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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c55b245 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51954 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51954) diff --git a/old/51954-0.txt b/old/51954-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 99b7626..0000000 --- a/old/51954-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3825 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Man: His Mark, by W. C. Morrow - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you’ll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: A Man: His Mark - A Romance, Second Edition - -Author: W. C. Morrow - -Illustrator: Elenore Plaisted Abbott - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51954] -Last Updated: November 16, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAN: HIS MARK *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -A MAN: HIS MARK - -Second Edition - -A Romance - -By W. C. Morrow - -Author of “Bohemian Paris of To-Day,” - -“The Ape, The Idiot, and Other People,” etc. - -With a Frontispiece by Elenore Plaisted Abbott - -Philadelphia and London J. B. Lippincott Company - -1899 - -[Illustration: 0006] - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - -A MAN: HIS MARK - - - - -CHAPTER ONE - -One forenoon, in the winter of the great storms that swept the Pacific -States, Adrian Wilder, a tall, slender, dark young man, stood in front -of his stone hut on a shoulder of Mt. Shasta and watched the assembling -of the elemental furies to do their savage work in the mountains. By all -the signs that he had learned he knew that mighty havoc was to be done; -but he did not foresee, nor did the oldest residents of that wilderness, -that this was the beginning of the most memorable winter of terrors -known to the white man’s history of the region. - -A strong sense of security and comfort filled him as, turning from the -gathering tumult about him, he studied the resistance of his hut. He, -with Dr. Malbone’s help, had built it from foundation to roof, using the -almost perfectly shaped blocks from the talus of the lofty perpendicular -basalt cliff at whose base he had built his nest that summer. With -nice discrimination he had selected the stones from the great heap that -stretched far down from one end of the shelf upon which he had built; -with mud he had fitted the stones to form floor, walls, arched roof, and -chimney. With boards and a window-sash borne by him up the mountain from -the road in the canon he had fashioned a window and doors. By the -same means--for the shelf was inaccessible to a wagon--he had brought -furniture, books, provisions, and fuel. - -The hut was strong and comfortable. - -Should snow fall to a great depth, he could easily shovel it down the -steep slope of the canon. Should an avalanche come,--that made him -wince. Still, he had made calculations on that account. By arching the -roof of his hut he had given it great strength. Better than that, should -an avalanche plunge over the edge of the cliff it must first gather -great speed and momentum. Stretching back mountainward from the top of -the cliff was a considerable space nearly level; an avalanche descending -from the higher reaches of the vast mountain would likely stop on this -level ground; but should it be so great and swift as to pass over, its -momentum would likely carry it safely over his hut, as the water of -a swiftly running stream, plunging over a ledge, leaves a dry space -between itself and the wall. - -But why think of the avalanche, with its crushing, burying snow, and, -far worse, its formidable bowlders that could annihilate any structure -made by men? It were better to think of the comfort and security of the -hut, and listen to the pleasant music of the little stream at the base -of the cliff. - -Better still was it to view the coming onslaught of the elements; to -note the marvellous coherency of the plan by which their destruction -was to be wrought; to observe how the splendid forces at play worked in -intelligent harmony to shape a malevolent design. To a man of Wilder’s -fine sensibilities, every fury unleashed in the gathering tumult seemed -to be possessed of superhuman malignancy of purpose and capability of -execution. The furious wind that came driving down the canon lying far -below him was the breath of the approaching multitude of storm-demons. -The giant trees on the slopes of the canon seemed to brace themselves -against the impending assault. Behind the wind, filling all the sky with -a gray blanket that darkened away to the source of the wind, was the -silent, stealthy snow-cloud, waiting to follow up and bury the havoc of -the wind, and finish the destruction that the wind would begin. - -From contemplation of this splendid spectacle the young man’s thoughts -turned to the dangers with which the storm threatened the mountain folk, -most of whom were engaged in the lumber traffic. Would any of these -be cut off from their homes? The rising rage of the wind indicated the -closing of all the roads with fallen trees: would that bring serious -hardships to any? In the summer, now past, the environs and flanks of -Mt. Shasta had sparkled with the life and gayety of hundreds of seekers -for health and pleasure,--the wealthy thronging a few fashionable -resorts, the poorer constrained to a closer touch with nature and the -spirit of the vast white mountain; but they now were gone, and the -splendid wilderness was left to the savage elements of winter. Had any -delayed their leaving and were at that moment in the drag-net of the -storm? - -Above all, there was Wilder’s one close friend in the mountains, Dr. -Malbone, who, like Wilder, had left the turmoil of city life to bury -himself in these wild fastnesses. They had known each other in San -Francisco years before. For five years the scattered people of the -mountains had employed the services of this skilful physician, and had -come to trust and honor him in the touching way that simple natures -trust and honor a commanding soul. It was Dr. Malbone who had so wisely -assisted in the building of the stone cabin at the foot of the cliff. It -was he who had explained the principle of the arch to the younger man, -and had shown him how to bend and place the supports of the growing -arch until the keystones were fitted in. It was he who had explained the -mysteries and uses of ties and buttresses. What would Dr. Malbone do -in the storm? What risks would he run, to what hardships be exposed, in -visiting his patients? Only a few miles separated these two friends, but -with such a storm as was hastening forward these few might as well be -thousands. - -Far up the canon Wilder heard the first fierce impact of the storm, for -the heavy crash of a falling tree sounded above the roaring of the wind. -By walking cautiously out to the extremity of a point that projected -from the shelf upon which his cabin stood, he had been accustomed to see -the snowy domes of Mt. Shasta. He knew that the storm sweeping down the -canon was but a feeble echo of the mightier tumult on the great father -of the north. In the hope that he might see something of this greater -battle, he now made his way to the extremity of the point, the wind -making his footing insecure; but only broad slaty clouds were visible -in that direction, transmitting the deep rumblings of the hurricane that -raged about Mt. Shasta’s higher slopes. - -It was while standing on the extremity of the point that the young man, -turning his glance to the deep canon beneath him, beheld a thing that -filled him with alarm. At the bottom of the canon, the Sacramento River, -here a turbulent mountain stream, and now a roaring torrent from the -earlier rains of the season, fumed and foamed as it raced with the wind -down the canon, hurrying on its way to its placid reaches in the plains -of California. The crooked road cut into the hither slope above the -high-water level of the river was not the main highway running north -and south through the mountains; it served the needs of a small local -traffic only. Wilder felt both surprise and apprehension to observe a -light wagon driven at a furious pace down the road, flying before the -storm. The incident would have been serious enough had the wagon, the -two horses, and the man and woman in the wagon belonged to the -mountains. The horses were of fine blood, and were unused and unsuited -to the alarming situation in which they now found themselves; the wagon -was too elegant and fragile for the mountains in winter; and even at the -distance that separated its occupants from Wilder, he could see that -they were filled with a terror such as the mountaineers never know. The -man was driving. Instead of proceeding with caution and keeping the -horses perfectly in hand, he was lashing them with the whip. A man used -to the mountains would never have been guilty of that folly. - -It was clear that they were heading down the canon for the main road, -still some miles away, by following which a little further they would -arrive at a station on the railway. Pieces of luggage in the rear end -of the wagon indicated that the travellers must have been spending the -summer or autumn in the remoter mountains, where some beautiful lakes -offered special charms to lovers of nature. Obviously their departure -had been delayed until the approach of the present storm drove them -hurriedly away, to be overtaken here in the canon. - -The roaring of the wind, the surge of the torrential river, and, worst -of all, the trees that were now crashing down, might have bewildered the -steadiest head not trained to the winter savagery of the wilderness. A -single tree across the road ahead might have meant disaster. Except for -the little stone hut of Adrian Wilder, placed purposely to secure as -great isolation as possible, and invisible from the road, there was no -shelter within miles of the spot. - -Presently the catastrophe came. The man, evidently seeing just ahead a -tree that was swinging to its fall, shouted to the horses, and laid on -the whip with added vigor, aiming to pass before the tree should fall. -The horses, wholly beside themselves with terror, reared, and then -plunged forward; but a moment had been lost. The horses and wagon passed -under the falling tree just in time to be crushed and buried under it. -The thunder of the fall echoed above the roar of the wind and the crash -of more distant falling trees. Nothing of the four living things that -had passed under the trap remained to Wilder’s view; they had been as -completely blotted out as though they had never filled a place in the -great aching world. - - - - -CHAPTER TWO - -FOR a moment the young man gazed in a stupid hope that the impossible -would happen,--that horses, wagon, man, and woman would emerge and -continue their mad flight down the canon. Then, so completely and -suddenly had all this life and activity Ceased, he wondered if the old -anguish that had driven him to the solitude of the mountains was now -tricking an abnormal imagination and weaving phantasms out of the -storm, to torture him a moment with breathless dread, and then suppress -themselves in the seeming of a tragic death. He remembered the warnings -of Dr. Malbone,--he must close his mind upon the past, must find in the -present only the light with which the world is filled, and must aim for -a sane and useful future. - -All this consumed but a moment. At once there burst upon him the awful -reality of the tragedy that had worked itself out so logically before -him. Humanity cried aloud within him. He sprang toward his hut, procured -an axe, and plunged down the slope of the talus, taking no heed of the -crude but surer trail that he had made from the road to his hut. He -slipped, fell, gathered himself up, fell again, but rapidly neared his -goal. - -He paused when he had reached the prostrate tree. Through the branches -his peering revealed a crushed, still heap. He pushed his head and -shoulders within and called. There was no response. - -He was at the rear of the wagon, and soon saw that it had been crushed -into an indeterminate mass of wood and iron. By pushing apart the more -yielding branches he brought to view the up-turned face of the man, -whose eyes, fixed in death, stared horribly from a head curiously and -grotesquely unshaped by the crush of the branches. The young man drew -back. He gasped for breath; he called upon his self-command to bear him -up in this strenuous time. He attacked the branches with his axe and -cleared them away. He half wondered that the eyes of the dead remained -open while they filled with particles of the bark riven by the axe. -Presently the body came within reach. With unspeakable repulsion the -young man placed his hand upon the stranger’s chest. There was no sign -of life. Indeed, he wondered that he had taken any trouble to ascertain -what he already knew. - -All this time the young man’s dread and terror, heightened by a sense of -utter loneliness in the presence of the dead, had driven the woman from -his mind. He had not yet seen the slightest trace of her. Did he have -the strength to behold a woman mangled as he had found the man... Still, -they should have decent interment; that was his duty as a man. And -further, it was necessary that their identity be ascertained, in order -that their friends might be informed. - -There was something else. Far back in the mountains, that wilder -wilderness of the Trinity range, and in the Siskiyou range, beyond -them, there were huge gray wolves, fierce and formidable. Now and then -a daring hunter had come out of those mountains with the skin of a great -gray wolf. There were old stories in the mountains that when the snow -had been deep and of prolonged duration, the gray wolves came down to -the tamer reaches inhabited by men, driven thither by hunger, for the -game upon which they subsisted had fled before the snow to find herbage. -The first to come out had been deer; soon after them had come the -wolves. As the deer fell before the rifles of the settlers, the wolves -had been driven to depredations on cattle and horses. There were ugly -tales, too, of men attacked by them. Out of all this had grown the -legend of a she-wolf that bore away children to her wolf-pack. - -After the wind now raging in the mountains would come the snow, silent, -deep, and implacable, to hide the work of the fallen tree below the -hut; but would it hide everything so well that the great gray wolves, -if driven by hunger from the remoter mountains, would fail to find what -hunger required them to seek? - -Wilder again attacked the tree with his axe,--another one lay dead -there, and she must be found; and there was heavy and horrifying work -ahead before the wind should cease and the snow begin to fall. At -first the young man resumed his attack with the furious energy that had -hitherto sustained his effort; but wisdom and caution came now to -his aid. He realized his feebleness of mind, spirit, and body. He had -devoted weeks of arduous work to the construction of his hut, and that -had lent a certain strength to his muscles and buoyancy to his soul. -Still, he was hardly more than a shadow of his old self, before his life -had been wrecked a year ago, and he had come into the mountains to make -a sturdy fight for self-mastery, for the regeneration of whatever shreds -of manhood were left within him, and for their patching and binding into -a fabric that should take its place in the ranks of men and work out a -man’s destiny. - -He went about his task with greater deliberation. He forced himself to -regard with calmness the distorted dead face upturned toward him. He -worked with that slowness which makes greater haste in achievement. This -brought a surer judgment and an economy of effort and time. He cut the -branches one by one and dragged them away. - -Soon the woman’s form appeared. In the extreme moment of the catastrophe -she had evidently sprung forward; this had brought her body, face -downward, between the horses; they, in being crushed under the trunk -of the tree, fallen across them, had nevertheless given her a certain -protection; the trunk, in breaking the backs of the horses, had missed -her head. As for the rest, she was so closely wedged between the horses -that it would be difficult to extricate her. - -This, however, was finally accomplished after great labor. The woman’s -face and clothing were blood-stained. So much worse did she look than -the man, that Wilder had a new struggle with himself to command courage -and strength for the task. He dragged her out to a clear place in the -road, and made the same perfunctory examination as in the case of -the man. While he was doing so the woman moved and gasped, and this -unexpected indication of life was the greatest shock of the tragedy. - -But it was one of those shocks which bring new life and strength. -Whereas, before he had been facing, without daring to contemplate, the -awful duty that he owed the dead, here now was the most precious thing -that the world then could have offered him,--here was Life, human life, -fleeting, perhaps, but infinitely precious. - -Wilder knelt beside the unconscious woman and with eager hands loosened -her clothing. He ran to the river, dipped his handkerchief in the water, -bathed her face, and removed some of the blood that covered it. He -chafed her hands and wrists, anxiously watching for the slightest -change. This came rapidly and progressed steadily. Removed from the -crushing pressure of the horses, her chest found its natural expansion, -and the rhythm of deep, slow breathing was established. Wilder had -learned numerous elementary things from Dr. Malbone; he saw that, -although the sufferer was so grievously hurt as to be unconscious, life -was yet strong within her. - -Time, then, was the precious element here. The sufferer must be taken -at once to the hut, and Dr. Malbone summoned. As for the dead man, there -was no present danger on his account, and the living demanded first -attention. - -A formidable task now confronted the young man. First, he had to bear -the unconscious woman up the steep trail to the hut; then he should -have to go many miles afoot to summon Dr. Malbone. The young man thought -nothing of the difficulties, but all of the doing. - -He was about to assail the task of getting the woman upon his shoulder, -when it occurred to him that her injuries might possibly be aggravated -by his manner of carrying her. He thereupon made a hasty examination. -The head was bleeding. The face bore no visible injuries. The bones of -the arms were whole. The left leg, however, was broken above the knee. -What the particular cause of the sufferer’s unconsciousness was he could -only guess. Perhaps it was merely a condition of temporary congestion, -produced by the fearful pressure to which she had been subjected between -the horses. A bleeding at the ears and nose seemed to the young man a -bad sign. - -Her condition having been thus approximately ascertained, the next -problem was to bear her to the hut in a way that should do the least -harm to her injuries. The first necessary thing to be done, therefore, -was to prevent any mobility in the region of the fracture. To this end -he burrowed again into the débris and brought forth some boards that -had served as the bottom of the wagon. Tearing strips from the woman’s -clothing, he bound the boards to her in a way to protect her from harm -in moving her. - -The strain upon his attentiveness sharpened and strengthened him in -every way. He formed the whole plan of his bearing her to the hut, -making her temporarily comfortable, summoning Dr. Malbone, and attending -to the details of nursing her back to health. - -To lift her gently upon a bowlder; to bend forward and adjust her -upon his back with infinite care; to proceed with her up the laborious -ascent,--all this was skilfully and expeditiously done. - -Serious difficulties began soon to embarrass him. He discovered that -she was above the average height and weight of women, heavier than he, -although he was the taller. He found that the numerous abrupt steps in -the trail laid a heavy tax upon his strength, and that some steep places -proved slippery under the burden that he bore. In addition, the muscles -of his arms strained and cramped; and long before he had reached the -shelf upon which his hut was perched he fell to his knees a number of -times from exhaustion. But the end came at last when he staggered into -his hut, dragged a cover from his bed to the floor, and gently laid his -burden upon it. - - - - -CHAPTER THREE - -DURING all this time the fury of the storm had not abated in the least. -That, indeed, had been one of the worst obstacles with which he had -contended in mounting the steep to his hut. Immediately upon laying his -charge on the floor he had begun to prepare his bed for the guest, -but weakness from exhaustion overcame him. He reeled; a red blindness -assailed him; and, in spite of a fierce effort to maintain command of -his strength and faculties, he found himself plunging headlong upon his -bed. - -A moan recalled him to consciousness, and it was not until later that he -realized the distressing length of time that he had lain unconscious. -He remembered that when he fell he was very warm from the exertion of -ascending the slope, and that when he awoke he was excessively cold. -Furthermore, twilight had come. - -Dismayed over the loss of time, he proceeded at once to make his charge -comfortable. He prepared his bed for her and placed her upon it. She was -still unconscious, but he saw that she was rallying. - -He suddenly realized that it was now impossible for him to summon Dr. -Mal-bone, for the fury of the storm had been steadily increasing, and -the crash of falling trees still sounded above the roaring of the wind. -It would be worse than foolhardy for him to brave the storm and the -darkness. At any moment she might recover consciousness and find herself -alone and suffering in this strange place; and a whole night and day -would hardly have been sufficient for him to fetch the surgeon, had that -been a physical possibility. So the young man realized that he alone, -with no training in the surgeon’s and physician’s art, must take this -woman’s life in his hands, and for a long time to come be her physician -and nurse, cook and housekeeper, mother and confidant, father and -protector. - -That realization was sufficiently cruel and taxing, but the ordeal that -now confronted him was the most trying of all. He had not yet given any -attention to the appearance of his charge, further than to ascertain to -what extent she was hurt. When he now lighted a candle and held it to -her face, he saw that she was a young and handsome woman. - -He noted the high-bred patrician face through the grime, the abundant -dark-brown hair, the black brows but slightly arched and nearly meeting -between the eyes, the fine nose, the habitual, half-hidden curve of scorn -at the corners of her mouth, and the firm, strong, elegantly moulded -chin. - -It was evident that the man and the woman were father and daughter, for -the resemblance between the distorted dead face and the grimy living one -was strong; the manifest difference in ages finished the conclusion. - -Was she fatally hurt? What if she should die? What effect would the -knowledge of her father’s death have upon her? How long would she remain -helpless on the couch, held by her injuries; and how long, after her -possible recovery, would she be held a prisoner by the impassable -condition of the roads? Would she be cheerful and brave through it all? - -She was growing more and more restless; wise haste was now the crowning -necessity. First of all, she must have suitable clothing, and it must be -provided before he made his bungling efforts to set her broken bone. -How could he hope to perform this difficult surgical feat with no more -knowledge of its requirements than he had secured while serving a few -times as Dr. Malbone’s untrained assistant in the mountains, and with -the most inadequate understanding of the use of such splints, bandages, -needles, and ligatures as Dr. Malbone had given him for his use upon -himself in case of an emergency, and with an imperfect knowledge of the -narcotics, stimulants, febrifuges, and other medicines with which Dr. -Malbone had provided him? The sufferer had youth and superb health; but -how could he feel the smallest assurance that, in the event he should -secure a knitting of the fracture, crookedness and deformity from -improper adjustment would not result? But there was nothing to do but -try, and to bring every intelligent force of his nature to the task. - -He hoped that she would not regain consciousness before he should make -another trip to the scene of the tragedy and secure her luggage. The -twilight was deepening. He threw logs on the smouldering fire in the -chimney-place and started to leave. He paused a moment at the door to -watch his patient. She was again stirring and moaning. - -“A sedative would be safer,” he reflected. And then, when he had poured -it with great difficulty down her throat, he wondered if he had given -her too much, and if it would have a bad effect in depressing her -vitality and working against her rallying. He waited until she had -become still and quiet, and then hastened down to the road. - -The storm had been gradually changing in character. He had expected -the snow to wait until the wind had fallen, but a hurricane was still -blowing, and snow was coming down in long gray slants. Already it had -begun to whiten and fill crevices into which the wind was driving it. It -would have been better had he brought a lantern, but there was no time -for that; and the wind doubtless would have made its use impossible. - -At the wreck he found his axe and cleared away more branches. Only a -very faint suggestion of the dead white face peering up at him came -through the twilight; and there was work to be done in that quarter -to-morrow, however much snow might be lodged and packed in the branches. -Soon he found two large and heavy travelling bags, one larger than the -other; this, he reasoned, must be the woman’s; his strength to -carry both to the hut was inadequate now, and he needed all possible -steadiness of nerve for the task ahead. A laborious climb brought him -back to the hut with the bag and his axe. By the light of a candle he -anxiously read the name on a silver tag attached to the handle of the -bag. It was,--“Laura Andros, San Francisco.” - -It was with awe and reverence that he opened the bag and in a gingerly -fashion drew forth its contents and carefully laid them aside. He had -already noted in a vague way that his guest was a woman of wealth and -elegance, and he now observed that, although the articles he disclosed -were intended in large part for vigorous mountain use, an unmistakable -stamp of daintiness and refinement was upon them all. - -Having now found garments in which he could make her comfortable after -his surgical work was done, he proceeded with the stupendous task that -awaited him. He wondered how much precious time he had lost, if any, -through sheer dread of his duty. But whatever the delay, and whatever -its causes, it had been useful in preparing him for the ordeal. Up -to this moment an unaccountable and distressing trembling of all -his members at frequent intervals had alarmed him, but strength and -steadiness came with his nearer approach to the task. - -Commanding his soul to meet the need of the hour, he went sturdily -about his work. He knew how desperately painful were operations for the -setting of fractured bones, and how great was the skill required for -the administering of an anæsthetic. He had never known even a skilled -surgeon to undertake alone what he must now do without either skill or -assistance. It would not be sufficient should he do his best: his best -must be perfectly done. - -He produced his store of splints, bandages, stimulants, and -anaesthetics, and arranged them conveniently to hand, as he had seen Dr. -Malbone do. He examined his patient’s pulse; it was too quick and weak -to give him high confidence. He made a good fire, for the night was -cold; and he called heavily upon his store of candles to furnish as much -light as possible. - -His bed, upon which she lay, was a most crude and inadequate affair. It -was of his own construction, and had been intended to serve its part -in the life of severe austerity that he had made for himself in the -mountains. It was made of rough boards nailed to wooden posts. To serve -for mattress, fragrant pine-needles filled it. Upon this were spread -sheets and blankets. The pillow also was made of pine-needles. Thus, -without springs, the bed was hard and unfit for a daintily reared woman; -more so because of the illness that she would suffer and the great -length of time that she would be confined to the bed; but it was the -best he had. As the hut was very small and had but one room, this bed -had been fitted snugly into a corner. Wilder moved it out, that he might -be able to work freely on both sides of it. This cramped the hut all the -more. - -The examination that he had made in the road was for the purpose of -discovering broken bones. There he had found the bone of the left thigh -broken at some undetermined point between the knee and the hip. But -broken bones are not all the hurts that one may receive in such -an accident,--cuts and contusions might prove equally dangerous if -overlooked. - -With exquisite care he prepared her for the work that he must do. As -she was fully dressed, this required patience from his unskilled hands. -Finally, this part of the task, inexpressibly hard for a man of his -delicacy of feeling, was accomplished. What anguish he suffered on his -own account and in foreseeing her confusion and possible resentment upon -realizing that he, an utter stranger, and not a physician, had done all -this for her, it were idle to set forth here. - -To his great relief he found that the bone of the left thigh was, so -far as he could judge, the only one that had suffered fracture; but a -careful inspection revealed several bruises; and at last, in searching -for the source of the blood that had covered her face when he drew her -from the débris, he found a cut in her crown. His first work must be -there. - -Covering her comfortably, he washed the blood from her hair and face, -and, bearing in mind the pride that she must have cherished for her -glorious hair, he quickly shaved as small a space on her crown as -possible. He first tried adhesive plaster to bring the edges of the -cut together; but the water and his handling of the wound started -the hemorrhage afresh, and this compelled him to close the wound with -ligatures. - -He was pleased to observe that the hemorrhage was stopped. This made -him so well satisfied and so confident that the greater magnitude of the -remaining work appalled him less. Indeed, that had begun to exercise a -scientific fascination that abnormally sharpened his wits and steadied -his nerves. It was this task that he now attacked. - -All this time the sufferer had lain unconscious. This was a blessing, -unless the state had been induced by causes worse than consciousness of -the pain from setting the bone. There was time hereafter to consider -all that. The one present duty was to proceed with the operation without -another moment’s delay, for inflammation had already set in. - -While, with infinite care, he was fitting, as best he could, the ends of -the broken bone, he was startled out of all self-command by a scream -of agony from her, half-strangled, and therefore made all the more -terrifying, by the bandage under her chin; and she was sitting up, -staring at him. Every one of the young man’s faculties was temporarily -paralyzed. A benumbing coldness was upon him. With a mighty effort he -gathered himself up, but his breathing was difficult, and sweat streamed -down his face. He firmly laid her back upon the pillow, and said,-- - -“Be quiet; you shall not be hurt again.” She was singularly docile, -although he could see by the wildness of her eyes and a fluttering in -her throat that something was raging within her. With one hand he gently -pressed her eyelids down, and with the other he wetted a handkerchief -from a bottle of chloroform and held it just clear of her mouth and -nostrils. For a moment she rebelled against the stifling vapor and tried -to drag his hand away; but, finding him determined, she yielded, and -soon was stupefied. - -The work must be rapid now. There was no time to wonder if she had -comprehended anything or seen in him a stranger. No interruption could -come from her now; that was the vital thing; but the anaesthetic would -soon lose its force. He resumed his work, taking great care, in matching -the injured member with the sound one, to avoid crippling her for life. -He then adjusted the splints, keeping the member straight. Finally, he -secured it against bending at the knee by adjusting a board on the under -side of the leg throughout its entire length. He finished his work by -binding the upper part of her body to the bed-frame, to prevent her -rising. Then, extinguishing his candles, making her as comfortable as -possible on the hard bed, and putting more wood on the fire, he sat down -to watch. Everything seemed to be going well. - -By this time the night was far advanced. The wind was still blowing a -terrific gale. An aching, irresistible weariness stole over the watcher. -He drew his chair close to the bed and anxiously observed his charge. -He examined her pulse; it was rising; her skin was hot and dry. She had -passed from under the influence of the anaesthetic, and was now sleeping -restlessly. He waited in dread for her awaking, for the unexpected -situation in which the young man found himself was complex and -difficult. It was essential that his patient should be as tranquil as -possible. Knowledge of her father’s death might prove disastrous. Hence -she must be deceived, and yet deception was unspeakably repugnant to the -young man’s nature. But now it was a duty, which above all things must -be done. She must be buoyed with hope. All her fortitude would be needed -to bear the miserable conditions of her imprisonment. Meantime, the -young man would post notices along the road, calling for help from the -first persons passing. - - - - -CHAPTER FOUR - -MUCH thinking and planning had to be done, for the unexpected situation -in which the young man found himself was complex and difficult. It was -essential that his patient should be as tranquil as possible. Knowledge -of her father’s death might prove disastrous. Hence she must be -deceived, and yet deception was unspeakably repugnant to the young man’s -nature. But now it was a duty, which above all things must be done. She -must be buoyed with hope. All her fortitude would be needed to bear the -miserable conditions of her imprisonment. Meantime, the young man would -post notices along the road, calling for help from the first persons -passing. - -Already the road was wholly impassable, and it would grow worse. None -of the friends or relatives of the dead man and his daughter could have -been informed of their leaving the lakes. The natural conclusion from -their absence would be that an early winter of unusual severity had -compelled them to remain until spring. The people in the mountains would -have no way of learning that the two had failed to reach the railway. -Thus had the travellers been completely blotted out of their world. -No relief parties would be sent out to search for them. Not until the -unlikely discovery of the notices that Wilder would post could there be -the slightest knowledge of the tragedy. - -More than that, the road upon which Wilder’s hut looked down was only -one of two that penetrated the wilderness in that direction. In -the summer it had a small travel, but by reason of its crookedness, -narrowness, and sharp grades it was avoided by heavy traffic. It would -be the last road to be cleared. Snow-shoes were practically unknown in -these mountains, for seasons of long snow blockades were rare; but -there would be no occasion for snow-shoe travel over this road. The only -prospect for the escape of Wilder and his charge was on foot, after the -lapse of the months that would be required for her recovery, and after -the snow was gone. - -Innumerable domestic perplexities presented themselves to the young -man’s mind. His charge, being perfectly helpless, must depend entirely -upon him for her every want. Would she have the wisdom and goodness to -accept the situation cheerfully, or would its humiliation and hardships -gnaw constantly at her strength and patience, and delay her recovery -or precipitate her death? How could she possibly accept the situation -philosophically? She would find a bitter contrast between this life and -the one of luxury and indulgence to which she had been accustomed. Even -should she develop the highest order of fortitude, the rude food, in -small variety, that he had to give her, cooked badly, could hardly -tempt her appetite, and thus build up her strength. Then, her bed was a -wretched affair, and there was serious danger that its hardness alone, -without regard to her possible resignation to its discomforts, would -produce hurtful physical results. If only wise and helpful Dr. Malbone -could know and come! - -Let the days bring forth what they would, Wilder would do his duty as -he knew it. The fire crackled cheerily on the hearth and filled the hut -with its warmth and glow and peace. The walls were tight and strong, and -were holding firm against the storm. The agonizing strain of the last -twelve hours was over, and all strength must be saved for the future. - -In the flickering firelight the young man studied the face of his charge -at leisure, and he saw that she was singularly handsome; but there -seemed to be a certain hardness in her face, relaxed in unconsciousness -though it was. Perhaps it was only because there stood out before his -memory the one face in all the world that, with its infinite gentleness -and sweetness, embodied every grace for which his spirit yearned. It was -not so beautiful and brilliant a face as this,--but there came up -Dr. Malbone’s warning, uttered over and over with the most earnest -impressiveness: - -“As you value your reason and life, as you value the possibilities of -your happiness and your usefulness to humanity, turn your face from the -past, and with all the courage and will of a man confront the future. -Nature is kind to all of her children who love her and seek her. She -heaps our past with wreckage, only to train and prepare us for a noble -future. There can be no peace where there has been no travail. There -would be no strength were there no weakness in need of its help. The man -who fails to the slightest extent in his duties to humanity and himself -burdens his life to that extent. Be brave and hopeful and helpful, as it -becomes a man to be, and labor incessantly for the best, as it becomes a -man to do.” - -And the man with the curiously-twisted face peering out from the -tree-branches, what had been the aim of his life, that it should find -such an end? After all, was there any taint of unmanliness in that end? -Doubtless even now he was covered deep under snow. If he should be left -there, the great gray wolves might come down and find him. They were -big and powerful, and men who had seen them hungry told fearful tales -of their daring and ferocity. If the snow should drive them down, they -would find the dead horses under the tree; and after that there would be -but one house here where they could find human beings. - -There need be no dread of them; but suppose that some night there should -come a scratching at the door of the hut,--that would mean the gaunt -shewolf, who bore away children to the wolf-pack. - -She would beg for a rind of bacon to eat, and a corner on the hearth -to sleep. She would bear ugly wounds from her struggles with men and -beasts, and these would have to be dressed, and rents in her hide -stitched; and if there were broken bones, they must be set. Would she be -patient under the torture, or would she snap and howl after the manner -of wolves?... - -Wilder was startled to full consciousness by a moan. He bent over his -patient and looked into her open eyes. She gazed up at him vacantly. He -took her hand; it was hot. He placed a hand upon her forehead; it was -burning. A haggard look of pain and distress sat upon her face. - -An eager appeal was in her glance, and her lips moved feebly. He bent -his ear to them. She was faintly whispering-- - -“Water, water!” - -His heart bounding with gladness, he brought cold water. With difficulty -he restrained her eagerness, lest she discover that she was crippled -and bound. He covered her eyes with a napkin, for he observed that her -glance was becoming strained and curious. She submitted quietly, while -he gave her the water with a spoon. After that she sighed in weariness -and content, but her deep inspiration was checked by pain. Her burning -skin and an uneasiness throughout her entire frame warned him that she -had a fever. He gave her a remedy for that. It was not until daylight -had come that, after watching her for hours as she lay awake and -seemingly halfconscious, he observed her finally drift into sound -slumber. - -The young man rose and found himself weak and dizzy; but after he had -prepared and eaten a simple breakfast he felt stronger. Seemingly by a -miracle, he had gone through his task in safety thus far. He must now -leave his patient for a while, to discharge a grim duty that awaited -him in the road below,--a duty from which his every sensibility recoiled -with unspeakable repugnance. Lest an untoward accident should happen in -his absence, he gave his patient a stupefying drug. - -He dreaded to open the front door of his hut. When he did, he found the -thing that he feared: the wind had ceased after midnight, and the snow -had been falling ever since, and still was falling. It had whitened -the walls of the canon, and, before the wind had ceased, had eddied and -drifted about the hut in a way that filled the young man with alarm for -the future. Would his strength be sufficient to fight it if the storm -should be greatly prolonged, to the end that he and his charge should -not be buried alive? - -He put this dread away, and with a heavy heart followed the steep trail -down to the road. - - - - -CHAPTER FIVE - -NOON was near at hand when the guest of the hut waked to full -consciousness. Her first impulse was to cry out with the pain that -tortured her; but her strong will assumed command, and she looked -inquiringly into the anxious face beside her Obviously she realized that -a catastrophe had overtaken her, and she was now silently demanding an -explanation. - -Wilder had not expected this. Her calmness, and, more than that, her -silent demand, were so different from the childish and unreasonable -petulance that he had expected, that he was unprepared and confused. - -“You have been hurt,” he stammered; “and it will be necessary for you to -keep very quiet for a time.’ - -“How was I hurt?” she faintly asked. “The horses were frightened by the -storm and ran away.” - -“Oh, the storm! I remember.” Then she looked quickly and anxiously -about. “My father,” she said,--“where is he?” - -For a moment the oddly distorted face in the branches came grimacing -between Wilder and his duty, but with a gasp and a repelling gesture he -drove it away,--not so dexterously but that his struggle was seen. - -“He--has gone to bring help,” he said. Then, quickly leaving the bedside -to conceal his weakness and the shame of the lie that choked him, he -added hastily, “Yes, he was not hurt; and when he and I had brought you -to this hut he went to find help. He will return as soon as possible.” - He felt that her glance was upon him with merciless steadiness. -“Now,” said he, returning to the couch, “I will remove these -bandages,”--referring to the cords that bound her to the bed;--“but you -must promise me not to move except under my direction. Do you?” - -She slightly nodded an assent, and he unbound her. - -“Come,” he added, “you must have some of this broth. No, don’t try to -rise; I will feed you from this spoon. It is not too hot, is it? That is -good. Presently you will feel much better. You are not in much pain now, -are you?” - -“I am not a child,” she answered, with a slight touch of disdain and -reproof. But he cheerily said,-- - -“Excellent, excellent! That is the way to feel!” - -She lay silent for a while, looking up at the roof. Presently she -said,-- - -“I imagine that I am badly hurt. Please tell me how and where I am -injured.” - -“Well, your left leg was hurt, and we shall have to keep it bandaged and -your knee from bending. And there were some bruises on your side, and an -injury to the scalp.” - -“My scalp?” she quickly asked, raising her hand and asking, “Surely you -did not shave my head?” - -“No,” he replied, smiling amusedly; “except a small spot, and you can -cover that until the hair grows out.” - -She was not fully satisfied until she had felt the splendid wealth of -hair that lay massed upon the pillow. - -“May I ask who you are?” This was the question that he had dreaded most -of all; but before he could stammer out the truth a light broke over her -face, and she astounded him with this exclamation: - -“Oh, you are the famous Dr. Mal-bone! This is extraordinary! I am very, -very fortunate.” - -Wilder had never conceived a lie so dazzling and happy as this mistake. -Between wonder at his stupidity for not having thought of it, and a -great delight that she had so naturally erred, he was too bewildered -either to affirm or deny. He only realized that she had unwittingly -solved the most difficult of his present problems. Had she been looking -at him, she might have wondered at the strange expression that lighted -up his face, and particularly the crimson temporarily displacing the -death-like pallor that she had observed. - -“Yes,” she resumed, after a pause, “I am fortunate; for I suppose that -my injuries are a great deal worse than you have given me to believe, -and that such skill as yours is needed.” She turned her glance again -full upon him; but he had recovered his address, and now met her look -with an approach to steadiness. “But,” she said, “you are a much younger -man than I had expected to see; and you don’t look so crabbed as I might -have inferred you were from the message you sent me a month ago.” - -She paused, evidently expecting him to make some explanation; but he was -silent, and looked so distressed that she smiled. - -“You may remember,” she continued, “that a young lady at the lakes sent -for you to treat her for bruises sustained in a fall, and that you -told her messenger to give her your compliments and say that cold-water -applications, an old woman, and God would do as well with such a case as -you. I am that young lady.” - -Wilder liked the young woman’s blunt and forthright manner, although it -was novel and embarrassing. - -“There were doubtless important cases demanding attention,” he -explained. - -“No doubt,” she agreed. - -“And, after all,” he suggested, “didn’t you follow the advice and get -good results?” - -“Yes,” she answered, again smiling faintly; “that is true.” She closed -her eyes. Presently she extended her hand, which Wilder took. She looked -earnestly into his face, and asked, “It will be a long siege with me, -will it not?” - -“Much depends upon your temperament,” he answered. “If------” - -“That is evasion,” she interrupted. “Be candid with me.” There was no -demand in this request; it was an appeal from such depths of her as she -knew, and it touched him. - -“Yes,” he stammered, “unless------” - -“The bone is broken, isn’t it?” - -“Yes; but you are young and your health is superb. That is everything.” - -A despairing look grayed her face, which then quickly reddened with -anger and rebellion. Her host said nothing. He saw that she was -competent to make the fight with herself without his aid; that her mind, -though now disturbed by her suffering, was able to comprehend much that -her condition meant, being obviously an uncommonly strong, clear mind, -and that it would give to an acceptance of her position the philosophic -view that was so much needed. He saw the hard, brave fight that she -was making, and he had no fear for the outcome. Gradually he saw the -contemplative expression of the eyes turned within, and the face grow -gaunt and haggard under the strain. As slowly he saw her emerge from the -depths into which he had thrust her, and from the very slowness of the -victory, he knew that she had won. When again she looked into his face, -he knew that her soul had been tried as it never had been before, and -that she was stronger and better for it. And he knew that there was yet -another trial awaiting her which perhaps she could not have borne had -not she passed through this one. - -“Another thing,” she said, as earnestly as before; “when do you expect -my father to return?” - -“Very soon--as soon as he----” - -“Evasion again,” she protested, a slight frown of impatience darkening -her face; but it instantly disappeared, and her manner was appealing -again. “Be my friend as well as my physician, Dr. Malbone. Please tell -me the truth. I can bear it now.” - -The young man bowed his head in dejection. - -“Snow is still falling,” he said, “and doubtless many trees are across -the road. We can only wait and hope.” - -A transient look of gratitude for his seeming candor softened her hard -beauty, and she withdrew her hand and her glance. Then he knew that -another mighty struggle was taking place within her. He knew from the -deep crimson that suffused her face how fully she realized all that -he must be to her during the weary weeks to come. He saw the outward -evidences of the unthinkable revulsion that filled her, with him as its -cause. He knew that in agony of soul she rebelled against the fate that -had placed her helpless in the hands of a stranger, and that stranger -a man, and that man the one now serving her, however willingly, however -faithfully, with whatever tact and delicacy. He saw, from her hopless -glance about the cabin, the bitterness of the fight that she was making -to accept its repellent hospitality. And, worst of all, he saw, or -thought he saw, that in the victory that she finally won there was -more of an iron determination to endure than of a simple resignation to -accept. - -So these two began their strange life together. As may be supposed, it -was wholly devoid of true companionship, and necessarily so. That made -it the harder, in a way, for both. From the severe furnishings of his -larder the host did his best to provide for her comfort. She never -complained of the coarse, inadequate food, all of which had to be of a -kind that could bear keeping for months, and none of which was pleasing -to a fastidious taste made all the more delicate by illness and -prostration from her injuries. All of the countless attentions that her -helplessness imposed upon him he gave with the business-like directness -of a physician and nurse, and this was obviously gratifying to her. She -never complained of the cruel hardness of the bed, and never failed -to express her gratitude for the slight shiftings of position that he -deemed it safe to give her. - -Most cheering to the host was the fair progress that his patient made. -Her curious mistake that he was Dr. Malbone had given him a mastery of -the situation that was of inestimable value. Manifestly she reposed full -confidence in his skill, and he made the most of that. She never again -asked for opinions concerning her father’s return. Her only inquiries -were with regard to the weather, the severity of which did not relax -from day to day, from week to week. When Wilder would return from short -excursions over the snow, which now lay deep throughout the mountains -and was steadily growing deeper, she would look at him a moment -expectantly, hoping for good news; but it was not necessary for him to -say that there was none, and she asked no questions. - -The dread and dismay of Wilder grew with the heaping up of snow about -the hut. Before he built the house, he had learned that in winter, when -the storms were very severe, the shelf upon which he had reared the -structure was banked with snow, but to what height no one had ever -ascertained. There had never been such a storm as this within the -memory of the white settlers. Hence the snow was heaped higher than -ever before. There were special reasons for this. The shelf formed an -eddying-point for the wind that came in the intervals of the snowfall, -and the snow from all sides was thus swirled and pitched upon the shelf. -It had not yet reached the roof, but it had to be kept cleared from the -window and the front door, and that meant watchfulness and labor. Should -it continue to accumulate until it reached the roof and the top of the -chimney, a serious situation would confront the prisoners. - -Not while the patient remained helpless was there anything but a rigid -business bearing between these two unhappy mortals. Between them was -reared an impalpable wall that neither cared to attack. But in time the -patient grew better and stronger both in body and mind; and, besides, -strange developments began to make themselves felt. - -Among the effects of the young woman, Wilder had discovered a book in -which she kept a journal. She had called for it as soon as she was able -to write; and, as a woman’s observation is keener than a man’s, it is -best to introduce here (and in other places throughout the narrative) -such extracts from her journal as seem helpful. - - - - -CHAPTER SIX - - -THE following is from the lady’s journal: - -“Yes, I will write it again, absurd though it may turn out to be: There -is some mystery about this cabin. I have tried over and over to convince -myself that my weakness and the unnatural situation in which I am placed -make me morbid and suspicious; but I know that I am still a hard-headed -woman, without a particle of nonsense in my composition; and I know that -I am able to see things in their proper light, and to understand them in -a way. And I say that the signs of something wrong here are growing more -and more evident, without furnishing me the least clue to the nature of -the mystery; but I feel that, whatever the mystery is, it is one to be -dreaded. I try not to think about it; but where is the sense in that? -Is it not better for me to do all the observing and thinking I can, and -thus be the better prepared for whatever may happen. - -“I sometimes try to think that it is only the strangeness of this -strange man--if I may call him a man--that makes me feel a mystery in -the air. It is hard to get hold of anything tangible in his bearing, so -unobtrusively alert he is. There must be some explanation of the fact -that a physician as skilful as he is should bury himself in these -mountains--should hide himself from the different world to which he -evidently belongs. - -“He is a gentleman,--I will do him the justice to admit that. He is a -great deal besides any gentleman that I have ever seen before. Let me -try to explain this to myself. Although he makes not the slightest show -of attending to my wants, I know his every thought is upon me. He sleeps -on the stone floor in front of the fireplace,--that is, if he sleeps at -all, which I sometimes doubt. Even when he is not looking at me in that -distant, abstracted way that he has, I feel that the whole cabin is -filled with his eyes, and that they are always looking at me, day and -night, but with an expression different from the veiled one of his -own eyes. They do not have the distant, thoughtful, perfunctory, -business-like expression of the eyes in his head, but a different -one,--an expression that seems to be a mixture of duty, pity, kindness, -patience, forbearance, and--it will make me feel better to write -it--_contempt_. I feel that these countless eyes are reading my deepest -thoughts, and looking over my shoulder as I write. - -“Of course I do not really feel all this, else I should not be writing -thus. But I feel something. O God! when will this wretched strain be -over?... - -“I have discovered that he guards most jealously the back door of the -cabin. When I first came to consciousness after my hurt, I saw what I -took to be evidence that my strength of will was greater than his. I -believe so yet; but he certainly has a way of baffling me and holding me -in a position from which I cannot escape. I am curious to know a great -many things; it is my right to know them. Why does he surround himself -with a deafness that nothing can penetrate? Why and how does he make it -impossible for me to ask him questions? And who ever heard of a man -so supremely indifferent as not to ask a woman placed as I am a single -question about herself, her life, her tastes, her family, her world? Why -has he made it impossible for me to ask him any questions? At first he -had placed my bed so that I could see the rear door by turning my head; -but when he observed that I had become curious, he found an excuse to -turn my bed so that it was impossible for me to see the door, and I was -too proud to object. - -“I wish I could have respect for him. Of course he surmises that I -am wealthy, and he must know that he will be handsomely paid for his -services. I gave him to understand as much one day, and he looked at me -in a blank way that was most disconcerting. But that did not deceive me. -I do not wish to be unjust, but I know something about human nature. I -think that the man’s whole course may be to impress me with his great -solicitude and make his services appear the more valuable. Bah! he -needn’t have gone to the trouble. - -“I am going to watch that door in spite of him. I know already that he -keeps it carefully locked, and that when he goes out he bars it on the -other side. Such distrust, when I am so unable to pry into his secrets, -is unwarranted and offensive. Another thing I have noted. The back door -leads into some kind of inner apartment. - -“How is he going to guard it when I am able to be about? Then his life -will be a burden. I will make it so. - -“Gratitude? Oh, yes! I have heard of such a thing. But this is an -obligation that money can discharge, and I will see that it does. Has -he done anything more for me than a physician ought to do? I am familiar -with the ways in which these gentry play upon the gratitude of their -wealthy patients, and present bills that they think a sense of shame -will accept. So long as the rich are the prey of the poor, the poor need -not expect sympathy from the rich. I know the power of money to secure -attendance of all sorts, and I can see its power manifested now. - -“This man seems to be utterly lacking in masculine qualities. To give -an illustration: The other day, when he thought I was absorbed in -reading,--I must say that he has excellent taste in books,--I found -tears trickling down his cheeks while he was reading before the fire. I -noted from the division of the book as he held it open the approximate -place where he was reading. Afterward I asked him for the book, -and found that it opened readily at a place where the leaves were -tear-stained. It was the silliest story imaginable,--a foolish account -of true-lovers separated by designing persons and dying of a broken -heart! Imagine a grown man crying over such nonsense as that! - -“Here is a queer circumstance that I have noted, and have wondered -about: In not a single one of Dr. Malbone’s books does his name appear; -and it is evident that wherever it did appear he has erased it. There -may be easy ways of accounting for this, but to me it looks suspicious. -Is it a part of the mystery of a refined and skilful physician -burying--I believe hiding--himself in these mountains? I remember to -have heard at the lakes that he never attended city people spending the -summer here if he could avoid it. I certainly know that he refused to -visit me, and that he sent me an insulting message besides. What is the -reason? Is he more or less acquainted with people of the better class, -and is he afraid of meeting some whom he may have known when he lived -somewhere else and passed under a different name? The inhabitants of -these mountains venerate him, and believe that his skill is omnipotent. -Well, I have nothing to say against his skill, for certainly he -has handled my case perfectly; but if these simple and ignorant -mountain-folk should see him in the intimacy in which I know him, and -discover what a cold, suspicious, weak, petty man he is, I think they -would reform their opinion of him. - -“During the last month he has been going oftener and oftener through the -back door. What business has he there? If I did not have a feeling -that, little as he trusts me, I might safely trust him to the end of the -world, I would have a fear for my own safety. But I rest secure in the -belief that the prospect of collecting a generous fee for restoring -me safe to my father is a sufficient protection, to say nothing of the -confidence that I have in the man’s queer sense of honor. Why, he treats -me as though I were a queen, and bears himself as my humblest subject -hanging upon my smallest word--up to a certain point. Beyond that I get -bewildered. - -“Oh, my father, my father! There is no man in the world like you, none -that knows me, that loves me as you do! If you only knew how my heart -yearns every moment for you! Why could not this man have the least of -your qualities,--your iron will, your scorn of weak things in human -nature, your dominating, achieving power It is in comparing this man -with you that I find him so small, so pusillanimous, so different from -the standard of manhood that you have made me adopt, so different from -me, so infinitely far from me. It is good that it is so, but it makes me -lonely beyond all expression. I would rather be alone in a desert than -with this strange mirage of a man, this male with an infinite capacity -for the little things that only little women are suited to do. He -tortures me with his goodness, his self-sacrifice to me, his making -me feel that he lives only to make me comfortable and bring me back to -health. Where are you, my father? I know that you will come to me when -you can. That much I know, I know! Come, father, and take me from this -awful prison!... - -“I think I have done remarkably well to be as patient as I have been. -This horrid food is enough to kill a healthy woman,--tinned meats and -vegetables, tinned everything, and hardly any flour, but sea-biscuits -instead! Of course my poor slave does his best to prepare things in -such a way