+"Maw 'lowed the' wa'n't no use pesterin' you with eve'ything. She tol'
+me eve'y man had to larn to hit a nail on the haid."
+
+David laughed, and the child trotted away happy, his hand in a sling
+made of one of the doctor's linen handkerchiefs, and his box of pencils
+and his book hugged to his irregularly beating heart; but it was with a
+grave face that Thryng saw him disappear among the great masses of pink
+laurel bloom.
+
+That evening, as the glow in the west deepened and died away and the
+stars came out one by one and sent their slender rays down upon the
+hills, David sat on his rock with his flute in his hand, waiting for a
+moment to arrive when he could put it to his lips and send out the
+message of glad hopes he had sent before. She had asked that one little
+thing, that his music might still be glad, and so for Cassandra's sake
+it must be.
+
+He tried once and again, but he could not play. At last, putting away
+from him his repentant thoughts, he gave his heart full sway, saying to
+himself: "For this moment I will imagine harmlessly that my vision is
+all mine and my dream come true. It is the only way." Then he played as
+if it were he whom she had kissed so passionately, instead of his flute;
+and thus it was the glad notes were falling on her spirit when Frale
+found her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+IN WHICH FRALE RETURNS AND LISTENS TO THE COMPLAINTS OF DECATUR IRWIN'S
+WIFE
+
+
+All was quiet and lonely around Carew's Crossing when Frale dropped from
+the train and struck off over the mountain. Soon there would be bustle
+and stir and life about the place, for the hotel would be open and
+people would be crowding in, some to escape the heat of the far South
+and the low countries, some from the cities either North or South to
+whom the bracing air of the mountains would bring renewed
+vitality--business men with shattered nerves and women whose high play
+during the winter at the game of social life had left them nervous
+wrecks.
+
+But now the beauty of the spring and the sweet silences were undisturbed
+by alien chatter. As yet were to be heard only the noises of the
+forest--of wind and stream--of bird calls and the piping of turtles and
+the shrilling of insects or vibrant croaking of frogs--or mayhap the
+occasional sound of a gun, discharged by some solitary mountain boy,
+regardless of game laws, to provide a supper at home,--only these, as
+Frale climbed rapidly away from the station toward the Fall Place, and
+Cassandra. He would stop there first and then strike for his old haunts
+and hiding-places.
+
+He felt a leaping joy in his veins to be again among his hills. How
+lonely he had been for them he had not known until now, when, with
+lifted head and bounding heart, he trod lightly and easily the difficult
+way. And yet the undercurrent of a tragedy lay quiet beneath his joy and
+haunted him, keeping him to the trails above,--the secret paths which
+led circuitously to his home,--even while the thought of Cassandra made
+his heart buoyant and eager.
+
+The sight of Doctor Thryng who during these months had been near
+her--perhaps seeing her daily--aroused all the primitive jealousy of his
+nature. He would go now and persuade her to marry him and stand by him
+until he could fight his way through to the unquestioned right to live
+there as his father had done, defying any who would interfere with his
+course. Had he not a silver bullet for the heart of the man who would
+dare contest his rights? It only remained for him to meet Giles Teasley
+face to face to settle the matter forever.
+
+Since it was purely a mountain affair, and the officers of the law had
+already searched to their satisfaction, there was little chance that the
+pursuit would be renewed by the State. It would, however, be impossible
+for him to go back to the Fall Place and live there openly until the
+last member of the Teasley family capable of wreaking vengeance on his
+head had been settled with; but as the father was crippled with
+rheumatism and could do no more than totter about his mill and talk,
+only this one brother was left with whom to deal. Now that Frale was
+back in his own hills again, all terror slipped from him, and the old
+excitement in the presence of danger to be met, or avoided, stimulated
+him to a feeling of exuberance and triumph. With childlike facility he
+tossed aside the thought of his promise to Cassandra. It all seemed to
+him as a dream--all the horror and the remorse. Time had quickly dulled
+this last.
+
+"Ef I hadn't 'a' killed Ferd, he would 'a' shot me. Anyhow, he hadn't
+ought to 'a' riled me that-a-way."
+
+He thought with shame of how he had sat cowering at the head of the
+fall, and had hurled his own dog to destruction, in his fear. "I war
+jes' plumb crazy," he soliloquized.
+
+As to how he could deal with Cassandra, he did not as yet know, but he
+would find a way. In his heart, he reached out to her and already
+possessed her. His blood leaped madly through his veins that he was so
+soon to see her and touch her. Have her he would, if he must continue to
+kill his way to her through an army of opponents.
+
+The evening was falling, and, imagining they would all be sleeping, he
+meant to creep quietly up and spend the night in the loom shed. There
+was no dog there now to disturb them with joyful bark of recognition. At
+last he found himself above the home, where, by striking through the
+undergrowth a short distance, he would come out by the great holly tree
+near the head of the fall. Already he could hear the welcome sound of
+rushing water.
+
+He drew nearer through the thick laurel and azalea shrubs now in full
+bloom; their pollen clung to his clothing as he brushed among them.
+Cautiously he approached the spot which recalled to him the emotions he
+had experienced there--now throbbing through him anew. He peered into
+the gathering dusk with eager eyes as if he thought to find her still
+there. Ah, he could crush her in his mad joy!
+
+Suddenly he paused and listened. Other sounds than those of the night
+and the running water fell on his ear--sounds deliciously sweet and
+thrilling, filling all the air, mingling with the rushing of the fall
+and accenting its flow. From whence did they come--those new sounds? He
+had never heard them before. Did they drop from the sky--from the stars
+twinkling brightly down on him--now faint and far as if born in
+heaven--now near and clear--silvery clear and strong and
+sweet--penetrating his very soul and making every nerve quiver to their
+pulsating rhythm? He felt a certain fear of a new kind creep tinglingly
+through him, holding him cold and still--for the moment breathless. Was
+she there? Had she died, and was this her spirit trying to speak?
+
+Very quietly he drew nearer to the great rock. Yes, she was there,
+standing with her back to the silvery gray bole of the holly tree, her
+face lifted toward the mountain top and her expression rapt and
+listening--holy and pure--far removed from him as was the star above the
+peak toward which her gaze was turned. He could not touch her, nor crush
+her to him as a moment before he had felt he must, but he slowly
+approached.
+
+She heard his step and then saw him waiting there in the dim light of
+the starry dusk. For an instant she regarded him in silence, then she
+essayed to speak, but her lips only trembled over the words voicelessly.
+He could not see her emotion, but he felt it, although her stillness
+made her seem calm. Hungrily he stood and watched her. At last she
+spoke:--
+
+"Why, Frale, Frale!"
+
+"Hit's me, Cass."
+
+"Have--have you been down to the house, Frale?"
+
+"Naw, I jes' come this-a-way from the station."
+
+"Is it--is it safe for you to come here, Frale?"
+
+She stood a short distance from him, speaking so softly, and yet he
+could not touch her; his hands seemed numb, and his breath came
+pantingly.
+
+"I reckon hit's safe here as thar," he said huskily. "An' I'm come to
+stay, too."
+
+"Then let's go down to mother. Likely she's a-bed by now, but she'll be
+right glad to see you. She can walk a little now." She hastened to fill
+the moments with words, anything to divert that fixed gaze and take his
+thoughts from her. Instinctively she groped thus for time, she who like
+a deer would flee if flight were possible, even while her heart welled
+with pity for him. "Come. You can talk with her whilst I get you some
+supper." She felt his pent-up emotion and secretly feared it, but held
+herself bravely. "Hoyle will nigh jump out of his skin, he'll be that
+glad you come back."
+
+He stood stubbornly where he was, and lifted his hand to grasp her arm,
+but she glided on just beyond his reach, either not seeing it, or
+avoiding it, he could not decide which, and still she said, "Come,
+Frale." He followed stumblingly in her wake, as a man follows an ignis
+fatuus, unconscious of the roughness of the way or of the steps he was
+taking--and the flute notes followed them from
+above--sweetly--mockingly, as it seemed to him. What were they? Why were
+they? How came Cassandra there listening? He could stand this mystery no
+longer--and he cried out to her.
+
+"Cass, hear. Listen to that."
+
+"Yes, Frale." She spoke wearily, but did not pause.
+
+"Wait, Cass. What be hit, ye reckon? Hit sure hain't no fiddle. Thar!
+Heark to hit. Whar be hit at?"
+
+"I reckon it's up yonder at Doctor Thryng's cabin. He has a little pipe
+like, that he blows on and it makes music like that."
+
+"An' you clum' up thar to heark to him?" He bounded forward in the
+darkness and walked close to her. She quivered like a leaf, but held her
+voice low and steady as she replied.
+
+"No, Frale. I go there evenings when I'm not too tired. I've been going
+there ever since you left to--"
+
+"That doctah, he's be'n castin' a spell on you, Cass. I kin see
+hit--how you walkin' off an' nevah 'low me to touch you. Ye hain't said
+howd'y to me nor how you glad I come. You like a col' white drift o'
+snow blowin' on ahead o' me. You hain't no human girl like you used to
+be. I got somethin' to put a spell on him, too, ef he don't watch out."
+
+He spoke in his mild, low-voiced drawl, but he kept close to her side,
+and she could hear his breathing, quick and panting. She felt as if a
+tiger were keeping pace with her, and she knew the sinister meaning
+beneath his words. She knew that all she could do now was to take him
+back to his promise and hold him to it.
+
+"There's no such thing as spell casting, Frale. You know that, and you
+have my promise and I have yours. Have you forgot? Talking that way
+seems like you have forgot." She walked on rapidly, taking him nearer
+and nearer their home, and in her haste she stumbled. In an instant his
+arm was thrown around her, holding her on her feet.
+
+"Look at you now, like to fall cl'ar headlong, runnin' that-a-way to get
+shet o' me. 'Pears like you mad that I come."
+
+He held her back, and they went slowly, but he did not release her, nor
+did she struggle futilely against his strength, knowing it wiser to
+continue calmly leading him on; but she could not reply. The start of
+her fall and her wildly beating heart rendered her breathless and weak.
+
+"I tell you that thar doctah man, he have put a spell on you. He done
+drawed you up thar to hear to him. I seed you lookin' like he'd done
+drawed yuer soul outen yuer body. I have heard o' sech. He's be'n down
+to Bishop Towahs', too, whar I be'n workin' at. I seed him watchin' me
+like he come to spy on me, an' he no sooner gone than I seed that thar
+Giles Teasley sneakin' 'long the fence lookin' over an' searchin' eve'y
+place like he war a-hungerin' fer a sight o' me." He stopped and
+swallowed angrily. They had arrived at the trough of running water, and
+she breathed easier to find herself so near her haven.
+
+"What have you done with your dog, Frale? You reckon he followed you
+off? I haven't seen him since you left."
+
+He released her then and, stooping to the water-pipe, drank a long
+draft, and thrust his head beneath it, allowing the water to drench his
+thick hair. Then he stood a moment, shaking his curling locks like a
+spaniel.
+
+"Wait here. I'll fetch a towel." She hastened within. "Mother, Frale's
+come back," she said quietly, not to awaken Hoyle; then returned and
+tossed him the towel which he caught and rubbed vigorously over his head
+and face.
+
+"Now you are like yourself again, Frale."
+
+"Yas, I'm here an' I'm myself, I reckon. Who'd ye think I be?" He caught
+her and kissed her, and, with his arm about her, entered the cabin.
+
+His mood changed with childish ease according to whatever the moments
+brought him. Cassandra lighted a candle, for now that the days had grown
+warm, the fire was allowed to go out unless needed for cooking. His
+stepmother had roused herself and peered at him from out her dark
+corner, where little Hoyle lay sleeping soundly in the farther side of
+her bed. Frale strode across the uneven floor and kissed her also,
+resoundingly. Astounded, she dropped back on her pillow.
+
+"What ails ye, Frale!" The mountain people are for the most part too
+reserved to be lavish with their kisses.
+
+"Nothin' ails me. I'm kissin' you fer Cass's sake. Me an' her's goin' to
+get jined an' set up togethah. I'm come back fer to marry with her, and
+we're goin' ovah t'othah side Lone Pine, an' I'm goin' to build a cabin
+thar. That's how I'm kissin' you. Will you have anothah, or shall I give
+hit to Cass?"
+
+"You hush an' go 'long," said the mother, half contemptuously.
+
+"Frale's making fool talk, mothah. Don't give heed to him. He's
+light-headed, I reckon, and I'm going to get him something to eat right
+quick."
+
+"I 'low he be light-headed. Nobody's goin' to git Cass whilst I'm
+livin', 'thout he's got more'n a cabin ovah t'othah side Lone Pine.
+She's right well off here, an' here she'll 'bide."
+
+Frale turned darkly on the mother. "I reckon you'd bettah give heed to
+me mor'n to her," he said, in the low drawl which boded much with him.
+
+Cassandra, on her knees at the hearth, was arranging sticks of fat pine
+to light the fire. Her hands shook as she held them. This Frale saw, and
+his eyes gleamed. He came to her side and, kneeling also, took them from
+her.
+
+"Hit's my place to do this fer you now, Cass. F'om now on--I reckon.
+I'll hang the kittle fer ye, too, an' fetch the water."
+
+The mother stared at them in silence, and Cassandra, taking up the
+coffee-pot, rose and went out. When she returned, the fire was crackling
+merrily, and the great kettle swung over it. Hoyle was up and seated on
+his half-brother's knee. Cassandra's eyes looked heavy and showed traces
+of tears.
+
+Frale saw it all, with eyes gleaming blue through narrowly drawn lids.
+His lips quivered a little as he talked with Hoyle. He drew out his
+money for the child to count over gleefully, thus diverting himself with
+the boy, while he watched Cassandra furtively. He decided to say no more
+at present until she should have had time to adjust her mind to the
+thought he had so daringly announced to her mother. The two cakes little
+Dorothy had given him he took from his bundle and gave to Hoyle, then
+carried him back and put him to bed and told him to sleep again.
+
+For all of her promise, Cassandra had not expected this to come upon her
+so suddenly, like lightning out of a clear sky, startling her very soul
+with fear. As Frale ate what she set before him, she went over to the
+bedside, and sat there holding her mother's hand and talking in low
+tones, while Hoyle, with wide eyes, strove to hear.
+
+"Be hit true, what he says, Cass?"
+
+"Not all, mother. I never told him I would go and live over beyond Lone
+Pine. I meant always to live right here with you, but I am promised to
+him. I gave him my word that night he left, to get him to go and save
+him. Oh, God! Mother, I didn't guess it would come so soon. He promised
+me he would repent his deed and live right."
+
+The mother brightened and drew her daughter down and spoke low in her
+ear. "Make him keep to his promise first, child. Yuer safe thar. I
+reckon he's doin' a heap o' repentin' this-a-way. I ain' goin' 'low you
+throw you'se'f away on no Farwell, ef he be good-lookin', 'thout he
+holds to his word good fer a year. Hit's jes' the way his paw done me.
+He gin me his word 'at he'd stop 'stillin' an' drinkin', an' he helt to
+hit fer three months, an' then he come on me this-a-way an' I married
+him, an' he opened up his still again in three weeks, an' thar he went
+his own way f'om that day."
+
+Cassandra rose and went to the door. "I'm going to make you a bed in the
+loom shed like I made it for the doctor. There is no bed up garret now.
+I emptied out all the ticks and thought I'd have them fresh filled
+against you come back--but I've been that busy."
+
+Soon he followed her out. "I reckon I won't sleep thar whar that doctah
+have slep'. He might put a spell on me, too," he said, standing in the
+door of the shed and looking in on her. The night was lighter now, for
+the full moon had glided up over the hills, and she worked by its light
+streaming through the open door.
+
+"I can't see with you standing there, Frale. I reckon you'll have to
+sleep here, because it's too late to fill your bed to-night."
+
+"Oh, leave that be and come and sit here with me," he said, dropping on
+the step where the doctor had sat when she opened her heart to him and
+told him about her father. It all surged back upon her now. She could
+not sit there with Frale. "I'll make my bed myself, an' I'll--I'll sleep
+wharevah you want me to, ef hit's up on the roof or out yandah in the
+water trough. Come, sit."
+
+"We'll go back on the porch, and I'll take mother's chair. I'm right
+tired."
+
+"When we git in our own cabin ovah t'othah side Lone Pine, you won't
+have nothin' to do only tend on me," he said, drawing her to him. He led
+her across the open space and placed her gently in her mother's chair on
+the little porch.
+
+"Now, Frale, sit down there and listen," she said, pointing to the step
+at her feet where Thryng had sat only a few days before to make out the
+lease of their land. Everything seemed to cry out to her of him
+to-night, but she must steel her heart against the thought.
+
+"I'm going to talk to you straight, just what I mean, Frale. You've been
+talking as you pleased in there, and I 'lowed you to, I was that set
+back. Anyway, I'd rather talk to you alone. Frale, our promise was made
+before God, and you know I will keep to mine. But you must keep to
+yours, too. Listen at me. Mrs. Towers wrote me you had been drunk twice.
+Is that keeping your promise to leave whiskey alone? Is it, Frale?"
+
+"You have somebody down thar watchin' me, an' I hain't nobody a-watchin'
+you," he said sullenly. She felt degraded by his words.
+
+"Frale, do you know me all these years to think such as that of me now?"
+
+"I tell you he have put a spell on you. I kin feel hit an' see hit. Hit
+ain't your fault, Cass. I'd put one on you myself, ef I could. Anyhow,
+I'll take you out of this fer he have done hit."
+
+"Do you never say that word to me again as long as you live, Frale," she
+said sternly. "Listen at me, I say. You go back there and work like you
+said you would--"
+
+"Didn't I tell you that thar houn' dog Giles Teasley war on my scent? I
+seen him. I got to come back ontwell I c'n git shet o' him."
+
+"And that means another murder! Oh, Frale, Frale!" She covered her face
+with her hands and moaned. Then they sat silent awhile.
+
+After a little she lifted her head. "Frale, I'll go over to Teasleys'
+and beg for them to leave you be. I'll beg Giles Teasley on my knees, I
+will. Then when you have bided your year and kept your promise like you
+swore before God, I'll marry you like I promised, and we'll live here
+and keep the old place like it ought to be kept. You hear, Frale? Good
+night, now. It's only fair you should give heed to me, Frale, if I do
+that for you. Good night."
+
+She glided past him into the house like a wraith, and he rose without a
+word of reply and stretched himself on the half-made bed in the loom
+shed, as he was. Sullen and angry, he lay far into the night with the
+moonlight streaming over him, but he did not sleep, and his mood only
+grew more bitter and dangerous.
+
+When the first streak of dawn was drawn across the eastern sky, he rose
+unrefreshed, and began a search, feeling along the rafters high above
+the bags of cotton. Presently he drew forth an ancient, long-barrelled
+rifle, and, taking it out into the light, examined it carefully. He
+rubbed and cleaned the barrel and polished the stock and oiled the
+hammer and trigger. Then he brought from the same hiding-place a horn of
+powder and gun wadding, and at last took from his pocket the silver
+bullet, with which he loaded his old weapon even as he had seen it
+charged in past days by his father's hand.
+
+Below the house, built over a clear welling spring which ran in a bright
+little rivulet to the larger stream, was the spring-house. Here, after
+the warm days came, the milk and butter were kept, and here Frale
+sauntered down--his gun slung across his arm, his powder-horn at his
+belt, in his old clothes--with his trousers thrust in his boot-tops--to
+search for provisions for the day and his breakfast as well. He had no
+mind to allow the family to oppose his action or reason him out of his
+course.
+
+He found a jug of buttermilk placed there the evening before for Hoyle
+to carry to the doctor in the morning, and slung it by a strap over his
+shoulder. In one of the sheds lay two chickens, ready dressed to be cut
+up for the frying-pan, and one of these, with a generous strip of salt
+pork from the keg of dry salt where it was kept, he dropped in a sack.
+He would not enter the house for corn-bread, even though he knew he was
+welcome to all the home afforded, but planned to arrive at some mountain
+cabin where friends would give him what he required to complete his
+stock of food. His gun would provide him with an occasional meal of
+game, and he thus felt himself prepared for as long a period of ambush
+as might be necessary.
+
+Before sunrise he was well on his way over the mountain. He did not
+attempt to go directly to his old haunt, but turned aside and took the
+trail leading along the ridge--the same Thryng and Cassandra had taken
+to go to the cabin of Decatur Irwin. Frale had no definite idea of going
+there, but took the high ridge instinctively. So long had he been in the
+low country that he craved now to reach the heights where he might see
+the far blue distances and feel the strong sweet air blowing past him.
+It was much the same feeling that had caused him to thrust his head
+under the trough of running water the evening before.
+
+As a wild creature loves the freedom of the plains, or an eagle rises
+and circles about in the blue ether aimless and untrammelled, so this
+man of the hills moved now in his natural environment, living in the
+present moment, glad to be above the low levels and out from under all
+restraint, seeing but a little way into his future, content to satisfy
+present needs and the cravings of his strong, virile body.
+
+Moments of exaltation and aspiration came to him, as they must come to
+every one, but they were moments only, and were quickly swept aside and
+but vaguely comprehended by him. As a child will weep one minute over
+some creature his heedlessness has hurt and the next forget it all in
+the pursuit of some new delight, so this child of nature took his way,
+swayed by his moods and desires--an elemental force, like a swollen
+torrent taking its vengeful way--forgetful of promises--glad of
+freedom--angry at being held in restraint, and willing to crush or tear
+away any opposing force.
+
+At last, breakfastless and weary after his long climb, his sleepless
+night, and the depression following his talk with Cassandra the evening
+before, he paused at the edge of the descent, loath to leave the open
+height behind him, and stretched himself under a great black cedar to
+rest. As he lay there dreaming and scheming, with half-shut eyes, he
+spied below him the bare red patch of soil around the cabin of Decatur
+Irwin. Instantly he rose and began rapidly to descend.
+
+Decatur was away. He had got a "job of hauling," his wife said, and had
+to be away all day, but she willingly set herself to bake a fresh
+corn-cake and make him coffee. He had already taken a little of his
+buttermilk, but he did not care for raw salt pork alone. He wanted his
+corn-bread and coffee,--the staple of the mountaineer.
+
+She talked much, in a languid way, as she worked, and he sat in the
+doorway. Now and then she asked questions about his home and
+"Cassandry," which he answered evasively. She gossiped much about all
+the happenings and sayings of her neighbors far and near, and complained
+much, when she came to take pay from him for what she provided, of the
+times which had come upon them since "Cate had hurt his foot." She told
+how that fool doctor had come there and taken "hit off, makin' out like
+Cate'd die of hit ef he didn't," and how "Cassandry Merlin had done
+cheated her into goin' off so 't she could bide thar at the cabin alone
+with that doctah man herself an' he'p him do hit."
+
+With her snuff stick between her yellow teeth and her numerous progeny
+squatting in the dirt all about the doorway, idly gazing at Frale, she
+retailed her grievances without reserve. How the wife of Hoke Belew had
+been "ailin'," and Cassandra had "be'n thar ev'y day keerin' fer her. I
+'low she jes' goes 'cause she 'lows she'll see that doctah man thar an'
+ride back with him like she done when she brung him here," said the
+pallid, spiteful creature, and spat as she talked. "She nevah done that
+fer me. I be'n sick a heap o' times, an' she hain't nevah come nigh me
+to do a lick."
+
+Frale was annoyed to hear Cassandra thus spoken against, for was she not
+his own? He chose to defend her, while purposely concealing his bitter
+anger against the doctor. "The' hain't nothin' agin Cassandry. She's
+sorter kin to me, an' I 'low the' hain't."
+
+"Naw," said the woman, changing instantly at the threatening tone, "the'
+hain't nothin' agin her. I reckon he tells her whar to go, an' she jes'
+goes like he tells her."
+
+Frale threw his sack over his shoulder and started on in silence, and
+the woman smiled evilly after him as she sat there and licked her lips,
+and chewed on her snuff stick and spat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG MEETS AN ENEMY
+
+
+The next day David gave his attention to the letters which he found
+awaiting him. One was from Doctor Hoyle in Canada. He had but just
+returned from a visit to England, and it was full of news of David's
+family there.
+
+"Your two cousins and your brother are gone with their regiments to
+South Africa," he wrote. "They are jubilant to be called to active
+service, as they ought to be, but your mother is heartbroken over their
+departure. You stay where you are, my boy. She is glad enough to have
+you out of England now, and far from the temptation which besets youth
+in times of war. It has already caused a serious blood-letting for Old
+England. I have grave doubts about this contention. In these days there
+ought to be a way of preventing such disaster. Write to your mother and
+comfort her heart,--she needs it. I was careful not to betray to her
+what your condition has been, as I discovered you had not done so. Hold
+fast and fight for health, and be content. Your recuperative power is
+good."
+
+David was filled with contrition as he opened his mother's letter, which
+was several weeks old and had come by way of Canada, since she did not
+know he had gone South. For some time he had sent home only casual
+notes, partly to save her anxiety, and partly because writing was
+irksome to him unless he had something particularly pleasant to tell
+her. His plans and actions had been so much discussed at home and he had
+been considered so censurably odd--so different from his relatives and
+friends in his opinions, and so impossible of comprehension (which
+branded him in his own circle as being quite at fault)--that he had long
+ago abandoned all effort to make himself understood by them, and had
+retired behind his mask of reserve and silence to pursue his own course
+undisturbed. Thus, at best, an occasional perfunctory letter that all
+was well with him was the sum total of news they received. Thryng had no
+money anxieties for his family. The needs of his mother and his
+sister--not yet of age--were amply provided for by a moderate annuity,
+while his brother had his position in the army, and help from his uncle
+besides. For himself, he had saved enough, with his simple tastes and
+much hard work, to tide him over this period of rest.
+
+David sat now and turned his mother's letter over and over. He read and
+reread it. It was very sad. Her splendid boys both gone from her, one
+possibly never to return--neither of them married and with no hope of
+grandchildren to solace her declining years. "Stay where you are,
+David," she wrote; "Doctor Hoyle tells us you are doing well. Don't, oh,
+don't enter the army! One son I have surrendered to my country's
+service; let me feel that I still have one on whom I may depend to care
+for Laura and me in the years to come. We do not need you now, but some
+day we may."
+
+David's quandary was how to give her as much of his confidence as filial
+duty required without betraying himself so far as to arouse the
+antagonistic comment of her immediate circle upon his course.
+
+At last he found a way. Telling her he did not know how soon he might
+return to Canada, he requested her to continue to address him there. He
+then filled his letter with loving thoughts for her and Laura, and a
+humorous description of what he had seen and experienced in the "States"
+and the country about him, all so foreign and utterly strange to her as
+to be equal to a small manuscript romance. It was a cleverly written
+letter, so hiding the vital matters of his soul, which he could not
+reveal even to the most loving scrutiny, that all her motherly intuition
+failed to read between the lines. The humorous portions she gave to the
+rector's wife,--her most intimate friend,--and the dear son's love
+expressed therein she treasured in her heart and was comforted.
+
+Then David rode away up the mountain without descending to his little
+farm. He craved to get far into the very heart of the wildest parts,
+for with the letters the old conventional and stereotyped ideals seemed
+to have intruded into his cabin.
+
+He passed the home of Hoke Belew and stopped there to see that all was
+well with them. The rose vine covering the porch roof was filled with
+pink blossoms, hundreds of them swinging out over his head. The air was
+sweet with the odor of honeysuckle. The old locust tree would soon be
+alive with bees, for it was already budded. He took the baby in his arms
+and saw that its cheeks were growing round and plump, and that the young
+mother looked well and happy, and he was glad.
+
+"Take good care of them, Hoke; they are worth it," he said to the young
+father, as he passed him coming in from the field.
+
+"I will that," said the man.
+
+"Can you tell me how to reach a place called 'Wild Cat Hole'? I have a
+fancy to do a little exploring."
+
+"Waal, hit's sorter round about. I don't guess ye c'n find hit easy."
+The man spat as if reluctant to give the information asked, which only
+stimulated David all the more to find the spot.
+
+"Keep right on this way, do I?"
+
+"Yas, you keep on fer a spell, an' then you turn to th' right an' foller
+the stream fer a spell, an' you keep on follerin' hit off an' on till
+you git thar. Ye'll know hit when you do git thar, but th' still's all
+broke up."
+
+"Oh, I don't care a rap about the still."
+
+"Naw, I reckon not. Better light an' have dinner 'fore you go on.
+Azalie, keep the doc to dinner. I'm comin' in a minute," he called to
+his wife, who stood smiling in the doorway.
+
+David willingly accepted the proffered hospitality, as he had often done
+before, knowing it would be well after nightfall ere he could return to
+his cabin, and rode back to the house.
+
+While Azalea prepared dinner, Hoke sat in the open door and held his
+baby and smoked. David took a splint-bottomed chair out on the porch and
+smoked with him, watching pleasantly the pride of the young father, who
+allowed the tiny fist to close tightly around his great work-roughened
+finger.
+
+"Look a-thar now. See that hand. Hit ain't bigger'n a bumble-bee, an'
+see how he kin hang on."
+
+"Yes," said David, absently regarding them. "He's a fine boy."
+
+"He sure is. The' hain't no finer on this mountain."
+
+Azalea came and looked down over her husband's shoulder. "Don't do
+that-a-way, Hoke. You'll wake him up, bobbin' his arm up an' down like
+you a-doin'. Hoke, he's that proud, you can't touch him."
+
+"You hear that, Doc? Azalie, she's that sot on him she's like to turn me
+outen the house fer jes' lookin' at him. She 'lows he'll grow up a
+preacher, on account o' the way he kin holler an' thrash with his fists,
+but I tell her hit hain't nothin' but madness an' devilment 'at gits in
+him."
+
+With a mother's superior smile playing about her lips, she glanced
+understandingly at David, and went on with her cooking. As they came in
+to the table, she called David's attention to a low box set on rockers,
+and, taking the baby from her husband's arms, carefully placed him,
+still asleep, in the quaint nest.
+
+"Hoke made that hisself," she said with pride. "And Cassandry, she made
+that kiver."
+
+Thryng touched the cover reverently, bending over it, and left the
+cradle rocking as he sat down at Hoke's side and began to put fresh
+butter between his hot biscuit, as he had learned to do. His mother
+would have flung up her hands in horror had she seen him doing this, or
+could she have known how many such he had devoured since coming to
+recuperate in these mountain wilds.
+
+The home was very bare and simple, but sweet and clean, and love was in
+it. To sit there for a while with the childlike young couple, enjoying
+their home and their baby and the hospitality generously offered
+according to their ability, warmed David's heart, and he rode away
+happier than he came.
+
+With mind absorbed and idle rein, he allowed his horse to stray as he
+would, while his thoughts and memory played strange tricks, presenting
+contrasting pictures to his inward vision. Now it was his mother reading
+by the evening lamp, carelessly scanning a late magazine, only half
+interested, her white hair arranged in shining puffs high on her head,
+and soft lace--old lace--falling from open sleeves over her shapely
+arms; and Laura, red-cheeked and plump, curled, feet and all, in a great
+lounging chair, poring over a novel and yawning now and then, her dark
+hair carelessly tied, with straight, straying ends hanging about her
+face as he had many a time seen her after playing a game of hockey with
+her active, romping friends.
+
+His mother and Laura were the only ones at home now, since the big elder
+brother was gone. Of course they would miss him and be sad sometimes,
+but Laura would enjoy life as much as ever and keep the home bright with
+youth. Even as he thought of them, the room faded and his own cabin
+appeared as he had seen it the day before, through the open window, with
+Cassandra moving about in her quiet, gliding way, haloed with light.
+Again he would see a picture of another room, all white and gold, with
+slight French chairs and tables, and couches and cushions, and
+candelabra of quivering crystals, with pale green walls and gold-framed
+paintings, and a great, three-cornered piano, massive and dark, where a
+slight, fair girl sat idly playing tinkling music in keeping with
+herself and the room, but quite out of keeping with the splendid
+instrument.
+
+He saw people all about her, chatting, laughing, sipping tea, and eating
+thin bread and butter. He saw, as if from a distance, another man,
+himself, in that room, standing near the piano to turn her music, while
+the tinkling runs and glib, expressionless trills wove in and out, a
+ceaseless nothing.
+
+She spent years learning to do that, he thought, and any amount of
+money. Oh, well. She had it to spend, and of what else were they
+capable--those hands? He could see them fluttering caressingly over the
+keys, pink, slender, pretty,--and then he saw other hands, somewhat
+work-worn, not small nor yet too large, but white and shapely. Ah! Of
+what were they not capable? And the other girl in coarse white homespun,
+seated before the fire in Hoke Belew's cabin, holding in her arms the
+small bundle--and her smile, so rare and fleeting!
+
+He saw again the handsome sullen youth in Bishop Towers' garden,
+regarding him over the hedge with narrowed eyes, and his whole nature
+rebelled and cried out as before, "What a waste!" Why should he allow it
+to go on? He must thrash this thing out once for all before he returned
+to his cabin--the right and the wrong of the case before he should see
+her again, while as yet he could be engineer of his own forces and hold
+his hand on the throttle to guide himself safely and wisely.
+
+Could he succeed in influencing her to set her young lover's claims one
+side? But in his heart he knew if such a thing were possible, she would
+not be herself; she would be another being, and his love for her would
+cease. No, he must see her but little, and let the tragedy go on even as
+the bishop had said--go on as if he never had known her. As soon as
+possible he must return and take up his work where he could not see the
+slow wreck of her life. A heavy dread settled down upon him, and he rode
+on with bowed head, until his horse stumbled and thus roused him from
+his revery.
+
+To what wild spot had the animal brought him? David lifted his head and
+looked about him, and it was as if he had been caught up and dropped in
+an enchanted wood. The horse had climbed among great boulders and paused
+beneath an enormous overhanging rock. He heard, off at one side, the
+rushing sound of a mountain stream and judged he was near the head of
+Lone Pine Creek. But oh, the wildness of the spot and the beauty of it
+and the lonely charm! He tied his horse to a lithe limb that swung above
+his head and, dismounting, clambered on towards the rushing water.
+
+The place was so screened in as to leave no vista anywhere, hiding the
+mountains on all sides. Light green foliage overhead, where branches
+thickly interlaced from great trees growing out of the bank high above,
+made a cool, lucent shadowiness all around him. There was a delicious
+odor of sweet-shrub in the air, and the fruity fragrance of the dark,
+wild wake-robin underfoot. The tremendous rocks were covered with the
+most exquisite forms of lichen in all their varied shades of richness
+and delicacy.
+
+He began carefully removing portions here and there to examine under his
+microscope, when he noticed, almost crushed under his foot, a pale
+purple orchid like the one Cassandra had placed on his table. Always
+thinking of her, he stooped suddenly to lift the frail thing, and at the
+instant a rifle-shot rang out in the still air, and a bullet meant for
+his heart cut across his shoulders like a trail of fire and flattened
+itself on the rock where he had been at work. At the same moment, with a
+bound of tiger-like ferocity and swiftness, one leaped toward him from a
+near mass of laurel, and he found himself grappling for life or death
+with the man who fired the shot.
+
+Not a word was spoken. The quick, short breathing, the scuffling of feet
+among the leaves, and the snapping of dead twigs underfoot were the only
+sounds. Had the youth been a trained wrestler, David would have known
+what to expect, and would have been able to use method in his defence.
+As it was, he had to deal with an enraged creature who fought with the
+desperate instinct of an antagonist who fights to the death. He knew
+that the odds were against him, and felt rising within him a wild
+determination to win the combat, and, thinking only of Cassandra, to
+settle thus the vexed question, to fight with the blind passion and the
+primitive right of the strongest to win his mate. He gathered all his
+strength, his good English mettle and nerve, and grappled with a grip of
+steel.
+
+This way and that, twisting, turning, stumbling on the uneven ground,
+with set teeth and faces drawn and fierce, they struggled, and all the
+time the light tweed coat on David's back showed a deeper stain from his
+heart's blood, and his face grew paler and his breath shorter. Yet a joy
+leaped within him. It was thus he might save her, either to win her or
+to die for her, for should Frale kill him, she would turn from him in
+hopeless horror, and David, even in dying, would save her.