that it will be possible for me to eat them, for he seems to -realize that I am a human being.... - -“I am determined to bring this man to an acquaintance with his tongue. -The loneliness that I feel is unbearable. He must be as lonely as I, -and, like me, he is probably too proud to make a sign. Of course he -talks to me now when I make him, but about things in Asia or Africa -that I am certain are as dull to him as to me. He is maintaining this -distance, I am certain, just to guard his history and true character, -and to keep me in a position where it will remain impossible for me to -find out what is going forward on the other side of that door. I will -talk to him about myself; that will compel him to talk about himself. -I can’t bear this isolation. It is inhuman. And I have no fears that he -will presume. They passed long ago. - -“I have just two more things to record at present. One is that my host -is growing thinner and more hollow-eyed, and the other is that several -times lately I have dreamed of hearing the strangest and sweetest music. -It sounded like the playing of a violin by a master hand. I have been -unable to determine whether I was really dreaming. One singular thing in -connection with it is that when I looked for him the other night on his -rugs before the fire after I had heard the music, or dreamed I heard -it, he was not there. I tried to remain awake until he returned, for -I wondered where he could be in the middle of the night, with the snow -heaped up to the roof of the house and a fearful gale blowing cold -outside, and I felt lonely and uneasy. But I went to sleep before he -returned. I have no doubt, however, that he was on the other side of the -rear door.” - -This ends, for the present, the extracts from the lady’s journal. - - - - -CHAPTER SEVEN - -THE patient had so far recovered that she could be propped up in -bed, where she straightened out the bungling work of her inexperienced -hair-dresser, and made her glorious hair a fit embellishment of her -beauty. She was pale, and her cheeks had lost the roundness and her eyes -the brilliancy of their wont. But she was regaining the flesh that she -had lost, and the brightness of spirit that her afflictions had dimmed; -and her pallor only softened and refined a beauty that likely had been -somewhat too showy in health. - -Something even better than that had been accomplished. It was not -conceivable that her strong and rebellious spirit had been ever before -brought under other than the ordinary restraints of a conventional -life. She had developed the good sense to make the most of her present -uncomfortable situation, and the will to bear its hardships. In the eyes -of her host the superiority of her character entitled her to admiration, -which he gave her simply and unconsciously, without any regard to her -sex and beauty. Her acute insight had informed her of this admiration, -and her spirit chafed under its character. One day she said,-- - -“It seems strange to me, Dr. Malbone, that you have never taken any -interest in my past life.” - -He looked at her quickly and curiously, and somewhat awkwardly -replied,-- - -“I did not wish to intrude, Miss Andros.” - -“Would that have been intrusion? I hadn’t thought of it.” - -“You must know that I feel an interest in everything that concerns you.” - He said this readily, simply, and naturally, and she wondered if he was -sincere. - -“Of course,” she went on, “lack of all companionship between us means -mutual distrust.” This was a sharp thrust, and it found him unguarded. -Then she saw that she had gone too far at the start; and this impression -was confirmed when, after a pause, he remarked,-- - -“You and I have been strangely placed. I knew that the conventions of -the best-bred people mean much to you, and I have merely respected your -natural and proper regard for them. Under these circumstances it was not -possible for me to make the first effort to be--friendly, if you will -permit the expression.” - -She smiled, but the manliness of the rebuke and its entire justice made -her secretly resent it. She was determined to hold herself perfectly in -hand, for a serious purpose now moved her, and she would not be balked. - -“That is all in the past now,” she said. “I have learned to know you -as a man of the finest sense of honor, proud, reserved, and -self-sacrificing. It would not have been possible for any other sort -of man to treat a woman as you have treated me. No, don’t interrupt -me. There is nothing but common sense and simple justice in what I am -saying, and unless you let me say it you will be harsh and cruel. After -all that you have done for me, it is my right to tell you how I feel -about it.” - -He looked so embarrassed and miserable that she laughed outright; and -the music of that rare note sounded in his heart; for it was not a -cruel laugh, but merry and hearty, as one would laugh at the comical -discomfiture of a friend; and as such it fulfilled its purpose. - -Thus the ice that had filled the cabin was broken, in a measure, at -last, and this at once eased the gloom and coldness of the wretched -lives imprisoned therein. - -From that beginning the convalescent drifted easily and gracefully into -an account of her world of wealth and pleasure and fashion. She realized -that she must first open her own life before she could expect her host -to give her a view of his and of the nearer and stranger things -that impinged upon her. Her voice was smooth and musical. She dwelt -particularly upon the lighter and fashionable side of her life, because -she believed that the tact and refinement of the man who listened -so well, yet so silently, were born of such a life, and that he had -deliberately withdrawn himself from it. - -Matters went more smoothly after that day. But the young woman was -finally forced to accept her defeat,--she had opened her own simple, -vacant life, but had gained not a glimpse into his. And she realized, -further, that all the advances toward a friendlier understanding had -been made by her, and none by him; that his manner toward her, with all -its tireless watchfulness, its endless solicitude, its total extinction -of every selfish thought, its impenetrable reserve, had not changed one -jot or tittle. Then a bitter resentment filled her, and she hated him -and determined to torture him. - -He had not been so guarded but that she had found a vulnerable spot in -his mail. This was what she regarded as the silly, sentimental side of -his nature. She had led him into this disclosure by a long series of -adroit moves, the purpose of which he had not suspected. Assuming a -profound appreciation of the softer and tenderer things of life, she had -brought herself into the attitude of one who cherishes them, and thus -led him into the trap. Their talk concerned love, and he opened his -heart and displayed all its foolish weakness. - -“Can there be anything more sacred,” he asked, warmly, “than the love -of men and women? Is there anything to which trifling should be more -repugnant? The man who loves one woman with all in him that makes him -a man, has taken that into his soul which will be its refining and -uplifting force to the end of all things with him; and, noble as that -is, the love of a woman for one man who loves her surpasses it beyond -all comprehension, and is the truest gleam of heavenly radiance in human -lives.” - -It was spared him to see the amused and contemptuous curl of lip that -bespoke a world-worn heart; but he had let down his guard, and his -punishment would come. - -It was some days afterward that the blow fell. The convalescent was now -sitting on a chair, where her ever-solicitous nurse had placed her. -She was now ready to strike. She would hold up to him a mirror of -himself,--a weak, sentimental, pusillanimous man. Fortunately, she could -relate from an experience in her own life a tale whose ridiculous -hero she judged had been just such a man as Dr. Malbone. She would be -violating none of the rules of hospitality. Her host had permitted her -to walk into a humiliating position, and her desire to punish him should -not be denied gratification. - -She had brought the talk round to the mistakes that men and women make -in the bestowal of their affection, and remarked carelessly that men -were proverbially stupid in estimating the loveliness of women. Almost -without exception, she declared, they preferred girls for their beauty, -their softness, their negative qualities, their genuine or pretended -helplessness; and she added that a woman of strength and true worth -would scorn a love so cheaply won and held in so light esteem by its -bestowers. - -“But some girls,” she added, “are even worse than men. You may generally -expect stupidity from a man, but not always folly from a girl. A rather -distressing case of a girl’s folly once came to my notice. There was a -girl who had been my classmate in school. It was there that we formed -for each other the girlish affection which all girls must have at that -age. Yet the difference between us was great even then, and it increased -after we had gone out into the world. She and I moved in the same -circle. Her parents were wealthy, and she had every opportunity to see -and learn life and get something of value from it. Instead of that, she -grew more and more retired, and less fitted for the life to which she -belonged. She was the most unpractical and romantic girl that ever -lived. Her girl friends dropped her one by one. I was the last to -remain, and I did all I could to get some worldly sense into her soft -and foolish head. She would only smile, and put her arms round me, and -declare that she knew she was foolish, but that she couldn’t help it. - -“She was very fond of music and poetry, and at last I learned that she -was taking lessons on the violin from some fiddling nobody who made his -living by playing and teaching. I never happened to see him, or I might -have done something to stop the mischief that was brewing. Her parents -were blind to her folly, but that is a common weakness of parents. - -“There never had been any great exchange of confidences between Ada and -me since our school-days. I could have told her a great deal about the -ways of men,--you see,” the narrator hastened to add, “I had been a very -good observer, and had learned some things that it is to the advantage -of every girl to know. I mean, you understand, about love. It is only -people with a silly view of that subject that ever get into trouble. -Girls of Ada’s disposition have no sense; they invariably suffer through -lack of perception and strength. - -“Although I did not see much of her, it at last became evident that -something serious was the matter. Her manner became softer and gentler, -her sympathies were keener, and there was a light in her eyes that an -observing woman cannot misunderstand. I was somewhat older than she, -and that gave me an advantage in the plan that I decided upon; but of -greater advantage was her reliance upon me. It was necessary that I -should gain her full confidence, as I didn’t wish to take any step in -the dark, nor one that might have proved useless. You will understand -that in all I afterward did and caused to be done I acted solely from a -regard for her welfare. I believed that she had formed an attachment for -this--this fiddler--bah! Everything in me revolts when I think of it. -Here was a girl that was pretty, sweet, gracious, the soul of trust and -fidelity, ready to throw herself away upon an unspeakable fiddler! And -there was no excuse whatever for it. A score of men adored her,--men of -her own station in life,--men of wealth, men of culture, men of strength -and character, men of birth, men of consequence in the world. Incredible -as it may seem, they passed over other girls far more capable in every -way, and sighed for this shy violet. - -“I knew that there was something wrong in her refusal to accept the -attentions of any of them. I knew that her inherited tastes, the -examples all around her, and her natural regard for the wishes of her -parents and friends, ought to have induced her to give her affections -to a man worthy of her. I determined to find out what that obstacle was; -and it was solely for her own good that I did so. I knew that if -she married this--this low musician, her life would be filled with -bitterness, disappointment, and regrets. I knew that she would soon come -to be ashamed of the alliance. I knew----” - -“How did you know all that?” came in a voice so strange, so constrained, -so distant, that she turned in wonder toward her host. He sat looking -into the fire, the ruddy glow of which concealed the death-like pallor -that during the last few minutes had been deepening in his face. - -“How did I know it?” she responded in surprise. “That is a singular -question from one who ought to be as well aware of it as I.” - -He made no reply, and she turned her head to the window and watched the -snow steadily rebuilding the bank that her host had so recently cleared -away. - -“Perhaps,” she remarked, with a slight sneer, “you asked that question -to get an argument with me, for I have heard you express romantic -and sentimental views on the subject of love. But of one thing I am -confident: I know that you have been a man of the world, and that you -understand life and human nature; and I know that while men like to -assume a sentimental attitude toward love, it is merely a pose. I -will not argue the matter with you. You know as well as I that such a -marriage would have been a fatal mistake.” - -She said this in a hard, emphatic way that indicated her desire to end -the discussion. Then she resumed her story. - -“I got into her confidence by professing sympathy with her, and adopting -her point of view,--by anticipating it, I mean, for she was too guarded -to disclose it. The poor little idiot fell into the trap. She had been -carrying her secret for months, and the burden of it was wearing her -out. You know, a nature of that kind must have sympathy, must have some -one to listen, must have a confidant. She had not dared to trust her -parents, for she knew that they would put a stop to her folly. When she -found, as she thought, that I was in full sympathy with her, she laid -her poor foolish heart completely open. And what do you think she was -going to do?” - -She turned toward her host as she asked the question, and found him -still sitting immovable and looking into the fire. He seemed not to have -heard her, for he made no answer; and his stony silence and stillness -gave her a strange sensation that might have weighed more with her -had she not been so deeply interested in her narrative, and so well -satisfied with her part in its happenings. She turned her glance again -toward the window, and resumed: - -“She had decided to run away with this vulgar--fiddler. There was but -one thing lacking,--he had not asked her; but she believed that he loved -her with all his soul, and that he was having a fight with himself to -decide whether it would be right for him to bring so scandalous a thing -upon her. She and he both realized that it would be worse than useless -for him to ask her parents for her. She said to me, ‘He fears that I -shall be unhappy in the poverty that would be my lot if we should go -away and marry. He fears that I should miss the luxuries to which I had -been accustomed. He fears that my friends will think he had married me -for my fortune. He has so many fears, and they are all for me. Yet I -know that he would cheerfully lay down his life for me. There never -was a man so unselfish, so generous, so ready to sacrifice himself for -others.’ - -“I could hardly keep from laughing while the poor child was telling me -all that rubbish. Before employing harsh measures to check her foolish -purpose, I resorted to milder ones. While continuing to be sympathetic, -I nevertheless said a great many things that would have set her thinking -if she had had any sense. I gave her to understand, as delicately -as possible (for I was careful not to rouse any resentfulness or -stubbornness in her), that her lover undoubtedly was a worthless fellow, -as persons of his class are; that he was weak in character and loose in -morals; that he was merely a sly adventurer, playing adroitly upon her -innocence and confidence, and anxious to leave his laborious life for -one of ease at her expense. I compared her station as his wife with that -as the wife of a man in her own sphere. - -“The trouble was that she cared nothing for the position that she -occupied. She honestly believed, poor idiot! that she could be as happy -poor as rich. But the great obstacle was her infatuation for the man, -and her belief that he was finer and better than the men of her own -station. She was dreamy and romantic, and that is why she idealized this -fiddling nobody. The more she told me of his gentleness, his refinement, -his unselfishness, his poetic nature, the more I saw that he lacked the -sterling qualities of manhood, the more I realized that he had made a -careful study of her weaknesses and was playing upon them with all the -unscrupulous skill of his species. She implored me to meet him, to know -him, to study him. Of course that was out of the question. She was sure, -she said, that I should come to admire and respect him as she had. I -firmly declined to see him. I have even forgotten his name.” - -There was a pause in the narration. The young man was so still that his -guest looked round at him, and found his gaze fastened upon her. She -started, for she saw that it held a veiled quality that she did not -understand, and that for a moment filled her with uneasiness. He quickly -and without a word looked again at the fire. - - - - -CHAPTER EIGHT - -THE convalescent thrust aside the momentary depression that her host’s -strange expression had given her, and proceeded. - -“At last I realized that all mild measures would be useless. I knew that -at any time something dreadful might happen, and I was determined -to save my old schoolmate from the disgrace and sorrow that she was -inviting. Without directly encouraging her to proceed as she had -started, I gave her to understand that she might always depend upon my -friendship. Then I set about the serious work that I had to do.” - -There was another long pause. - -“Well?” said her host, a little harshly and impatiently; and that change -from no his habitual gentleness gave her a passing wonder. Then she saw -that she was hurting him. She had waited for that sign. - -“I knew that it would be an easy task to match my wit with that of a -sentimental, scheming fiddler and a foolish girl. I needn’t give all -the details of the plan that I carried out. It was merely a matter -of getting an engagement for him somewhere else for a time, and of -presenting to her in his absence some evidence of his faithlessness. I -knew them both well enough to foresee that she would never let him know -what she had heard,--that she would simply send him adrift, and expect -him to make an explanation if he was innocent, and that he would be too -abashed to demand an explanation from her or make one himself. There was -no danger that he would open a way to disprove or even deny the evidence -that I produced. - -“All this, you understand, I did with the greatest delicacy. The plan -worked perfectly. They never saw each other again.” - -Wilder turned and looked her full in the face. It was the way in which -he did it that sharpened her attention, for it was a look in which she -felt, rather than saw, a command. - -“What became of them?” he quietly asked, but she felt that the question -required an answer. - -“Oh,” she replied, her air of indifference veiling her determination -to hold control of the situation, “the vagabond fiddler was never seen -again. As for Ada--but that was infinitely better than to have lived a -life of wretchedness----” - -“As for Ada?” - -“She was dead in a month,”--this with a hard and defiant manner. - -The young man rose from his chair, which he clumsily upset. In a -strangely uncertain, stumbling fashion he went to the front door, -and felt for the latch, as though blind. Then he changed his mind and -started for the rear door; but whatever purpose he had was interrupted -by his overturning a small table and sending the books and other -articles upon it clattering to the floor. Evidently startled and -confused by the noise and his own clumsiness,--though hardly more so -than the young woman, who was watching him in amazement,--he righted the -table with difficulty, and began to pick up the articles that had fallen -from it. Instead, however, of replacing them on the table, he put them -on the bed. His face was livid, his eyes were sunk alarmingly deep in -his skull, and he seemed to have become suddenly old and wrinkled. His -hands trembled, and weakness so overcame him that he sat down upon the -edge of the bed. - -This state quickly passed, and the young man looked at his guest, who -had been compelled to turn her chair laboriously to observe him; and -when he saw the perplexed and distressed look in her face--seeing -nothing of the gratification and triumph that her distress partly -obscured--he smiled faintly and came firmly to his feet. “It must have -been an attack of vertigo,” he explained, feebly. But he continued -to look at her so steadily and with so penetrating a gaze that her -uneasiness increased. Had she carried her torture of him too far? Oh, -well, it would do him good in the end! - -“And now,” he said, in a voice that steadily grew stronger and firmer, -“I will tell _you_ a story.” He was standing directly in front of her -and looking down into her face. “One day, just after a great sorrow had -fallen upon me, I was strolling along the water-front of San Francisco, -and sat down upon some lumber at the end of a pier. I had not noticed -a number of rough-looking young men sitting near me, until one of them -said, in the course of the talk that they were having, ‘Yes, but I loved -her! It was the way in which he said it that attracted my notice. I -judged from his appearance that he was a laborer, perhaps a stevedore; -but there was something in his voice that belongs to stricken men in all -the walks of life. One of his companions said, ‘Nonsense, Frank; there’s -just as good fish in the sea as ever was caught out of it.’ But Frank -shook his head and said, ‘Not for me.’ The others said nothing, and -after a little while Frank repeated, ‘Not for me.’ Did you ever hear a -man say that?” - -Wilder’s voice, which had been steadily growing louder, suddenly sank -almost to a whisper as he asked his guest that question. The wrinkles -were deepening in his face, and his glance had a sharpness of -penetration that the young woman found it hard to meet without wincing. - -“Then,” resumed Wilder, “another of his companions, seeking to show him -the folly of his grief, made some remarks about the woman that I cannot -repeat. Frank replied without anger: ‘Don’t say that, Joe: you mean -well, but don’t say it. She was the woman I loved. Every night, now, -when I put out the light to go to bed, I see her in the room; and when I -go on streets that are dark, I think she’s walking with me. I loved -that woman; and now I don’t know what to do. For she’s dead, boys, she’s -dead; and by God! they killed her.’” - -Wilder was still looking down into the face of his guest as he -concluded, and she had been looking up into his; but when, with a -trembling voice, he spoke the last sentence, her glance dropped to the -floor. After a pause he spoke again, and his voice was full, round, and -passionate. - -“They killed her, madam, as they have killed many another. How it was -that they killed the woman whose death had filled this rough man’s life -with grief and despair, I do not know. But they killed her. Some -murderous human hand shattered a scheme that the Almighty himself had -laid. I wish you could have heard him say, ‘She’s dead, boys, she’s -dead; and by God! they killed her.’ The sound of its agony would have -found the heart that was intended to do more than keep you alive with -its beating. Do you know what murder is? Do you know the difference -between the gross, stupid, brutal murder that in satisfying its coarse -lust for blood runs its thick neck into the halter, and the finer, -daintier, infinitely more cruel murder that kills with torturing -cruelty, and thus outwits the gallows? The blood-murderer is a poor -fool, dwarfed in mind and crippled in soul. Perhaps he gets his full -punishment when the law stretches his useless neck. But the murderer who -outwits the law in his killing, who murders the innocent and -unsuspecting and confiding, who makes friendship the cup from which the -poison is drunk, who employs the most damnable lies and treachery, who -calmly watches the increasing agonies of his victim as the poison slowly -does its work,--what punishment do you think can reach such a murderer -as that?” - -The young man’s voice had become loud, harsh, and threatening. Violent -emotions were stirring him. His whole slender frame seemed to have -expanded. His face was flushed, his eyes were blazing, his fingers -clutched at invisible things, his entire aspect was menacing. His guest, -awed and terrified, raised her glance to his face. - -“And by whom is such a murder done?” he cried. “It is done by one who, -coming into the world with a soul fresh and complete from the hands -of the Creator, deliberately turns aside from the way of nature and -nature’s God, crushes the attributes that form our one link with heaven -and our one hope of immortality, throttles all that might be useful in -bringing light and strength into the lives of others, and in shameless -defiance of the Almighty’s manifest will sets up false gods to worship, -sacrifices self-respect for self-love, banishes the essence of life and -clings to the dross, and wallows like swine in a mire of his own making. -The blood-murderer is infinitely better than that. He has at least a -human heart in all its savage majesty. - -“And for what is such a murder done? It proceeds from a dwarfed, -distorted soul, deliberately, consciously, intelligently made so by its -possessor. Its purpose is to destroy the one touch of beauty, sweetness, -and purity that makes us akin to the angels. It sees an exquisite -flower; that flower must be plucked, else its beauty would flourish and -its destiny be fulfilled. It finds love in its purest, noblest, most -unselfish form between two whom God had made each for the other for -the fulfilling of his own inscrutable design, and by lies and treachery -proceeds to kill one and destroy the happiness of the other. What -punishment, madam, is adequate for such a murder? The hands of the law -would be polluted by strangling a murderer so base, so cowardly, so -infinitely lower and meaner than the lowest beasts, so utterly unworthy -of the honor of the gallows-tree. There can be but one adequate -punishment, and only Omnipotence could devise a hell sufficient for it. -And the sooner this punishment comes, the sooner will the vengeance of -God be satisfied. What higher duty could rest upon a mortal standing in -awe and reverence under his Maker’s law than to set the law in force?” - -In the dismay and terror that now filled her soul the woman could not -mistake the meaning of that threat, nor the madness that would give it -force. A numbing fear, a feeling that she was sinking into a bottomless -pit, put gyves upon all her faculties. In a hopeless stupor she sat, -in speechless dread of the blow that she felt must fall. To her dazed -attention the avenger himself stood before her in all the terror of -infuriated justice free from its leash and plunging forward headlong -and irresistible to satisfy its vengeance. Never had she dreamed that a -mortal could face a thing so terrible as this man, who, having -dragged her from death, and with infinite patience, gentleness, and -unselfishness had been nursing her back to health and strength, now -stood as the judge and executioner of her naked, trembling, convicted -soul. Her eyes strained, her lips apart, she looked up, speechless and -motionless, into his face; and to her his blazing eyes and tense frame -filled all the world with vengeance, scorn, and death. - -“Woman,” he cried, “whether it be murder or justice, your death would -remove an infamous stain from the face of this fair world. If you can, -make your peace with God, for I am going to send your damned black soul -where it can do no further harm. It is with immeasurable hate, with -infinite loathing, that I am going to kill you.” - -He clutched her shoulder, and the hot iron grip of his fingers tore her -skin. He thrust his face close to hers, and she heard the grinding -of his teeth, which his parted lips showed as the fangs of a maddened -beast. - -“You viper!” he cried; “you have no right to life!” - -She saw his free hand seeking her throat. Then her energies were -unlocked. She threw back her head, and with all her might cried out,-- - -“Father! father! help me! save me!” The young man started back, clutched -his head with both hands, and looked about in a wild and frightened way. - -“What was that?” he breathlessly asked. “Did you hear? The wolves are -coming down. That was the howl of the she-wolf!” In a dazed manner he -found his way to the back door, opened it, passed out, and bolted it -behind him. - - - - -CHAPTER NINE - - -MORE extracts from the lady’s journal: - -“I can never begin an entry in my journal without having that frightful -scene come between me and these pages. Oh, it was terrible,--terrible -beyond all comprehension! I cannot believe, after thinking it over and -over during these weeks that have passed since it occurred, that it was -the fear of death that so terrified me, and, I know, made an old woman -of me. No, it could not have been that. It was the fear of going with -that awful condemnation upon me. Was it just? Was it true? - -“He seems to have recovered at last from the alarming depression that -followed his outbreak, and this gives me leisure to think, leisure to -recall many circumstances that in my blindness, my incredible blindness -and stupidity, I had overlooked. I take into account the fearful strain -under which he had suffered so long. He is a delicate, finely organized -man, and has had more to do and to bear than a dozen strong men would -have done and borne so well and patiently. - -“There was his anxiety on the score of my recovery. Then there were the -endless duties of waiting on me, of thinking of the thousands of little -things that had to be thought of and done, and that he never forgot nor -neglected. He has done my cooking, my washing,--everything that was hard -and distasteful for a man to do. Then there was his constant anxiety -on account of the snow; and it has been growing daily all through the -winter with the increasing dangers and discomforts; and besides his -anxiety was the hard physical labor--far too heavy for him--that he -has been compelled to do in order to keep our hut from being buried and -ourselves from being smothered. And, last, there has been the constant -wearing upon him of a close imprisonment with me, for whom I know he now -must have a most intense dislike. - -“I am satisfied, too, that he has anxieties concealed from me. That they -are associated with something upon which the back door opens, I have no -doubt. There are several reasons for my thinking so. I am so nearly well -now that I could get about and be helpful to him if he would only make -me a crutch, as I have often begged him to do; but he has always put -me off, saying that it was too early for a crutch, that my desire to -be useful would give me a serious setback through making me overdo, -and that the main thing for us both to consider was the return of my -strength as quickly as possible, and our escape on snow-shoes that he -would make as soon as I should be able to walk. It has all sounded very -plausible, but it seems to me that common-sense would suggest that I -take a little exercise. In spite of my having regained my flesh, I am -as weak as an infant. Knowing that he is a good physician, I doubt his -sincerity about the crutch. I believe the solemn truth is that he fears -I would try to invade his cherished secret if I were able to be about. - -“I know that he keeps the provisions in the place into which the back -door opens, and that this fact seems to give him a sufficient excuse for -going there so often,--especially as he does the cooking there; and that -is another strange circumstance. For weeks after I was first brought to -the hut he prepared the food on the broad hearth here; but after a while -he did that in the rear apartment, explaining that the odors from the -cooking were not good for me, and that it was uncomfortable for him -to cook before an open fireplace. I protested that I did not mind the -odors, and he replied that I would at least consider his comfort. - -“Another thing: He has not eaten with me for a long, long time. His -original plan was to prepare my meal, wait on me until I had finished, -and then have his own at the little table in the chimney-corner. I did -not observe for some time that he had quit eating in that way, and that -he took his meals in the rear apartment. He always speaks of it as an -‘apartment,’ and not as a room. I wonder why. I have been sitting up for -a long time now, and do not require his assistance after he has brought -me my food. It would be much pleasanter if he would sit at the little -table and eat with me. Is his dislike of me so deep that he cannot eat -with me? With all my sense, I have permitted this condition of affairs -to come about! And we both are sufferers by it. - -“It is no wonder, with all these things troubling him, that he has -changed so much since I came. He is as scrupulously neat as ever, and he -makes this poor little hut shine, but he has changed remarkably since I -came. It has been so gradual that I didn’t observe it until my blindness -was no longer sufficient to keep me from seeing it. He was slender and -evidently not strong when I came, but he has become a shadow, and his -gaunt cheeks and hollow eyes are distressing to me. When he comes in now -from fighting the snow,--for we must not be buried by it, and must -have light and air, and the top of the chimney must be kept clear,--his -weakness and exhaustion, though he tries so hard to conceal them, are -terrible to see. - -“And now a great fear has come to me. It is that at any moment he may -break down and die. I wish I had not written that, I wish I had never -thought of it. Oh, if my father would only come! What can be keeping -him? Do I not know that he loves me better than anything else in the -world? Am I not all that he has to love and cling to? I cannot, cannot, -understand it. Dr. Malbone says it is unreasonable for me to expect my -father, and that if he should make the effort to reach me now it would -be at too great a risk to his own life. He tries to assure me that my -father will be governed entirely by the advice of the people who know -the mountains, and that they will restrain him from making any such -attempt, as they would not dare to make it themselves. All that may be -true, but it is difficult for me to believe it. If I could only get a -word from him, it would give me greater strength to bear the horrors of -my situation. But why should I complain, when Dr. Malbone bears it all -so patiently, so sweetly, so cheerfully? - -“Still, that awful picture of murder comes between me and these pages -unceasingly. I think I can understand now why men sometimes kill women. -Why should men and women be so different? Why should it be impossible -for them to comprehend each other? It was Murder that I saw standing -before me--both the horrible picture of murder as he painted it, with -me as the murderess--me as the murderess!--and Murder in the flesh as he -stood ready to strangle me. Oh, the incredible ferocity of the man, the -terrible, wild savagery of him, the awful dark and nether side of -his strangely complex character! All along I had taken him for a -pusillanimous milksop, a baby, an old woman, a weak nobody; and at once -he dropped his outer shell and stood forth a Man,--terrible, savage, -brutal, overwhelming, splendid, wonderful! What is my judgment worth -after this? And I was so proud of my understanding of men! - -“Why didn’t he kill me? It was my cry that checked him; but why should -it? Was it my appeal for help that brought him to his senses? I think -so. It touched that within him which had been so keenly alert, so -unrelaxingly vigilant, ever since I had come under his care. But what -did he mean by the howl of the she-wolf? And what did he mean by saying -that the wolves had come down? Several times since that terrible scene -he has waked me in the night with groans, and with crying out in his -sleep, ‘The she-wolf?’ These things have a meaning, I know. Why does -he explain nothing? And why have I permitted an estrangement between us -that makes it impossible for me to seek his confidence? Is it too late -now? - -“Oh, the terrible moments, the interminable hours, that passed after he -had left the hut by the rear door! Every second, at first, I expected -him to return and kill me. Would he have a rifle, a revolver, a knife, -or a bludgeon, or would he come with those terrible long fingers hooked -like claws to fasten upon my throat? And yet, somehow, I felt safe; I -felt that his old watchfulness and solicitude had returned. - -“As soon as I could overcome the half-stupor into which his outburst had -thrown me I dragged myself to the rear door, intending to barricade -it against him. The effort was exceedingly painful and exhausting, and -brought me great suffering for a week afterward. But my sufferings of -mind and spirit were so much greater that I could bear those of the -flesh. When I had crawled to the door and was trying to drag a box -against it, I heard something that stopped me. I am not certain that it -was anything real. There was a loud singing in my ears from the awful -fright that I had suffered, and what I heard may have been that, made -seemingly coherent by my over-strained imagination. What I heard sounded -like the distant, smothered, awful strains of Saint-Saens’s ‘Dance of -Death’ played on the violin. But wild and terrible as it sounded, it -came as a pledge of my safety. Murder cannot come with music. - -“I drew myself away and with great effort clambered upon the bed, where -I lay a long time in complete exhaustion. Time had no meaning for me. -A dull, massive, intangible weight seemed to be crushing me, and I -longed--oh, how I longed!--for human sympathy. - -“The hut was dark when he returned. We had been very saving with the -candles, for Dr. Malbone explained that they were running low; so in -the evenings we generally had only the fire-light. There seemed to be a -generous supply of fire-wood in the rear apartment, and some of it was -a pitchy pine that gave out a fine blaze. When he returned the fire -had burned out. I felt no fear when I heard him enter. I knew by the -unsteadiness of his movements that he was weak and ill, but the first -sound of his voice as he called me anxiously was perfectly reassuring. - -“‘I am lying on the bed,’ I answered. - -“He groped to the bedside and there he knelt, and buried his face in his -hands upon the coverlet. And then--I say it merely as his due, merely -as the simple truth--he did the manliest thing that a man ever did. He -raised his head and in dignified humility said,-- - -“‘I have done the most cowardly, the most brutal thing that a man can -do. Will you forgive me? Can you forgive me? - -“I put out my hand to stop him, for it was terrible that a man should be -so humble and broken; but he took my hand in both of his and held it. - -“‘Will you? Can you? he pleaded. - -“It was the only time that his touch had been other than the cold and -perfunctory one of the physician, and--I feel no shame in writing it--it -was the first time in my life that the touch of a man’s hand had been so -comforting. For a moment his hand seemed to have been thrust through the -wall that hitherto had separated us so completely. - -“‘You were not the one to blame,’ I said. ‘I alone was the guilty one.’ - -“‘No, no!’ he protested, warmly. ‘What provocation under heaven could -excuse such conduct as mine?’ - -“‘I will forgive you,’ I said, ‘upon one condition.’ - -“‘And that-------’ - -“‘You forgive me in turn.’ - -“Very slowly, as soon as I had said that, the pressure with which he had -been holding my hand began to relax. What did that mean, and why did he -remain silent, and why did a pain come stealing into my heart? Could not -he be as generous as I? Had I overrated him, after all? - -“‘It was terrible!’ he half whispered. ‘By every obligation resting upon -a man, I should have been kind to you. You were my guest as well as my -patient. You were crippled and helpless, and unable to defend yourself. -You were a woman, looking to every man, by the right of your sex, for -comfort and protection. I was a man, owing to you, because you were -a woman, all the comfort and protection that every man owes to every -woman. All of these obligations I trampled under foot.’ - -“Why did he put that sting into our reconciliation? Had he not done it -so innocently, so unintentionally, it would not have hurt so much. I -withdrew my hand from his very slowly; he made no effort to retain it. -He did not again ask me to forgive him, and he did not offer me his -forgiveness. The breach in the wall was closed, and the barrier stood -intact and impregnable between us. - -“Presently he rose and made a fire, and prepared me something to eat; -but I had no appetite. Then he found that I had a fever, and he was much -distressed. There was just one comforting touch of sympathy when he said -to me,-- - -“‘You were sobbing all the time I was making the fire and preparing your -supper. I promise not to frighten nor distress you again.’ - -“How did he know I had been sobbing, when I had taken so much pains -to conceal it And yet I might have known that his watchfulness upon -my welfare is so keen, so unrelaxing, that nothing affecting me can be -hidden from him. - -“I was confined to bed a week, and suffered greatly both in mind and -body. I had hurt my crippled leg, and that made my physician very -anxious. During all this time it had not occurred to me, so sodden with -selfishness is my nature, that he had suffered a very serious nervous -shock from his outburst of mad passion, and that only by a mighty effort -was he holding up to put me again on the road to recovery. A realization -of the truth came when my ill turn had passed. He had hardly placed me -comfortably on a chair when a ghastly pallor made a death’s-head of his -face, and he reeled to the bed and fell fainting upon it, still having -the thoughtfulness to say, as he reeled,-- - -“‘I am--a little--tired--and sleepy. I--am perfectly--well. Have -no--uneasiness.’ - -“Except for his slight, short breathing, he lay for hours as one dead; -and then I realized more fully than ever the weight of the awful burden -that my presence has laid upon him. I know that I am killing him. O God! -is there nothing that I can do to help him, to make it easier for him? -What have I done that this horrible curse should have come upon me? - -“The most wonderful of all the strange things that I have seen and -learned in this terrible imprisonment is that his kindness toward me -has not suffered the slightest change. He is still the soul of -thoughtfulness, watchfulness, unselfishness, and yet he has denounced me -to my face as a---- - -“Another thing I have found: All the training that I have had in -cleverness goes for nothing here. He always avoids the beginning of any -conversation on subjects other than those that lie immediately near us. -It therefore requires a great effort on my part--and I think I deserve -some praise for it--to draw him into discussions of general matters. -In these discussions he never advances an opinion if he suspects that I -have an opposite one, and never opposes nor contradicts me; but I cannot -help feeling that his views are so much broader and deeper than mine, -so much wiser, so much more charitable, so much nearer to what he calls -‘the great heart of humanity,’ as to make me seem shallow and mean. Am I -really so? I try not to be. - -“With indescribable tact and delicacy, he holds me at an infinite -distance, and I have been unable to find any way to bridge the vast -gulf.... After all, why should I try? If he despises me, I cannot help -it. This miserable position in which I am placed will be at an end some -time; and when I am again free, and in my own world, I will show him the -gratitude that I feel. Will he let me?... - -“What is there so repulsive about me? Why should I be treated as a -viper? And why is it that of all the men I have known--men whom I could -handle as putty--this obscure backwoods doctor sets himself wholly apart -from me, remains utterly impregnable, shames and humiliates me with a -veiled pity, and feels not the slightest touch of the power that I -know myself to have? Is my face ugly? Are my manners crude? Is my voice -repellent? Where are my resources of womanly tact that I have used -successfully in the past? Why is it that I fail utterly to impress -him as having a single admirable trait, a single grace of appearance, -manner, or character? - -“It is hard to bear all this. I try to be brave and strong and cheerful, -as he always is; but it is human nature to resent his treatment, and it -is cruel of him to keep me in such a position. It is the first time in -my life that I have been at a disadvantage. - -“I imagine that he has suffered some great sorrow. Indeed, he said so -in his outburst. His distrust of me seems to indicate its character. He -probably gave some heartless woman his whole love, his whole soul, and -she laughed at him and cast him off. That would go hard with a man of -his kind. There can be no other explanation; and now I am the sufferer -for that woman’s sin: he thinks that all women are like her. - -“I will write this vow, so that I may turn to it often and strengthen my -purpose by reading it: - -“I will make this man like me. I will tear down the wall that he has -built between us. I will employ every resource to bring him to my feet. -I will make him appreciate me. I will make him need me. I will make him -want me. - -“That is my vow.” - -Thus end, again for the present, these extracts from the lady’s journal. - - - - -CHAPTER TEN - -THE severity of the winter did not relax. There were intervals when the -wind did not blow and the snow did not fall; but there were neither warm -winds nor sunshine to melt the snow, the depth of which grew steadily -and aggravated the impassableness of the roads. Day by day, week by -week, month by month it strengthened the bars of the prison holding the -two unhappy souls. - -With the prolonged and increasing rigors of the winter harder and harder -grew the rigors of the prison. The strength of Wilder’s spirit was -beginning to break down; and while it distressed his fair charge to see -him suffer, it warmed her heart to realize that the day of her triumph -was near,--the day when she should serve him as gently, as unselfishly, -as faithfully as he had served her. It would be sweet to have him -helpless, to have him lean upon her, need her, want her. - -Her manner had undergone a great change since the terrible scene in -which her life was threatened. Her firmness, her self-reliance, her -aggressiveness, her condescension, all had gone, and she bore herself -toward her rescuer as mother, sister, and friend. In innumerable little -ways she saved him trouble through denying herself, and did it so -tactfully that he never suspected the deception. Under the influence -of this he had at last made her a crutch, which, though rude and -uncomfortable, she declared to be a miracle of ease. She believed that -in giving it to her he expressed more confidence in her than he had felt -before. - -Its introduction into the scheme of their lives worked changes that -astonished and pleased him. In spite of his distressed protests, she -overhauled his meagre wardrobe, and with deft workmanship put every -article in perfect order. Her skill and ingenuity were employed in many -other ways, so that the cabin soon took on a look very different from -that which she had found when she came. Little touches lent an air of -grace and a sense of comfort that the place had not borne before. - -She relieved him of all the work of caring for her, except that of -cooking; this was a duty that he reserved with immovable stubbornness. -Nor could she contrive with all her wiles and persuasion to make him -have his meals with her. She formed many a theory to explain his conduct -in that particular. Finally, she settled upon this one: He preferred to -fill the rôle of a servitor; as such he must take his meals apart. But -why should he so choose? Was it because he deemed it the safer course -for them both? Was it because he wished to discipline her by placing -her above him, when by obvious right they were equals? Speculation was -useless; she was forced to accept the fact, which she did with all the -grace at her command. - -He had grown thin to emaciation. His hands were those of a skeleton -covered tightly with skin. His cheeks were greatly sunken, and the drawn -skin upon his cheek-bones was a chalky white. But his eyes were the most -haunting of his features. They seemed to be looking always for something -that could not be found, and to show a mortal dread of a catastrophe -that had given no sign of its imminence. In their impenetrable depths -she imagined that she saw all mysteries, all fears, all anxieties. - -Still, though very weak, he kept sturdily and cheerfully at his duties. -There was the snow to fight. There was the fire to be kept up, for the -cold was intense. There was the cooking to do. - -Uncomfortable as her bed was, she knew that it was luxurious in -comparison with the thinly covered floor of stones and earth upon which -he slept. In time this came to haunt her unceasingly, and she pondered -every conceivable plan to make him more comfortable. At first it was her -firm intention to make him take the bed while she slept on the floor; -but she knew that it would be useless to make the suggestion; so she -was forced to abandon the idea, dear as it was to her, and happy as its -adoption would have made her. Instead, she did what she could to make -his pallet comfortable. Her ingenuity made so great a difference that -his gratitude touched her. - -One day she discovered him in agonizing pain. The torture was so great -that it broke down his iron fortitude and drew his face awry. She was -instantly at his side, her hand on his shoulder and her face showing a -wistful anxiety. - -“What is it, my friend?” she inquired, in the gentlest voice. - -With a pitiful effort at self-mastery he declared that it was only a -trifling and transitory pain, and that it was rapidly passing. She knelt -beside him and looked anxiously into his face. Her solicitude evidently -increased his suffering, but she was determined to make the fight then -and there. - -“Tell me what it is, my friend,” she begged. - -This was the second time that she had called him “my friend.” - -“It is only rheumatism,” he said, somewhat impatiently, and making a -gentle effort to push her away. But she persisted. - -“That is not a trifling thing,” she said, “for your strength is greatly -reduced. Where is the pain?” - -“Oh, I don’t know; you are only making it harder for me!” he petulantly -exclaimed. - -A great gladness filled her heart, for she knew that he was giving way, -and that her solicitude was hastening his collapse. - -“No,” she said, “I will make you well. Where is the pain?” His face gave -the glad sign of his wavering. - -“Where is the pain?” she repeated. “It is my right to know and your duty -to tell me.” - -“In my----” he said, gasping, “in my chest.” - -She rose and went to the bed, which she prepared for him. When he saw -what her intention was he came to his feet with great effort. Before -she could divine his purpose or check him, he had gone to the rear door, -hastily opened it, and saying, “I will be back in a moment,” passed out -and closed it after him. She stood bewildered at the neatness with which -he had baffled her, and alarmed for his safety. But he had promised to -return at once, and she knew that he would if he could. To her great -relief he soon came back, bearing some biscuits and a few tins of -provisions. As he stepped within and locked the door he dropped a tin, -and before she could go to his assistance he had fallen while trying -to pick it up. She drew him to his feet, and was amazed to discover -how much stronger she was than he, and yet she had thought herself very -weak. She seated him upon the edge of the bed and began to remove his -shoes. - -“No, no!” he gasped; “you shall not do that.” - -But she kept on and succeeded, and laid him upon the bed and drew the -covers over him. - -“Now,” she said, “tell me what to give you.” - -He did so, and it gave her infinite satisfaction to have him take the -medicine from her hand. Soon his pain relaxed, and he fell into a heavy -slumber. - -While she watched him as might a mother her slumbering first-born, her -soul warmed and expanded, and her one shy regret was that his head was -not resting on her breast. But there were duties awaiting her. She took -up the surplus ashes from the hearth. She revived the fire with the wood -that he had heaped up at the chimney-side the night before. She put snow -into a vessel to heat water. She stowed away his pallet. She prepared to -make tea as soon as the water should be hot. In the performance of these -and other minor tasks she was very happy, and for the first time since -she had entered the hut she sang softly. The work was not easy, for she -had little strength, being unused so long to exercise, and her lameness -and the crutch interfered sorely. - -One sting hurt unceasingly. She reflected that her host had decided -to take to the bed under her persuasion, and that he had brought the -provisions from the rear apartment so that she might prepare food during -his helplessness; but this was because he had not trusted her to get -the provisions herself,--had made it unnecessary for her to enter the -forbidden chamber. As well as she could she tried to be generous; she -tried to think that a man so kind, so thoughtful, so respectful, must -have the best reasons for keeping her out of that room. If so, she -had no right to expect his confidence. But why did he give her no -explanation? Why should he not trust her to that extent? This was the -sting that hurt. - -In a vague way she believed that something ought to be put on his chest -for the pain that he had suffered there. - -She had an intense desire to do something for him. She thought that -cloths saturated with liniment would be good for him. With great -caution, to avoid waking him, she opened the garments covering his -chest. He still slept heavily, for the medicine that he had taken -carried a soporific element. When she had bared his breast and seen the -frightful emaciation of his body, she quickly covered him, fell upon her -face to the floor, and sobbed. - -The day advanced, but still he slept. Her one hope now was that he would -sleep into the night, for that would require her to sleep on the pallet -before the hearth. She had another precious hope, and it was that they -would at last eat a meal together; but she would rather that he slept; -so, toward evening, she made a simple meal and ate her share alone, and -kept his ready for him against his waking. - -She marvelled that there was so much to do in so small a place, and that -the day--the sweetest, she believed, of all the days of her life--had -passed so quickly. At short intervals she would lean over him and listen -to his short, half-checked breathing; or she would gently lay her cool -hand upon his hot forehead, or hold one of his burning hands in hers, -and then press it to her cheek. It seemed surpassingly wonderful that -the strong man, strong in spirit only, should be lying now as helpless -as an infant, wholly dependent upon her. - -At times he was restless, and talked unintelligibly in his sleep; she -was instantly at his side, to soothe him with her cool, soft hand upon -his face; and when she saw that it always calmed him, she sighed from -the sweet pain that filled her breast. Once, when he seemed on the verge -of waking, she slipped her arm under his head, and gave him more of the -medicine, which he took unresistingly, and slept again. As the night -wore on, she made herself unhappy with trying to choose between sitting -at his bedside and watching, and suffering the hardship that he had -borne so long in sleeping on the pallet. While she was in the throes -of this contention, another urgent matter arose. It had been her host’s -custom to bring in a supply of wood every night. That which he had -brought the night before was now exhausted, and more was needed. How -could she get it. She knew that he had locked the back door and put -the key into a certain pocket. She knew that she could not get the wood -without the key. Procuring a supply of fuel was one precaution that he -had overlooked when he had brought in a supply of provisions. - -He was in a profound slumber. She could get the key, and thus provide -the wood for the night. But would it be right to do so? If the fire -went out the cold would be intense, and might prove fatal to him. If -she should enter the forbidden room, would that be taking an unfair -advantage of his helplessness? It was a hard problem, but in the end -her sense of duty outweighed her sense of delicacy. With the greatest -caution she slipped her hand into his pocket and secured the key. With -equal caution she went to the door and unlocked it. - -Then a great fear assailed her. What lay beyond the door? Might it not -be some danger that only her host could safely face? If so, what could -it be?... It were wise to have a candle; but search failed to discover -one. She secured a small torch from the fire, and cautiously opened the -door. - -To her surprise, no chamber was revealed, but merely a walled and roofed -passage closed at the farther end with a door. Piled within it was a -store of wood; there was nothing else. It was very awkward for the young -woman to carry the crutch, the torch, and the wood all at once; it was -necessary to relinquish the torch. She carried it back to the fireplace, -and went again to the passage, piled some wood in her free arm, and -started back. As she did so she saw her host sitting up and staring -at her in horror. This so frightened her that she dropped the wood, -screamed, and fell fainting to the floor. - -When she became conscious she found herself on the bed and her host -watching beside her. There was the old look of command in his face, the -old veil that hung between her and his confidence; and thus her glorious -day had come to an inglorious end, and her spirit was nearly crushed. -Her host had recovered in a measure,--sufficiently for him to resume -the command of his house. No questions were asked, no explanations were -given. He thanked her gratefully for her kindness to him, and thus her -brief happiness came to an end. The old round of labor, of waiting, of -hoping, of suffering, of imprisonment, was taken up again. - - - - -CHAPTER ELEVEN - -A FEW days afterward they were sitting before the fire in silence. -It had become habitual with the young woman to study every look -and movement of her host; to anticipate him in the discharge of the -household duties; to provide for him every little comfort that the -meagre resources of the hut afforded; and to observe with a strange -pleasure the steady breaking down of his will and courage. She realized -that his recent attack, though so quickly overcome, was a warning of -his approaching complete collapse; and she believed that only when that -should happen could she hope with sympathy and careful nursing to save -him. She welcomed the moroseness that was stealing over him, his growing -failure to study her every want, and his occasional lapses into a -petulant bearing toward her. It gratified her to see him gradually -loosen the iron mask that he had worn so long. Most significant of all -his symptoms were hallucinations that began to visit him. At times he -would start up in violent alarm and whisper, “Did you hear the howling -of the wolves?” At others he would start in alarm to resist an imaginary -attack upon the rear door. A touch of her hand, a gentle, firm word, -would instantly calm him, and then he would look foolish and ashamed. - -On this day, as they sat before the fire, matters took a new and strange -turn. He suddenly said,-- - -“Listen!” - -She was so deeply absorbed in watching him and so expectant of erratic -conduct from him that she gave no thought to the possibility of danger -from an external source. For dreary months she had waited in this small -prison, and no longer gave heed to any tumult without. The young man had -been lounging in hopeless langour, but now he sat upright, every nerve, -muscle, and faculty under extraordinary tension. - -“It is coming!” he cried. “I have been expecting it every day. -Come--quick, for God’s sake!” - -Saying that, he seized her by the arm, and with furious eagerness and -surprising strength dragged her to the rear door, giving her little time -to seize her crutch. He unlocked the door and threw it open, but before -he could open the door at the further end of the passage she heard a -heavy roar and felt the great mountain tremble. Wholly ignorant of the -meaning of it all, but seeing that her host was moved by an intelligent -purpose, and feeling profound confidence and comfort in the protection -that he was throwing about her, she placed herself completely under his -guidance. - -The rear door was opened, and they entered a dark, cold chamber. With -every moment the roaring increased and the trembling of the mountain was -augmented. Then came a tremendous, stupefying crash, and the cataclysm -gradually died away in silence, leaving an impenetrable, oppressive -blackness. - -The two prisoners stood in breathless silence, held tightly in each -other’s arms. The young woman asked no questions; her sense of security -and comfort in this man’s arms filled the whole want of her hour. -She felt vaguely that something more dreadful than all their past -misfortunes had befallen them; but that feeling brought no chill to the -strong warm blood that swept rhythmically through her heart. She was at -peace with her fate. If this was death, it was death for them both, it -was death with him. - -Her keen sympathy made her intensely attentive to every sign that he -gave; and thus it was that she accepted, without surprise or dismay, the -realization that he was not rallying, and that, on the contrary, he was -sinking under the nameless blow that had fallen upon them. It was not -anxiety for that, but for him, that now gave her every conscious quality -a redoubled alertness. His grasp upon her tightened, and by this she -knew that he felt the need of her, and was clinging to her. He trembled -in every member, and swayed as he stood. With little effort she bore -him to the ground, where, kneeling beside him and holding his hands, she -softly spoke,-- - -“My friend, we are together; and so long as each is the stay of the -other, we shall have strength and courage for all things. Now tell me -what I may do for you.” She knew by the pressure of his hand upon hers -that her words had found good ground. She gently pressed her advantage. -“Tell me what I may do for you. You are weak. You know how strong and -healthy and willing I am; then, imagine how much pleasure it would give -me to help you! You need a stimulant. Is there one in the cabin? Tell me -where it is, and I will bring it.” - -“You are kind,” he said, tremulously. - -“But do you know what has happened?” As he asked this question he rose -to a sitting posture, she assisting him. - -“No,” she calmly answered; “but no matter what has happened, we are -together, and thus we have strength and courage for it.” - -“Ah,” he said, hopelessly, “but this is the end! An avalanche has buried -us and the cabin is destroyed!” - -Terrible as was this declaration, it had no weakening effect upon his -companion. - -“Is that all?” she cheerily asked. “But avalanches melt away, and we -have each other. And if it come to the very worst, we shall still have -each other. Besides each other, we have life, and with life there is -always hope, there is always the duty to hope. If we abandon hope, life -itself is abandoned.” - -This worked like good wine in his veins; but she knew by the way in -which he still clung to her, seemingly fearful that she would leave him -for a moment, that a dreadful unknown thing sat upon him. She waited -patiently for him to disclose it. She knew that the shock of the -catastrophe had wholly cleared his mind, and that the old terrors which -he had concealed from her were working upon him with renewed activity. -Still he kept silence. - -“Do you know,” she presently said, “that I am glad the avalanche has -come? I understand now the dread of some terrible happening that has -been haunting you. Well, it has come, and we are still alive; and better -than that, we have each other. Think how much more dreadful it might -have been! Suppose that it had come while you were outside, and swept -you away. Suppose that it had crushed us in the cabin. But here we are, -safe and sound, and happy each in the presence of the other.... And I am -thinking of something else. The snow stopped falling long ago. Lately we -have had warm winds and some rain. This must mean, my friend, that the -worst is over. And doesn’t it mean that the rain has softened the snow -and loosened it to make this avalanche?” - -A sudden strength, a surprised gladness, were in the pressure that he -now gave her hand. - -“It is true, it is true!” he softly exclaimed. - -“Then,” she continued, “the winter has dealt its last blow, and our -liberation is at hand; for the rains that caused the avalanche will melt -the snow that it has piled upon us, and also the snow that has closed -the roads. It seems to me that the best of all possible things has -happened.” - -“I hadn’t thought of that!” he exclaimed, with a childish eagerness that -made her heart glow. - -“Besides,” she continued, “how do you know that the cabin is destroyed? -Let us go and see.” - -Her gentle strength and courage, the seeming soundness of her reasoning, -and her determination not to take a gloomy view of their state, roused -him without making him aware of his weakness. Her suggestion that the -cabin possibly had not been destroyed was a spur to his dulled and -stunned perception. - -“That is true,” he cheerfully said; “let us go and see.” - -Still clinging closely to each other, they groped in the darkness for -the door. - -“You have matches, haven’t you?” she inquired. - -“Yes,” he answered, in confusion; “but we can find the door without a -light.” - -That was not so easy. For the first time, now that the terrors of the -moment had passed, the young woman was nursing a happiness that she had -not known during all the dreary weeks of their imprisonment,--except -once, in his illness, when it had been of so short duration. - -Feeling thus content, she suddenly reflected that she was at last in the -forbidden apartment, where she believed some fearful mystery was kept -concealed from her. Their voices had been long smothered in the cramped -hut. The contrast that she now found was startling; yet her thoughts -might not have reverted to the fact that she was at last in the presence -of the mystery had not Wilder’s embarrassed refusal to make a light -rekindled her interest. The first thing in that direction that she -noticed was the singular resonance of their voices, as though they were -in a place of a size just short of the echoing power. More than that, it -was cold, though not nearly so cold as the outer air; and she heard the -musical tinkle of dripping and running water. - -Wilder had evidently lost all idea of direction. In clinging to -his companion as he groped, he took great care to guard her against -stumbling and collision. His free hand (the other arm was about her -waist) was extended. With great difficulty, increased by his eagerness, -he finally found his bearings and advanced to the door. Slowly and -cautiously they pushed on through the passage, and then, to their great -relief, into the hut itself. This they found intact, but smoky and -entirely dark,--the avalanche had smothered the chimney and shut out the -light from the window. With matches they discovered that the window had -not been broken and that the outer wall of the house held none of the -pressure of the snow. In his peculiar fashion, however, Wilder began to -foresee troubles. - -“The pressure of the mass above,” he said, “will compress the snow -below, and thus give our window, and perhaps the outer wall of the cabin -itself, a pressure that they can’t bear. The hut is buried. We can -have no more fires. The worst of all is that, having no air, we must -suffocate in time.” - -“Is all that necessary, my friend?” his companion asked. “We can at -least try to clear away the snow and thus remove all those difficulties; -and there is a chance--and a good one, don’t you think?--for the snow to -melt quickly. Besides all that, we have not yet tried to dig out through -the snow.” - -“True, true, every word of it!” he cried, delightedly. “What a clear, -strong mind you have!” - -This was the first compliment that he had ever paid her, and its obvious -sincerity gave it a precious value. - -It was she that now led the attack upon their prison of snow. What -infinite satisfaction and pride it gave her to know that at last she -was the guiding spirit of the hut; with what firm but gentle tact she -overcame, one by one, his objections to her worrying or working; how she -watched his every movement, hung upon his every word, relieved him as -much as possible of the stress that burdened him, and ministered to -his comfort in all ways; with what blithe songs in her heart and cheery -words on her lips she lightened the toil of that dreadful time, need -only be mentioned here. But it was she that led, that inspired, that -achieved, and he knew it. This was the blessed light that shone for her -through it all. - -A search revealed loose and easily removed snow at one end of the -hut, against the face of the cliff. His work in the lead, digging and -tunnelling, hers in the rear, removing the snow and keeping courage in -his heart, brought them presently to the outer air. Then, for the first -time, they beheld the glorious sunshine, and like children they shouted -in glee to see it. Both walls of the canon were still heavily covered -with snow, but numerous small slides had broken it, and the rain had -softened and ploughed it. Evidently it was rapidly melting. - -Another scene held them as they stood hand in hand looking down into the -canon. The great avalanche that had overwhelmed them had been arrested -in the bottom of the canon, and had made a large lake by damming the -river. Rapidly the lake grew in size and backed up the canon. Soon at -any moment the growing mass of water must break through its dam, and -that would be a spectacle to behold. - -They could not wait for that. With incredible labor--he no longer -protesting against her full share in the work, and she heedless of her -lameness and of its serious hindrance to her efforts--they together, -hand in hand, clambered over the snow until they stood above the hut, -and cheerily began to dig it free,--a task seemingly so far beyond their -powers that something wonderful must have sustained them in assailing -it. Thus they were working in the afternoon sunshine, for the first time -boon companions, and as happy and light-hearted as children, when an -exclamation from Wilder drew her attention to the dam. It was giving way -under the pressure of water. Instantly she recognized a danger that he -had overlooked. - -“Back to the cliff!” she cried, seizing his hand and dragging him away, -“or we’ll go down with the snow.” - -They reached their tunnel and the cabin in good time; but soon afterward -the dam broke, and the swirling, thundering mass of water bore it down -the canon. This removed the support of the snow backed up between the -river and the top of the cliff, and it went plunging down into the -water, leaving the top of the hut exposed, and solving the problem of -the prison of snow. - - - - -CHAPTER TWELVE - - -ONCE again from the lady’s journal: - -“It is impossible for me to describe the hope, peace, and comradeship -that have transformed this place into a little nest, where it had been -so terrible a prison before. The sunshine outside continues, and I -know that it is but a matter of days when my father will come. It seems -unaccountable to me that anything in the world could have stayed him so -long; but Dr. Mal-bone assures me that the roads and mountains are still -utterly impassable; that the roads, besides being strewn with fallen -trees, are in places washed away, and that our one means of escape will -be afoot, on our own account. We are now talking it over all the time, -and are ready to start at the first favorable moment. My leg is nearly -well; only a slight pain after severe exertion, and a most embarrassing -weakness there, are the trouble now. But he is putting me through -excellent treatment and training to overcome all that; and he has -given me the joyous promise that we shall make the start in a week from -to-day. - -“And now I must write of some other wonderful things that have happened. -The change that has come in our mutual bearing and understanding is so -incredible that I hardly dare put it down here, lest it prove a dream. I -made a vow some time ago in this journal that I would make this man need -me and want me. That victory is won. And I know that in winning it over -him I have won it over myself. O God, how blind, how stupidly, sordidly -blind, I have been all these years! In the depths of my wretched -selfishness, in the dark caverns of my meanness, I had never dreamed of -the real human heart throbbing and aching and hoping all about me; it -has taken this strange man to drag me forth into the light. And not at -all willingly or consciously has he done so. There is a sting in that. -At times I hate him still when I think of it all. It was the silent, -intangible, undirected force radiating from him that has wrought the -change. I feel no humiliation in saying this. I say it and know it in -spite of the great distance that separates us,--the social barriers that -mean so little and do so much. It will remain with me forever, whatever -happen, to have known a man; to have known him in his strength and -weakness, in his splendid unselfishness and childish reliance; in his -simplicity and complexity; in his singleness of purpose and variety -of attributes; in his gentleness and ferocity, and, above all, in his -wonderful sense of duty. But I wish he were moved by something besides -duty. - -“There is another thing I must write, and I write it with a -consciousness of burning cheeks. At times I find him--rather, I feel -him--looking at me with a certain gentleness when I am not observing. -What does that mean? Have I learned men so badly that I can mistake its -meaning? The most convenient woman will do for the man who may prefer -another but inaccessible one. Until we came closer together since the -avalanche passed and the sunshine came, I was not a woman to him. No; I -was a Duty. But there has now come into his voice and his glance a new -quality,--stay! Remember that the weakness of women is their vanity. -Could there happen so wonderful a thing as this man’s regard for me of -the kind that a woman wants from the man whom she worships? If so, is he -too proud, too reserved, too conscious of his present obligation of duty -and protection, to make it known? Does he still fear me? Does he still -hold in his heart the frightful denunciation that he hurled at me? Does -he still loathe me as a murderess? Is my wealth a barrier? Does he lack -the courage to dare what every man must dare in order to secure the -woman he loves? - -“Loves? Why did I write that word? By what authority or right? And yet, -of all the words that the sunshine of the soul has placed upon the -tongue, that is the sweetest.... - -“Distressing things have happened since I wrote the foregoing. For a -time the stimulation of sunshine and hope, the sure prospect of _my_ -release from this prison, worked miracles with his strength, both -of body and mind; but three days ago he grew silent and moody, then -restless and anxious; by night he was down with a fever, the cause of -which I cannot understand. When I see his fleshless chest and arms, -I wonder if he has some malady that is killing him, and that he has -concealed from me. His drawn face, with the skin tight to breaking on -his cheek-bones, and his extreme emaciation, look like consumption; but -he has no other symptoms, and he declares that he is perfectly sound. -Is my presence so distressing that it alone is killing him? If so, it is -murder for me to stay longer. If I only knew! - -“Why does he conceal anything from me? What could he have to conceal -that it is not right for me to know? And yet I know that the act of -concealment could not thus be killing him,--it is the thing he is -concealing that has the terror. It would be infinitely better for us -both if he let me share it, and, as I am so much stronger than he, -I could bear it so much better; the sharing of it would lighten his -burden, and my sympathy would give him strength. Why cannot he see all -this, when it is so clear to me? I must be patient, patient, patient! -That is my watchword now. - -“As in the former case, when he was taken ill, so now he prepared for -his illness by bringing in a small, but this time utterly inadequate, -supply of provisions. Not in a single instance, down to this last -attack, has he consented to eat with me; he has always retreated through -the rear door and eaten alone. It is now getting hard for me to bear -this singular tyranny about the food. He eats with me now, because, -being helpless in bed, he cannot avoid it; but he eats so little! It -is impossible for him to gain strength in this way, and I am distressed -beyond expression. He simply declares that he cannot eat. Singularly -enough, he is always urging me of late to eat little, else I shall -bring on a long list of disorders that will prevent our escape. For that -matter, there is so little left of the store that he brought from -the rear that I am uneasy lest the supply be exhausted and he remain -stubbornly to his purpose not to trust me to get more from the place -behind the rear door. What will be the end of this dreadful situation? - -“It seems an odd inconsistency in his nature that this subject of eating -should consume so much of his wandering thoughts. In his delirium he -paints gorgeous pictures of feasts. He marvels at the splendor of Nero’s -banquets, and declares that the people with so much to eat must have -been fat and content! I hate to put this down, for it seems treasonable -to betray this touch of grossness in a nature so singularly fine. If he -thinks so much of eating, why should he be urging me to eat sparingly of -the rude things that his larder might afford, and that cost me so much -effort to eat with a good grace? It is strange how many unexpected -things we learn of others in intimate association!... - -“In glancing over these last pages I see how wretchedly I have failed -to give the least insight into our life and relations. How could I ever -have had the heart to see, much more put in writing, the slightest flaw -in so noble a character? It would seem that the sympathy born of this -new relation between us ought to touch only the best in my nature. -Shame, shame, shame on me! Do I not see his haunting glance follow me -everywhere, and resting upon me always with inexpressible gratitude? - -“He is almost completely dependent upon me now. I nurse him as I would -a child. It would be utterly inadequate to say that this fills me with -happiness as being a return of some of the kindness that he has shown -me. No, there is something besides that. The gratitude in my heart is -great,--greater than I had thought so small and mean a heart could have. -I am glad that I have it. But the joy of it all is the doing for this -man, without regard to gratitude. To do for him; to nurse him; to cheer -him; to feel that he needs me and wants me,--that is my heaven. And -although a dreadful fear haunts me that he is dying,--that in some way -that I cannot understand I am killing him,--that if he should die my -life would be empty and dark,--still, it would be infinitely sweet to -have him die in my arms, still needing me, still wanting me. Now that I -have written that,--how could I have written it?--I will write more -in all shamelessness. I want him to _say_ that he needs me and wants -me,--that he needs me and wants me to the end of his life. - -“As I have written that much, I will write the rest, else my heart will -burst. I love this man. I love him with all my heart, all my soul. I -love him for everything that he is, not for anything that he has done. -He is the one man whom the great God in His cruel wisdom and merciless -providence has sent into my life for me to love. And with my tears -wetting these pages, and my soul breathing prayers for his recovery, and -his delivery to me, I pledge and consecrate myself to him to the end -of my days, whatever may come. With every good impulse within me I will -strive to be worthy of so great a heart, so noble a love. I will try to -win his love by deserving it.... - -“An unexpected change for the better has come. Our supply of food had -fallen so low that I had about determined to take matters into my -own hands, enter the forbidden chamber, and get more provisions, when -another idea occurred to me. It was absolutely necessary that we have -more food. More important than that was the evident fact that he -would die for the need of it if it were not forthcoming. I feared the -disturbing effect of my going into the forbidden chamber, and so decided -to make a thorough search of the cabin first. Knowing his inexplicable -peculiarity on the subject of our food, I suspected that at some time -in his mental wandering he may have concealed some in the cabin. So this -morning before daylight, while he slept,--his sleeping is incredibly -light,--I cautiously made a search of the cabin, and happily found a few -nourishing things in the bottom of a box, where he had either concealed -them or left them forgotten. These I prepared for him in a most tempting -manner. I arranged my own dishes in a way to make him think I had eaten -abundantly myself, and told him so when he awoke and refused to eat, -urging me to eat what I had prepared for him. - -“When I had convinced him that I had eaten all I could, he took a -little, gingerly, from my hand. I had laid my plans well. As I fed him I -talked incessantly, telling him a story that I knew would interest him. -Before he realized what he was doing--his mind was not as alert as it -normally is--he had eaten somewhat generously. The effect was magical. -Color came to his cheeks and the quiet old sparkle to his eyes. Before -long, to my great surprise and delight, he was up, and then went out to -note the prospect for our leaving. He came back with a radiant face and -buoyant manner, and said,-- - -“‘My friend, we will start at sunrise to-morrow.’ - -“My heart gave a great bound. It was a simple matter to make our -preparations, as it was necessary that we travel as light as possible. -It is time that we were leaving, for the last of the food that he -brought from the rear is exhausted.... - -“The morning has come. And now we are about to turn our backs upon -this strange place of suffering and mystery, its suffering endured, its -mystery unsolved. And without shame do I say that I would rather walk -out thus, and face the perils that lie ahead, with this man as my -guide, my protector, my friend, than go forth in all the stateliness and -triumph that wealth could afford. - -“Farewell, dear, dear little home, my refuge, my cradle, my hope. I will -come back, and---- - -“He is calling me at the door. I must kiss this table, these chairs, -that bed, the walls. But it is with Him that I go.” Thus closed the -lady’s journal. - - - - -CHAPTER THIRTEEN - -THE two started bravely in the fine morning sunshine. There were long -and laborious miles ahead, and only a short day in which to overcome -them and their difficulties. In his heart the young man believed that -it would be impossible for them to complete the task that day, and he -dreaded the shelterless night that would overtake them. But should he -break down, the day’s work would have hardened his companion for the -rest of the journey alone. There was a chance that they would find help -on the way, for surely efforts would be making to clear the roads. The -snow had disappeared from all exposed places. - -They descended the shaly, slippery trail to the road, and here he was -gratified to see that the avalanche had cleared away the fallen tree -and the wreck of the wagon. He led the way up the canon, for in that -direction were the nearest houses. - -He found the road even worse than he had expected. Being a narrow way, -cut into the steep slope of the canon, to leave it in rounding fallen -trees and breaches left by the storm was a slow and laborious task, and -time was precious for a number of reasons. Each had a load to bear,--he -some covering against the night, and she some articles of her own. These -soon became very burdensome to both. - -On they plodded. While a heaviness appeared in his manner, her bearing -was cheerful and spirited. A sadness that he made no effort to conceal -and that she bravely hid oppressed them both. To find him sad was -sufficient to tinge her sadness with happiness. They rested at short -intervals, for the exertion soon began to tell upon them, but upon -him the more. They slaked their thirst from the river. To the woman it -seemed a spring-time stroll through flowering fields, softened by the -sweet sadness of May. To him it was a task that brought them step by -step nearer to the end, where he must deal her the crudest blow of her -life. For at the end she expected news of her father. She would hear it, -and from the one who would have been the most glad to spare her. But she -must not know yet. All her strength was needed for the task before -her. It is time to break hearts when their breaking can be no longer -deferred. - -He had been trudging ahead. He must have suspected that she observed the -labor with which he walked, the uncontrollable tendency of his knees to -give way, the reeling that now would send him against the bank, and then -upon the outer edge of the grade; for presently he asked her to walk -ahead. She complied. - -Their slow and laborious work presently made it impossible for them to -talk. They went on in silence. After they had proceeded thus for some -hours, a thing occurred that struck dismay to her soul. Her companion -suddenly became voluble. At first he was coherent, although he talked -about matters to which she was a total stranger. This showed an alarming -unconsciousness of her presence. As he talked, he became more and more -incoherent, and at times laughed inanely. Presently, with awe in his -voice, he said,-- - -“She was the woman I loved. She’s dead, boys, she’s dead; and by God! -they killed her.” - -Her spirit sank. After all that she had hoped and yearned for, there now -had come back the most terrible of the ghosts of the bitter past. After -all the seeming bridging of the chasm that had separated them, it opened -now all the wider and deeper and darker. - -“Do you know what a murderer is?” he exclaimed in a loud voice, as he -swung his arm threateningly aloft. “A she-wolf, the slyest and most -dangerous of beasts. She comes whining and fawning; she licks your hand; -she wins your trust. And then, when you have warmed her, and patched her -torn skin, and mended her broken bones, she turns upon you and tears out -your heart with her fangs.” - -Stifling, faint, barely able to stand, the young woman stood aside, and -he passed her without seeing her. - -“Yes,” he resumed in great excitement, “I must be a man,--always a -man. What! kill a woman? No, no, no! Not that. That would be terrible, -brutal, cowardly. Yes, I must be a man. She needs me; I will help her. -Is that door locked? She must never know--never know so long as she -lives. Ah, that is beautiful, wonderful, savory,--a feast for gods and -angels! Yes, I will do my duty. She needs me. She despises me. Very -good; I will do my duty. She scorns my poor food--secretly, but I know! -She is getting well. Thank God for that! She shall eat all she can. -Me? No, no. I don’t want anything. No; I don’t want a thing. I have no -appetite!” - -He burst into laughter, and the echo of it came back from the opposite -wall of the canon. - -“Oh, my love, my love!” he cried, suddenly becoming sad, “how could you -cast me off, when all had been so true and trusting between us? But I -know it was better so. It was not right for me to stand in the way.” He -paused, and his voice sank into an awed whisper as he said, “She’s dead, -boys, she’s dead; and by God! they killed her.” - -He pushed rapidly on, muttering things that she could not hear, that she -did not want to hear. Not a word of kindness for her had come from him -in his delirium, and her heart was breaking. - -“When it is all over,” he said aloud, “I will go to my old friend, and -he will nurse me back to health and strength, and I will begin the -fight again. I will be a man--always a man. I will do my duty. And the -she-wolf--no, no, no! She will not tear out my heart with her claws and -fangs. No! There is no she-wolf! I say, there is no she-wolf. No! She -is kind to me. I know it, I know it! She is gentle and thoughtful and -unselfish. She is very, very beautiful. She won’t leave me, will she? -She won’t leave me alone! But she is unmanning me! I must not let her -do that! I must be a man and do my duty. No, you must not take off my -shoes. I can do that. I have no pain--none whatever. Yes, I will be -calm. Your voice is sweet; it is music; it fills me with peace and -comfort; and your hand on my face--how soft and pleasant it is! I wish -I could tell you; but no, I must do my duty; I must be a man! I will not -listen to your voice. I will not let you touch me. That would keep me -from my duty.” - -These words raised her from despair to bliss. And so he had fought his -inclinations,--he needed her, he wanted her! - -Still he kept on. She strained every hearing faculty for his slightest -word. For what he had already said, she could bear his forgetting her -presence. Still they pushed on, he muttering and laughing; but for all -his madness, he was wise and cautious amid the dangers and hardships of -the road. No longer did he advise her, guide her, assist her, and show -her the innumerable unobtrusive attentions to which she had become -accustomed. - -At last he suddenly stopped in a stretch of good road and looked about, -bewildered. - -“Where is this?” he whispered; then aloud, “Oh, it is the trail of the -wolves! After them will come the she-wolf, and her fangs----” He dropped -his parcel and clutched his breast. “Her fangs!” he gasped. He looked -about and picked up a stick, which he swung as a club about him. “The -she-wolf is here!” he cried. - -His glance fell upon his companion, standing in awe and pity and love -before him. Instantly a fearful malignity hardened his face, and -his eyes blazed with the murder that had filled them once before. He -clutched the stick more fiercely, and glared at her with a mixture of -terror and ferocity. But she stood firm, and gently said,-- - -“My friend!” - -His face instantly softened. She stood smiling, her glance caressing, -her whole bearing bespeaking sympathy and affection. - -“My dear friend,” she said, in a voice whose sweetness sank deep within -him, “you know me!” - -A look of joyous recognition swept over his face. - -“I am so glad!” he breathlessly said. “I thought you had left me alone!” - -Saying this, he sank to the ground, smiling upon her as he fell. - -She knelt beside him, placed a soothing hand upon his cheek, and spoke -comforting words. His face showed the profound gratification that filled -him, and her soul spread its wings in the sunshine that filled the day -with its glories. - -He lay limp and helpless, but she knew that he must be going forward if -he could. She caressed him, she coaxed him, she raised him to a sitting -posture, she put her arms under his and lifted him to his feet; but his -breathing was short and distressed, his head rolled listlessly, and his -legs refused their offices. Then she realized that the last remnant of -his strength, both of body and spirit, was gone; and her heart sank to -the uttermost depths. - -“Lay me down,” he said, very gently, but clearly, and with perfect -resignation. “Lay me down, my friend, and go on alone. I am very tired, -and must sleep. Keep to the road. I don’t think it is far to the nearest -house. You are sure to find some one. Be brave and keep on.” - -She laid him down and turned away. A cruel choking had throttled her -power of speech. With tears so streaming from her eyes that she went -about her purpose half blind, she found a drier place in the road, -gathered pine-needles less soaked than the rest, made a bed for him -there, and spread upon it the blankets that he had been carrying. -When she looked again into his face he was sleeping lightly, and his -breathing betrayed great physical distress. As gently as a mother -lifting her sleeping babe, she took him up in her arms, bore him to the -bed, and with infinite care and tenderness laid him upon it. Then with -some twigs and handkerchiefs she fashioned a canopy that shielded his -head from the sun. She covered him with a free part of the blanket; but -fearing that it would prove insufficient, she removed her outer skirt -and covered him with that; these covers she tucked about him, that he -might not easily throw them off. - -He had not been roused by these attentions. She knelt beside him and -gently kissed his hands, his cheeks, his forehead, his lips, and wiped -away her streaming tears as they fell upon his face. He moved slightly, -opened his eyes, looked into her face, and smiled. Very feebly he took -her hand, brought it to his lips, kissed it, smiled again, closed his -eyes, and with a sigh of weariness fell asleep. She knelt thus and -watched him for a little while, seeing him sink deeper and deeper -into slumber. Then she rose. And now may the great God give heart and -strength for the mighty task ahead! - -Not trusting herself to look back upon him, she gathered up her courage -and started. On she went, her head high, her eyes aflame, her cheeks -aglow. A suffocating, heart-aching loneliness haunted her, dogged her, -gnawed at her spirit. More than once she wavered, weak and trembling, -under the backward strain upon her heart-strings. More than once she -cried aloud, “I can’t leave him! I can’t leave him! I must go back!” And -then she would summon all her strength again, and cry, “It is for his -sake that I go! It is to save him that I leave him!” - -Thus, rended by contending agonies, she went on and on. With incredible -self-torturings she pictured the dangers to which she had left him -exposed. What had he meant by the wolves? Was there really danger from -that source? Often in his sleep in the hut, and again when his mind -would wander, he had spoken of the wolves, and always in terror; but -most dreadful of all things to him was the she-wolf. Yet during all the -time that she had been imprisoned with him in the hut there had not been -the least sign of a wolf, not the most distant howl of one. Why had this -hallucination been so persistent with him, so terrifying to him? - -The miles seemed interminable. She kept her eyes and ears strained for -signs and sounds of human life. At intervals she would call aloud with -all her might, and after hearing the echo of her voice die away in the -canon, wait breathlessly for a response that never came. With eager -haste she pushed on. Clambering over fallen trees, heading gullies that -she could not leap, wading swift rivulets with which the rapidly melting -snow was still ploughing the road, she came at length within view -of some men who were clearing the road with axes and mending it with -shovels,--the rough, strong, silent, capable men of the mountains. She -frantically waved her handkerchief and called as she went. They stopped -their work and stood gazing at her in wondering silence. They saw that -she was not of their kind; but their trained sensibilities informed them -that the great mountains had been working their terrible will upon human -helplessness, and they stood ready to put the strength of their arms and -hearts into the human struggle. - -Imperfectly clad as she was, her form and bearing suggesting a princess, -her beauty, enhanced by her joy at finding help, radiant and dazzling, -their wonder and shyness held them stolid and outwardly unresponsive, -and they silently waited for her to speak. She went straight to them, -and, looking at them one after another as she spoke, she said,-- - -“Will you help me, men? I left a man exhausted in the road some miles -down the canon. I fear he is dying. Will you go with me and help me -bring him up? Is there a doctor anywhere near? Is there a house to -which we may take him?” - -There was a moment of silence,--these men are slow, but all the surer -for that. - -One of them, a bearded, commanding man of middle age, said,-- - -“Yes, we will go and bring him up. A doctor lives up the canon. Maybe -he’s at home. The man can’t walk?” - -“No; he is lying helpless in the road.” The strong man, whom she -afterward heard the others call Samson,--one of those singular -coincidences of name and character,--turned and picked out two men. - -“You two,” he said, as quietly as though he were directing the -road-work, “cut two poles and make a litter with them and a blanket. -Go and bring the man up. You,” he said to a third, “help them make the -litter, and give a hand on the trip.” Two others he directed to prepare -the wagon, which stood a short distance up the road. Another he sent up -the road to summon the doctor. Then he turned his attention to the young -woman. Without consulting her, he made a comfortable nest of greatcoats -and blankets, and when he had so deftly and quickly finished it, he said -to her,-- - -“Come and rest here.” - -“No!” she vehemently protested; “I am going back with the men.” - -“You are not going back with the men. If you did, there would be two -for them to bring up instead of one. One is enough. Make yourself -comfortable here; you are safe.” - -The slight rebuke in this, and the quiet determination with which the -man spoke, informed her that she must lay a reasoning hand upon her -agonizing fear and impatience. She obeyed him with as good a grace as -she could find. - -Again without consulting her, he brought some hot coffee, poured it into -a tin-cup, and held it out to her. - -“Drink that,” he said. - -She drank it. He then produced some bread, which he sliced and buttered. - -“Eat that,” he said. - -She obeyed. While doing so she watched the men make the litter, and -marvelled at the skill with which they worked, and the quickness with -which the task was done, seemingly without the slightest effort or -hurry. Then in silence the three men swung down the road. - -The man named Samson, although he had not appeared to be giving any -attention to his fair guest, was in front of her the moment she had -finished the bread and butter. He carried some things in his arms, and -threw them down at her feet. - -“Take off your shoes and stockings,” he said, “and put on these socks; -they are thick and warm. Take off all your other things that are wet, -and wrap yourself up in these blankets. By the time the litter comes -your things will be dry in the sun.” - - - - -CHAPTER FOURTEEN - -THE three remaining men turned to their work of clearing the road, -headed by Samson. He had not asked her any questions; he did not even -look again her way; but presently he brought her clothes, which he had -spread and dried in the sunshine, and told her that by the time she was -dressed the litter would be there. This she found to be so. - -Coming down the road, on a powerful horse, she saw a bearded, -ruddy-faced, stocky, middle-aged man, whose business she easily guessed -from the country-doctor’s saddle-bags slung across his horse. The doctor -rode up and greeted,-- - -“Hello, Samson! Man hurt?” - -“Don’t know,” answered the foreman. - -Then, with a jerk of his thumb toward his guest, he added, “She can tell -you.” - -The doctor had not seen her. He looked around, gazed at her a moment in -astonishment, and then, with a fine courtesy singularly different from -the hearty roughness with which he had greeted the man, he raised his -hat. - -This diversion had kept the attention of the two from the quiet arrival -of the men with the litter. When the young woman saw it, she forgot the -presence of all save him lying so quiet where the men had placed him -on a bed made by Samson from coats. She ran and knelt beside him; she -kissed his cheeks; she chafed his hands; she begged him to speak, to -live for her sake. - -The strong hand of the doctor lifted her from the unconscious man -and gently put her aside. A moment’s astonished gaze into the pallid, -upturned face brought this burst from the doctor,-- - -“Adrian Wilder--dying!” He turned anxiously upon the young woman, and -demanded, “Where did you find him? What is the matter here?” - -“You mistake,” she firmly said. “He is Dr. Malbone.” - -“Dr. Malbone!” he exclaimed. “Why, I am Dr. Malbone. This man is my -friend, Adrian Wilder!” - -His look was half fierce and full of suspicion. - -Too surprised to comprehend at once the full meaning of his declaration, -she stood staring at the physician in silence. That gentleman, turning -from her, dropped on his knees and made a hurried examination of the -unconscious man. “I don’t understand this,” he said to himself. He -quickly opened Wilder’s shirt. Upon seeing the emaciation there, and -exclaiming in amazement and horror, he turned again upon the young woman -as he knelt, and demanded,-- - -“Explain this to me. Be quick, for every moment is precious. I don’t -want to make a mistake, and I must know. He has pneumonia; but there is -something behind it. Where and when did you find him?” - -In a few words she told the salient facts of the story as she believed -it,--the running away of the horses, the breaking of her leg, her -father’s departure to fetch relief, her care at the stone hut. - -“When did this accident happen to you?” the doctor asked. - -“Four months ago.” - -“And you two have lived alone at his cabin?” - -“Yes.” - -He glanced her over, and looked more puzzled than ever. - -“You are looking hearty,” he said; “how is it that my friend is in this -condition?” - -“It must have been his care of me and his worry on my account.” - -This appeared half to satisfy Dr. Mal-bone. - -“Yes,” he said, “not being a doctor, and being extremely susceptible to -the pressure of his duty toward you, he may have worn himself out.” - -With that he hastily gave the young man a stimulant, and said,-- - -“Fall to here, men, and help me revive him, else he will be dead before -we know it. Chafe his wrists and ankles. Hurry, men, but be gentle. That -is good. Slow, there, John; those horny hands of yours are strong and -rough. Samson, bring some strong coffee as quickly as God will let you. -Rub him under the blankets, men; don’t let him chill. Maybe we can -get him out of this pinch. The great thing now is to take him to my -house.... Ah, that is good work, lads! His heart is waking up a little. -That is good. That is very good.” - -Dr. Malbone straightened up, and turned to the young woman, again -fastening upon her the strange, severe, suspicious, half-threatening -look that she had already learned to dread. - -“I fear there is something unexplained here, madam, something concealed. -I am not accusing you. My friend is a strange, fine man, and for good -reasons he may have withheld something from you. But he would never hide -anything from me. Did he give you a letter for any one?” - -“He did not.” - -“Have you seen him writing?” - -“No.” - -“Martin, hand me his coat.” - -Dr. Malbone searched the pockets, and found a sealed letter addressed to -him. He tore it open and read. As he read his astonishment grew. When he -had finished, he turned a strange, pitying look upon the young woman. - -“He charges me to give you this when I shall have read it.” - -He handed her the letter, which she read. It ran thus: - -“My dear Friend,--This is written to give Miss Andros some unhappy -information that she ought to have at the earliest safe and proper -moment, and as a precaution against my breaking down before that moment -arrives. To have told her at first might have prevented her recovery. -The proper moment to tell her will have arrived when she is in safe -hands. I trust that they may be yours, and I know that you will show her -every kindness that your generous soul can yield. - -“It is this: Her father lost his life in the accident on the grade, by -the falling of a tree upon him. His body rests under the earth in the -farther end of the cave into which the rear door of my cabin opens. The -grave is marked with a board giving his name. Nailed up in a box near -the door are his personal effects. - -“Give this letter to my afflicted friend. It will convey no hint of the -profound sympathy that I feel, nor of what I suffer in thus raising my -hand to deal her so cruel a blow. - -“I can only crave her forgiveness for deceiving her both as to her -father’s death and my being a physician.” - -The eager hope, the anxiety, the absorption of her entire self in the -stricken man at her feet, fled before the crushing whirlwind of grief -that now overwhelmed her. The loss of her father was the loss of the -anchor of her life, the loss of the one sure thing upon which her soul -rested, in which she knew peace, security, sympathy, and strength. -She spoke no word, but gazed far down the canon, a picture of complete -desolation. Dr. Malbone stood beside her, looking down thoughtfully into -the face of his friend. The men, relieved from their work of bringing -back a faint glow of the flickering life on the ground, moved away -silently, with the instinctive delicacy of their kind, knowing that they -were facing a tragedy that they did not understand. - -The letter fell from the young woman’s hand as she still gazed in mute -agony down the canon. A slight swaying of her form warned Dr. Malbone -that his time for action had arrived. - -“A noble life still is left to us,” he quietly said, without looking up, -and with a certain unsteadiness in his voice; “and it appeals to us for -all that we have to give of help and strength and sympathy.” - -It was a timely word. Instantly she dragged herself out of the crushing -tumult into which she had been plunged. - -“Yes,” she said, radiant with love and towering above the wreck that -encompassed her, “the noblest of all lives is still left to us, and it -shall have all that lies in us to give.” - -“Then,” said Dr. Malbone, “time is very precious. Let us take him to my -home at once.” - -The sun had set behind the western mountains, but it still tipped the -snowy summit of Mount Shasta with a crimson glow. - -“Put the horses through,” said Dr. Malbone to the man who drove. - -They made good speed up the grade, Dr. Malbone pondering in silence some -problem that still sorely troubled him, the young woman sitting on -the floor of the wagon and holding the hand of the unconscious man. -Presently they arrived at Dr. Malbone’s house, where his plain, homelike -wife, a competent mountain woman, quickly had the patient comfortable -in bed, while her husband went thoroughly into the treatment. His was a -mercurial spirit, the opposite of the gentle soul now seemingly passing -away under his hands. - -“I can find absolutely nothing,” he finally exclaimed, in despair, -“except simple inanition as the probable cause and a complication of -this attack, and I know that it is absurd. You must help me, madam. Tell -me how you lived.” - -Numerous sharp questions were required before he finally came upon the -trail of the truth. She had delayed saying that Wilder had not eaten -with her, and that toward the last he was niggardly with the food, -because she feared that it would sound like a reproach. The moment she -mentioned it, Dr. Mal-bone was transfigured. He sprang back from the -bedside and confronted her, menacing and formidable, as Wilder had -confronted her on that terrible day when she told him the story of her -breaking up the attachment between a musician and her friend, and the -death of the girl from a broken heart. What had she done or said that -should bring this second storm of a man’s fury upon her? - -“And you no doubt think,” cried Dr. Malbone, “that you have learned from -his letter the true reason for his keeping you out of the cave. In all -this broad world is there any human being so besotted with selfishness -as not to be able to burrow through its swinishness for the truth? Come -and look at this.” He dragged her to the bedside and showed her the body -of his patient. “Is there under heaven,” he continued, “a mental or -a spiritual eye so blinded with brutal egotism, so drunk with -self-interest, as not to read the story that this poor withered frame -writes large? Do you not understand that in those acts--over which you -no doubt whined and complained in your empty heart--he gave evidence of -a sublime sacrifice for you? Look at your own abundant flesh. You never -went hungry in the hut. You never asked yourself if he might have food -sufficient for two during the long winter. And now you see that he has -denied himself for your comfort. He is dying of starvation, because in -his splendid unselfishness he wanted you to be comfortable.” - -Dr. Malbone paused, but his eyes were still blazing upon her, and his -body trembled with the passion that stirred him. - -“One affliction has fallen upon you; may you have strength and grace to -bear it; but I say this: If ten thousand such afflictions had overtaken -you, the suffering from them would not be adequate----” - -He suddenly checked himself, and gave his wife hurried instructions for -the preparation of some nutriment. While this was preparing, he resorted -to such vigorous measures as the urgency of the case demanded. All this -quickly brought him under self-control, and he worked with the sure hand -of a skilful man battling with all his might in a desperate emergency. -The young woman had sunk into a chair, where she sat dazed, weak, -ill, and ignored, not daring to offer help, and praying dumbly for the -opening of a vast gulf to entomb her. - -The patient rallied under the physician’s treatment. Slowly, but with -palpable effect, Dr. Malbone dragged him a little way from the brink of -death. The doctor’s coat was off, but sweat streamed down his face. -His wife--silent, intelligent, and alert--gave him all the help that he -required, and neither of them looked toward the suffering woman sitting -crushed and miserable in the chair. Thus the time passed until the -intense anxiety in the physician’s face began to relax; and at last, -with a sigh, he sank wearily into a chair, remarking to his wife,-- - -“There is nothing more to do for the present. He is rallying. Give him -time. The chances are a hundred to one against him.” - -He rested his head on the back of his chair and closed his eyes, while -his wife went to discharge her duties in another part of the house. -Soon he raised his head, and in his old kindly manner said to the young -woman,-- - -“I am sorry for the way in which I talked just now, and I ask you to -forgive me. You will understand my outburst and be more inclined to -forgive me when I tell you something of my poor friend’s life; for I am -certain that he has told you nothing. Has he?” - -“No,” she answered, weakly and humbly. - -“He has suffered so cruel a wrong in the past that when I see the least -approach to imposition upon his noble unselfishness it maddens me. I -ought not to have blamed you. You were not conscious of imposing upon -him. I believe that he is dying. If so, there will be no harm in my -telling you his story. If he lives, I can trust you with it. - -“I had known him in San Francisco, but I came to these mountains long -before him. It was less than two years ago that he came to me, and you -can never realize the shock that his condition gave me. After a while he -told me of his trouble as he understood it. It was this: Through giving -violin lessons to a young lady of wealth and of great loveliness of -character, he became deeply attached to her, and in return she gave -him her whole affection. She was willing and anxious to marry him, even -though she knew that her parents and friends would disown her if she -did. He hesitated, from pure unselfishness, to bring upon her any -distress that their marriage might cause. The poor fool could not -understand that she would have gladly given up everything in life for -him. He was called away to fill a lucrative engagement, and in his -absence her heart changed toward him. Soon afterward she died. When he -came to me he was broken in spirit and body, and it was my privilege -to start him aright in a chastened and nobler life. He and I built the -cabin, and there he was to pass the winter in unremitting study and -self-mastery. - -“That was the story as he told it to me and as he believed it to be. But -I saw that something was behind it that in his sweetness and generosity -he had never suspected. I myself learned the truth. By means of a few -inquiries made by letter to a friend in San Francisco, I found that an -old school-friend of the girl had made the trouble. It was a case of -malicious revenge. The girl whom my friend loved had innocently and -unconsciously received the love of a man for whom she cared nothing, as -her whole affection was with my friend. This man was very rich, and for -that and other reasons was regarded as a prize. It appears that before -losing his heart to this loveliest of girls he had been devoted to her -old school-friend, a beautiful and dashing belle, who expected to marry -him. When she found that she had lost him, she planned revenge. She was -utterly without heart or principle. So she traded on her old -school-mate’s confidence in her, and used that friendship to separate -the lovers with lies and cunning. She succeeded. The girl died of a -broken heart, and my friend’s life was ruined.” - -A look of unutterable horror settled upon the young woman’s face, and -she sat upright and rigid, staring helplessly at him. - -“I never told him what I had learned,” resumed the physician. “It might -have broken his heart, and he had suffered enough. I did not want him -to know that malice, revenge, and murder had played their part in his -story.” - -The young woman’s face bore so singular an expression that the physician -marvelled. She was white, and deep and unaccustomed lines marred her -beauty. - -“He knows the whole truth,” she said, quietly, and with a strange -hardness. “He knows that I am the woman who brought about their -separation. He learned it from me long ago in his cabin.” What Dr. -Malbone might have done under the spur of the horror and amazement -that filled him was checked by a violent fit of coughing with which his -patient had been seized. His physician’s training instantly sent him to -the bedside. - -“Help me here!” he cried, as he raised the sufferer. - -The young woman staggered to the bed. Dr. Malbone shot a malevolent -glance at her, but she did not heed it. He raised his hand to thrust her -back, but she grasped it, and quietly and firmly said,-- - -“I am going to help you.” - -He yielded, and told her what to do, and she did it. - -The cough was checked, and the sufferer was laid back upon the pillow. -His eyes were open, and he looked from one of the watchers to the other -as they stood on opposite sides of the bed. At first he was puzzled, and -then a bright look of recognition lighted up his face. He smiled as he -extended a feeble hand to each. - -“You are safe,” he faintly said to the young woman. “I am glad. Dr. -Mal-bone will be kind to you.” To the physician he said, his voice -tremulous with affection, “My dear old friend, always true, always -kind.” - -He wanted to say more, but Dr. Mal-bone checked him and gave him -something to strengthen him. He took it, shaking his head and smiling -sadly. Presently, as his eyes grew brighter, Dr. Malbone said,-- - -“You may speak now, Adrian, if you wish.” - -The young woman had knelt, and, taking the sufferer’s hand in both of -hers, bowed her head over it as she pressed it to her lips. - -“Look at me,” he said to her. - -She raised her head, and they looked long and silently at each other. He -seemed troubled and anxious. - -“My poor friend,” he said, “you have not yet learned. Dr. Malbone--a -letter--my pocket.” - -“I have read the letter, my friend,” she hastened to say. “I know all -about my father, and I know how thoughtful and kind you were not to tell -me.” - -“Then you forgive me?” he begged. - -“Forgive you, my friend? Yes, a thousand times; but how can you -forgive----” - -She buried her face in his pillow; her arm stole round him, and she drew -him against her breast. - -“I did that long ago,” he replied. - -“My noble, generous friend!” she said. “But can you understand what you -have been to me, what you have done for me, what you are to me? Can you -believe that you have made a true woman of me? Am I still the she-wolf, -my friend?” - -A supreme agony moved her in this appeal. He feebly tried to check -her with his hand, but she nestled her cheek close against his and -pleaded,-- - -“Do you understand that you have made me worthy of every kind regard -that so noble a man could have for a woman? Can you believe, friend of -my life, that you have made me such a woman as would be perfect in your -eyes?” - -He made no reply, and, still holding him in her arms, she raised her -head to look into his face. He was regarding her with a strange and -distant wistfulness, and there shone in his eyes a pale, far light that -stretched through infinite space. A faint smile played upon his lips, -the feeble pressure of his hand closed upon hers. - -“You will not leave me, will you?” she pleaded. “You will come back to -health, my friend. You will teach me, you will guide me. The world will -be bright and beautiful, for all our suffering has been borne. We belong -each to the other, my friend, in friendship, trust, and sympathy.” - -Still he smiled as he looked into her face; and as he smiled, and she -saw the strange, far light that shone from so inconceivable a distance -in the awful depths of his eyes, her eager heart found a bridge of glass -spanning the gulf between them. Then he sighed deeply, and his eyes -rolled upward. She sprang from the bed to her feet. - -“Dr. Malbone!” she cried, in a suppressed voice, “quick! he has -fainted!” - -The physician, who had stepped a little way apart, came forward and -looked down into the still face of his friend. Then he glanced up at the -young woman, who was trembling with eager impatience. - -“There is nothing to do,” sadly replied Dr. Malbone; then he passed -round the bed, took the young woman gently by the arm, and, in a kind -voice, said, “Come with me.” - -She went with him, wondering, and looking over her shoulder toward the -bed. He led her into an adjoining room, closed the door, and placed a -chair for her. - -“No, Dr. Malbone!” she protested. “How can I, when he needs us both so -much? Hurry back to him; I will stay here if you wish.” - -“No,” replied the physician; “my place is here.” - -A look of desperate eagerness settled in her face, and she was listening -intently for a sound from the other room. The physician regarded -her pityingly, as she stood trembling in an agony of impatience and -apprehension. Unable to control herself longer, she seized him by the -arm, and cried,-- - -“Dr. Malbone, you know best, but I can’t bear to leave him! Do you know -that I fear he will die? He is all the world to me, and I can’t bear to -let him go. Do you understand that? I want him to live. I want to show -him what a good woman’s trust and love can be. I want to give my whole -life to his happiness. I want to atone for all the evil and suffering -that I have brought upon him. I want him to know that he has found peace -and a refuge at last. Dr. Malbone, go and save him!” - -Dr. Malbone took her hands in his, and said,-- - -“Will you try to understand what I am going to say?” - -“Yes, yes!” she answered. - -“Then command all the strength of your soul.” - -“Dr. Malbone!” she gasped, peering into his eyes, her face blanching. - -With pity and tenderness the physician said,-- - -“Our friend is dead; he died in your arms.” - - -THE END. - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Man: His Mark, by W. C. 