+
+Suddenly the battle was ended. Thryng's foot turned, on a rounded stone,
+causing him to lose his foothold. At the same instant, with terrible
+forward impetus, Frale closed with him, bending him backward until his
+head struck the lichen-covered rock. The purple orchid was bruised
+beneath him, and its color deepened with his blood. Then Frale rose and
+looked down upon the pallid, upturned face and inert body, which lay as
+he had crushed it down. As he stood thus, a white figure, bareheaded and
+alone, came swiftly through the wall of laurel which hid them and
+pausing terror-stricken in the open space, looked from one to the other.
+
+[Illustration: _"I take it back--back from God--the promise I gave you
+there by the fall." Page 171._]
+
+For an instant Cassandra waited thus, as if she too were struck dead
+where she stood. Then she looked no more on the fallen man, but only at
+Frale, with eyes immovable and yet withdrawn, as if she were searching
+in her own soul for a thing to do, while her heart stood still and her
+throat closed. Those great gray eyes, with the green sea depths in them,
+began to glow with a cruel light, as if she too could kill,--as if they
+were drawing slowly from the deep well of her being, as it were, a sword
+from its scabbard wherewith to cut him through the heart. Her hand stole
+to her throat and pressed hard. Then she lifted it high above her head
+and held it, as if in an instant more one might see the invisible sword
+flash forth and strike him. Frale cried out then, "Don't, don't curse
+me, Cass," and lifted his arm to shield his face, while great beads of
+moisture stood out on his face.
+
+"It's not for me to curse, Frale." Her voice was low and clear. "Curses
+come from hell, like what you been carrying in your heart that made you
+do this." Her voice grew louder, and her hand trembled and shut as if it
+grasped something. "I take it back--back from God--the promise I gave
+you there by the fall." Then, looking up, her voice grew low again,
+though still distinct. "I take that promise back forever, oh, God!" Her
+hand dropped. The cruel light died slowly out of her eyes, and she
+turned and knelt by the prostrate man, and began pulling open his coat.
+Frale took one step toward her.
+
+"Cass," he said, with shaking voice, "I'll he'p you."
+
+Her hands clinched into David's coat as she held it. "Go back. Don't you
+touch even his least finger," she cried, looking up at him from where
+she knelt like a creature hurt to the heart, defending its own. "You've
+done your work. Take your face where I never can see it again."
+
+He still stood and looked down on her. She turned again to David, and,
+thrusting her hand into his bosom, drew it forth with blood upon it.
+
+"I say, you Frale!" she cried, holding it toward him, quivering with the
+ferocity she could no longer restrain, "leave here, or with this blood
+on my hand I'll call all hell to curse you."
+
+Frale turned with bowed head and left her there.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG AWAKES
+
+
+Thryng lay in Hoke Belew's cabin,--not in the one great living-room
+where were the fireplace and the large bed and the tiny cradle, but in
+the smaller addition at the side, entered only from the porch which
+extended along the front of both parts.
+
+He still lay on the litter upon which he had been placed to carry him
+down the mountain,--an improvised thing made by stretching quilts across
+two poles of slender green pines. The litter was placed on low trestles
+to raise it from the floor, and close to the open door to give him air.
+David had not regained consciousness since his hurt, but lay like one
+dead, with closed eyes and blanched lips; yet they knew him to be
+living.
+
+Cassandra sat beside him alone. All night long she had been there
+unsleeping, hollow-eyed, and worn with tearless grief. She had done all
+she knew how to do. Before going for help she had removed his clothing
+and bound about his body strips torn from her dress to stop the bleeding
+of his shoulders where the silver bullet had torn across them. How the
+ball had missed giving a mortal wound was like a miracle.
+
+Hoke Belew had tried to arouse him, but had failed. At intervals, during
+the night, Cassandra had managed to drop a little whiskey between his
+lips with a spoon, and she had bathed him with the stimulant over heart
+and lungs, and chafed his hands, and had tried to warm his feet by
+rubbing them and wrapping them up between jugs of hot water. She had
+bathed his bruised head and cut away the softly curling hair from the
+spot where his head had struck the rock. What more she could do she knew
+not, and now she sat at his side still chafing his hands and waiting for
+Hoke Belew's return.
+
+Hoke had gone to the station to telegraph for Bishop Towers.
+Fortunately, as the hotel was so soon to be opened and the busy summer
+life to begin, the operator was already there.
+
+Azalea, in the great room, was preparing dinner, stopping now and then
+to touch her baby's cradle, or to stoop a moment over the treasure
+therein. Aunt Sally sat in the doorway smoking her cob pipe and telling
+grewsome tales of how she had "seen people hurted that-a-way and nevah
+come out en hit." Sally had ridden over to give help and sympathy, but
+Cassandra had said she would watch alone. She had eaten nothing since
+the day before, only sipping the coffee Azalea had brought her.
+
+It was one of those breathless hours before a rain when not a leaf
+stirs; even the birds were silent. Cassandra tried once more to give
+David a few drops of the whiskey, and this time it seemed as if he
+swallowed a little. She thought she saw his eyelids quiver, and her
+heart pounded suffocatingly in her breast. She dropped beside him on her
+knees and once again tried to give him the only stimulant they had. This
+time she was sure he took it, and, still kneeling there, she bowed her
+head and pressed her lips upon the hand she had been chafing. Did it
+move or not? She could not tell, and again she sat gazing in the still,
+white face. Oh, the suspense! Oh, the joy that was agony! If this were
+truly the awakening and meant life! In her intensity of longing for some
+further signs she drew slowly nearer and nearer, until at last her lips
+touched his. Then in shame she hid her face in the quilt at his side
+and, weak with the exhaustion of her long anguish and fasting and
+watching, she wept the first tears--tears of hope she was not strong
+enough to bear. As she thus knelt, weeping softly, his fluttering
+eyelids lifted and he saw her there, and felt the quivering hand beneath
+his head.
+
+Not understanding how or why this should be, he waited perfectly still,
+trying to gather his thoughts. A great peace was in his heart--a peace
+and content so sweet he did not wish to move. Lingering beneath this
+content, he held a dim memory of a great anger--a horror of anger, when
+he saw red, and hungered for blood. Vaguely it seemed to him now that
+all was as he wished it to be with Cassandra near. He liked to feel her
+hand beneath his head and her other hand upon his own, and her heavy
+bronze hair so close, and he closed his eyes once more to shut out all
+else, for the room was strange to him--this raftered place all
+whitewashed from ceiling to floor.
+
+He had forgotten what had happened, but Cassandra was there, and he was
+content. Something had touched his lips and brought him back, he was
+sure of that, and his weakly beating heart stirred to more vigorous
+action. He turned his head a little, a very little, toward her, and his
+fingers closed about her hand to hold it there. She lifted her head
+then, and they looked into each other's eyes, a long, deep look. Later,
+when Azalea entered, she found them both sleeping, Cassandra's hand
+still beneath his head, his face pressed to her soft hair and his free
+arm flung about her.
+
+Azalea stole away and hurried with the news to old Sally, who also crept
+in and looked on them and stole away.
+
+"Yas, she sure have saved his life," said Sally. "Heap o' times they
+nevah do come out en that thar kin' o' sleep. I done seed sech before."
+
+"Ef he have come to hisself, you reckon I bettah wake 'em up and give
+her a leetle hot milk? She hain't eat nothin' sence yestiday."
+
+"Naw, leave 'em be. No body nevah hain't starved in his sleep yit, I
+reckon."
+
+"He hain't eat nothin', neithah. He sure have been bad hurted."
+
+The two women sat in the large room and talked in low tones, while at
+intervals Azalea crept to the door and looked in on them.
+
+At last the baby wailed out with lusty cry, which sounded through the
+stillness of the house and roused Cassandra, but as she lifted her head,
+David clung to her and drew her cheek to his lips.
+
+"Are you hurt?" he murmured. In some strange way he had confused
+matters, and thought it was she who had been shot.
+
+"It's not me that's hurt," she said tenderly.
+
+Azalea hurried away and returned with the warm milk she had prepared for
+Cassandra, who took it and held it to David's lips.
+
+"Drink it, Doctah. She won't touch anything till you do."
+
+Then he obeyed, slowly drinking it all, his eyes fixed on Cassandra's
+as a child looks up to his mother. As she rose, he held her with his
+free hand.
+
+"What is it? How long--" His voice sounded thin and weak. "Strange--I
+can't lift this arm at all. Tell me--"
+
+"Seems like I can't. When you are strong again, I will."
+
+Feebly he tried to raise himself. "Don't, oh, don't, Doctah Thryng. If
+you bleed again, you'll die," she wailed.
+
+"Sit near me."
+
+She drew a low chair and sat near him, as she had through the slow and
+anxious hours, and again he drowsed off, only to open his eyes from time
+to time as if to assure himself that she was still there. Again Azalea
+brought her milk and white beaten biscuit, hot and sweet, and Cassandra
+ate. When David opened his eyes to look at her, she smiled on him, but
+would not let him talk to her.
+
+Nevertheless his mind was busy trying to understand why he was lying
+thus, and dimly the events of the last few days came back to him,
+shadowy and confused. When he looked up and saw her smile, his heart was
+satisfied, but when he closed his eyes again, a strange sense of tragedy
+settled down upon him, but what or why he knew not. Suddenly he called
+to her as if from his sleep, "Have I killed some one?" and there was
+horror in his voice.
+
+"No, no, Doctor Thryng. You been nigh about killed yourself. Oh, why
+didn't I send for a doctor who could do you right! Bishop Towers won't
+know anything about this."
+
+"What have you done?"
+
+"I sent for Bishop Towers."
+
+"Who did me up like this?"
+
+She was silent and, rising quickly, stepped out on the porch, her cheeks
+flaming crimson. Yesterday in her terror and frenzy she could have done
+anything; but now--with his eyes fixed on her face so intently--she
+could not reply nor tell how, alone, she had stripped him to the waist
+and bound him about with the homespun cotton of her dress to stanch the
+bleeding before hurrying down the mountain for help.
+
+Instinctively she had done the right thing and had done it well, but
+now she could not talk about it. David tried to call after her, but she
+had gone around into the next room and taken the baby from his cradle,
+where he was wailing his demands for attention. Azalea had gone out for
+a moment, and Aunt Sally "lowed the' wa'n't no use sp'ilin him by takin'
+him up every time he fretted fer hit. Hit would do him good to holler
+an' stretch." So she sat still and smoked.
+
+Cassandra walked up and down the porch, comforted by the feeling of the
+child in her arms. The small head bobbed this way and that until she
+pressed it against her cheek and held him close, and he gradually
+settled down on her bosom, his face tucked softly in the curve of her
+neck, and slept. She heard David speaking her name and went to him, but
+he only looked up at her and smiled.
+
+"I'm sorry I left you alone," she said tenderly; "I'll call Aunt Sally."
+
+"No--wait--I only want--to look at you."
+
+She stood swaying her lithe body to rock the sleeping child. David
+thought he never had seen anything lovelier. How serious his wounds
+were, he did not know. But one thing he knew well, and to that one
+thought he clung. He wanted Cassandra where he could see her all the
+time. He wished she would talk to him, and not let him lose
+consciousness, relapsing into the horror of a strange dream that
+continued to haunt him.
+
+"Do you love that baby?" he asked, his voice faint and high.
+
+"He's a right nice baby."
+
+"I say--do you love him?"
+
+"Why--I reckon I do. Don't try to move that way, Doctah. You may not be
+done right, and you'll bleed again. Oh, we don't know--we are so
+ignorant--Azalie and me--"
+
+He smiled. "Nothing matters now," he said.
+
+They heard voices, and she looked out from the doorway. "It's Hoke.
+They've sent old Doctor Bartlett. I'm so glad. Aunt Sally, I reckon
+they'll need hot water. Get some ready, will you?"
+
+"Cassandra, Cassandra!" called David, almost irritably.
+
+She came back to him.
+
+"Where are they?"
+
+"Down the road a piece. I'm glad. You'll be done right now."
+
+"Stoop to me." She obeyed, and the free arm caught and held her, then,
+as the voices drew near, released her with glowing eyes and burning
+cheeks.
+
+She stepped out on the porch to meet them, half hiding her face behind
+the babe in her arms, and old Dr. Bartlett, as he looked on her with
+less prejudiced and more experienced eyes, thought he too never had seen
+anything lovelier.
+
+"He's awake," said Cassandra quietly to Hoke, and the two men went to
+David. She carried the child back and asked Aunt Sally to wait on them,
+while she sat down in a low splint rocker, clinging to the little one
+and listening, with throbbing nerves, to the voices in the room beyond.
+
+When Hoke came out to them a moment later, Azalea began eagerly to
+question him, but Cassandra was silent.
+
+"Doctah says we bettah tote 'im ovah to his own place to-day. Aunt Sally
+'lows she can bide thar fer a while an' see him well again."
+
+"You hain't goin' to 'low that, be ye, Hoke? Hit mount look like we
+wa'n't willin' fer him to bide 'long of us."
+
+"Hit hain't what looks like, hit's what's best fer him," said Hoke,
+sagely. "Whatevah doctah says, we'll do." Then Hoke laughed quietly. "He
+done tol' Doctor Bartlett 'at he reckoned somebody mus' 'a' took him fer
+some sorter wild creetur an' shot him by mistake. I guess Frale's safe
+enough f'om him, if the fool boy only know'd hit."
+
+"Frale, he's plumb crazy, the way he's b'en actin'," said Azalea.
+
+"An' Bishop Towahs he telegrafted 'at he'd send this here doctah, an'
+he'd come up to-morrer with Miz Towahs to stop ovah with you, so I
+reckon yer maw wants you down thar, Cass."
+
+Cassandra rose quickly and placed the sleeping child gently in his
+cradle box. "I'll go," she said. "There's no need for me here now.
+Hoke--you've been right good--" She stopped abruptly and turned to his
+wife. "I must wear your dress off, Azalie, but I'll send it back by Hoke
+as soon as hit's been washed." She went out the door almost as if she
+were eager to escape.
+
+"Hain't ye goin' to wait fer yer horse?" said Hoke, laughing. "Set a
+minute till I fetch him."
+
+"I clean forgot," she said, and when he had left, she turned to her
+friend. "Azalie--don't say anything to Hoke about me--us. Did Aunt Sally
+see? You know I didn't know myself until I woke and found myself there.
+I'd been trying to make him take a little whiskey--and--I must have gone
+asleep like I was--and he woke up and must 'a' felt like he had to kiss
+somebody--he was that glad to be alive."
+
+"Nevah you fret, child." Azalea smiled a quiet smile. "I'm not one to
+talk; anyway, I reckon Doctah Thryng's about right. He sure have been
+good to me."
+
+
+The widow sat on her little stoop, waiting and watching, as her daughter
+rode to the door and wearily alighted.
+
+"Cassandry Merlin! For the Lord's sake! What-all is up now? Hoyle--where
+is that boy?--Hoyle, come here an' take the horse fer sister. Be ye most
+dade, honey? I reckon ye be. Ye look like hit."
+
+Cassandra kissed her mother and passed on into the house. "I couldn't
+send you word last night; anyway, I reckoned you'd rest better if you
+didn't know, for we-all thought Doctor Thryng was sure killed. Did Hoke
+tell you this morning?"
+
+"I 'lowed you was stoppin' with Azalie--'at baby was sick or
+somethin'--when Hoyle went up to the cabin an' said doctah wa'n't there.
+Frale sure have done for hisself. I reckon you are cl'ar shet o' him
+now, an' I'm glad ye be, since he done took to the idee o' marryin' with
+you. What-all have he done the doctah this-a-way fer? The' wa'n't
+nothin' 'twixt him an' doctah. Pore fool boy he! I'll be glad fer yuer
+sake, Cass, if he'll quit these here mountains."
+
+"Oh, mother, mother! Don't talk about me, don't think of me! The
+doctor's nigh about killed--let alone the sin Frale has on him now."
+Wearied beyond further endurance, she flung herself on her bed and broke
+into uncontrollable sobbing, while Hoyle stood in the middle of the room
+and gazed with wide-eyed wonder.
+
+"Be the doctah dade, maw?" he asked, in an awed whisper.
+
+"No, child, no. You fetch a leetle light ud an' chips, an' we'll make
+her some coffee. Sister's that tired, pore child! Have ye been up all
+night, Cass?"
+
+She nodded her head and still sobbed on.
+
+"He's gettin' on all right now, be he?"
+
+Again she nodded, but did not take her hands from her face.
+
+"Then you'd ought to be glad. Hit ain't like Frale had of killed him.
+Farwell, he had many a time sech as that with one an' another, an' he
+nevah come to no harm f'om hit. I reckon Frale'll be safe. Be ye cryin'
+fer him, Cass? Pore child! I nevah did think you keered fer Frale
+that-a-way."
+
+Then Cassandra burst forth with impetuous fire. "Oh, mother, mother!
+Never say that name to me again. Mother, I saw them! I saw them
+fighting--and all the time the doctor was bleeding--bleeding and dying,
+where Frale had shot him. I don't know how long they'd been fighting,
+but I came there and I saw them. I saw him slip and how Frale crushed
+him down--down--and his head struck the rock. I saw--and I almost cursed
+Frale. I hope I didn't--oh, I hope not! But mother, mother! Don't ask me
+anything more now. Oh, I want to cry! I want to cry and never stop."
+
+While she lay thus weeping, the soft rain that had been threatening all
+day began pattering down, blessed and soothing, the rain to the earth
+and the tears to the girl.
+
+In spite of the rain, Thryng was carried home that afternoon according
+to the physician's orders, and placed in his cabin with Aunt Sally to
+stand guard over him and provide for his wants. A bed was improvised for
+her on the floor of the cabin, while David lay in his own bed in his
+canvas room, bandaged about both body and head, and withal moderately
+comfortable, sufficiently himself to realize what had occurred, and
+overjoyed because of the reward his wounds had brought him.
+
+Doctor Bartlett came down to the Fall Place and was given the bed in the
+loom shed as David had been, and had the pleasure of again seeing
+Cassandra, who, her tears dried, and her manner composed, looked after
+his needs as if no storms had ever shaken her soul.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+IN WHICH DAVID SENDS HOKE BELEW ON A COMMISSION, AND CASSANDRA MAKES A
+CONFESSION
+
+
+Early one morning Hoke Belew put his head in at the door of Thryng's
+cabin, where Aunt Sally was squatted before the fireplace, preparing
+breakfast for the patient.
+
+"How's doc?" he asked.
+
+"He's right fa'r. He mount be worse an' he mount be bettah."
+
+"You reckon I mount go in yandah whar he is at?"
+
+"Ye can look an' see is he awake. I'm gittin' his hot bread an' coffee.
+You bettah bide an' have a leetle," she said, with ever ready
+hospitality.
+
+He crossed the floor with careful steps and paused in the doorway of the
+canvas room, big and smiling.
+
+"That you, Hoke? Come in," said David, cheerfully. He extended a hand
+which Hoke took in his and held awkwardly, shocked at the white face
+before him.
+
+"Ye do look puny," he said at last. "But we-uns sure be glad yer livin'.
+Ye tol' me to come early, so I come."
+
+"It's awfully good of you. Bring a chair and sit near, so we can talk a
+bit. Now, Hoke, laid up here as I am, I need your help. I want to send
+you to Farington or Lone Pine--somewhere--I don't know where such things
+are to be had--but, Hoke, you've been married and know all about what's
+needed here."
+
+"Ye want me to git ye a license, I reckon," said Hoke, grinning, "an' ye
+mount send me a errant I'd like a heap worse--that's so; but what good
+will hit be to ye now? You can't stan' on your feet."
+
+"I can put it under my pillow and keep it to get well on. See here,
+Hoke. I don't even know if she'll marry me; she has not said so, but
+I'll be ready. You'll keep this quiet for me, Hoke? Because it would
+trouble her if the whole mountain side should know what I have done
+before she does. Yet a girl like Cassandra is worth winning if you have
+to go to the edge of the grave to do it, so whenever she will have me, I
+want to be ready."
+
+They talked in low tones, Hoke leaning forward close to David, his
+elbows on his knees. "I reckon you are a-thinkin' to bide on here 'long
+o' we-uns an' not carry her off nowhar else?" he asked gravely.
+
+David's paleness left him for a moment, as the warm tide swept upward
+from his heart. "My home is not in this country, and wherever a man
+goes, he expects to take his wife with him. Don't you people here in the
+mountains do the same?"
+
+"I reckon so, but hit would nigh about kill Azalie if she war to lose
+Cass. They have been frien's evah sence they war littlin's."
+
+"Hoke, if you were to find it necessary to go away anywhere, would you
+leave your wife behind to please Cassandra Merlin?" The man was silent,
+and David continued. "Before you were married if you had known there was
+another man, and a criminal at that, hanging around determined to get
+her, wouldn't you have married her out of hand as soon as you could get
+her consent? It's my opinion, knowing the sort of man you are, that you
+would."
+
+"I sure would."
+
+"Then you can understand why I wish to have a marriage license under my
+pillow."
+
+"I reckon so--but--you--you-all hain't quite our kind--not bein' kin to
+none of us-- You understand me, suh. We-uns are a proud people here, an'
+we think a heap o' our women. Hit would be right hard should you git
+sorter tired o' Cassandry when you come to git her amongst your
+people--bein' she hain't like none o' your folks, understand; an'
+Cassandry, she's sorter hard hit jest now, she don't rightly know
+what-all she do think. Me an' Azalie, we been speakin' right smart
+together--an'--well, we do sure think a heap o' you, Doc--an' hit ain't
+no disrespect to you-uns, neither. Have you said anything to her maw?"
+
+"Not a word. When I learned another man was before me, I stood one side
+as an honorable man should and gave him his chance. But when it comes to
+being attacked by the other man and shot in the back-- by heaven! no
+power on earth will hold me from trying to win her. As for the other
+matter, never you fear. Be my friend, Hoke."
+
+"Waal, I reckon you'll have yer own way, an' I mount as well git hit fer
+ye, but I did promise Azalie 'at I'd speak that word to ye," said the
+young man, rising with an air of relief.
+
+"Tell your wife that you are both of you quite right, and that I am
+right also. Just hunt up my trousers, will you? I want my pocket-book.
+If I have to sign anything before anybody--bring him here. I don't care
+what you do, so you get it. There, on that card you have it all--my full
+name and all that, you know."
+
+
+David tried to eat what Sally prepared for him, using his unbound hand;
+but his egg was hard, his coffee thick and boiled. He could not drink it
+very well for his head was too low, and he could not raise himself, so
+he lay silent and uncomfortable, watching her move about his rooms,
+wearing her great black sunbonnet. She appeared kindly and pleasant when
+he could see her face, which was thin and very much lined, but motherly
+and good. He fell in the way of calling her "Aunt Sally" as others did,
+and this seemed to please her. She treated him as if he were a big boy
+who did not know what was good for himself. She called all the green
+blossoming things with which Cassandra had adorned the cabin, "trash,"
+and asked who had "toted hit thar."
+
+Waiting and listening, sure Cassandra would not leave him all day
+without coming to him, even though Aunt Sally had taken him in charge,
+David's mind was full of her. If he closed his eyes, he saw her. If he
+opened them and watched Sally's meagre form and black sunbonnet moving
+about, he thought what it might be to see Cassandra there.
+
+He could not and would not look at the future. The picture Hoke Belew
+had summoned up when he had suggested the taking of Cassandra away among
+people alien to her, he put from him. He would not see it nor think of
+it. The present was his, and it was all he had, perhaps all he ever
+would have; and now he would not allow one little joy of it to escape
+him. He would be greedy of it and have all the gladness of the moments
+as they came.
+
+He could see her down below making ready for their visitors, and he
+knew she would not come until the last task was done, but meantime his
+patience was wearing away. Aunt Sally finished her work, and David could
+see her from where he lay, seated in the doorway with her pipe, looking
+out on the gently falling rain.
+
+Without, all was very peaceful; only within himself was turmoil and
+impatience. But he knew that to remain calm and unmoved was to keep back
+his fever and hasten recuperation, so he closed his eyes and tried to
+live for the moment in the remembrance of that awakening when he had
+found her kneeling at his side. Thus he dropped to sleep, and again,
+when he awoke, he found Cassandra there as if in answer to his silent
+call.
+
+She was seated quietly sewing, as if it were no unusual thing for her to
+visit him thus, and when his earnest gaze caused her to look up, she
+only smiled without perturbation and came to him.
+
+"I sent Aunt Sally down to see mother while I could stay by you and do
+for you a little," she said.
+
+Calm and restful she seemed, yet when he extended his free hand and took
+hers, he felt a tremor in her touch that delighted his heart. He brought
+it to his lips.
+
+"I've been needing you all the morning. Aunt Sally has done
+everything--all she could. If I should let you have this hand again,
+would you go so far away from me that I could not reach you?"
+
+"Not if you want me near."
+
+"Then put away your sewing and bring your chair close to me, and let us
+talk together while we may."
+
+She obeyed and sat looking away from him out through the open door. Were
+her eyes searching for the mountain top?
+
+"You have thoughts--sweet, big thoughts, dear girl; put them in words
+for me now, while we are so blessedly alone."
+
+"I can't say rightly what I think. Seems like if I had some other
+way--something besides words to tell my thoughts with, I could do it
+better; but words are all we have--and seems like when I want them most
+they won't come."
+
+"That's the way with all of us. Don't you see you are still beyond my
+reach? Come. If you can't tell your thoughts in words, give them by the
+touch of your hands as you did a moment ago."
+
+She did as he bade her and, leaning forward, took his hand in both her
+own.
+
+"That's right. I'll teach you how to tell your thoughts without words.
+Now, how came you to find us the other day?"
+
+"I don't know myself. It was a strange way. First I rode down to
+Teasley's Mill to--to try to persuade them--Giles Teasley--to allow him
+to go free." She paused and put her hand to her throat, as her way was.
+"I think, Doctor Thryng, I'd better build up the fire and get you some
+hot milk. Doctor Bartlett said you must have it often--and--to keep you
+very quiet."
+
+"Not until you tell me now--this moment--what I ask you. You went to the
+mill to try to help Frale out of his trouble. Cassandra, have you loved
+that boy?"
+
+Her face assumed its old look of masklike impassivity. "I reckoned he
+might hold himself steady and do right--would they only leave him
+be--and give him the chance--"
+
+"Cassandra, answer me. Was it for love of him that you gave him your
+promise?"
+
+Her face grew white, and for a moment she bowed her head on his hand.
+
+"Please, Doctor Thryng, let me tell you the strange part first, then you
+can answer that question in your own way." She lifted her head and
+looked steadily in his eyes. "You remember that day we went to Cate
+Irwin's? When we came to the place where we can see far--far over the
+mountains--I laughed--with something glad in my heart. It was the same
+this time when I got to that far open place. All at once it seemed like
+I was so free--free from the heavy burden--and all in a kind of light
+that was only the same gladness in my heart.
+
+"I stopped there and waited and thought how you said that time, 'It's
+good just to be alive,' and I thought if you were there with me and
+should put your hand on my bridle as you did that night in the rain, and
+if you should lead me away off--even into the 'Valley of the shadow of
+death' into those deep shadows below us I would go and never say a word.
+All at once it seemed as if you were doing that, and I forgot Frale and
+kept on and on; and wherever it seemed like you were leading me, I went.
+
+"It seemed like I was dreaming, or feeling like a hand was on my
+heart--a hand I could not see, pulling me and making me feel, 'This way,
+this way, I must go this way.' I never had been where my horse took me
+before. I didn't think how I ever could get back again. I didn't seem to
+see anything around me--only to go on--on--on, and at last it seemed I
+couldn't go fast enough, until all at once I came to your horse tied
+there, and I heard strange trampling sounds a little farther on where my
+horse could not go--and I got off and ran.
+
+"I fell down and got up and ran again; and it seemed as if my feet
+wouldn't leave the ground, but only held me back. It seemed like they
+hadn't any more power to run--and--then I came there and I saw." She
+paused, covering her face with her hand as if to shut out the sight, and
+slipped to her knees beside him. "Oh, I saw your faces--all terrible--"
+He put his arm about her and drew her close. "I saw you fall, and your
+face when it seemed like you were dying as you fought. I saw--" Her sobs
+shook her, and she could not go on.
+
+"My beautiful priestess of good and holy things!" he said.
+
+She leaned to him then and, placing her arms about him, ever mindful of
+his hurt, she lifted his head to her shoulder. The flood-gates of her
+reserve once lifted, the full tide of her intense nature swept over him
+and enveloped him. It was as light to his soul and healing to his body.
+How often it had seemed as if he saw her with that halo of light about
+her, and now it was as if he had been drawn within its charmed radius,
+as surely he had.
+
+"And then, dear heart, what did you do?"
+
+"I thought you were killed, and almost--almost I cursed him. I hope now
+I wasn't so wicked. But I--I--called back from God the promise I had
+given him."
+
+"And then--tell me all the blessed truth--and then--"
+
+"You were bleeding--bleeding--and I took off your clothes--and I saw
+where you were bleeding your life away, and I tied my dress around you.
+I tore it in pieces and wound it all around you as well as I could, and
+then I put your coat back on you, and still you didn't waken. It seemed
+as if you had stopped breathing. And then I saw the bruise on your head,
+and I thought maybe you were only stunned. I brought water from the
+branch and put your head on the wet cloth and bound it all around, but
+still you looked like he had killed you, and then--" he stirred in her
+arms to feel their clasp.
+
+"And then--then--"
+
+"I went for help," she said, in so low a tone it seemed hardly spoken.
+
+"First you did something you have not told me."
+
+She waited in a sweet shame he recognized and gloried in, but he wanted
+the confession from her lips.
+
+"And then?"
+
+"You said you would teach me to say things without words," she said
+tremulously.
+
+"Not now. Later. Put everything you did in words. And then--"
+
+"I thought you were dying." She drew in a long, sighing breath.
+
+"And you kissed me. I have a right to know, for I missed them all--"
+
+"I did, I did," she cried vehemently. "A hundred times I kissed you. I
+had called my promise back from God--and I dared it. I wasn't ashamed. I
+would have done it if all the mountain side had been there to see--but
+afterwards--when that strange doctor from Farington came, and I knew he
+must uncover you and find my torn dress around you--somehow, then I felt
+I didn't want for him to look at me, and I was glad to go away."
+
+"Do you want to know what he said when he saw it? 'Whoever did this kept
+you alive, young man.' So you see how you are my beautiful bringer of
+good. You are--Oh, I have only one arm now. I am at a disadvantage. When
+I can stand on my feet, I will pay them all back--those kisses you threw
+away on me then. We shan't need words then, dearest. I'll teach you the
+sweet lesson. Your arms tremble; they are tired, dear. Could you let
+your head rest here and sleep as you did the other day? To think how I
+woke and found you beside me sleeping--"
+
+"Let me go now. I have things I ought to do for you."
+
+"Not yet. I have things I must say to you."
+
+"Please, Doctor Thryng."
+
+"My name is David. You must call me by it."
+
+"Please, Doctor David, let me go."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"To warm some milk. I brought it up for you."
+
+"Pity we must eat to live. Then if I let you take your arms away, will
+you come back to me?"
+
+"Yes. I'll bring the milk."
+
+"There, go. I'm giving you your own way because I know I will recover
+the sooner the strength I have lost. A man flat on his back, with but
+one arm free, is no good."
+
+"But you don't let me go."
+
+"Listen, Cassandra. You brought me back to life. Do you know what for?
+What did your father tell you? That one should be sent for you? It is I,
+dearest. From away over on the other side of the earth, I have come for
+you. We fought like beasts--Frale and I. I had given you
+up--you--Cassandra; had said in my heart, 'I will go away and leave her
+to the one she has chosen, if that be right,' and even at that moment,
+Frale shot me and sprang upon me, and I fought. I was glad the chance
+was given me there in the wilderness in that old and primitive way, to
+settle it and win you.
+
+"I put all the force and strength of my body into it, and more; all the
+strength of my love for you. It was with that in my heart, we clinched.
+I said I will fight to the death for her. She shall be mine whether I
+live or die. Stop crying, sweet; be glad as I am. Give thanks that it
+was to the life and not to the death. Listen, once more, while I can
+feel and know; give way to your great heart of love and treat me as you
+did after you had bound up my wounds. Learn the sweet lesson I said I
+would teach you."
+
+
+Late that evening, Hoke Belew rode up to the door of David's cabin and
+called Aunt Sally out to speak with him.
+
+"How's doc?"
+
+"He's doin' right well. He's asleep now. Won't ye 'light an' come in?"
+
+"I reckon not. Azalie, she's been alone all day, an' I guess she'll be
+some 'feared. Will you put that thar under doc's pillow whar he kin find
+hit in the mawnin'? Hit's a papah he sont me fer. Tell 'im I reckon
+hit's all straight. He kin see. Them people Cassandry was expectin' from
+Farington, did they come to-day?"
+
+"Yas, they come. They're down to Miz Farwell's."
+
+"Well, you tell doc 'at Azalie an' me, we'll be here 'long 'leven in the
+mawnin'." Hoke rode off under the winking stars, for the clouds after
+the long day of rain had lifted, and in the still night were rolling
+away over the mountain tops.
+
+Aunt Sally slipped quietly back into the cabin and softly closed the
+door of the canvas room, lest the rustling of paper should waken her
+charge, for she meant to examine that paper, quite innocently, since she
+could neither read nor write, but out of sheer childish curiosity.
+
+She need not have feared waking David, however, for, all his physical
+discomfort forgotten, dominated by the supreme happiness that possessed
+him, yet weak in body to the point of exhaustion, he slept profoundly
+and calmly on, even when she came stealthily and slipped the paper
+beneath his pillow, as Hoke had requested.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+IN WHICH THE BISHOP AND HIS WIFE PASS AN EVENTFUL DAT AT THE FALL PLACE
+
+
+"Do you know, James," said Betty Towers, as she walked at her husband's
+side in the sweet morning, slowly climbing up to David's cabin from the
+Fall Place, "I feel almost vexed with you for never bringing me here
+before."
+
+"Why--my dear!"
+
+"Yes, I do. To think of all this loveliness, and for six years you have
+been here many times, and never once told me you knew a place hardly two
+hours away as entrancing as heaven. Even now, James, if it hadn't been
+for Cassandra, I wouldn't have come. Why--it's the loveliest spot on
+earth. Stand still a minute, James, and listen. That's a thrush. Oh,
+something smells so sweet! It's a locust! And that's a redbird's note.
+There he is, like a red blossom in those bushes. There--no, there. You
+will look in the wrong direction, James, and now he's gone. You remember
+what David Thryng wrote? 'It's good just to be alive.' He's always
+saying that, and now I understand--in such a place as this. Oh, just
+breathe the air, James!"
+
+"I certainly can't help doing that, dear." The bishop was puffing a
+little over the climb his slight young wife took so easily.
+
+"I don't care. Here I've lived in cities all my life, while you have
+lived down here, and it has lost its charm to you. Only think of all
+this gorgeous display of nature just for these mountain people, and what
+is it to them?"
+
+"To them it's the natural order of things, just as you implied in regard
+to me."
+
+"Hark, James. Now, that's a catbird!"
+
+"And not a thrush?"
+
+"The other was a thrush. I know the difference."
+
+"Wise little woman! Come. There's that young man getting up a fever by
+fretting. We said--I said we would come early."
+
+"James, I'm going to stay up here and let you go to that stupid wedding
+down in Farington without me."
+
+"Perhaps we may have something interesting up here, if you'll hurry a
+little."
+
+"What is it, James?"
+
+"I really can't say, dear." She took his hand, and they walked on.
+
+"Wouldn't this be an ideal spot to spend a honeymoon? Hear that fall
+away down below us. How cool it sounds! Why don't you pay attention to
+me? What are you thinking about, James?"
+
+"I am making a little poem for you, dear. Listen:--
+
+
+     "Chatter, chatter, little tongue,
+     What a wonder how you're hung!
+     Up above the epiglottis,
+     Tied on with a little knot 'tis."