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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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: A Man: His Mark - A Romance, Second Edition - -Author: W. C. Morrow - -Illustrator: Elenore Plaisted Abbott - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51954] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAN: HIS MARK *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -A MAN: HIS MARK - -Second Edition - -A Romance - -By W. C. Morrow - -Author of "Bohemian Paris of To-Day," - -"The Ape, The Idiot, and Other People," etc. - -With a Frontispiece by Elenore Plaisted Abbott - -Philadelphia and London J. B. Lippincott Company - -1899 - -[Illustration: 0006] - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - -A MAN: HIS MARK - - - - -CHAPTER ONE - -One forenoon, in the winter of the great storms that swept the Pacific -States, Adrian Wilder, a tall, slender, dark young man, stood in front -of his stone hut on a shoulder of Mt. Shasta and watched the assembling -of the elemental furies to do their savage work in the mountains. By all -the signs that he had learned he knew that mighty havoc was to be done; -but he did not foresee, nor did the oldest residents of that wilderness, -that this was the beginning of the most memorable winter of terrors -known to the white man's history of the region. - -A strong sense of security and comfort filled him as, turning from the -gathering tumult about him, he studied the resistance of his hut. He, -with Dr. Malbone's help, had built it from foundation to roof, using the -almost perfectly shaped blocks from the talus of the lofty perpendicular -basalt cliff at whose base he had built his nest that summer. With -nice discrimination he had selected the stones from the great heap that -stretched far down from one end of the shelf upon which he had built; -with mud he had fitted the stones to form floor, walls, arched roof, and -chimney. With boards and a window-sash borne by him up the mountain from -the road in the canon he had fashioned a window and doors. By the -same means--for the shelf was inaccessible to a wagon--he had brought -furniture, books, provisions, and fuel. - -The hut was strong and comfortable. - -Should snow fall to a great depth, he could easily shovel it down the -steep slope of the canon. Should an avalanche come,--that made him -wince. Still, he had made calculations on that account. By arching the -roof of his hut he had given it great strength. Better than that, should -an avalanche plunge over the edge of the cliff it must first gather -great speed and momentum. Stretching back mountainward from the top of -the cliff was a considerable space nearly level; an avalanche descending -from the higher reaches of the vast mountain would likely stop on this -level ground; but should it be so great and swift as to pass over, its -momentum would likely carry it safely over his hut, as the water of -a swiftly running stream, plunging over a ledge, leaves a dry space -between itself and the wall. - -But why think of the avalanche, with its crushing, burying snow, and, -far worse, its formidable bowlders that could annihilate any structure -made by men? It were better to think of the comfort and security of the -hut, and listen to the pleasant music of the little stream at the base -of the cliff. - -Better still was it to view the coming onslaught of the elements; to -note the marvellous coherency of the plan by which their destruction -was to be wrought; to observe how the splendid forces at play worked in -intelligent harmony to shape a malevolent design. To a man of Wilder's -fine sensibilities, every fury unleashed in the gathering tumult seemed -to be possessed of superhuman malignancy of purpose and capability of -execution. The furious wind that came driving down the canon lying far -below him was the breath of the approaching multitude of storm-demons. -The giant trees on the slopes of the canon seemed to brace themselves -against the impending assault. Behind the wind, filling all the sky with -a gray blanket that darkened away to the source of the wind, was the -silent, stealthy snow-cloud, waiting to follow up and bury the havoc of -the wind, and finish the destruction that the wind would begin. - -From contemplation of this splendid spectacle the young man's thoughts -turned to the dangers with which the storm threatened the mountain folk, -most of whom were engaged in the lumber traffic. Would any of these -be cut off from their homes? The rising rage of the wind indicated the -closing of all the roads with fallen trees: would that bring serious -hardships to any? In the summer, now past, the environs and flanks of -Mt. Shasta had sparkled with the life and gayety of hundreds of seekers -for health and pleasure,--the wealthy thronging a few fashionable -resorts, the poorer constrained to a closer touch with nature and the -spirit of the vast white mountain; but they now were gone, and the -splendid wilderness was left to the savage elements of winter. Had any -delayed their leaving and were at that moment in the drag-net of the -storm? - -Above all, there was Wilder's one close friend in the mountains, Dr. -Malbone, who, like Wilder, had left the turmoil of city life to bury -himself in these wild fastnesses. They had known each other in San -Francisco years before. For five years the scattered people of the -mountains had employed the services of this skilful physician, and had -come to trust and honor him in the touching way that simple natures -trust and honor a commanding soul. It was Dr. Malbone who had so wisely -assisted in the building of the stone cabin at the foot of the cliff. It -was he who had explained the principle of the arch to the younger man, -and had shown him how to bend and place the supports of the growing -arch until the keystones were fitted in. It was he who had explained the -mysteries and uses of ties and buttresses. What would Dr. Malbone do -in the storm? What risks would he run, to what hardships be exposed, in -visiting his patients? Only a few miles separated these two friends, but -with such a storm as was hastening forward these few might as well be -thousands. - -Far up the canon Wilder heard the first fierce impact of the storm, for -the heavy crash of a falling tree sounded above the roaring of the wind. -By walking cautiously out to the extremity of a point that projected -from the shelf upon which his cabin stood, he had been accustomed to see -the snowy domes of Mt. Shasta. He knew that the storm sweeping down the -canon was but a feeble echo of the mightier tumult on the great father -of the north. In the hope that he might see something of this greater -battle, he now made his way to the extremity of the point, the wind -making his footing insecure; but only broad slaty clouds were visible -in that direction, transmitting the deep rumblings of the hurricane that -raged about Mt. Shasta's higher slopes. - -It was while standing on the extremity of the point that the young man, -turning his glance to the deep canon beneath him, beheld a thing that -filled him with alarm. At the bottom of the canon, the Sacramento River, -here a turbulent mountain stream, and now a roaring torrent from the -earlier rains of the season, fumed and foamed as it raced with the wind -down the canon, hurrying on its way to its placid reaches in the plains -of California. The crooked road cut into the hither slope above the -high-water level of the river was not the main highway running north -and south through the mountains; it served the needs of a small local -traffic only. Wilder felt both surprise and apprehension to observe a -light wagon driven at a furious pace down the road, flying before the -storm. The incident would have been serious enough had the wagon, the -two horses, and the man and woman in the wagon belonged to the -mountains. The horses were of fine blood, and were unused and unsuited -to the alarming situation in which they now found themselves; the wagon -was too elegant and fragile for the mountains in winter; and even at the -distance that separated its occupants from Wilder, he could see that -they were filled with a terror such as the mountaineers never know. The -man was driving. Instead of proceeding with caution and keeping the -horses perfectly in hand, he was lashing them with the whip. A man used -to the mountains would never have been guilty of that folly. - -It was clear that they were heading down the canon for the main road, -still some miles away, by following which a little further they would -arrive at a station on the railway. Pieces of luggage in the rear end -of the wagon indicated that the travellers must have been spending the -summer or autumn in the remoter mountains, where some beautiful lakes -offered special charms to lovers of nature. Obviously their departure -had been delayed until the approach of the present storm drove them -hurriedly away, to be overtaken here in the canon. - -The roaring of the wind, the surge of the torrential river, and, worst -of all, the trees that were now crashing down, might have bewildered the -steadiest head not trained to the winter savagery of the wilderness. A -single tree across the road ahead might have meant disaster. Except for -the little stone hut of Adrian Wilder, placed purposely to secure as -great isolation as possible, and invisible from the road, there was no -shelter within miles of the spot. - -Presently the catastrophe came. The man, evidently seeing just ahead a -tree that was swinging to its fall, shouted to the horses, and laid on -the whip with added vigor, aiming to pass before the tree should fall. -The horses, wholly beside themselves with terror, reared, and then -plunged forward; but a moment had been lost. The horses and wagon passed -under the falling tree just in time to be crushed and buried under it. -The thunder of the fall echoed above the roar of the wind and the crash -of more distant falling trees. Nothing of the four living things that -had passed under the trap remained to Wilder's view; they had been as -completely blotted out as though they had never filled a place in the -great aching world. - - - - -CHAPTER TWO - -FOR a moment the young man gazed in a stupid hope that the impossible -would happen,--that horses, wagon, man, and woman would emerge and -continue their mad flight down the canon. Then, so completely and -suddenly had all this life and activity Ceased, he wondered if the old -anguish that had driven him to the solitude of the mountains was now -tricking an abnormal imagination and weaving phantasms out of the -storm, to torture him a moment with breathless dread, and then suppress -themselves in the seeming of a tragic death. He remembered the warnings -of Dr. Malbone,--he must close his mind upon the past, must find in the -present only the light with which the world is filled, and must aim for -a sane and useful future. - -All this consumed but a moment. At once there burst upon him the awful -reality of the tragedy that had worked itself out so logically before -him. Humanity cried aloud within him. He sprang toward his hut, procured -an axe, and plunged down the slope of the talus, taking no heed of the -crude but surer trail that he had made from the road to his hut. He -slipped, fell, gathered himself up, fell again, but rapidly neared his -goal. - -He paused when he had reached the prostrate tree. Through the branches -his peering revealed a crushed, still heap. He pushed his head and -shoulders within and called. There was no response. - -He was at the rear of the wagon, and soon saw that it had been crushed -into an indeterminate mass of wood and iron. By pushing apart the more -yielding branches he brought to view the up-turned face of the man, -whose eyes, fixed in death, stared horribly from a head curiously and -grotesquely unshaped by the crush of the branches. The young man drew -back. He gasped for breath; he called upon his self-command to bear him -up in this strenuous time. He attacked the branches with his axe and -cleared them away. He half wondered that the eyes of the dead remained -open while they filled with particles of the bark riven by the axe. -Presently the body came within reach. With unspeakable repulsion the -young man placed his hand upon the stranger's chest. There was no sign -of life. Indeed, he wondered that he had taken any trouble to ascertain -what he already knew. - -All this time the young man's dread and terror, heightened by a sense of -utter loneliness in the presence of the dead, had driven the woman from -his mind. He had not yet seen the slightest trace of her. Did he have -the strength to behold a woman mangled as he had found the man... Still, -they should have decent interment; that was his duty as a man. And -further, it was necessary that their identity be ascertained, in order -that their friends might be informed. - -There was something else. Far back in the mountains, that wilder -wilderness of the Trinity range, and in the Siskiyou range, beyond -them, there were huge gray wolves, fierce and formidable. Now and then -a daring hunter had come out of those mountains with the skin of a great -gray wolf. There were old stories in the mountains that when the snow -had been deep and of prolonged duration, the gray wolves came down to -the tamer reaches inhabited by men, driven thither by hunger, for the -game upon which they subsisted had fled before the snow to find herbage. -The first to come out had been deer; soon after them had come the -wolves. As the deer fell before the rifles of the settlers, the wolves -had been driven to depredations on cattle and horses. There were ugly -tales, too, of men attacked by them. Out of all this had grown the -legend of a she-wolf that bore away children to her wolf-pack. - -After the wind now raging in the mountains would come the snow, silent, -deep, and implacable, to hide the work of the fallen tree below the -hut; but would it hide everything so well that the great gray wolves, -if driven by hunger from the remoter mountains, would fail to find what -hunger required them to seek? - -Wilder again attacked the tree with his axe,--another one lay dead -there, and she must be found; and there was heavy and horrifying work -ahead before the wind should cease and the snow begin to fall. At -first the young man resumed his attack with the furious energy that had -hitherto sustained his effort; but wisdom and caution came now to -his aid. He realized his feebleness of mind, spirit, and body. He had -devoted weeks of arduous work to the construction of his hut, and that -had lent a certain strength to his muscles and buoyancy to his soul. -Still, he was hardly more than a shadow of his old self, before his life -had been wrecked a year ago, and he had come into the mountains to make -a sturdy fight for self-mastery, for the regeneration of whatever shreds -of manhood were left within him, and for their patching and binding into -a fabric that should take its place in the ranks of men and work out a -man's destiny. - -He went about his task with greater deliberation. He forced himself to -regard with calmness the distorted dead face upturned toward him. He -worked with that slowness which makes greater haste in achievement. This -brought a surer judgment and an economy of effort and time. He cut the -branches one by one and dragged them away. - -Soon the woman's form appeared. In the extreme moment of the catastrophe -she had evidently sprung forward; this had brought her body, face -downward, between the horses; they, in being crushed under the trunk -of the tree, fallen across them, had nevertheless given her a certain -protection; the trunk, in breaking the backs of the horses, had missed -her head. As for the rest, she was so closely wedged between the horses -that it would be difficult to extricate her. - -This, however, was finally accomplished after great labor. The woman's -face and clothing were blood-stained. So much worse did she look than -the man, that Wilder had a new struggle with himself to command courage -and strength for the task. He dragged her out to a clear place in the -road, and made the same perfunctory examination as in the case of -the man. While he was doing so the woman moved and gasped, and this -unexpected indication of life was the greatest shock of the tragedy. - -But it was one of those shocks which bring new life and strength. -Whereas, before he had been facing, without daring to contemplate, the -awful duty that he owed the dead, here now was the most precious thing -that the world then could have offered him,--here was Life, human life, -fleeting, perhaps, but infinitely precious. - -Wilder knelt beside the unconscious woman and with eager hands loosened -her clothing. He ran to the river, dipped his handkerchief in the water, -bathed her face, and removed some of the blood that covered it. He -chafed her hands and wrists, anxiously watching for the slightest -change. This came rapidly and progressed steadily. Removed from the -crushing pressure of the horses, her chest found its natural expansion, -and the rhythm of deep, slow breathing was established. Wilder had -learned numerous elementary things from Dr. Malbone; he saw that, -although the sufferer was so grievously hurt as to be unconscious, life -was yet strong within her. - -Time, then, was the precious element here. The sufferer must be taken -at once to the hut, and Dr. Malbone summoned. As for the dead man, there -was no present danger on his account, and the living demanded first -attention. - -A formidable task now confronted the young man. First, he had to bear -the unconscious woman up the steep trail to the hut; then he should -have to go many miles afoot to summon Dr. Malbone. The young man thought -nothing of the difficulties, but all of the doing. - -He was about to assail the task of getting the woman upon his shoulder, -when it occurred to him that her injuries might possibly be aggravated -by his manner of carrying her. He thereupon made a hasty examination. -The head was bleeding. The face bore no visible injuries. The bones of -the arms were whole. The left leg, however, was broken above the knee. -What the particular cause of the sufferer's unconsciousness was he could -only guess. Perhaps it was merely a condition of temporary congestion, -produced by the fearful pressure to which she had been subjected between -the horses. A bleeding at the ears and nose seemed to the young man a -bad sign. - -Her condition having been thus approximately ascertained, the next -problem was to bear her to the hut in a way that should do the least -harm to her injuries. The first necessary thing to be done, therefore, -was to prevent any mobility in the region of the fracture. To this end -he burrowed again into the dbris and brought forth some boards that -had served as the bottom of the wagon. Tearing strips from the woman's -clothing, he bound the boards to her in a way to protect her from harm -in moving her. - -The strain upon his attentiveness sharpened and strengthened him in -every way. He formed the whole plan of his bearing her to the hut, -making her temporarily comfortable, summoning Dr. Malbone, and attending -to the details of nursing her back to health. - -To lift her gently upon a bowlder; to bend forward and adjust her -upon his back with infinite care; to proceed with her up the laborious -ascent,--all this was skilfully and expeditiously done. - -Serious difficulties began soon to embarrass him. He discovered that -she was above the average height and weight of women, heavier than he, -although he was the taller. He found that the numerous abrupt steps in -the trail laid a heavy tax upon his strength, and that some steep places -proved slippery under the burden that he bore. In addition, the muscles -of his arms strained and cramped; and long before he had reached the -shelf upon which his hut was perched he fell to his knees a number of -times from exhaustion. But the end came at last when he staggered into -his hut, dragged a cover from his bed to the floor, and gently laid his -burden upon it. - - - - -CHAPTER THREE - -DURING all this time the fury of the storm had not abated in the least. -That, indeed, had been one of the worst obstacles with which he had -contended in mounting the steep to his hut. Immediately upon laying his -charge on the floor he had begun to prepare his bed for the guest, -but weakness from exhaustion overcame him. He reeled; a red blindness -assailed him; and, in spite of a fierce effort to maintain command of -his strength and faculties, he found himself plunging headlong upon his -bed. - -A moan recalled him to consciousness, and it was not until later that he -realized the distressing length of time that he had lain unconscious. -He remembered that when he fell he was very warm from the exertion of -ascending the slope, and that when he awoke he was excessively cold. -Furthermore, twilight had come. - -Dismayed over the loss of time, he proceeded at once to make his charge -comfortable. He prepared his bed for her and placed her upon it. She was -still unconscious, but he saw that she was rallying. - -He suddenly realized that it was now impossible for him to summon Dr. -Mal-bone, for the fury of the storm had been steadily increasing, and -the crash of falling trees still sounded above the roaring of the wind. -It would be worse than foolhardy for him to brave the storm and the -darkness. At any moment she might recover consciousness and find herself -alone and suffering in this strange place; and a whole night and day -would hardly have been sufficient for him to fetch the surgeon, had that -been a physical possibility. So the young man realized that he alone, -with no training in the surgeon's and physician's art, must take this -woman's life in his hands, and for a long time to come be her physician -and nurse, cook and housekeeper, mother and confidant, father and -protector. - -That realization was sufficiently cruel and taxing, but the ordeal that -now confronted him was the most trying of all. He had not yet given any -attention to the appearance of his charge, further than to ascertain to -what extent she was hurt. When he now lighted a candle and held it to -her face, he saw that she was a young and handsome woman. - -He noted the high-bred patrician face through the grime, the abundant -dark-brown hair, the black brows but slightly arched and nearly meeting -between the eyes, the fine nose, the habitual, half-hidden curve of scorn -at the corners of her mouth, and the firm, strong, elegantly moulded -chin. - -It was evident that the man and the woman were father and daughter, for -the resemblance between the distorted dead face and the grimy living one -was strong; the manifest difference in ages finished the conclusion. - -Was she fatally hurt? What if she should die? What effect would the -knowledge of her father's death have upon her? How long would she remain -helpless on the couch, held by her injuries; and how long, after her -possible recovery, would she be held a prisoner by the impassable -condition of the roads? Would she be cheerful and brave through it all? - -She was growing more and more restless; wise haste was now the crowning -necessity. First of all, she must have suitable clothing, and it must be -provided before he made his bungling efforts to set her broken bone. -How could he hope to perform this difficult surgical feat with no more -knowledge of its requirements than he had secured while serving a few -times as Dr. Malbone's untrained assistant in the mountains, and with -the most inadequate understanding of the use of such splints, bandages, -needles, and ligatures as Dr. Malbone had given him for his use upon -himself in case of an emergency, and with an imperfect knowledge of the -narcotics, stimulants, febrifuges, and other medicines with which Dr. -Malbone had provided him? The sufferer had youth and superb health; but -how could he feel the smallest assurance that, in the event he should -secure a knitting of the fracture, crookedness and deformity from -improper adjustment would not result? But there was nothing to do but -try, and to bring every intelligent force of his nature to the task. - -He hoped that she would not regain consciousness before he should make -another trip to the scene of the tragedy and secure her luggage. The -twilight was deepening. He threw logs on the smouldering fire in the -chimney-place and started to leave. He paused a moment at the door to -watch his patient. She was again stirring and moaning. - -"A sedative would be safer," he reflected. And then, when he had poured -it with great difficulty down her throat, he wondered if he had given -her too much, and if it would have a bad effect in depressing her -vitality and working against her rallying. He waited until she had -become still and quiet, and then hastened down to the road. - -The storm had been gradually changing in character. He had expected -the snow to wait until the wind had fallen, but a hurricane was still -blowing, and snow was coming down in long gray slants. Already it had -begun to whiten and fill crevices into which the wind was driving it. It -would have been better had he brought a lantern, but there was no time -for that; and the wind doubtless would have made its use impossible. - -At the wreck he found his axe and cleared away more branches. Only a -very faint suggestion of the dead white face peering up at him came -through the twilight; and there was work to be done in that quarter -to-morrow, however much snow might be lodged and packed in the branches. -Soon he found two large and heavy travelling bags, one larger than the -other; this, he reasoned, must be the woman's; his strength to -carry both to the hut was inadequate now, and he needed all possible -steadiness of nerve for the task ahead. A laborious climb brought him -back to the hut with the bag and his axe. By the light of a candle he -anxiously read the name on a silver tag attached to the handle of the -bag. It was,--"Laura Andros, San Francisco." - -It was with awe and reverence that he opened the bag and in a gingerly -fashion drew forth its contents and carefully laid them aside. He had -already noted in a vague way that his guest was a woman of wealth and -elegance, and he now observed that, although the articles he disclosed -were intended in large part for vigorous mountain use, an unmistakable -stamp of daintiness and refinement was upon them all. - -Having now found garments in which he could make her comfortable after -his surgical work was done, he proceeded with the stupendous task that -awaited him. He wondered how much precious time he had lost, if any, -through sheer dread of his duty. But whatever the delay, and whatever -its causes, it had been useful in preparing him for the ordeal. Up -to this moment an unaccountable and distressing trembling of all -his members at frequent intervals had alarmed him, but strength and -steadiness came with his nearer approach to the task. - -Commanding his soul to meet the need of the hour, he went sturdily -about his work. He knew how desperately painful were operations for the -setting of fractured bones, and how great was the skill required for -the administering of an ansthetic. He had never known even a skilled -surgeon to undertake alone what he must now do without either skill or -assistance. It would not be sufficient should he do his best: his best -must be perfectly done. - -He produced his store of splints, bandages, stimulants, and -anaesthetics, and arranged them conveniently to hand, as he had seen Dr. -Malbone do. He examined his patient's pulse; it was too quick and weak -to give him high confidence. He made a good fire, for the night was -cold; and he called heavily upon his store of candles to furnish as much -light as possible. - -His bed, upon which she lay, was a most crude and inadequate affair. It -was of his own construction, and had been intended to serve its part -in the life of severe austerity that he had made for himself in the -mountains. It was made of rough boards nailed to wooden posts. To serve -for mattress, fragrant pine-needles filled it. Upon this were spread -sheets and blankets. The pillow also was made of pine-needles. Thus, -without springs, the bed was hard and unfit for a daintily reared woman; -more so because of the illness that she would suffer and the great -length of time that she would be confined to the bed; but it was the -best he had. As the hut was very small and had but one room, this bed -had been fitted snugly into a corner. Wilder moved it out, that he might -be able to work freely on both sides of it. This cramped the hut all the -more. - -The examination that he had made in the road was for the purpose of -discovering broken bones. There he had found the bone of the left thigh -broken at some undetermined point between the knee and the hip. But -broken bones are not all the hurts that one may receive in such -an accident,--cuts and contusions might prove equally dangerous if -overlooked. - -With exquisite care he prepared her for the work that he must do. As -she was fully dressed, this required patience from his unskilled hands. -Finally, this part of the task, inexpressibly hard for a man of his -delicacy of feeling, was accomplished. What anguish he suffered on his -own account and in foreseeing her confusion and possible resentment upon -realizing that he, an utter stranger, and not a physician, had done all -this for her, it were idle to set forth here. - -To his great relief he found that the bone of the left thigh was, so -far as he could judge, the only one that had suffered fracture; but a -careful inspection revealed several bruises; and at last, in searching -for the source of the blood that had covered her face when he drew her -from the dbris, he found a cut in her crown. His first work must be -there. - -Covering her comfortably, he washed the blood from her hair and face, -and, bearing in mind the pride that she must have cherished for her -glorious hair, he quickly shaved as small a space on her crown as -possible. He first tried adhesive plaster to bring the edges of the -cut together; but the water and his handling of the wound started -the hemorrhage afresh, and this compelled him to close the wound with -ligatures. - -He was pleased to observe that the hemorrhage was stopped. This made -him so well satisfied and so confident that the greater magnitude of the -remaining work appalled him less. Indeed, that had begun to exercise a -scientific fascination that abnormally sharpened his wits and steadied -his nerves. It was this task that he now attacked. - -All this time the sufferer had lain unconscious. This was a blessing, -unless the state had been induced by causes worse than consciousness of -the pain from setting the bone. There was time hereafter to consider -all that. The one present duty was to proceed with the operation without -another moment's delay, for inflammation had already set in. - -While, with infinite care, he was fitting, as best he could, the ends of -the broken bone, he was startled out of all self-command by a scream -of agony from her, half-strangled, and therefore made all the more -terrifying, by the bandage under her chin; and she was sitting up, -staring at him. Every one of the young man's faculties was temporarily -paralyzed. A benumbing coldness was upon him. With a mighty effort he -gathered himself up, but his breathing was difficult, and sweat streamed -down his face. He firmly laid her back upon the pillow, and said,-- - -"Be quiet; you shall not be hurt again." She was singularly docile, -although he could see by the wildness of her eyes and a fluttering in -her throat that something was raging within her. With one hand he gently -pressed her eyelids down, and with the other he wetted a handkerchief -from a bottle of chloroform and held it just clear of her mouth and -nostrils. For a moment she rebelled against the stifling vapor and tried -to drag his hand away; but, finding him determined, she yielded, and -soon was stupefied. - -The work must be rapid now. There was no time to wonder if she had -comprehended anything or seen in him a stranger. No interruption could -come from her now; that was the vital thing; but the anaesthetic would -soon lose its force. He resumed his work, taking great care, in matching -the injured member with the sound one, to avoid crippling her for life. -He then adjusted the splints, keeping the member straight. Finally, he -secured it against bending at the knee by adjusting a board on the under -side of the leg throughout its entire length. He finished his work by -binding the upper part of her body to the bed-frame, to prevent her -rising. Then, extinguishing his candles, making her as comfortable as -possible on the hard bed, and putting more wood on the fire, he sat down -to watch. Everything seemed to be going well. - -By this time the night was far advanced. The wind was still blowing a -terrific gale. An aching, irresistible weariness stole over the watcher. -He drew his chair close to the bed and anxiously observed his charge. -He examined her pulse; it was rising; her skin was hot and dry. She had -passed from under the influence of the anaesthetic, and was now sleeping -restlessly. He waited in dread for her awaking, for the unexpected -situation in which the young man found himself was complex and -difficult. It was essential that his patient should be as tranquil as -possible. Knowledge of her father's death might prove disastrous. Hence -she must be deceived, and yet deception was unspeakably repugnant to the -young man's nature. But now it was a duty, which above all things must -be done. She must be buoyed with hope. All her fortitude would be needed -to bear the miserable conditions of her imprisonment. Meantime, the -young man would post notices along the road, calling for help from the -first persons passing. - - - - -CHAPTER FOUR - -MUCH thinking and planning had to be done, for the unexpected situation -in which the young man found himself was complex and difficult. It was -essential that his patient should be as tranquil as possible. Knowledge -of her father's death might prove disastrous. Hence she must be -deceived, and yet deception was unspeakably repugnant to the young man's -nature. But now it was a duty, which above all things must be done. She -must be buoyed with hope. All her fortitude would be needed to bear the -miserable conditions of her imprisonment. Meantime, the young man would -post notices along the road, calling for help from the first persons -passing. - -Already the road was wholly impassable, and it would grow worse. None -of the friends or relatives of the dead man and his daughter could have -been informed of their leaving the lakes. The natural conclusion from -their absence would be that an early winter of unusual severity had -compelled them to remain until spring. The people in the mountains would -have no way of learning that the two had failed to reach the railway. -Thus had the travellers been completely blotted out of their world. -No relief parties would be sent out to search for them. Not until the -unlikely discovery of the notices that Wilder would post could there be -the slightest knowledge of the tragedy. - -More than that, the road upon which Wilder's hut looked down was only -one of two that penetrated the wilderness in that direction. In -the summer it had a small travel, but by reason of its crookedness, -narrowness, and sharp grades it was avoided by heavy traffic. It would -be the last road to be cleared. Snow-shoes were practically unknown in -these mountains, for seasons of long snow blockades were rare; but -there would be no occasion for snow-shoe travel over this road. The only -prospect for the escape of Wilder and his charge was on foot, after the -lapse of the months that would be required for her recovery, and after -the snow was gone. - -Innumerable domestic perplexities presented themselves to the young -man's mind. His charge, being perfectly helpless, must depend entirely -upon him for her every want. Would she have the wisdom and goodness to -accept the situation cheerfully, or would its humiliation and hardships -gnaw constantly at her strength and patience, and delay her recovery -or precipitate her death? How could she possibly accept the situation -philosophically? She would find a bitter contrast between this life and -the one of luxury and indulgence to which she had been accustomed. Even -should she develop the highest order of fortitude, the rude food, in -small variety, that he had to give her, cooked badly, could hardly -tempt her appetite, and thus build up her strength. Then, her bed was a -wretched affair, and there was serious danger that its hardness alone, -without regard to her possible resignation to its discomforts, would -produce hurtful physical results. If only wise and helpful Dr. Malbone -could know and come! - -Let the days bring forth what they would, Wilder would do his duty as -he knew it. The fire crackled cheerily on the hearth and filled the hut -with its warmth and glow and peace. The walls were tight and strong, and -were holding firm against the storm. The agonizing strain of the last -twelve hours was over, and all strength must be saved for the future. - -In the flickering firelight the young man studied the face of his charge -at leisure, and he saw that she was singularly handsome; but there -seemed to be a certain hardness in her face, relaxed in unconsciousness -though it was. Perhaps it was only because there stood out before his -memory the one face in all the world that, with its infinite gentleness -and sweetness, embodied every grace for which his spirit yearned. It was -not so beautiful and brilliant a face as this,--but there came up -Dr. Malbone's warning, uttered over and over with the most earnest -impressiveness: - -"As you value your reason and life, as you value the possibilities of -your happiness and your usefulness to humanity, turn your face from the -past, and with all the courage and will of a man confront the future. -Nature is kind to all of her children who love her and seek her. She -heaps our past with wreckage, only to train and prepare us for a noble -future. There can be no peace where there has been no travail. There -would be no strength were there no weakness in need of its help. The man -who fails to the slightest extent in his duties to humanity and himself -burdens his life to that extent. Be brave and hopeful and helpful, as it -becomes a man to be, and labor incessantly for the best, as it becomes a -man to do." - -And the man with the curiously-twisted face peering out from the -tree-branches, what had been the aim of his life, that it should find -such an end? After all, was there any taint of unmanliness in that end? -Doubtless even now he was covered deep under snow. If he should be left -there, the great gray wolves might come down and find him. They were -big and powerful, and men who had seen them hungry told fearful tales -of their daring and ferocity. If the snow should drive them down, they -would find the dead horses under the tree; and after that there would be -but one house here where they could find human beings. - -There need be no dread of them; but suppose that some night there should -come a scratching at the door of the hut,--that would mean the gaunt -shewolf, who bore away children to the wolf-pack. - -She would beg for a rind of bacon to eat, and a corner on the hearth -to sleep. She would bear ugly wounds from her struggles with men and -beasts, and these would have to be dressed, and rents in her hide -stitched; and if there were broken bones, they must be set. Would she be -patient under the torture, or would she snap and howl after the manner -of wolves?... - -Wilder was startled to full consciousness by a moan. He bent over his -patient and looked into her open eyes. She gazed up at him vacantly. He -took her hand; it was hot. He placed a hand upon her forehead; it was -burning. A haggard look of pain and distress sat upon her face. - -An eager appeal was in her glance, and her lips moved feebly. He bent -his ear to them. She was faintly whispering-- - -"Water, water!" - -His heart bounding with gladness, he brought cold water. With difficulty -he restrained her eagerness, lest she discover that she was crippled -and bound. He covered her eyes with a napkin, for he observed that her -glance was becoming strained and curious. She submitted quietly, while -he gave her the water with a spoon. After that she sighed in weariness -and content, but her deep inspiration was checked by pain. Her burning -skin and an uneasiness throughout her entire frame warned him that she -had a fever. He gave her a remedy for that. It was not until daylight -had come that, after watching her for hours as she lay awake and -seemingly halfconscious, he observed her finally drift into sound -slumber. - -The young man rose and found himself weak and dizzy; but after he had -prepared and eaten a simple breakfast he felt stronger. Seemingly by a -miracle, he had gone through his task in safety thus far. He must now -leave his patient for a while, to discharge a grim duty that awaited -him in the road below,--a duty from which his every sensibility recoiled -with unspeakable repugnance. Lest an untoward accident should happen in -his absence, he gave his patient a stupefying drug. - -He dreaded to open the front door of his hut. When he did, he found the -thing that he feared: the wind had ceased after midnight, and the snow -had been falling ever since, and still was falling. It had whitened -the walls of the canon, and, before the wind had ceased, had eddied and -drifted about the hut in a way that filled the young man with alarm for -the future. Would his strength be sufficient to fight it if the storm -should be greatly prolonged, to the end that he and his charge should -not be buried alive? - -He put this dread away, and with a heavy heart followed the steep trail -down to the road. - - - - -CHAPTER FIVE - -NOON was near at hand when the guest of the hut waked to full -consciousness. Her first impulse was to cry out with the pain that -tortured her; but her strong will assumed command, and she looked -inquiringly into the anxious face beside her Obviously she realized that -a catastrophe had overtaken her, and she was now silently demanding an -explanation. - -Wilder had not expected this. Her calmness, and, more than that, her -silent demand, were so different from the childish and unreasonable -petulance that he had expected, that he was unprepared and confused. - -"You have been hurt," he stammered; "and it will be necessary for you to -keep very quiet for a time.' - -"How was I hurt?" she faintly asked. "The horses were frightened by the -storm and ran away." - -"Oh, the storm! I remember." Then she looked quickly and anxiously -about. "My father," she said,--"where is he?" - -For a moment the oddly distorted face in the branches came grimacing -between Wilder and his duty, but with a gasp and a repelling gesture he -drove it away,--not so dexterously but that his struggle was seen. - -"He--has gone to bring help," he said. Then, quickly leaving the bedside -to conceal his weakness and the shame of the lie that choked him, he -added hastily, "Yes, he was not hurt; and when he and I had brought you -to this hut he went to find help. He will return as soon as possible." -He felt that her glance was upon him with merciless steadiness. -"Now," said he, returning to the couch, "I will remove these -bandages,"--referring to the cords that bound her to the bed;--"but you -must promise me not to move except under my direction. Do you?" - -She slightly nodded an assent, and he unbound her. - -"Come," he added, "you must have some of this broth. No, don't try to -rise; I will feed you from this spoon. It is not too hot, is it? That is -good. Presently you will feel much better. You are not in much pain now, -are you?" - -"I am not a child," she answered, with a slight touch of disdain and -reproof. But he cheerily said,-- - -"Excellent, excellent! That is the way to feel!" - -She lay silent for a while, looking up at the roof. Presently she -said,-- - -"I imagine that I am badly hurt. Please tell me how and where I am -injured." - -"Well, your left leg was hurt, and we shall have to keep it bandaged and -your knee from bending. And there were some bruises on your side, and an -injury to the scalp." - -"My scalp?" she quickly asked, raising her hand and asking, "Surely you -did not shave my head?" - -"No," he replied, smiling amusedly; "except a small spot, and you can -cover that until the hair grows out." - -She was not fully satisfied until she had felt the splendid wealth of -hair that lay massed upon the pillow. - -"May I ask who you are?" This was the question that he had dreaded most -of all; but before he could stammer out the truth a light broke over her -face, and she astounded him with this exclamation: - -"Oh, you are the famous Dr. Mal-bone! This is extraordinary! I am very, -very fortunate." - -Wilder had never conceived a lie so dazzling and happy as this mistake. -Between wonder at his stupidity for not having thought of it, and a -great delight that she had so naturally erred, he was too bewildered -either to affirm or deny. He only realized that she had unwittingly -solved the most difficult of his present problems. Had she been looking -at him, she might have wondered at the strange expression that lighted -up his face, and particularly the crimson temporarily displacing the -death-like pallor that she had observed. - -"Yes," she resumed, after a pause, "I am fortunate; for I suppose that -my injuries are a great deal worse than you have given me to believe, -and that such skill as yours is needed." She turned her glance again -full upon him; but he had recovered his address, and now met her look -with an approach to steadiness. "But," she said, "you are a much younger -man than I had expected to see; and you don't look so crabbed as I might -have inferred you were from the message you sent me a month ago." - -She paused, evidently expecting him to make some explanation; but he was -silent, and looked so distressed that she smiled. - -"You may remember," she continued, "that a young lady at the lakes sent -for you to treat her for bruises sustained in a fall, and that you -told her messenger to give her your compliments and say that cold-water -applications, an old woman, and God would do as well with such a case as -you. I am that young lady." - -Wilder liked the young woman's blunt and forthright manner, although it -was novel and embarrassing. - -"There were doubtless important cases demanding attention," he -explained. - -"No doubt," she agreed. - -"And, after all," he suggested, "didn't you follow the advice and get -good results?" - -"Yes," she answered, again smiling faintly; "that is true." She closed -her eyes. Presently she extended her hand, which Wilder took. She looked -earnestly into his face, and asked, "It will be a long siege with me, -will it not?" - -"Much depends upon your temperament," he answered. "If------" - -"That is evasion," she interrupted. "Be candid with me." There was no -demand in this request; it was an appeal from such depths of her as she -knew, and it touched him. - -"Yes," he stammered, "unless------" - -"The bone is broken, isn't it?" - -"Yes; but you are young and your health is superb. That is everything." - -A despairing look grayed her face, which then quickly reddened with -anger and rebellion. Her host said nothing. He saw that she was -competent to make the fight with herself without his aid; that her mind, -though now disturbed by her suffering, was able to comprehend much that -her condition meant, being obviously an uncommonly strong, clear mind, -and that it would give to an acceptance of her position the philosophic -view that was so much needed. He saw the hard, brave fight that she -was making, and he had no fear for the outcome. Gradually he saw the -contemplative expression of the eyes turned within, and the face grow -gaunt and haggard under the strain. As slowly he saw her emerge from the -depths into which he had thrust her, and from the very slowness of the -victory, he knew that she had won. When again she looked into his face, -he knew that her soul had been tried as it never had been before, and -that she was stronger and better for it. And he knew that there was yet -another trial awaiting her which perhaps she could not have borne had -not she passed through this one. - -"Another thing," she said, as earnestly as before; "when do you expect -my father to return?" - -"Very soon--as soon as he----" - -"Evasion again," she protested, a slight frown of impatience darkening -her face; but it instantly disappeared, and her manner was appealing -again. "Be my friend as well as my physician, Dr. Malbone. Please tell -me the truth. I can bear it now." - -The young man bowed his head in dejection. - -"Snow is still falling," he said, "and doubtless many trees are across -the road. We can only wait and hope." - -A transient look of gratitude for his seeming candor softened her hard -beauty, and she withdrew her hand and her glance. Then he knew that -another mighty struggle was taking place within her. He knew from the -deep crimson that suffused her face how fully she realized all that -he must be to her during the weary weeks to come. He saw the outward -evidences of the unthinkable revulsion that filled her, with him as its -cause. He knew that in agony of soul she rebelled against the fate that -had placed her helpless in the hands of a stranger, and that stranger -a man, and that man the one now serving her, however willingly, however -faithfully, with whatever tact and delicacy. He saw, from her hopless -glance about the cabin, the bitterness of the fight that she was making -to accept its repellent hospitality. And, worst of all, he saw, or -thought he saw, that in the victory that she finally won there was -more of an iron determination to endure than of a simple resignation to -accept. - -So these two began their strange life together. As may be supposed, it -was wholly devoid of true companionship, and necessarily so. That made -it the harder, in a way, for both. From the severe furnishings of his -larder the host did his best to provide for her comfort. She never -complained of the coarse, inadequate food, all of which had to be of a -kind that could bear keeping for months, and none of which was pleasing -to a fastidious taste made all the more delicate by illness and -prostration from her injuries. All of the countless attentions that her -helplessness imposed upon him he gave with the business-like directness -of a physician and nurse, and this was obviously gratifying to her. She -never complained of the cruel hardness of the bed, and never failed -to express her gratitude for the slight shiftings of position that he -deemed it safe to give her. - -Most cheering to the host was the fair progress that his patient made. -Her curious mistake that he was Dr. Malbone had given him a mastery of -the situation that was of inestimable value. Manifestly she reposed full -confidence in his skill, and he made the most of that. She never again -asked for opinions concerning her father's return. Her only inquiries -were with regard to the weather, the severity of which did not relax -from day to day, from week to week. When Wilder would return from short -excursions over the snow, which now lay deep throughout the mountains -and was steadily growing deeper, she would look at him a moment -expectantly, hoping for good news; but it was not necessary for him to -say that there was none, and she asked no questions. - -The dread and dismay of Wilder grew with the heaping up of snow about -the hut. Before he built the house, he had learned that in winter, when -the storms were very severe, the shelf upon which he had reared the -structure was banked with snow, but to what height no one had ever -ascertained. There had never been such a storm as this within the -memory of the white settlers. Hence the snow was heaped higher than -ever before. There were special reasons for this. The shelf formed an -eddying-point for the wind that came in the intervals of the snowfall, -and the snow from all sides was thus swirled and pitched upon the shelf. -It had not yet reached the roof, but it had to be kept cleared from the -window and the front door, and that meant watchfulness and labor. Should -it continue to accumulate until it reached the roof and the top of the -chimney, a serious situation would confront the prisoners. - -Not while the patient remained helpless was there anything but a rigid -business bearing between these two unhappy mortals. Between them was -reared an impalpable wall that neither cared to attack. But in time the -patient grew better and stronger both in body and mind; and, besides, -strange developments began to make themselves felt. - -Among the effects of the young woman, Wilder had discovered a book in -which she kept a journal. She had called for it as soon as she was able -to write; and, as a woman's observation is keener than a man's, it is -best to introduce here (and in other places throughout the narrative) -such extracts from her journal as seem helpful. - - - - -CHAPTER SIX - - -THE following is from the lady's journal: - -"Yes, I will write it again, absurd though it may turn out to be: There -is some mystery about this cabin. I have tried over and over to convince -myself that my weakness and the unnatural situation in which I am placed -make me morbid and suspicious; but I know that I am still a hard-headed -woman, without a particle of nonsense in my composition; and I know that -I am able to see things in their proper light, and to understand them in -a way. And I say that the signs of something wrong here are growing more -and more evident, without furnishing me the least clue to the nature of -the mystery; but I feel that, whatever the mystery is, it is one to be -dreaded. I try not to think about it; but where is the sense in that? -Is it not better for me to do all the observing and thinking I can, and -thus be the better prepared for whatever may happen. - -"I sometimes try to think that it is only the strangeness of this -strange man--if I may call him a man--that makes me feel a mystery in -the air. It is hard to get hold of anything tangible in his bearing, so -unobtrusively alert he is. There must be some explanation of the fact -that a physician as skilful as he is should bury himself in these -mountains--should hide himself from the different world to which he -evidently belongs. - -"He is a gentleman,--I will do him the justice to admit that. He is a -great deal besides any gentleman that I have ever seen before. Let me -try to explain this to myself. Although he makes not the slightest show -of attending to my wants, I know his every thought is upon me. He sleeps -on the stone floor in front of the fireplace,--that is, if he sleeps at -all, which I sometimes doubt. Even when he is not looking at me in that -distant, abstracted way that he has, I feel that the whole cabin is -filled with his eyes, and that they are always looking at me, day and -night, but with an expression different from the veiled one of his -own eyes. They do not have the distant, thoughtful, perfunctory, -business-like expression of the eyes in his head, but a different -one,--an expression that seems to be a mixture of duty, pity, kindness, -patience, forbearance, and--it will make me feel better to write -it--_contempt_. I feel that these countless eyes are reading my deepest -thoughts, and looking over my shoulder as I write. - -"Of course I do not really feel all this, else I should not be writing -thus. But I feel something. O God! when will this wretched strain be -over?... - -"I have discovered that he guards most jealously the back door of the -cabin. When I first came to consciousness after my hurt, I saw what I -took to be evidence that my strength of will was greater than his. I -believe so yet; but he certainly has a way of baffling me and holding me -in a position from which I cannot escape. I am curious to know a great -many things; it is my right to know them. Why does he surround himself -with a deafness that nothing can penetrate? Why and how does he make it -impossible for me to ask him questions? And who ever heard of a man -so supremely indifferent as not to ask a woman placed as I am a single -question about herself, her life, her tastes, her family, her world? Why -has he made it impossible for me to ask him any questions? At first he -had placed my bed so that I could see the rear door by turning my head; -but when he observed that I had become curious, he found an excuse to -turn my bed so that it was impossible for me to see the door, and I was -too proud to object. - -"I wish I could have respect for him. Of course he surmises that I -am wealthy, and he must know that he will be handsomely paid for his -services. I gave him to understand as much one day, and he looked at me -in a blank way that was most disconcerting. But that did not deceive me. -I do not wish to be unjust, but I know something about human nature. I -think that the man's whole course may be to impress me with his great -solicitude and make his services appear the more valuable. Bah! he -needn't have gone to the trouble. - -"I am going to watch that door in spite of him. I know already that he -keeps it carefully locked, and that when he goes out he bars it on the -other side. Such distrust, when I am so unable to pry into his secrets, -is unwarranted and offensive. Another thing I have noted. The back door -leads into some kind of inner apartment. - -"How is he going to guard it when I am able to be about? Then his life -will be a burden. I will make it so. - -"Gratitude? Oh, yes! I have heard of such a thing. But this is an -obligation that money can discharge, and I will see that it does. Has -he done anything more for me than a physician ought to do? I am familiar -with the ways in which these gentry play upon the gratitude of their -wealthy patients, and present bills that they think a sense of shame -will accept. So long as the rich are the prey of the poor, the poor need -not expect sympathy from the rich. I know the power of money to secure -attendance of all sorts, and I can see its power manifested now. - -"This man seems to be utterly lacking in masculine qualities. To give -an illustration: The other day, when he thought I was absorbed in -reading,--I must say that he has excellent taste in books,--I found -tears trickling down his cheeks while he was reading before the fire. I -noted from the division of the book as he held it open the approximate -place where he was reading. Afterward I asked him for the book, -and found that it opened readily at a place where the leaves were -tear-stained. It was the silliest story imaginable,--a foolish account -of true-lovers separated by designing persons and dying of a broken -heart! Imagine a grown man crying over such nonsense as that! - -"Here is a queer circumstance that I have noted, and have wondered -about: In not a single one of Dr. Malbone's books does his name appear; -and it is evident that wherever it did appear he has erased it. There -may be easy ways of accounting for this, but to me it looks suspicious. -Is it a part of the mystery of a refined and skilful physician -burying--I believe hiding--himself in these mountains? I remember to -have heard at the lakes that he never attended city people spending the -summer here if he could avoid it. I certainly know that he refused to -visit me, and that he sent me an insulting message besides. What is the -reason? Is he more or less acquainted with people of the better class, -and is he afraid of meeting some whom he may have known when he lived -somewhere else and passed under a different name? The inhabitants of -these mountains venerate him, and believe that his skill is omnipotent. -Well, I have nothing to say against his skill, for certainly he -has handled my case perfectly; but if these simple and ignorant -mountain-folk should see him in the intimacy in which I know him, and -discover what a cold, suspicious, weak, petty man he is, I think they -would reform their opinion of him. - -"During the last month he has been going oftener and oftener through the -back door. What business has he there? If I did not have a feeling -that, little as he trusts me, I might safely trust him to the end of the -world, I would have a fear for my own safety. But I rest secure in the -belief that the prospect of collecting a generous fee for restoring -me safe to my father is a sufficient protection, to say nothing of the -confidence that I have in the man's queer sense of honor. Why, he treats -me as though I were a queen, and bears himself as my humblest subject -hanging upon my smallest word--up to a certain point. Beyond that I get -bewildered. - -"Oh, my father, my father! There is no man in the world like you, none -that knows me, that loves me as you do! If you only knew how my heart -yearns every moment for you! Why could not this man have the least of -your qualities,--your iron will, your scorn of weak things in human -nature, your dominating, achieving power It is in comparing this man -with you that I find him so small, so pusillanimous, so different from -the standard of manhood that you have made me adopt, so different from -me, so infinitely far from me. It is good that it is so, but it makes me -lonely beyond all expression. I would rather be alone in a desert than -with this strange mirage of a man, this male with an infinite capacity -for the little things that only little women are suited to do. He -tortures me with his goodness, his self-sacrifice to me, his making -me feel that he lives only to make me comfortable and bring me back to -health. Where are you, my father? I know that you will come to me when -you can. That much I know, I know! Come, father, and take me from this -awful prison!... - -"I think I have done remarkably well to be as patient as I have been. -This horrid food is enough to kill a healthy woman,--tinned meats and -vegetables, tinned everything, and hardly any flour, but sea-biscuits -instead! Of course my poor slave does his best to prepare things in -such a way that it will be possible for me to eat them, for he seems to -realize that I am a human being.... - -"I am determined to bring this man to an acquaintance with his tongue. -The loneliness that I feel is unbearable. He must be as lonely as I, -and, like me, he is probably too proud to make a sign. Of course he -talks to me now when I make him, but about things in Asia or Africa -that I am certain are as dull to him as to me. He is maintaining this -distance, I am certain, just to guard his history and true character, -and to keep me in a position where it will remain impossible for me to -find out what is going forward on the other side of that door. I will -talk to him about myself; that will compel him to talk about himself. -I can't bear this isolation. It is inhuman. And I have no fears that he -will presume. They passed long ago. - -"I have just two more things to record at present. One is that my host -is growing thinner and more hollow-eyed, and the other is that several -times lately I have dreamed of hearing the strangest and sweetest music. -It sounded like the playing of a violin by a master hand. I have been -unable to determine whether I was really dreaming. One singular thing in -connection with it is that when I looked for him the other night on his -rugs before the fire after I had heard the music, or dreamed I heard -it, he was not there. I tried to remain awake until he returned, for -I wondered where he could be in the middle of the night, with the snow -heaped up to the roof of the house and a fearful gale blowing cold -outside, and I felt lonely and uneasy. But I went to sleep before he -returned. I have no doubt, however, that he was on the other side of the -rear door." - -This ends, for the present, the extracts from the lady's journal. - - - - -CHAPTER SEVEN - -THE patient had so far recovered that she could be propped up in -bed, where she straightened out the bungling work of her inexperienced -hair-dresser, and made her glorious hair a fit embellishment of her -beauty. She was pale, and her cheeks had lost the roundness and her eyes -the brilliancy of their wont. But she was regaining the flesh that she -had lost, and the brightness of spirit that her afflictions had dimmed; -and her pallor only softened and refined a beauty that likely had been -somewhat too showy in health. - -Something even better than that had been accomplished. It was not -conceivable that her strong and rebellious spirit had been ever before -brought under other than the ordinary restraints of a conventional -life. She had developed the good sense to make the most of her present -uncomfortable situation, and the will to bear its hardships. In the eyes -of her host the superiority of her character entitled her to admiration, -which he gave her simply and unconsciously, without any regard to her -sex and beauty. Her acute insight had informed her of this admiration, -and her spirit chafed under its character. One day she said,-- - -"It seems strange to me, Dr. Malbone, that you have never taken any -interest in my past life." - -He looked at her quickly and curiously, and somewhat awkwardly -replied,-- - -"I did not wish to intrude, Miss Andros." - -"Would that have been intrusion? I hadn't thought of it." - -"You must know that I feel an interest in everything that concerns you." -He said this readily, simply, and naturally, and she wondered if he was -sincere. - -"Of course," she went on, "lack of all companionship between us means -mutual distrust." This was a sharp thrust, and it found him unguarded. -Then she saw that she had gone too far at the start; and this impression -was confirmed when, after a pause, he remarked,-- - -"You and I have been strangely placed. I knew that the conventions of -the best-bred people mean much to you, and I have merely respected your -natural and proper regard for them. Under these circumstances it was not -possible for me to make the first effort to be--friendly, if you will -permit the expression." - -She smiled, but the manliness of the rebuke and its entire justice made -her secretly resent it. She was determined to hold herself perfectly in -hand, for a serious purpose now moved her, and she would not be balked. - -"That is all in the past now," she said. "I have learned to know you -as a man of the finest sense of honor, proud, reserved, and -self-sacrificing. It would not have been possible for any other sort -of man to treat a woman as you have treated me. No, don't interrupt -me. There is nothing but common sense and simple justice in what I am -saying, and unless you let me say it you will be