+
+
+"Only geniuses may be silly, James, but perhaps you can't help it. I
+think married people ought to establish the custom of sabbatical
+honeymoons to counteract the divorce habit. Suppose we set the example,
+now we have arrived at just the right time for one, and spend ours
+here."
+
+"Anything you say, dear."
+
+Being an absent-minded man, the bishop had fallen in the way of saying
+that, when, had he paused to think, he would have admitted that
+everything was made to bend to his will or wish by the spirited little
+being at his side. Moreover, being an absent-minded man, he drew her to
+him and kissed her. Aunt Sally, watching them from the cabin door,
+wondered if the bishop were going away on a journey, to leave his wife
+behind, for why else should he kiss her thus?
+
+"Will you sit there on the rock and enjoy the mountains while I see how
+he is?" said the bishop.
+
+So they parted at the door, and Aunt Sally brought her a chair and stood
+beside her, giving her every detail of the affair as far as she knew it.
+She sat bareheaded in the sun, to Sally's amazement, for she had her hat
+in her lap and could have worn it.
+
+The wind blew wisps of her fine straight hair across her pink cheeks
+and in her eyes, as she gazed out upon the blue mountains and listened
+to Sally's tale of "How hit all come about." For Sally went back into
+the family history of the Teasleys, and the Caswells, and the Merlins,
+and the Farwells, until Betty forgot the flight of time and the bishop
+called her. Then she went in to see David.
+
+He had worked his right hand free from its bandages and was able to lift
+it a little. She took it in hers, and looked brightly down at him.
+
+"Why, Doctor Thryng, you look better than when you were in Farington!
+Doesn't he, James? Aunt Sally gave me to understand you were nearly
+dead."
+
+David laughed happily. "I was, but I am very much alive now. I am to be
+married, Mrs. Towers; our wedding is to be quite _comme il faut_. It is
+to be at high noon, and the ceremony performed by a bishop."
+
+"James!" Betty dropped into a chair and looked helplessly at her
+husband. "You haven't your vestments here!"
+
+"I have all I need, dear. You know, Doctor, from Mr. Belew's telegram we
+were led to expect--"
+
+"A death instead of a wedding?" David finished.
+
+Betty turned to him. "Why didn't you tell us when you were down? You
+never gave the slightest hint of your state of mind, and there I was
+with my heart aching for Cassandra, when you--you stood ready to save
+her. I'm so glad for Cassandra; I could hug you, Doctor Thryng."
+Suddenly she turned on her husband. "James! Have you thought of
+everything--all the consequences? What will his mother--and the family
+over in England say?"
+
+James threw up his hand and laughed.
+
+"Don't laugh, James. Have you thought this all out, Doctor? Are you sure
+you can make them understand over there? Won't they think this awfully
+irregular? Will they ever be reconciled? I know how they are. My father
+was English."
+
+"They never need be reconciled. It's our affair, and there's nothing to
+call me back there to live. What I do, or whom I make my wife, is
+nothing to them. I may visit my mother, of course, but for the rest,
+they gave me up years ago, when I had no use for the life they mapped
+out for me. I have nothing to inherit there. It would go to my older
+brother, anyway. I may follow my own inclination--thank God! And as for
+it's being irregular--on the contrary--we are distinguished enough to
+have a bishop perform the ceremony. That will be considered a great
+thing at home--when they do come to hear of it."
+
+"But it is very sudden, Doctor; I suppose that's why I said irregular."
+Betty Towers paused a moment with a little frown, then laughed outright.
+"Does Cassandra know she is to be married to-day?"
+
+"She learned the fact yesterday--incidentally--bless her! and her only
+objection was a most feminine one. She had no proper dress. She said she
+was wearing her best when she found me and--but--I told her the
+trousseau was to come later."
+
+Betty rose with impulsive importance. "Well, James, we've so little
+time, I must go and help her prepare. And you'll rest now, won't you,
+Doctor? You stay up here with him, James, and I'll find some way of
+sending your things up."
+
+"Thar's Hoyle; he kin he'p a heap. He kin ride the mule an' tote
+anything ye like; and Marthy, I reckon ye kin git her up here on my
+horse--hit's thar at her place," said Sally, who had been standing in
+the doorway, keenly interested.
+
+When they were alone she said to David: "Hit's a right quare way o'
+doin' things--gitt'n married in bed, but if Bishop Towahs do hit, hit
+sure must be all right--leastways Cassandry'll think so."
+
+David took the superintendence of the arrangement of his cabin upon
+himself, and Hoke Belew, with the bishop's aid, carried out his
+directions. One side of his canvas room was rolled to the top, leaving
+the place open to the hills and the beauty without. His bed was placed
+so that he might face the open space, and that Cassandra could kneel at
+his right side. His writing-table, draped with a white cloth and covered
+with green hemlock boughs, formed the altar. It was all very quickly and
+simply done, and then David lay quiet, with closed eyes, listening to
+his musicians in the tree-tops, fluting their own gladness, while Hoke
+Belew went down below, and the bishop sat out on the rock and meditated.
+
+Cassandra came up to the cabin alone and sat with David, while the
+bishop donned his priestly vestments, and the wedding procession wound
+slowly up the trail from the Fall Place, decorously and gravely, clad in
+their best. Azalea and Betty came, side by side, the mother rode Sally's
+speckled white horse, and little Hoyle ran on ahead; Hoke carried his
+baby in his arms. Behind them all rode Uncle Jerry Carew, full of the
+liveliest interest and curiosity.
+
+Said David: "This is May-day. I know what they're doing at home now, if
+the weather will let them. They're having gay times with out-of-door
+fetes. The country girls are wearing their prettiest gowns, and the men
+are wearing sprigs of May in their buttonholes. Where did you get your
+roses?"
+
+"Azalie brought them."
+
+"And who put them in your hair?"
+
+"Mrs. Towahs did that. Do you like me this way, David?"
+
+"You are the loveliest being my eyes ever rested on."
+
+"This was my best dress last year. I did it up and mended it this
+morning. It's home-woven like the one I--like the other one you said you
+liked."
+
+David smiled, looking up into the gray eyes with the green lights and
+blue depths in them. How serene and poised her manner was, on the verge
+of the momentous step she was about to take, while his own heart was
+beating high. He wondered if she really comprehended the change it was
+to make in her life, that she showed no apprehension or fear.
+
+"Cassandra, do you realize that in fifteen minutes you will be my wife?
+It will be a great change for you, dearest. In spite of all I can do,
+you may be sad sometimes, and I may ask of you things you don't want to
+do."
+
+"I've been sad already in my life, and done things I didn't want to do.
+I don't guess you could change that--only God could."
+
+"And you don't feel in the least disturbed? Your heart doesn't beat any
+harder nor your breath come quicker? Tell me how you feel."
+
+She smiled and drew a long breath. "I don't know how it is. Everything
+is right peaceful and sweet outside--the sky and the hills and all the
+birds--even the wind is still in the trees, like everything was waiting
+for something good to happen."
+
+"In your heart it is sweet and peaceful, too, and waiting for something
+good to happen?"
+
+"Yes, David."
+
+"God forgive me if ever I fail you," he said, drawing her down to him.
+"God make me worthy of you."
+
+Then the bishop entered, and the little procession followed, and
+gathered about while the solemn words of the service were uttered.
+Cassandra knelt at David's side, as together they partook of the bread
+and wine, and with the worn circlet of gold which had been tied to her
+father's little Greek books, they were pronounced man and wife. Then,
+rising from her knees, she bent and kissed David, the long first kiss of
+the wedded pair, and turned her gravely happy face to the bishop, who
+admitted to Betty afterward that he had never kissed a bride, other than
+his own, with such unalloyed satisfaction.
+
+It was all over quickly, and Cassandra was standing in a new world. Her
+eyes shone with the love-light no longer held back and veiled. She
+accompanied them all to the door and parted from them, even her mother
+and little Hoyle, as a hostess parting from her guests. She would not
+allow any one to stay behind, for the wedding feast had been spread in
+her mother's house, and thither they repaired to eat, and talk
+everything over.
+
+"Mother felt right bad to leave us alone. She meant to bring everything
+up and all eat together here, but I thought it would be better, just we
+two, and me to set things out for you. Lie quiet and close your eyes,
+David, and make out like you are sleeping while I do it."
+
+With perfect contentment he obeyed, and lay watching her through
+half-closed lids. It was always the same vision. She moved between him
+and a halo of light that seemed to be a part of her and to go with her,
+now at his bedside, now bending before the fireplace. At last the small
+pine table, which had served as an altar, was set with their first meal.
+The home was established.
+
+He opened his eyes and looked on the feast she had set before him. The
+pink rose was still in her hair, and one at her throat, and two perfect
+ones were in a glass near his plate. The table was drawn close to his
+bedside, and strawberries were upon it, and a glass pitcher of cream.
+There were white beaten biscuit, and tea--as he had made it for her so
+long ago on her first and only visit to his cabin when he was at home,
+so she had made it for him now. There were chicken and green peas, also.
+
+"How quickly everything has happened! How perfect it all is! How did you
+get all these things together?"
+
+So she told him where everything came from. "Mother churned the butter
+to have it right fresh, and she left it without salt for you, like you
+said you used to have it in England. Uncle Jerry brought the peas from
+his garden, and he shelled them himself. I made the biscuit this
+morning, and Aunt Sally fried the chicken when she came down, and Azalie
+prepared the peas, and we kept them all hot in the fireplace, theirs
+down there, and ours up here." Cassandra laughed merrily. "I reckon it
+looked funny. Every one carried something when they came up. Hoyle had
+the peas in a tin pail, and mother rode Aunt Sally's Speckle and carried
+the biscuit in a pan on front. Shut your eyes and you can see them come
+that way, David, while I sit here with you, talking and feeling that
+happy. Don't try to use your right hand that way; I can see it hurts
+you. Let me go on feeding you like I am. Don't I do it right?"
+
+"Perfectly, but I want you to bring that cushion over here and put it
+under my pillow so you won't have to lift my head. That's right. Now I
+want to see you eat. You can't feed me and yourself at the same time.
+You won't? Then we'll take it turn about."
+
+"How have you managed these days? Did Aunt Sally feed you? Oh, I don't
+believe you ate anything. You couldn't, could you?"
+
+She spoke so sadly, he laughed. "It's a lucky thing you sent for the
+bishop instead of the doctor, or I would have had no wife and would have
+starved to death. I couldn't have survived another day."
+
+Again she laughed out, as she seemed so suddenly to have learned to do.
+"And I would have stayed away and let you starve to death? You must
+open your mouth, David, and not try to talk now."
+
+"Ah, no, that's enough. We've a thousand things to say and plans to
+make. You eat while I talk. When I am up, we must find some one to stay
+with your mother. She should not be left alone." Cassandra paled a
+little. He was watching her face. "You will be staying up here with me,
+you know, all the time."
+
+"Yes--I know." Her throat seemed to tighten, and she looked off toward
+the hills, as her way was.
+
+"Don't you like the thought of staying up here with me? Make your
+confession, dearest one." He drew her down to look in his eyes. "It's
+done. We are man and wife."
+
+Her eyes swam with tears, but her lips smiled. "I do. I do want to bide
+with you. All the way before me now looks like a long path of
+light--like what I have dreamed sometimes when the moon shines long down
+the mists at night. Only one place--I can't quite see--is it shadow or
+not. Perhaps it's only the thought of mother down there alone."
+
+She spoke dreamily and with the same look of seeing things beyond,
+except that now she fixed her eyes, not on the mountain top, but on his
+own.
+
+"Is it in my eyes you see the long path of light? Are we together in it?
+I see you always with the light about you. I saw you so first in your
+own home before the blazing fire--such a hearth fire as I had never seen
+before. You have appeared to me in my dreams with light about you ever
+since, and in my visions when I have been riding over these hills alone.
+What are you seeing now?"
+
+"You, as you helped me that first time, there in the snow. You looked so
+ill, but your way was strong, and I thought--all at once, in a
+flash--like it came from--"
+
+"Go on."
+
+"Like it came from my father: 'One will come for you.'" She hid her face
+in his bosom, and her words came smothered and brokenly, "All the ride
+home I put them away, but they would come back, his words: 'On the
+mountain top, one will come for you'; but we were in such trouble--I
+thought it was just the thought of my father. It's always strongest when
+trouble comes, like he would comfort me."
+
+"Don't you have it also when happiness comes to you, as on this morning
+while we waited together?"
+
+"No great happiness like this ever came before. I have been glad, like
+when mother said I might go to Farington to school; and when I knelt and
+was confirmed, I was glad then. The first gladness I can remember was
+when my father used to carry me in his arms up and down his path and
+repeat strange poetry to me. When you are well, we will go there, won't
+we?"
+
+"Yes, dearest; but didn't the remembrance come to you just now, when you
+saw the long path of light before us?"
+
+"I think no, David. I'm afraid I forgot every one but you then, when you
+asked would I like to bide here with you; and the long path of light was
+our love--for it reaches up to heaven, doesn't it, David?"
+
+"It reaches to heaven, Cassandra."
+
+Then they were silent, for there was no more to say.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+IN WHICH THE SUMMER PASSES
+
+
+Midsummer arrived, and David, healed of his wounds, pronounced himself
+as "strong as a cricketer." What he meant by that Hoyle could only
+conjecture, and, after much pondering, decided that his strength was now
+so great that should he desire to do so, he could leap into the air or
+jump long distances after the manner of crickets.
+
+"You reckon you could jump as fer in one jump now as from here to
+t'other side the water trough yandah?" he asked one day, as they sat on
+the porch steps together.
+
+"No, I don't reckon so," said David, laughing.
+
+"Well, could you jump ovah this here house and the loom shed in one
+jump?"
+
+"I don't reckon so."
+
+"Be sensible, honey son. You mustn't 'low him to ax ye fool questions,
+Doctah. You knows they hain't nobody kin do such as that, Hoyle," called
+his mother from within.
+
+"He has some idea in his head. What is it, brother Hoyle?"
+
+"I heered you tellin' Cass 'at you was gettin' strong as one o' these
+here cricket bugs, an' I had one t'other day; he could jump as fer as
+cl'ar acrost the po'ch--and he was only 'bout a inch long--er less 'n a
+inch. I thought if brothah David was that strong, he could jump a heap."
+
+David had comforted Hoyle for the loss of Cassandra from the home by
+explaining that they were now become brothers for the rest of their
+lives, and in order to give this assurance appreciable significance, he
+had taken the small chap to the circus and had treated him to pink
+lemonade and a toy balloon.
+
+They had remained over until the next day, and Doctor Bartlett and David
+had examined him all over at the old physician's office and then had
+gone into a little room by themselves and stayed a long time, leaving
+him outside. Then, to compensate for such gross neglect, David had
+taken him to a clothing store and bought him a complete suit of store
+clothing, very neat and pretty. Hoyle would have been in the seventh
+heaven over all this, were it not, alas! that there the child for the
+first time in his life looked into a mirror that revealed him to himself
+from head to foot, little wry neck, hunched back and all.
+
+David, not realizing this was a revelation to the little man, wondered,
+as they walked away, that all his enthusiasm and exuberance of spirits
+had left him, and that he walked at his side wearily and sadly silent.
+His pathetic little legs spindled down from the smart new trousers, and
+his hands dangled weakly from his thin wrists, albeit his fingers clung
+tightly to his toy balloon.
+
+"We're going back to the bishop's now, and we'll have a good dinner, and
+then you'll have a whole hour to play with Dorothy before we leave for
+home," said David, cheeringly. The child made no response other than to
+slip his hand into David's. "What are you thinking about, brother
+Hoyle?"
+
+"Jest nothin'. I war a-wonderin'."
+
+"Oh, there is a difference? What were you wondering?"
+
+"Maw told me if you war that good to take me to a circus, I mustn't
+bothah you with a heap o' questions 'at wa'n't no good."
+
+"That's all right. I'm questioning you now."
+
+"What war you an' that old man feelin' me all ovah for? War you tryin'
+to make out hu' come my hade is sot like this-a-way? Reckon you r'aly
+could set hit straight an' get this 'er lump off'n my back?"
+
+"Don't worry about your head and your back. You have a very good head.
+That's more than some can say."
+
+"I nevah see nary othah boy like I be. You reckon that li'l' girl, she
+thought I war quare?"
+
+"What little girl?"
+
+"Mrs. Towahs's li'l' girl. She said 'turn roun',' an' when I done hit,
+she said 'turn roun' agin.' Then she said, 'Whyn't you hol' your hade
+like I do?'"
+
+"What did you say?"
+
+"Didn't say nothin.' Jes' axed her whyn't she hol' her head like I did?
+an' she said, 'Don't want to.' So I said, 'Don't want to.'" He twisted
+his head about to look up in David's face, and his lips smiled, but in
+his eyes was a suspicion of tears. His heart heavy for the child, David
+praised him for a brave little chap, comforting him as best he could.
+
+"You reckon she'd like me if I war to give her this here balloon?"
+
+"No, you take that home to sister. The little girl can get one when the
+circus comes again." But after dinner, David did not send Hoyle off to
+play the hour with Dorothy. He took her on his knee and entertained them
+both with tales and mimicry until he had them in gales of laughter, and
+for the time being Hoyle forgot his troubles.
+
+As the days passed, David became more and more interested in his patch
+of ground and the growing things in his garden. Never had he labored
+with his hands in this fashion, and each night he lay down to sleep
+physically weary, in contentment of spirit. Steadily he progressed
+toward the desired goal of health. In his young wife, also, he found a
+rich satisfaction, watching her unfold and blossom into the gracious
+wifehood and ladyhood he had dreamed of for her.
+
+Together they used to stroll to the little farm, where she told him all
+she knew about the crops--what was best for the animals, and what would
+be needed for themselves. Long before David was able to oversee the work
+himself, she had set Elwine Timms to sowing cow-peas and planting corn.
+
+"Behold your heritage!" David said to her one morning, as they strolled
+thus among the thrifty greenness and patches of vetch where the cow was
+contentedly feeding. He laughed joyously and drew his wife's arm through
+his. She looked up at him wistfully. He thought she sighed, and bent his
+head to listen. "What was that little sound?"
+
+"I was only thinking."
+
+"We'll sit here where we sat that morning when we both put our hands to
+the plough, and you tell me what you were thinking."
+
+"I ought not to stop now, David. I've left all for mother to do. I was
+that busy at the cabin I didn't get down to her this morning."
+
+"You can't keep two homes going with only your own two dear hands,
+Cassandra. It must be stopped. We'll find some one to live with your
+mother and take your place." She gave a little gasp, then sat silently,
+her hands dropped passively in her lap, and he thought she seemed sad.
+He took her face between his hands and made her look into his eyes.
+"Don't be worried, sweetheart; we'll make a few changes. You're mine
+now, you know--not only to serve me and labor for me as you have been
+doing all these weeks, but--"
+
+"But I like it, David. I like doing for you. I hope it may always be so
+I can do for you."
+
+"Would you like me to become an invalid again so you could keep on in
+the way you began?"
+
+"Not that--but sometimes I think what if you shouldn't really need me!"
+She hid her face on his breast. "I--I want you to need me--David!" It
+was almost like a cry for help, as she said it.
+
+"Dear heart, dear heart! What are you thinking and fearing? Can't you
+understand? You are mine now, to be cared for and loved and held very
+near and dear to my heart. We are no more twain, we are one."
+
+"Yes, but--but--David, I--I want you to need me," she sobbed, and he
+knew some thought was stirring in her heart which she could not yet put
+into words. He comforted her and soothed her, explaining certain plans
+which later he put into execution, so that her duties at the Fall Place
+were brought to an end and he could have her always with him.
+
+A daughter of her Uncle Cotton, who had gone down into South Carolina to
+live, was induced to come and stay with the widow, and the girl's
+brother came with her and helped David on the farm.
+
+Then David made changes in and about his cabin. He built on another room
+and put therein a cook stove. He could not bear to see his young wife
+bending at the hearth preparing their meals, and when she demurred, he
+explained that he wished to keep her as she was and not see her growing
+old and wrinkled before her time, with the burning heat of the open fire
+in her face, like many of the mountain women.
+
+One evening,--they had eaten their supper out under the trees,--she
+proposed they should walk up to her father's path, as she called the
+spot toward which she so often lifted her eyes, and David was well
+pleased to go with her. As they set out, she asked him to wait a moment
+while she went back for something, and quickly returned, bringing his
+flute.
+
+"I've often wished father could have heard you play on this," she said,
+as he took it from her hand.
+
+They crossed the little river that tumbled and rushed among great
+moss-covered boulders on its way to the fall, and followed its wayward
+course toward its head, where the way was untrodden and wild, as if no
+human foot had ever climbed along its banks. After a little they turned
+off toward a tremendous rock of solid granite that had been cleft
+smoothly in twain by some gigantic force of nature, and, walking between
+the towering walls of stone, came out on the farther side upon a small
+level space, where immense ferns and flags grew thickly in the rich
+soil, held in place and kept damp by the great cool masses of stone.
+
+Above this little dell the hill rose steeply, and Cassandra led him to a
+narrow opening in the dense shrubbery surrounding the spot from which a
+beaten path wound upward, overarched with thickly interlacing branches
+of birch wood and hemlocks. Along this winding trail they climbed, until
+they reached a cluster of enormous cedars which made the dark place on
+the mountain Cassandra had pointed out to him from below. Here the path
+widened so they could walk side by side, and continued along a level
+line at the foot of the dark mass of trees.
+
+"Here father used to walk up and down reading in his little books; seems
+like I can hear his voice now. Sometimes he would look off over the
+valley below us there and repeat parts by heart. Isn't it beautiful
+here, David?"
+
+"Heavenly beautiful!"
+
+"I'm glad we never came here before."
+
+"Why, dearest?"
+
+"Because." She hesitated with parted lips, and cheeks flushed from the
+climb. David stood with bared head. He felt as if he were in a
+cathedral.
+
+"And why because?" he asked again.
+
+"For now we bring just happiness with us. We're not troubled or
+wondering about anything. No sorrow comes with us. In our hearts we are
+sure--sure--" She paused again and lifted her eyes to his.
+
+"Sure that all is right when we belong to each other--this way?"
+
+"Yes, sure! Oh, David, sure--sure!" She threw her arms about his neck
+and drew his face down to hers. "It's even a greater happiness than when
+he used to carry me in his arms here. There's no sorrow near us. It's
+all far away."
+
+Thus, sometimes she would throw off all the habitual reserve of her
+manner and open her heart to him, following the rich impulses of her
+nature to their glorious revelation.
+
+"Now, David, sit here and play; play your flute as you did that first
+time when I learned who made the music that I thought must be the
+'Voices,' that time I climbed up to see."
+
+They sat under the great cedars on a bank of moss, and David took the
+flute from her hand, smiling as he thought of that moment when he had
+stood among the blossoming laurel and watched her as she moved about his
+cabin, the day before his hurt, and how she had kissed it.
+
+"I used to sit here like this." She bent forward and rested her head on
+his knee. She had a way of putting her two hands together as a child is
+taught to hold them in prayer and placing them beneath her cheek; and so
+she waited while David paused, his hand on her hair, and his eyes fixed
+on the sea of hilltops where they melted into the sky,--a mysterious,
+undulating line of the faintest blue, seen through the arching branches
+above, and the swaying hemlocks on either side, and over the tops of a
+hundred varieties of pines and deciduous trees beneath them, all down
+the long slope up which they had climbed.
+
+Thus they waited, until she lifted her head and looked into his eyes
+questioningly. He bent forward and kissed her lips and then lifted the
+flute to his own--but again paused.
+
+"What are you thinking now, David?" she asked.
+
+"So you really thought it was the 'Voices'? What was their message,
+Cassandra?"
+
+"I couldn't make it out then, but I thought of this place and of father,
+and it was all at once like as if he would make me know something, and
+I prayed God would he lead me to understand was it a message or not. So
+that was the way I kept on following--until I--"
+
+"You came to me, dear?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And what did you think the interpretation was then?"
+
+"Yes, it was you--you, David. It was love--and hope--and
+gladness--everything, everything--"
+
+"Go on."
+
+"Everything good and beautiful--but--sometimes it comes again--"
+
+"What comes?"
+
+"Play, David, play. I'll tell you another time in another place, not
+here. No, no."
+
+So he played for her until the dusk deepened around and below them, and
+they had to make their way back stumblingly. When they came to the wild,
+untrodden bank of the little river, David resigned the choosing of their
+path entirely to her and followed close, holding her hand where she led.
+When at last they reached their cabin, they did not light candles, but
+sat long in the doorway conversing on the deep things of their souls.
+
+It still seemed to David as if she held something back from him, and now
+he begged her for a more perfect self-revealing.
+
+"It is no longer as if we were separate, dearest; can't you remember and
+feel that we are one?"
+
+"In a way I do. It is very sweet."
+
+"You say in a way. In what way?"
+
+"Why, David?"
+
+"I want your point of view."
+
+"I see. We're not really one until we see from each other's hilltop, are
+we?"
+
+"No, and you never take me into the secret places of your heart and let
+me look off from your own hilltop."
+
+"Didn't I this very evening, David?"
+
+"We stood on the same spot of earth and looked off on the same distance,
+yet in my soul I know I did not see what you saw."
+
+"Pictures come to me very suddenly and just float by, hardly understood
+by myself. I didn't want you to see all I saw, David. I don't know how
+comes it, but all the time, even in the midst of our great
+gladness--right when it is most beautiful--far before me, right across
+our way, is a place that is dim. It seems 'most like the shadows that
+fall on the hills when those great piles of clouds pass through the sky,
+when it is deep blue all around them and the sun shines everywhere
+else."
+
+"Your soul is still an undiscovered country to me, Cassandra."
+
+"I should think you'd like that. Don't men love to go discovering? And
+if you could get into the secret chambers, as you call them, you
+wouldn't find much. Then you'd be sorry."
+
+"Cassandra, what are you covering and holding back?"
+
+"I don't know, David. It's like it was when I couldn't understand the
+message of the 'Voices'! When it comes clear and strong, I'll tell you."
+
+"Then there is something?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+With a little sigh, she rose and entered the cabin. He sat in silence as
+she had left him, but soon she returned. Standing behind him in the
+darkness, she put her interlaced fingers under his chin and drew his
+face backward until she could see it, white in the dusk, beneath her
+eyes.
+
+"You have come back to explain?"
+
+"If I can, David. It's hard for me to put in words what is so dim--what
+I see. It's all just love for you, David. The love burns and blazes up
+in me like the fire when it's fiercest on the hearth, when the day is
+cold outside. You've seen it so. In the little books my father used to
+read, there was a tale of a woman who had my name. She foretold the
+sorrows to come. Perhaps she saw as I see things in the dim pictures,
+only more clearly, and wisdom was given her to interpret them.
+
+"Often and often I've felt that in me--that strange seeing and knowing
+before, and I don't like it. Only once it made me feel glad--when it led
+me to you and Frale that terrible moment. But it wasn't a picture that
+time; it was a feeling that pulled me and made me go. I would have gone
+that time if I had died for it."
+
+He took her two hands and covered them with kisses, there in the
+darkness. "I told you you were my priestess of all that is good."
+
+"But I don't want to be always seeing the shadows and foreboding. I
+want to be all happy--happy--the way you are."
+
+"I believe you are one of the blessed ones of God who have 'the gift';
+but you are right to feel as you do. Your life will be more normal and
+wholesome not to try to probe into the future. I'll not attempt to take
+my coarser humanity into your holy places, dear."
+
+He led her into their canvas sleeping chamber, and there she was soon
+calmly slumbering at his side; but he lay long pondering and trying to
+see his way out of a certain dilemma of unrest that had been creeping
+into his veins and prodding him forward ever since his reestablished
+health had become an assured fact. He recognized it as no more than the
+proper impulse of his manhood not to stagnate and slumber in a lotus
+dream, even as delicious a dream as this. Ah, it was inevitable. His
+world must become her world.
+
+Herein lay the dilemma. This unsullied, beautiful being must enter that
+sordid old world, that had so pressed upon him and broken him down. This
+idyl might go on for perhaps a year longer--but not for always--not for
+always.
+
+He slept at last, and dreamed that they were being driven along a dark,
+cold river, wide and swift; that they had entered it where it was only a
+narrow, rushing stream, sparkling and tumbling over rocks, and winding
+in intricate turnings on itself; that they had laughed as they followed
+it, plashing among the stones where she led him by the hand, until it
+grew wider and deeper and colder, and they were lifted from their feet
+and were tossed and swirled about, and she cried and clung to him, and
+even as he clasped her and held her, he knew her to be slipping from
+him. Then in terror he awoke, and, reaching out in the darkness, drew
+her into his embrace and slept again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+IN WHICH DAVID TAKES LITTLE HOYLE TO CANADA
+
+
+"David," said his wife next day, as he came whistling up to his cabin
+from the farm below, "do you mind if I give mother a little help with
+the weaving? Mattie can't do it. She's right nigh spoiled the
+counterpane we had on when she came, and since mother's hurt, she can't
+work the treadles, so now the hotel's open Miss Mayhew may come and find
+them not half done."
+
+"Do I mind? Why should I mind, if you don't 'right nigh' spoil your back
+and wear yourself out?"
+
+"Then I'll go down with you after dinner and see can I patch up Mattie's
+mistakes. It takes so much patience--a loom does, to understand it."
+
+Mattie was the cousin David had imported from the low country to relieve
+Cassandra from the burden of the work in the home below. Although a
+disappointment to them, she still did her work after her own fashion,
+clumsily and slowly, but her Aunt 'Marthy' was never at rest, prodding
+the dull nature forward, trying to make her take the interest Cassandra
+had done.
+
+David had wisely persuaded his wife to leave them to themselves, to work
+out the problem of adjustment to the new conditions as best they might,
+and his persuasions had been of a more peremptory nature than he
+realized. To Cassandra they had been as commands, but now--when the
+weaving on which the widow had counted so much was likely to be ruined
+by Mattie's unskilled hands--the old mother had declared she could not
+bear to see her niece around and should "pack her off whar she come
+from."
+
+Therefore Cassandra had made her timid request--the first evidence of
+shrinking from her husband she had ever given. Why was it? he asked
+himself. What had he ever said or done to make her prefer a request in
+that way? But it was over in an instant, and her own poised manner
+returned as they ate and chatted together.
+
+Little Hoyle came running up to eat with them. He had conceived a
+dislike to the home below since the incumbent had come to take his
+sister's place, and evaded thus, as often as possible, his mother's
+vigilance. David did not mind the intrusion, but suffered the adoring
+little chap to sit at his side, ever twisting his small body about to
+fix his great eyes on David's face, while he plied him with questions
+and hung on his words too intent to attend to his own eating unless
+admonished thereto by his sister.
+
+"If you don't eat, son, I'll send you back to mother," she threatened.
+
+"I won't go," he rebelled joyously. "I'll jes' set here 'longside
+brothah David."
+
+"No, you won't, young man. You'll do whatever sister says. That's what I
+do." He put his hand on the boy's tousled head and turned him about to
+his plate, well filled with food still untouched, but he noticed that
+the child ate listlessly, more as an act of obedience than from a normal
+desire. He glanced up at his wife and saw that she also noticed Hoyle's
+languor. They finished the meal in a silence only broken by Hoyle's
+questions and David's replies, now serious, now teasing and bantering.
+
+"You are so full of interrogation points you have no room for your
+dinner. Here--drink this milk--slowly; don't gulp it."
+
+"I know what they be. They go this-a-way." The boy set down his glass to
+illustrate with his slender little hand the form of the question mark.
+Then he laughed out gayly. "You know hu' come I got filled up with them
+things? I done swallered that thar catechism Cass b'en teachin' me
+Sundays."
+
+"No, I'm thinking you just are one yourself."
+
+"'Cause I'm crooked like this-a-way?" He twisted about and looked up at
+David gravely.
+
+"No, no, son. Doctor didn't mean that," said his sister.
+
+"Finish your milk," said David. "We'll have some fun with the
+microscope." And once again the child essayed to eat and drink a little.
+
+But the languor and pallor grew in spite of all David could do for him,
+and as the weeks passed his large eyes burned more brilliantly and his
+thin form grew more meagre. Cassandra got in the way of keeping him up
+at the cabin with her, and when she went down to weave, he went also and
+used to lie on the bundles of cotton, poring over the books which David
+procured for him from time to time.
+
+"What he gets in that way won't hurt him. It's not like having set tasks
+to learn, and he's not burdened with any 'ought' or 'ought not' about
+it. Let him vegetate until cooler weather. Then, if he doesn't improve,
+we'll see what can be done. Something radical, I imagine."
+
+
+The fall arrived in a splendor that was truly oriental in its
+gorgeousness. The changing colors of the foliage surpassed in brilliancy
+anything David had ever seen or imagined possible. The mantle of deepest
+green which had clothed the mountain sides all summer, became
+transmuted, until all the world was glorified and glowing as if the heat
+of the summer sun had been stored up during the drowsy days to burst
+forth thus in warmest reds and golds.
+
+"The hills look as if they had clothed themselves in Turkish rugs,
+ancient and fine," said David one evening, as he sat on his rock,
+watching them burn in the afterglow of the setting sun.
+
+"How much there is for me to learn and know," Cassandra replied in a low
+voice. "I never saw a Turkish rug. You often speak of things I know
+nothing about."
+
+David laughed and turned upon her happy eyes. "Why so sad for that? Did
+you think I loved you and married you for your worldly knowledge?" She
+smiled back at him and was silent. Presently he continued. "Now, while
+Hoyle is not here, I wish to talk to you a little about him."
+
+"Yes, David." Her heart fluttered with a nameless fear, but she betrayed
+no sign of emotion.
+
+"You've seen, of course. It's not necessary to tell you."
+
+"No, David--only--does it mean death?" She put her hand out to him, and
+he took it in his and stroked it.
+
+"Not surely. We'll make a fight for him, won't we, dear?"
+
+"Oh, David! What can we do?" she moaned.
+
+"There's a thing to do that I've been reserving as a last resort. I
+think the time has come to try it. This curvature presses on some vital
+part, and the action of his heart is uncertain. He needs the tonic of
+the cold,--the ice and snow. Would you trust him to me, dear? I'll take
+him to Doctor Hoyle. You know very well everything kindness and skill
+can do will be done for him there."
+
+"Yes, yes, David. You are so good to him always! Would--would you
+go--alone with him?" She drew closer to him, her head on his shoulder
+and her hand in his, but he could not see her face.
+
+"You mean without you, dearest?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"That may be as you say. Would you prefer to go with us?"
+
+She drew a long breath, slowly, like an indrawn sigh, and something
+trembled to pass her heart, but suddenly the old habit of reserve sealed
+her lips and she remained silent.
+
+"What do you say?" he urged.
+
+"Tell me first--do you want me to go?"
+
+He was silent, and they sat waiting for each other. Then he said, "I do
+want you to go--and yet I don't want you to go--yet. Sometime, of
+course, we must go where I may find wider scope for my activities." He
+felt her quiver of anxiety. "Not until you are quite ready yourself,
+dear, always remember that." Still she was silent, and he continued: "I
+can't say that I'm quite ready myself. I would prefer one more year
+here, but Hoyle must be removed without delay. We may have waited too
+long as it is. Will your mother consent? She must, if she cares to see
+him live."
+
+"Oh, David! Go, go. Take him and go to-morrow. Leave me here and
+go--but--come back to me, David, soon--very soon. I--I shall need you,
+I-- Can you leave Hoyle there and come back, David? Or must you bide
+there, too?" Suddenly she bowed her face in her hands. "Oh, I'm so
+wicked and selfish to think of leaving him there without you or me or
+mother--one. David, what can we do? He might die there, and you--you
+must come back for the winter; what would save him, might kill you. Oh,
+David! Take me with you, and leave me there with him, and you come back.
+Doctor Hoyle will take care of him--of us--once we are there."
+
+"Now, now, now! hold your dear heart in peace. Why, I'm well. To stay
+another winter would only be to establish myself in a more rugged
+condition of body--not that I must do so. We'll talk with your mother
+to-morrow. It may be hard to persuade her."