harsh and cruel. After -all that you have done for me, it is my right to tell you how I feel -about it." - -He looked so embarrassed and miserable that she laughed outright; and -the music of that rare note sounded in his heart; for it was not a -cruel laugh, but merry and hearty, as one would laugh at the comical -discomfiture of a friend; and as such it fulfilled its purpose. - -Thus the ice that had filled the cabin was broken, in a measure, at -last, and this at once eased the gloom and coldness of the wretched -lives imprisoned therein. - -From that beginning the convalescent drifted easily and gracefully into -an account of her world of wealth and pleasure and fashion. She realized -that she must first open her own life before she could expect her host -to give her a view of his and of the nearer and stranger things -that impinged upon her. Her voice was smooth and musical. She dwelt -particularly upon the lighter and fashionable side of her life, because -she believed that the tact and refinement of the man who listened -so well, yet so silently, were born of such a life, and that he had -deliberately withdrawn himself from it. - -Matters went more smoothly after that day. But the young woman was -finally forced to accept her defeat,--she had opened her own simple, -vacant life, but had gained not a glimpse into his. And she realized, -further, that all the advances toward a friendlier understanding had -been made by her, and none by him; that his manner toward her, with all -its tireless watchfulness, its endless solicitude, its total extinction -of every selfish thought, its impenetrable reserve, had not changed one -jot or tittle. Then a bitter resentment filled her, and she hated him -and determined to torture him. - -He had not been so guarded but that she had found a vulnerable spot in -his mail. This was what she regarded as the silly, sentimental side of -his nature. She had led him into this disclosure by a long series of -adroit moves, the purpose of which he had not suspected. Assuming a -profound appreciation of the softer and tenderer things of life, she had -brought herself into the attitude of one who cherishes them, and thus -led him into the trap. Their talk concerned love, and he opened his -heart and displayed all its foolish weakness. - -"Can there be anything more sacred," he asked, warmly, "than the love -of men and women? Is there anything to which trifling should be more -repugnant? The man who loves one woman with all in him that makes him -a man, has taken that into his soul which will be its refining and -uplifting force to the end of all things with him; and, noble as that -is, the love of a woman for one man who loves her surpasses it beyond -all comprehension, and is the truest gleam of heavenly radiance in human -lives." - -It was spared him to see the amused and contemptuous curl of lip that -bespoke a world-worn heart; but he had let down his guard, and his -punishment would come. - -It was some days afterward that the blow fell. The convalescent was now -sitting on a chair, where her ever-solicitous nurse had placed her. -She was now ready to strike. She would hold up to him a mirror of -himself,--a weak, sentimental, pusillanimous man. Fortunately, she could -relate from an experience in her own life a tale whose ridiculous -hero she judged had been just such a man as Dr. Malbone. She would be -violating none of the rules of hospitality. Her host had permitted her -to walk into a humiliating position, and her desire to punish him should -not be denied gratification. - -She had brought the talk round to the mistakes that men and women make -in the bestowal of their affection, and remarked carelessly that men -were proverbially stupid in estimating the loveliness of women. Almost -without exception, she declared, they preferred girls for their beauty, -their softness, their negative qualities, their genuine or pretended -helplessness; and she added that a woman of strength and true worth -would scorn a love so cheaply won and held in so light esteem by its -bestowers. - -"But some girls," she added, "are even worse than men. You may generally -expect stupidity from a man, but not always folly from a girl. A rather -distressing case of a girl's folly once came to my notice. There was a -girl who had been my classmate in school. It was there that we formed -for each other the girlish affection which all girls must have at that -age. Yet the difference between us was great even then, and it increased -after we had gone out into the world. She and I moved in the same -circle. Her parents were wealthy, and she had every opportunity to see -and learn life and get something of value from it. Instead of that, she -grew more and more retired, and less fitted for the life to which she -belonged. She was the most unpractical and romantic girl that ever -lived. Her girl friends dropped her one by one. I was the last to -remain, and I did all I could to get some worldly sense into her soft -and foolish head. She would only smile, and put her arms round me, and -declare that she knew she was foolish, but that she couldn't help it. - -"She was very fond of music and poetry, and at last I learned that she -was taking lessons on the violin from some fiddling nobody who made his -living by playing and teaching. I never happened to see him, or I might -have done something to stop the mischief that was brewing. Her parents -were blind to her folly, but that is a common weakness of parents. - -"There never had been any great exchange of confidences between Ada and -me since our school-days. I could have told her a great deal about the -ways of men,--you see," the narrator hastened to add, "I had been a very -good observer, and had learned some things that it is to the advantage -of every girl to know. I mean, you understand, about love. It is only -people with a silly view of that subject that ever get into trouble. -Girls of Ada's disposition have no sense; they invariably suffer through -lack of perception and strength. - -"Although I did not see much of her, it at last became evident that -something serious was the matter. Her manner became softer and gentler, -her sympathies were keener, and there was a light in her eyes that an -observing woman cannot misunderstand. I was somewhat older than she, -and that gave me an advantage in the plan that I decided upon; but of -greater advantage was her reliance upon me. It was necessary that I -should gain her full confidence, as I didn't wish to take any step in -the dark, nor one that might have proved useless. You will understand -that in all I afterward did and caused to be done I acted solely from a -regard for her welfare. I believed that she had formed an attachment for -this--this fiddler--bah! Everything in me revolts when I think of it. -Here was a girl that was pretty, sweet, gracious, the soul of trust and -fidelity, ready to throw herself away upon an unspeakable fiddler! And -there was no excuse whatever for it. A score of men adored her,--men of -her own station in life,--men of wealth, men of culture, men of strength -and character, men of birth, men of consequence in the world. Incredible -as it may seem, they passed over other girls far more capable in every -way, and sighed for this shy violet. - -"I knew that there was something wrong in her refusal to accept the -attentions of any of them. I knew that her inherited tastes, the -examples all around her, and her natural regard for the wishes of her -parents and friends, ought to have induced her to give her affections -to a man worthy of her. I determined to find out what that obstacle was; -and it was solely for her own good that I did so. I knew that if -she married this--this low musician, her life would be filled with -bitterness, disappointment, and regrets. I knew that she would soon come -to be ashamed of the alliance. I knew----" - -"How did you know all that?" came in a voice so strange, so constrained, -so distant, that she turned in wonder toward her host. He sat looking -into the fire, the ruddy glow of which concealed the death-like pallor -that during the last few minutes had been deepening in his face. - -"How did I know it?" she responded in surprise. "That is a singular -question from one who ought to be as well aware of it as I." - -He made no reply, and she turned her head to the window and watched the -snow steadily rebuilding the bank that her host had so recently cleared -away. - -"Perhaps," she remarked, with a slight sneer, "you asked that question -to get an argument with me, for I have heard you express romantic -and sentimental views on the subject of love. But of one thing I am -confident: I know that you have been a man of the world, and that you -understand life and human nature; and I know that while men like to -assume a sentimental attitude toward love, it is merely a pose. I -will not argue the matter with you. You know as well as I that such a -marriage would have been a fatal mistake." - -She said this in a hard, emphatic way that indicated her desire to end -the discussion. Then she resumed her story. - -"I got into her confidence by professing sympathy with her, and adopting -her point of view,--by anticipating it, I mean, for she was too guarded -to disclose it. The poor little idiot fell into the trap. She had been -carrying her secret for months, and the burden of it was wearing her -out. You know, a nature of that kind must have sympathy, must have some -one to listen, must have a confidant. She had not dared to trust her -parents, for she knew that they would put a stop to her folly. When she -found, as she thought, that I was in full sympathy with her, she laid -her poor foolish heart completely open. And what do you think she was -going to do?" - -She turned toward her host as she asked the question, and found him -still sitting immovable and looking into the fire. He seemed not to have -heard her, for he made no answer; and his stony silence and stillness -gave her a strange sensation that might have weighed more with her -had she not been so deeply interested in her narrative, and so well -satisfied with her part in its happenings. She turned her glance again -toward the window, and resumed: - -"She had decided to run away with this vulgar--fiddler. There was but -one thing lacking,--he had not asked her; but she believed that he loved -her with all his soul, and that he was having a fight with himself to -decide whether it would be right for him to bring so scandalous a thing -upon her. She and he both realized that it would be worse than useless -for him to ask her parents for her. She said to me, 'He fears that I -shall be unhappy in the poverty that would be my lot if we should go -away and marry. He fears that I should miss the luxuries to which I had -been accustomed. He fears that my friends will think he had married me -for my fortune. He has so many fears, and they are all for me. Yet I -know that he would cheerfully lay down his life for me. There never -was a man so unselfish, so generous, so ready to sacrifice himself for -others.' - -"I could hardly keep from laughing while the poor child was telling me -all that rubbish. Before employing harsh measures to check her foolish -purpose, I resorted to milder ones. While continuing to be sympathetic, -I nevertheless said a great many things that would have set her thinking -if she had had any sense. I gave her to understand, as delicately -as possible (for I was careful not to rouse any resentfulness or -stubbornness in her), that her lover undoubtedly was a worthless fellow, -as persons of his class are; that he was weak in character and loose in -morals; that he was merely a sly adventurer, playing adroitly upon her -innocence and confidence, and anxious to leave his laborious life for -one of ease at her expense. I compared her station as his wife with that -as the wife of a man in her own sphere. - -"The trouble was that she cared nothing for the position that she -occupied. She honestly believed, poor idiot! that she could be as happy -poor as rich. But the great obstacle was her infatuation for the man, -and her belief that he was finer and better than the men of her own -station. She was dreamy and romantic, and that is why she idealized this -fiddling nobody. The more she told me of his gentleness, his refinement, -his unselfishness, his poetic nature, the more I saw that he lacked the -sterling qualities of manhood, the more I realized that he had made a -careful study of her weaknesses and was playing upon them with all the -unscrupulous skill of his species. She implored me to meet him, to know -him, to study him. Of course that was out of the question. She was sure, -she said, that I should come to admire and respect him as she had. I -firmly declined to see him. I have even forgotten his name." - -There was a pause in the narration. The young man was so still that his -guest looked round at him, and found his gaze fastened upon her. She -started, for she saw that it held a veiled quality that she did not -understand, and that for a moment filled her with uneasiness. He quickly -and without a word looked again at the fire. - - - - -CHAPTER EIGHT - -THE convalescent thrust aside the momentary depression that her host's -strange expression had given her, and proceeded. - -"At last I realized that all mild measures would be useless. I knew that -at any time something dreadful might happen, and I was determined -to save my old schoolmate from the disgrace and sorrow that she was -inviting. Without directly encouraging her to proceed as she had -started, I gave her to understand that she might always depend upon my -friendship. Then I set about the serious work that I had to do." - -There was another long pause. - -"Well?" said her host, a little harshly and impatiently; and that change -from no his habitual gentleness gave her a passing wonder. Then she saw -that she was hurting him. She had waited for that sign. - -"I knew that it would be an easy task to match my wit with that of a -sentimental, scheming fiddler and a foolish girl. I needn't give all -the details of the plan that I carried out. It was merely a matter -of getting an engagement for him somewhere else for a time, and of -presenting to her in his absence some evidence of his faithlessness. I -knew them both well enough to foresee that she would never let him know -what she had heard,--that she would simply send him adrift, and expect -him to make an explanation if he was innocent, and that he would be too -abashed to demand an explanation from her or make one himself. There was -no danger that he would open a way to disprove or even deny the evidence -that I produced. - -"All this, you understand, I did with the greatest delicacy. The plan -worked perfectly. They never saw each other again." - -Wilder turned and looked her full in the face. It was the way in which -he did it that sharpened her attention, for it was a look in which she -felt, rather than saw, a command. - -"What became of them?" he quietly asked, but she felt that the question -required an answer. - -"Oh," she replied, her air of indifference veiling her determination -to hold control of the situation, "the vagabond fiddler was never seen -again. As for Ada--but that was infinitely better than to have lived a -life of wretchedness----" - -"As for Ada?" - -"She was dead in a month,"--this with a hard and defiant manner. - -The young man rose from his chair, which he clumsily upset. In a -strangely uncertain, stumbling fashion he went to the front door, -and felt for the latch, as though blind. Then he changed his mind and -started for the rear door; but whatever purpose he had was interrupted -by his overturning a small table and sending the books and other -articles upon it clattering to the floor. Evidently startled and -confused by the noise and his own clumsiness,--though hardly more so -than the young woman, who was watching him in amazement,--he righted the -table with difficulty, and began to pick up the articles that had fallen -from it. Instead, however, of replacing them on the table, he put them -on the bed. His face was livid, his eyes were sunk alarmingly deep in -his skull, and he seemed to have become suddenly old and wrinkled. His -hands trembled, and weakness so overcame him that he sat down upon the -edge of the bed. - -This state quickly passed, and the young man looked at his guest, who -had been compelled to turn her chair laboriously to observe him; and -when he saw the perplexed and distressed look in her face--seeing -nothing of the gratification and triumph that her distress partly -obscured--he smiled faintly and came firmly to his feet. "It must have -been an attack of vertigo," he explained, feebly. But he continued -to look at her so steadily and with so penetrating a gaze that her -uneasiness increased. Had she carried her torture of him too far? Oh, -well, it would do him good in the end! - -"And now," he said, in a voice that steadily grew stronger and firmer, -"I will tell _you_ a story." He was standing directly in front of her -and looking down into her face. "One day, just after a great sorrow had -fallen upon me, I was strolling along the water-front of San Francisco, -and sat down upon some lumber at the end of a pier. I had not noticed -a number of rough-looking young men sitting near me, until one of them -said, in the course of the talk that they were having, 'Yes, but I loved -her! It was the way in which he said it that attracted my notice. I -judged from his appearance that he was a laborer, perhaps a stevedore; -but there was something in his voice that belongs to stricken men in all -the walks of life. One of his companions said, 'Nonsense, Frank; there's -just as good fish in the sea as ever was caught out of it.' But Frank -shook his head and said, 'Not for me.' The others said nothing, and -after a little while Frank repeated, 'Not for me.' Did you ever hear a -man say that?" - -Wilder's voice, which had been steadily growing louder, suddenly sank -almost to a whisper as he asked his guest that question. The wrinkles -were deepening in his face, and his glance had a sharpness of -penetration that the young woman found it hard to meet without wincing. - -"Then," resumed Wilder, "another of his companions, seeking to show him -the folly of his grief, made some remarks about the woman that I cannot -repeat. Frank replied without anger: 'Don't say that, Joe: you mean -well, but don't say it. She was the woman I loved. Every night, now, -when I put out the light to go to bed, I see her in the room; and when I -go on streets that are dark, I think she's walking with me. I loved -that woman; and now I don't know what to do. For she's dead, boys, she's -dead; and by God! they killed her.'" - -Wilder was still looking down into the face of his guest as he -concluded, and she had been looking up into his; but when, with a -trembling voice, he spoke the last sentence, her glance dropped to the -floor. After a pause he spoke again, and his voice was full, round, and -passionate. - -"They killed her, madam, as they have killed many another. How it was -that they killed the woman whose death had filled this rough man's life -with grief and despair, I do not know. But they killed her. Some -murderous human hand shattered a scheme that the Almighty himself had -laid. I wish you could have heard him say, 'She's dead, boys, she's -dead; and by God! they killed her.' The sound of its agony would have -found the heart that was intended to do more than keep you alive with -its beating. Do you know what murder is? Do you know the difference -between the gross, stupid, brutal murder that in satisfying its coarse -lust for blood runs its thick neck into the halter, and the finer, -daintier, infinitely more cruel murder that kills with torturing -cruelty, and thus outwits the gallows? The blood-murderer is a poor -fool, dwarfed in mind and crippled in soul. Perhaps he gets his full -punishment when the law stretches his useless neck. But the murderer who -outwits the law in his killing, who murders the innocent and -unsuspecting and confiding, who makes friendship the cup from which the -poison is drunk, who employs the most damnable lies and treachery, who -calmly watches the increasing agonies of his victim as the poison slowly -does its work,--what punishment do you think can reach such a murderer -as that?" - -The young man's voice had become loud, harsh, and threatening. Violent -emotions were stirring him. His whole slender frame seemed to have -expanded. His face was flushed, his eyes were blazing, his fingers -clutched at invisible things, his entire aspect was menacing. His guest, -awed and terrified, raised her glance to his face. - -"And by whom is such a murder done?" he cried. "It is done by one who, -coming into the world with a soul fresh and complete from the hands -of the Creator, deliberately turns aside from the way of nature and -nature's God, crushes the attributes that form our one link with heaven -and our one hope of immortality, throttles all that might be useful in -bringing light and strength into the lives of others, and in shameless -defiance of the Almighty's manifest will sets up false gods to worship, -sacrifices self-respect for self-love, banishes the essence of life and -clings to the dross, and wallows like swine in a mire of his own making. -The blood-murderer is infinitely better than that. He has at least a -human heart in all its savage majesty. - -"And for what is such a murder done? It proceeds from a dwarfed, -distorted soul, deliberately, consciously, intelligently made so by its -possessor. Its purpose is to destroy the one touch of beauty, sweetness, -and purity that makes us akin to the angels. It sees an exquisite -flower; that flower must be plucked, else its beauty would flourish and -its destiny be fulfilled. It finds love in its purest, noblest, most -unselfish form between two whom God had made each for the other for -the fulfilling of his own inscrutable design, and by lies and treachery -proceeds to kill one and destroy the happiness of the other. What -punishment, madam, is adequate for such a murder? The hands of the law -would be polluted by strangling a murderer so base, so cowardly, so -infinitely lower and meaner than the lowest beasts, so utterly unworthy -of the honor of the gallows-tree. There can be but one adequate -punishment, and only Omnipotence could devise a hell sufficient for it. -And the sooner this punishment comes, the sooner will the vengeance of -God be satisfied. What higher duty could rest upon a mortal standing in -awe and reverence under his Maker's law than to set the law in force?" - -In the dismay and terror that now filled her soul the woman could not -mistake the meaning of that threat, nor the madness that would give it -force. A numbing fear, a feeling that she was sinking into a bottomless -pit, put gyves upon all her faculties. In a hopeless stupor she sat, -in speechless dread of the blow that she felt must fall. To her dazed -attention the avenger himself stood before her in all the terror of -infuriated justice free from its leash and plunging forward headlong -and irresistible to satisfy its vengeance. Never had she dreamed that a -mortal could face a thing so terrible as this man, who, having -dragged her from death, and with infinite patience, gentleness, and -unselfishness had been nursing her back to health and strength, now -stood as the judge and executioner of her naked, trembling, convicted -soul. Her eyes strained, her lips apart, she looked up, speechless and -motionless, into his face; and to her his blazing eyes and tense frame -filled all the world with vengeance, scorn, and death. - -"Woman," he cried, "whether it be murder or justice, your death would -remove an infamous stain from the face of this fair world. If you can, -make your peace with God, for I am going to send your damned black soul -where it can do no further harm. It is with immeasurable hate, with -infinite loathing, that I am going to kill you." - -He clutched her shoulder, and the hot iron grip of his fingers tore her -skin. He thrust his face close to hers, and she heard the grinding -of his teeth, which his parted lips showed as the fangs of a maddened -beast. - -"You viper!" he cried; "you have no right to life!" - -She saw his free hand seeking her throat. Then her energies were -unlocked. She threw back her head, and with all her might cried out,-- - -"Father! father! help me! save me!" The young man started back, clutched -his head with both hands, and looked about in a wild and frightened way. - -"What was that?" he breathlessly asked. "Did you hear? The wolves are -coming down. That was the howl of the she-wolf!" In a dazed manner he -found his way to the back door, opened it, passed out, and bolted it -behind him. - - - - -CHAPTER NINE - - -MORE extracts from the lady's journal: - -"I can never begin an entry in my journal without having that frightful -scene come between me and these pages. Oh, it was terrible,--terrible -beyond all comprehension! I cannot believe, after thinking it over and -over during these weeks that have passed since it occurred, that it was -the fear of death that so terrified me, and, I know, made an old woman -of me. No, it could not have been that. It was the fear of going with -that awful condemnation upon me. Was it just? Was it true? - -"He seems to have recovered at last from the alarming depression that -followed his outbreak, and this gives me leisure to think, leisure to -recall many circumstances that in my blindness, my incredible blindness -and stupidity, I had overlooked. I take into account the fearful strain -under which he had suffered so long. He is a delicate, finely organized -man, and has had more to do and to bear than a dozen strong men would -have done and borne so well and patiently. - -"There was his anxiety on the score of my recovery. Then there were the -endless duties of waiting on me, of thinking of the thousands of little -things that had to be thought of and done, and that he never forgot nor -neglected. He has done my cooking, my washing,--everything that was hard -and distasteful for a man to do. Then there was his constant anxiety -on account of the snow; and it has been growing daily all through the -winter with the increasing dangers and discomforts; and besides his -anxiety was the hard physical labor--far too heavy for him--that he -has been compelled to do in order to keep our hut from being buried and -ourselves from being smothered. And, last, there has been the constant -wearing upon him of a close imprisonment with me, for whom I know he now -must have a most intense dislike. - -"I am satisfied, too, that he has anxieties concealed from me. That they -are associated with something upon which the back door opens, I have no -doubt. There are several reasons for my thinking so. I am so nearly well -now that I could get about and be helpful to him if he would only make -me a crutch, as I have often begged him to do; but he has always put -me off, saying that it was too early for a crutch, that my desire to -be useful would give me a serious setback through making me overdo, -and that the main thing for us both to consider was the return of my -strength as quickly as possible, and our escape on snow-shoes that he -would make as soon as I should be able to walk. It has all sounded very -plausible, but it seems to me that common-sense would suggest that I -take a little exercise. In spite of my having regained my flesh, I am -as weak as an infant. Knowing that he is a good physician, I doubt his -sincerity about the crutch. I believe the solemn truth is that he fears -I would try to invade his cherished secret if I were able to be about. - -"I know that he keeps the provisions in the place into which the back -door opens, and that this fact seems to give him a sufficient excuse for -going there so often,--especially as he does the cooking there; and that -is another strange circumstance. For weeks after I was first brought to -the hut he prepared the food on the broad hearth here; but after a while -he did that in the rear apartment, explaining that the odors from the -cooking were not good for me, and that it was uncomfortable for him -to cook before an open fireplace. I protested that I did not mind the -odors, and he replied that I would at least consider his comfort. - -"Another thing: He has not eaten with me for a long, long time. His -original plan was to prepare my meal, wait on me until I had finished, -and then have his own at the little table in the chimney-corner. I did -not observe for some time that he had quit eating in that way, and that -he took his meals in the rear apartment. He always speaks of it as an -'apartment,' and not as a room. I wonder why. I have been sitting up for -a long time now, and do not require his assistance after he has brought -me my food. It would be much pleasanter if he would sit at the little -table and eat with me. Is his dislike of me so deep that he cannot eat -with me? With all my sense, I have permitted this condition of affairs -to come about! And we both are sufferers by it. - -"It is no wonder, with all these things troubling him, that he has -changed so much since I came. He is as scrupulously neat as ever, and he -makes this poor little hut shine, but he has changed remarkably since I -came. It has been so gradual that I didn't observe it until my blindness -was no longer sufficient to keep me from seeing it. He was slender and -evidently not strong when I came, but he has become a shadow, and his -gaunt cheeks and hollow eyes are distressing to me. When he comes in now -from fighting the snow,--for we must not be buried by it, and must -have light and air, and the top of the chimney must be kept clear,--his -weakness and exhaustion, though he tries so hard to conceal them, are -terrible to see. - -"And now a great fear has come to me. It is that at any moment he may -break down and die. I wish I had not written that, I wish I had never -thought of it. Oh, if my father would only come! What can be keeping -him? Do I not know that he loves me better than anything else in the -world? Am I not all that he has to love and cling to? I cannot, cannot, -understand it. Dr. Malbone says it is unreasonable for me to expect my -father, and that if he should make the effort to reach me now it would -be at too great a risk to his own life. He tries to assure me that my -father will be governed entirely by the advice of the people who know -the mountains, and that they will restrain him from making any such -attempt, as they would not dare to make it themselves. All that may be -true, but it is difficult for me to believe it. If I could only get a -word from him, it would give me greater strength to bear the horrors of -my situation. But why should I complain, when Dr. Malbone bears it all -so patiently, so sweetly, so cheerfully? - -"Still, that awful picture of murder comes between me and these pages -unceasingly. I think I can understand now why men sometimes kill women. -Why should men and women be so different? Why should it be impossible -for them to comprehend each other? It was Murder that I saw standing -before me--both the horrible picture of murder as he painted it, with -me as the murderess--me as the murderess!--and Murder in the flesh as he -stood ready to strangle me. Oh, the incredible ferocity of the man, the -terrible, wild savagery of him, the awful dark and nether side of -his strangely complex character! All along I had taken him for a -pusillanimous milksop, a baby, an old woman, a weak nobody; and at once -he dropped his outer shell and stood forth a Man,--terrible, savage, -brutal, overwhelming, splendid, wonderful! What is my judgment worth -after this? And I was so proud of my understanding of men! - -"Why didn't he kill me? It was my cry that checked him; but why should -it? Was it my appeal for help that brought him to his senses? I think -so. It touched that within him which had been so keenly alert, so -unrelaxingly vigilant, ever since I had come under his care. But what -did he mean by the howl of the she-wolf? And what did he mean by saying -that the wolves had come down? Several times since that terrible scene -he has waked me in the night with groans, and with crying out in his -sleep, 'The she-wolf?' These things have a meaning, I know. Why does -he explain nothing? And why have I permitted an estrangement between us -that makes it impossible for me to seek his confidence? Is it too late -now? - -"Oh, the terrible moments, the interminable hours, that passed after he -had left the hut by the rear door! Every second, at first, I expected -him to return and kill me. Would he have a rifle, a revolver, a knife, -or a bludgeon, or would he come with those terrible long fingers hooked -like claws to fasten upon my throat? And yet, somehow, I felt safe; I -felt that his old watchfulness and solicitude had returned. - -"As soon as I could overcome the half-stupor into which his outburst had -thrown me I dragged myself to the rear door, intending to barricade -it against him. The effort was exceedingly painful and exhausting, and -brought me great suffering for a week afterward. But my sufferings of -mind and spirit were so much greater that I could bear those of the -flesh. When I had crawled to the door and was trying to drag a box -against it, I heard something that stopped me. I am not certain that it -was anything real. There was a loud singing in my ears from the awful -fright that I had suffered, and what I heard may have been that, made -seemingly coherent by my over-strained imagination. What I heard sounded -like the distant, smothered, awful strains of Saint-Saens's 'Dance of -Death' played on the violin. But wild and terrible as it sounded, it -came as a pledge of my safety. Murder cannot come with music. - -"I drew myself away and with great effort clambered upon the bed, where -I lay a long time in complete exhaustion. Time had no meaning for me. -A dull, massive, intangible weight seemed to be crushing me, and I -longed--oh, how I longed!--for human sympathy. - -"The hut was dark when he returned. We had been very saving with the -candles, for Dr. Malbone explained that they were running low; so in -the evenings we generally had only the fire-light. There seemed to be a -generous supply of fire-wood in the rear apartment, and some of it was -a pitchy pine that gave out a fine blaze. When he returned the fire -had burned out. I felt no fear when I heard him enter. I knew by the -unsteadiness of his movements that he was weak and ill, but the first -sound of his voice as he called me anxiously was perfectly reassuring. - -"'I am lying on the bed,' I answered. - -"He groped to the bedside and there he knelt, and buried his face in his -hands upon the coverlet. And then--I say it merely as his due, merely -as the simple truth--he did the manliest thing that a man ever did. He -raised his head and in dignified humility said,-- - -"'I have done the most cowardly, the most brutal thing that a man can -do. Will you forgive me? Can you forgive me? - -"I put out my hand to stop him, for it was terrible that a man should be -so humble and broken; but he took my hand in both of his and held it. - -"'Will you? Can you? he pleaded. - -"It was the only time that his touch had been other than the cold and -perfunctory one of the physician, and--I feel no shame in writing it--it -was the first time in my life that the touch of a man's hand had been so -comforting. For a moment his hand seemed to have been thrust through the -wall that hitherto had separated us so completely. - -"'You were not the one to blame,' I said. 'I alone was the guilty one.' - -"'No, no!' he protested, warmly. 'What provocation under heaven could -excuse such conduct as mine?' - -"'I will forgive you,' I said, 'upon one condition.' - -"'And that-------' - -"'You forgive me in turn.' - -"Very slowly, as soon as I had said that, the pressure with which he had -been holding my hand began to relax. What did that mean, and why did he -remain silent, and why did a pain come stealing into my heart? Could not -he be as generous as I? Had I overrated him, after all? - -"'It was terrible!' he half whispered. 'By every obligation resting upon -a man, I should have been kind to you. You were my guest as well as my -patient. You were crippled and helpless, and unable to defend yourself. -You were a woman, looking to every man, by the right of your sex, for -comfort and protection. I was a man, owing to you, because you were -a woman, all the comfort and protection that every man owes to every -woman. All of these obligations I trampled under foot.' - -"Why did he put that sting into our reconciliation? Had he not done it -so innocently, so unintentionally, it would not have hurt so much. I -withdrew my hand from his very slowly; he made no effort to retain it. -He did not again ask me to forgive him, and he did not offer me his -forgiveness. The breach in the wall was closed, and the barrier stood -intact and impregnable between us. - -"Presently he rose and made a fire, and prepared me something to eat; -but I had no appetite. Then he found that I had a fever, and he was much -distressed. There was just one comforting touch of sympathy when he said -to me,-- - -"'You were sobbing all the time I was making the fire and preparing your -supper. I promise not to frighten nor distress you again.' - -"How did he know I had been sobbing, when I had taken so much pains -to conceal it And yet I might have known that his watchfulness upon -my welfare is so keen, so unrelaxing, that nothing affecting me can be -hidden from him. - -"I was confined to bed a week, and suffered greatly both in mind and -body. I had hurt my crippled leg, and that made my physician very -anxious. During all this time it had not occurred to me, so sodden with -selfishness is my nature, that he had suffered a very serious nervous -shock from his outburst of mad passion, and that only by a mighty effort -was he holding up to put me again on the road to recovery. A realization -of the truth came when my ill turn had passed. He had hardly placed me -comfortably on a chair when a ghastly pallor made a death's-head of his -face, and he reeled to the bed and fell fainting upon it, still having -the thoughtfulness to say, as he reeled,-- - -"'I am--a little--tired--and sleepy. I--am perfectly--well. Have -no--uneasiness.' - -"Except for his slight, short breathing, he lay for hours as one dead; -and then I realized more fully than ever the weight of the awful burden -that my presence has laid upon him. I know that I am killing him. O God! -is there nothing that I can do to help him, to make it easier for him? -What have I done that this horrible curse should have come upon me? - -"The most wonderful of all the strange things that I have seen and -learned in this terrible imprisonment is that his kindness toward me -has not suffered the slightest change. He is still the soul of -thoughtfulness, watchfulness, unselfishness, and yet he has denounced me -to my face as a---- - -"Another thing I have found: All the training that I have had in -cleverness goes for nothing here. He always avoids the beginning of any -conversation on subjects other than those that lie immediately near us. -It therefore requires a great effort on my part--and I think I deserve -some praise for it--to draw him into discussions of general matters. -In these discussions he never advances an opinion if he suspects that I -have an opposite one, and never opposes nor contradicts me; but I cannot -help feeling that his views are so much broader and deeper than mine, -so much wiser, so much more charitable, so much nearer to what he calls -'the great heart of humanity,' as to make me seem shallow and mean. Am I -really so? I try not to be. - -"With indescribable tact and delicacy, he holds me at an infinite -distance, and I have been unable to find any way to bridge the vast -gulf.... After all, why should I try? If he despises me, I cannot help -it. This miserable position in which I am placed will be at an end some -time; and when I am again free, and in my own world, I will show him the -gratitude that I feel. Will he let me?... - -"What is there so repulsive about me? Why should I be treated as a -viper? And why is it that of all the men I have known--men whom I could -handle as putty--this obscure backwoods doctor sets himself wholly apart -from me, remains utterly impregnable, shames and humiliates me with a -veiled pity, and feels not the slightest touch of the power that I -know myself to have? Is my face ugly? Are my manners crude? Is my voice -repellent? Where are my resources of womanly tact that I have used -successfully in the past? Why is it that I fail utterly to impress -him as having a single admirable trait, a single grace of appearance, -manner, or character? - -"It is hard to bear all this. I try to be brave and strong and cheerful, -as he always is; but it is human nature to resent his treatment, and it -is cruel of him to keep me in such a position. It is the first time in -my life that I have been at a disadvantage. - -"I imagine that he has suffered some great sorrow. Indeed, he said so -in his outburst. His distrust of me seems to indicate its character. He -probably gave some heartless woman his whole love, his whole soul, and -she laughed at him and cast him off. That would go hard with a man of -his kind. There can be no other explanation; and now I am the sufferer -for that woman's sin: he thinks that all women are like her. - -"I will write this vow, so that I may turn to it often and strengthen my -purpose by reading it: - -"I will make this man like me. I will tear down the wall that he has -built between us. I will employ every resource to bring him to my feet. -I will make him appreciate me. I will make him need me. I will make him -want me. - -"That is my vow." - -Thus end, again for the present, these extracts from the lady's journal. - - - - -CHAPTER TEN - -THE severity of the winter did not relax. There were intervals when the -wind did not blow and the snow did not fall; but there were neither warm -winds nor sunshine to melt the snow, the depth of which grew steadily -and aggravated the impassableness of the roads. Day by day, week by -week, month by month it strengthened the bars of the prison holding the -two unhappy souls. - -With the prolonged and increasing rigors of the winter harder and harder -grew the rigors of the prison. The strength of Wilder's spirit was -beginning to break down; and while it distressed his fair charge to see -him suffer, it warmed her heart to realize that the day of her triumph -was near,--the day when she should serve him as gently, as unselfishly, -as faithfully as he had served her. It would be sweet to have him -helpless, to have him lean upon her, need her, want her. - -Her manner had undergone a great change since the terrible scene in -which her life was threatened. Her firmness, her self-reliance, her -aggressiveness, her condescension, all had gone, and she bore herself -toward her rescuer as mother, sister, and friend. In innumerable little -ways she saved him trouble through denying herself, and did it so -tactfully that he never suspected the deception. Under the influence -of this he had at last made her a crutch, which, though rude and -uncomfortable, she declared to be a miracle of ease. She believed that -in giving it to her he expressed more confidence in her than he had felt -before. - -Its introduction into the scheme of their lives worked changes that -astonished and pleased him. In spite of his distressed protests, she -overhauled his meagre wardrobe, and with deft workmanship put every -article in perfect order. Her skill and ingenuity were employed in many -other ways, so that the cabin soon took on a look very different from -that which she had found when she came. Little touches lent an air of -grace and a sense of comfort that the place had not borne before. - -She relieved him of all the work of caring for her, except that of -cooking; this was a duty that he reserved with immovable stubbornness. -Nor could she contrive with all her wiles and persuasion to make him -have his meals with her. She formed many a theory to explain his conduct -in that particular. Finally, she settled upon this one: He preferred to -fill the rle of a servitor; as such he must take his meals apart. But -why should he so choose? Was it because he deemed it the safer course -for them both? Was it because he wished to discipline her by placing -her above him, when by obvious right they were equals? Speculation was -useless; she was forced to accept the fact, which she did with all the -grace at her command. - -He had grown thin to emaciation. His hands were those of a skeleton -covered tightly with skin. His cheeks were greatly sunken, and the drawn -skin upon his cheek-bones was a chalky white. But his eyes were the most -haunting of his features. They seemed to be looking always for something -that could not be found, and to show a mortal dread of a catastrophe -that had given no sign of its imminence. In their impenetrable depths -she imagined that she saw all mysteries, all fears, all anxieties. - -Still, though very weak, he kept sturdily and cheerfully at his duties. -There was the snow to fight. There was the fire to be kept up, for the -cold was intense. There was the cooking to do. - -Uncomfortable as her bed was, she knew that it was luxurious in -comparison with the thinly covered floor of stones and earth upon which -he slept. In time this came to haunt her unceasingly, and she pondered -every conceivable plan to make him more comfortable. At first it was her -firm intention to make him take the bed while she slept on the floor; -but she knew that it would be useless to make the suggestion; so she -was forced to abandon the idea, dear as it was to her, and happy as its -adoption would have made her. Instead, she did what she could to make -his pallet comfortable. Her ingenuity made so great a difference that -his gratitude touched her. - -One day she discovered him in agonizing pain. The torture was so great -that it broke down his iron fortitude and drew his face awry. She was -instantly at his side, her hand on his shoulder and her face showing a -wistful anxiety. - -"What is it, my friend?" she inquired, in the gentlest voice. - -With a pitiful effort at self-mastery he declared that it was only a -trifling and transitory pain, and that it was rapidly passing. She knelt -beside him and looked anxiously into his face. Her solicitude evidently -increased his suffering, but she was determined to make the fight then -and there. - -"Tell me what it is, my friend," she begged. - -This was the second time that she had called him "my friend." - -"It is only rheumatism," he said, somewhat impatiently, and making a -gentle effort to push her away. But she persisted. - -"That is not a trifling thing," she said, "for your strength is greatly -reduced. Where is the pain?" - -"Oh, I don't know; you are only making it harder for me!" he petulantly -exclaimed. - -A great gladness filled her heart, for she knew that he was giving way, -and that her solicitude was hastening his collapse. - -"No," she said, "I will make you well. Where is the pain?" His face gave -the glad sign of his wavering. - -"Where is the pain?" she repeated. "It is my right to know and your duty -to tell me." - -"In my----" he said, gasping, "in my chest." - -She rose and went to the bed, which she prepared for him. When he saw -what her intention was he came to his feet with great effort. Before -she could divine his purpose or check him, he had gone to the rear door, -hastily opened it, and saying, "I will be back in a moment," passed out -and closed it after him. She stood bewildered at the neatness with which -he had baffled her, and alarmed for his safety. But he had promised to -return at once, and she knew that he would if he could. To her great -relief he soon came back, bearing some biscuits and a few tins of -provisions. As he stepped within and locked the door he dropped a tin, -and before she could go to his assistance he had fallen while trying -to pick it up. She drew him to his feet, and was amazed to discover -how much stronger she was than he, and yet she had thought herself very -weak. She seated him upon the edge of the bed and began to remove his -shoes. - -"No, no!" he gasped; "you shall not do that." - -But she kept on and succeeded, and laid him upon the bed and drew the -covers over him. - -"Now," she said, "tell me what to give you." - -He did so, and it gave her infinite satisfaction to have him take the -medicine from her hand. Soon his pain relaxed, and he fell into a heavy -slumber. - -While she watched him as might a mother her slumbering first-born, her -soul warmed and expanded, and her one shy regret was that his head was -not resting on her breast. But there were duties awaiting her. She took -up the surplus ashes from the hearth. She revived the fire with the wood -that he had heaped up at the chimney-side the night before. She put snow -into a vessel to heat water. She stowed away his pallet. She prepared to -make tea as soon as the water should be hot. In the performance of these -and other minor tasks she was very happy, and for the first time since -she had entered the hut she sang softly. The work was not easy, for she -had little strength, being unused so long to exercise, and her lameness -and the crutch interfered sorely. - -One sting hurt unceasingly. She reflected that her host had decided -to take to the bed under her persuasion, and that he had brought the -provisions from the rear apartment so that she might prepare food during -his helplessness; but this was because he had not trusted her to get -the provisions herself,--had made it unnecessary for her to enter the -forbidden chamber. As well as she could she tried to be generous; she -tried to think that a man so kind, so thoughtful, so respectful, must -have the best reasons for keeping her out of that room. If so, she -had no right to expect his confidence. But why did he give her no -explanation? Why should he not trust her to that extent? This was the -sting that hurt. - -In a vague way she believed that something ought to be put on his chest -for the pain that he had suffered there. - -She had an intense desire to do something for him. She thought that -cloths saturated with liniment would be good for him. With great -caution, to avoid waking him, she opened the garments covering his -chest. He still slept heavily, for the medicine that he had taken -carried a soporific element. When she had bared his breast and seen the -frightful emaciation of his body, she quickly covered him, fell upon her -face to the floor, and sobbed. - -The day advanced, but still he slept. Her one hope now was that he would -sleep into the night, for that would require her to sleep on the pallet -before the hearth. She had another precious hope, and it was that they -would at last eat a meal together; but she would rather that he slept; -so, toward evening, she made a simple meal and ate her share alone, and -kept his ready for him against his waking. - -She marvelled that there was so much to do in so small a place, and that -the day--the sweetest, she believed, of all the days of her life--had -passed so quickly. At short intervals she would lean over him and listen -to his short, half-checked breathing; or she would gently lay her cool -hand upon his hot forehead, or hold one of his burning hands in hers, -and then press it to her cheek. It seemed surpassingly wonderful that -the strong man, strong in spirit only, should be lying now as helpless -as an infant, wholly dependent upon her. - -At times he was restless, and talked unintelligibly in his sleep; she -was instantly at his side, to soothe him with her cool, soft hand upon -his face; and when she saw that it always calmed him, she sighed from -the sweet pain that filled her breast. Once, when he seemed on the verge -of waking, she slipped her arm under his head, and gave him more of the -medicine, which he took unresistingly, and slept again. As the night -wore on, she made herself unhappy with trying to choose between sitting -at his bedside and watching, and suffering the hardship that he had -borne so long in sleeping on the pallet. While she was in the throes -of this contention, another urgent matter arose. It had been her host's -custom to bring in a supply of wood every night. That which he had -brought the night before was now exhausted, and more was needed. How -could she get it. She knew that he had locked the back door and put -the key into a certain pocket. She knew that she could not get the wood -without the key. Procuring a supply of fuel was one precaution that he -had overlooked when he had brought in a supply of provisions. - -He was in a profound slumber. She could get the key, and thus provide -the wood for the night. But would it be right to do so? If the fire -went out the cold would be intense, and might prove fatal to him. If -she should enter the forbidden room, would that be taking an unfair -advantage of his helplessness? It was a hard problem, but in the end -her sense of duty outweighed her sense of delicacy. With the greatest -caution she slipped her hand into his pocket and secured the key. With -equal caution she went to the door and unlocked it. - -Then a great fear assailed her. What lay beyond the door? Might it not -be some danger that only her host could safely face? If so, what could -it be?... It were wise to have a candle; but search failed to discover -one. She secured a small torch from the fire, and cautiously opened the -door. - -To her surprise, no chamber was revealed, but merely a walled and roofed -passage closed at the farther end with a door. Piled within it was a -store of wood; there was nothing else. It was very awkward for the young -woman to carry the crutch, the torch, and the wood all at once; it was -necessary to relinquish the torch. She carried it back to the fireplace, -and went again to the passage, piled some wood in her free arm, and -started back. As she did so she saw her host sitting up and staring -at her in horror. This so frightened her that she dropped the wood, -screamed, and fell fainting to the floor. - -When she became conscious she found herself on the bed and her host -watching beside her. There was the old look of command in his face, the -old veil that hung between her and his confidence; and thus her glorious -day had come to an inglorious end, and her spirit was nearly crushed. -Her host had recovered in a measure,--sufficiently for him to resume -the command of his house. No questions were asked, no explanations were -given. He thanked her gratefully for her kindness to him, and thus her -brief happiness came to an end. The old round of labor, of waiting, of -hoping, of suffering, of imprisonment, was taken up again. - - - - -CHAPTER ELEVEN - -A FEW days afterward they were sitting before the fire in silence. -It had become habitual with the young woman to study every look -and movement of her host; to anticipate him in the discharge of the -household duties; to provide for him every little comfort that the -meagre resources of the hut afforded; and to observe with a strange -pleasure the steady breaking down of his will and courage. She realized -that his recent attack, though so quickly overcome, was a warning of -his approaching complete collapse; and she believed that only when that -should happen could she hope with sympathy and careful nursing to save -him. She welcomed the moroseness that was stealing over him, his growing -failure to study her every want, and his occasional lapses into a -petulant bearing toward her. It gratified her to see him gradually -loosen the iron mask that he had worn so long. Most significant of all -his symptoms were hallucinations that began to visit him. At times he -would start up in violent alarm and whisper, "Did you hear the howling -of the wolves?" At others he would start in alarm to resist an imaginary -attack upon the rear door. A touch of her hand, a gentle, firm word, -would instantly calm him, and then he would look foolish and ashamed. - -On this day, as they sat before the fire, matters took a new and strange -turn. He suddenly said,-- - -"Listen!" - -She was so deeply absorbed in watching him and so expectant of erratic -conduct from him that she gave no thought to the possibility of danger -from an external source. For dreary months she had waited in this small -prison, and no longer gave heed to any tumult without. The young man had -been lounging in hopeless langour, but now he sat upright, every nerve, -muscle, and faculty under extraordinary tension. - -"It is coming!" he cried. "I have been expecting it every day. -Come--quick, for God's sake!" - -Saying that, he seized her by the arm, and with furious eagerness and -surprising strength dragged her to the rear door, giving her little time -to seize her crutch. He unlocked the door and threw it open, but before -he could open the door at the further end of the passage she heard a -heavy roar and felt the great mountain tremble. Wholly ignorant of the -meaning of it all, but seeing that her host was moved by an intelligent -purpose, and feeling profound confidence and comfort in the protection -that he was throwing about her, she placed herself completely under his -guidance. - -The rear door was opened, and they entered a dark, cold chamber. With -every moment the roaring increased and the trembling of the mountain was -augmented. Then came a tremendous, stupefying crash, and the cataclysm -gradually died away in silence, leaving an impenetrable, oppressive -blackness. - -The two prisoners stood in breathless silence, held tightly in each -other's arms. The young woman asked no questions; her sense of security -and comfort in this man's arms filled the whole want of her hour. -She felt vaguely that something more dreadful than all their past -misfortunes had befallen them; but that feeling brought no chill to the -strong warm blood that swept rhythmically through her heart. She was at -peace with her fate. If this was death, it was death for them both, it -was death with him. - -Her keen sympathy made her intensely attentive to every sign that he -gave; and thus it was that she accepted, without surprise or dismay, the -realization that he was not rallying, and that, on the contrary, he was -sinking under the nameless blow that had fallen upon them. It was not -anxiety for that, but for him, that now gave her every conscious quality -a redoubled alertness. His grasp upon her tightened, and by this she -knew that he felt the need of her, and was clinging to her. He trembled -in every member, and swayed as he stood. With little effort she bore -him to the ground, where, kneeling beside him and holding his hands, she -softly spoke,-- - -"My friend, we are together; and so long as each is the stay of the -other, we shall have strength and courage for all things. Now tell me -what I may do for you." She knew by the pressure of his hand upon hers -that her words had found good ground. She gently pressed her advantage. -"Tell me what I may do for you. You are weak. You know how strong and -healthy and willing I am; then, imagine how much pleasure it would give -me to help you! You need a stimulant. Is there one in the cabin? Tell me -where it is, and I will bring it." - -"You are kind," he said, tremulously. - -"But do you know what has happened?" As he asked this question he rose -to a sitting posture, she assisting him. - -"No," she calmly answered; "but no matter what has happened, we are -together, and thus we have strength and courage for it." - -"Ah," he said, hopelessly, "but this is the end! An avalanche has buried -us and the cabin is destroyed!" - -Terrible as was this declaration, it had no weakening effect upon his -companion. - -"Is that all?" she cheerily asked. "But avalanches melt away, and we -have each other. And if it come to the very worst, we shall still have -each other. Besides each other, we have life, and with life there is -always hope, there is always the duty to hope. If we abandon hope, life -itself is abandoned." - -This worked like good wine in his veins; but she knew by the way in -which he still clung to her, seemingly fearful that she would leave him -for a moment, that a dreadful unknown thing sat upon him. She waited -patiently for him to disclose it. She knew that the shock of the -catastrophe had wholly cleared his mind, and that the old terrors which -he had concealed from her were working upon him with renewed activity. -Still he kept silence. - -"Do you know," she presently said, "that I am glad the avalanche has -come? I understand now the dread of some terrible happening that has -been haunting you. Well, it has come, and we are still alive; and better -than that, we have each other. Think how much more dreadful it might -have been! Suppose that it had come while you were outside, and swept -you away. Suppose that it had crushed us in the cabin. But here we are, -safe and sound, and happy each in the presence of the other.... And I am -thinking of something else. The snow stopped falling long ago. Lately we -have had warm winds and some rain. This must mean, my friend, that the -worst is over. And doesn't it mean that the rain has softened the snow -and loosened it to make this avalanche?" - -A sudden strength, a surprised gladness, were in the pressure that he -now gave her hand. - -"It is true, it is true!" he softly exclaimed. - -"Then," she continued, "the winter has dealt its last blow, and our -liberation is at hand; for the rains that caused the avalanche will melt -the snow that it has piled upon us, and also the snow that has closed -the roads. It seems to me that the best of all possible things has -happened." - -"I hadn't thought of that!" he exclaimed, with a childish eagerness that -made her heart glow. - -"Besides," she continued, "how do you know that the cabin is destroyed? -Let us go and see." - -Her gentle strength and courage, the seeming soundness of her reasoning, -and her determination not to take a gloomy view of their state, roused -him without making him aware of his weakness. Her suggestion that the -cabin possibly had not been destroyed was a spur to his dulled and -stunned perception. - -"That is true," he cheerfully said; "let us go and see." - -Still clinging closely to each other, they groped in the darkness for -the door. - -"You have matches, haven't you?" she inquired. - -"Yes," he answered, in confusion; "but we can find the door without a -light." - -That was not so easy. For the first time, now that the terrors of the -moment had passed, the young woman was nursing a happiness that she had -not known during all the dreary weeks of their imprisonment,--except -once, in his illness, when it had been of so short duration. - -Feeling thus content, she suddenly reflected that she was at last in the -forbidden apartment, where she believed some fearful mystery was kept -concealed from her. Their voices had been long smothered in the cramped -hut. The contrast that she now found was startling; yet her thoughts -might not have reverted to the fact that she was at last in the presence -of the mystery had not Wilder's embarrassed refusal to make a light -rekindled her interest. The first thing in that direction that she -noticed was the singular resonance of their voices, as though they were -in a place of a size just short of the echoing power. More than that, it -was cold, though not nearly so cold as the outer air; and she heard the -musical tinkle of dripping and running water. - -Wilder had evidently lost all idea of direction. In clinging to -his companion as he groped, he took great care to guard her against -stumbling and collision. His free hand (the other arm was about her -waist) was extended. With great difficulty, increased by his eagerness, -he finally found his bearings and advanced to the door. Slowly and -cautiously they pushed on through the passage, and then, to their great -relief, into the hut itself. This they found intact, but smoky and -entirely dark,--the avalanche had smothered the chimney and shut out the -light from the window. With matches they discovered that the window had -not been broken and that the outer wall of the house held none of the -pressure of the snow. In his peculiar fashion, however, Wilder began to -foresee troubles. - -"The pressure of the mass above," he said, "will compress the snow -below, and thus give our window, and perhaps the outer wall of the cabin -itself, a pressure that they can't bear. The hut is buried. We can -have no more fires. The worst of all is that, having no air, we must -suffocate in time." - -"Is all that necessary, my friend?" his companion asked. "We can at -least try to clear away the snow and thus remove all those difficulties; -and there is a chance--and a good one, don't you think?