+
+But he found the mother most reasonable and practical. He even tried to
+abate her perfect trust in him and his ability to bring the child back
+to her quite well and strong.
+
+"This isn't a trouble that is ever really cured, you know. When taken
+young enough, it may be helped, and I've known people who have lived
+long and useful lives in spite of it. That's all we may hope for."
+
+"Waal, I 'low ye can't git him no younger'n he be now, an' he's that
+peart, I reckon he's worth hit--leastways to we-uns."
+
+"Of course he's worth it."
+
+"You are right good to keer fer him like you have. I'd do a heap fer you
+ef I could. All I have is jest this here farm, an' hit's fer you an'
+Cass. On'y ef ye'd 'low me an' leetle Hoyle to bide on here whilst we
+live--"
+
+David was touched. "Do you realize I've found here the two greatest
+things in the world, love and health? All I want is for you to know and
+remember that if I can't succeed in doing all I would like for the boy,
+at least I tried my very best. I may not succeed, you know, but this is
+the only thing to do now--the only thing."
+
+
+David parted from his young wife, leaving her standing in the door of
+their cabin, clad in her white homespun frock, smiling, yet tearful and
+pale. He was to walk down to the Fall Place, where Jerry Carew waited
+with the wagon in which he had arrived, and where his baggage had been
+brought the day before. When he came to the steepest part of the
+descent, he looked back and saw Cassandra still standing as if in a
+trance, gazing after him. He felt his heart lean towards her, and,
+turning sharply, walked swiftly to her and took her once more in his
+arms and looked down into those deep springs--her sweet gray eyes. Thus
+for a long moment he held her to his heart with never a word. Then she
+entered the little home, and he walked away, looking back no more.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+IN WHICH DOCTOR HOYLE SPEAKS HIS MIND
+
+
+Doctor Hoyle sat in his office staring straight before him, not as if he
+were looking at David Thryng, who sat in range of his vision, but as if
+seeing beyond him into some other time and place. David had been
+speaking, but now they both were silent, and the young man wondered if
+his old friend had really been paying attention to his words or not.
+
+"Well, Doctor," he said at last.
+
+"Well, David."
+
+"You don't seem satisfied. Is it with my condition?"
+
+"Your condition? No, no, no! It's not your condition. Yes, yes--fine,
+fine. I never saw such a marvellous change in my life, never!"
+
+David smiled over the old doctor's stammer of enthusiasm. It was as if
+his thoughts, fertile and vehement, and the feelings of his great, warm
+heart welled up within him, and, trying to burst forth all at once,
+tumbled over themselves, unable to secure words rapidly enough in which
+to give themselves utterance.
+
+"Then why so silent and dubious?"
+
+"Why--why--y--young man, I wasn't thinking anything about you just
+then." And again David laughed, while his wiry old friend jumped up and
+walked rapidly and restlessly about the small apartment and laughed in
+sympathy. "It's not--not--"
+
+"I know." David grew instantly sober again. "Of course the little chap's
+case is serious--very--or I would not have brought him to you."
+
+"Oh, no, no, I'm not thinking of Adam, bless you, no." The doctor always
+called his little namesake Adam. "I'm thinking of her--the little girl
+you left behind you. Yes--yes. Of her."
+
+"She's not so little now, Doctor; she's tall--tall enough to be
+beautiful."
+
+"I remember her,--slight--slight little creature, all eyes and hair, all
+soul and mind. Now what are you going to do with her, eh?"
+
+"What is she going to do with me, rather! I'll go back to her as soon as
+I dare leave the boy."
+
+"But, man alive! what--what are--you can't live down there all your
+days. It's to be life and work for you, sir, and what are you going to
+do with her, I say?"
+
+"I'll bring her here with me. She'll come."
+
+"Of course you'll bring her here with you, and you--you'll have plenty
+of friends. Maybe they'll appreciate her, and maybe they won't; maybe
+they won't, I say; Understand? And she'll c--come. Oh, yes, she'll come!
+she'll do whatever you say, and presently she'll break her heart and die
+for you. She'll never say a word, but that's what she'll do."
+
+"Why, Doctor!" cried David, appalled. "I love her as my own life--my
+very soul."
+
+"Of--of course. That goes without saying. We all do, we men, but
+we--damn it all! Do you suppose I've lived all these years and not seen?
+Why--we think of ourselves first every time. D--don't we, though?
+Rather!"
+
+"But selfish as we are, we can love--a man can, if he sets himself to it
+honestly,--love a woman and make her happy, even without the
+appreciation of others, in spite of environment,--everything. It's the
+destiny of women to love us, thank God. She would have been doomed
+surely to die if she had married the one who wanted her first--or to
+live a life for her worse than death."
+
+"Oh, Lord bless you, boy, yes. It's a woman's destiny. I'm an old fool.
+There--there's my own little girl, she's m--married and gone--gone to
+live in England. They will do it--the women will. Come, we'll go see
+Adam."
+
+The doctor sprang up, brushed his hand across his eyes, and caught up a
+battered silk hat. He turned it about and looked at it ruefully, with a
+quizzical smile playing about the corners of his eyes. "Remember that
+hat?" he asked.
+
+"Well do I remember it. You've driven many a mile in many a rainstorm
+by my side under that hat! When you're done with it, leave it to me in
+your will. I have a fancy for it. Will you?"
+
+"Here, take it--take it. I'm done with it. Mary scolds me every day
+about it. No p--peace in life because of it. Here's a new one I bought
+the other day--good one--good enough."
+
+He lifted a box which had fallen from his cluttered office table, and
+took from it a new hat which had evidently not been unpacked before. He
+tried it on his head, turned it about and about, took it off and gazed
+at it within and without, then hastily tossed it aside and, snatching
+his old one from David put it on his head, and they started off.
+
+Hoyle had been placed in a small ward where were only two other little
+beds, both occupied, with one nurse to attend on the three patients. One
+of them had broken his leg and had to lie in a cast, and the other was
+convalescing from fever, but both were well enough to be companionable
+with the lonely little Southerner. Hoyle's face beamed upon David as he
+bent over him.
+
+"I kin make pi'chers whilst I'm a-lyin' here," he cried ecstatically.
+"That thar lady, she 'lows me to make 'em. She 'lows mine're good uns."
+David glanced at the young woman indicated. She was pleasant-faced and
+rosy, and looked practical and good.
+
+"He's such an odd little chap," she said.
+
+"What be that--odd? Does hit mean this 'er lump on my back?" He pulled
+David down and whispered the question in his ear.
+
+"No, no. She only means that you're a dear, queer little chap."
+
+"What be I quare fer?"
+
+"What are all these drawings? Tell us what they mean."
+
+"This'n, hit's the ocean, an' that thar, hit's a steamship sailin' on
+th' ocean, like you done tol' me about. An' this'n, hit's our house an'
+here's whar ol' Pete bides at; an' this'n's ol' Pete kickin' out like he
+hated somethin' like he does when we give Frale's colt his corn first."
+The other small boys from their beds laughed out merrily and strained
+their necks to see. "These're theirn. I made this'n fer him an' this'n
+fer him."
+
+He tossed the pictures feebly toward them, and they fluttered to the
+floor. David gathered them up and gave them to their respective owners.
+The old doctor stood beside the cot and looked down on the little
+artist. His lips twitched and his eyes twinkled.
+
+"Which one is y--yours?" he asked.
+
+"I keep this'n with the sea--an'--here, I made this'n fer you." He
+paused, and selected carefully among the pile of papers under his hand.
+"You reckon you kin tell what 'tis?"
+
+The doctor took the paper and regarded it gravely a moment, then lifted
+his eyebrows and made grimaces of wonderment until the three patients in
+the three little beds were in gales of laughter. At last he said:--
+
+"It's a pile of s--sausages."
+
+"Hit hain't no sausages. Hit's jest a straight, cl'ar pi'cher of a
+house, an' hit's your house, too, whar brothah David lives at. See?
+Thar's the winder, an' the other winder hit's on t'othah side whar you
+can't see hit."
+
+The doctor turned the paper over and regarded it a moment. "Show me the
+window. I--I see no window on the other side."
+
+Again the three little invalids laughed uproariously at their visitor.
+David smilingly looked on. How often had he seen the delightful old man
+amuse himself thus with the children! He would contort his mobile face
+into all the varying expressions of wonder and dismay, of terror or
+stupefaction, and his entrance to the children's ward was always greeted
+with outcries of delight, when the little ones were well enough to allow
+of such freedom.
+
+"Haven't you one to send to your sister?" asked David, stooping low to
+the child and speaking quietly. The boy's face lighted with a radiant
+smile that caused the old man to stand regarding him more intently.
+
+"We'll sen' her this'n of the sea. You reckon hit looks like the ocean
+whar the ships go a-sailin' to t'othah side o' the world?" He held it in
+his slender fingers and eyed it critically.
+
+"How did you come to try to make a picture of the sea when you never saw
+it?"
+
+"Do' know. I feel like I done seed th' ocean when I'm settin' thar on
+the rock an' them white, big clouds go a-sailin' far--far, like they're
+goin' to anothah world an' hain't quite touchin' this'n."
+
+"I wondered why you had your ship so high above the sea."
+
+"I don't guess hit's a very good'n," said the child, ruefully, clinging
+to the scrap of paper with reluctant grasp. "You reckon she'd keer fer
+this'n?"
+
+"I reckon she'd care for anything you made. Give it to me, and I'll send
+it to her."
+
+"She tol' me the sea, hit war blue, an' I can't make hit right blue an'
+soft like she said. That thar blue pencil, hit's too slick. I can't make
+hit stay on the papah."
+
+"What are these mounds here on either side of the sea?"
+
+"Them's mountains."
+
+"But why did you put mountains in the sea?" The boy looked with wide
+eyes dreamily past the two men so attentively regarding him.
+
+"I--I reckon I jes' put 'em thar fer to look like the sea hit war on the
+world. I don't guess the'd be no ocean nor no world 'thout the' war
+mountains fer to hold everything whar hit belongs at."
+
+"I shall bring you a box of paints to-morrow if the nurse will allow you
+to have them. I'll provide an oilcloth to spread around so he won't
+throw paint over your nice clean bed," he said to the pleasant-faced
+young woman.
+
+"That's all right, Doctor," she said.
+
+"Then you can make the blue stay on, and you can make the ocean with
+real water, and real blue for the sky and the sea."
+
+The child's eyes glowed. He pulled David down and held him with his arm
+about his neck, and whispered in his ear, and what he said was:--
+
+"When they're a-pullin' on me to git my hade straight an' my back right,
+I jes' think 'bout the far--far-away sea, with the ships a-sailin' an'
+how hit look, an' hit don't hurt so much. I kin b'ar hit a heap bettah.
+When you comin' back, brothah David?"
+
+"Does it hurt you very much, Hoyle?"
+
+"I reckon hit have to hurt," said the child, with fatalistic
+resignation. "I don't guess he'd hurt me 'thout he had to." He released
+David slowly, then pulled him down again. "Don't tell him I 'lowed hit
+hurted me. I reckon he'd ruthah hurt hisself if he could do me right
+that-a-way. You guess I--I'm goin' to git shet o' the misery some day?"
+
+"That's what we're trying for, my brave little brother," and the two
+physicians bade the small patients good-by and walked out upon the
+street.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG HAS NEWS FROM ENGLAND
+
+
+As they passed down the street, David shivered and buttoned his light
+overcoat closer about him.
+
+"Cold?" said the older man.
+
+"Your air is a bit keen here already. I hope it will be the needed tonic
+for that little chap."
+
+"What were his s--secrets?" David told him.
+
+"He's imaginative--yes--yes. I really would rather hurt myself. He may
+come on--he may. I've known--I've known--curious,
+but--Why--Hello--hello! Why--where--" and Doctor Hoyle suddenly darted
+forward and shook hands with another old gentleman, who was alertly
+stepping toward them, also thin and wiry, but with a face as impassive
+as the doctor's was mobile and expressive. "Mr. Stretton, why--why!
+David--Mr. Stretton, David Thryng--"
+
+"Ah, Mr. Thryng. I am most happy to find you here."
+
+"Doctor Thryng--over here on this side, you know."
+
+"Ah, yes. I had really forgotten. But speaking of titles--I must give
+this young man his correctly. Lord Thryng--allow me to congratulate you,
+my lord."
+
+"I fear you mistake me for my cousin, sir," said David, smiling. "I hope
+you have no ill news from my good uncle; but I am not the David who
+inherits. I think he is in South Africa--or was by the latest home
+letters."
+
+Mr. Stretton did not reply directly, but continued smiling, as his
+manner was, and turned toward David's companion.
+
+"Shall we go to my hotel? I have a great deal to talk over--business
+which concerns--ahem--ahem--your lordship, on behalf of your mother,
+having come expressly--" he turned again to David. "Ah, now don't be at
+all alarmed, I beg of you. I see I have disturbed you. She is quite
+well, or was a week or more ago. Doctor Hoyle, you'll accompany us? At
+my request. Undoubtedly you are interested in your young friend."
+
+Mechanically David walked with the two older men, filled with a strange
+sinking of the heart, and at the same time with a vague elation. Was he
+called home by his mother to help her sustain a new calamity? Had the
+impossible happened? Mr. Stretton's manner continued to be mysteriously
+deferential toward him, and something in his air reminded David of
+England and the atmosphere of his uncle's stately home. Had he ever seen
+the man before? He really did not know.
+
+They reached the hotel shortly and were conducted to Mr. Stretton's
+private apartment, where wine was ordered, and promptly served. For
+years thereafter, David never heard the clinking of glasses and bottles
+borne on a tray without an instant's sickening sinking of the heart, and
+the foreboding that seemed to drench him with dismay as the glasses were
+placed on the stand at Mr. Stretton's elbow. When that gentleman, after
+seeing the waiter disappear, and placing certain papers before him,
+began speaking, David sat dazedly listening.
+
+What was it all--what was it? The glasses seemed to quiver and shake,
+throwing dancing flecks of light; and the wine in them--why did it make
+him think of blood? Were they dead then--all three--his two cousins and
+his brother--dead? Shot! Killed in a bloody and useless war! He was
+confounded, and bowing his head in his hands sat thus--his elbows on his
+knees--waiting, hearing, but not comprehending.
+
+He could think only of his mother. He saw her face, aged and
+grief-stricken. He knew how she loved the boy she had lost, above all,
+and now she must turn to himself. He sat thus while the lawyer read a
+lengthy document, and at the end personally addressed him. Then he
+lifted his head.
+
+"What is this? My uncle? My uncle gone, too? Do you mean dead? My uncle
+dead, and I--I his heir?"
+
+The lawyer replied formally, "You are now the head of a most ancient and
+honorable house. You will have the dignity of the old name to maintain,
+and are called upon to return to your fatherland and occupy the home of
+your ancestors." He took up one of the papers and adjusted his monocle.
+
+For a time David did not speak. At last he rose and, with head erect,
+extended his hand to the lawyer. "I thank you, sir, for your
+trouble,--but now, Doctor, shall we return to your house? I must take a
+little time to adjust my mind to these terrible events. It is like being
+overtaken with an avalanche at the moment when all is most smiling and
+perfect."
+
+The lawyer began a few congratulatory remarks, but David stopped him,
+with uplifted hand.
+
+"It is calamitous. It is too terrible," he said sadly. "And what it
+brings may be far more of a burden than a joy."
+
+"But the name, my lord,--the ancient and honorable lineage!"
+
+"That last was already mine, and for the title--I have never coveted it,
+far less all that it entails. I must think it over."
+
+"But, my lord, it is yours! You can't help yourself, you know;
+a--the--the position is yours, and you will a--fill it with dignity,
+and--a--let me hope will follow the conservative policy of your honored
+uncle."
+
+"And I say I must think it over. May I not have a day--a single day--in
+which to mourn the loss of my splendid brother? Would God he had lived
+to fill this place!" he said desperately.
+
+The lawyer bowed deferentially, and Doctor Hoyle took David's arm and
+led him away as if he were his son. Not a word was spoken by either of
+them until they were again in the doctor's office. There lay the new
+silk hat, as he had tossed it one side. He took it up and turned it
+about in his hand.
+
+"You see, David, an old hat is like an old friend, and it takes some
+time to get wonted to a new one." He gravely laid the old one within
+easy reach of his arm and restored the new one to its box. Then he sat
+himself near David and placed his hand kindly on his knee. "You--you
+have your work laid out for you, my young friend. It's the way in Old
+England. The stability of our society--our national life demands it."
+
+"I know."
+
+"You must go to your mother."
+
+"Yes, I must go to her."
+
+"Of course, of course, and without delay. Well, I'll take care of the
+little chap."
+
+"I know you will, better than I could." David lifted his eyes to his old
+friend's, then turned them away. "I feel him to be a sacred trust."
+Again he paused. "It--would take a--long time to go to her first?"
+
+"To--her?" For the instant the old man had forgotten Cassandra. Not so
+David.
+
+"My wife. It will be desperately hard--for her."
+
+"Yes, yes. But your uncle, you know, died of grief, and your
+m--mother--"
+
+"I know--so the lawyer said. Now at last we'll read mother's letter. He
+wondered, I suppose, that I didn't look at it when he gave it to me, but
+I felt conscience-stricken. I've been so filled with my life down
+there--the peace, the blessed peace and happiness--that I have neglected
+her--my own mother. I couldn't open and read it with that man's eyes on
+me. No, no. Stay here, I beg of you, stay. You are different. I want
+you."
+
+He opened his mother's letter and slowly read it, then passed it to his
+friend and, rising, walked to the window and stood gazing down into the
+square. Autumn leaves were being tossed and swirled in dancing flights,
+like flocks of brown and yellow birds along the street. The sky was
+overcast, with thin hurrying clouds, and the feeling of autumn was in
+the air, but David's eyes were blurred, and he saw nothing before him.
+The doctor's voice broke the silence with sudden impulse.
+
+"In this she speaks as if she knew nothing about your marriage."
+
+"I told you I had neglected her," cried David, contritely.
+
+"But, m--man alive! why--why in the name of all the gods--"
+
+"All England is filled with fools," cried the younger man, desperately.
+"I could never in the world make them understand me or my motives. I
+gave it up long ago. I've not told my mother, to save her from a
+needless sorrow that would be inflicted on her by her friends. They
+would all flock to her and pester her with their outcry of 'How very
+extraordinary!' I can hear them and see them now. I tell you, if a man
+steps out of the beaten track over there--if he attempts to order his
+own life, marry to please himself, or cut his coat after any pattern
+other than the ordinary conventional lines,--even the boys on the street
+will fling stones at him. Her patronizing friends would, at the very
+least, politely raise their eyebrows. She is proud and sensitive, and
+any fling at her sons is a blow to her."
+
+"But what--"
+
+"I say I couldn't tell her. I tell you I have been drinking from the cup
+of happiness. I have drained it to the last drop. My wife is mine. She
+does not belong to those people over there, to be talked over, and dined
+over, and all her beauty and fineness overlooked through their
+monocles--brutes! My mountain flower in her homespun dress--only poets
+could understand and appreciate her."
+
+"B--but what were you going to do about it?"
+
+"Do about it? I meant to keep her to myself until the right time came.
+Perhaps in another year bring her here and begin life in a modest way,
+and let my mother visit us and see for herself. I was planning it out,
+slowly--but this-- You see, Doctor, their ideas are all warped over
+there. They accept all that custom decrees and have but the one point of
+view. The true values of life are lost sight of. They have no hilltops
+like Cassandra's. Only the poets have."
+
+A quizzical smile played about the old man's mouth. He came and laid his
+arm across David's shoulders, and the act softened the slight sting of
+his words. "And--you call yourself a poet?"
+
+"Not that," said the young man, humbly, "but I have been learning. I
+would have scorned to be called a poet until I learned of this girl and
+her father. I thought I had ideals, and felt my superiority in
+consequence, until I came down to the beginnings of things with them."
+
+"Her--her father? Why--he's dead--he--"
+
+"And yet through her I have learned of him. I believe he was a man who
+walked with God, and at Cassandra's side I have trod in his secret
+places."
+
+"That's right. I'm satisfied now, about her. You're all right,
+but--but--your mother."
+
+David turned and walked to the table and sat with his head bowed on his
+arms. Had he been alone, he would have wept. As it was, he spoke
+brokenly of his old home, and the responsibilities now so ruthlessly
+thrust upon him. Of his mother's grief and his own, and of this
+inheritance that he had never dreamed would be his, and therefore had
+never desired, now given him by so cruel a blow. He would not shrink
+from whatever duty or obligation might rest upon him, but how could he
+adjust his changed circumstances to the conditions he had made for
+himself by his sudden marriage. At last it was decided that he should
+sail for England without delay, taking the passage already provisionally
+engaged for him by Mr. Stretton.
+
+"I can write to Cassandra. She will understand more easily than my
+mother. She sees into the heart of things. Her thoughts go to the truth
+like arrows of light. She will see that I must go, but she must never
+know--I must save her from it if I have to do so at the expense of my
+own soul--that the reason I cannot take her with me now is that our
+great friends over there are too small to understand her nature and
+might despise her. I must go to my mother first and feel my way--see
+what can be done. Neither of them must be made to suffer."
+
+"That's right, perfectly--but don't wait too long. Just have it out with
+your mother--all of them; the sooner the simpler, the sooner the
+simpler."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG VISITS HIS MOTHER
+
+
+How wise was the advice of the old doctor to make short work of the
+confession to his mother, and to face the matter of his marriage bravely
+with his august friends and connections, David little knew. If his
+marriage had been rash in its haste, nothing in the future should be
+done rashly. Possibly he might be obliged to return to America before he
+made a full revelation that a wife awaited him in that far and but dimly
+appreciated land. In his mind the matter resolved itself into a question
+of time and careful adjustment.
+
+Slowly as the boat ploughed through the never resting waters,--slowly as
+the western land with its dreams and realities drifted farther into the
+vapors that blended the line of the land and the sea,--so slowly the
+future unveiled itself and drew him on, into its new dreams, revealing,
+with the inevitable progression of the hours, a life heretofore shrouded
+and only vaguely imagined, as a glowing reality filled with opportunity
+and power.
+
+He felt his whole nature expand and become imbued with intoxicating
+ambitions, as if hereafter he would be swept onward to ride through life
+triumphant, even as the boat was riding the sea, surmounting its
+mysterious depths and taking its unerring way in spite of buffeting of
+winds and beating of waves.
+
+Still young, with renewed vitality, his hopes turned to the future,
+recognizing the tremendous scope for his energies which his own
+particular prospects presented. Often he stood alone in the prow, among
+the coils of rope, and watched the distance unroll before him, while the
+salt breeze played with his clustering hair and filled his lungs. He
+loved the long sweep of the prow, as it divided the water and cast it
+foaming on either side, in opaline and turquoise tints, shifting and
+falling into the indigo depths of the vastness around.
+
+In thought he spanned the wide spaces and leaped still toward the
+future; before him the gray-haired mother who trembled to hold him once
+more in her arms, behind him the young wife waiting his return,
+enclosing him serenely and adoringly in her heart.
+
+Each day while on shipboard, David wrote to Cassandra, voluminously. He
+found it a pleasant way of passing the hours. He described his
+surroundings and unfolded such of his anticipations as he felt she could
+best understand and with which she could sympathize, trying to explain
+to her what the years to come might hold for them both, and telling her
+always to wait with patience for his return. This could not be known
+definitely until he had looked into the state of his uncle's
+affairs--which would hereafter be his own.
+
+Sometimes his letter contained only a review of some of the happiest
+hours they had spent together, as if he were placing his thoughts of
+those blessed days on paper, that they might be for their mutual
+communing. Sometimes he discoursed of the calamity he had suffered, the
+uselessness of his brother's death, and the cruelty and wastefulness of
+war. At such times he was minded to write her of the opportunity now
+given him to serve his country, and the power he might some day attain
+to promote peace and avert rash legislation.
+
+Never once did he allow an inadvertent word to slip from his pen,
+whereby she could suspect that she, as his wife, might be a cause of
+embarrassment to him, or a clog in the wheel of the chariot which from
+now on was to bear him triumphantly among his social friends or
+political enemies. Never would he disturb the sweet serenity that
+encompassed her. Yet well he knew what an incongruity she would appear
+should he present her now--as she had stood by her loom, or in the
+ploughed field at his side--to the company he would find in his mother's
+home.
+
+Simple and direct as she was, she would walk over their conventions and
+proprieties, and never know it. How strange many of those customs of
+theirs would appear to her, and how unnecessary! He feared for her most
+in her utter ignorance of everything pertaining to the daily existence
+of the over-civilized circle to which the changed conditions of his life
+would bring her.
+
+Much, he knew, would pass unseen by her, but soon she would begin to
+understand, and to wince under their exclamations of "How
+extraordinary!" The masklike expression would steal over her face, her
+pride would encase her spirit in the deep reserve he himself had found
+so hard to penetrate, and he could see her withdrawing more and more
+from all, until at last-- Ah! it must not be. He must manage very
+carefully, lest Doctor Hoyle's prophecy indeed be fulfilled.
+
+At last the lifting of the veil to the eastward revealed the bold
+promontory of Land's End, and soon, beyond, the fair green slopes of his
+own beautiful Old England. For all of the captious criticism he had
+fallen in the way of bestowing upon her, how he loved her! He felt as if
+he must throw up his arms and shout for joy. Suddenly she had become
+his, with a sense of possession new to him, and sweet to feel. The
+orderliness and stereotyped lines of her social system against which he
+had rebelled, and the iron bars of her customs which his soul had
+abhorred in the past,--against which his spirit had bruised and beaten
+itself,--now lured him on as a security for things stable and fine. In
+subtile ways as yet unrealized, he was being drawn back into the cage
+from which he had fled for freedom and life.
+
+How quickly he had become accustomed to the air of deference in Mr.
+Stretton's continual use of his newly acquired title--"my lord." Why
+not? It was his right. The same laws which had held him subservient
+before, now gave him this, and he who a few months earlier had been
+proudly ploughing his first furrows in his little leased farm on a
+mountain meadow, now walked with lifted head, "to the manor born," along
+the platform, and entered the first-class compartment with Mr. Stretton,
+where a few rich Americans had already installed themselves.
+
+David noticed, with inward amusement, their surreptitious glances, when
+the lawyer addressed him; how they plumed themselves, yet tried to
+appear nonchalant and indifferent to the fact that they were riding in
+the same compartment with a lord. In time he would cease to notice even
+such incongruities as this tacit homage from a professedly
+title-scorning people.
+
+David's mother had moved into the town house, whither his uncle had
+sent for her, when, stricken with grief, he had lain down for his last
+brief illness. The old servants had all been retained, and David was
+ushered to his mother's own sitting-room by the same household dignitary
+who was wont to preside there when, as a lad, he had been allowed rare
+visits to his cousins in the city.
+
+How well he remembered his fine, punctilious old uncle, and the feeling
+of awe tempered by anticipation with which he used to enter those halls.
+He was overwhelmed with a sense of loss and disaster as he glanced up
+the great stairway where his cousins were wont to come bounding down to
+him, handsome, hearty, romping lads.
+
+It had been a man's household, for his aunt had been dead many years--a
+man's household characterized by a man's sense of heavy order without
+the many touches of feminine occupation and arrangement which tend to
+soften a man's half military reign. As he was being led through the
+halls, he noticed a subtile change which warmed his quick senses. Was it
+the presence of his mother and Laura? His entrance interrupted an
+animated conversation which was being held between the two as the
+manservant announced his name, and, in another instant, his mother was
+in his arms.
+
+"Dear little mother! Dear little mother!" But she was not small. She was
+tall and dignified, and David had to stoop but little to bring his eyes
+level with hers.
+
+"David, I'm here, too." A hand was laid on his arm, and he released his
+mother to turn and look into two warm brown eyes.
+
+"And so the little sister is grown up," he said, embracing her, then
+holding her off at arm's-length. "Five years! When I look at you,
+mother, they don't seem so long--but Laura here!"
+
+"You didn't expect me to stay a little girl all my life, did you,
+David?"
+
+"No, no." He took her by the shoulder and shook her a little and pinched
+her cheeks. "What roses! Why, sis, I say, you know, I'm proud of you.
+What have you been up to, anyway?" He flung himself on the sofa and
+pulled her down beside him. "Give an account of yourself."
+
+"I've gone in for athletics."
+
+"Right."
+
+"And-- Oh! lots of things. You give an account of yourself."
+
+David glanced at his mother. She was seated opposite them, regarding him
+with brimming eyes. No, he could not give an account of himself yet. He
+would wait until he and his mother were alone. He lifted Laura's heavy
+hair, which, confined only by a great bow of black ribbon, hung
+streaming down her back, in a dark mass that gave her a tousled, unkempt
+look, and which, taken together with her dead black dress, and her dark
+tanned skin, roughened by exposure to wind and sun, greatly marred her
+beauty, in spite of her roses and the warmth of her large dark eyes.
+
+As David surveyed his sister, he thought of Cassandra, and was minded
+then and there to describe her--to attempt to unveil the events of the
+past year, and make them see and know, as far as possible, what his life
+had been. He held this thought a moment, poised ready for utterance--a
+moment of hesitation as to how to begin, and then forever lost, as his
+mother began speaking.
+
+"Laura hasn't come out yet. As events have turned, it is just as well,
+for her chances, naturally, will be much better now than they would have
+been if we had had her coming out last year."
+
+"I don't see how, mamma, with all this heavy black. I can't come out
+until I leave it off, and it will be so long to wait." Laura pouted a
+little, discontentedly, then flushed a disfiguring flush of shame under
+her dark skin, as she caught the look in her brother's eyes. "Not but
+what I shall keep on mourning for Bob, as long as I live--he was such a
+dear," she added, her eyes filling with quick, impulsive tears. "But how
+you make out my chances will be better now, mamma, I can't see,
+really,--I look such a fright."
+
+"Chances for what?" asked David, dryly.
+
+"For matrimony--naturally," his sister flung out defiantly, half smiling
+through her tears. "Don't you know that's all a girl of my age lives
+for--matrimony and a kennel? I mean to have one, now we will have our
+own preserves. It will be ripping, you know."
+
+"Certainly, our own preserves," said David, still dryly, thinking how
+Cassandra would wonder what preserves were, and what she would say if
+told that in preserves, wild harmless animals were kept from being
+killed by the common people for food, in order that those of his own
+class might chase them down and kill them for their amusement.
+
+"Oh, David, I remember how you used to be always putting on a look like
+that, and thinking a lot of nasty things under your breath. I hoped you
+would come home vastly improved. Was it what I said about matrimony?
+Mamma knows it's true."
+
+"Hardly as you put it, my child; there is much besides for a girl to
+think about."
+
+"You said 'chances' yourself, mamma."
+
+"Certainly, but that is for me to consider. You must remember that it
+was you who refused to have your coming out last year."
+
+"I didn't want my good times cut short then, mamma, and have to take up
+proprieties--or at least I would have had to be dreadfully proper for a
+while, anyway--and now--why I have to be naturally; and here I am unable
+to come out for another year yet and my hair streaming down my back all
+the time. I'm sure I can't see how my chances are in the least improved
+by it all; and by that time I shall be so old."
+
+"Oh, you will be quite young enough," said David.
+
+"You occupy a far different position now, child. To make your debut as
+Lady Laura will give you quite another place in the world. Your
+headstrong postponement, fortunately, will do no harm. It will make your
+introduction to the circle where you are eventually to move, much
+simpler."
+
+Laura lifted her eyebrows and glanced from her mother to her brother.
+"Very well, mamma, but one thing you might as well know now. I shan't
+drop some of my friends--if being Lady Laura lifts me above them as high
+as the moon. I like them, and I don't care."
+
+She whistled, and a beautiful, silken-haired setter crept from under the
+sofa whereon she had been sitting, and wriggled about after the manner
+of guilty dogs.
+
+"Laura, dear!"
+
+"Yes, mamma, I've been hiding him with my skirts by sitting there. He
+was bad and followed me in. We've been out riding together." She stroked
+his silken coat with her riding crop. "Mamma won't allow him in here,
+and he jolly well knows it. Bad Zip, bad, sir! Look at him. Isn't he
+clever? I must go and dress for dinner. Mamma wants you to herself, I
+know, and Mr. Stretton will be here soon. You can't think, David, how
+glad I am we have you back! You couldn't think it from my way--but I
+am--rather! It's been awful here--simply awful, since the boys all
+left."
+
+Again her eyes filled with quick tears, and she dashed out with the dog
+bounding about her and leaping up to thrust his great tongue in her
+face. "You are too big for the house, Zip. Down, sir!" In an instant she
+was back, putting her tousled head in at the door.
+
+"David, when mamma is finished with you, come out and see my dogs. I
+have five already, and Nancy is going to litter soon. Calkins is to take
+them into the country to-morrow, for they are just cooped up here." She
+withdrew, and David heard her heavy-soled shoes clatter down the long
+halls. He and his mother smiled as they listened, looking into each
+other's eyes.
+
+"She is a dear child, but life means only a good time to her as yet."
+
+"Well, let it. She has splendid stuff in her and is bound to make a
+splendid woman."
+
+"She's right, David. It has been awful since your brother left." David
+sat beside her and placed his hand on hers. Again it was in his mind to
+tell her of Cassandra, and again he was stopped by the tenor of her next
+remark. "You see how it is, my son; Laura can't understand, but you
+will."
+
+"I'm not sure that I do. Open your heart to me, mother; tell me what you
+mean."
+
+"My dear son. I don't like to begin with worries. It is so sweet to have
+you back in the home. May you always stay with us."
+
+"I don't mind the worries, mother," he said tenderly; "I am here to help
+you. What is it?
+
+"It is only that, although we have inherited the title and estates, we
+are not there. We will be received, of course, but at first only by
+those who have axes to grind. There are so many such, and it is hard to
+protect one's self from them. For instance, there is Lady Willisbeck.
+Her own set have cut her completely for--certain reasons--there is no
+need to retail unpleasant gossip,--but she was one of the first to call.
+Her daughter, Lady Isabel, gave Laura that dog,--but all the more
+because Laura and Lady Isabel were in school together, and were on the
+same hockey team, they will have that excuse for clinging to us like
+burs.
+
+"Lady Willisbeck would like very much now, for her daughter's sake, to
+win back her place in society, although she did not seem to value it for
+herself. Long before her mother's life became common talk,--because she
+was infatuated with your cousin Lyon, Lady Isabel chose Laura for her
+chum, and the two have worked up a very romantic situation out of the
+affair. You see I have cause for anxiety, David."
+
+He still held her hand, looking kindly in her face. "Is Lady Isabel the
+right sort?" he asked.
+
+"What do you mean by 'the right sort,' David? She isn't like her mother,
+naturally, or I would have been more decided; but she is not the right
+sort for us. Lady Willisbeck is ostracized, and it is a grave matter.
+Her daughter will be ostracized with her, unless she can find a chaperon
+of quality to champion her--to--to--well, you understand that Laura
+can't afford to make her debut handicapped with such a friendship. Not
+now."
+
+"I fail to see until I know more of her friend."
+
+"But, David, we can't be visionary now. We must be practical and face
+the difficulties of our situation. We are honorably entitled to all that
+the inheritance implies, but it is another thing to avail ourselves of
+it. Your uncle led a most secluded life. He had no visitors, and was
+known only among men, and politically as a close conservative. His seat
+in the House meant only that. So now we enter a circle in which we never
+moved before, and we are not of it. For the present, our deep mourning
+is prohibitory, but it is also Laura's protection, although she does not
+know it." His mother paused. She was not regarding him. She seemed to be
+looking into the future, and a little line, which had formed during the
+years of David's absence, deepened in her forehead.
+
+"Be a little more explicit, mother. Protection from what?"
+
+"From undesirable people, dear. We are very conspicuous; to be frank, we
+are new. My own family connections are all good, but they will not be
+the slightest help to Laura in maintaining her position. We have always
+lived in the country, and know no one."
+
+"You have refinement and good taste, mother."
+
+"I know it; that and this inheritance and the title."
+
+"Isn't that 'protection' enough? I really fail to see-- Whatever would
+please you would be right. You may have what friendships you--"
+
+"Not at all, David. Everything is iron-bound. They are simply watching
+lest we bring a lot of common people in our train. Things grow worse and
+worse in that way. There are so many rich tradespeople who are
+struggling to get in, and clinging desperately to the skirts of the
+poorer nobility. Of course, it all goes to show what a tremendous thing
+good birth is, and the iron laws of custom are, after all, a proper
+safeguard and should be respected. Nevertheless we, who are so new, must
+not allow ourselves to become stepping-stones. It is perfectly right.
+
+"That is why I said this period of mourning is Laura's protection. She
+will have time to know what friendships are best, and an opportunity to
+avoid undesirable ones. You have been away so long, David, where the
+class lines are not so rigidly drawn, that you forget--or never knew. It
+is my duty, without any foolish sentiment, to guard Laura and see to it
+that her coming out is what it should be. For one thing, she is so very
+plain. If she were a beauty, it would help, but her plainness must be
+compensated for in other ways. She will have a large settlement, Mr.
+Stretton thinks, if your uncle's interests are not too much jeopardized
+in South Africa by this terrible war. That is something you will have to
+look into before you take your seat in the House."
+
+"Oh, mother, mother! I can't--"
+
+"My dear boy, your brother died for his country, and can you not give a
+little of your life for it? I can rely on you to be practically
+inclined, now that you are placed at the head of such a family? I'm glad
+now you never cared for Muriel Hunt. She could never have filled the
+position as her ladyship, your uncle's wife, did. She was Lady Thomasia
+Harcourt Glendyne of Wales. Beside her, Muriel would appear silly. It is
+most fortunate you have no such entanglement now."
+
+"Mother, mother! I am astounded! I never dreamed my dear, beautiful
+mother could descend to such worldliness. You are changed, mother. There
+is something fundamentally wrong in all this."
+
+She looked up at him, aghast at his vehemence.
+
+"My son, my son! Let us have only love between us--only love. I am not
+changed. I was content as I was, nor ever tried to enter a sphere above
+me. Now that this comes to me--forced on me by right of English law--I
+take it thankfully, with all it brings. I will fill the place as it
+should be filled, and Laura shall do the same, and you also, my son. As
+for Muriel Hunt, I will make concessions if--if your happiness demands
+it."
+
+David groaned inwardly. "No, mother, no. It goes deeper than Muriel; it
+goes deeper." They had both risen. She placed her hands on his shoulders
+and looked levelly in his eyes, and her own lightened, through tears
+held bravely back.
+
+"It may well go deeper than Muriel, and still not go very deep."
+
+"And yet the time was when Muriel Hunt was thought quite deep enough,"
+he said sadly, still looking in his mother's eyes--but she only
+continued:--
+
+"Never doubt for a moment, dear, that Laura's welfare and yours are
+dearer to me than life. You are very weary; I see it in your eyes. Have
+you been to your apartment? Clark will show you." She kissed his brow
+and departed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG ADJUSTS HIS LIFE TO NEW CONDITIONS
+
+
+David stood where his mother had left him, dazed, hurt, sad. He was
+desperately minded to leave all and flee back to the hills--back to the
+life he had left in Canada. He saw the clear, true look of Cassandra's
+eyes meeting his. His heart called for her; his soul cried out within
+him. He felt like one launched on an irresistible current which was
+sweeping him ever nearer to a maelstrom wherein he was inevitably to be
+swallowed up.
+
+He perceived that to his mother the established order of things there in
+her little island was sacred--an arrangement to be still further upheld
+and solidified. She had suddenly become a part of a great system,
+intrusted with a care for its maintenance and stability, as one of its
+guardians. Before, it had mattered little to her, for she was not of it.
+Now it was very different.
+
+Slowly David followed Clark to his own apartments. He had been given
+those of the old lord, his uncle. Everything about him was dark,
+massive, and rich, but without grace. His bags and boxes had been
+unpacked and his dinner suit laid in readiness, and Clark stood stiffly
+awaiting orders.
+
+"Will you have a shave, my lord?"
+
+The man's manner jarred on him. It was obsequious, and he hated it. Yet
+it was only the custom. Clark was simple-hearted and kindly, filling his
+little place in the upholding of the system of which he was a part; had
+his manner been different, a shade more familiar, David would have
+resented it and ordered him out,--but of this David was not conscious.
+In spite of his scruples, he was born and bred an aristocrat.
+
+"No--a--I'll shave myself." Still the man waited, and, taking up David's
+coat, flicked a particle of dust from the collar. "I don't want
+anything. You may go."
+
+"Thank you." Clark melted quietly out of the apartment.
+
+"Thanks me for being rude to him," thought David, irritably; "I shall
+take pleasure in being rude to him. My God! What a farce life is over
+here! The whole thing is a farce."
+
+He shaved himself and cut his chin, and when he appeared later with a
+patch of court-plaster thereon, Clark commented to himself on "his
+lordship's" inability to do the shaving properly.
+
+As David thought over his mother's words--her outlook on life--his
+sister's idle aims--the companionships she must have and the kind of
+talk to which she must listen--he grew more and more annoyed. He
+contrasted it all with the past. His mother, who had been so noble and
+fine, seemed to have lost individuality, to have become only a segment
+of a circle which it was henceforth to be her highest care to keep
+intact. Laura must become a part of the same sacred ring, and he, too,
+must join hands with those who formed it and make it his duty to keep
+others out.
+
+There were also other circles guarded and protected by this one--circles
+within circles--each smaller and more exclusive than the last. The
+object of the huge game of life over here seemed to be to keep the great
+mass of those whom they regarded as commonalty out of any one of the
+circles, while striving individually each to climb into the one next
+above, and more contracted. The most maddening thing of all was to find
+his grave, dignified mother drawn in and made a partaker in this
+meaningless strife.
+
+Still essentially an outsider, David could look with larger vision--the
+far-seeing vision of the western land, the hilltops and the dividing
+sea,--and to him now the circles seemed verily the concentric rings of
+the maelstrom into which events were hurrying him. Would he be able to
+rise from the swirling flotsam and ride free?
+
+The deeper philosophy underlying it all he as yet but vaguely
+understood; that the highest good for all could only be maintained by
+stability in the commonwealth; as the tremendous rock foundations of the
+earth are a support for the growth thereon of all perfection, all grace
+and beauty; that the concentric rings, when rightly understood, should
+become a means of purification--of reward for true worth--of power for
+noblest service, and not for personal ambition and the unmolested
+gratification of vicious tastes.
+
+David did not as yet know that his clear-seeing wife could help him to
+the attainment of his greatest possibilities, right here where he feared
+to bring her--the wife of whom he dare not tell his mother. Blinded by
+the world's estimates which he still had sense enough to despise, he did
+not know that the key to its deepest secrets lay in her heart, nor that
+of the two, her heritage of the large spirit and the inward-seeing eye
+direct to the Creator's meanings was the greater heritage.
+
+Lady Thryng found it possible to have a few words with the lawyer before
+David appeared, and impressed upon him the necessity of interesting her
+son in this new field by showing him avenues for power and work.
+
+"I don't quite understand the boy," she said. "After seeing the world
+and going his own way, I really thought he would outgrow that sort of
+moody sentimentalism, but it seems to be returning. He is quixotic
+enough to turn away from everything here and go back to Canada, unless
+you can awaken his interest."
+
+"I see, I see," said the lawyer.
+
+"Mere personal ambition will not satisfy him," added his mother,
+proudly. "He must see opportunities for service. He must understand that
+he is needed."
+
+"I see. I understand. He must be dealt with along the line of his nobler
+impulses--ahem--ahem--" and David appeared.
+
+His mother rose and took his arm to walk out to dinner, while Laura, who
+should have gone with Mr. Stretton, did not see his proffered arm, but,
+provokingly indifferent, strolled out by herself.
+
+David, absorbed in his own thoughts, did not notice his sister's
+careless mien, but the mother observed the independent and boyish swing
+of her daughter's shoulders, and resented it with a slightly reproving
+glance after they were seated.
+
+Laura lifted her eyebrows and one shoulder with an irritating half
+shrug. "What is it, mamma?" she asked, but Lady Thryng allowed the
+question to go unheeded, and turned her attention to the two gentlemen
+during the rest of the meal.
+
+All through dinner David was haunted by Cassandra's talk with him, the
+night he dreamed she was being swept out of his arms forever by a swift,
+cold current which, from a little purling stream high up on a mountain
+top, had become a dark, relentless flood, overwhelming them utterly.
+What was she doing now? Did she know she was in that terrible flood? Was
+she really being swept from him? Ah, never, never! He would not allow
+it, if he must break all hearts but hers.
+
+The meal progressed sombrely and heavily, with much ceremony, although
+they were so few. Was his mother practising for the future that she kept
+such rigid state? He suspected as much, and that Laura was being trained
+to the right way of carrying herself, but that and the real sorrow of
+the family over their bereavement made a most oppressive atmosphere.
+Might this be the shadow Cassandra had seen lying across their future?
+Only a passing cloud--a vapor; it must be only that.
+
+Laura and her mother withdrew early, leaving David and the lawyer
+together, when Mr. Stretton immediately launched into talk of David's
+prospects and resources. In spite of himself, the gloom of the dinner
+hour slipped from him, and soon he was taking the liveliest interest in
+what might be possible for him here and now.
+
+Although not one to be easily turned from a chosen path by outside
+influence, David yet had that almost fatal gift of the imaginative mind
+of seeing things from many sides, until at times they took on a
+kaleidoscopic reversibility. Now this unlooked-for development of his
+life opened to him a vista--new--and yet old, old as England herself.
+
+While digging deep into the causes of his former discontent, he had come
+to strike his spade upon the rock foundations whereon all this
+complicated superstructure of English society and national life was
+builded. He saw that every nobleman inherited with his title and his
+lands a responsibility for the welfare of the whole people, from the
+poorest laborer in the ditch or the coal mine, to the head wearing the
+crown; and that it was the blindness of individuals like himself or his
+uncle before him, their misuse or unscrupulous indifference to and abuse
+of power, which had brought about those conditions under which the
+masses were writhing, and against which they were crying out. He saw
+that it was only by the earnest efforts of the few who did
+understand--the few who were not indifferent--that the stability of
+English government was still her glory.
+
+At last he rose and lifted his arms high above his head, then dropped
+them to his side. "I see." He held up his head and looked off as he had
+done when he stood on the prow of the steamship, with the salt breeze
+tossing his hair. "A little of this came to me as I crossed the ocean,
+when I saw the green slopes of England again. I knew I loved her, and
+the old feeling of impotence that hounded me in the past, when I could
+do nothing but rebel, slipped from me. I felt what it might be to have
+power--to become effective instead of being obliged to chafe under the
+yoke of an imposed submission to things which are wrong--things which
+those who are in power might set right if they would. I believe, for a
+moment, Mr. Stretton, I felt it all."
+
+He paused and bowed his head. All at once in the midst of his
+exaltation, he saw Cassandra standing white and still, as he had seen
+her on the hilltop before their little cabin, looking after him when he
+bade her good-by; and just as he then turned and went swiftly back to
+her, so now in his soul he turned to her yearningly and took her to his
+breast. Still penetrating the sweet, white halo of this vision, he heard
+the voice of Mr. Stretton deferentially droning on.
+
+"And with your resources--the wealth which, with a little care and
+thought just now at this crucial moment, will be yours--"
+
+Still David stood with bowed head.
+
+"It is as if you were predestined, my lord, to step in at a critical
+time of your country's need--with brains, education, conscience, and
+wealth--with every obstacle swept away."
+
+Still before him stood Cassandra, white and silent; he could see only
+her.
+
+"Every obstacle swept away," repeated the lawyer.
+
+"And Cassandra, God help her and me." David slowly turned, lifted a
+glass of wine from the table, and drank it. "Well, so be it, so be it,"
+he said aloud. "We'll join mother and Laura." At the door he paused,
+"You spoke of education--the learning of a physician is but little in
+the line of statesmanship. How soon will I be expected to take my seat?"
+
+"If you ask my advice, my lord, I would say better wait a year. It will
+be advisable for you to go yourself to South Africa and look into your
+uncle's investments there--as a private individual, of course, not as a
+public servant. Two-thirds of the receipts have fallen off since the
+war; learn what may be saved from the wreckage, or if there be a
+wreckage. I'm inclined to think not all, for the investments were
+varied. Your uncle may have been a silent member, but he was certainly a
+man of good business judgment--" Mr. Stretton paused and coughed a
+little apologetically before adding: "Not an inherited talent,
+only--ah--cultivated--cultivated--you know. Good business judgment is
+not a trait inherent in our peerage, as a rule."
+
+David was amused and entered the drawing-room with a smile on his face.
+His mother was pleased and rose instantly, coming forward with both
+hands extended to take his. He understood it as a welcome back to the
+family circle, the quiet talks and the evening lamp, less formal than
+the oppressive dinner had been. He held her hands thus offered and
+kissed the little anxious line on her brow, then playfully smoothed it
+with his finger.
+
+"We mustn't let it become permanent, you know, mother."
+
+"No, David. It will go now you are at home."
+
+He did not know that his mother and Laura had been having a lively
+discussion apropos of the silent tilt at the dinner-table, his sister
+pleading for a return to the old ways, and a release from such state and
+ceremony. "At least while we are by ourselves, mamma. Anyway, I know
+David will just hate it, and I don't see what good a title is if we must
+become perfect slaves to it."
+
+David crossed the room and sat down before the piano. "How strange this
+old place seems without the others--Bob, and the cousins, and uncle
+himself! We weren't admitted often--but--"
+
+"Sh--sh--" said Laura, who had followed him and stood at his ride.
+"Don't remind mamma. She remembers too much--all the time. Play the
+'King's Hunting Jig,' David. Remember how you used to play it for me
+every evening after dinner, when I was a girl?"
+
+"Do I remember? Rather! I have done nothing with the piano since
+then--when you were a girl. I'll play it for you now, while you are a
+girl."
+
+"But I really am grown up now, David. It's quite absurd for me to go
+about like this. It's only because mamma chooses to have it so. She even
+keeps a governess for me still."
+
+"To her you are a child, and to me you are still a girl, and a mighty
+fine one."
+
+"It's so good to have you back, David! You haven't forgotten the Jig!
+Where's your flute? Get it, and I'll accompany you. I can drum a little
+now--after a fashion. We'll let them talk."
+
+So they amused themselves for the rest of the evening with music, and
+Lady Thryng's face lost the strained and harassed expression it had worn
+all during dinner, and took on a look of contentment. After this the
+days were spent by David in going over his uncle's large mass of papers
+and correspondence, with the aid of Mr. Stretton and a secretary. A
+colossal task it proved to be.
+
+No one, even his lawyer, who had his confidence more than any one else,
+knew in what the old Lord Thryng's wealth really consisted, although Mr.
+Stretton surmised much of his surplus income of late years had been
+placed in Africa. As his papers had not been set in order or tabulated
+for years, every note, land loan, mortgage, and rental had to be
+unearthed slowly and laboriously from among a mass of written matter and
+figures, more or less worthless; for the old lord had a habit of saving
+every scrap of paper--the backs of notes and letters--for summing up
+accounts and jotting down memoranda and dates.
+
+Certain hours of each day David devoted to this labor, collecting his
+papers in a small room opening off from the law chambers of Mr.
+Stretton, where for years his uncle had kept a private safe.
+Conscientiously he toiled at the monotonous task, until weeks, then
+months, slipped by, hardly noticed, ignoring all social life. When his
+mother or Laura broached the subject, he would say: "'Sufficient unto
+the day is the evil thereof,' and this must be done first."
+
+He was not unmindful of his wife during this interval, but wrote
+frequently, and, to guard against any danger of her being left without
+resources should something unforeseen befall him, he placed in Bishop
+Towers's hands the residue of money remaining to him in Canada, for
+Cassandra. He wrote her to use it as occasion required, and not to spare
+it, that it was hers without restriction. He sent her the names of books
+he wished she would read--that she should write the publishers for them.
+He begged her to do no more weaving for money--but only for her own
+amusement, and above all to trust and be happy, not to be sorrowful for
+this long delay, which he would cut as short as he could.
+
+Much of his occupation he could not explain to her, and ofttimes it was
+hard to find matter for his letters; then he would revert to
+reminiscence. These were the letters she loved best and sometimes wept
+over, and these were the letters that often left him dreamy and sad, and
+sometimes made him distraught when his mother and Laura talked over
+their affairs, so utterly alien to his thoughts and longings.
+
+Cassandra's replies were for the most part short, but they were sent
+with unfailing regularity, and always they seemed to bring with them a
+breath from her own mountain top--naive--tender--absolutely
+trusting--often quaintly worded, and telling of the simple, innocent
+things of her life. He could see that she held herself in reserve, even
+as her nature was; a psychologic something was held back. He could not
+dream what it might be, but reasoned with himself that it was only that
+she found it harder to unveil her thoughts by means of the pen than in
+speech.
+
+One day, as he rode alone in the park, he noticed that the leaf buds
+were swelling. What! Was spring upon them? A white fog was lifting, and
+every twig and stem held its tiny pearl of wetness. All the earth
+glistened and was clean and looked as if greenness was returning. He
+regarded the artificial effects around him, the long lines of trees and
+set clumps of shrubbery, and was seized with a desire well-nigh
+irresistible for the wild roads and rugged steeps--the wandering
+streams and sound of falling waters.
+
+He saw it all again, the blossoming spring where Cassandra sat waiting
+for him, and he resolved to start without delay--to go to her and bring
+her back with him. All this sordid calculation of the amount of his
+fortune--his mother's and sister's shares--the annuities of poor
+dependents--stocks to be bought--interest to be invested--the
+government, and his future part therein, pah! It must wait! He would
+have his own. His heritage should not be his curse.
+
+He returned in haste that day, only to learn that certain facts had been
+unearthed which necessitated a journey into Wales, where interests of
+the former Lady Thryng's estates were concerned. His uncle had inherited
+all from her with the exception of certain bequests to relatives with
+which he had been intrusted. Some of the records had been lost, and
+whether the beneficiaries were dead or not, none knew, but now and then
+letters came pleading for a continuance of former favors, and recalling
+obligations.
+
+Mr. Stretton had been ill for a week, and now that the records were
+found, David must go, and go at once. The lawyer had many subjects for
+investigation to deliver to David. There was the death-bed request of an
+old nurse of his aunt, who had an annuity, that it be extended to her
+crippled granddaughter. She lived among the Cornish hills. Would he hunt
+the family up and learn if they were worthy or impostors? His uncle had
+been endlessly plagued with such importunities--and so on--and so on.
+
+Yes, certainly David would go. He made a mental reservation that he
+would sail, without returning to London, and then make a clean breast of
+his affairs by letter to his mother. She had improved in health during
+the winter, and he thought his information would be received by her with
+more equanimity than it would have been earlier. Moreover, she had
+broached the subject of marriage to him more than once, but always in
+one of her most worldly moods, when he shrank from hearing Cassandra
+spoken of as he knew she would be--when he could not hear her discussed,
+nor reply with calmness to such questions as he knew must ensue.
+
+David had little time to brood over his peculiar difficulty, as his
+short journey was full of business interest and new experiences. Yet the
+Cornish hills awoke in him a still greater eagerness for the mountains
+of his dreams, and, after securing his passage, he went to his hotel to
+prepare the letter to his mother.
+
+It is marvellous what trivial events alter destinies. In this instance
+it was the yapping of a small dog which changed David's plans, and
+finally sent him to South Africa instead of America. While paying his
+bill at the hotel, a telegram was handed him, which he tore open as the
+clerk was counting out his change. He still held in his hand the letter
+to his mother which he was on the point of dropping in the letter-box at
+his elbow. Instead, he thrust it in his pocket, along with the crushed
+telegram, and, taking a cab, hastened to the steamship offices to cancel
+his date for sailing.
+
+The message read: "Return with all speed to London. Mr. Stretton lying
+in the hospital with a fractured skull." Thus it was that Lady
+Tredwell's pet spaniel, old and vicious, yapping at the heels of Mr.
+Stretton's restive horse, while my lady's maid--who should have been
+leading him out for an airing--was absorbed in listening to the
+compliments of one of the park guards, played so dire a part in the
+affairs of David Thryng.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+IN WHICH THE OLD DOCTOR AND LITTLE HOYLE COME BACK TO THE MOUNTAINS
+
+
+Cassandra, seated on the great hanging rock before her cabin, watched
+the sunrise where David had so often stood and waited for the dawn
+during his winter there alone. This morning the mists obscured the
+valleys and the base of the mountains, while the sky and the whole earth
+glowed with warm rose color.
+
+Presently she rose and walked with lifted head into the cabin, and
+prepared to light a fire on the hearth. In the canvas room the bed was
+made smoothly, as she had made it the morning David left. No one had
+slept in it since, although Cassandra spent most of her days there.
+Everything he had used was carefully kept as he had left it. His
+microscope, covered from dust, stood with the last specimen still under
+the lens. A book they were reading together lay on the corner shelf,
+with the mark still in the place where they had read last.
+
+After lighting the fire, she sat near it, watching the flames steal up
+from the small pile of fat pine chips underneath, sending up red tongues
+of fire, until the great logs were wrapped in the hot embrace of the
+flames, trembling, quivering, and leaping high in their mad joy,
+transmuting all they touched.
+
+"It's like love," she murmured, and smiled. "Only it's quicker. It does
+in one hour what love takes a lifetime to do. Those logs might have lain
+on the ground and rotted if they'd been left alone, but now the fire
+just holds them and caresses them like, and they grow warm and glow like
+the sun, and give all they can while they last, until they're almost too
+bright to look at. I reckon God has been right good to me not to let me
+lie and rot my life away. He sent David to set my heart on fire, and I
+guess I can wait for him to come back to me in God's own time."
+
+She rose and brought from the canvas room a basket of willow, woven in
+open-work pattern. It was a gift from Azalea, who had learned from her
+mother the art of basket weaving. Some said Azalea's grandmother was
+half Indian, and that it was from her they had learned their quaint
+patterns and shapes, and that she, and her Indian mother before her, had
+been famous basket weavers.
+
+This pretty basket was filled with very delicate work of fine muslin,
+much finer than anything Cassandra had ever worked upon before. Her
+hands no longer showed signs of having been employed in rough, coarse
+tasks; they were soft and white. She placed the basket of dainty sewing
+on the same table which had served as an altar when she knelt beside
+David and was made his wife. It was serving as an altar still, bearing
+that basket of delicate work.
+
+She had become absorbed in a book--not one of those David had suggested.
+It is doubtful, had he been there, whether he would have really liked to
+see her reading this one, although it was written by Thackeray, dear to
+all English hearts. It is more than probable that he would have thought
+his young wife hardly need be enlightened upon just the sort of things
+with which _Vanity Fair_ enriches the understanding.
+
+Be it how it may, Cassandra was reading _Vanity Fair_, which she found
+in the box of books David had opened so long before. While she read she
+worked with her fingers, incessantly, at a piece of narrow lace, with a
+shuttle and very fine thread. This she did so mechanically that she
+could easily read at the same time by propping the book open on the
+table before her. For a long time she sat thus, growing more and more
+interested, until the fire burned low, and she rose to replenish it.
+
+The logs were piled beside the door of the small kitchen David had built
+for her, and where he had placed the cook stove. She had come up early
+this morning, because she was sad over his last letter, in which he had
+told her of his disappointment in having to cancel his passage to
+America. Hopeful and cheery though the letter was, it had struck dismay
+to her heart; it was her way when sad, and longing for her husband, to
+go up to her little cabin--her own home--and think it all over alone and
+thus regain her equanimity.
+
+Here she read and thought things out by herself. What strange people
+they were over there! Or perhaps that was so long ago--they might have
+changed by this time. Surely they must have changed, or David would have
+said something about it. He never would become a lord, to be one of such
+people--never--never! It was not at all like David.
+
+A figure appeared in the doorway. "Cassandra! What are you doing here
+all by yourself?"
+
+It was Betty Towers. Cassandra ran joyfully forward and clasped the
+little woman in her arms. Almost carrying her in, she sat her by the
+pleasant open fire. Then, seeing Betty's eyes regarding her
+questioningly, she suddenly dropped into her own chair by the table,
+leaned her head upon her arms, and began to weep, silently.
+
+In an instant Betty was kneeling by her side, holding the lovely head to
+her breast. "Dearest! You shan't cry. You shan't cry like that. Tell me
+all about it. Why on earth doesn't Doctor Thryng come home?"
+
+Cassandra lifted her head and dried her tears. "He was coming. The last
+letter but one said he was to sail next day. Then last night came
+another saying the only man who could look after very important business
+for him had been thrown from his horse and hurt so bad he may die, and
+David had to give up his passage and go back to London. He may have to
+go to Africa. He felt right bad--but--"
+
+"Goodness me, child! Why, he has no business now more important than
+you! What a chump!"
+
+Cassandra stiffened proudly and drew away, taking up her shuttle and
+beginning her work calmly as if nothing had happened to destroy her
+composure.
+
+"I've not written David--anything to disturb him--or make him hurry
+home."
+
+"Oh, Cassandra, Cassandra! You're not treating either him or yourself
+fairly."
+
+"For him--I can't help it; and for me, I don't care. Other women have
+got along as best they could in these mountains, and I can bear what
+they have borne."
+
+"But why on earth haven't you told him?"
+
+Cassandra bent her head lower over her bit of lace and was silent. Betty
+drew her chair nearer and put her arms about the drooping girl.
+
+"Can't you tell me all about it, dear?"
+
+"Not if you are going to blame David."
+
+"I won't, you lovely thing! I can't, since he doesn't know--but why--"
+
+"At first I couldn't speak. I tried, but I couldn't. Then he had to take
+Hoyle North, and I thought he would see for himself when he came
+back--or I could tell him by that time. Then came that dreadful
+news--you know--four, all dead. His brother and his two cousins all
+killed, and his uncle dying of grief; and he had to go to his mother or
+she might die, too, and then he found so much to do. Now, you know he
+has to be a--"
+
+She was going to say "a lord," but, happening to glance down at her open
+book, the name of "Lord Steyne" caught her eye, and it seemed to her a
+title of disgrace. She must talk with David before she allowed him to be
+known as "a lord," so she ended hurriedly: "He has to be a different
+kind of a man, now--not a doctor. He has a great many things to do and
+look after. If I told him, he would leave everything and come to me,
+even if he ought not, and if he couldn't come, he would be troubled and
+unhappy. Why should I make him unhappy? When he does come home, he'll be
+glad--oh, so glad! Why need he know when the knowing will do no good,
+and when he will come to me as soon as he can, anyway?"
+
+"You strange girl, Cassandra! You brave old dear! But he must come,
+that's all. It is his right to know and to come. I can tell him. Let
+me."
+
+"No, no. Please, Mrs. Towers, you must not. He will come back as soon as
+he can; and now--now--he will be too late, since he--he did not sail
+when he meant to."
+
+Betty rose with a set look about the mouth. "Unless we cable him,
+Cassandra. Would there be time in that case? Come, you must tell me."
+
+"No, no," wailed the girl. "And now he must not know until he comes. It
+would be cruel. I will not let you write him or cable him either."
+
+"Then what will you do?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. I'll think out a way. You'll help me think, but you
+must promise me not to write to David. I send him a letter every day,
+but I never tell him anything that would make him uneasy, because he
+has very important business there for his mother and sister, even more
+than for himself. You see how bad I would be to write troubling things
+to him when he couldn't help me or come to me." A light broke over Betty
+Towers's face.
+
+"I can think out a way, dear, of course I can. Just leave matters to
+me."
+
+Thus it was that Doctor Hoyle received a letter in Betty's own
+impassioned and impulsive style, begging him, for love's sake, to leave
+all and come back to the mountains and his own little cabin, where
+Cassandra needed him.
+
+"Never mind Doctor Thryng or anything surprising about his being absent;
+just come if you possibly can and hear what Cassandra has to say about
+it before you judge him. She is quaint and queer and wholly lovely. If
+you can bring little Hoyle with you, do so, for I fear his mother is
+grieving to see him. She wrote me a most peculiar and pathetic letter,
+saying her daughter was so silent about her affairs that she herself
+'war nigh about dead fer worryin', and would I please come and see could
+I make Cass talk a leetle,' so you may be sure there is need of you. The
+winter is glorious in the mountains this year. Your appearance will set
+everything right at the Fall Place, and Cassandra will be safe."
+
+
+Old Time, the unfailing, who always marches apace, bringing with him
+changes for good or evil, brought the dear old doctor back to the Fall
+Place--brought the small Adam Hoyle, with his queer little twisted neck
+and hunched back, drawn by harness and plaster into a much improved
+condition, although not straight yet--brought many letters from David
+filled with postponements and regrets therefor--and brought also a
+little son for Cassandra to hold to her bosom and dream and pray over.
+
+And the dreams and the prayers travelled far--far, to the sunny-haired
+Englishman wrapped in the intricate affairs of a great estate. How much
+money would accrue? How should it be spent? What improvements should be
+made in their country home? When Laura's coming out should be? How many
+of her old companions might she retain? How many might she call friends?
+How many were to be hereafter thrust out as quite impossible? Should
+she be allowed a kennel, or should her sporting tendencies be
+discouraged?
+
+All these things were forced upon David's consideration; how then could
+he return to his young wife, especially when he could not yet bring
+himself to say to his world that he had a young wife. Impatient he might
+be, nervous, and even irritable, but still what could he do? While there
+in the faraway hills sat Cassandra, loving him, brooding over him with
+serene and peaceful longing, holding his baby to her white breast,
+holding his baby's hand to her lips, full of courage, strong in her
+faith, patient in spirit, until as days and weeks passed she grew well
+and strong in body.
+
+Being sadly in need of rest, the old doctor lingered on in the mountains
+until spring was well advanced. Slight of body, but vigorous and wiry,
+and as full of scientific enthusiasm as when he was thirty years
+younger, he tramped the hills, taking long walks and climbs alone, or
+shorter ones with Hoyle at his heels like a devoted dog, shrilling
+questions as he ran to keep up. These the good doctor answered according
+to his own code, or passed over as beyond possibility of reply with
+quizzical counter-questioning.
+
+They sat together one day, eating their luncheon in the shelter of a
+great wall of rock, and below them lay a pool of clear water which
+trickled from a spring higher up. Now and then a bullfrog would sound
+his deep bass note, and all the time the high piping of the peepers made
+shrill accompaniment to their voices as they conversed.
+
+The doctor had made an aquarium for Hoyle, using a great glass jar which
+he obtained from a druggist in Farington. They had come to-day on a
+quest for snails to eat the green growth, which had so covered the sides
+of the jar as to hide the interesting water world within from the boy's
+eyes. Many things had already occurred in that small world to set the
+boy thinking.
+
+"Doctah Hoyle, you remembeh that thar quare bunch of leetle sticks an'
+stones you put in my 'quar'um first day you fixed hit up fer me?"
+
+"Yes, yes."
+
+"Well, the' is a right quare thing with a big hade come outen hit, an'
+he done eat up some o' the leetle black bugs. I seed him jump quicker'n
+lightnin' at that leetlist fish only so long, an' try to bite a piece
+outen his fin--his lowest fin. What did he do that fer?"
+
+"Why--why--he was hungry. He made his dinner off the little black bugs,
+and he wanted the fin for his dessert."
+
+"I don't like that kind of a beast. Oncet he was a worm in a kind of a
+hole-box, an' then he turned into a leetle beast-crittah; an' what'll he
+be next?"
+
+"Next--why, next he'll be a fly--a--a beautiful fly with four wings all
+blue and gold and green--"
+
+"I seen them things flyin' round in the summeh. Hit's quare how things
+gits therselves changed that-a-way into somethin' else--from a worm into
+that beast-crittah an' then into one o' these here devil flies. You
+reckon hit'll eveh git changed into something diff'ent--some kind er a
+bird?"
+
+"A bird? No, no. When he becomes a f--fly, he's finished and done for."
+
+"P'r'aps ther is some folks that-a-way, too. You reckon that's what ails
+me?"
+
+"You? Why,--why what ails you?"
+
+"You reckon p'r'aps I mount git changed some way outen this here quare
+back I got, so't I can hol' my hade like otheh folks? Jes' go to sleep
+like, an' wake up straight like Frale?"
+
+The old doctor turned and looked down a moment on the child sitting
+hunched at his side. His mouth worked as he meditated a reply.
+
+"What would you do if you could c--arry your head straight like Frale?
+If you had been like him, you would be running a 'still' pretty soon.
+You never would have come to me to set you straight, and so you would
+n--never have seen all the pictures and the great cities. You are going
+to be a man before you know it, and--"
+
+"And I'll do a heap o' things when I'm a man, too--but I wisht--I
+wisht-- These here snails we b'en hunt'n', you reckon they're done
+growed to ther shells so they can't get out? What did God make 'em
+that-a-way fer?"
+
+"It's all in the order of things. Everything has its place in the world
+and its work to do. They don't want to get out. They like to carry their
+bones on the outside of their bodies. They're made so. Yes, yes, all in
+the order of things. They like it."
+
+"You reckon you can tell me hu' come God 'lowed me to have this-er lump
+on my back? Hit hain't in no ordeh o' things fer humans to be like I
+be."
+
+The sceptical old man looked down on the child quizzically, yet sadly.
+His flexible mouth twitched to reply, but he was silent. Hoyle looked
+back into the old doctor's eyes with grave, direct gaze, and turned
+away. "You reckon why he done hit?"
+
+"See here. Suppose--just suppose you were given your choice this minute
+to change places with Frale--Lord knows where he is now, or what he's
+doing--or be as you are and live your own life; which would you be?
+Think it over; think it out."
+
+"Ef I had 'a' been straight, brother David never would 'a' took me up to
+you?"
+
+"No--no--no. You would have been a--"
+
+"You mean if a magic man should come by here an' just touch me so, an'
+change me into Frale, would I 'low him to do hit?"
+
+"That's what I mean."
+
+"I don't guess Frale, he'd like to be done that-a-way." The loving
+little chap nestled closer to the doctor's side. "I like you a heap,
+Doctah Hoyle. Frale, he fit brothah David--an' nigh about killed him. I
+reckon I rutheh be like I be, an' bide nigh Cass an' th' baby--an' have
+the 'quar'um--an' see maw--an' go with you. You reckon I can go back
+with you?"
+
+"Go back? Of course--go back."
+
+"Be I heap o' trouble to you? You reckon God 'lowed me to have this er
+hump, so't I could get to go an' bide whar you were at, like I done?"
+
+A suspicious moisture gathered in the doctor's eyes, and he sprang up
+and went to examine earnestly a thorny shrub some paces away, while the
+child continued to pipe his questions, for the most part unanswerable.
+"You reckon God just gin my neck er twist so't brothah David would take
+me to Canada to you, an' so't maw'd 'low me to go? You reckon if I'm
+right good, He'll 'low me to make a picture o' th' ocean some day, like
+the one we seed in that big house? You reckon if I tried right hard I
+could paint a picture o' th' mountain, yandah--an' th' sea--an'--all
+the--all the--ships?"
+
+The doctor laughed heartily and merrily. "Come, come. We must go home
+now to Cassandra and the baby. Paint? Of--of course you could paint! You
+could paint p--pictures enough to fill a house."
+
+"We don't want no magic man, do we, Doctah Hoyle? I cried a heap after I
+seed myself in the big lookin'-glass down in Farington whar brothah
+David took me. I cried when hit war dark an' maw war sleepin'. Next time
+I reckon I bettah tell God much obleeged fer twistin' my hade 'roun'
+'stead er cryin' an' takin' on like I been doin'. You reckon so, Doctah
+Hoyle?"
+
+"Yes--yes--yes. I reckon so," said the doctor, meditatively, as they
+descended the trail. From that day the child's strength increased. Sunny
+and buoyant, he shook off the thought of his deformity, and his
+beauty-loving soul ceased introspective brooding and found delight in
+searching out beauty, and in his creative faculty.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+IN WHICH FRALE RETURNS TO THE MOUNTAINS
+
+
+Doctor Hoyle lingered until the last of the laurel bloom was gone, and
+the widow had become so absorbed in her grandchild as to make the
+parting much easier. Then he took the small Adam and departed for the
+North. Never did the kind old man dream that his frail and twisted
+little namesake would one day be the pride of his life and the comfort
+of his declining years.
+
+"Hoyle sure do look a heap bettah'n when Doctah David took him off that
+day. Hit did seem like I'd nevah see him again. Don't you guess 'at he's
+beginnin' to grow some? Seems like he do."
+
+The widow was seated on her little porch with the doctor, the evening
+before they left, and Cassandra, who, since the birth of the heir, had
+been living again in her own little cabin, had brought the baby down. He
+lay on his grandmother's lap quietly sleeping, while his mother gathered
+Hoyle's treasures, and packed his diminutive trunk. The boy followed
+her, chattering happily as she worked. She also had noticed the change
+in him, and suggested that perhaps, as he had gained such a start toward
+health, he need not return, but would do quite well at home.
+
+"He's a care to you, Doctor, although you're that kind and patient,--I
+don't see how ever we can thank you enough for all you've done!" Then
+Hoyle, to their utter astonishment, threw himself on the ground at the
+doctor's feet and burst into bitter weeping.
+
+"Why, son, are ye cryin' that-a-way so's you can get to go off an' leave
+maw here 'lone?" But he continued to weep, and at last explained to them
+that the "Lord done crooked him up that-a-way so't he could git to go
+an' learn to be a painter an' make a house full of pictures," and that
+the doctor had said he might. Doctor Hoyle lifted him to his knees with
+many assurances that he would keep his word, but for a long time the
+child sobbed hysterically, his face pressed against the old man's
+sleeve.
+
+"What's that you sayin', child, 'bouts the Lord twistin' yer neck?
+Bettah lay sech as that to the devil, more'n likely."
+
+At the mention of that sinister individual, the babe wakened and
+stretched out his plump, bare arms, with little pink fists tightly
+closed. He yawned a prodigious yawn for so small a countenance, and
+gazed vacantly in his grandmother's face. Then a look of intelligence
+crept into his eyes, and he smiled one of those sweet, evanescent smiles
+of infancy.
+
+"Look at him now, laughin' at me that-a-way. He be the peartest I eveh
+did see. Cass, she sure be mean not to tell his fathah 'at he have a
+son, she sure be."
+
+Cassandra came and tenderly took the babe in her arms and held him to
+her breast. "There, there. Sleep, honey son, sleep again," she cooed,
+swaying her body to the rhythm of her speech. "Sleep, honey son, sleep
+again."
+
+"Don't you reckon she be mean to Doctah David, nevah to let on 'at he
+have a son, and he a-growin' that fast? You a-doin' his fathah mean,
+Cassandry." Still Cassandra swayed and sang.
+
+"Sleep, honey son, sleep again."
+
+"He nevah will forgive you when he finds out how you have done him. I
+can't make out what-all ails ye, nohow."
+
+"Hush, mother. I'm just leaving his heart in peace. He'll come when he
+can, and then he'll forgive me."
+
+As the doctor walked slowly at her side that evening, carrying the
+sleeping child back to her cabin, he also ventured a remonstrance, but
+without avail.
+
+"It's hardly fair to his father--such a fine little chap. You--you have
+a monopoly of him this way, you know."
+
+She flushed at the implication of selfishness, but said nothing.
+
+"How--how is that? Don't you think so?" he persisted kindly.
+
+"I reckon you can't feel what I feel, Doctor. Why should I make his
+heart troubled when he must stay there? David knows I hate it to bide
+so long without him. He--he knows. If he could get to come back, don't
+you guess he'd come right quick, anyway? Would he come any sooner for
+his son than for me?" It was the doctor's turn for silence. She asked
+again, this time with a tremor in her voice. "You reckon he would,
+Doctor?"
+
+"No! Of--of course not," he cried.
+
+"Then what would be the use of telling him, only to trouble him?"
+
+"He--he might like to think about him--you know--might like it."
+
+"He said he must go to Africa in May, so now he must have started--and
+our wedding was on May-day. Now it's the last of May; he must be there.
+He might be obliged to bide in that country a whole month--maybe two.
+It's so far away, and his letters take so long to come! Doctor, are they
+fighting there now? Sometimes I wake in the night and think what if he
+should die away off there in that far place--"
+
+"No, no. That's done. Not fighting, thank God. Rest your heart in peace.
+Now, after I'm gone, don't stay up here alone too much. I'm a physician,
+and I know what's best for you."
+
+She took the now soundly sleeping child from the doctor's arms and laid
+him on the bed in the canvas room. The day had been warm, and the fire
+was out in the great fireplace; the evening wind, light and cool, laden
+with sweet odors, swept through the cabin.
+
+They talked late that night of Hoyle and his future, but never a word
+more of David. The old man thought he now understood her feeling, and
+respected it. She certainly had a right to one small weakness, this
+strong fair creature of the hills. Her husband must release himself from
+his absorbing cares and return simply for love of her--not at the call
+of his baby's wail.
+
+So the doctor and his diminutive namesake drove contentedly away next
+morning in the great covered wagon, and Cassandra, standing by her
+mother's door, smiled and lifted her baby for one last embrace from his
+loving little uncle.
+
+"I'm goin' to grow a big man, an' I'll teach him to make pictures--big
+ones," he called back.
+
+"Yas, you'll do a heap. You bettah watch out to be right good and
+peart; that's what you bettah do."
+
+
+David, not unmindful of affairs on the far-away mountain side, made it
+quite worth the while of the two cousins to stay on with the widow and
+run the small farm under Cassandra's directions, and she found herself
+fully occupied. She wrote David all the details: when and where things
+were planted--how the vines he had set on the hill slope were
+growing--how the pink rose he had brought from Hoke Belew's and planted
+by their threshold had grown to the top of the door, and had three sweet
+blossoms. She had shaken the petals of one between the pages of her
+letter on May-day, and sent it to remind him, she said.
+
+Nearly a month later than he had intended to sail, David left England,
+overwhelmed with many small matters which seemed so great to his mother
+and sister, and burdened with duties imposed upon him by the realization
+that he had come into the possession of enormous wealth, more than he
+could comprehendingly estimate; and that he was now setting out to
+secure and prevent the loss of possibly double what he already
+possessed.
+
+People gathered about him and presented him with worthy and unworthy
+opportunities for its disposal. They flocked to him in herds, with
+importunities and flatteries. The tower which he had built up with his
+ideals, and in which he had intrenched himself, was in danger of being
+undermined and toppled into ruins, burying his soul beneath the debris.
+When seated on the deck, the rose petals dropped into his hand as he
+tore open Cassandra's letter. Some, ere he could catch them, were caught
+up and blown away into the sea.
+
+He held them and inhaled their sweetness, and everything seemed to find
+its true value and proportion and to fall into its right place. Again on
+the mountain top, with Cassandra at his side, he viewed in a perspective
+of varying gradations his life, his aims, and his possessions.
+
+The personality of his young wife, of late a vague thing to him, distant
+and fair, and haloed about with sweet memories dimly discerned like a
+dream that is past, presented itself to him all at once vivid and clear,
+as if he held her in his arms with her head on his breast.
+
+He heard again her voice with its quaint inflections and lingering
+tones. Their love for each other loomed large, and became for him at
+once the one truly vital thing in all his share of the universe. Had his
+body been endowed with the wings of his soul, he would have left all and
+gone to her; but, alas for the restrictions of matter! he was gliding
+rapidly away and away, farther from the immediate attainment. Yet was
+his tower strengthened wherein he had intrenched himself with his
+ideals. The withered rose petals had brought him exaltation of purpose.
+
+In the mountains, July came with unusually sultry heat, yet the rich
+pocket of soil, watered by its never failing stream, suffered little
+from the drought. Weeds grew apace, and Cassandra had much ado to hold
+her cousin Cotton Caswell, easy-going and thriftless, to his task of
+keeping the small farm in order.
+
+For a long time now, Cassandra had avoided those moments of far-seeing
+and brooding. Had not David said he feared them for her? In these days
+of waiting, she dreaded lest they show her something to which she would
+rather remain blind. In the evenings, looking over the hilltops from her
+rock, visions came to her out of the changing mists, but she put them
+from her and calmed her breast with the babe on her bosom, and solaced
+her longing by keeping all in readiness for David's return. Perhaps at
+any moment, with wind-lifted hair and buoyant smile, he might come up
+the laurel path.
+
+For this reason she preferred living in her own cabin home, and, that
+she might not be alone at night, Martha Caswell or her brother slept on
+a cot in the large cabin room, but Cassandra cared little for their
+company. They might come or not as they chose. She was never afraid now
+that she was strong again and baby was well.
+
+One evening sitting thus, her babe lying asleep on her knees and her
+heart over the sea, something caused her to start from her revery and
+look away from the blue distance, toward the cabin. There, a few paces
+away, regarding her intently, stalwart and dark, handsome and eager,
+stood Frale. Much older he seemed, more reckless he appeared, yet still
+a youth in his undisciplined impulse. She sat pale as death, unable to
+move, in breathless amazement.
+
+He smiled upon her out of the gathering dusk. For some minutes he had
+been regarding her, and the tumult within him had become riotous with
+long restraint. He came swiftly forward and, ere she could turn her
+head, his arms were about her, and his lips upon hers, and she felt
+herself pinioned in her chair--nor, for guarding her baby unhurt by his
+vehemence, could she use her hands to hold him from her; nor for the
+suffocating beating of her heart could she cry out; neither would her
+cry have availed, for there were none near to hear her.
+
+"Stop, Frale! I am not yours; stop, Frale," she implored.
+
+"Yas, you are mine," he said, in his low drawl, lifting his head to gaze
+in her face. "You gin me your promise. That doctah man, he done gone an'
+lef' you all alone, and he ain't nevah goin' to come back to these here
+mountins."
+
+She snatched her hands from the child on her knees, and, with sudden
+movement, pushed him violently; but he only held her closer, and it was
+as if she struggled against muscles of iron.
+
+"Naw, you don't! I have you now, an' I won't nevah leave you go again."
+He had not been drinking, yet he was like one drunken, so long had he
+brooded and waited.
+
+Rapidly she tried to think how she might gain control over him, when,
+wakened by the struggle, the babe wailed out and he started to his feet,
+his hands clutching into his hair as if he were struck with sudden fear.
+He had not noticed or given heed to what lay upon her knees, and the cry
+penetrated his heart like a knife.
+
+A child! His child--that doctor's child? He hated the thought of it, and
+the old impulse to strike down anything or any creature that stood in
+his way seized him--the impulse that, unchecked, had made him a
+murderer. He could kill, kill! Cassandra gathered the little body to her
+heart and, standing still before him, looked into his eyes.
+Instinctively she knew that only calmness and faith in his right action
+would give her the mastery now, and with a prayer in her heart she spoke
+quietly.
+
+"How came you here, Frale? You wrote mother you'd gone to Texas." His
+figure relaxed, and his arms dropped, but still he bent forward and
+gazed eagerly into her eyes.
+
+"I come back when I heered he war gone. I come back right soon. Cate
+Irwin's wife writ me 'at he war gone; an' now she done tol' me he ain't
+nevah goin' to come back to these here mountins. Ev'ybody on the
+mountins knows that. He jes' have fooled you-all that-a-way, makin' out
+to marry you whilst he war in bed, like he couldn' stand on his feet,
+an' then gittin' up an' goin' off this-a-way, an' bidin' nigh on to a
+year. We don't 'low our women to be done that-a-way, like they war pore
+white trash. I come back fer you like I promised, an' you done gin me
+your promise, too. I reckon you won't go back on that now." He stepped
+nearer, and she clasped the babe closer, but did not flinch.
+
+"Yes, Frale, you promised, and I--I--promised--to save you from
+yourself--to be a good man; but you broke yours. You didn't repent, and
+you went on drinking, and--then you tried to kill an innocent man when
+he was alone and unarmed; like a coward you shot him. I called back my
+words from God; I gave them to the man I loved--promise for promise,
+Frale."
+
+"Yas, and curse for curse. You cursed me, Cass." He made one more step
+forward, but she stood her ground and lifted one hand above her head,
+the gesture he so well remembered.
+
+"Keep back, Frale. I did not curse you. I let you go free, and no one
+followed you. Go back--farther--farther--or I will do it now-- Oh,
+God--" He cowered, his arm before his eyes, and moved backward.
+
+"Don't, Cass," he cried. For a moment she stood regally before him, her
+babe resting easily in the hollow of her arm. Then she slowly lowered
+her hand and spoke again, in quiet, distinct tones.
+
+"Now, for that lie they have told you, I am going to my husband. I start
+to-morrow. He has sent me money to come to him. You tell that word all
+up and down the mountain side, wherever there bides one to hear."
+
+She lifted her baby, pressing his little face to her cheek, and turning,
+walked slowly toward her cabin door.
+
+"Cass," he called.
+
+She paused. "Well, Frale?"
+
+"Cass, you hev cursed me."
+
+"No, Frale, it is the curse of Cain that rests on your soul. You
+brought it on you by your own hand. If you will live right and repent,
+Christ will take it off."
+
+"Will you ask him for me, Cass? I sure hev lost you now--forever, Cass!"
+
+"Yes, Frale. I'll ask him to cover up all this year out of your life. It
+has been full of mad badness. Be like you used to be, Frale, and leave
+off thinking on me this way. It is sin. Go marry somebody who can love
+you and care for you like you need, and come back here and do for mother
+like you used to. Giles Teasley can't pester you. He's half dead with
+his badness--drinking his own liquor."
+
+She came to him, and, taking his hand, led him toward the laurel path.
+"Go down to mother now, Frale, and have supper and sleep in your own
+bed, like no evil had ever come into your neart," she pleaded. "The good
+is in you, Frale. God sees it, and I see it. Heed to me, Frale.
+Good-night."
+
+Slowly, with bent head, he walked away.
+
+Trembling, Cassandra laid her baby in the cradle Hoke Belew had made
+her, and, kneeling beside the rude little bed, she bowed her head over
+it and wept scalding, bitter tears. She felt herself shamed before the
+whole mountain side. Oh, why--why need David have left her so long--so
+long! The first reproach against him entered her heart, and at the same
+time she reasoned with herself.
+
+He could not help it--surely he could not. He was good and true, and
+they should all know it if she had to lie for it. When she had sobbed
+herself into a measure of calmness, she heard a step cross the cabin
+floor. Quickly drying her tears, she rose and stood in the doorway of
+the canvas room, with dilated eyes and indrawn breath, peering into' the
+dusk, barring the way. It was only her mother.
+
+"Why, mothah!" she cried, relieved and overjoyed.
+
+"Have you seen Frale?"
+
+"Yes, mothah. He was here. Sit down and get your breath. You have
+climbed too fast."
+
+Her mother dropped into a chair and placed a small bundle on the table
+at her side.
+
+"What-all is this Frale say you have told him? Have David writ fer you
+like Frale say? What-all have Frale been up to now? He come down
+creepin' like he a half-dade man--that soft an' quiet."
+
+"I'm going to David, mother. You know he sent me money to use any way I
+choose, and I'm going." She caught her breath and faltered.
+
+The mother rose and took her in her arms, and, drawing her head down to
+her wrinkled cheek, patted her softly.
+
+"Thar, honey, thar. I reckon your ol' maw knows a heap more'n you think.
+You keep mighty still, but you can't fool her."
+
+Cassandra drew herself together. "Why didn't Martha come up this
+evening?"
+
+"She war makin' ready, in her triflin' slow way, an' then Frale come
+down an' said that word, an' I knew right quick 'at ther war somethin'
+behind--his way war that quare--so I told Marthy to set him out a good
+suppah, an' I'd stop up here myself this night. She war right glad to do
+hit. Fool, she be! I could see how she went plumb silly ovah Frale all
+to onc't."
+
+"Mothah, you know right well what they're saying about David and me. Is
+it true, that word Frale said, that everyone says he nevah will come
+back?" The mother was silent. "That's all right, mothah. We'll pack up
+to-night, and I'll go down to Farington to-morrow. Mrs. Towahs will help
+me to start right."
+
+She lighted candles and began to lay out her baby's wardrobe. "I haven't
+anything to put these in, but I can carry everything I need down there
+in baskets, and she will help me. They've always been that good to
+me--all my life."
+
+"Cass, Cass, don't go," wailed her mother. "I'm afraid somethin'll
+happen you if you go that far away. If you could leave baby with me,
+Cass! Give hit up. Be ye 'feared o' Frale, honey?"
+
+"No, mother, the man doesn't live that I'm afraid of." She paused,
+holding the candle in her hand, lighting her face that shone whitely out
+of the darkness. Her eyes glowed, and she held her head high. Then she
+turned again to her work, gathering her few small treasures and placing
+them on one of the highest shelves of the chimney cupboard. As she
+worked, she tried to say comforting things to her mother.
+
+"I'll write to you every day, like David does me, mother. See? I've
+kept all his letters. They're in this box. I don't want to burn them
+because I love them; and I don't want any one else to read them; and I
+don't want to carry them with me because I'll have him there. Will you
+lock them in your box, mother, and if anything happens to me, will you
+sure--sure burn them?" She laid them on the table at her mother's elbow.
+"You promise, mothah?"
+
+"Yas, Cass, yas."
+
+"What's in that bundle, mothah?"
+
+With trembling fingers the widow opened her parcel and displayed the
+silver teapot, from which the spout had been melted to be moulded into
+silver bullets.
+
+"Thar," she said, holding it out by the handle, "hit's yourn. Farwell,
+he done that one day whilst I war gone, an' the last bullet war the one
+Frale used when he nigh killed your man. No, I reckon you nevah did see
+hit before, fer I've kept hit hid good. I knowed ther were somethin' to
+come outen hit some day. Hit do show your fathah come from some fine
+high fambly somewhar. I done showed hit to Doctah David, fer I 'lowed he
+mount know was hit wuth anything, but he seemed to set more by them two
+leetle books. He has them books yet, I reckon."
+
+"Yes, he has them."
+
+"When Frale told me you war a-goin' to David, I guessed 'at thar war
+somethin' 'at I'd ought to know, an' I clum up here right quick, fer if
+he war a-lyin', I meant to find out the reason why." She looked keenly
+in her daughter's face, which remained passive under the scrutiny.
+
+"Has Frale been a-pesterin' you?"
+
+"He did--some--at first; but I sent him away."
+
+"I reckoned so. Now heark. You tell me straight, did David send fer ye,
+er didn't he?"
+
+In silence Cassandra turned to her work, until it seemed as if the room
+were filled with the suspense of the unanswered question. Then she tried
+evasion.
+
+"Why do you ask in that way, mothah?"
+
+"Because if he sont fer ye, I'll help ye all I can; but if he didn't,
+I'll hinder ye, and ye'll bide right whar ye be."
+
+"You won't do that, mothah."
+
+"I sure will. If David haven't sont fer ye, an' ye go, ye'll have to
+walk ovah me to get thar, hear?"
+
+The mother's voice was raised to a higher pitch than was her wont, and
+the little silver pot shook in her hand. Cassandra took it and regarded
+it without interest, absorbed in other thoughts. Then, throwing off her
+abstraction, she began questioning her mother about it, and why she had
+brought it to her now. The widow told all she knew, as she had told
+David, and pointed out the half obliterated coat of arms on the side.
+
+"I've heered your paw say 'at ther war more pieces'n this, oncet, but
+this'n come straight to him from his grandpaw, an' now hit's yourn. If
+he have sont fer ye, take hit with ye. Hit may be wuth more'n you think
+fer now. I been told they do think a heap o' fambly ovah thar, jest like
+we do here in the mounting. Leastways, hit's all we do have--some of us.
+My fambly war all good stock, capable and peart; an' now heark to me.
+Wharevah you go, just you hold your hade up. The' hain't nothin' more
+despisable than a body 'at goes meachin' around like some old
+sheep-stealin' houn' dog. Now if he sure 'nough have sont fer ye, go,
+an' I'll help ye, but if he haven't, bide whar ye be."
+
+Cassandra drew in her breath sharply, no longer able to evade the
+question, with her mother's keen eyes searching her face. All her
+reasons for going flashed through her mind in a moment's space of time.
+The book she had been reading--what were English people really like? And
+David--her David--her boy's father--what shameful things were they
+saying of him all over the mountain that Frale should dare come to her
+as he had done? She could not stay now; she would not. Her cheeks
+flamed, and she walked silently into the canvas room and stood by her
+baby's cradle. Her mother began wrapping up the silver pot.
+
+"I guess I'll take this back an' lock hit up again. You sure hain't to
+go if ye can't give me that word."
+
+Cassandra went quickly and took it from her mother's hand. "No, mother,
+give it to me. I told Frale David had sent for me, and I'm going."
+
+"And he have sont fer ye?"
+
+"Yes, mothah." Her reply was low as she turned again to her work.
+
+"Waal, now, why couldn't you have give me that word first off? Hit's his
+right to have ye, an' I'll he'p ye. You'd ought to go to him if he can't
+come to you."
+
+Instantly up and alert, putting bravely aside her own feelings at the
+thought of parting, the mother began helping her daughter; but long
+after they were finished and settled for the night, she lay wakeful and
+dreading the coming day.
+
+Cassandra slept less, and lay quietly thinking, sorrowful that she must
+leave her home, and not a little anxious over what might be her future
+and what might be her fate in that strange land.
+
+When at last she slept, she dreamed of the people she had met in _Vanity
+Fair_, with David strangely mixed up among them, and Frale ever alert
+and watchful, moving wherever she moved, silently lingering near and
+never taking his eyes from her face.
+
+In the morning, mother and daughter were up betimes, but no word was
+spoken between them to betoken hesitation or fear. Cassandra walked in a
+sort of dumb wonder at herself, and smouldering deep beneath the surface
+was a fierce resentment against those who, having known her from
+childhood, and receiving many favors and kindnesses from her, should now
+presume to so speak against her husband as to make Frale dare to
+approach her as he had. Oh, the burning shame of those kisses! The shame
+of the thought against David that pervaded her beloved mountains! For
+the sake of his good name, she would put away her pride and go to him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+IN WHICH CASSANDRA VISITS DAVID THRYNG'S ANCESTORS
+
+
+It was a pleasant morning in London, with as clear a sky as is ever
+permitted to that great city. Cassandra had placed her little son in the
+middle of a huge bed which nearly filled the small room she had been
+given in a hotel, recommended to her by Betty Towers as one where "nice
+ladies travelling alone" could stop.
+
+The child was dressed in a fresh white coat, and Cassandra had much ado
+to keep him clean. She heaped him about with pillows and bedclothing to
+make a nest for him, and gave him a spoon and a drinking cup for
+entertainment, while she arranged her own toilet before a cloudy mirror
+by a slant ray of daylight that managed to sift through the heavy
+draperies and lace curtains that obscured the one high, narrow window of
+her room.
+
+She had tried to put them one side that she might look out when she
+awoke, but she could see only chimney-pots and grimy, irregularly tiled
+roofs. A narrow opening at the top of the window let in a little air;
+still she felt smothered, and tried to raise the lower sash, but could
+not move it. She thought of the books she had read about great cities,
+and how some people had to live in places like this always; and her
+heart filled with a large pity for them. Here only a small triangle of
+blue sky could be seen--not a tree, not a bit of earth--and in the small
+room all those heavy furnishings closed around her, dark red, stuffy,
+and greasy with London smoke. She could not touch them without
+blackening her hands, nor let her baby sit on the floor for the dirt he
+wiped up on his clothing as he rolled and kicked about.
+
+The room seemed to sway and tip as the ship had done, and there was a
+continuous sound as of thunder, a strange undercurrent that seemed to
+her strained nerves like the moaning of the lost souls of all the ages,
+who had lived and toiled and smothered in this monstrous and terrible
+city.
+
+Ah, she must get out of it. She must hurry--hurry and find David. He
+would be glad to see his little son. He would take him in his arms. He
+would hold them both to his heart. She would see him smile again and
+look in his eyes, and all this foreboding would cease, and the woful
+sounds die out of the air and become only the natural roar of the
+activities and traffic of a great city. She must get used to all this,
+and not expect to find all the world like her own sunny mountains.
+
+The bishop's careful little wife had tried to explain to her how to meet
+her new experiences. She was to go nowhere alone, without taking a cab,
+and never start out on foot, carrying her baby in her arms, as she might
+do at home. She had given her written instructions how to conduct
+herself under all ordinary circumstances, at her hotel or on the
+street--how to ring for a servant, order her meals, or call a cab.
+
+Now, standing before her mirror, Cassandra essayed to arrange her hair
+as she had seen other young women wear theirs, but she thought the new
+way looked untidy, and she took it all down and rearranged it as she was
+used to wear it. David would not mind if she did not do her hair as
+others did, he would be so glad to see her and his little son. Ah, the
+comfort of that little son! She leaned over the bed, half dressed as she
+was, and murmured pretty cooing phrases, kissing and cuddling him to
+contented laughter.
+
+Betty Towers had procured clothing for her--a modest supply--using her
+own good taste, and not disguising Cassandra's natural grace and dignity
+by a too-close adherence to the prevailing mode. There were a blue
+travelling gown and jacket, and a toque of the same color with a white
+wing; a soft clinging black silk, made with girlish simplicity which
+admirably became her, and a wide, flexible brimmed hat with a single
+heavy plume taken from Betty's own hat of the last winter. Cassandra
+stood a long moment before the two gowns. She desired to don the silk,
+but Betty had told her always to wear the blue in the morning, so at
+last she obeyed her kind adviser.
+
+While waiting with her baby in her arms for the hotel boy to call her
+cab, she observed another lady, young and graceful, enter a cab, and a
+maid following her wearing a pretty cap, and carrying a child. Eager,
+for David's sake, to draw no adverse comment upon herself, she took note
+of everything. Ought she then to arrive attended by a maid, carrying her
+baby? But David would know she did not need one; bringing him his little
+son in her own arms, what would he care for anything more? So the
+address was given the cabman, and they were rattled away over the rough
+paving, a long, lonely ride through the wonderful city--so many miles of
+houses and splendid buildings, of gardens and monuments.
+
+Strangely, the people of _Vanity Fair_ leaped out of the book she had
+read, and walked the streets or dashed by her in cabs--albeit in modern
+dress. The soldiers--the guardsmen--the liveried lackeys--the errand
+boys--all were there, and the ladies in fine carriages. There were the
+nursemaids--the babies--the beggars--the ragged urchins and the venders
+of the street, with their raucous cries rending the air. Her brain
+whirled, and a new feeling to which she had hitherto been blessedly a
+stranger crept over her, a feeling of fear.
+
+As the great two-story coaches and trams thundered by, she clasped her
+baby closer, until he looked up in her face with round-eyed wonder and
+put up his lip in pitiful protest. She soothed and comforted him until
+her panic passed, and when, at last, they stopped before a great house
+built in on either side by other houses, with wide steps of stone
+descending directly upon the street, she had regained a measure of
+composure. She was assured by the cabman, leaning respectfully down to
+her with his cap in his hand, that this was "the 'ouse, ma'm," and
+should he wait?
+
+"Oh, yes. Wait," cried Cassandra. What if David were not there! And of
+course, he might be out. Then they were swallowed up in the dark
+interior. She was admitted to a hall that seemed to her empty and vast,
+by a little old man in livery. For a moment, bewildered, she could
+hardly understand what he was saying to her. "'Er ladyship's at 'er
+country 'ome and the 'ouse closed."
+
+Although dazed and baffled, Cassandra betrayed no sign of the tumult
+within, and the little old man stood before her hesitating, his
+curiosity piqued into a determination to discover her business and
+identity. Her gravity and silence gave her a poise and dignity that
+allayed suspicion, but he and his old wife liked diversion, and a spice
+of gossip lightened the monotony of their lives, so he waited, then
+coughed behind his hand.
+
+"Yes, 'er ladyship and Lady Laura are at their country 'ome now, ma'm.
+Maybe you came to see the 'ouse, ma'm?"
+
+"No, it was not the house--it was--" Again she waited, not knowing how
+to introduce her husband's name.
+
+A mystery! A visitor at this hour, and seemingly a lady, yet with a baby
+in her arms, and alone, and not to see the house. Again he coughed
+behind his hand.
+
+"A many do come to see the 'ouse, ma'm, with a permit from 'is lordship,
+ma'm. 'E's not 'ere now, but strangers are halways welcome--to the
+gallery, ma'm."
+
+"Yes, I'm a stranger." She caught at the word. Seized by an inward
+terror of the small eyes fixed curiously on her, she intuitively shrank
+from betraying her identity, and the old servant had told her what she
+needed to know. Of course her husband was "his lordship," over here. "I
+am from America, and I would like to see the gallery." She must do so to
+give a pretext for having come to visit an empty house. David must not
+be compromised before the old servant, but a great lump filled her
+throat, and tears were burning unshed beneath her eyes.
+
+For all of the warm August sun shining without, a chill struck to her
+bones as they passed through the vast, closed rooms. She held her now
+sleeping baby close to her breast as she followed the old man about from
+picture to picture.
+
+"Yes, a many do come 'ere--especially hartists--to see this gallery.
+They say as 'ow 'is lordship wouldn't take a thousand pounds for this
+one, ma'm. We'll let in a little more light. A Vandyke--and worth it's
+weight in gold."
+
+Cassandra watched him cross the floor, his short bow legs reflected
+grotesquely in its shining surface as he walked, then turned and gazed
+again at the life-size, half-length portrait of a young man with sunny
+hair like David's and warm brown eyes.
+
+"There, you see, it's more than a Vandyke to the family, ma'm, for it's
+a hancestor, and my wife says it's as like as two peas to 'is young
+lordship, who has just come into the title, ma'm. And that's strange,
+isn't it, for 'im to look so like, being as 'e belonged to the younger
+branch who 'aven't 'eld the title for four generations; but come to
+dress 'im in velvet and gold lace, and the likeness would be nigh as
+perfect as if 'e 'ad stood for it."
+
+Cassandra gazed so long silently at this picture that again the little
+man coughed his deprecatory cough and essayed to lead her on; but she
+was seeing visions and did not heed him. When at last she turned, her
+gray eyes had deepened, and a clearly defined spot of delicate red
+burned on one pale cheek. She drew a deep breath and looked down the
+length of the long gallery. Everything was being impressed upon her mind
+as upon sensitized paper.
+
+She followed slowly in the old man's wake, never opening her lips until
+they had made the circuit and were again standing before the portrait of
+the fair-haired youth. Then, roused suddenly by a direct question, she
+responded.
+
+The old servant was saying: "You 'aven't 'appened to meet a Samuel
+Cutter in America, 'ave you? 'E's our son. England was too slow for 'im.
+Young men aren't like old ones; they wants hadventure, and they gets it.
+That's 'ow so many of 'em joins the harmy and gets killed like 'is
+lordship's two sons, and young Lord Thryng's brother as would 'ave been
+'is lordship, if 'e' ad lived. You 'aven't 'appened to know a Samuel
+Cutter over there? 'E went to Canada."
+
+"No, I never met any one by that name. I live a long way from Canada."
+
+"About 'ow far do you think, ma'm?"
+
+Cassandra had no idea of the distance, but she knew how long David and
+Hoyle were journeying there, so she answered as best she could. "It
+takes three or four days to get there from my home."
+
+The old man's eyes opened wide, and his jaw dropped. "It's a big
+country--America is. England may be a small place, but she 'as
+tremendous big possessions." He felt it all belonged to England, and
+spoke with swelling pride as his short legs carried him toward the door.
+There again he paused. He had learned nothing of this young woman to
+tell his old wife, except that she came from America, and had never met
+Samuel Cutter. The mystery was still unsolved.
+
+"Yes, 'is young lordship do look amazing like that picture. If you'd
+ever seen 'im, you'd think 'e'd dressed up in velvet and lace and stood
+for it. 'E's lived in America five years, but if you never were in
+Canada and never met our Sammy, it's more likely you never saw 'im
+either."
+
+"Is he at their country home also?" Cassandra asked. She had seated
+herself in the hall, for her heart throbbed chokingly, and the lump was
+heavy in her throat. It was as she had dreamed sometimes, when her feet
+seemed to cling to the earth, and would not lift her weight up some
+steep hill.
+
+"'Is lordship is still in Hafrica, mam. 'E 'ave been a great traveller,
+but 'e can't stay much longer now, for Lady Laura is to 'ave a grand
+coming out, and 'is lordship is to be married. Her ladyship's 'eart is
+set on it, and on 'is marrying 'igh, too. That's gossip, you know."
+
+Cassandra rose and stood suddenly poised for flight. She must get out of
+that house and hear no more. She had a silver shilling in her hand, for
+Betty Towers had told her all servants expected a tip, and this was
+intended for the cabman. Had she followed her impulse, she would have
+darted by with her fingers in her ears, but instead, she dropped the
+shilling in the old man's hand, and quietly turned toward the door.
+
+"Thank you," his fingers closed over the shilling. Her pallor struck him
+then, even as the red spot on her cheek deepened, and he held out his
+arms for the child.
+
+"Let me carry 'im for you, ma'm. Is it a boy?"
+
+But her arms closed tighter about her baby. "He is my little son." It
+was almost a cry, as she said it, but again she forced herself to
+calmness, and, walking slowly out, added, with a quiet smile: "I always
+keep him myself. We do in America."
+
+In a moment she was gone. The warm sunlight burst in on them and flooded
+the cold hall as the old man stood in the doorway looking after the
+retreating cab, and down at the silver shilling.
+
+Darker, dingier, stuffier, seemed the box of a room, as she walked into
+it and laid her still sleeping babe on the bed. She felt herself moving
+in an unreal world. David--her David--she had not come to him after all;
+she had come to an empty place. She knelt and threw her arms about her
+little son, encircling his head and his feet. She neither wept nor
+prayed; and the red spot burned against the creamy whiteness of her
+skin. She was not thinking, only looking, seeing into the past and down
+the long vista of her future.
+
+Pictures came to her--pictures of her girlhood--her dim aspirations--her
+melancholy-eyed father--his hilltop--and beloved, sunlit mountains. In
+the radiance of the spring, she saw them, and in the glory of the
+autumn; she breathed the fragrance of the pines in winter and heard the
+soft patter of summer rains on widespreading leaves. She saw David
+walking at her side, and heard his laugh, sun-bright and glorious he
+seemed, her Phoebus Apollo--the father of her little son.
+
+She saw the terrible sea which she had crossed to come to him--the
+white-crested waves, with turquoise lights and indigo depths, shifting
+and sliding unceasingly where all the world seemed swallowed in space,
+and the huge steamship so small a thing in the vast and perilous deep;
+and now--now she was here. What was she? What was life?
+
+She had tried to find him, her David, and had been shown the dead, and
+the glory of the dead--all past and gone--her David's glory. Shown that
+long, empty gallery resounding with those aged footsteps, and the
+pictures--pictures--pictures--of men and women who had once been babes
+like her little son and David's, now dead and gone--not one soul among
+them all to greet her. Proud lords and dames in frames of gold; young
+men and maidens in costly silks and velvets of marvellous dyes,
+red-cheeked, red-lipped, and soullessly silent; and she, alone and
+undefended in their midst, holding in her arms their last descendant.
+All those painted fingers seemed lifted to point at her; those silent
+red lips parted to cry out at her, "Look at this stranger claiming to be
+one of us; send her away."
+
+And David--her David--was one of these! What they had felt--what they
+had thought and striven for--was it all intensified and concentrated in
+him? Oh, if her soul could only reach to him, wherever he was, and
+penetrate this impalpable veil that stretched between them! If her hands
+could only touch him, her eyes look into his and see what lay in their
+depths for her!
+
+Then her babe stirred and tossed up his pretty hands, waking her from
+her sad, vision-seeing trance. He opened his large, clear eyes, and
+suddenly it seemed that her wish was granted,--that the veil was rent
+and she was looking into David's eyes and seeing his soul free, no
+longer chained by invisible links to those dead and gone beings, and
+their traditions. This had been all a dream--a dream.
+
+She gathered the child in her arms and held him with his sweet, warm
+lips pressed to her breast and his soft little hand thrust in her bosom.
+David's little son--David's little son! Surely all was good and well
+with the world! Did not the old man say it was only gossip? Had not evil
+things been said of David even on her own mountain? It was the trail of
+the serpent of ill report. He had not confided his sacred secret to
+these people, and they had thought what they pleased. Surely he had told
+his mother about his wife. She would go to his mother and wait for his
+return, and there she would bring her precious gift--David's little son.
+
+Quickly she packed her few belongings and rang for a messenger, and as
+she stood an instant waiting for an answer to her ring, the white-capped
+nurse she had noticed in the morning passed by with the baby in her
+arms. Yes, surely women of David's state did not travel about alone. Had
+she not read in _Vanity Fair_ how Becky Sharp always had her maid? And
+now she was in "Vanity Fair," and must be wise and not go to David's
+mother unattended. Then, too, if only she had some one with her to whom
+she could speak now and then, it would be better. Therefore, without
+further consideration, she walked swiftly down the corridor after the
+tidy nurse.
+
+"Will you tell me, please, have you a sister?" she said. The young woman
+stood still in astonishment. "Or--any friend like yourself? I--I am a
+stranger from America." The look of surprise changed to one of
+curiosity. "And it is right hard to go about alone with my baby, so I
+thought I would ask you if you have a sister."
+
+"Is it to the country you wish to go, ma'm?" The baby in her arms
+stirred, and the nurse swayed gently back and forth to hush it.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I couldn't go with you myself, ma'm--but--"
+
+"Oh, no! I didn't mean you. I only thought if you had a sister--or a
+friend, maybe, who could help me for a little while."
+
+"I saw you this morning, ma'm, as you went out. I'll see what I can do.
+What number is your room? and what name? I mustn't talk here. Mrs.
+Darling is very particular."
+
+"Oh, never mind, then." Cassandra turned away in sudden shame lest she
+had not done the right thing. The nurse watched her return to her room
+as swiftly as she had left it, and took note of the number.
+
+"How very odd!" said the young woman to herself.
+
+Cassandra felt more abashed under the round-eyed gaze of the maid than
+if she had encountered the queen. Her ring for a messenger had not been
+answered, and she did not know how to find her husband's country-seat.
+She felt faint and weary, but did not think of hunger, nor that it was
+long past the dinner-hour, and that she had eaten nothing since her
+early breakfast. She only thought that she must be brave and try--try to
+think how to reach David's people.
+
+Resolutely she closed her door, and dressed her baby carefully; then she
+arrayed herself in the soft silk gown, and the wide hat with the heavy
+plume, and then--could David have seen her with her courageous eyes and
+lifted head, and the faint color from excitement in her cheeks--he would
+no longer have feared to take her by the hand and lead her to his mother
+and say, "She is my wife, and the loveliest lady in the land."
+
+People looked at her as she passed, and turned to look again. Down wide,
+carpeted stairs she went, until she came to a broad landing with
+recessed windows, where were round polished tables and people seated,
+sipping tea and eating thin bread and butter and muffins. Then Cassandra
+knew that she was hungry and sat herself in one of the windows apart,
+before a table. Presently a young man came and bent down to her as if
+listening. She looked up at him in bewilderment, but at the same
+instant, seeing another young man similarly dressed bearing a tray of
+muffins and tea to a lady and gentleman near by, she said:--
+
+"I would like tea, please."
+
+"W'ot kind, ma'm?" She did not care what kind, nor know for what to ask,
+only to have something soon, so she said:--
+
+"I will take what they have."
+
+"Yes, ma'm. Muffins, ma'm?"
+
+"Yes," she replied wearily, and turned to gaze out of the window. Cabs
+and carriages were rushing up and down the street below them. She placed
+her little son on the seat beside her and held him with sheltering arm,
+while he watched the moving vehicles and looked from them to his
+mother's face.
+
+"What a perfectly lovely child!" said a pleasant voice. "Is it a boy?
+How old is he?"
+
+Cassandra looked up to see a rosy-cheeked girl, a little too stout and
+florid, with a great mop of dark hair tied with a wide black ribbon. A
+gray-haired lady followed, and paused beside her.
+
+"Yes," said Cassandra, faintly. "He is almost six months old."
+
+The girl reached over and patted his cheek. "How perfectly dear. See
+him, mamma. Isn't he, though?"
+
+"Babies are always dear," said the mother, with a smile. "Come, Laura,
+we can't wait, you know," and they passed on. As Cassandra looked up in
+the mother's face, something stirred vaguely in her heart. Had she seen
+her before? Possibly, so many had paused to speak to her in this casual
+way since she left home.
+
+Then her tea and crisp, hot muffins were brought. The young girl's
+pleasant words had warmed her heart, and the refreshment gave her more
+courage. She made her way to the office and inquired how she might find
+Lord Thryng's country home. The clerk wrote the address promptly on a
+card, but the keen look of interest with which he handed it to her
+caused her to shrink inwardly. Why, what was it to him what place she
+asked for? She lifted her head proudly. She must not falter.
+
+"I wish to go there. Will you tell me how, please?"
+
+But the surprise of the clerk was quite natural, as she had signed the
+hotel register the evening before with her whole name, giving no thought
+to it; and now he wondered what relation she might be to the family so
+lately come into the title, since she bore the name, yet seemed to know
+so little about them. He explained to her courteously--almost
+deferentially.
+
+"Will you go to Daneshead Castle itself, ma'm, or stop in Queensderry?"
+As she had no idea what the question involved, she replied at hazard.
+
+"I will stop in Queensderry." And her bags were brought down, and she
+was despatched to the right station without more delay.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+IN WHICH CASSANDRA GOES TO QUEENSDERRY AND TAKES A DRIVE IN A PONY
+CARRIAGE
+
+
+Glad to be borne away from the city and out through fresh green fields
+and past pretty church-spired villages, alone in the compartment,
+Cassandra comforted herself with her baby, playing with him until he
+dropped to sleep, when she made a bed for him on the car seat with rugs,
+and, taking out her purse, began to count her remaining resources. Her
+bill at the hotel had appalled her. So much to pay to stay only a night!
+What would David say? But he had told her to use the money as she liked,
+and now she was here, there was nothing else to do.
+
+Laboriously she computed the amount in English money, and, reckoned
+thus, her dollars and cents seemed to shrink and vanish. Still, more
+than half remained of what she had brought with her, and she viewed the
+matter calmly.
+
+The shadows fell long over the smooth greensward as she arrived in the
+village of Queensderry and was driven to a small inn, the only house of
+entertainment in the place. She was given a pleasant room overlooking
+fields and orchards and bright gardens, and the sight rested her eyes,
+and still further calmed her troubled heart. She would rest to-night,
+and to-morrow all would be well.
+
+Never had food tasted better to her than the supper served in her pretty
+room,--toast in a silver rack, and fresh butter, such as David loved,
+and curds and whey, and gingerbread, and a small jar of marmalade. She
+ate, seated in the window, looking out over the sweet English landscape
+in the warm twilight--the breeze stirring the white curtains--her little
+son in her lap gurgling and smiling up at her--and her heart with David,
+wherever he might be.
+
+Slowly the dusk veiled all, and one star glimmered above the slender
+church spire. A pretty maid brought candles and a book in which she was
+asked to write her name. She was the landlady's daughter and looked
+wholesome and bright. Cassandra glanced in her face as she set the
+candles down, and took up the pen mechanically.
+
+"Mother says will you sign here, please?"
+
+"Yes." Cassandra turned the leaves slowly and read other names and
+addresses--many of them. She wrote "Cassandra Merlin--" and paused;
+then, making a long dash, added simply, "America," and, handing back the
+book and pen, turned again to the window.
+
+"Thank you. Is that all?" said the maid, lingering.
+
+"Yes," said Cassandra again; then she laid her baby on the bed and began
+taking his night clothing from her bag.
+
+"How pretty he is! Shan't I help you unpack, ma'm?"
+
+Cassandra paused, looking dreamily before her as if scarcely
+comprehending, then she said: "Not to-night, thank you. Perhaps
+to-morrow." The maid deftly piled the supper dishes and, taking them and
+the book with her, departed with a pleasant "Good night, ma'm."
+
+In spite of her calmness, Cassandra lay wakeful and patient, and when at
+last she did sleep, it seemed to her she stood with her husband on her
+father's path, looking out under overarching boughs, upon blue distances
+of heaped-up mountain tops, and David's flute notes, silvery sweet, were
+raining down upon her. She awoke to discover day was breaking, and a
+pealing of bells from some distant church tower was announcing the fact.
+
+She gathered her babe to her throbbing heart and thought, to-day she was
+to go out and meet her husband's people. How should she go? How should
+she conduct herself? Should she go at once, or wait until the afternoon?
+Why had she not written her name fully in the travellers' book? What
+mysterious foreboding had caught her fingers and stayed them at her
+maiden name? Was she afraid? When she arose, she found herself trembling
+from head to foot, and called for her breakfast, before bathing and
+dressing her little son.
+
+The same pretty maid brought it, and came again, while Cassandra bathed
+and nursed her baby, to set the room to rights.
+
+"Shan't I unpack your box for you now, ma'm?" And, without waiting for a
+reply, she took out Cassandra's clothing, pausing now and then to
+admire and pet the lovely boy. Her simple friendliness pleased
+Cassandra, who was minded to ask some of the questions which were
+burdening her.
+
+"When do people make visits here, in the morning or afternoon?"
+
+"That depends, ma'm."
+
+"How do you mean? I'm a stranger in England, you know."
+
+"Yes, ma'm. If they make polite visits, they go about tea time, ma'm.
+But if it's parish visits, or on business, or on people they know very
+well, they may go in the morning, ma'm."
+
+"And when is tea time here?"
+
+"Why, ma'm, everybody has their tea in the afternoon along four or
+thereabouts, and sees their friends."
+
+"Can I get a carriage here, do you know?"
+
+"I can get a pony carriage, ma'm. We hires it when we need it, only we
+must speak for it early, or it may be taken."
+
+"Oh! Then will you please speak for it soon? I would like to have it."
+
+"Yes, ma'm. Will you drive yourself, ma'm, or shall I ask for a boy?"
+
+"Oh! I don't know. I can drive--but--"
+
+"They are gentle ponies, ma'm. Any one can drive them."
+
+"Yes, but I don't know the way."
+
+"Yes, ma'm. Where would you like to go, ma'm?"
+
+"To Daneshead Castle."
+
+The bright-cheeked maid opened her round eyes wider and looked at
+Cassandra with new interest. "But, ma'm,--that is quite far, though the
+ponies are smart, too."
+
+"How far is it?"
+
+"It's quite a bit away from here, ma'm; you'd have to start at two or
+thereabouts. I could take you myself if mother would let me, and tell
+you all the interesting places, but"--the girl looked at her shrewdly, a
+quickly withdrawn glance--"that depends on how well acquainted you are
+there, ma'm. Maybe you'd like better to have a man drive, and just let
+me go along to mind the baby for you."
+
+"Yes, I would," said Cassandra, gladly.
+
+"Thank you. I'll run for the ponies now, ma'm."
+
+Cassandra heard her boots clatter rapidly down the wooden stairs at the
+back of the house, and presently saw her dashing across the inn yard,
+bareheaded and with her bare arms rolled in her apron.
+
+The girl's manner of receiving the statement that she wished to drive to
+the castle was not lost on Cassandra's sensitive spirit. She sat a
+moment, thoughtful and sad, then rose and set herself to prepare
+carefully for the visit. In the afternoon! Then she might wear the silk
+gown and lovely hat. Once more she tried to arrange her hair as she saw
+other young women wear theirs, and again swept its heavy masses back
+loosely from her brow and coiled it low as her custom was.
+
+The landlady's daughter chattered happily as they drove. She held the
+baby on her knee, and he played with the blue beads she wore about her
+neck, while Cassandra sat with hands dropped passively in her lap, her
+body leaning a little forward, straight and poised as if to move more
+rapidly along, her red lips parted as if listening and waiting, and her
+eyes courteously turning toward the places and objects pointed out to
+her, yet neither seeing nor hearing, except vaguely.
+
+Presently becoming aware that the chatter was about the family at
+Daneshead Castle, her interest suddenly awoke. About the old lord--how
+vast his possessions--how ancient the family--how neglected the castle
+had been ever since Lady Thryng's death,--everything allowed to run
+down, even though they were so vastly rich--how different everything was
+now the parsimonious old lord was dead and the new lord had come in, and
+there were once more ladies in the family--what a time since there had
+been a Lady Thryng at Daneshead--how much Lady Laura was like her cousin
+Lyon--how reckless she would be if her mother did not hold her with a
+firm hand--and so the chatter ran on.
+
+The girl enjoyed the distinction of knowing all about the great family
+and enlightening this stranger from America, whose silent attention and
+occasional monosyllabic replies were sufficient to inspire her friendly
+efforts to entertain. Moreover, her curiosity concerning Cassandra and
+her errand, where she was evidently neither expected nor known, was
+piqued and lively, and she threw out many tentative remarks to probe if
+possible the stranger lady's thoughts.
+
+"Have you ever seen Lord Thryng--the new lord, I mean, ma'm?"
+
+"Yes," said Cassandra, simply, a chill striking to her heart to hear him
+mentioned thus.
+
+"He's been out here directing the repairs himself, and getting the place
+ready for his mother and Lady Laura; but I never saw him. They say he's
+perfectly stunning. Quite the lord. Is he so very handsome, do you
+think?"
+
+"Yes." Cassandra looked away from the girl's searching eyes.
+
+"They say he never has married, and that is fortunate too; for he has
+lived so long in America, and never expecting to come into the title, he
+might have married somebody his own set over here never could have
+received, and that would have been bad, wouldn't it?"
+
+Cassandra turned and looked gravely at the girl. She wished to stop her,
+but could not think how to do it. She could not bear to hear her husband
+talked over in this way.
+
+"They are tremendous swells. Lady Thryng looks high for him, and well
+she may, for mother says he's worthy of a princess, he's that rich and
+high bred, too, for all that he was only a doctor over in America.
+Mother says it's very fortunate he never married some common sort over
+there. They say Lady Thryng wants him to marry Lady Geraldine Temple's
+daughter. She is a great beauty, and has a pretty fortune in her own
+right, too. They'll be rich enough to entertain the king! And they may
+do it, too, some day."
+
+Cassandra sat still and cold. She could not stop the girl now. "Lady
+Laura's coming out is to be next week, so his lordship must be home
+soon. They say it will be a very grand affair! And I am to see it all,
+for mother says she will have a maid, and I may go out there to serve,
+and I shall see all the decorations and the fine dresses. That will be
+fine, won't it, baby?"
+
+She untied the blue beads and dangled them before the baby's eyes, and
+he caught at them and gurgled in baby glee. Cassandra sat silent, rigid,
+and cold, unheeding the child or the girl, only vaguely hearing the
+chatter.
+
+"And that will be grand, won't it, baby? But he is a love, this boy!
+There is Daneshead Castle now, ma'm. You see it through the trees, but
+the grounds are so large we have to drive a good bit before we are
+there."
+
+The driver turned the ponies' heads, and they scampered through a high
+stone gateway and along a smooth road which wound through a dense wood,
+with green open spaces interspersed, where deer were browsing. All was
+very beautiful and quiet and sweet, but Cassandra, sitting with
+wide-open eyes, gravely beautiful, did not see it.
+
+To the girl everything was delightful. She had not the slightest doubt
+that the American lady was very rich. That she travelled so simply and
+alone was nothing. They all did queer things--the Americans. She was
+obtusely unconscious that she had been speaking slightingly of them to
+one of themselves, and she talked on after the romantic manner of girls
+the world over, giving the gossip of the inn parlors as she listened to
+it evening after evening, where the affairs of the nobility were freely
+discussed and enlarged and commented upon with eager interest.
+
+What was spoken in her ladyship's chamber and Lady Laura's
+boudoir--their half-formed plans and aspirations--carelessly dropped
+words and unfinished sentences--quickly travelled to the housekeeper's
+parlor--to the servant's table--to the haunts of grooms and stable
+boys--to the farmer's daughters--and to the public rooms of the
+Queensderry Inn.
+
+Thus it was Cassandra heard tales of the brother and sister and mother
+of her David, and of him also. How it was said that once he was engaged
+to a rich tradesman's daughter but had broken it off and gone to America
+against the wishes of all his family, and had become a common
+practitioner there to the disgust of all his relatives; and again
+Cassandra felt that she had left a sweet and lovely world behind her to
+step into "Vanity Fair."
+
+She tried to hold fast her faith in goodness and high purpose. She was
+sure--sure--David had been moved by noble motives; why should she not
+trust him now? Did this girl know him better than she--his wife? Yet, in
+spite of her valiant spirit, two facts fell like leaden weights upon her
+heart. David had not told his people that he had a wife, and they would
+be offended that he had "tied himself to a common sort over there." This
+David whom she loved was so high above her in the eyes of all his
+relatives and perhaps even in his own. What--ah, what could she do!
+Might she still hold him in her heart? She could not walk in upon them
+now and betray him--never--never.
+
+Her lips grew pale, and her head swam, but she sat still, leaning a
+little forward in the moving phaeton, her hands tightly clasped in her
+lap and her babe unheeded at her side, until the red returned to her
+lips and again burned in a clearly defined spot against the pallor of
+her cheek. She did not know that a strange, unearthly beauty was hers. A
+carriage met them filled with gay people. She did not notice them, but
+they gazed at her and turned to look again as they passed.
+
+"I say, you know!" said one of the men, as they whirled by.
+
+"There, that was Lady Geraldine Temple in that carriage, and the young
+man who stared so hard is her son. They've been paying a visit, or maybe
+they've brought Lady Clara to stay a bit. They say both families are
+keen for the match--and why shouldn't they be? Oh, they'll entertain the
+king here some day, and then there'll be high times at Daneshead!"
+
+An automobile flashed by them, and then another. "There must be a party
+here to-day, or likely it's visitors dropping in, now it's getting
+toward tea time. It's all right, ma'm," she added, as Cassandra stirred
+uneasily. "It must be only visitors, or I would have heard of it.
+They're keeping open house now, though they don't go anywhere themselves
+yet. You see it's a year since the deaths, so they could mourn them all
+at once, and not spin it along. They had to wait a year before Lady
+Laura's coming out--rightly. Let the ponies walk now, driver. I beg
+pardon, ma'm." The girl had so taken possession of Cassandra, the baby,
+and the whole expedition, that she gave the order unthinkingly.
+
+"Yes, let them walk," said Cassandra, and drew a long breath. She heard
+gay laughter, and caught sight through the trees of light dresses and
+wide, plumed hats. Some one sat on the terrace at a table whereon was
+shining silver.
+
+"There, I said so! That's Lady Clara pouring tea. I say, but she's a
+beauty! Isn't she? No, no. Go to the front, driver. American ladies
+don't call at the side."
+
+"There's a hautomobile there, ma'm."
+
+"Then wait a moment. Don't be a stupid."
+
+Thus, aided by the innkeeper's clever daughter, Cassandra at last made
+her entrance properly and was guided to the presence of David's mother,
+who had not joined her guests, having but just closed an interview with
+Mr. Stretton. As she saw Cassandra standing in the drawing-room waiting
+her, Lady Thryng came graciously forward. The lovely August weather had
+tempted every one out of doors, and the great room was left empty save
+for these two, David's mother and his wife.
+
+The beauty of other-worldliness which had infused Cassandra's whole
+being as she fought her silent battle during the long drive, still
+enveloped her. If she could have followed her impulses, she would have
+held out both hands and cried: "Take me and love me. I am David's wife."
+But she would not--she must not. Her heritage of faith in goodness--both
+of God and man--kept her heart open, and gave her power to think and act
+rightly in this her hour of terrible trial; even as a little child,
+being behind the veil which separates the soul from God, may, in its
+innocent prattle, utter words of superhuman wisdom.
+
+"I am sorry if I have interrupted you when you have company," she said
+slowly. "I am a stranger--an American."
+
+"Ah, you Americans are a happy lot and may go where you please. Take
+this seat by the window; it is very warm. My son has been in America,
+but he tells us so little, we are none the wiser for that, about your
+part of the world."
+
+"I knew him in America. That is why I called."
+
+"Yes?" The mother bent forward and regarded her curiously, attentively.
+
+"He lived very near us. He did a great deal of good--among the poor."
+She put her hand to her slender white throat, then dropped it again in
+her lap. Then, looking in Lady Thryng's eyes, she said: "I have seen
+your picture. I should have known you from that, but you are more
+beautiful."
+
+"Oh! That can hardly be, my dear! It was taken many years ago, you
+know."
+
+"Yes, he said so--his lordship--only there we called him Doctah Thryng."
+
+A shadow flitted over the mother's face. "He was a practitioner over
+there--never in England."
+
+"That is a pity; it is such noble work. But perhaps he has other things
+to do here."
+
+"He has--even more noble work than the practice of medicine."
+
+"What does he do here?" asked Cassandra, in a low voice.
+
+"He must take part in the affairs of government. Very ordinary men may
+study and practise medicine, but unless men who are wise, and are nobly
+born and bred, make it their business to care for the affairs of their
+country, the nation would soon be wrecked. That is what saves England
+and makes her great."
+
+"I see." Cassandra sat silent then, and Lady Thryng waited expectantly
+for her errand to be declared, curious about this beautiful young
+creature who had stepped into her home unannounced from out of the
+unknown, yet graciously kindly and unhurried. "I think I know. With us
+men are too careless. They think it isn't necessary, I suppose." Again
+she paused with parted lips, as if she would speak on, but could not.
+
+"With you, men are too busy making money, I am told. It is necessary to
+have a leisure class like ours."
+
+"Oh!" Cassandra caught her breath and smiled. She was thinking of the
+silver pot her mother had enjoined her to take with her, and why. "But
+we do think a great deal of family; even the simplest of us care for
+that, although we have no leisure class--only the loafers. I'm afraid
+you think it very strange I should come to you in this way, but
+I--thought I would like to see Doctah Thryng again, and when I heard he
+was not in England, I thought I would come to you and bring the messages
+from those who loved him when he was with us. But I mustn't stop now and
+take your time. I'll write them instead, only that wouldn't be like
+seeing him. He stayed a whole year at our place."
+
+"And you came from Canada?"
+
+"Oh, no. A long way from there. My home is in North Carolina."
+
+"Oh, indeed! How very interesting! That must have been when he was so
+ill." Then, noticing Cassandra's extreme pallor, she begged her most
+kindly to come out on the terrace and have tea; but she would not. She
+felt her fortitude giving way, and knew she must hasten. "But you must,
+you know. The heat and your long ride have made you faint."
+
+"I--I'm afraid so. It--won't--last."
+
+"Wait, then. You must take a little wine; you need it." Roused to
+sympathy, Lady Thryng left her a moment and returned immediately with a
+glass of wine, which she held to her lips with her own hand. "There, you
+will soon be better. Here is a fan. It really is very warm. Indeed, you
+must have tea before you go."
+
+She took her passive hand and led her out on the terrace unresisting,
+and again Cassandra was minded to throw her arms about the lovely
+woman's neck, who was so sweet and kind, and sob on her bosom and tell
+her all--but David had his own reasons, and she would not.
+
+"Do you stay long in England?"
+
+"I am going to-morrow. Oh!" she exclaimed, as they stepped out, and she
+saw the number of elaborately dressed guests moving about and gayly
+chatting and laughing. "I can't go out there. I am a strangah." It was a
+low melancholy wail as she said it, and long afterward Lady Thryng
+remembered that moaning cry, "I am a strangah."
+
+"No, no. You are an American and a very beautiful one. Come, they will
+be glad to meet you. Give me your name again."
+
+"Thank you--but I must--must go back." Suddenly, with a cry, "My baby,
+he is mine," she swept forward with long, swinging steps toward a group
+who were bending over a rosy-cheeked girl, who was seated on the steps
+of the terrace with a child in her arms. She was comforting him and
+cuddling and petting him, and those around her were exclaiming as young
+girls will: "Isn't he a dear!"--"Oh, let me hold him a moment!"--"There,
+he is going to cry again. No wonder, poor little chap!"--"Oh, look at
+his curls--so cunning--give him to me."
+
+Seeing his mother, he put up his arms to her and smiled, while two
+tears rolled down his round baby cheeks.
+
+"I found him in the pony carriage with Hetty Giles, and he was crying
+so--and such a darling! I just took him away--the love!" cried Laura.
+"Why, we saw you yesterday at the Victoria. I could not pass him by, you
+remember?"
+
+The baby, one beaming smile, nestled his face bashfully in his mother's
+neck and patted her cheek, glancing sidewise at his admirers through
+brimming tears, while Cassandra, her eyes large and pathetic, turned now
+on Laura, now on her mother, stood silent, quivering like one of her own
+mountain creatures brought to bay. But she was strengthened as she felt
+her baby again in her arms, and as she stood thus looking about her,
+every one became silent, and she was constrained to speak. She did not
+know that something in her manner and appearance had commanded
+silence--something tragic--despairing. It was but for an instant, then
+she turned to Lady Laura.
+
+[Illustration: _Cassandra stood silent, quivering like one of her own
+mountain creatures brought to bay. Page 286._]
+
+"Thank you for comforting him. I ought not to have left him. I nevah did
+before, with strangahs." She tried to bid Lady Thryng good-by, but Laura
+again besought her to stop and have tea.
+
+"Please do. I fairly adore Americans. I want to talk to you; I mean, to
+hear you talk."
+
+Cassandra had mastered herself at last, and replied quietly: "I don't
+guess I can stay, thank you. You have been so kind." Then she said to
+Lady Thryng, "Good-by," and moved away. Laura walked by her side to the
+carriage.
+
+"I hope you'll come again sometime, and let me know you."
+
+"You are right kind to say that. I shall nevah forget." Then, leaning
+down from the carriage seat, and looking steadily in Laura's warm, dark
+eyes, she added: "No, I shall nevah forget. May I kiss you?"
+
+"You sweet thing!" said the girl, impulsively, and, reaching up, they
+kissed. Cassandra said in her heart, "For David," and was driven away.
+
+Laura found her mother standing where they had left her. She had been
+deeply stirred by the sight of Cassandra with the child in her arms. Not
+that beautiful mothers and lovely children were rare in England; but
+that, except for the children of the poor, no little one like this had
+been in her own home or so near her in all the years of her widowhood.
+It was the sight of that strong mother love, overpowering and sweeping
+all before it, recognizing no lesser call--the secret and holy power
+that lies in the Christ-mother, for all periods and all peoples--she
+herself had felt it--and the cry that had burst from Cassandra's lips,
+"My baby--he is mine." Tears stood in Lady Thryng's eyes, and yet it was
+such a simple little thing. Mothers and babies? Why, they were
+everywhere.
+
+"She moved like a tragic queen," said Lady Clara. "What was the matter?"
+
+"Nothing, only her baby had been crying; but wasn't he a love?" said
+Lady Laura.
+
+"I say! He was a perfect dear!" said one and another.
+
+"I don't care much for babies," said Lady Clara. "They ought to be
+trained to stay with their nurses and not cry after their mammas like
+that. Fancy having to take such a child around with one everywhere, even
+in making a formal call, you know! Isn't it absurd? American women spoil
+their children dreadfully, I have heard."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+IN WHICH DAVID AND HIS MOTHER DO NOT AGREE
+
+
+The day after Cassandra's flight from Queensderry David returned.
+Although greatly prolonged, his African expedition had been successful,
+and he was pleased. He had improved his opportunities to learn political
+conditions and know what might best advance England's power in that
+remote portion of her possessions.
+
+Mr. Stretton had informed him that he might soon be called to a seat in
+the House, and he was glad to be in a measure prepared to hold opinions
+of his own on a few, at least, of the vital issues. Canada he already
+knew well, and to be conversant also with the state of affairs in South
+Africa gave him greater confidence.
+
+The first afternoon of his return he spent in looking over the changes
+which had been in progress at Daneshead during his absence. In spite of
+his weariness, he seemed buoyant and gay, more so, his mother thought,
+than at any time since his return from America. She said nothing about
+the episode of Cassandra's call,--possibly for the time it was
+forgotten,--but as they parted for the night, when they were alone
+together, Lady Thryng again broached to her son the subject of his
+marriage.
+
+"We have had a visit from Lady Clara Temple," she said.
+
+David lay upon a divan with his hands clasped beneath his head, and the
+light from a reading lamp streamed upon his sunny hair, which always
+looked as if some playful breeze had just lifted it. His whole frame had
+the sinewy appearance of energy and power. His mother's heart swelled
+with love and pride as she looked at his smiling, thoughtful face, and
+down upon his lean, strong body that in its lassitude expressed the
+vigor of a splendid animal at rest.
+
+Still more would she have given thanks for the restoration of this
+beloved son could she have been able to contrast his present state with
+his condition when, ill and discouraged, he had gone to the lonely log
+cabin in a wilderness, struggling to build up both body and spirit, far
+from the sympathy and fellowship of his own.
+
+Now she thrilled with the thought of what he might achieve if only he
+would, but her heart misgave her that he still held some strange notions
+of life. She thought the surest way to control his quixotic impulses was
+to provide him with a good, practical wife,--one who would see the world
+as it is and accept conditions that are stable, not trying to move
+mountains, yet with sufficient ambition for both her husband and
+herself. With a wife and children a man could not afford to be erratic.
+
+"What were you saying, mother?"
+
+"What were you thinking, David, that you did not hear me? I am telling
+you we have just had a very delightful visit from Lady Clara Temple, and
+Lady Temple and her son have called."
+
+David made no reply. He seemed to think the remark called for none.
+"Well, David?"
+
+"Well, mother?" and then: "I think I will go to bed. I am rarely tired,
+and bed is the place for me." He kissed his mother, then took hold of
+her chin and lifted her face to look in his eyes. "What is it, little
+mother, what is it?" he asked gayly and obtusely.
+
+"Aren't you a bit stupid, David, not to see? I wish--I do wish you could
+care for Lady Clara. She really is charming."
+
+"I do care for her--as Lady Clara Temple. She is charming, and, as you
+say of me, a bit stupid. What has Laura been doing these two months?"
+
+"Preparing for her coming out after her own fashion. We've been a good
+deal in town, but she has a reckless way of doing anything she pleases,
+quite regardless."
+
+"She is a big-hearted fine lass, mother. Don't let her ways trouble
+you."
+
+"She needs the right influence, and Lady Clara seems to exert it over
+her--at least I think she will in time."
+
+"Ah, very good, let her. I won't interfere. Good night, little mother;
+sleep well. If I am late in the morning, don't be annoyed. I've had
+three wakeful nights. The sea was very rough."
+
+"David!" Lady Thryng placed her hands on his shoulders and held him,
+looking in his eyes. "Marry Lady Clara. You are worthy of a princess, my
+son. You can afford to be ambitious. The day may come when you can
+entertain the king."
+
+"Now really, mother; I'll entertain the king with pleasure. He's a fine
+old chap. A little gay, you know, but quite the right sort. But Lady
+Clara is a step too high. She'd rub it into me some day that I'd married
+above my station, you know. Good night. Dream of the king, mother, but
+not of Lady Clara."
+
+He sought his bed, and was soon soundly sleeping, content with the
+thought that next week he would sail for America and have Laura's coming
+out postponed. The family festivity was following too closely on the
+year of mourning, at any rate. The announcement that he already had a
+penniless American wife would naturally be a blow to them, all the more
+so if his mother was seriously cherishing such hopes as she had
+expressed; but he couldn't be a cad. His conscience smote him that his
+conduct already bordered closely on the caddish, but to be an out and
+out cad,--no, no.
+
+When he awoke,--late, as he had said, but refreshed and jubilant,--the
+revelation he must make seemed to him less formidable, and he was minded
+to make it with no more delay as he tossed over his mail, while
+breakfasting in his room.
+
+"Ah, what is this?" A letter in his wife's hand, bearing the Liverpool
+postmark! Was she on her way to him, then? "Good God!" He tore off the
+cover hastily, but sat a moment with bowed head, his hand over his eyes,
+before reading it.
+
+
+"MY DEAR DAVID,--My husband, forgive me. I have done wrong, but I meant
+to do right. They said words of you,--on our mountain, David,--words I
+hated; and I lied to them and came to you. I told them you had sent for
+me. I did it to prove to them that what they were saying was not true. I
+took the money you gave me and came to England, and now God has
+punished me, and I am going back. I know you will be surprised when I
+tell you how wrong I have been. I would not write you I had borne you a
+little son, because I did not want you to come back to America for his
+sake, but for mine. My heart was that proud. Oh! David, forgive me."
+David's face grew pale, and the paper trembled in his hand, but he read
+eagerly on.
+
+"My heart cries to you all the time. He is yours, David; forgive me. He
+is very beautiful. He is like you. Your sister held him in her arms, and
+I kissed her for love of you, but she did not know why. She did not
+guess the beautiful baby was yours--your very own. Your mother saw him,
+but she did not guess he was hers--her little grandson. I took him away
+quickly. They might have kept him if they knew. You will let me have him
+a little longer, won't you, David? When he is older, you will have to
+take him home and educate him, but now--now--he is all I have of you.
+Soon the terrible ocean will be between us again.
+
+"It will be just the same in your home now as if I had never come. I did
+not say I was your wife--for you had not--and I would not tell them. I
+want you to know this, so nothing will be changed by me. In London,
+before I knew, when I thought you were there, when I did not understand,
+I wrote my name in the hotel book, but in Queensderry something in my
+heart stopped me and I only wrote my old name, Cassandra Merlin. I must
+have been beginning to understand."
+
+David paused and dashed the tears from his eyes. "Poor little heart!
+Poor little heart!" he cried. He paced the room, then tried to read
+again. The letters, blurred by his tears, seemed to dance about and run
+together.
+
+"Now I see it all clearly, David, and, after a little, God will help me
+to live on the happiness you brought me in our sweet year together.
+There was happiness for a lifetime in that year. Comfort your heart with
+that thought when you think of me, and do not be too sad.
+
+"Oh, David! I did not know that to save me from marrying Frale and
+living a life worse than death you sacrificed yourself. But you did not
+need to do it. After knowing you and after doing what he did to you, I
+never could have married him. I only knew you came to me and saved me
+from the terrible life I might have led, and I took you as from God. I
+have seen the beautiful lady you should have married, and I don't know
+what to do, nor how to give you back to yourself. I suppose there may be
+a way, but we have made our vows to each other before God, and we must
+do no sin. My heart is heavy. I would give you all, all, but I can't
+take back the love I gave you. I could die to set you free again, for in
+that way I could keep the blessed love which is part of my soul, in
+heaven with me, only for our little son. My life is his now, too, and I
+have no right to die, not yet, even to set you free.
+
+"Oh, David, David! This must be the shadow I saw clouding our long path
+of light. In some terrible way it has been laid on me to do you a wrong
+in the eyes of your family and all your world. Your mother told me you
+had work to do for your country, great and glorious work. I believe it,
+and you must do it and not let an ignorant mountain girl stand in your
+way.
+
+"Oh! I can't think it out to-night. When I try to see a way, I can't.
+The visions are lost to my eyes, and they may never come again. The
+windows of my soul are clouded, and the clear seeing is gone, because,
+David, I know it is myself that comes between. I can only cry to you now
+to forgive me. Don't let me mar your great, good life. Don't try to come
+back to me. Stay on and live your life and do your work, and I will keep
+your little son safe for you, and teach him to love you and call you
+father, and he shall be called David. He has no name yet; I was waiting
+for you. It will only be a little while before he will need you, then
+you may take him. Your mother and sister will love him. He will be a
+great boy full of laughter and light, like you, David, and then your
+mountain girl wife will be gone and your sacrifice at an end, and your
+reward will come at last.
+
+"I will go back and stay quietly where I belong. Don't send me any more
+money. I have enough to take me home, and I can earn all we need after
+that. Earning will help me by giving me something to do for our baby and
+so for you. Sometimes I will send you word that all is well with him,
+but do not write to me any more. It will be easier for you so, and
+don't let your heart be too much troubled for me, David. It will
+interfere with your power and usefulness in your own world. Grieving is
+like fire set to a great tree. It burns the heart out of it first, and
+leaves the rest. A man must not be like that. With a woman it is
+different. Be glad that you did save me and brought me all these months
+of sweet, sweet happiness. I will live on the remembrance.
+
+"People have to bear the separation of death, and we will call the ocean
+that divides us Death, for our two worlds are divided by it. I sail
+to-morrow. You took me into your heart to save me, and now, David my
+love, I go out of your heart to save you, and give you back to your own
+life. Some day the cords that bind us to each other, the cords our vows
+have made, will part and set you free. Good-by, good-by, David my heart,
+David my love, David, David, good-by.
+                              "CASSANDRA MERLIN."
+
+
+For a long instant David sat with the letter crushed in his hand, then
+suddenly awoke to energetic action.
+
+"To-day? When does the boat leave? Good God! there may be time." He rang
+for a servant and began tossing his clothing together. "Curses on me for
+a cad--a boor--a lout--. Why did I leave my mail until this morning and
+then oversleep! Clark," he said, as the man appeared, "tell Hicks to
+bring the machine around immediately, then come for my bag."
+
+"Beg pardon, but the machine's out of order, my lord, and her ladyship's
+just going out in the carriage."
+
+"Why is it out of order? Hicks is a fool. Ask Lady Thryng to wait. No,
+pack my bag and send my boxes on after me as they are. I'll speak to her
+myself."
+
+He threw off his jacket, thrust his cap in his pocket, and dashed away,
+pulling on his coat as he went, holding the crushed pages of the letter
+in his hand. He overtook his mother as she was walking down the terrace.
+
+"Mother, wait," he cried, "I'm going with you. Where's Laura?"
+
+"She was coming. I can't think what is delaying her."
+
+David hurried on to the carriage. "Get in, mother, I'll take her place.
+Get in, get in. We must be off."
+
+"David, are you out of your head?"
+
+"Yes, mother. Drive on, drive on. I must catch the first train for
+Liverpool--I may catch it. Put the horses through, John. Make them
+sweat," he said, leaning out of the carriage window.
+
+"Explain yourself, David. Are you in trouble?"
+
+"Yes, mother. Wait a little."
+
+She looked at her son and saw his mouth set, his eyes stern and
+anguished, and she placed her hand gently on his as they were being
+whirled away. "Your bags are not in, David, if you are going a journey."
+
+"Clark will follow with them, and I can wait in Liverpool, if I can only
+catch this boat."
+
+"David, explain. If you can't, then let me read this," she pleaded,
+touching the letter in his hand; but he clutched it the tighter.
+
+"No one may read this, not even you." He pressed the crumpled sheets to
+his lips, then folded them carefully away. "It's just that I've been a
+cad--a fiendish cad and an idiot in one. I thought myself a man of high
+ideals-- My God, I am a cad!"
+
+"David, you sacrificed yourself to ideals, but you are still a boy and
+have much to learn. When men try to set new laws for themselves and get
+out of the ordinary, they are more than apt to make fools of themselves,
+and may do positive harm. What is it now?"
+
+"Can't you get over the ground any faster, John?" he cried, thrusting
+his head again out of the window. "These horses are overfed and lazy,
+like all the English people. Why was the machine out of order? Hicks is
+a fool--I say!" He put his hand inside his collar and pulled and worked
+it loose. "We are all hidebound here. Even our clothes choke us."
+
+"David, tell me the truth."
+
+"I am telling you the truth. I am a cad, I say. And you--you, too, are a
+part of the system that makes cads of us all."
+
+"I am your mother, David," said Lady Thryng, reprovingly.
+
+"You have reason to be proud of your son! Oh! curse me! I won't be more
+of a cad than I am now by laying the blame on you. I could have helped
+it, but you couldn't. We are born and bred that way, over here. The
+petty lines of distinction our ancestors drew for us,--we bow down and
+worship them, and say God drew them. Over here a man hides the sun with
+his own hand and then cries out, 'Where is it?'"
+
+"I would comfort you if I could, but this sounds very much like ranting.
+I thought you had outlived that sort of thing, my son."
+
+"Thank God, no. I've been very hard pressed of late, but I've not
+outlived it."
+
+"You will tell me this trouble--now--before you leave me? You must, dear
+boy." He took the hand she put out to him, and held it in silence; then,
+incoherently, in a voice humbled and low,--almost lost in the rumbling
+of the carriage,--he told her. It was a revelation of the soul, and as
+the mother listened she too suffered and wept, but did not relent.
+
+Cassandra's cry, "I am a strangah!" sounded in her ears, but her sorrow
+was for her son. Yes, she was a stranger, and had wisely taken herself
+back to her own place; what else could she do? Was it not in the nature
+of a Providence that David had been delayed until after her departure?
+The duty now devolved upon herself to comfort him without further
+reproof, but nevertheless to make him see and do his duty in the
+position he had been called to fill.
+
+"Of course she has charm, David, and evidently good sense as well."
+
+"How do you mean?"
+
+"To perceive the inevitable and return without fuss or complaint to her
+own station in life."
+
+For an instant he sat stunned, and ere he could give utterance to his
+rage, she resumed, "Naturally, marriage now, in your own class can't be;
+you'll simply have to live as a bachelor." David groaned. "Why, my son,
+many do, of their own choice, and you have managed to be happy during
+this year."
+
+He glanced at his watch. "Eleven o'clock,--can't--"
+
+"There's no use urging the horses so; we can't make it."
+
+"We may, mother, we may." He half rose as if he would leap from the
+vehicle. "I could go faster on foot. There's a quarter of an hour yet
+before the Liverpool express. John, can't we get on faster than this?"
+
+"No, my lord. One of the 'orses has picked up a stone. If you'll 'old
+'em I'll dig it out in 'alf a minute, my lord."
+
+David sprang out and took the reins. "Where's the footman?" he asked
+testily.
+
+"You left 'im behind, my lord. He was 'elping Lady Laura cut roses."
+
+"David, this is useless. The last train from London went through an hour
+ago and we haven't ten minutes for the next. Order him to return and
+we'll consider calmly."
+
+David laughed bitterly, and only sprang into the coach and shut the door
+with a crash. "Drive on, John," he shouted through the window, and again
+they were off at a mad gallop.
+
+His mother turned and looked at him astounded. "Let me read what she has
+written you, my son," she implored, half frightened at his frenzy.
+
+"It's of no use for you to read it. We can't talk now, not rationally."
+
+"Then tell him not to drive so furiously, so we can hear each other."
+
+"I would avoid useless discussion, mother, but you force it." An instant
+he paused, and his teeth ground together and his jaw set rigidly, then
+he continued with a savage force that appalled her, throwing out short
+sentences like daggers. "Lord H---- brings home an American wife. His
+family are well pleased. She is every where received. Her father is a
+rich brewer. Her brother has turned out his millions from the business
+of pork packing. The stench from his establishment pollutes miles of
+country, but does not reach England--why? Because of the disinfectant
+process of transmuting their greasy American dollars into golden English
+sovereigns. There's justice."
+
+"Be reasonable, David. Their estates were involved to the last degree
+and those sovereigns saved the family. Without them they would have
+passed out of their possession utterly, and been divided among our rich
+tradespeople, and the family would have descended rapidly to the
+undergrades. It goes to show the value of birth, what is more, and how
+those Americans, who made a pretence long ago of scorning birth and
+title and casting it all off, are glad enough now to buy their way back
+again, if not for themselves, for their children. But, David, for a man
+to voluntarily degrade his family by marrying beneath him, with no such
+need as that of Lord H----, of ultimately by that very means lifting it
+up is--is--inexpressible--why--! In the case of Lord H---- there was a
+certain nobility in marrying beneath him."
+
+"Beneath him! For me, I married above me, over all of us, when I took my
+sweet, clean mountain girl. The nobility of Lord H---- is unique. Lady
+H---- made a poor bargain when she left the mingled stenches of brewing
+and butchering to step into the moral stench which depleted the
+Stonebreck estates."
+
+"You are not like my son, David. You are violent."
+
+"Your son has been a cad. Now he is a man, and must either be violent or
+weep." He looked away from her out at the flying hedgerows, then took up
+the fruitless discussion again, striving with more patience to arouse in
+his mother a sense of the utter worldliness of her stand. She met him at
+every point with the obtuse and age-long arguments of her class. When at
+last he cried out, "But what of my son, mother, my little son, and the
+heir to all this grandeur which means so much to you?" Her eyelids
+quivered and she looked down, merely saying, "His mother has offered you
+a solution to that difficulty which seems to me the only wise one. You
+say she proposes to keep him a year or two and then send him to us."
+
+"Ah, you are like steel, mother." David spoke pleadingly, "You thought
+him a beautiful child?"
+
+"I did, and a wholesome one, which goes to show that you may safely
+trust him with her for a time. Moreover, his mother has a right to him
+and the comfort she may find in him for a few years. You see I would be
+quite just to her. I do not accuse her of being designing in marrying
+you. No doubt it was quite your own fault. It is a position you two
+young people rushed into romantically and most foolishly, and you must
+both suffer the consequences. It is sad, but it must be regarded in the
+light of hard common sense, and my ungrateful task seems to be to place
+it in that light for both your sakes."
+
+Still David watched the hedgerows with averted face.
+
+"You are listening, David?"
+
+"Yes, mother, yes. Common sense you said."
+
+"Can't you see, that to bring her here, where she does not belong--where
+she never will be received as belonging, even though she is your
+wife--will only cause suffering to you both? Eventually
+misunderstandings will arise, then will come alienation and unhappiness.
+Then again, yours must be in a measure a public life, unless you mean to
+shirk responsibility. Has your country no claim on you?"
+
+"I have no thought of shirking my duty, and am prepared to think and act
+also--"
+
+"You wish it to be effective? Has it never occurred to you how your
+avenues will be cut off if you marry a wife beneath your class?"
+
+"What in God's name will my wife have to do with England's African
+policy? Damme--"
+
+"David!"
+
+"Mother--I beg your pardon--"
+
+"She may have everything to do with it. No man can stand alone and foist
+his ideas upon such a body of men, without backing. Instead of hampering
+yourself with an ignorant mountain girl from America, you should have
+allied yourself to a strong family of position here, if you would be a
+power in England. What sort of a Lady Thryng will your present wife
+make? What kind of a leader socially in your own class? You might better
+try to place a girl from the bogs of Ireland at the head of your table."
+
+Again David's rage surged through him in a hot wave, but he controlled
+himself. "You admitted Cassandra has both beauty and charm?"
+
+"Would my son have been attracted to her else? Nevertheless, what I say
+stands. As a help to you--"
+
+"You have done your duty, mother. I will say this for you--that for
+sophistry undiluted, a woman of the present day who stands where you do,
+can out-Greek the ancients. How is it we see so differently? Is it that
+I am like my father? How did he see things?"
+
+"Your father was as much a nobleman as your uncle. Only by the accident
+of birth was he differently placed. Did I never tell you that but for
+his death he would have been created bishop of his diocese? So you
+see--"
+
+"I see. By dying he just escaped a bishopric. Did it make a difference
+in his reception up above--do you think?"
+
+"Oh, David, David!"
+
+"I'm sorry mother--never mind. We're nearly there and I have something I
+must say to you before I leave you to end this discussion forever. There
+are two kinds of men in this world,--one sort is made by his
+circumstances, and the other makes his circumstances. You would respect
+your son more if he belonged to the first variety, but I tell you no. I
+will make my own conditions. Before all else, I am a man. My lordship
+was thrust upon me. Don't interrupt, I beg. I know all you would say,
+but you do not know all I would say-- My birth gave it to me certainly,
+but a cruel and bloody war was the means by which it came to me. Very
+well. I will take it and the responsibility which it entails; but the
+cruelty that brought me my title is ended and in no form shall it be
+continued, social or otherwise. I hold to the rights of my manhood. I
+will bring to England whom I please as my wife, and my world shall
+recognize her, and you will receive her because I bring her, and because
+she will stand head and soul above any one you have here to propose for
+me. Here we are, mother dear. One kiss? Thank you, thank you. Postpone
+Laura's coming out until--I return--which will be--when--you know."
+
+He leaped from the carriage before it had time to halt, and ran, but
+alas! baffled and enraged at his ill success, he stood on the platform
+and watched the train pull out. It was only a slow local puffing away
+there.
+
+"Liverpool express left five minutes ago, my lord," said the guard.
+
+His mother leaned out, watching him with sad, yet eager eyes, satisfied
+that it should be so. He might return now, and there was by no means an
+end to her opposition.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+IN WHICH CASSANDRA BRINGS THE HEIR OF DANESHEAD CASTLE BACK TO HER
+HILLTOP, AND THE SHADOW LIFTS
+
+
+"Cassandry Merlin, whar did you drap from?" cried the Widow Farwell, as
+she looked up from the supper she was preparing at the great fireplace,
+and saw her daughter in the doorway with her baby. Her old face radiated
+light and warmth and love as she took them both in her arms. "Whar's
+David?"
+
+Cassandra smiled wearily, returning her mother's kiss and yielding her
+the baby. "You'll have to be satisfied with me and little son, mother.
+David was still in Africa, so I came home again." She spoke as if a trip
+to England were a casual little matter, and this was all the explanation
+she gave that night. "I got the hotel carriage to bring me up from the
+station."
+
+The mother, with quaint simplicity, accepted it, asking no troublesome
+questions. If David was not there, why should not her daughter return.
+After their supper together, in the warm, starlit evening, each member
+of the family carrying something for the traveller's comfort, they all
+climbed up to Cassandra's cabin, and the old life began as if it had
+suffered no interruption. Cassandra so filled the pauses with questions
+of all that had happened during her absence that it was only after her
+mother was in bed and dropping off to sleep she remembered questions of
+her own that had been unasked, or left unanswered.
+
+The next day Cassandra pleaded weariness and stayed in her cabin,
+sending Martha down for her necessary supplies, and quietly occupying
+herself with setting her simple home in its accustomed order. The day
+after, she spent overlooking the little farm with Cotton, and hearing
+from him all about the animals. The cows, two little calves, Frale's
+colt, and her own filly, and how "some ol' houn' dog" had got into the
+sheep-pen and killed the mother sheep, and "Marthy" had brought the twin
+lambs up by hand. And while Cassandra busied herself thus, the widow
+kept charge of the little grandson, warming her heart with his baby
+ways, petting him and solacing herself for his long absence.
+
+Thus the first days were lived through, and no further explanation made,
+for something held Cassandra silent in a strange waiting suspense. It
+was not hope, for she felt that she had taken a stand which was
+conclusive, and there was nothing more for which to hope. What else
+could she do, and what could David do? The conditions were made for
+them; each must bide in his own world, and she had named the ocean which
+divided them, "Death."
+
+At night she did not weep, for weeping made her ill, and she must
+conserve her strength for her little son, so she lay staring out at the
+stars. Sometimes she found herself holding her breath and
+listening,--half lifting her head from her pillow,--but listening for
+what? Then she would lean over her baby's cradle, and hear his soft
+breathing, trying to make herself think she was listening for that and
+not for David's step. Then she would lie back and try again to sleep,
+and her heart would cry to God to give her peace, and let her rest. So
+the long nights passed, tearlessly and sleeplessly.
+
+On the boat she had slept, lulled by its rocking and swaying, but here
+in her home--in her accustomed routine--sleep had fled, and old thoughts
+and dreams came like the dead to haunt her. The paleness which had come
+upon her in London, and which the sea breeze had supplanted with
+fleeting roses, returned, and she moved about looking as if only her
+wraith had come back to its old haunts.
+
+On the third day after Cassandra's return, David found himself climbing
+the laurel path a far different man from the one who, two years before,
+had slowly and wearily toiled up to the little house of logs which was
+to be his shelter. With strong, free step and heart uplifted and glad,
+he now climbed that winding path. He had conquered the ills of his body,
+and his spirit had lived and loved, and he had learned to know happiness
+from its counterfeit. He had gone out and seen men chasing phantoms and
+shadows thinking therein to find joy--joy--the need of the world--one in
+a coronet, one in a crown, and the beggar in a golden sovereign--while
+he--he had found it in his own heart and in Cassandra's eyes.
+
+David had passed the Fall Place, seeing no one; for the widow had ridden
+over to spend the day with Sally Carew, her niece was in the
+spring-house skimming cream, while Cotton was dawdling in the corn patch
+whistling and pulling the ripened ears from the stalks. A cool breeze
+had dispelled the heat of the September afternoon, and the hills were
+already beginning to don their gorgeous apparel after the summer's
+drouth; their wonderful beauty struck him anew and steeped his senses
+with their charm.
+
+If only all was well with his wife--his wife and his little son! His
+heart beat so madly as he neared the thicket of laurel where once he had
+stood to watch her moving about his cabin, that he was forced to pause;
+and again he saw her, standing in her homespun dress, strongly relieved
+against the whiteness of the canvas room beyond--but this time not
+alone-- Ah, not alone! Holding his little son in her arms, her body
+swaying with rhythmic motion, lulling him to drowsiness and sleep, she
+stooped to lay him in the rude little cradle box.
+
+David trembled as he watched, and dashed the tears from his eyes, but
+could not move to break too soon this breathless, poignant spell of
+gladness. Suddenly he could wait no longer, but his feet clung to the
+earth when he would move, and his mouth went dry. Ah, could he never
+reach her? He stood holding out his arms, when, oh, wonder of wonders!
+she raised herself and stood as if listening, then, moving swiftly,
+walked from the cabin and came to him as if she had heard him call,
+although he had made no sound--her arms outstretched to him as were his
+to her.
+
+She did not cry out, but with parted lips and radiant, glowing face,
+fled to him and was clasped to his heart. She could feel its beating
+against her breast, and his silence spoke to her through his eyes, which
+saw not her face but her soul; his lips brought the roses to her cheeks
+as the sea breezes had done--roses that came and fled and came
+again--until at last it was Cassandra who spoke first.
+
+"I want you to see him, David."
+
+"Yes, yes, my wife," was all he said, his eyes on hers, but he did not
+move.
+
+"I want you to see our little son, David." A strange pang shot through
+his heart. Still he stood, holding her and marvelling at himself. What!
+Was it that this young usurper had stolen into his place?
+
+"Love is selfish, dear. Let me recover from one joy before you overwhelm
+me with another. First, I must have my own, and know that it is all
+mine."
+
+"I don't understand, David. I can't wait. Oh! David--David!"
+
+"You turn my name to music with your tones lingering over it. I had
+forgotten how sweet it was."
+
+"But I don't understand, David. Come and see him." And as she drew him
+forward, they moved as one being, not two.
+
+"No, you don't understand, thank God. But I will teach you something you
+never knew. Love is not only blind, dearest; he is a greedy, selfish
+little god."
+
+Then she laughed happily, holding him at arm's-length and looking in his
+eyes. "I know it. I know it. I found it out all by myself. Didn't I tell
+you in my letter? Oh, David, so was I!" She drew him to her again and
+nestled her face in his bosom. "I was jealous of our little son. I
+wanted you, David-- Oh! I wanted you." At last came the tears, the
+blessed human tears which she had held back so long. But now they did no
+harm except to drench her husband's gray tie, and they brought a lovely
+flush to her face. "I can't stop, David; I can't stop. I haven't cried
+for so long, and now I can't stop."
+
+"Sweetheart, don't try to stop. Cry it all out. Wash the stains from me
+of the cruel old world where I have been; cleanse me so that I may see
+as clearly as you see; but you would have to cry forever to do that,
+wouldn't you, sweet? And soon you must laugh again."
+
+He clasped and comforted her as she was used to comfort her baby,
+soothing her and drying her eyes with his own handkerchief. "Yours isn't
+large enough for such a flood, is it, sweet?"
+
+"No, a--a--and I--I can-can't find mine," she sobbed "I--I--left it
+tucked under baby's chin--and now I've spoiled your pretty gray tie."
+
+"Bless you! They are my tears, and it is my tie--"
+
+"David! He is crying--hark!"
+
+"Helping his mother, is he? Come then, his father will comfort him."
+
+"Hear him. Isn't it a sweet little cry, David?" She smiled at him from
+under tear-wet lashes.
+
+"Why, bless you again! Yours was a sweet little cry." They went in, and
+he bent over the odd little cradle and lifted the child tenderly from
+its soft nest. The wailing ceased, and the fatherhood awoke in him and
+laughed with joy as he held the warm little body to his heart, wherein
+now, he knew, lay the key of life--the complete and rounded love, God's
+gift to man, to be cherished when found, and fought for and held in the
+holy of holies of his own soul.
+
+"He isn't afraid, you see, David. How he stares at you! Does he feel it
+in his own little heart that you are his father? I have whispered it to
+him a thousand, thousand times. Sit here with him, David, and I'll make
+you some tea." She busied herself with the tea things--the old life
+beginning anew--with a new interest.
+
+"I always make it just as you taught me that first day when I came up
+here so choked with trouble I couldn't speak. You always brought me
+good, David."
+
+He saw as he watched her that some new and subtile charm had been added
+to her personality. Was it motherhood that had given it to her, or the
+long year of patient waiting and trusting; or had she passed through
+depths of which he as yet knew nothing, to cause this evanescent breath
+of pathos? He felt and knew it was all of these. What must she have
+endured as she wrote that letter!
+
+
+David fell easily and happily into his life on the mountain again--not
+the English lord, but the vital, human being, the man in splendid
+possession of himself and his impulses, holding sacred his rights as a
+man, not to be coerced by custom or bound by any chains save those he
+himself had forged to bind his heart before God.
+
+For a time he would not allow himself to think of the future,
+preferring to live thus with the world completely shut away. Buoyantly,
+jubilantly, he tramped the hills and visited the homes where he had been
+wont to bring help and often comforts, and found himself therein lauded
+and idolized as few of his station ever are.
+
+Again he was "Doctah Thryng," and the love that accompanied the title,
+in the hearts of those mountain people, was regal. He enjoyed his little
+farm, and the gathering of his first "crap," counting his bundles of
+fodder and his bushels of corn. Sometimes he rode with Cassandra,
+visiting the old haunts; at such times David insisted that the boy be
+left with the grandmother or that Martha should come up to mind him,
+that he might have his wife free and quite to himself as in their first
+days.
+
+But all this time, although silent about it, Cassandra kept in her heart
+the thought of David's real state. She felt he was playing a part to
+bring her joy, and was grateful, but she knew he must return to his own
+world and live his own life. Therefore she existed in a state of
+breathless suspense, to enjoy these moments to the fullest,--not to miss
+or mar an instant of the blessed time while it lasted.
+
+The days were flying--flying--so rapidly she dared not think, and here
+was splendid October trailing her wonderful draperies over the hills
+like a lavish princess. When would David speak? But perhaps he was
+waiting for her to speak first? If so, how long ought she to remain
+silent? Often he caught the wistful look in her eyes, and half divined
+the meaning.
+
+One day when they had wandered up her father's path, and the wind came
+in warm, soft gusts, sweeping over the miles of splendor from the sea,
+David drew her to him, determined to win from her a full expression.
+
+"What is it, Cassandra? Open your heart. Don't shut anything away from
+me. What have you been dreaming lately?"
+
+"You have never said a word of fault with me yet, David--for what I did,
+going away off there and not waiting quietly until you could come back,
+as you wrote me to do."
+
+"That was the bravest, finest thing you ever did--but one." He was
+thinking of her renunciation.
+
+"You are so good to forgive me, David. In one way it was better that I
+went, because it made me understand as I never could have done
+otherwise. You would never have told me, but now I know."
+
+"Unfold a little of this wisdom, so I may judge of its value."
+
+"Can you, David? I'm afraid not. You have a way of bewildering me, so I
+can't see the rights and wrongs of things myself. But there! It is just
+part of the difference. Why, even the nursemaids over there, and Hetty
+Giles, the landlady's daughter, are wiser than I. I came to see it every
+instant, the difference between you and me--between our two worlds.
+David, how did you ever dare marry me?"
+
+He only laughed happily and kissed her. "Tell it all," he said tenderly.
+
+"I felt it first when I went to the town house. It was hard to find the
+address. I only had Mr. Stretton's." David set his teeth grimly in anger
+at himself at giving her only his lawyer's address, in stupid fear lest
+her letters betray him to his mother and sister.
+
+"Now, do not hide one thing from me--not one," he said sternly, and she
+continued, with a conscientious fear of disobedience, to open her heart.
+
+"I saw by the look in the old man's eyes that I had not done the right
+thing, coming in that way with a baby in my arms, like a beggar. I saw
+he was very curious, and I was that proud I didn't know what to tell him
+I had come for, when I found you were not there, so when he said artists
+often came to see the gallery, I said I had come to see the gallery; and
+David, I didn't even know what a gallery was. I thought it was a high
+piazza around a house, and I found it was a great room full of pictures.
+I was that ignorant.
+
+"I felt like I was some wild creature that had got lost in that splendid
+palace and didn't know where to run to get away; and they all fixed
+their eyes on me as if they were saying: 'How does she dare come here?
+She isn't one of us!' and one was a boy who looked like you. The old man
+kept saying how like it was to the new Lord Thryng, and it made me cold
+to hear it,--so cold that after I had escaped from there and was out in
+the sun, my teeth chattered."
+
+David sat silent and humbled; at last he said: "Go on, Cassandra. Don't
+cover up anything."
+
+"When I got back to the hotel, everything seemed so splendid and stuffy
+and horrid--and every way I turned it seemed as if those dead ancestors
+of yours were there staring at me still; and I thought what right had
+they over the living that they dared stand between you and me; and I was
+angry." She stirred in his arms, and pressed closer to him.
+"David--forgive me--I can't tell it over--it hurts me."
+
+"Go on," he said hoarsely.
+
+"The old man told me what was expected of you because of them--how your
+mother wished you to marry a great lady--and I knew they could never
+have heard of me--and I forgot to eat my dinner and stayed in my room
+and fought and fought with myself--I'm sorry I felt that way, David.
+Don't mind. I understand now." She put up her hand and touched his
+cheek, and he took it in his and kissed it. Then she laughed a sad
+little laugh.
+
+"Remember that funny little old silver teapot. Mother brought it to me
+before I left, and I took it with me! She is so proud of our family,
+although she has only that poor little pot to show for it, with its nose
+all melted off to make silver bullets sure to kill. Did you know it was
+one of those bullets Frale tried to kill you with? Oh, David, David!"
+
+"And yet your mother is right, dear. That little wrecked bit of silver
+helps to interpret you--indicates your ancestors--how you come to be
+you--just as you are. How could I ever have loved you, if you had been
+different from what you are?"
+
+For a long moment she lay still--scarcely breathing--then she lifted her
+head and looked in his eyes. One of her silences was on her, and while
+her lips trembled as if to speak, she said no word. He tried to draw her
+to him again, but she held him off.
+
+"Then tell me what it is," he said gently. But she only shook her head
+and rose to walk away from him. He did not try to call her back to him,
+respecting her silence, and she moved on up the path with long, swift
+steps.
+
+When she returned, he held out his arms to her, but she stood before him
+looking down into his eyes, "I couldn't tell you sitting there with
+your arms around me, David, and what I have to say must be said now; I
+may never be strong enough to say it another time, and it must be said."
+
+Then she told him all that had occurred while she was in Queensderry,
+from the moment she came, going down into her heart and revealing the
+hidden thoughts never before expressed even to herself, while he gazed
+back into her eyes fascinated by her spiritual beauty which was her
+power.
+
+She told of the chatter of Hetty Giles, and how she had pointed out the
+beautiful lady his mother wished him to marry--and how slowly everything
+had dawned upon her--the real differences. Of the guests she had seen on
+the Daneshead terrace and how they wore such lovely dresses and moved so
+easily and laughed and talked all at once, as if they were used to it
+all, and perhaps wore such charming things for every day--the wonderful
+colors and wide, beautiful hats with plumes--and how even the servants
+wore pretty clothes and went about as if they all knew how to do things,
+passing cups and plates.
+
+Then she told of her talk with his mother and how carefully she had
+guarded her tongue lest a word escape her he would rather not have had
+her speak. "I had wronged you in not telling you you had a son, and I
+meant to leave him with your mother so he could be raised right." She
+paused, and put her hand to her throat, then went bravely on. "Your
+mother was kind--she gave me wine--she brought it to me herself. I knew
+what I ought to do, but I wasn't strong enough. It seemed as if
+something here in my breast was bleeding, and my baby would die if I did
+it. When I came out, he was in your sister's arms and had been crying,
+and it seemed as if all I had planned had happened, and I took him and
+carried him away quickly. I couldn't go fast enough, and I left the inn
+that night. The world seemed all like _Vanity Fair_."
+
+David rose and stood before her looking down into her eyes. He could not
+control his voice in speaking, and she felt his hands quiver as they
+rested on her shoulders. "When did you read that book, Cassandra? Where
+did you find it?" he asked, in dismay.
+
+"Among your books in the cabin. I felt at first that it must be a kind
+of a disgrace to be a lord--as if every one who had a title or education
+must be mean and low, and all the rest of the world over there must be
+fools; but because of you, David, I knew better than to believe that.
+Your mother is not like those women, either. She was kind and beautiful,
+and--I--loved her, but all the more I saw the difference. But now you
+have come to me and made me strong, I can do it. Everything has grown
+clear to me again, and I see how you gave yourself to me--to save
+me--when you did not dream of what was to be for you in the future; and
+out of your giving has come the--little son, and he is yours. Wait!
+Don't take me in your arms." She placed her hands on his breast and held
+him from her.
+
+"So it was just now--when you spoke as if people would understand me
+better because of that little silver pot, showing I had somewhere in the
+past a name and a family like theirs over there--I thought of 'Vanity
+Fair,' and I hated it. I wish you had never seen it. There is, nor has
+been, nothing on earth to make me possible for you, now--your
+inheritance has come to you. I have a pride, too, David, a different
+kind of pride from theirs. You loved me first, I know, as I was--just
+me. It was a foolish love for you to have, David dear,--but I know it is
+true; you could not have given yourself to save me else, and I like to
+keep that thought of you in my heart, big and noble and true--that you
+did love just me." She faltered, but still held him from her. "Do you
+think I would not do all I can to keep from spoiling your life over
+there?"
+
+"Stop, stop. It is enough," he cried. In spite of herself, he took her
+hands in his and drew her to him in penitent tenderness. "I'm no great
+lord with wide distances between me and your mountain world here,
+Cassandra; never think it. I'm tremendously near to the soul of things,
+and the man of the wilderness is strong in me. One thing you have not
+touched upon. Tell me, what did Frale say or do to you to so trouble you
+and send you off?"
+
+She stirred in his arms and waited, then murmured, "He pestered me."
+
+"Explain. Did he come often?"
+
+"Oh, no. He--I--he came one evening up to our cabin, and--I sent him off
+and started next day."
+
+"But explain, dearest. How did he act? What was it?"
+
+She was silent, but drew her husband's head down and hid her face in his
+neck. "There! Never mind, love. You needn't tell me if you don't wish."
+
+"He kissed me and held me in his arms like they were iron bands--and I
+hated it. He said you had gone away never to come back, and that the
+whole mountain side knew it; and that he had a right to come and claim
+my promise to him. Oh, David, David, this is the last. I have kept
+nothing back from you now, nothing. My heart cried out for you--like I
+heard you call--and I went--to--to prove to them all that word was a
+lie. I knew nothing they said here could touch you, but I couldn't bear
+that the meanest hound living should dare think wrong of you. Seems like
+I would have done it if I had had to crawl on my knees and swim the
+ocean."
+
+"My fingers tingle to grasp the throat of that young man. I fought him
+for you once, and if it hadn't been for a rolling stone under my foot,
+it would have been death for one of us. As it was, I won--with you to
+save me--bless you."
+
+"But now, David--"
+
+"Ah, but now--what? Are you happy?"
+
+"That isn't what I mean. You have your future--"
+
+"I have my now. It is all we ever have. The past is gone, and lives only
+in our memories, and the future exists only in anticipation; but
+now--now is all we have or can have. Live in it and love in it and be
+happy."
+
+"But we must be wise. We've got to face it sometime. Let--me help
+you--now while I have the strength," she pleaded earnestly.
+
+But David only laughed out joyously, and looked at his wife until she
+turned her face away from him. "Look at me," he cried. "Dear, troubled
+eyes. Tears? Tears in them? Love, you have kept nothing back this time,
+and now it is my turn, but I shall keep something back from you. I'm not
+going to reprove your idolatry by turning iconoclast and throwing your
+miserable old idol down from his pedestal all at once. I tell you what
+it is, though, if I could feel that I was worthy of your smallest
+finger--that I deserved only one of those big
+tears--there--there--there! Listen, dearest, I'll come to the point.
+
+"Who is it now, making so much of the estimates of the world? Somehow
+our viewpoints have got mixed. Sacrifice myself? Why, Cassandra, if I
+were to lose you out of my life, I should be a broken-hearted man. What
+did I sacrifice? Phantoms, vanities, and emptiness. Oh, Cassandra,
+Cassandra, my priestess of all that is good! Open your eyes, love, and
+see as I see--as you have taught me to see.
+
+"Much that we strive for and reckon as gain is really worthless. Why,
+sweet, I would far, far rather have you at your loom for the mother of
+my son, than Lady Clara at her piano. Your heritage of the great
+nature--the far-seeing--the trusting spirit--harboring no evil and
+construing all things to righteousness--going out into the world and
+finding among all the dust and dross, even of centuries, only the pure
+gold--the eye that sees into a man's soul, searching out the true and
+lovely qualities there and transmuting all the rest into pure metal--my
+own soul's alchemist--your heritage is the secret of power."
+
+"I don't believe I understand all you are saying, David. I only see that
+I have a very hard task before me, and now I know it is hard for you,
+too. Your mother made it clear to me that your true place is not living
+here as a doctor, even though you do so much good among us. I saw all at
+once that men are born each to fill a place in the world, and I think
+each man's measure should be the height of his own power and ability,
+nothing lower than that; and I see it--your power will be there, not
+here, where it must be limited by our limits and ignorance. That is your
+own country over there. It claims you--and I--I--there is the
+difference, you know. Think of your mother, and then of mine. David, I
+must not-- Oh, David! You must be unhampered--free--what can I--what can
+we do?"
+
+"We can just go down the mountain, sane beings, to our own little cabin,
+belonging to each other first of all." He took her hand and led her
+along the path, carpeted with pine needles and fallen leaves. "And then,
+when you are ready and willing--not before, love--we will go home--to my
+home--just like this, together."
+
+She caught her breath. "Listen, for I am seeing visions too, now, as
+you have taught me. I will lead you through those halls and show you to
+all those dead ancestors, and I will dress you in a silken gown, the
+color of the evening star we used to watch together from our cabin door,
+and around your neck I will hang the yellow pearls that have been worn
+by all those great ladies who stared at you from out their frames of
+gold the day you came alone and unrecognized, bearing your priceless
+gift in your arms. You shall wear the rich old lace of the family on
+your bosom, and the jewelled coronet on your head; and no one will see
+the silk and the jewels and the lace, for looking at you and at the gift
+you bring.
+
+"No, don't speak; it is my turn now to see the pictures. All will be
+yours, whatever you see and touch in those stately homes--for you will
+be the Lady Thryng, and, being the Lady Thryng, you will be no more
+wonderful or beautiful than you were when you climbed to me, following
+my flute notes, or when you bent between me and the fire preparing my
+supper, or when you were weaving at your loom, or when you came to me
+from our cabin door with your arms outstretched and the light of all the
+stars of heaven in your eyes."
+
+Then they were silent, a long silence, until, seated together in their
+cabin before a bright log fire, as she held their baby to her breast,
+Cassandra broke the stillness.
+
+"Now I see it better, David. As you came here and lived my life, and
+loved me just as I was--so to be truly one, I must go with you and live
+your life. I must not fail you there."
+
+"You have been tried as by fire and have not failed--nor are you the
+kind of woman who ever fails."
+
+Then she smiled up at him one of those rare and fleeting smiles that
+always touched David with poignant pleasure, and said: "I think I
+understand now. God meant us to feel this way, when he married us to
+each other."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mountain Girl, by Payne Erskine
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