--for the snow to -melt quickly. Besides all that, we have not yet tried to dig out through -the snow." - -"True, true, every word of it!" he cried, delightedly. "What a clear, -strong mind you have!" - -This was the first compliment that he had ever paid her, and its obvious -sincerity gave it a precious value. - -It was she that now led the attack upon their prison of snow. What -infinite satisfaction and pride it gave her to know that at last she -was the guiding spirit of the hut; with what firm but gentle tact she -overcame, one by one, his objections to her worrying or working; how she -watched his every movement, hung upon his every word, relieved him as -much as possible of the stress that burdened him, and ministered to -his comfort in all ways; with what blithe songs in her heart and cheery -words on her lips she lightened the toil of that dreadful time, need -only be mentioned here. But it was she that led, that inspired, that -achieved, and he knew it. This was the blessed light that shone for her -through it all. - -A search revealed loose and easily removed snow at one end of the -hut, against the face of the cliff. His work in the lead, digging and -tunnelling, hers in the rear, removing the snow and keeping courage in -his heart, brought them presently to the outer air. Then, for the first -time, they beheld the glorious sunshine, and like children they shouted -in glee to see it. Both walls of the canon were still heavily covered -with snow, but numerous small slides had broken it, and the rain had -softened and ploughed it. Evidently it was rapidly melting. - -Another scene held them as they stood hand in hand looking down into the -canon. The great avalanche that had overwhelmed them had been arrested -in the bottom of the canon, and had made a large lake by damming the -river. Rapidly the lake grew in size and backed up the canon. Soon at -any moment the growing mass of water must break through its dam, and -that would be a spectacle to behold. - -They could not wait for that. With incredible labor--he no longer -protesting against her full share in the work, and she heedless of her -lameness and of its serious hindrance to her efforts--they together, -hand in hand, clambered over the snow until they stood above the hut, -and cheerily began to dig it free,--a task seemingly so far beyond their -powers that something wonderful must have sustained them in assailing -it. Thus they were working in the afternoon sunshine, for the first time -boon companions, and as happy and light-hearted as children, when an -exclamation from Wilder drew her attention to the dam. It was giving way -under the pressure of water. Instantly she recognized a danger that he -had overlooked. - -"Back to the cliff!" she cried, seizing his hand and dragging him away, -"or we'll go down with the snow." - -They reached their tunnel and the cabin in good time; but soon afterward -the dam broke, and the swirling, thundering mass of water bore it down -the canon. This removed the support of the snow backed up between the -river and the top of the cliff, and it went plunging down into the -water, leaving the top of the hut exposed, and solving the problem of -the prison of snow. - - - - -CHAPTER TWELVE - - -ONCE again from the lady's journal: - -"It is impossible for me to describe the hope, peace, and comradeship -that have transformed this place into a little nest, where it had been -so terrible a prison before. The sunshine outside continues, and I -know that it is but a matter of days when my father will come. It seems -unaccountable to me that anything in the world could have stayed him so -long; but Dr. Mal-bone assures me that the roads and mountains are still -utterly impassable; that the roads, besides being strewn with fallen -trees, are in places washed away, and that our one means of escape will -be afoot, on our own account. We are now talking it over all the time, -and are ready to start at the first favorable moment. My leg is nearly -well; only a slight pain after severe exertion, and a most embarrassing -weakness there, are the trouble now. But he is putting me through -excellent treatment and training to overcome all that; and he has -given me the joyous promise that we shall make the start in a week from -to-day. - -"And now I must write of some other wonderful things that have happened. -The change that has come in our mutual bearing and understanding is so -incredible that I hardly dare put it down here, lest it prove a dream. I -made a vow some time ago in this journal that I would make this man need -me and want me. That victory is won. And I know that in winning it over -him I have won it over myself. O God, how blind, how stupidly, sordidly -blind, I have been all these years! In the depths of my wretched -selfishness, in the dark caverns of my meanness, I had never dreamed of -the real human heart throbbing and aching and hoping all about me; it -has taken this strange man to drag me forth into the light. And not at -all willingly or consciously has he done so. There is a sting in that. -At times I hate him still when I think of it all. It was the silent, -intangible, undirected force radiating from him that has wrought the -change. I feel no humiliation in saying this. I say it and know it in -spite of the great distance that separates us,--the social barriers that -mean so little and do so much. It will remain with me forever, whatever -happen, to have known a man; to have known him in his strength and -weakness, in his splendid unselfishness and childish reliance; in his -simplicity and complexity; in his singleness of purpose and variety -of attributes; in his gentleness and ferocity, and, above all, in his -wonderful sense of duty. But I wish he were moved by something besides -duty. - -"There is another thing I must write, and I write it with a -consciousness of burning cheeks. At times I find him--rather, I feel -him--looking at me with a certain gentleness when I am not observing. -What does that mean? Have I learned men so badly that I can mistake its -meaning? The most convenient woman will do for the man who may prefer -another but inaccessible one. Until we came closer together since the -avalanche passed and the sunshine came, I was not a woman to him. No; I -was a Duty. But there has now come into his voice and his glance a new -quality,--stay! Remember that the weakness of women is their vanity. -Could there happen so wonderful a thing as this man's regard for me of -the kind that a woman wants from the man whom she worships? If so, is he -too proud, too reserved, too conscious of his present obligation of duty -and protection, to make it known? Does he still fear me? Does he still -hold in his heart the frightful denunciation that he hurled at me? Does -he still loathe me as a murderess? Is my wealth a barrier? Does he lack -the courage to dare what every man must dare in order to secure the -woman he loves? - -"Loves? Why did I write that word? By what authority or right? And yet, -of all the words that the sunshine of the soul has placed upon the -tongue, that is the sweetest.... - -"Distressing things have happened since I wrote the foregoing. For a -time the stimulation of sunshine and hope, the sure prospect of _my_ -release from this prison, worked miracles with his strength, both -of body and mind; but three days ago he grew silent and moody, then -restless and anxious; by night he was down with a fever, the cause of -which I cannot understand. When I see his fleshless chest and arms, -I wonder if he has some malady that is killing him, and that he has -concealed from me. His drawn face, with the skin tight to breaking on -his cheek-bones, and his extreme emaciation, look like consumption; but -he has no other symptoms, and he declares that he is perfectly sound. -Is my presence so distressing that it alone is killing him? If so, it is -murder for me to stay longer. If I only knew! - -"Why does he conceal anything from me? What could he have to conceal -that it is not right for me to know? And yet I know that the act of -concealment could not thus be killing him,--it is the thing he is -concealing that has the terror. It would be infinitely better for us -both if he let me share it, and, as I am so much stronger than he, -I could bear it so much better; the sharing of it would lighten his -burden, and my sympathy would give him strength. Why cannot he see all -this, when it is so clear to me? I must be patient, patient, patient! -That is my watchword now. - -"As in the former case, when he was taken ill, so now he prepared for -his illness by bringing in a small, but this time utterly inadequate, -supply of provisions. Not in a single instance, down to this last -attack, has he consented to eat with me; he has always retreated through -the rear door and eaten alone. It is now getting hard for me to bear -this singular tyranny about the food. He eats with me now, because, -being helpless in bed, he cannot avoid it; but he eats so little! It -is impossible for him to gain strength in this way, and I am distressed -beyond expression. He simply declares that he cannot eat. Singularly -enough, he is always urging me of late to eat little, else I shall -bring on a long list of disorders that will prevent our escape. For that -matter, there is so little left of the store that he brought from -the rear that I am uneasy lest the supply be exhausted and he remain -stubbornly to his purpose not to trust me to get more from the place -behind the rear door. What will be the end of this dreadful situation? - -"It seems an odd inconsistency in his nature that this subject of eating -should consume so much of his wandering thoughts. In his delirium he -paints gorgeous pictures of feasts. He marvels at the splendor of Nero's -banquets, and declares that the people with so much to eat must have -been fat and content! I hate to put this down, for it seems treasonable -to betray this touch of grossness in a nature so singularly fine. If he -thinks so much of eating, why should he be urging me to eat sparingly of -the rude things that his larder might afford, and that cost me so much -effort to eat with a good grace? It is strange how many unexpected -things we learn of others in intimate association!... - -"In glancing over these last pages I see how wretchedly I have failed -to give the least insight into our life and relations. How could I ever -have had the heart to see, much more put in writing, the slightest flaw -in so noble a character? It would seem that the sympathy born of this -new relation between us ought to touch only the best in my nature. -Shame, shame, shame on me! Do I not see his haunting glance follow me -everywhere, and resting upon me always with inexpressible gratitude? - -"He is almost completely dependent upon me now. I nurse him as I would -a child. It would be utterly inadequate to say that this fills me with -happiness as being a return of some of the kindness that he has shown -me. No, there is something besides that. The gratitude in my heart is -great,--greater than I had thought so small and mean a heart could have. -I am glad that I have it. But the joy of it all is the doing for this -man, without regard to gratitude. To do for him; to nurse him; to cheer -him; to feel that he needs me and wants me,--that is my heaven. And -although a dreadful fear haunts me that he is dying,--that in some way -that I cannot understand I am killing him,--that if he should die my -life would be empty and dark,--still, it would be infinitely sweet to -have him die in my arms, still needing me, still wanting me. Now that I -have written that,--how could I have written it?--I will write more -in all shamelessness. I want him to _say_ that he needs me and wants -me,--that he needs me and wants me to the end of his life. - -"As I have written that much, I will write the rest, else my heart will -burst. I love this man. I love him with all my heart, all my soul. I -love him for everything that he is, not for anything that he has done. -He is the one man whom the great God in His cruel wisdom and merciless -providence has sent into my life for me to love. And with my tears -wetting these pages, and my soul breathing prayers for his recovery, and -his delivery to me, I pledge and consecrate myself to him to the end -of my days, whatever may come. With every good impulse within me I will -strive to be worthy of so great a heart, so noble a love. I will try to -win his love by deserving it.... - -"An unexpected change for the better has come. Our supply of food had -fallen so low that I had about determined to take matters into my -own hands, enter the forbidden chamber, and get more provisions, when -another idea occurred to me. It was absolutely necessary that we have -more food. More important than that was the evident fact that he -would die for the need of it if it were not forthcoming. I feared the -disturbing effect of my going into the forbidden chamber, and so decided -to make a thorough search of the cabin first. Knowing his inexplicable -peculiarity on the subject of our food, I suspected that at some time -in his mental wandering he may have concealed some in the cabin. So this -morning before daylight, while he slept,--his sleeping is incredibly -light,--I cautiously made a search of the cabin, and happily found a few -nourishing things in the bottom of a box, where he had either concealed -them or left them forgotten. These I prepared for him in a most tempting -manner. I arranged my own dishes in a way to make him think I had eaten -abundantly myself, and told him so when he awoke and refused to eat, -urging me to eat what I had prepared for him. - -"When I had convinced him that I had eaten all I could, he took a -little, gingerly, from my hand. I had laid my plans well. As I fed him I -talked incessantly, telling him a story that I knew would interest him. -Before he realized what he was doing--his mind was not as alert as it -normally is--he had eaten somewhat generously. The effect was magical. -Color came to his cheeks and the quiet old sparkle to his eyes. Before -long, to my great surprise and delight, he was up, and then went out to -note the prospect for our leaving. He came back with a radiant face and -buoyant manner, and said,-- - -"'My friend, we will start at sunrise to-morrow.' - -"My heart gave a great bound. It was a simple matter to make our -preparations, as it was necessary that we travel as light as possible. -It is time that we were leaving, for the last of the food that he -brought from the rear is exhausted.... - -"The morning has come. And now we are about to turn our backs upon -this strange place of suffering and mystery, its suffering endured, its -mystery unsolved. And without shame do I say that I would rather walk -out thus, and face the perils that lie ahead, with this man as my -guide, my protector, my friend, than go forth in all the stateliness and -triumph that wealth could afford. - -"Farewell, dear, dear little home, my refuge, my cradle, my hope. I will -come back, and---- - -"He is calling me at the door. I must kiss this table, these chairs, -that bed, the walls. But it is with Him that I go." Thus closed the -lady's journal. - - - - -CHAPTER THIRTEEN - -THE two started bravely in the fine morning sunshine. There were long -and laborious miles ahead, and only a short day in which to overcome -them and their difficulties. In his heart the young man believed that -it would be impossible for them to complete the task that day, and he -dreaded the shelterless night that would overtake them. But should he -break down, the day's work would have hardened his companion for the -rest of the journey alone. There was a chance that they would find help -on the way, for surely efforts would be making to clear the roads. The -snow had disappeared from all exposed places. - -They descended the shaly, slippery trail to the road, and here he was -gratified to see that the avalanche had cleared away the fallen tree -and the wreck of the wagon. He led the way up the canon, for in that -direction were the nearest houses. - -He found the road even worse than he had expected. Being a narrow way, -cut into the steep slope of the canon, to leave it in rounding fallen -trees and breaches left by the storm was a slow and laborious task, and -time was precious for a number of reasons. Each had a load to bear,--he -some covering against the night, and she some articles of her own. These -soon became very burdensome to both. - -On they plodded. While a heaviness appeared in his manner, her bearing -was cheerful and spirited. A sadness that he made no effort to conceal -and that she bravely hid oppressed them both. To find him sad was -sufficient to tinge her sadness with happiness. They rested at short -intervals, for the exertion soon began to tell upon them, but upon -him the more. They slaked their thirst from the river. To the woman it -seemed a spring-time stroll through flowering fields, softened by the -sweet sadness of May. To him it was a task that brought them step by -step nearer to the end, where he must deal her the crudest blow of her -life. For at the end she expected news of her father. She would hear it, -and from the one who would have been the most glad to spare her. But she -must not know yet. All her strength was needed for the task before -her. It is time to break hearts when their breaking can be no longer -deferred. - -He had been trudging ahead. He must have suspected that she observed the -labor with which he walked, the uncontrollable tendency of his knees to -give way, the reeling that now would send him against the bank, and then -upon the outer edge of the grade; for presently he asked her to walk -ahead. She complied. - -Their slow and laborious work presently made it impossible for them to -talk. They went on in silence. After they had proceeded thus for some -hours, a thing occurred that struck dismay to her soul. Her companion -suddenly became voluble. At first he was coherent, although he talked -about matters to which she was a total stranger. This showed an alarming -unconsciousness of her presence. As he talked, he became more and more -incoherent, and at times laughed inanely. Presently, with awe in his -voice, he said,-- - -"She was the woman I loved. She's dead, boys, she's dead; and by God! -they killed her." - -Her spirit sank. After all that she had hoped and yearned for, there now -had come back the most terrible of the ghosts of the bitter past. After -all the seeming bridging of the chasm that had separated them, it opened -now all the wider and deeper and darker. - -"Do you know what a murderer is?" he exclaimed in a loud voice, as he -swung his arm threateningly aloft. "A she-wolf, the slyest and most -dangerous of beasts. She comes whining and fawning; she licks your hand; -she wins your trust. And then, when you have warmed her, and patched her -torn skin, and mended her broken bones, she turns upon you and tears out -your heart with her fangs." - -Stifling, faint, barely able to stand, the young woman stood aside, and -he passed her without seeing her. - -"Yes," he resumed in great excitement, "I must be a man,--always a -man. What! kill a woman? No, no, no! Not that. That would be terrible, -brutal, cowardly. Yes, I must be a man. She needs me; I will help her. -Is that door locked? She must never know--never know so long as she -lives. Ah, that is beautiful, wonderful, savory,--a feast for gods and -angels! Yes, I will do my duty. She needs me. She despises me. Very -good; I will do my duty. She scorns my poor food--secretly, but I know! -She is getting well. Thank God for that! She shall eat all she can. -Me? No, no. I don't want anything. No; I don't want a thing. I have no -appetite!" - -He burst into laughter, and the echo of it came back from the opposite -wall of the canon. - -"Oh, my love, my love!" he cried, suddenly becoming sad, "how could you -cast me off, when all had been so true and trusting between us? But I -know it was better so. It was not right for me to stand in the way." He -paused, and his voice sank into an awed whisper as he said, "She's dead, -boys, she's dead; and by God! they killed her." - -He pushed rapidly on, muttering things that she could not hear, that she -did not want to hear. Not a word of kindness for her had come from him -in his delirium, and her heart was breaking. - -"When it is all over," he said aloud, "I will go to my old friend, and -he will nurse me back to health and strength, and I will begin the -fight again. I will be a man--always a man. I will do my duty. And the -she-wolf--no, no, no! She will not tear out my heart with her claws and -fangs. No! There is no she-wolf! I say, there is no she-wolf. No! She -is kind to me. I know it, I know it! She is gentle and thoughtful and -unselfish. She is very, very beautiful. She won't leave me, will she? -She won't leave me alone! But she is unmanning me! I must not let her -do that! I must be a man and do my duty. No, you must not take off my -shoes. I can do that. I have no pain--none whatever. Yes, I will be -calm. Your voice is sweet; it is music; it fills me with peace and -comfort; and your hand on my face--how soft and pleasant it is! I wish -I could tell you; but no, I must do my duty; I must be a man! I will not -listen to your voice. I will not let you touch me. That would keep me -from my duty." - -These words raised her from despair to bliss. And so he had fought his -inclinations,--he needed her, he wanted her! - -Still he kept on. She strained every hearing faculty for his slightest -word. For what he had already said, she could bear his forgetting her -presence. Still they pushed on, he muttering and laughing; but for all -his madness, he was wise and cautious amid the dangers and hardships of -the road. No longer did he advise her, guide her, assist her, and show -her the innumerable unobtrusive attentions to which she had become -accustomed. - -At last he suddenly stopped in a stretch of good road and looked about, -bewildered. - -"Where is this?" he whispered; then aloud, "Oh, it is the trail of the -wolves! After them will come the she-wolf, and her fangs----" He dropped -his parcel and clutched his breast. "Her fangs!" he gasped. He looked -about and picked up a stick, which he swung as a club about him. "The -she-wolf is here!" he cried. - -His glance fell upon his companion, standing in awe and pity and love -before him. Instantly a fearful malignity hardened his face, and -his eyes blazed with the murder that had filled them once before. He -clutched the stick more fiercely, and glared at her with a mixture of -terror and ferocity. But she stood firm, and gently said,-- - -"My friend!" - -His face instantly softened. She stood smiling, her glance caressing, -her whole bearing bespeaking sympathy and affection. - -"My dear friend," she said, in a voice whose sweetness sank deep within -him, "you know me!" - -A look of joyous recognition swept over his face. - -"I am so glad!" he breathlessly said. "I thought you had left me alone!" - -Saying this, he sank to the ground, smiling upon her as he fell. - -She knelt beside him, placed a soothing hand upon his cheek, and spoke -comforting words. His face showed the profound gratification that filled -him, and her soul spread its wings in the sunshine that filled the day -with its glories. - -He lay limp and helpless, but she knew that he must be going forward if -he could. She caressed him, she coaxed him, she raised him to a sitting -posture, she put her arms under his and lifted him to his feet; but his -breathing was short and distressed, his head rolled listlessly, and his -legs refused their offices. Then she realized that the last remnant of -his strength, both of body and spirit, was gone; and her heart sank to -the uttermost depths. - -"Lay me down," he said, very gently, but clearly, and with perfect -resignation. "Lay me down, my friend, and go on alone. I am very tired, -and must sleep. Keep to the road. I don't think it is far to the nearest -house. You are sure to find some one. Be brave and keep on." - -She laid him down and turned away. A cruel choking had throttled her -power of speech. With tears so streaming from her eyes that she went -about her purpose half blind, she found a drier place in the road, -gathered pine-needles less soaked than the rest, made a bed for him -there, and spread upon it the blankets that he had been carrying. -When she looked again into his face he was sleeping lightly, and his -breathing betrayed great physical distress. As gently as a mother -lifting her sleeping babe, she took him up in her arms, bore him to the -bed, and with infinite care and tenderness laid him upon it. Then with -some twigs and handkerchiefs she fashioned a canopy that shielded his -head from the sun. She covered him with a free part of the blanket; but -fearing that it would prove insufficient, she removed her outer skirt -and covered him with that; these covers she tucked about him, that he -might not easily throw them off. - -He had not been roused by these attentions. She knelt beside him and -gently kissed his hands, his cheeks, his forehead, his lips, and wiped -away her streaming tears as they fell upon his face. He moved slightly, -opened his eyes, looked into her face, and smiled. Very feebly he took -her hand, brought it to his lips, kissed it, smiled again, closed his -eyes, and with a sigh of weariness fell asleep. She knelt thus and -watched him for a little while, seeing him sink deeper and deeper -into slumber. Then she rose. And now may the great God give heart and -strength for the mighty task ahead! - -Not trusting herself to look back upon him, she gathered up her courage -and started. On she went, her head high, her eyes aflame, her cheeks -aglow. A suffocating, heart-aching loneliness haunted her, dogged her, -gnawed at her spirit. More than once she wavered, weak and trembling, -under the backward strain upon her heart-strings. More than once she -cried aloud, "I can't leave him! I can't leave him! I must go back!" And -then she would summon all her strength again, and cry, "It is for his -sake that I go! It is to save him that I leave him!" - -Thus, rended by contending agonies, she went on and on. With incredible -self-torturings she pictured the dangers to which she had left him -exposed. What had he meant by the wolves? Was there really danger from -that source? Often in his sleep in the hut, and again when his mind -would wander, he had spoken of the wolves, and always in terror; but -most dreadful of all things to him was the she-wolf. Yet during all the -time that she had been imprisoned with him in the hut there had not been -the least sign of a wolf, not the most distant howl of one. Why had this -hallucination been so persistent with him, so terrifying to him? - -The miles seemed interminable. She kept her eyes and ears strained for -signs and sounds of human life. At intervals she would call aloud with -all her might, and after hearing the echo of her voice die away in the -canon, wait breathlessly for a response that never came. With eager -haste she pushed on. Clambering over fallen trees, heading gullies that -she could not leap, wading swift rivulets with which the rapidly melting -snow was still ploughing the road, she came at length within view -of some men who were clearing the road with axes and mending it with -shovels,--the rough, strong, silent, capable men of the mountains. She -frantically waved her handkerchief and called as she went. They stopped -their work and stood gazing at her in wondering silence. They saw that -she was not of their kind; but their trained sensibilities informed them -that the great mountains had been working their terrible will upon human -helplessness, and they stood ready to put the strength of their arms and -hearts into the human struggle. - -Imperfectly clad as she was, her form and bearing suggesting a princess, -her beauty, enhanced by her joy at finding help, radiant and dazzling, -their wonder and shyness held them stolid and outwardly unresponsive, -and they silently waited for her to speak. She went straight to them, -and, looking at them one after another as she spoke, she said,-- - -"Will you help me, men? I left a man exhausted in the road some miles -down the canon. I fear he is dying. Will you go with me and help me -bring him up? Is there a doctor anywhere near? Is there a house to -which we may take him?" - -There was a moment of silence,--these men are slow, but all the surer -for that. - -One of them, a bearded, commanding man of middle age, said,-- - -"Yes, we will go and bring him up. A doctor lives up the canon. Maybe -he's at home. The man can't walk?" - -"No; he is lying helpless in the road." The strong man, whom she -afterward heard the others call Samson,--one of those singular -coincidences of name and character,--turned and picked out two men. - -"You two," he said, as quietly as though he were directing the -road-work, "cut two poles and make a litter with them and a blanket. -Go and bring the man up. You," he said to a third, "help them make the -litter, and give a hand on the trip." Two others he directed to prepare -the wagon, which stood a short distance up the road. Another he sent up -the road to summon the doctor. Then he turned his attention to the young -woman. Without consulting her, he made a comfortable nest of greatcoats -and blankets, and when he had so deftly and quickly finished it, he said -to her,-- - -"Come and rest here." - -"No!" she vehemently protested; "I am going back with the men." - -"You are not going back with the men. If you did, there would be two -for them to bring up instead of one. One is enough. Make yourself -comfortable here; you are safe." - -The slight rebuke in this, and the quiet determination with which the -man spoke, informed her that she must lay a reasoning hand upon her -agonizing fear and impatience. She obeyed him with as good a grace as -she could find. - -Again without consulting her, he brought some hot coffee, poured it into -a tin-cup, and held it out to her. - -"Drink that," he said. - -She drank it. He then produced some bread, which he sliced and buttered. - -"Eat that," he said. - -She obeyed. While doing so she watched the men make the litter, and -marvelled at the skill with which they worked, and the quickness with -which the task was done, seemingly without the slightest effort or -hurry. Then in silence the three men swung down the road. - -The man named Samson, although he had not appeared to be giving any -attention to his fair guest, was in front of her the moment she had -finished the bread and butter. He carried some things in his arms, and -threw them down at her feet. - -"Take off your shoes and stockings," he said, "and put on these socks; -they are thick and warm. Take off all your other things that are wet, -and wrap yourself up in these blankets. By the time the litter comes -your things will be dry in the sun." - - - - -CHAPTER FOURTEEN - -THE three remaining men turned to their work of clearing the road, -headed by Samson. He had not asked her any questions; he did not even -look again her way; but presently he brought her clothes, which he had -spread and dried in the sunshine, and told her that by the time she was -dressed the litter would be there. This she found to be so. - -Coming down the road, on a powerful horse, she saw a bearded, -ruddy-faced, stocky, middle-aged man, whose business she easily guessed -from the country-doctor's saddle-bags slung across his horse. The doctor -rode up and greeted,-- - -"Hello, Samson! Man hurt?" - -"Don't know," answered the foreman. - -Then, with a jerk of his thumb toward his guest, he added, "She can tell -you." - -The doctor had not seen her. He looked around, gazed at her a moment in -astonishment, and then, with a fine courtesy singularly different from -the hearty roughness with which he had greeted the man, he raised his -hat. - -This diversion had kept the attention of the two from the quiet arrival -of the men with the litter. When the young woman saw it, she forgot the -presence of all save him lying so quiet where the men had placed him -on a bed made by Samson from coats. She ran and knelt beside him; she -kissed his cheeks; she chafed his hands; she begged him to speak, to -live for her sake. - -The strong hand of the doctor lifted her from the unconscious man -and gently put her aside. A moment's astonished gaze into the pallid, -upturned face brought this burst from the doctor,-- - -"Adrian Wilder--dying!" He turned anxiously upon the young woman, and -demanded, "Where did you find him? What is the matter here?" - -"You mistake," she firmly said. "He is Dr. Malbone." - -"Dr. Malbone!" he exclaimed. "Why, I am Dr. Malbone. This man is my -friend, Adrian Wilder!" - -His look was half fierce and full of suspicion. - -Too surprised to comprehend at once the full meaning of his declaration, -she stood staring at the physician in silence. That gentleman, turning -from her, dropped on his knees and made a hurried examination of the -unconscious man. "I don't understand this," he said to himself. He -quickly opened Wilder's shirt. Upon seeing the emaciation there, and -exclaiming in amazement and horror, he turned again upon the young woman -as he knelt, and demanded,-- - -"Explain this to me. Be quick, for every moment is precious. I don't -want to make a mistake, and I must know. He has pneumonia; but there is -something behind it. Where and when did you find him?" - -In a few words she told the salient facts of the story as she believed -it,--the running away of the horses, the breaking of her leg, her -father's departure to fetch relief, her care at the stone hut. - -"When did this accident happen to you?" the doctor asked. - -"Four months ago." - -"And you two have lived alone at his cabin?" - -"Yes." - -He glanced her over, and looked more puzzled than ever. - -"You are looking hearty," he said; "how is it that my friend is in this -condition?" - -"It must have been his care of me and his worry on my account." - -This appeared half to satisfy Dr. Mal-bone. - -"Yes," he said, "not being a doctor, and being extremely susceptible to -the pressure of his duty toward you, he may have worn himself out." - -With that he hastily gave the young man a stimulant, and said,-- - -"Fall to here, men, and help me revive him, else he will be dead before -we know it. Chafe his wrists and ankles. Hurry, men, but be gentle. That -is good. Slow, there, John; those horny hands of yours are strong and -rough. Samson, bring some strong coffee as quickly as God will let you. -Rub him under the blankets, men; don't let him chill. Maybe we can -get him out of this pinch. The great thing now is to take him to my -house.... Ah, that is good work, lads! His heart is waking up a little. -That is good. That is very good." - -Dr. Malbone straightened up, and turned to the young woman, again -fastening upon her the strange, severe, suspicious, half-threatening -look that she had already learned to dread. - -"I fear there is something unexplained here, madam, something concealed. -I am not accusing you. My friend is a strange, fine man, and for good -reasons he may have withheld something from you. But he would never hide -anything from me. Did he give you a letter for any one?" - -"He did not." - -"Have you seen him writing?" - -"No." - -"Martin, hand me his coat." - -Dr. Malbone searched the pockets, and found a sealed letter addressed to -him. He tore it open and read. As he read his astonishment grew. When he -had finished, he turned a strange, pitying look upon the young woman. - -"He charges me to give you this when I shall have read it." - -He handed her the letter, which she read. It ran thus: - -"My dear Friend,--This is written to give Miss Andros some unhappy -information that she ought to have at the earliest safe and proper -moment, and as a precaution against my breaking down before that moment -arrives. To have told her at first might have prevented her recovery. -The proper moment to tell her will have arrived when she is in safe -hands. I trust that they may be yours, and I know that you will show her -every kindness that your generous soul can yield. - -"It is this: Her father lost his life in the accident on the grade, by -the falling of a tree upon him. His body rests under the earth in the -farther end of the cave into which the rear door of my cabin opens. The -grave is marked with a board giving his name. Nailed up in a box near -the door are his personal effects. - -"Give this letter to my afflicted friend. It will convey no hint of the -profound sympathy that I feel, nor of what I suffer in thus raising my -hand to deal her so cruel a blow. - -"I can only crave her forgiveness for deceiving her both as to her -father's death and my being a physician." - -The eager hope, the anxiety, the absorption of her entire self in the -stricken man at her feet, fled before the crushing whirlwind of grief -that now overwhelmed her. The loss of her father was the loss of the -anchor of her life, the loss of the one sure thing upon which her soul -rested, in which she knew peace, security, sympathy, and strength. -She spoke no word, but gazed far down the canon, a picture of complete -desolation. Dr. Malbone stood beside her, looking down thoughtfully into -the face of his friend. The men, relieved from their work of bringing -back a faint glow of the flickering life on the ground, moved away -silently, with the instinctive delicacy of their kind, knowing that they -were facing a tragedy that they did not understand. - -The letter fell from the young woman's hand as she still gazed in mute -agony down the canon. A slight swaying of her form warned Dr. Malbone -that his time for action had arrived. - -"A noble life still is left to us," he quietly said, without looking up, -and with a certain unsteadiness in his voice; "and it appeals to us for -all that we have to give of help and strength and sympathy." - -It was a timely word. Instantly she dragged herself out of the crushing -tumult into which she had been plunged. - -"Yes," she said, radiant with love and towering above the wreck that -encompassed her, "the noblest of all lives is still left to us, and it -shall have all that lies in us to give." - -"Then," said Dr. Malbone, "time is very precious. Let us take him to my -home at once." - -The sun had set behind the western mountains, but it still tipped the -snowy summit of Mount Shasta with a crimson glow. - -"Put the horses through," said Dr. Malbone to the man who drove. - -They made good speed up the grade, Dr. Malbone pondering in silence some -problem that still sorely troubled him, the young woman sitting on -the floor of the wagon and holding the hand of the unconscious man. -Presently they arrived at Dr. Malbone's house, where his plain, homelike -wife, a competent mountain woman, quickly had the patient comfortable -in bed, while her husband went thoroughly into the treatment. His was a -mercurial spirit, the opposite of the gentle soul now seemingly passing -away under his hands. - -"I can find absolutely nothing," he finally exclaimed, in despair, -"except simple inanition as the probable cause and a complication of -this attack, and I know that it is absurd. You must help me, madam. Tell -me how you lived." - -Numerous sharp questions were required before he finally came upon the -trail of the truth. She had delayed saying that Wilder had not eaten -with her, and that toward the last he was niggardly with the food, -because she feared that it would sound like a reproach. The moment she -mentioned it, Dr. Mal-bone was transfigured. He sprang back from the -bedside and confronted her, menacing and formidable, as Wilder had -confronted her on that terrible day when she told him the story of her -breaking up the attachment between a musician and her friend, and the -death of the girl from a broken heart. What had she done or said that -should bring this second storm of a man's fury upon her? - -"And you no doubt think," cried Dr. Malbone, "that you have learned from -his letter the true reason for his keeping you out of the cave. In all -this broad world is there any human being so besotted with selfishness -as not to be able to burrow through its swinishness for the truth? Come -and look at this." He dragged her to the bedside and showed her the body -of his patient. "Is there under heaven," he continued, "a mental or -a spiritual eye so blinded with brutal egotism, so drunk with -self-interest, as not to read the story that this poor withered frame -writes large? Do you not understand that in those acts--over which you -no doubt whined and complained in your empty heart--he gave evidence of -a sublime sacrifice for you? Look at your own abundant flesh. You never -went hungry in the hut. You never asked yourself if he might have food -sufficient for two during the long winter. And now you see that he has -denied himself for your comfort. He is dying of starvation, because in -his splendid unselfishness he wanted you to be comfortable." - -Dr. Malbone paused, but his eyes were still blazing upon her, and his -body trembled with the passion that stirred him. - -"One affliction has fallen upon you; may you have strength and grace to -bear it; but I say this: If ten thousand such afflictions had overtaken -you, the suffering from them would not be adequate----" - -He suddenly checked himself, and gave his wife hurried instructions for -the preparation of some nutriment. While this was preparing, he resorted -to such vigorous measures as the urgency of the case demanded. All this -quickly brought him under self-control, and he worked with the sure hand -of a skilful man battling with all his might in a desperate emergency. -The young woman had sunk into a chair, where she sat dazed, weak, -ill, and ignored, not daring to offer help, and praying dumbly for the -opening of a vast gulf to entomb her. - -The patient rallied under the physician's treatment. Slowly, but with -palpable effect, Dr. Malbone dragged him a little way from the brink of -death. The doctor's coat was off, but sweat streamed down his face. -His wife--silent, intelligent, and alert--gave him all the help that he -required, and neither of them looked toward the suffering woman sitting -crushed and miserable in the chair. Thus the time passed until the -intense anxiety in the physician's face began to relax; and at last, -with a sigh, he sank wearily into a chair, remarking to his wife,-- - -"There is nothing more to do for the present. He is rallying. Give him -time. The chances are a hundred to one against him." - -He rested his head on the back of his chair and closed his eyes, while -his wife went to discharge her duties in another part of the house. -Soon he raised his head, and in his old kindly manner said to the young -woman,-- - -"I am sorry for the way in which I talked just now, and I ask you to -forgive me. You will understand my outburst and be more inclined to -forgive me when I tell you something of my poor friend's life; for I am -certain that he has told you nothing. Has he?" - -"No," she answered, weakly and humbly. - -"He has suffered so cruel a wrong in the past that when I see the least -approach to imposition upon his noble unselfishness it maddens me. I -ought not to have blamed you. You were not conscious of imposing upon -him. I believe that he is dying. If so, there will be no harm in my -telling you his story. If he lives, I can trust you with it. - -"I had known him in San Francisco, but I came to these mountains long -before him. It was less than two years ago that he came to me, and you -can never realize the shock that his condition gave me. After a while he -told me of his trouble as he understood it. It was this: Through giving -violin lessons to a young lady of wealth and of great loveliness of -character, he became deeply attached to her, and in return she gave -him her whole affection. She was willing and anxious to marry him, even -though she knew that her parents and friends would disown her if she -did. He hesitated, from pure unselfishness, to bring upon her any -distress that their marriage might cause. The poor fool could not -understand that she would have gladly given up everything in life for -him. He was called away to fill a lucrative engagement, and in his -absence her heart changed toward him. Soon afterward she died. When he -came to me he was broken in spirit and body, and it was my privilege -to start him aright in a chastened and nobler life. He and I built the -cabin, and there he was to pass the winter in unremitting study and -self-mastery. - -"That was the story as he told it to me and as he believed it to be. But -I saw that something was behind it that in his sweetness and generosity -he had never suspected. I myself learned the truth. By means of a few -inquiries made by letter to a friend in San Francisco, I found that an -old school-friend of the girl had made the trouble. It was a case of -malicious revenge. The girl whom my friend loved had innocently and -unconsciously received the love of a man for whom she cared nothing, as -her whole affection was with my friend. This man was very rich, and for -that and other reasons was regarded as a prize. It appears that before -losing his heart to this loveliest of girls he had been devoted to her -old school-friend, a beautiful and dashing belle, who expected to marry -him. When she found that she had lost him, she planned revenge. She was -utterly without heart or principle. So she traded on her old -school-mate's confidence in her, and used that friendship to separate -the lovers with lies and cunning. She succeeded. The girl died of a -broken heart, and my friend's life was ruined." - -A look of unutterable horror settled upon the young woman's face, and -she sat upright and rigid, staring helplessly at him. - -"I never told him what I had learned," resumed the physician. "It might -have broken his heart, and he had suffered enough. I did not want him -to know that malice, revenge, and murder had played their part in his -story." - -The young woman's face bore so singular an expression that the physician -marvelled. She was white, and deep and unaccustomed lines marred her -beauty. - -"He knows the whole truth," she said, quietly, and with a strange -hardness. "He knows that I am the woman who brought about their -separation. He learned it from me long ago in his cabin." What Dr. -Malbone might have done under the spur of the horror and amazement -that filled him was checked by a violent fit of coughing with which his -patient had been seized. His physician's training instantly sent him to -the bedside. - -"Help me here!" he cried, as he raised the sufferer. - -The young woman staggered to the bed. Dr. Malbone shot a malevolent -glance at her, but she did not heed it. He raised his hand to thrust her -back, but she grasped it, and quietly and firmly said,-- - -"I am going to help you." - -He yielded, and told her what to do, and she did it. - -The cough was checked, and the sufferer was laid back upon the pillow. -His eyes were open, and he looked from one of the watchers to the other -as they stood on opposite sides of the bed. At first he was puzzled, and -then a bright look of recognition lighted up his face. He smiled as he -extended a feeble hand to each. - -"You are safe," he faintly said to the young woman. "I am glad. Dr. -Mal-bone will be kind to you." To the physician he said, his voice -tremulous with affection, "My dear old friend, always true, always -kind." - -He wanted to say more, but Dr. Mal-bone checked him and gave him -something to strengthen him. He took it, shaking his head and smiling -sadly. Presently, as his eyes grew brighter, Dr. Malbone said,-- - -"You may speak now, Adrian, if you wish." - -The young woman had knelt, and, taking the sufferer's hand in both of -hers, bowed her head over it as she pressed it to her lips. - -"Look at me," he said to her. - -She raised her head, and they looked long and silently at each other. He -seemed troubled and anxious. - -"My poor friend," he said, "you have not yet learned. Dr. Malbone--a -letter--my pocket." - -"I have read the letter, my friend," she hastened to say. "I know all -about my father, and I know how thoughtful and kind you were not to tell -me." - -"Then you forgive me?" he begged. - -"Forgive you, my friend? Yes, a thousand times; but how can you -forgive----" - -She buried her face in his pillow; her arm stole round him, and she drew -him against her breast. - -"I did that long ago," he replied. - -"My noble, generous friend!" she said. "But can you understand what you -have been to me, what you have done for me, what you are to me? Can you -believe that you have made a true woman of me? Am I still the she-wolf, -my friend?" - -A supreme agony moved her in this appeal. He feebly tried to check -her with his hand, but she nestled her cheek close against his and -pleaded,-- - -"Do you understand that you have made me worthy of every kind regard -that so noble a man could have for a woman? Can you believe, friend of -my life, that you have made me such a woman as would be perfect in your -eyes?" - -He made no reply, and, still holding him in her arms, she raised her -head to look into his face. He was regarding her with a strange and -distant wistfulness, and there shone in his eyes a pale, far light that -stretched through infinite space. A faint smile played upon his lips, -the feeble pressure of his hand closed upon hers. - -"You will not leave me, will you?" she pleaded. "You will come back to -health, my friend. You will teach me, you will guide me. The world will -be bright and beautiful, for all our suffering has been borne. We belong -each to the other, my friend, in friendship, trust, and sympathy." - -Still he smiled as he looked into her face; and as he smiled, and she -saw the strange, far light that shone from so inconceivable a distance -in the awful depths of his eyes, her eager heart found a bridge of glass -spanning the gulf between them. Then he sighed deeply, and his eyes -rolled upward. She sprang from the bed to her feet. - -"Dr. Malbone!" she cried, in a suppressed voice, "quick! he has -fainted!" - -The physician, who had stepped a little way apart, came forward and -looked down into the still face of his friend. Then he glanced up at the -young woman, who was trembling with eager impatience. - -"There is nothing to do," sadly replied Dr. Malbone; then he passed -round the bed, took the young woman gently by the arm, and, in a kind -voice, said, "Come with me." - -She went with him, wondering, and looking over her shoulder toward the -bed. He led her into an adjoining room, closed the door, and placed a -chair for her. - -"No, Dr. Malbone!" she protested. "How can I, when he needs us both so -much? Hurry back to him; I will stay here if you wish." - -"No," replied the physician; "my place is here." - -A look of desperate eagerness settled in her face, and she was listening -intently for a sound from the other room. The physician regarded -her pityingly, as she stood trembling in an agony of impatience and -apprehension. Unable to control herself longer, she seized him by the -arm, and cried,-- - -"Dr. Malbone, you know best, but I can't bear to leave him! Do you know -that I fear he will die? He is all the world to me, and I can't bear to -let him go. Do you understand that? I want him to live. I want to show -him what a good woman's trust and love can be. I want to give my whole -life to his happiness. I want to atone for all the evil and suffering -that I have brought upon him. I want him to know that he has found peace -and a refuge at last. Dr. Malbone, go and save him!" - -Dr. Malbone took her hands in his, and said,-- - -"Will you try to understand what I am going to say?" - -"Yes, yes!" she answered. - -"Then command all the strength of your soul." - -"Dr. Malbone!" she gasped, peering into his eyes, her face blanching. - -With pity and tenderness the physician said,-- - -"Our friend is dead; he died in your arms." - - -THE END. - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Man: His Mark, by W. C. 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Morrow - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Man: His Mark, by W. C. Morrow - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: A Man: His Mark - A Romance, Second Edition - -Author: W. C. Morrow - -Illustrator: Elenore Plaisted Abbott - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51954] -Last Updated: November 16, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAN: HIS MARK *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - A MAN: HIS MARK - </h1> - <h4> - Second Edition - </h4> - <h3> - A Romance - </h3> - <h2> - By W. C. Morrow - </h2> - <h4> - Author of “Bohemian Paris of To-Day,” “The Ape, The Idiot, and Other - People,” etc. - </h4> - <h3> - With a Frontispiece by Elenore Plaisted Abbott - </h3> - <h5> - Philadelphia and London J. B. Lippincott Company - </h5> - <h4> - 1899 - </h4> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0006.jpg" alt="0006 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0006.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>A MAN: HIS MARK</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER ONE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER TWO </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER THREE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER FOUR </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER FIVE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER SIX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER SEVEN </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER EIGHT </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER NINE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER TEN </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER ELEVEN </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER TWELVE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER THIRTEEN </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER FOURTEEN </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - A MAN: HIS MARK - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER ONE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>ne forenoon, in - the winter of the great storms that swept the Pacific States, Adrian - Wilder, a tall, slender, dark young man, stood in front of his stone hut - on a shoulder of Mt. Shasta and watched the assembling of the elemental - furies to do their savage work in the mountains. By all the signs that he - had learned he knew that mighty havoc was to be done; but he did not - foresee, nor did the oldest residents of that wilderness, that this was - the beginning of the most memorable winter of terrors known to the white - man’s history of the region. - </p> - <p> - A strong sense of security and comfort filled him as, turning from the - gathering tumult about him, he studied the resistance of his hut. He, with - Dr. Malbone’s help, had built it from foundation to roof, using the almost - perfectly shaped blocks from the talus of the lofty perpendicular basalt - cliff at whose base he had built his nest that summer. With nice - discrimination he had selected the stones from the great heap that - stretched far down from one end of the shelf upon which he had built; with - mud he had fitted the stones to form floor, walls, arched roof, and - chimney. With boards and a window-sash borne by him up the mountain from - the road in the canon he had fashioned a window and doors. By the same - means—for the shelf was inaccessible to a wagon—he had brought - furniture, books, provisions, and fuel. - </p> - <p> - The hut was strong and comfortable. - </p> - <p> - Should snow fall to a great depth, he could easily shovel it down the - steep slope of the canon. Should an avalanche come,—that made him - wince. Still, he had made calculations on that account. By arching the - roof of his hut he had given it great strength. Better than that, should - an avalanche plunge over the edge of the cliff it must first gather great - speed and momentum. Stretching back mountainward from the top of the cliff - was a considerable space nearly level; an avalanche descending from the - higher reaches of the vast mountain would likely stop on this level - ground; but should it be so great and swift as to pass over, its momentum - would likely carry it safely over his hut, as the water of a swiftly - running stream, plunging over a ledge, leaves a dry space between itself - and the wall. - </p> - <p> - But why think of the avalanche, with its crushing, burying snow, and, far - worse, its formidable bowlders that could annihilate any structure made by - men? It were better to think of the comfort and security of the hut, and - listen to the pleasant music of the little stream at the base of the - cliff. - </p> - <p> - Better still was it to view the coming onslaught of the elements; to note - the marvellous coherency of the plan by which their destruction was to be - wrought; to observe how the splendid forces at play worked in intelligent - harmony to shape a malevolent design. To a man of Wilder’s fine - sensibilities, every fury unleashed in the gathering tumult seemed to be - possessed of superhuman malignancy of purpose and capability of execution. - The furious wind that came driving down the canon lying far below him was - the breath of the approaching multitude of storm-demons. The giant trees - on the slopes of the canon seemed to brace themselves against the - impending assault. Behind the wind, filling all the sky with a gray - blanket that darkened away to the source of the wind, was the silent, - stealthy snow-cloud, waiting to follow up and bury the havoc of the wind, - and finish the destruction that the wind would begin. - </p> - <p> - From contemplation of this splendid spectacle the young man’s thoughts - turned to the dangers with which the storm threatened the mountain folk, - most of whom were engaged in the lumber traffic. Would any of these be cut - off from their homes? The rising rage of the wind indicated the closing of - all the roads with fallen trees: would that bring serious hardships to - any? In the summer, now past, the environs and flanks of Mt. Shasta had - sparkled with the life and gayety of hundreds of seekers for health and - pleasure,—the wealthy thronging a few fashionable resorts, the - poorer constrained to a closer touch with nature and the spirit of the - vast white mountain; but they now were gone, and the splendid wilderness - was left to the savage elements of winter. Had any delayed their leaving - and were at that moment in the drag-net of the storm? - </p> - <p> - Above all, there was Wilder’s one close friend in the mountains, Dr. - Malbone, who, like Wilder, had left the turmoil of city life to bury - himself in these wild fastnesses. They had known each other in San - Francisco years before. For five years the scattered people of the - mountains had employed the services of this skilful physician, and had - come to trust and honor him in the touching way that simple natures trust - and honor a commanding soul. It was Dr. Malbone who had so wisely assisted - in the building of the stone cabin at the foot of the cliff. It was he who - had explained the principle of the arch to the younger man, and had shown - him how to bend and place the supports of the growing arch until the - keystones were fitted in. It was he who had explained the mysteries and - uses of ties and buttresses. What would Dr. Malbone do in the storm? What - risks would he run, to what hardships be exposed, in visiting his - patients? Only a few miles separated these two friends, but with such a - storm as was hastening forward these few might as well be thousands. - </p> - <p> - Far up the canon Wilder heard the first fierce impact of the storm, for - the heavy crash of a falling tree sounded above the roaring of the wind. - By walking cautiously out to the extremity of a point that projected from - the shelf upon which his cabin stood, he had been accustomed to see the - snowy domes of Mt. Shasta. He knew that the storm sweeping down the canon - was but a feeble echo of the mightier tumult on the great father of the - north. In the hope that he might see something of this greater battle, he - now made his way to the extremity of the point, the wind making his - footing insecure; but only broad slaty clouds were visible in that - direction, transmitting the deep rumblings of the hurricane that raged - about Mt. Shasta’s higher slopes. - </p> - <p> - It was while standing on the extremity of the point that the young man, - turning his glance to the deep canon beneath him, beheld a thing that - filled him with alarm. At the bottom of the canon, the Sacramento River, - here a turbulent mountain stream, and now a roaring torrent from the - earlier rains of the season, fumed and foamed as it raced with the wind - down the canon, hurrying on its way to its placid reaches in the plains of - California. The crooked road cut into the hither slope above the - high-water level of the river was not the main highway running north and - south through the mountains; it served the needs of a small local traffic - only. Wilder felt both surprise and apprehension to observe a light wagon - driven at a furious pace down the road, flying before the storm. The - incident would have been serious enough had the wagon, the two horses, and - the man and woman in the wagon belonged to the mountains. The horses were - of fine blood, and were unused and unsuited to the alarming situation in - which they now found themselves; the wagon was too elegant and fragile for - the mountains in winter; and even at the distance that separated its - occupants from Wilder, he could see that they were filled with a terror - such as the mountaineers never know. The man was driving. Instead of - proceeding with caution and keeping the horses perfectly in hand, he was - lashing them with the whip. A man used to the mountains would never have - been guilty of that folly. - </p> - <p> - It was clear that they were heading down the canon for the main road, - still some miles away, by following which a little further they would - arrive at a station on the railway. Pieces of luggage in the rear end of - the wagon indicated that the travellers must have been spending the summer - or autumn in the remoter mountains, where some beautiful lakes offered - special charms to lovers of nature. Obviously their departure had been - delayed until the approach of the present storm drove them hurriedly away, - to be overtaken here in the canon. - </p> - <p> - The roaring of the wind, the surge of the torrential river, and, worst of - all, the trees that were now crashing down, might have bewildered the - steadiest head not trained to the winter savagery of the wilderness. A - single tree across the road ahead might have meant disaster. Except for - the little stone hut of Adrian Wilder, placed purposely to secure as great - isolation as possible, and invisible from the road, there was no shelter - within miles of the spot. - </p> - <p> - Presently the catastrophe came. The man, evidently seeing just ahead a - tree that was swinging to its fall, shouted to the horses, and laid on the - whip with added vigor, aiming to pass before the tree should fall. The - horses, wholly beside themselves with terror, reared, and then plunged - forward; but a moment had been lost. The horses and wagon passed under the - falling tree just in time to be crushed and buried under it. The thunder - of the fall echoed above the roar of the wind and the crash of more - distant falling trees. Nothing of the four living things that had passed - under the trap remained to Wilder’s view; they had been as completely - blotted out as though they had never filled a place in the great aching - world. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER TWO - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>OR a moment the - young man gazed in a stupid hope that the impossible would happen,—that - horses, wagon, man, and woman would emerge and continue their mad flight - down the canon. Then, so completely and suddenly had all this life and - activity Ceased, he wondered if the old anguish that had driven him to the - solitude of the mountains was now tricking an abnormal imagination and - weaving phantasms out of the storm, to torture him a moment with - breathless dread, and then suppress themselves in the seeming of a tragic - death. He remembered the warnings of Dr. Malbone,—he must close his - mind upon the past, must find in the present only the light with which the - world is filled, and must aim for a sane and useful future. - </p> - <p> - All this consumed but a moment. At once there burst upon him the awful - reality of the tragedy that had worked itself out so logically before him. - Humanity cried aloud within him. He sprang toward his hut, procured an - axe, and plunged down the slope of the talus, taking no heed of the crude - but surer trail that he had made from the road to his hut. He slipped, - fell, gathered himself up, fell again, but rapidly neared his goal. - </p> - <p> - He paused when he had reached the prostrate tree. Through the branches his - peering revealed a crushed, still heap. He pushed his head and shoulders - within and called. There was no response. - </p> - <p> - He was at the rear of the wagon, and soon saw that it had been crushed - into an indeterminate mass of wood and iron. By pushing apart the more - yielding branches he brought to view the up-turned face of the man, whose - eyes, fixed in death, stared horribly from a head curiously and - grotesquely unshaped by the crush of the branches. The young man drew - back. He gasped for breath; he called upon his self-command to bear him up - in this strenuous time. He attacked the branches with his axe and cleared - them away. He half wondered that the eyes of the dead remained open while - they filled with particles of the bark riven by the axe. Presently the - body came within reach. With unspeakable repulsion the young man placed - his hand upon the stranger’s chest. There was no sign of life. Indeed, he - wondered that he had taken any trouble to ascertain what he already knew. - </p> - <p> - All this time the young man’s dread and terror, heightened by a sense of - utter loneliness in the presence of the dead, had driven the woman from - his mind. He had not yet seen the slightest trace of her. Did he have the - strength to behold a woman mangled as he had found the man... Still, they - should have decent interment; that was his duty as a man. And further, it - was necessary that their identity be ascertained, in order that their - friends might be informed. - </p> - <p> - There was something else. Far back in the mountains, that wilder - wilderness of the Trinity range, and in the Siskiyou range, beyond them, - there were huge gray wolves, fierce and formidable. Now and then a daring - hunter had come out of those mountains with the skin of a great gray wolf. - There were old stories in the mountains that when the snow had been deep - and of prolonged duration, the gray wolves came down to the tamer reaches - inhabited by men, driven thither by hunger, for the game upon which they - subsisted had fled before the snow to find herbage. The first to come out - had been deer; soon after them had come the wolves. As the deer fell - before the rifles of the settlers, the wolves had been driven to - depredations on cattle and horses. There were ugly tales, too, of men - attacked by them. Out of all this had grown the legend of a she-wolf that - bore away children to her wolf-pack. - </p> - <p> - After the wind now raging in the mountains would come the snow, silent, - deep, and implacable, to hide the work of the fallen tree below the hut; - but would it hide everything so well that the great gray wolves, if driven - by hunger from the remoter mountains, would fail to find what hunger - required them to seek? - </p> - <p> - Wilder again attacked the tree with his axe,—another one lay dead - there, and she must be found; and there was heavy and horrifying work - ahead before the wind should cease and the snow begin to fall. At first - the young man resumed his attack with the furious energy that had hitherto - sustained his effort; but wisdom and caution came now to his aid. He - realized his feebleness of mind, spirit, and body. He had devoted weeks of - arduous work to the construction of his hut, and that had lent a certain - strength to his muscles and buoyancy to his soul. Still, he was hardly - more than a shadow of his old self, before his life had been wrecked a - year ago, and he had come into the mountains to make a sturdy fight for - self-mastery, for the regeneration of whatever shreds of manhood were left - within him, and for their patching and binding into a fabric that should - take its place in the ranks of men and work out a man’s destiny. - </p> - <p> - He went about his task with greater deliberation. He forced himself to - regard with calmness the distorted dead face upturned toward him. He - worked with that slowness which makes greater haste in achievement. This - brought a surer judgment and an economy of effort and time. He cut the - branches one by one and dragged them away. - </p> - <p> - Soon the woman’s form appeared. In the extreme moment of the catastrophe - she had evidently sprung forward; this had brought her body, face - downward, between the horses; they, in being crushed under the trunk of - the tree, fallen across them, had nevertheless given her a certain - protection; the trunk, in breaking the backs of the horses, had missed her - head. As for the rest, she was so closely wedged between the horses that - it would be difficult to extricate her. - </p> - <p> - This, however, was finally accomplished after great labor. The woman’s - face and clothing were blood-stained. So much worse did she look than the - man, that Wilder had a new struggle with himself to command courage and - strength for the task. He dragged her out to a clear place in the road, - and made the same perfunctory examination as in the case of the man. While - he was doing so the woman moved and gasped, and this unexpected indication - of life was the greatest shock of the tragedy. - </p> - <p> - But it was one of those shocks which bring new life and strength. Whereas, - before he had been facing, without daring to contemplate, the awful duty - that he owed the dead, here now was the most precious thing that the world - then could have offered him,—here was Life, human life, fleeting, - perhaps, but infinitely precious. - </p> - <p> - Wilder knelt beside the unconscious woman and with eager hands loosened - her clothing. He ran to the river, dipped his handkerchief in the water, - bathed her face, and removed some of the blood that covered it. He chafed - her hands and wrists, anxiously watching for the slightest change. This - came rapidly and progressed steadily. Removed from the crushing pressure - of the horses, her chest found its natural expansion, and the rhythm of - deep, slow breathing was established. Wilder had learned numerous - elementary things from Dr. Malbone; he saw that, although the sufferer was - so grievously hurt as to be unconscious, life was yet strong within her. - </p> - <p> - Time, then, was the precious element here. The sufferer must be taken at - once to the hut, and Dr. Malbone summoned. As for the dead man, there was - no present danger on his account, and the living demanded first attention. - </p> - <p> - A formidable task now confronted the young man. First, he had to bear the - unconscious woman up the steep trail to the hut; then he should have to go - many miles afoot to summon Dr. Malbone. The young man thought nothing of - the difficulties, but all of the doing. - </p> - <p> - He was about to assail the task of getting the woman upon his shoulder, - when it occurred to him that her injuries might possibly be aggravated by - his manner of carrying her. He thereupon made a hasty examination. The - head was bleeding. The face bore no visible injuries. The bones of the - arms were whole. The left leg, however, was broken above the knee. What - the particular cause of the sufferer’s unconsciousness was he could only - guess. Perhaps it was merely a condition of temporary congestion, produced - by the fearful pressure to which she had been subjected between the - horses. A bleeding at the ears and nose seemed to the young man a bad - sign. - </p> - <p> - Her condition having been thus approximately ascertained, the next problem - was to bear her to the hut in a way that should do the least harm to her - injuries. The first necessary thing to be done, therefore, was to prevent - any mobility in the region of the fracture. To this end he burrowed again - into the débris and brought forth some boards that had served as the - bottom of the wagon. Tearing strips from the woman’s clothing, he bound - the boards to her in a way to protect her from harm in moving her. - </p> - <p> - The strain upon his attentiveness sharpened and strengthened him in every - way. He formed the whole plan of his bearing her to the hut, making her - temporarily comfortable, summoning Dr. Malbone, and attending to the - details of nursing her back to health. - </p> - <p> - To lift her gently upon a bowlder; to bend forward and adjust her upon his - back with infinite care; to proceed with her up the laborious ascent,—all - this was skilfully and expeditiously done. - </p> - <p> - Serious difficulties began soon to embarrass him. He discovered that she - was above the average height and weight of women, heavier than he, - although he was the taller. He found that the numerous abrupt steps in the - trail laid a heavy tax upon his strength, and that some steep places - proved slippery under the burden that he bore. In addition, the muscles of - his arms strained and cramped; and long before he had reached the shelf - upon which his hut was perched he fell to his knees a number of times from - exhaustion. But the end came at last when he staggered into his hut, - dragged a cover from his bed to the floor, and gently laid his burden upon - it. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER THREE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>URING all this - time the fury of the storm had not abated in the least. That, indeed, had - been one of the worst obstacles with which he had contended in mounting - the steep to his hut. Immediately upon laying his charge on the floor he - had begun to prepare his bed for the guest, but weakness from exhaustion - overcame him. He reeled; a red blindness assailed him; and, in spite of a - fierce effort to maintain command of his strength and faculties, he found - himself plunging headlong upon his bed. - </p> - <p> - A moan recalled him to consciousness, and it was not until later that he - realized the distressing length of time that he had lain unconscious. He - remembered that when he fell he was very warm from the exertion of - ascending the slope, and that when he awoke he was excessively cold. - Furthermore, twilight had come. - </p> - <p> - Dismayed over the loss of time, he proceeded at once to make his charge - comfortable. He prepared his bed for her and placed her upon it. She was - still unconscious, but he saw that she was rallying. - </p> - <p> - He suddenly realized that it was now impossible for him to summon Dr. - Mal-bone, for the fury of the storm had been steadily increasing, and the - crash of falling trees still sounded above the roaring of the wind. It - would be worse than foolhardy for him to brave the storm and the darkness. - At any moment she might recover consciousness and find herself alone and - suffering in this strange place; and a whole night and day would hardly - have been sufficient for him to fetch the surgeon, had that been a - physical possibility. So the young man realized that he alone, with no - training in the surgeon’s and physician’s art, must take this woman’s life - in his hands, and for a long time to come be her physician and nurse, cook - and housekeeper, mother and confidant, father and protector. - </p> - <p> - That realization was sufficiently cruel and taxing, but the ordeal that - now confronted him was the most trying of all. He had not yet given any - attention to the appearance of his charge, further than to ascertain to - what extent she was hurt. When he now lighted a candle and held it to her - face, he saw that she was a young and handsome woman. - </p> - <p> - He noted the high-bred patrician face through the grime, the abundant - dark-brown hair, the black brows but slightly arched and nearly meeting - between the eyes, the fine nose, the habitual, half-hidden curve of scorn - at the corners of her mouth, and the firm, strong, elegantly moulded chin. - </p> - <p> - It was evident that the man and the woman were father and daughter, for - the resemblance between the distorted dead face and the grimy living one - was strong; the manifest difference in ages finished the conclusion. - </p> - <p> - Was she fatally hurt? What if she should die? What effect would the - knowledge of her father’s death have upon her? How long would she remain - helpless on the couch, held by her injuries; and how long, after her - possible recovery, would she be held a prisoner by the impassable - condition of the roads? Would she be cheerful and brave through it all? - </p> - <p> - She was growing more and more restless; wise haste was now the crowning - necessity. First of all, she must have suitable clothing, and it must be - provided before he made his bungling efforts to set her broken bone. How - could he hope to perform this difficult surgical feat with no more - knowledge of its requirements than he had secured while serving a few - times as Dr. Malbone’s untrained assistant in the mountains, and with the - most inadequate understanding of the use of such splints, bandages, - needles, and ligatures as Dr. Malbone had given him for his use upon - himself in case of an emergency, and with an imperfect knowledge of the - narcotics, stimulants, febrifuges, and other medicines with which Dr. - Malbone had provided him? The sufferer had youth and superb health; but - how could he feel the smallest assurance that, in the event he should - secure a knitting of the fracture, crookedness and deformity from improper - adjustment would not result? But there was nothing to do but try, and to - bring every intelligent force of his nature to the task. - </p> - <p> - He hoped that she would not regain consciousness before he should make - another trip to the scene of the tragedy and secure her luggage. The - twilight was deepening. He threw logs on the smouldering fire in the - chimney-place and started to leave. He paused a moment at the door to - watch his patient. She was again stirring and moaning. - </p> - <p> - “A sedative would be safer,” he reflected. And then, when he had poured it - with great difficulty down her throat, he wondered if he had given her too - much, and if it would have a bad effect in depressing her vitality and - working against her rallying. He waited until she had become still and - quiet, and then hastened down to the road. - </p> - <p> - The storm had been gradually changing in character. He had expected the - snow to wait until the wind had fallen, but a hurricane was still blowing, - and snow was coming down in long gray slants. Already it had begun to - whiten and fill crevices into which the wind was driving it. It would have - been better had he brought a lantern, but there was no time for that; and - the wind doubtless would have made its use impossible. - </p> - <p> - At the wreck he found his axe and cleared away more branches. Only a very - faint suggestion of the dead white face peering up at him came through the - twilight; and there was work to be done in that quarter to-morrow, however - much snow might be lodged and packed in the branches. Soon he found two - large and heavy travelling bags, one larger than the other; this, he - reasoned, must be the woman’s; his strength to carry both to the hut was - inadequate now, and he needed all possible steadiness of nerve for the - task ahead. A laborious climb brought him back to the hut with the bag and - his axe. By the light of a candle he anxiously read the name on a silver - tag attached to the handle of the bag. It was,—“Laura Andros, San - Francisco.” - </p> - <p> - It was with awe and reverence that he opened the bag and in a gingerly - fashion drew forth its contents and carefully laid them aside. He had - already noted in a vague way that his guest was a woman of wealth and - elegance, and he now observed that, although the articles he disclosed - were intended in large part for vigorous mountain use, an unmistakable - stamp of daintiness and refinement was upon them all. - </p> - <p> - Having now found garments in which he could make her comfortable after his - surgical work was done, he proceeded with the stupendous task that awaited - him. He wondered how much precious time he had lost, if any, through sheer - dread of his duty. But whatever the delay, and whatever its causes, it had - been useful in preparing him for the ordeal. Up to this moment an - unaccountable and distressing trembling of all his members at frequent - intervals had alarmed him, but strength and steadiness came with his - nearer approach to the task. - </p> - <p> - Commanding his soul to meet the need of the hour, he went sturdily about - his work. He knew how desperately painful were operations for the setting - of fractured bones, and how great was the skill required for the - administering of an anæsthetic. He had never known even a skilled surgeon - to undertake alone what he must now do without either skill or assistance. - It would not be sufficient should he do his best: his best must be - perfectly done. - </p> - <p> - He produced his store of splints, bandages, stimulants, and anaesthetics, - and arranged them conveniently to hand, as he had seen Dr. Malbone do. He - examined his patient’s pulse; it was too quick and weak to give him high - confidence. He made a good fire, for the night was cold; and he called - heavily upon his store of candles to furnish as much light as possible. - </p> - <p> - His bed, upon which she lay, was a most crude and inadequate affair. It - was of his own construction, and had been intended to serve its part in - the life of severe austerity that he had made for himself in the - mountains. It was made of rough boards nailed to wooden posts. To serve - for mattress, fragrant pine-needles filled it. Upon this were spread - sheets and blankets. The pillow also was made of pine-needles. Thus, - without springs, the bed was hard and unfit for a daintily reared woman; - more so because of the illness that she would suffer and the great length - of time that she would be confined to the bed; but it was the best he had. - As the hut was very small and had but one room, this bed had been fitted - snugly into a corner. Wilder moved it out, that he might be able to work - freely on both sides of it. This cramped the hut all the more. - </p> - <p> - The examination that he had made in the road was for the purpose of - discovering broken bones. There he had found the bone of the left thigh - broken at some undetermined point between the knee and the hip. But broken - bones are not all the hurts that one may receive in such an accident,—cuts - and contusions might prove equally dangerous if overlooked. - </p> - <p> - With exquisite care he prepared her for the work that he must do. As she - was fully dressed, this required patience from his unskilled hands. - Finally, this part of the task, inexpressibly hard for a man of his - delicacy of feeling, was accomplished. What anguish he suffered on his own - account and in foreseeing her confusion and possible resentment upon - realizing that he, an utter stranger, and not a physician, had done all - this for her, it were idle to set forth here. - </p> - <p> - To his great relief he found that the bone of the left thigh was, so far - as he could judge, the only one that had suffered fracture; but a careful - inspection revealed several bruises; and at last, in searching for the - source of the blood that had covered her face when he drew her from the - débris, he found a cut in her crown. His first work must be there. - </p> - <p> - Covering her comfortably, he washed the blood from her hair and face, and, - bearing in mind the pride that she must have cherished for her glorious - hair, he quickly shaved as small a space on her crown as possible. He - first tried adhesive plaster to bring the edges of the cut together; but - the water and his handling of the wound started the hemorrhage afresh, and - this compelled him to close the wound with ligatures. - </p> - <p> - He was pleased to observe that the hemorrhage was stopped. This made him - so well satisfied and so confident that the greater magnitude of the - remaining work appalled him less. Indeed, that had begun to exercise a - scientific fascination that abnormally sharpened his wits and steadied his - nerves. It was this task that he now attacked. - </p> - <p> - All this time the sufferer had lain unconscious. This was a blessing, - unless the state had been induced by causes worse than consciousness of - the pain from setting the bone. There was time hereafter to consider all - that. The one present duty was to proceed with the operation without - another moment’s delay, for inflammation had already set in. - </p> - <p> - While, with infinite care, he was fitting, as best he could, the ends of - the broken bone, he was startled out of all self-command by a scream of - agony from her, half-strangled, and therefore made all the more - terrifying, by the bandage under her chin; and she was sitting up, staring - at him. Every one of the young man’s faculties was temporarily paralyzed. - A benumbing coldness was upon him. With a mighty effort he gathered - himself up, but his breathing was difficult, and sweat streamed down his - face. He firmly laid her back upon the pillow, and said,— - </p> - <p> - “Be quiet; you shall not be hurt again.” She was singularly docile, - although he could see by the wildness of her eyes and a fluttering in her - throat that something was raging within her. With one hand he gently - pressed her eyelids down, and with the other he wetted a handkerchief from - a bottle of chloroform and held it just clear of her mouth and nostrils. - For a moment she rebelled against the stifling vapor and tried to drag his - hand away; but, finding him determined, she yielded, and soon was - stupefied. - </p> - <p> - The work must be rapid now. There was no time to wonder if she had - comprehended anything or seen in him a stranger. No interruption could - come from her now; that was the vital thing; but the anaesthetic would - soon lose its force. He resumed his work, taking great care, in matching - the injured member with the sound one, to avoid crippling her for life. He - then adjusted the splints, keeping the member straight. Finally, he - secured it against bending at the knee by adjusting a board on the under - side of the leg throughout its entire length. He finished his work by - binding the upper part of her body to the bed-frame, to prevent her - rising. Then, extinguishing his candles, making her as comfortable as - possible on the hard bed, and putting more wood on the fire, he sat down - to watch. Everything seemed to be going well. - </p> - <p> - By this time the night was far advanced. The wind was still blowing a - terrific gale. An aching, irresistible weariness stole over the watcher. - He drew his chair close to the bed and anxiously observed his charge. He - examined her pulse; it was rising; her skin was hot and dry. She had - passed from under the influence of the anaesthetic, and was now sleeping - restlessly. He waited in dread for her awaking, for the unexpected - situation in which the young man found himself was complex and difficult. - It was essential that his patient should be as tranquil as possible. - Knowledge of her father’s death might prove disastrous. Hence she must be - deceived, and yet deception was unspeakably repugnant to the young man’s - nature. But now it was a duty, which above all things must be done. She - must be buoyed with hope. All her fortitude would be needed to bear the - miserable conditions of her imprisonment. Meantime, the young man would - post notices along the road, calling for help from the first persons - passing. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER FOUR - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>UCH thinking and - planning had to be done, for the unexpected situation in which the young - man found himself was complex and difficult. It was essential that his - patient should be as tranquil as possible. Knowledge of her father’s death - might prove disastrous. Hence she must be deceived, and yet deception was - unspeakably repugnant to the young man’s nature. But now it was a duty, - which above all things must be done. She must be buoyed with hope. All her - fortitude would be needed to bear the miserable conditions of her - imprisonment. Meantime, the young man would post notices along the road, - calling for help from the first persons passing. - </p> - <p> - Already the road was wholly impassable, and it would grow worse. None of - the friends or relatives of the dead man and his daughter could have been - informed of their leaving the lakes. The natural conclusion from their - absence would be that an early winter of unusual severity had compelled - them to remain until spring. The people in the mountains would have no way - of learning that the two had failed to reach the railway. Thus had the - travellers been completely blotted out of their world. No relief parties - would be sent out to search for them. Not until the unlikely discovery of - the notices that Wilder would post could there be the slightest knowledge - of the tragedy. - </p> - <p> - More than that, the road upon which Wilder’s hut looked down was only one - of two that penetrated the wilderness in that direction. In the summer it - had a small travel, but by reason of its crookedness, narrowness, and - sharp grades it was avoided by heavy traffic. It would be the last road to - be cleared. Snow-shoes were practically unknown in these mountains, for - seasons of long snow blockades were rare; but there would be no occasion - for snow-shoe travel over this road. The only prospect for the escape of - Wilder and his charge was on foot, after the lapse of the months that - would be required for her recovery, and after the snow was gone. - </p> - <p> - Innumerable domestic perplexities presented themselves to the young man’s - mind. His charge, being perfectly helpless, must depend entirely upon him - for her every want. Would she have the wisdom and goodness to accept the - situation cheerfully, or would its humiliation and hardships gnaw - constantly at her strength and patience, and delay her recovery or - precipitate her death? How could she possibly accept the situation - philosophically? She would find a bitter contrast between this life and - the one of luxury and indulgence to which she had been accustomed. Even - should she develop the highest order of fortitude, the rude food, in small - variety, that he had to give her, cooked badly, could hardly tempt her - appetite, and thus build up her strength. Then, her bed was a wretched - affair, and there was serious danger that its hardness alone, without - regard to her possible resignation to its discomforts, would produce - hurtful physical results. If only wise and helpful Dr. Malbone could know - and come! - </p> - <p> - Let the days bring forth what they would, Wilder would do his duty as he - knew it. The fire crackled cheerily on the hearth and filled the hut with - its warmth and glow and peace. The walls were tight and strong, and were - holding firm against the storm. The agonizing strain of the last twelve - hours was over, and all strength must be saved for the future. - </p> - <p> - In the flickering firelight the young man studied the face of his charge - at leisure, and he saw that she was singularly handsome; but there seemed - to be a certain hardness in her face, relaxed in unconsciousness though it - was. Perhaps it was only because there stood out before his memory the one - face in all the world that, with its infinite gentleness and sweetness, - embodied every grace for which his spirit yearned. It was not so beautiful - and brilliant a face as this,—but there came up Dr. Malbone’s - warning, uttered over and over with the most earnest impressiveness: - </p> - <p> - “As you value your reason and life, as you value the possibilities of your - happiness and your usefulness to humanity, turn your face from the past, - and with all the courage and will of a man confront the future. Nature is - kind to all of her children who love her and seek her. She heaps our past - with wreckage, only to train and prepare us for a noble future. There can - be no peace where there has been no travail. There would be no strength - were there no weakness in need of its help. The man who fails to the - slightest extent in his duties to humanity and himself burdens his life to - that extent. Be brave and hopeful and helpful, as it becomes a man to be, - and labor incessantly for the best, as it becomes a man to do.” - </p> - <p> - And the man with the curiously-twisted face peering out from the - tree-branches, what had been the aim of his life, that it should find such - an end? After all, was there any taint of unmanliness in that end? - Doubtless even now he was covered deep under snow. If he should be left - there, the great gray wolves might come down and find him. They were big - and powerful, and men who had seen them hungry told fearful tales of their - daring and ferocity. If the snow should drive them down, they would find - the dead horses under the tree; and after that there would be but one - house here where they could find human beings. - </p> - <p> - There need be no dread of them; but suppose that some night there should - come a scratching at the door of the hut,—that would mean the gaunt - shewolf, who bore away children to the wolf-pack. - </p> - <p> - She would beg for a rind of bacon to eat, and a corner on the hearth to - sleep. She would bear ugly wounds from her struggles with men and beasts, - and these would have to be dressed, and rents in her hide stitched; and if - there were broken bones, they must be set. Would she be patient under the - torture, or would she snap and howl after the manner of wolves?... - </p> - <p> - Wilder was startled to full consciousness by a moan. He bent over his - patient and looked into her open eyes. She gazed up at him vacantly. He - took her hand; it was hot. He placed a hand upon her forehead; it was - burning. A haggard look of pain and distress sat upon her face. - </p> - <p> - An eager appeal was in her glance, and her lips moved feebly. He bent his - ear to them. She was faintly whispering— - </p> - <p> - “Water, water!” - </p> - <p> - His heart bounding with gladness, he brought cold water. With difficulty - he restrained her eagerness, lest she discover that she was crippled and - bound. He covered her eyes with a napkin, for he observed that her glance - was becoming strained and curious. She submitted quietly, while he gave - her the water with a spoon. After that she sighed in weariness and - content, but her deep inspiration was checked by pain. Her burning skin - and an uneasiness throughout her entire frame warned him that she had a - fever. He gave her a remedy for that. It was not until daylight had come - that, after watching her for hours as she lay awake and seemingly - halfconscious, he observed her finally drift into sound slumber. - </p> - <p> - The young man rose and found himself weak and dizzy; but after he had - prepared and eaten a simple breakfast he felt stronger. Seemingly by a - miracle, he had gone through his task in safety thus far. He must now - leave his patient for a while, to discharge a grim duty that awaited him - in the road below,—a duty from which his every sensibility recoiled - with unspeakable repugnance. Lest an untoward accident should happen in - his absence, he gave his patient a stupefying drug. - </p> - <p> - He dreaded to open the front door of his hut. When he did, he found the - thing that he feared: the wind had ceased after midnight, and the snow had - been falling ever since, and still was falling. It had whitened the walls - of the canon, and, before the wind had ceased, had eddied and drifted - about the hut in a way that filled the young man with alarm for the - future. Would his strength be sufficient to fight it if the storm should - be greatly prolonged, to the end that he and his charge should not be - buried alive? - </p> - <p> - He put this dread away, and with a heavy heart followed the steep trail - down to the road. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER FIVE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>OON was near at - hand when the guest of the hut waked to full consciousness. Her first - impulse was to cry out with the pain that tortured her; but her strong - will assumed command, and she looked inquiringly into the anxious face - beside her Obviously she realized that a catastrophe had overtaken her, - and she was now silently demanding an explanation. - </p> - <p> - Wilder had not expected this. Her calmness, and, more than that, her - silent demand, were so different from the childish and unreasonable - petulance that he had expected, that he was unprepared and confused. - </p> - <p> - “You have been hurt,” he stammered; “and it will be necessary for you to - keep very quiet for a time.’ - </p> - <p> - “How was I hurt?” she faintly asked. “The horses were frightened by the - storm and ran away.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, the storm! I remember.” Then she looked quickly and anxiously about. - “My father,” she said,—“where is he?” - </p> - <p> - For a moment the oddly distorted face in the branches came grimacing - between Wilder and his duty, but with a gasp and a repelling gesture he - drove it away,—not so dexterously but that his struggle was seen. - </p> - <p> - “He—has gone to bring help,” he said. Then, quickly leaving the - bedside to conceal his weakness and the shame of the lie that choked him, - he added hastily, “Yes, he was not hurt; and when he and I had brought you - to this hut he went to find help. He will return as soon as possible.” He - felt that her glance was upon him with merciless steadiness. “Now,” said - he, returning to the couch, “I will remove these bandages,”—referring - to the cords that bound her to the bed;—“but you must promise me not - to move except under my direction. Do you?” - </p> - <p> - She slightly nodded an assent, and he unbound her. - </p> - <p> - “Come,” he added, “you must have some of this broth. No, don’t try to - rise; I will feed you from this spoon. It is not too hot, is it? That is - good. Presently you will feel much better. You are not in much pain now, - are you?” - </p> - <p> - “I am not a child,” she answered, with a slight touch of disdain and - reproof. But he cheerily said,— - </p> - <p> - “Excellent, excellent! That is the way to feel!” - </p> - <p> - She lay silent for a while, looking up at the roof. Presently she said,— - </p> - <p> - “I imagine that I am badly hurt. Please tell me how and where I am - injured.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, your left leg was hurt, and we shall have to keep it bandaged and - your knee from bending. And there were some bruises on your side, and an - injury to the scalp.” - </p> - <p> - “My scalp?” she quickly asked, raising her hand and asking, “Surely you - did not shave my head?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” he replied, smiling amusedly; “except a small spot, and you can - cover that until the hair grows out.” - </p> - <p> - She was not fully satisfied until she had felt the splendid wealth of hair - that lay massed upon the pillow. - </p> - <p> - “May I ask who you are?” This was the question that he had dreaded most of - all; but before he could stammer out the truth a light broke over her - face, and she astounded him with this exclamation: - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you are the famous Dr. Mal-bone! This is extraordinary! I am very, - very fortunate.” - </p> - <p> - Wilder had never conceived a lie so dazzling and happy as this mistake. - Between wonder at his stupidity for not having thought of it, and a great - delight that she had so naturally erred, he was too bewildered either to - affirm or deny. He only realized that she had unwittingly solved the most - difficult of his present problems. Had she been looking at him, she might - have wondered at the strange expression that lighted up his face, and - particularly the crimson temporarily displacing the death-like pallor that - she had observed. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she resumed, after a pause, “I am fortunate; for I suppose that my - injuries are a great deal worse than you have given me to believe, and - that such skill as yours is needed.” She turned her glance again full upon - him; but he had recovered his address, and now met her look with an - approach to steadiness. “But,” she said, “you are a much younger man than - I had expected to see; and you don’t look so crabbed as I might have - inferred you were from the message you sent me a month ago.” - </p> - <p> - She paused, evidently expecting him to make some explanation; but he was - silent, and looked so distressed that she smiled. - </p> - <p> - “You may remember,” she continued, “that a young lady at the lakes sent - for you to treat her for bruises sustained in a fall, and that you told - her messenger to give her your compliments and say that cold-water - applications, an old woman, and God would do as well with such a case as - you. I am that young lady.” - </p> - <p> - Wilder liked the young woman’s blunt and forthright manner, although it - was novel and embarrassing. - </p> - <p> - “There were doubtless important cases demanding attention,” he explained. - </p> - <p> - “No doubt,” she agreed. - </p> - <p> - “And, after all,” he suggested, “didn’t you follow the advice and get good - results?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she answered, again smiling faintly; “that is true.” She closed her - eyes. Presently she extended her hand, which Wilder took. She looked - earnestly into his face, and asked, “It will be a long siege with me, will - it not?” - </p> - <p> - “Much depends upon your temperament,” he answered. “If———” - </p> - <p> - “That is evasion,” she interrupted. “Be candid with me.” There was no - demand in this request; it was an appeal from such depths of her as she - knew, and it touched him. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he stammered, “unless———” - </p> - <p> - “The bone is broken, isn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; but you are young and your health is superb. That is everything.” - </p> - <p> - A despairing look grayed her face, which then quickly reddened with anger - and rebellion. Her host said nothing. He saw that she was competent to - make the fight with herself without his aid; that her mind, though now - disturbed by her suffering, was able to comprehend much that her condition - meant, being obviously an uncommonly strong, clear mind, and that it would - give to an acceptance of her position the philosophic view that was so - much needed. He saw the hard, brave fight that she was making, and he had - no fear for the outcome. Gradually he saw the contemplative expression of - the eyes turned within, and the face grow gaunt and haggard under the - strain. As slowly he saw her emerge from the depths into which he had - thrust her, and from the very slowness of the victory, he knew that she - had won. When again she looked into his face, he knew that her soul had - been tried as it never had been before, and that she was stronger and - better for it. And he knew that there was yet another trial awaiting her - which perhaps she could not have borne had not she passed through this - one. - </p> - <p> - “Another thing,” she said, as earnestly as before; “when do you expect my - father to return?” - </p> - <p> - “Very soon—as soon as he——” - </p> - <p> - “Evasion again,” she protested, a slight frown of impatience darkening her - face; but it instantly disappeared, and her manner was appealing again. - “Be my friend as well as my physician, Dr. Malbone. Please tell me the - truth. I can bear it now.” - </p> - <p> - The young man bowed his head in dejection. - </p> - <p> - “Snow is still falling,” he said, “and doubtless many trees are across the - road. We can only wait and hope.” - </p> - <p> - A transient look of gratitude for his seeming candor softened her hard - beauty, and she withdrew her hand and her glance. Then he knew that - another mighty struggle was taking place within her. He knew from the deep - crimson that suffused her face how fully she realized all that he must be - to her during the weary weeks to come. He saw the outward evidences of the - unthinkable revulsion that filled her, with him as its cause. He knew that - in agony of soul she rebelled against the fate that had placed her - helpless in the hands of a stranger, and that stranger a man, and that man - the one now serving her, however willingly, however faithfully, with - whatever tact and delicacy. He saw, from her hopless glance about the - cabin, the bitterness of the fight that she was making to accept its - repellent hospitality. And, worst of all, he saw, or thought he saw, that - in the victory that she finally won there was more of an iron - determination to endure than of a simple resignation to accept. - </p> - <p> - So these two began their strange life together. As may be supposed, it was - wholly devoid of true companionship, and necessarily so. That made it the - harder, in a way, for both. From the severe furnishings of his larder the - host did his best to provide for her comfort. She never complained of the - coarse, inadequate food, all of which had to be of a kind that could bear - keeping for months, and none of which was pleasing to a fastidious taste - made all the more delicate by illness and prostration from her injuries. - All of the countless attentions that her helplessness imposed upon him he - gave with the business-like directness of a physician and nurse, and this - was obviously gratifying to her. She never complained of the cruel - hardness of the bed, and never failed to express her gratitude for the - slight shiftings of position that he deemed it safe to give her. - </p> - <p> - Most cheering to the host was the fair progress that his patient made. Her - curious mistake that he was Dr. Malbone had given him a mastery of the - situation that was of inestimable value. Manifestly she reposed full - confidence in his skill, and he made the most of that. She never again - asked for opinions concerning her father’s return. Her only inquiries were - with regard to the weather, the severity of which did not relax from day - to day, from week to week. When Wilder would return from short excursions - over the snow, which now lay deep throughout the mountains and was - steadily growing deeper, she would look at him a moment expectantly, - hoping for good news; but it was not necessary for him to say that there - was none, and she asked no questions. - </p> - <p> - The dread and dismay of Wilder grew with the heaping up of snow about the - hut. Before he built the house, he had learned that in winter, when the - storms were very severe, the shelf upon which he had reared the structure - was banked with snow, but to what height no one had ever ascertained. - There had never been such a storm as this within the memory of the white - settlers. Hence the snow was heaped higher than ever before. There were - special reasons for this. The shelf formed an eddying-point for the wind - that came in the intervals of the snowfall, and the snow from all sides - was thus swirled and pitched upon the shelf. It had not yet reached the - roof, but it had to be kept cleared from the window and the front door, - and that meant watchfulness and labor. Should it continue to accumulate - until it reached the roof and the top of the chimney, a serious situation - would confront the prisoners. - </p> - <p> - Not while the patient remained helpless was there anything but a rigid - business bearing between these two unhappy mortals. Between them was - reared an impalpable wall that neither cared to attack. But in time the - patient grew better and stronger both in body and mind; and, besides, - strange developments began to make themselves felt. - </p> - <p> - Among the effects of the young woman, Wilder had discovered a book in - which she kept a journal. She had called for it as soon as she was able to - write; and, as a woman’s observation is keener than a man’s, it is best to - introduce here (and in other places throughout the narrative) such - extracts from her journal as seem helpful. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER SIX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE following is - from the lady’s journal: - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I will write it again, absurd though it may turn out to be: There is - some mystery about this cabin. I have tried over and over to convince - myself that my weakness and the unnatural situation in which I am placed - make me morbid and suspicious; but I know that I am still a hard-headed - woman, without a particle of nonsense in my composition; and I know that I - am able to see things in their proper light, and to understand them in a - way. And I say that the signs of something wrong here are growing more and - more evident, without furnishing me the least clue to the nature of the - mystery; but I feel that, whatever the mystery is, it is one to be - dreaded. I try not to think about it; but where is the sense in that? Is - it not better for me to do all the observing and thinking I can, and thus - be the better prepared for whatever may happen. - </p> - <p> - “I sometimes try to think that it is only the strangeness of this strange - man—if I may call him a man—that makes me feel a mystery in - the air. It is hard to get hold of anything tangible in his bearing, so - unobtrusively alert he is. There must be some explanation of the fact that - a physician as skilful as he is should bury himself in these mountains—should - hide himself from the different world to which he evidently belongs. - </p> - <p> - “He is a gentleman,—I will do him the justice to admit that. He is a - great deal besides any gentleman that I have ever seen before. Let me try - to explain this to myself. Although he makes not the slightest show of - attending to my wants, I know his every thought is upon me. He sleeps on - the stone floor in front of the fireplace,—that is, if he sleeps at - all, which I sometimes doubt. Even when he is not looking at me in that - distant, abstracted way that he has, I feel that the whole cabin is filled - with his eyes, and that they are always looking at me, day and night, but - with an expression different from the veiled one of his own eyes. They do - not have the distant, thoughtful, perfunctory, business-like expression of - the eyes in his head, but a different one,—an expression that seems - to be a mixture of duty, pity, kindness, patience, forbearance, and—it - will make me feel better to write it—<i>contempt</i>. I feel that - these countless eyes are reading my deepest thoughts, and looking over my - shoulder as I write. - </p> - <p> - “Of course I do not really feel all this, else I should not be writing - thus. But I feel something. O God! when will this wretched strain be - over?... - </p> - <p> - “I have discovered that he guards most jealously the back door of the - cabin. When I first came to consciousness after my hurt, I saw what I took - to be evidence that my strength of will was greater than his. I believe so - yet; but he certainly has a way of baffling me and holding me in a - position from which I cannot escape. I am curious to know a great many - things; it is my right to know them. Why does he surround himself with a - deafness that nothing can penetrate? Why and how does he make it - impossible for me to ask him questions? And who ever heard of a man so - supremely indifferent as not to ask a woman placed as I am a single - question about herself, her life, her tastes, her family, her world? Why - has he made it impossible for me to ask him any questions? At first he had - placed my bed so that I could see the rear door by turning my head; but - when he observed that I had become curious, he found an excuse to turn my - bed so that it was impossible for me to see the door, and I was too proud - to object. - </p> - <p> - “I wish I could have respect for him. Of course he surmises that I am - wealthy, and he must know that he will be handsomely paid for his - services. I gave him to understand as much one day, and he looked at me in - a blank way that was most disconcerting. But that did not deceive me. I do - not wish to be unjust, but I know something about human nature. I think - that the man’s whole course may be to impress me with his great solicitude - and make his services appear the more valuable. Bah! he needn’t have gone - to the trouble. - </p> - <p> - “I am going to watch that door in spite of him. I know already that he - keeps it carefully locked, and that when he goes out he bars it on the - other side. Such distrust, when I am so unable to pry into his secrets, is - unwarranted and offensive. Another thing I have noted. The back door leads - into some kind of inner apartment. - </p> - <p> - “How is he going to guard it when I am able to be about? Then his life - will be a burden. I will make it so. - </p> - <p> - “Gratitude? Oh, yes! I have heard of such a thing. But this is an - obligation that money can discharge, and I will see that it does. Has he - done anything more for me than a physician ought to do? I am familiar with - the ways in which these gentry play upon the gratitude of their wealthy - patients, and present bills that they think a sense of shame will accept. - So long as the rich are the prey of the poor, the poor need not expect - sympathy from the rich. I know the power of money to secure attendance of - all sorts, and I can see its power manifested now. - </p> - <p> - “This man seems to be utterly lacking in masculine qualities. To give an - illustration: The other day, when he thought I was absorbed in reading,—I - must say that he has excellent taste in books,—I found tears - trickling down his cheeks while he was reading before the fire. I noted - from the division of the book as he held it open the approximate place - where he was reading. Afterward I asked him for the book, and found that - it opened readily at a place where the leaves were tear-stained. It was - the silliest story imaginable,—a foolish account of true-lovers - separated by designing persons and dying of a broken heart! Imagine a - grown man crying over such nonsense as that! - </p> - <p> - “Here is a queer circumstance that I have noted, and have wondered about: - In not a single one of Dr. Malbone’s books does his name appear; and it is - evident that wherever it did appear he has erased it. There may be easy - ways of accounting for this, but to me it looks suspicious. Is it a part - of the mystery of a refined and skilful physician burying—I believe - hiding—himself in these mountains? I remember to have heard at the - lakes that he never attended city people spending the summer here if he - could avoid it. I certainly know that he refused to visit me, and that he - sent me an insulting message besides. What is the reason? Is he more or - less acquainted with people of the better class, and is he afraid of - meeting some whom he may have known when he lived somewhere else and - passed under a different name? The inhabitants of these mountains venerate - him, and believe that his skill is omnipotent. Well, I have nothing to say - against his skill, for certainly he has handled my case perfectly; but if - these simple and ignorant mountain-folk should see him in the intimacy in - which I know him, and discover what a cold, suspicious, weak, petty man he - is, I think they would reform their opinion of him. - </p> - <p> - “During the last month he has been going oftener and oftener through the - back door. What business has he there? If I did not have a feeling that, - little as he trusts me, I might safely trust him to the end of the world, - I would have a fear for my own safety. But I rest secure in the belief - that the prospect of collecting a generous fee for restoring me safe to my - father is a sufficient protection, to say nothing of the confidence that I - have in the man’s queer sense of honor. Why, he treats me as though I were - a queen, and bears himself as my humblest subject hanging upon my smallest - word—up to a certain point. Beyond that I get bewildered. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my father, my father! There is no man in the world like you, none - that knows me, that loves me as you do! If you only knew how my heart - yearns every moment for you! Why could not this man have the least of your - qualities,—your iron will, your scorn of weak things in human - nature, your dominating, achieving power It is in comparing this man with - you that I find him so small, so pusillanimous, so different from the - standard of manhood that you have made me adopt, so different from me, so - infinitely far from me. It is good that it is so, but it makes me lonely - beyond all expression. I would rather be alone in a desert than with this - strange mirage of a man, this male with an infinite capacity for the - little things that only little women are suited to do. He tortures me with - his goodness, his self-sacrifice to me, his making me feel that he lives - only to make me comfortable and bring me back to health. Where are you, my - father? I know that you will come to me when you can. That much I know, I - know! Come, father, and take me from this awful prison!... - </p> - <p> - “I think I have done remarkably well to be as patient as I have been. This - horrid food is enough to kill a healthy woman,—tinned meats and - vegetables, tinned everything, and hardly any flour, but sea-biscuits - instead! Of course my poor slave does his best to prepare things in such a - way that it will be possible for me to eat them, for he seems to realize - that I am a human being.... - </p> - <p> - “I am determined to bring this man to an acquaintance with his tongue. The - loneliness that I feel is unbearable. He must be as lonely as I, and, like - me, he is probably too proud to make a sign. Of course he talks to me now - when I make him, but about things in Asia or Africa that I am certain are - as dull to him as to me. He is maintaining this distance, I am certain, - just to guard his history and true character, and to keep me in a position - where it will remain impossible for me to find out what is going forward - on the other side of that door. I will talk to him about myself; that will - compel him to talk about himself. I can’t bear this isolation. It is - inhuman. And I have no fears that he will presume. They passed long ago. - </p> - <p> - “I have just two more things to record at present. One is that my host is - growing thinner and more hollow-eyed, and the other is that several times - lately I have dreamed of hearing the strangest and sweetest music. It - sounded like the playing of a violin by a master hand. I have been unable - to determine whether I was really dreaming. One singular thing in - connection with it is that when I looked for him the other night on his - rugs before the fire after I had heard the music, or dreamed I heard it, - he was not there. I tried to remain awake until he returned, for I - wondered where he could be in the middle of the night, with the snow - heaped up to the roof of the house and a fearful gale blowing cold - outside, and I felt lonely and uneasy. But I went to sleep before he - returned. I have no doubt, however, that he was on the other side of the - rear door.” - </p> - <p> - This ends, for the present, the extracts from the lady’s journal. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER SEVEN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE patient had so - far recovered that she could be propped up in bed, where she straightened - out the bungling work of her inexperienced hair-dresser, and made her - glorious hair a fit embellishment of her beauty. She was pale, and her - cheeks had lost the roundness and her eyes the brilliancy of their wont. - But she was regaining the flesh that she had lost, and the brightness of - spirit that her afflictions had dimmed; and her pallor only softened and - refined a beauty that likely had been somewhat too showy in health. - </p> - <p> - Something even better than that had been accomplished. It was not - conceivable that her strong and rebellious spirit had been ever before - brought under other than the ordinary restraints of a conventional life. - She had developed the good sense to make the most of her present - uncomfortable situation, and the will to bear its hardships. In the eyes - of her host the superiority of her character entitled her to admiration, - which he gave her simply and unconsciously, without any regard to her sex - and beauty. Her acute insight had informed her of this admiration, and her - spirit chafed under its character. One day she said,— - </p> - <p> - “It seems strange to me, Dr. Malbone, that you have never taken any - interest in my past life.” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her quickly and curiously, and somewhat awkwardly replied,— - </p> - <p> - “I did not wish to intrude, Miss Andros.” - </p> - <p> - “Would that have been intrusion? I hadn’t thought of it.” - </p> - <p> - “You must know that I feel an interest in everything that concerns you.” - He said this readily, simply, and naturally, and she wondered if he was - sincere. - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” she went on, “lack of all companionship between us means - mutual distrust.” This was a sharp thrust, and it found him unguarded. - Then she saw that she had gone too far at the start; and this impression - was confirmed when, after a pause, he remarked,— - </p> - <p> - “You and I have been strangely placed. I knew that the conventions of the - best-bred people mean much to you, and I have merely respected your - natural and proper regard for them. Under these circumstances it was not - possible for me to make the first effort to be—friendly, if you will - permit the expression.” - </p> - <p> - She smiled, but the manliness of the rebuke and its entire justice made - her secretly resent it. She was determined to hold herself perfectly in - hand, for a serious purpose now moved her, and she would not be balked. - </p> - <p> - “That is all in the past now,” she said. “I have learned to know you as a - man of the finest sense of honor, proud, reserved, and self-sacrificing. - It would not have been possible for any other sort of man to treat a woman - as you have treated me. No, don’t interrupt me. There is nothing but - common sense and simple justice in what I am saying, and unless you let me - say it you will be harsh and cruel. After all that you have done for me, - it is my right to tell you how I feel about it.” - </p> - <p> - He looked so embarrassed and miserable that she laughed outright; and the - music of that rare note sounded in his heart; for it was not a cruel - laugh, but merry and hearty, as one would laugh at the comical - discomfiture of a friend; and as such it fulfilled its purpose. - </p> - <p> - Thus the ice that had filled the cabin was broken, in a measure, at last, - and this at once eased the gloom and coldness of the wretched lives - imprisoned therein. - </p> - <p> - From that beginning the convalescent drifted easily and gracefully into an - account of her world of wealth and pleasure and fashion. She realized that - she must first open her own life before she could expect her host to give - her a view of his and of the nearer and stranger things that impinged upon - her. Her voice was smooth and musical. She dwelt particularly upon the - lighter and fashionable side of her life, because she believed that the - tact and refinement of the man who listened so well, yet so silently, were - born of such a life, and that he had deliberately withdrawn himself from - it. - </p> - <p> - Matters went more smoothly after that day. But the young woman was finally - forced to accept her defeat,—she had opened her own simple, vacant - life, but had gained not a glimpse into his. And she realized, further, - that all the advances toward a friendlier understanding had been made by - her, and none by him; that his manner toward her, with all its tireless - watchfulness, its endless solicitude, its total extinction of every - selfish thought, its impenetrable reserve, had not changed one jot or - tittle. Then a bitter resentment filled her, and she hated him and - determined to torture him. - </p> - <p> - He had not been so guarded but that she had found a vulnerable spot in his - mail. This was what she regarded as the silly, sentimental side of his - nature. She had led him into this disclosure by a long series of adroit - moves, the purpose of which he had not suspected. Assuming a profound - appreciation of the softer and tenderer things of life, she had brought - herself into the attitude of one who cherishes them, and thus led him into - the trap. Their talk concerned love, and he opened his heart and displayed - all its foolish weakness. - </p> - <p> - “Can there be anything more sacred,” he asked, warmly, “than the love of - men and women? Is there anything to which trifling should be more - repugnant? The man who loves one woman with all in him that makes him a - man, has taken that into his soul which will be its refining and uplifting - force to the end of all things with him; and, noble as that is, the love - of a woman for one man who loves her surpasses it beyond all - comprehension, and is the truest gleam of heavenly radiance in human - lives.” - </p> - <p> - It was spared him to see the amused and contemptuous curl of lip that - bespoke a world-worn heart; but he had let down his guard, and his - punishment would come. - </p> - <p> - It was some days afterward that the blow fell. The convalescent was now - sitting on a chair, where her ever-solicitous nurse had placed her. She - was now ready to strike. She would hold up to him a mirror of himself,—a - weak, sentimental, pusillanimous man. Fortunately, she could relate from - an experience in her own life a tale whose ridiculous hero she judged had - been just such a man as Dr. Malbone. She would be violating none of the - rules of hospitality. Her host had permitted her to walk into a - humiliating position, and her desire to punish him should not be denied - gratification. - </p> - <p> - She had brought the talk round to the mistakes that men and women make in - the bestowal of their affection, and remarked carelessly that men were - proverbially stupid in estimating the loveliness of women. Almost without - exception, she declared, they preferred girls for their beauty, their - softness, their negative qualities, their genuine or pretended - helplessness; and she added that a woman of strength and true worth would - scorn a love so cheaply won and held in so light esteem by its bestowers. - </p> - <p> - “But some girls,” she added, “are even worse than men. You may generally - expect stupidity from a man, but not always folly from a girl. A rather - distressing case of a girl’s folly once came to my notice. There was a - girl who had been my classmate in school. It was there that we formed for - each other the girlish affection which all girls must have at that age. - Yet the difference between us was great even then, and it increased after - we had gone out into the world. She and I moved in the same circle. Her - parents were wealthy, and she had every opportunity to see and learn life - and get something of value from it. Instead of that, she grew more and - more retired, and less fitted for the life to which she belonged. She was - the most unpractical and romantic girl that ever lived. Her girl friends - dropped her one by one. I was the last to remain, and I did all I could to - get some worldly sense into her soft and foolish head. She would only - smile, and put her arms round me, and declare that she knew she was - foolish, but that she couldn’t help it. - </p> - <p> - “She was very fond of music and poetry, and at last I learned that she was - taking lessons on the violin from some fiddling nobody who made his living - by playing and teaching. I never happened to see him, or I might have done - something to stop the mischief that was brewing. Her parents were blind to - her folly, but that is a common weakness of parents. - </p> - <p> - “There never had been any great exchange of confidences between Ada and me - since our school-days. I could have told her a great deal about the ways - of men,—you see,” the narrator hastened to add, “I had been a very - good observer, and had learned some things that it is to the advantage of - every girl to know. I mean, you understand, about love. It is only people - with a silly view of that subject that ever get into trouble. Girls of - Ada’s disposition have no sense; they invariably suffer through lack of - perception and strength. - </p> - <p> - “Although I did not see much of her, it at last became evident that - something serious was the matter. Her manner became softer and gentler, - her sympathies were keener, and there was a light in her eyes that an - observing woman cannot misunderstand. I was somewhat older than she, and - that gave me an advantage in the plan that I decided upon; but of greater - advantage was her reliance upon me. It was necessary that I should gain - her full confidence, as I didn’t wish to take any step in the dark, nor - one that might have proved useless. You will understand that in all I - afterward did and caused to be done I acted solely from a regard for her - welfare. I believed that she had formed an attachment for this—this - fiddler—bah! Everything in me revolts when I think of it. Here was a - girl that was pretty, sweet, gracious, the soul of trust and fidelity, - ready to throw herself away upon an unspeakable fiddler! And there was no - excuse whatever for it. A score of men adored her,—men of her own - station in life,—men of wealth, men of culture, men of strength and - character, men of birth, men of consequence in the world. Incredible as it - may seem, they passed over other girls far more capable in every way, and - sighed for this shy violet. - </p> - <p> - “I knew that there was something wrong in her refusal to accept the - attentions of any of them. I knew that her inherited tastes, the examples - all around her, and her natural regard for the wishes of her parents and - friends, ought to have induced her to give her affections to a man worthy - of her. I determined to find out what that obstacle was; and it was solely - for her own good that I did so. I knew that if she married this—this - low musician, her life would be filled with bitterness, disappointment, - and regrets. I knew that she would soon come to be ashamed of the - alliance. I knew——” - </p> - <p> - “How did you know all that?” came in a voice so strange, so constrained, - so distant, that she turned in wonder toward her host. He sat looking into - the fire, the ruddy glow of which concealed the death-like pallor that - during the last few minutes had been deepening in his face. - </p> - <p> - “How did I know it?” she responded in surprise. “That is a singular - question from one who ought to be as well aware of it as I.” - </p> - <p> - He made no reply, and she turned her head to the window and watched the - snow steadily rebuilding the bank that her host had so recently cleared - away. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps,” she remarked, with a slight sneer, “you asked that question to - get an argument with me, for I have heard you express romantic and - sentimental views on the subject of love. But of one thing I am confident: - I know that you have been a man of the world, and that you understand life - and human nature; and I know that while men like to assume a sentimental - attitude toward love, it is merely a pose. I will not argue the matter - with you. You know as well as I that such a marriage would have been a - fatal mistake.” - </p> - <p> - She said this in a hard, emphatic way that indicated her desire to end the - discussion. Then she resumed her story. - </p> - <p> - “I got into her confidence by professing sympathy with her, and adopting - her point of view,—by anticipating it, I mean, for she was too - guarded to disclose it. The poor little idiot fell into the trap. She had - been carrying her secret for months, and the burden of it was wearing her - out. You know, a nature of that kind must have sympathy, must have some - one to listen, must have a confidant. She had not dared to trust her - parents, for she knew that they would put a stop to her folly. When she - found, as she thought, that I was in full sympathy with her, she laid her - poor foolish heart completely open. And what do you think she was going to - do?” - </p> - <p> - She turned toward her host as she asked the question, and found him still - sitting immovable and looking into the fire. He seemed not to have heard - her, for he made no answer; and his stony silence and stillness gave her a - strange sensation that might have weighed more with her had she not been - so deeply interested in her narrative, and so well satisfied with her part - in its happenings. She turned her glance again toward the window, and - resumed: - </p> - <p> - “She had decided to run away with this vulgar—fiddler. There was but - one thing lacking,—he had not asked her; but she believed that he - loved her with all his soul, and that he was having a fight with himself - to decide whether it would be right for him to bring so scandalous a thing - upon her. She and he both realized that it would be worse than useless for - him to ask her parents for her. She said to me, ‘He fears that I shall be - unhappy in the poverty that would be my lot if we should go away and - marry. He fears that I should miss the luxuries to which I had been - accustomed. He fears that my friends will think he had married me for my - fortune. He has so many fears, and they are all for me. Yet I know that he - would cheerfully lay down his life for me. There never was a man so - unselfish, so generous, so ready to sacrifice himself for others.’ - </p> - <p> - “I could hardly keep from laughing while the poor child was telling me all - that rubbish. Before employing harsh measures to check her foolish - purpose, I resorted to milder ones. While continuing to be sympathetic, I - nevertheless said a great many things that would have set her thinking if - she had had any sense. I gave her to understand, as delicately as possible - (for I was careful not to rouse any resentfulness or stubbornness in her), - that her lover undoubtedly was a worthless fellow, as persons of his class - are; that he was weak in character and loose in morals; that he was merely - a sly adventurer, playing adroitly upon her innocence and confidence, and - anxious to leave his laborious life for one of ease at her expense. I - compared her station as his wife with that as the wife of a man in her own - sphere. - </p> - <p> - “The trouble was that she cared nothing for the position that she - occupied. She honestly believed, poor idiot! that she could be as happy - poor as rich. But the great obstacle was her infatuation for the man, and - her belief that he was finer and better than the men of her own station. - She was dreamy and romantic, and that is why she idealized this fiddling - nobody. The more she told me of his gentleness, his refinement, his - unselfishness, his poetic nature, the more I saw that he lacked the - sterling qualities of manhood, the more I realized that he had made a - careful study of her weaknesses and was playing upon them with all the - unscrupulous skill of his species. She implored me to meet him, to know - him, to study him. Of course that was out of the question. She was sure, - she said, that I should come to admire and respect him as she had. I - firmly declined to see him. I have even forgotten his name.” - </p> - <p> - There was a pause in the narration. The young man was so still that his - guest looked round at him, and found his gaze fastened upon her. She - started, for she saw that it held a veiled quality that she did not - understand, and that for a moment filled her with uneasiness. He quickly - and without a word looked again at the fire. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER EIGHT - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE convalescent - thrust aside the momentary depression that her host’s strange expression - had given her, and proceeded. - </p> - <p> - “At last I realized that all mild measures would be useless. I knew that - at any time something dreadful might happen, and I was determined to save - my old schoolmate from the disgrace and sorrow that she was inviting. - Without directly encouraging her to proceed as she had started, I gave her - to understand that she might always depend upon my friendship. Then I set - about the serious work that I had to do.” - </p> - <p> - There was another long pause. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” said her host, a little harshly and impatiently; and that change - from no his habitual gentleness gave her a passing wonder. Then she saw - that she was hurting him. She had waited for that sign. - </p> - <p> - “I knew that it would be an easy task to match my wit with that of a - sentimental, scheming fiddler and a foolish girl. I needn’t give all the - details of the plan that I carried out. It was merely a matter of getting - an engagement for him somewhere else for a time, and of presenting to her - in his absence some evidence of his faithlessness. I knew them both well - enough to foresee that she would never let him know what she had heard,—that - she would simply send him adrift, and expect him to make an explanation if - he was innocent, and that he would be too abashed to demand an explanation - from her or make one himself. There was no danger that he would open a way - to disprove or even deny the evidence that I produced. - </p> - <p> - “All this, you understand, I did with the greatest delicacy. The plan - worked perfectly. They never saw each other again.” - </p> - <p> - Wilder turned and looked her full in the face. It was the way in which he - did it that sharpened her attention, for it was a look in which she felt, - rather than saw, a command. - </p> - <p> - “What became of them?” he quietly asked, but she felt that the question - required an answer. - </p> - <p> - “Oh,” she replied, her air of indifference veiling her determination to - hold control of the situation, “the vagabond fiddler was never seen again. - As for Ada—but that was infinitely better than to have lived a life - of wretchedness——” - </p> - <p> - “As for Ada?” - </p> - <p> - “She was dead in a month,”—this with a hard and defiant manner. - </p> - <p> - The young man rose from his chair, which he clumsily upset. In a strangely - uncertain, stumbling fashion he went to the front door, and felt for the - latch, as though blind. Then he changed his mind and started for the rear - door; but whatever purpose he had was interrupted by his overturning a - small table and sending the books and other articles upon it clattering to - the floor. Evidently startled and confused by the noise and his own - clumsiness,—though hardly more so than the young woman, who was - watching him in amazement,—he righted the table with difficulty, and - began to pick up the articles that had fallen from it. Instead, however, - of replacing them on the table, he put them on the bed. His face was - livid, his eyes were sunk alarmingly deep in his skull, and he seemed to - have become suddenly old and wrinkled. His hands trembled, and weakness so - overcame him that he sat down upon the edge of the bed. - </p> - <p> - This state quickly passed, and the young man looked at his guest, who had - been compelled to turn her chair laboriously to observe him; and when he - saw the perplexed and distressed look in her face—seeing nothing of - the gratification and triumph that her distress partly obscured—he - smiled faintly and came firmly to his feet. “It must have been an attack - of vertigo,” he explained, feebly. But he continued to look at her so - steadily and with so penetrating a gaze that her uneasiness increased. Had - she carried her torture of him too far? Oh, well, it would do him good in - the end! - </p> - <p> - “And now,” he said, in a voice that steadily grew stronger and firmer, “I - will tell <i>you</i> a story.” He was standing directly in front of her - and looking down into her face. “One day, just after a great sorrow had - fallen upon me, I was strolling along the water-front of San Francisco, - and sat down upon some lumber at the end of a pier. I had not noticed a - number of rough-looking young men sitting near me, until one of them said, - in the course of the talk that they were having, ‘Yes, but I loved her! It - was the way in which he said it that attracted my notice. I judged from - his appearance that he was a laborer, perhaps a stevedore; but there was - something in his voice that belongs to stricken men in all the walks of - life. One of his companions said, ‘Nonsense, Frank; there’s just as good - fish in the sea as ever was caught out of it.’ But Frank shook his head - and said, ‘Not for me.’ The others said nothing, and after a little while - Frank repeated, ‘Not for me.’ Did you ever hear a man say that?” - </p> - <p> - Wilder’s voice, which had been steadily growing louder, suddenly sank - almost to a whisper as he asked his guest that question. The wrinkles were - deepening in his face, and his glance had a sharpness of penetration that - the young woman found it hard to meet without wincing. - </p> - <p> - “Then,” resumed Wilder, “another of his companions, seeking to show him - the folly of his grief, made some remarks about the woman that I cannot - repeat. Frank replied without anger: ‘Don’t say that, Joe: you mean well, - but don’t say it. She was the woman I loved. Every night, now, when I put - out the light to go to bed, I see her in the room; and when I go on - streets that are dark, I think she’s walking with me. I loved that woman; - and now I don’t know what to do. For she’s dead, boys, she’s dead; and by - God! they killed her.’” - </p> - <p> - Wilder was still looking down into the face of his guest as he concluded, - and she had been looking up into his; but when, with a trembling voice, he - spoke the last sentence, her glance dropped to the floor. After a pause he - spoke again, and his voice was full, round, and passionate. - </p> - <p> - “They killed her, madam, as they have killed many another. How it was that - they killed the woman whose death had filled this rough man’s life with - grief and despair, I do not know. But they killed her. Some murderous - human hand shattered a scheme that the Almighty himself had laid. I wish - you could have heard him say, ‘She’s dead, boys, she’s dead; and by God! - they killed her.’ The sound of its agony would have found the heart that - was intended to do more than keep you alive with its beating. Do you know - what murder is? Do you know the difference between the gross, stupid, - brutal murder that in satisfying its coarse lust for blood runs its thick - neck into the halter, and the finer, daintier, infinitely more cruel - murder that kills with torturing cruelty, and thus outwits the gallows? - The blood-murderer is a poor fool, dwarfed in mind and crippled in soul. - Perhaps he gets his full punishment when the law stretches his useless - neck. But the murderer who outwits the law in his killing, who murders the - innocent and unsuspecting and confiding, who makes friendship the cup from - which the poison is drunk, who employs the most damnable lies and - treachery, who calmly watches the increasing agonies of his victim as the - poison slowly does its work,—what punishment do you think can reach - such a murderer as that?” - </p> - <p> - The young man’s voice had become loud, harsh, and threatening. Violent - emotions were stirring him. His whole slender frame seemed to have - expanded. His face was flushed, his eyes were blazing, his fingers - clutched at invisible things, his entire aspect was menacing. His guest, - awed and terrified, raised her glance to his face. - </p> - <p> - “And by whom is such a murder done?” he cried. “It is done by one who, - coming into the world with a soul fresh and complete from the hands of the - Creator, deliberately turns aside from the way of nature and nature’s God, - crushes the attributes that form our one link with heaven and our one hope - of immortality, throttles all that might be useful in bringing light and - strength into the lives of others, and in shameless defiance of the - Almighty’s manifest will sets up false gods to worship, sacrifices - self-respect for self-love, banishes the essence of life and clings to the - dross, and wallows like swine in a mire of his own making. The - blood-murderer is infinitely better than that. He has at least a human - heart in all its savage majesty. - </p> - <p> - “And for what is such a murder done? It proceeds from a dwarfed, distorted - soul, deliberately, consciously, intelligently made so by its possessor. - Its purpose is to destroy the one touch of beauty, sweetness, and purity - that makes us akin to the angels. It sees an exquisite flower; that flower - must be plucked, else its beauty would flourish and its destiny be - fulfilled. It finds love in its purest, noblest, most unselfish form - between two whom God had made each for the other for the fulfilling of his - own inscrutable design, and by lies and treachery proceeds to kill one and - destroy the happiness of the other. What punishment, madam, is adequate - for such a murder? The hands of the law would be polluted by strangling a - murderer so base, so cowardly, so infinitely lower and meaner than the - lowest beasts, so utterly unworthy of the honor of the gallows-tree. There - can be but one adequate punishment, and only Omnipotence could devise a - hell sufficient for it. And the sooner this punishment comes, the sooner - will the vengeance of God be satisfied. What higher duty could rest upon a - mortal standing in awe and reverence under his Maker’s law than to set the - law in force?” - </p> - <p> - In the dismay and terror that now filled her soul the woman could not - mistake the meaning of that threat, nor the madness that would give it - force. A numbing fear, a feeling that she was sinking into a bottomless - pit, put gyves upon all her faculties. In a hopeless stupor she sat, in - speechless dread of the blow that she felt must fall. To her dazed - attention the avenger himself stood before her in all the terror of - infuriated justice free from its leash and plunging forward headlong and - irresistible to satisfy its vengeance. Never had she dreamed that a mortal - could face a thing so terrible as this man, who, having dragged her from - death, and with infinite patience, gentleness, and unselfishness had been - nursing her back to health and strength, now stood as the judge and - executioner of her naked, trembling, convicted soul. Her eyes strained, - her lips apart, she looked up, speechless and motionless, into his face; - and to her his blazing eyes and tense frame filled all the world with - vengeance, scorn, and death. - </p> - <p> - “Woman,” he cried, “whether it be murder or justice, your death would - remove an infamous stain from the face of this fair world. If you can, - make your peace with God, for I am going to send your damned black soul - where it can do no further harm. It is with immeasurable hate, with - infinite loathing, that I am going to kill you.” - </p> - <p> - He clutched her shoulder, and the hot iron grip of his fingers tore her - skin. He thrust his face close to hers, and she heard the grinding of his - teeth, which his parted lips showed as the fangs of a maddened beast. - </p> - <p> - “You viper!” he cried; “you have no right to life!” - </p> - <p> - She saw his free hand seeking her throat. Then her energies were unlocked. - She threw back her head, and with all her might cried out,— - </p> - <p> - “Father! father! help me! save me!” The young man started back, clutched - his head with both hands, and looked about in a wild and frightened way. - </p> - <p> - “What was that?” he breathlessly asked. “Did you hear? The wolves are - coming down. That was the howl of the she-wolf!” In a dazed manner he - found his way to the back door, opened it, passed out, and bolted it - behind him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER NINE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>ORE extracts from - the lady’s journal: - </p> - <p> - “I can never begin an entry in my journal without having that frightful - scene come between me and these pages. Oh, it was terrible,—terrible - beyond all comprehension! I cannot believe, after thinking it over and - over during these weeks that have passed since it occurred, that it was - the fear of death that so terrified me, and, I know, made an old woman of - me. No, it could not have been that. It was the fear of going with that - awful condemnation upon me. Was it just? Was it true? - </p> - <p> - “He seems to have recovered at last from the alarming depression that - followed his outbreak, and this gives me leisure to think, leisure to - recall many circumstances that in my blindness, my incredible blindness - and stupidity, I had overlooked. I take into account the fearful strain - under which he had suffered so long. He is a delicate, finely organized - man, and has had more to do and to bear than a dozen strong men would have - done and borne so well and patiently. - </p> - <p> - “There was his anxiety on the score of my recovery. Then there were the - endless duties of waiting on me, of thinking of the thousands of little - things that had to be thought of and done, and that he never forgot nor - neglected. He has done my cooking, my washing,—everything that was - hard and distasteful for a man to do. Then there was his constant anxiety - on account of the snow; and it has been growing daily all through the - winter with the increasing dangers and discomforts; and besides his - anxiety was the hard physical labor—far too heavy for him—that - he has been compelled to do in order to keep our hut from being buried and - ourselves from being smothered. And, last, there has been the constant - wearing upon him of a close imprisonment with me, for whom I know he now - must have a most intense dislike. - </p> - <p> - “I am satisfied, too, that he has anxieties concealed from me. That they - are associated with something upon which the back door opens, I have no - doubt. There are several reasons for my thinking so. I am so nearly well - now that I could get about and be helpful to him if he would only make me - a crutch, as I have often begged him to do; but he has always put me off, - saying that it was too early for a crutch, that my desire to be useful - would give me a serious setback through making me overdo, and that the - main thing for us both to consider was the return of my strength as - quickly as possible, and our escape on snow-shoes that he would make as - soon as I should be able to walk. It has all sounded very plausible, but - it seems to me that common-sense would suggest that I take a little - exercise. In spite of my having regained my flesh, I am as weak as an - infant. Knowing that he is a good physician, I doubt his sincerity about - the crutch. I believe the solemn truth is that he fears I would try to - invade his cherished secret if I were able to be about. - </p> - <p> - “I know that he keeps the provisions in the place into which the back door - opens, and that this fact seems to give him a sufficient excuse for going - there so often,—especially as he does the cooking there; and that is - another strange circumstance. For weeks after I was first brought to the - hut he prepared the food on the broad hearth here; but after a while he - did that in the rear apartment, explaining that the odors from the cooking - were not good for me, and that it was uncomfortable for him to cook before - an open fireplace. I protested that I did not mind the odors, and he - replied that I would at least consider his comfort. - </p> - <p> - “Another thing: He has not eaten with me for a long, long time. His - original plan was to prepare my meal, wait on me until I had finished, and - then have his own at the little table in the chimney-corner. I did not - observe for some time that he had quit eating in that way, and that he - took his meals in the rear apartment. He always speaks of it as an - ‘apartment,’ and not as a room. I wonder why. I have been sitting up for a - long time now, and do not require his assistance after he has brought me - my food. It would be much pleasanter if he would sit at the little table - and eat with me. Is his dislike of me so deep that he cannot eat with me? - With all my sense, I have permitted this condition of affairs to come - about! And we both are sufferers by it. - </p> - <p> - “It is no wonder, with all these things troubling him, that he has changed - so much since I came. He is as scrupulously neat as ever, and he makes - this poor little hut shine, but he has changed remarkably since I came. It - has been so gradual that I didn’t observe it until my blindness was no - longer sufficient to keep me from seeing it. He was slender and evidently - not strong when I came, but he has become a shadow, and his gaunt cheeks - and hollow eyes are distressing to me. When he comes in now from fighting - the snow,—for we must not be buried by it, and must have light and - air, and the top of the chimney must be kept clear,—his weakness and - exhaustion, though he tries so hard to conceal them, are terrible to see. - </p> - <p> - “And now a great fear has come to me. It is that at any moment he may - break down and die. I wish I had not written that, I wish I had never - thought of it. Oh, if my father would only come! What can be keeping him? - Do I not know that he loves me better than anything else in the world? Am - I not all that he has to love and cling to? I cannot, cannot, understand - it. Dr. Malbone says it is unreasonable for me to expect my father, and - that if he should make the effort to reach me now it would be at too great - a risk to his own life. He tries to assure me that my father will be - governed entirely by the advice of the people who know the mountains, and - that they will restrain him from making any such attempt, as they would - not dare to make it themselves. All that may be true, but it is difficult - for me to believe it. If I could only get a word from him, it would give - me greater strength to bear the horrors of my situation. But why should I - complain, when Dr. Malbone bears it all so patiently, so sweetly, so - cheerfully? - </p> - <p> - “Still, that awful picture of murder comes between me and these pages - unceasingly. I think I can understand now why men sometimes kill women. - Why should men and women be so different? Why should it be impossible for - them to comprehend each other? It was Murder that I saw standing before me—both - the horrible picture of murder as he painted it, with me as the murderess—me - as the murderess!—and Murder in the flesh as he stood ready to - strangle me. Oh, the incredible ferocity of the man, the terrible, wild - savagery of him, the awful dark and nether side of his strangely complex - character! All along I had taken him for a pusillanimous milksop, a baby, - an old woman, a weak nobody; and at once he dropped his outer shell and - stood forth a Man,—terrible, savage, brutal, overwhelming, splendid, - wonderful! What is my judgment worth after this? And I was so proud of my - understanding of men! - </p> - <p> - “Why didn’t he kill me? It was my cry that checked him; but why should it? - Was it my appeal for help that brought him to his senses? I think so. It - touched that within him which had been so keenly alert, so unrelaxingly - vigilant, ever since I had come under his care. But what did he mean by - the howl of the she-wolf? And what did he mean by saying that the wolves - had come down? Several times since that terrible scene he has waked me in - the night with groans, and with crying out in his sleep, ‘The she-wolf?’ - These things have a meaning, I know. Why does he explain nothing? And why - have I permitted an estrangement between us that makes it impossible for - me to seek his confidence? Is it too late now? - </p> - <p> - “Oh, the terrible moments, the interminable hours, that passed after he - had left the hut by the rear door! Every second, at first, I expected him - to return and kill me. Would he have a rifle, a revolver, a knife, or a - bludgeon, or would he come with those terrible long fingers hooked like - claws to fasten upon my throat? And yet, somehow, I felt safe; I felt that - his old watchfulness and solicitude had returned. - </p> - <p> - “As soon as I could overcome the half-stupor into which his outburst had - thrown me I dragged myself to the rear door, intending to barricade it - against him. The effort was exceedingly painful and exhausting, and - brought me great suffering for a week afterward. But my sufferings of mind - and spirit were so much greater that I could bear those of the flesh. When - I had crawled to the door and was trying to drag a box against it, I heard - something that stopped me. I am not certain that it was anything real. - There was a loud singing in my ears from the awful fright that I had - suffered, and what I heard may have been that, made seemingly coherent by - my over-strained imagination. What I heard sounded like the distant, - smothered, awful strains of Saint-Saens’s ‘Dance of Death’ played on the - violin. But wild and terrible as it sounded, it came as a pledge of my - safety. Murder cannot come with music. - </p> - <p> - “I drew myself away and with great effort clambered upon the bed, where I - lay a long time in complete exhaustion. Time had no meaning for me. A - dull, massive, intangible weight seemed to be crushing me, and I longed—oh, - how I longed!—for human sympathy. - </p> - <p> - “The hut was dark when he returned. We had been very saving with the - candles, for Dr. Malbone explained that they were running low; so in the - evenings we generally had only the fire-light. There seemed to be a - generous supply of fire-wood in the rear apartment, and some of it was a - pitchy pine that gave out a fine blaze. When he returned the fire had - burned out. I felt no fear when I heard him enter. I knew by the - unsteadiness of his movements that he was weak and ill, but the first - sound of his voice as he called me anxiously was perfectly reassuring. - </p> - <p> - “‘I am lying on the bed,’ I answered. - </p> - <p> - “He groped to the bedside and there he knelt, and buried his face in his - hands upon the coverlet. And then—I say it merely as his due, merely - as the simple truth—he did the manliest thing that a man ever did. - He raised his head and in dignified humility said,— - </p> - <p> - “‘I have done the most cowardly, the most brutal thing that a man can do. - Will you forgive me? Can you forgive me? - </p> - <p> - “I put out my hand to stop him, for it was terrible that a man should be - so humble and broken; but he took my hand in both of his and held it. - </p> - <p> - “‘Will you? Can you? he pleaded. - </p> - <p> - “It was the only time that his touch had been other than the cold and - perfunctory one of the physician, and—I feel no shame in writing it—it - was the first time in my life that the touch of a man’s hand had been so - comforting. For a moment his hand seemed to have been thrust through the - wall that hitherto had separated us so completely. - </p> - <p> - “‘You were not the one to blame,’ I said. ‘I alone was the guilty one.’ - </p> - <p> - “‘No, no!’ he protested, warmly. ‘What provocation under heaven could - excuse such conduct as mine?’ - </p> - <p> - “‘I will forgive you,’ I said, ‘upon one condition.’ - </p> - <p> - “‘And that———-’ - </p> - <p> - “‘You forgive me in turn.’ - </p> - <p> - “Very slowly, as soon as I had said that, the pressure with which he had - been holding my hand began to relax. What did that mean, and why did he - remain silent, and why did a pain come stealing into my heart? Could not - he be as generous as I? Had I overrated him, after all? - </p> - <p> - “‘It was terrible!’ he half whispered. ‘By every obligation resting upon a - man, I should have been kind to you. You were my guest as well as my - patient. You were crippled and helpless, and unable to defend yourself. - You were a woman, looking to every man, by the right of your sex, for - comfort and protection. I was a man, owing to you, because you were a - woman, all the comfort and protection that every man owes to every woman. - All of these obligations I trampled under foot.’ - </p> - <p> - “Why did he put that sting into our reconciliation? Had he not done it so - innocently, so unintentionally, it would not have hurt so much. I withdrew - my hand from his very slowly; he made no effort to retain it. He did not - again ask me to forgive him, and he did not offer me his forgiveness. The - breach in the wall was closed, and the barrier stood intact and - impregnable between us. - </p> - <p> - “Presently he rose and made a fire, and prepared me something to eat; but - I had no appetite. Then he found that I had a fever, and he was much - distressed. There was just one comforting touch of sympathy when he said - to me,— - </p> - <p> - “‘You were sobbing all the time I was making the fire and preparing your - supper. I promise not to frighten nor distress you again.’ - </p> - <p> - “How did he know I had been sobbing, when I had taken so much pains to - conceal it And yet I might have known that his watchfulness upon my - welfare is so keen, so unrelaxing, that nothing affecting me can be hidden - from him. - </p> - <p> - “I was confined to bed a week, and suffered greatly both in mind and body. - I had hurt my crippled leg, and that made my physician very anxious. - During all this time it had not occurred to me, so sodden with selfishness - is my nature, that he had suffered a very serious nervous shock from his - outburst of mad passion, and that only by a mighty effort was he holding - up to put me again on the road to recovery. A realization of the truth - came when my ill turn had passed. He had hardly placed me comfortably on a - chair when a ghastly pallor made a death’s-head of his face, and he reeled - to the bed and fell fainting upon it, still having the thoughtfulness to - say, as he reeled,— - </p> - <p> - “‘I am—a little—tired—and sleepy. I—am perfectly—well. - Have no—uneasiness.’ - </p> - <p> - “Except for his slight, short breathing, he lay for hours as one dead; and - then I realized more fully than ever the weight of the awful burden that - my presence has laid upon him. I know that I am killing him. O God! is - there nothing that I can do to help him, to make it easier for him? What - have I done that this horrible curse should have come upon me? - </p> - <p> - “The most wonderful of all the strange things that I have seen and learned - in this terrible imprisonment is that his kindness toward me has not - suffered the slightest change. He is still the soul of thoughtfulness, - watchfulness, unselfishness, and yet he has denounced me to my face as a—— - </p> - <p> - “Another thing I have found: All the training that I have had in - cleverness goes for nothing here. He always avoids the beginning of any - conversation on subjects other than those that lie immediately near us. It - therefore requires a great effort on my part—and I think I deserve - some praise for it—to draw him into discussions of general matters. - In these discussions he never advances an opinion if he suspects that I - have an opposite one, and never opposes nor contradicts me; but I cannot - help feeling that his views are so much broader and deeper than mine, so - much wiser, so much more charitable, so much nearer to what he calls ‘the - great heart of humanity,’ as to make me seem shallow and mean. Am I really - so? I try not to be. - </p> - <p> - “With indescribable tact and delicacy, he holds me at an infinite - distance, and I have been unable to find any way to bridge the vast - gulf.... After all, why should I try? If he despises me, I cannot help it. - This miserable position in which I am placed will be at an end some time; - and when I am again free, and in my own world, I will show him the - gratitude that I feel. Will he let me?... - </p> - <p> - “What is there so repulsive about me? Why should I be treated as a viper? - And why is it that of all the men I have known—men whom I could - handle as putty—this obscure backwoods doctor sets himself wholly - apart from me, remains utterly impregnable, shames and humiliates me with - a veiled pity, and feels not the slightest touch of the power that I know - myself to have? Is my face ugly? Are my manners crude? Is my voice - repellent? Where are my resources of womanly tact that I have used - successfully in the past? Why is it that I fail utterly to impress him as - having a single admirable trait, a single grace of appearance, manner, or - character? - </p> - <p> - “It is hard to bear all this. I try to be brave and strong and cheerful, - as he always is; but it is human nature to resent his treatment, and it is - cruel of him to keep me in such a position. It is the first time in my - life that I have been at a disadvantage. - </p> - <p> - “I imagine that he has suffered some great sorrow. Indeed, he said so in - his outburst. His distrust of me seems to indicate its character. He - probably gave some heartless woman his whole love, his whole soul, and she - laughed at him and cast him off. That would go hard with a man of his - kind. There can be no other explanation; and now I am the sufferer for - that woman’s sin: he thinks that all women are like her. - </p> - <p> - “I will write this vow, so that I may turn to it often and strengthen my - purpose by reading it: - </p> - <p> - “I will make this man like me. I will tear down the wall that he has built - between us. I will employ every resource to bring him to my feet. I will - make him appreciate me. I will make him need me. I will make him want me. - </p> - <p> - “That is my vow.” - </p> - <p> - Thus end, again for the present, these extracts from the lady’s journal. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER TEN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE severity of the - winter did not relax. There were intervals when the wind did not blow and - the snow did not fall; but there were neither warm winds nor sunshine to - melt the snow, the depth of which grew steadily and aggravated the - impassableness of the roads. Day by day, week by week, month by month it - strengthened the bars of the prison holding the two unhappy souls. - </p> - <p> - With the prolonged and increasing rigors of the winter harder and harder - grew the rigors of the prison. The strength of Wilder’s spirit was - beginning to break down; and while it distressed his fair charge to see - him suffer, it warmed her heart to realize that the day of her triumph was - near,—the day when she should serve him as gently, as unselfishly, - as faithfully as he had served her. It would be sweet to have him - helpless, to have him lean upon her, need her, want her. - </p> - <p> - Her manner had undergone a great change since the terrible scene in which - her life was threatened. Her firmness, her self-reliance, her - aggressiveness, her condescension, all had gone, and she bore herself - toward her rescuer as mother, sister, and friend. In innumerable little - ways she saved him trouble through denying herself, and did it so - tactfully that he never suspected the deception. Under the influence of - this he had at last made her a crutch, which, though rude and - uncomfortable, she declared to be a miracle of ease. She believed that in - giving it to her he expressed more confidence in her than he had felt - before. - </p> - <p> - Its introduction into the scheme of their lives worked changes that - astonished and pleased him. In spite of his distressed protests, she - overhauled his meagre wardrobe, and with deft workmanship put every - article in perfect order. Her skill and ingenuity were employed in many - other ways, so that the cabin soon took on a look very different from that - which she had found when she came. Little touches lent an air of grace and - a sense of comfort that the place had not borne before. - </p> - <p> - She relieved him of all the work of caring for her, except that of - cooking; this was a duty that he reserved with immovable stubbornness. Nor - could she contrive with all her wiles and persuasion to make him have his - meals with her. She formed many a theory to explain his conduct in that - particular. Finally, she settled upon this one: He preferred to fill the - rôle of a servitor; as such he must take his meals apart. But why should - he so choose? Was it because he deemed it the safer course for them both? - Was it because he wished to discipline her by placing her above him, when - by obvious right they were equals? Speculation was useless; she was forced - to accept the fact, which she did with all the grace at her command. - </p> - <p> - He had grown thin to emaciation. His hands were those of a skeleton - covered tightly with skin. His cheeks were greatly sunken, and the drawn - skin upon his cheek-bones was a chalky white. But his eyes were the most - haunting of his features. They seemed to be looking always for something - that could not be found, and to show a mortal dread of a catastrophe that - had given no sign of its imminence. In their impenetrable depths she - imagined that she saw all mysteries, all fears, all anxieties. - </p> - <p> - Still, though very weak, he kept sturdily and cheerfully at his duties. - There was the snow to fight. There was the fire to be kept up, for the - cold was intense. There was the cooking to do. - </p> - <p> - Uncomfortable as her bed was, she knew that it was luxurious in comparison - with the thinly covered floor of stones and earth upon which he slept. In - time this came to haunt her unceasingly, and she pondered every - conceivable plan to make him more comfortable. At first it was her firm - intention to make him take the bed while she slept on the floor; but she - knew that it would be useless to make the suggestion; so she was forced to - abandon the idea, dear as it was to her, and happy as its adoption would - have made her. Instead, she did what she could to make his pallet - comfortable. Her ingenuity made so great a difference that his gratitude - touched her. - </p> - <p> - One day she discovered him in agonizing pain. The torture was so great - that it broke down his iron fortitude and drew his face awry. She was - instantly at his side, her hand on his shoulder and her face showing a - wistful anxiety. - </p> - <p> - “What is it, my friend?” she inquired, in the gentlest voice. - </p> - <p> - With a pitiful effort at self-mastery he declared that it was only a - trifling and transitory pain, and that it was rapidly passing. She knelt - beside him and looked anxiously into his face. Her solicitude evidently - increased his suffering, but she was determined to make the fight then and - there. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me what it is, my friend,” she begged. - </p> - <p> - This was the second time that she had called him “my friend.” - </p> - <p> - “It is only rheumatism,” he said, somewhat impatiently, and making a - gentle effort to push her away. But she persisted. - </p> - <p> - “That is not a trifling thing,” she said, “for your strength is greatly - reduced. Where is the pain?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don’t know; you are only making it harder for me!” he petulantly - exclaimed. - </p> - <p> - A great gladness filled her heart, for she knew that he was giving way, - and that her solicitude was hastening his collapse. - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said, “I will make you well. Where is the pain?” His face gave - the glad sign of his wavering. - </p> - <p> - “Where is the pain?” she repeated. “It is my right to know and your duty - to tell me.” - </p> - <p> - “In my——” he said, gasping, “in my chest.” - </p> - <p> - She rose and went to the bed, which she prepared for him. When he saw what - her intention was he came to his feet with great effort. Before she could - divine his purpose or check him, he had gone to the rear door, hastily - opened it, and saying, “I will be back in a moment,” passed out and closed - it after him. She stood bewildered at the neatness with which he had - baffled her, and alarmed for his safety. But he had promised to return at - once, and she knew that he would if he could. To her great relief he soon - came back, bearing some biscuits and a few tins of provisions. As he - stepped within and locked the door he dropped a tin, and before she could - go to his assistance he had fallen while trying to pick it up. She drew - him to his feet, and was amazed to discover how much stronger she was than - he, and yet she had thought herself very weak. She seated him upon the - edge of the bed and began to remove his shoes. - </p> - <p> - “No, no!” he gasped; “you shall not do that.” - </p> - <p> - But she kept on and succeeded, and laid him upon the bed and drew the - covers over him. - </p> - <p> - “Now,” she said, “tell me what to give you.” - </p> - <p> - He did so, and it gave her infinite satisfaction to have him take the - medicine from her hand. Soon his pain relaxed, and he fell into a heavy - slumber. - </p> - <p> - While she watched him as might a mother her slumbering first-born, her - soul warmed and expanded, and her one shy regret was that his head was not - resting on her breast. But there were duties awaiting her. She took up the - surplus ashes from the hearth. She revived the fire with the wood that he - had heaped up at the chimney-side the night before. She put snow into a - vessel to heat water. She stowed away his pallet. She prepared to make tea - as soon as the water should be hot. In the performance of these and other - minor tasks she was very happy, and for the first time since she had - entered the hut she sang softly. The work was not easy, for she had little - strength, being unused so long to exercise, and her lameness and the - crutch interfered sorely. - </p> - <p> - One sting hurt unceasingly. She reflected that her host had decided to - take to the bed under her persuasion, and that he had brought the - provisions from the rear apartment so that she might prepare food during - his helplessness; but this was because he had not trusted her to get the - provisions herself,—had made it unnecessary for her to enter the - forbidden chamber. As well as she could she tried to be generous; she - tried to think that a man so kind, so thoughtful, so respectful, must have - the best reasons for keeping her out of that room. If so, she had no right - to expect his confidence. But why did he give her no explanation? Why - should he not trust her to that extent? This was the sting that hurt. - </p> - <p> - In a vague way she believed that something ought to be put on his chest - for the pain that he had suffered there. - </p> - <p> - She had an intense desire to do something for him. She thought that cloths - saturated with liniment would be good for him. With great caution, to - avoid waking him, she opened the garments covering his chest. He still - slept heavily, for the medicine that he had taken carried a soporific - element. When she had bared his breast and seen the frightful emaciation - of his body, she quickly covered him, fell upon her face to the floor, and - sobbed. - </p> - <p> - The day advanced, but still he slept. Her one hope now was that he would - sleep into the night, for that would require her to sleep on the pallet - before the hearth. She had another precious hope, and it was that they - would at last eat a meal together; but she would rather that he slept; so, - toward evening, she made a simple meal and ate her share alone, and kept - his ready for him against his waking. - </p> - <p> - She marvelled that there was so much to do in so small a place, and that - the day—the sweetest, she believed, of all the days of her life—had - passed so quickly. At short intervals she would lean over him and listen - to his short, half-checked breathing; or she would gently lay her cool - hand upon his hot forehead, or hold one of his burning hands in hers, and - then press it to her cheek. It seemed surpassingly wonderful that the - strong man, strong in spirit only, should be lying now as helpless as an - infant, wholly dependent upon her. - </p> - <p> - At times he was restless, and talked unintelligibly in his sleep; she was - instantly at his side, to soothe him with her cool, soft hand upon his - face; and when she saw that it always calmed him, she sighed from the - sweet pain that filled her breast. Once, when he seemed on the verge of - waking, she slipped her arm under his head, and gave him more of the - medicine, which he took unresistingly, and slept again. As the night wore - on, she made herself unhappy with trying to choose between sitting at his - bedside and watching, and suffering the hardship that he had borne so long - in sleeping on the pallet. While she was in the throes of this contention, - another urgent matter arose. It had been her host’s custom to bring in a - supply of wood every night. That which he had brought the night before was - now exhausted, and more was needed. How could she get it. She knew that he - had locked the back door and put the key into a certain pocket. She knew - that she could not get the wood without the key. Procuring a supply of - fuel was one precaution that he had overlooked when he had brought in a - supply of provisions. - </p> - <p> - He was in a profound slumber. She could get the key, and thus provide the - wood for the night. But would it be right to do so? If the fire went out - the cold would be intense, and might prove fatal to him. If she should - enter the forbidden room, would that be taking an unfair advantage of his - helplessness? It was a hard problem, but in the end her sense of duty - outweighed her sense of delicacy. With the greatest caution she slipped - her hand into his pocket and secured the key. With equal caution she went - to the door and unlocked it. - </p> - <p> - Then a great fear assailed her. What lay beyond the door? Might it not be - some danger that only her host could safely face? If so, what could it - be?... It were wise to have a candle; but search failed to discover one. - She secured a small torch from the fire, and cautiously opened the door. - </p> - <p> - To her surprise, no chamber was revealed, but merely a walled and roofed - passage closed at the farther end with a door. Piled within it was a store - of wood; there was nothing else. It was very awkward for the young woman - to carry the crutch, the torch, and the wood all at once; it was necessary - to relinquish the torch. She carried it back to the fireplace, and went - again to the passage, piled some wood in her free arm, and started back. - As she did so she saw her host sitting up and staring at her in horror. - This so frightened her that she dropped the wood, screamed, and fell - fainting to the floor. - </p> - <p> - When she became conscious she found herself on the bed and her host - watching beside her. There was the old look of command in his face, the - old veil that hung between her and his confidence; and thus her glorious - day had come to an inglorious end, and her spirit was nearly crushed. Her - host had recovered in a measure,—sufficiently for him to resume the - command of his house. No questions were asked, no explanations were given. - He thanked her gratefully for her kindness to him, and thus her brief - happiness came to an end. The old round of labor, of waiting, of hoping, - of suffering, of imprisonment, was taken up again. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER ELEVEN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> FEW days - afterward they were sitting before the fire in silence. It had become - habitual with the young woman to study every look and movement of her - host; to anticipate him in the discharge of the household duties; to - provide for him every little comfort that the meagre resources of the hut - afforded; and to observe with a strange pleasure the steady breaking down - of his will and courage. She realized that his recent attack, though so - quickly overcome, was a warning of his approaching complete collapse; and - she believed that only when that should happen could she hope with - sympathy and careful nursing to save him. She welcomed the moroseness that - was stealing over him, his growing failure to study her every want, and - his occasional lapses into a petulant bearing toward her. It gratified her - to see him gradually loosen the iron mask that he had worn so long. Most - significant of all his symptoms were hallucinations that began to visit - him. At times he would start up in violent alarm and whisper, “Did you - hear the howling of the wolves?” At others he would start in alarm to - resist an imaginary attack upon the rear door. A touch of her hand, a - gentle, firm word, would instantly calm him, and then he would look - foolish and ashamed. - </p> - <p> - On this day, as they sat before the fire, matters took a new and strange - turn. He suddenly said,— - </p> - <p> - “Listen!” - </p> - <p> - She was so deeply absorbed in watching him and so expectant of erratic - conduct from him that she gave no thought to the possibility of danger - from an external source. For dreary months she had waited in this small - prison, and no longer gave heed to any tumult without. The young man had - been lounging in hopeless langour, but now he sat upright, every nerve, - muscle, and faculty under extraordinary tension. - </p> - <p> - “It is coming!” he cried. “I have been expecting it every day. Come—quick, - for God’s sake!” - </p> - <p> - Saying that, he seized her by the arm, and with furious eagerness and - surprising strength dragged her to the rear door, giving her little time - to seize her crutch. He unlocked the door and threw it open, but before he - could open the door at the further end of the passage she heard a heavy - roar and felt the great mountain tremble. Wholly ignorant of the meaning - of it all, but seeing that her host was moved by an intelligent purpose, - and feeling profound confidence and comfort in the protection that he was - throwing about her, she placed herself completely under his guidance. - </p> - <p> - The rear door was opened, and they entered a dark, cold chamber. With - every moment the roaring increased and the trembling of the mountain was - augmented. Then came a tremendous, stupefying crash, and the cataclysm - gradually died away in silence, leaving an impenetrable, oppressive - blackness. - </p> - <p> - The two prisoners stood in breathless silence, held tightly in each - other’s arms. The young woman asked no questions; her sense of security - and comfort in this man’s arms filled the whole want of her hour. She felt - vaguely that something more dreadful than all their past misfortunes had - befallen them; but that feeling brought no chill to the strong warm blood - that swept rhythmically through her heart. She was at peace with her fate. - If this was death, it was death for them both, it was death with him. - </p> - <p> - Her keen sympathy made her intensely attentive to every sign that he gave; - and thus it was that she accepted, without surprise or dismay, the - realization that he was not rallying, and that, on the contrary, he was - sinking under the nameless blow that had fallen upon them. It was not - anxiety for that, but for him, that now gave her every conscious quality a - redoubled alertness. His grasp upon her tightened, and by this she knew - that he felt the need of her, and was clinging to her. He trembled in - every member, and swayed as he stood. With little effort she bore him to - the ground, where, kneeling beside him and holding his hands, she softly - spoke,— - </p> - <p> - “My friend, we are together; and so long as each is the stay of the other, - we shall have strength and courage for all things. Now tell me what I may - do for you.” She knew by the pressure of his hand upon hers that her words - had found good ground. She gently pressed her advantage. “Tell me what I - may do for you. You are weak. You know how strong and healthy and willing - I am; then, imagine how much pleasure it would give me to help you! You - need a stimulant. Is there one in the cabin? Tell me where it is, and I - will bring it.” - </p> - <p> - “You are kind,” he said, tremulously. - </p> - <p> - “But do you know what has happened?” As he asked this question he rose to - a sitting posture, she assisting him. - </p> - <p> - “No,” she calmly answered; “but no matter what has happened, we are - together, and thus we have strength and courage for it.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” he said, hopelessly, “but this is the end! An avalanche has buried - us and the cabin is destroyed!” - </p> - <p> - Terrible as was this declaration, it had no weakening effect upon his - companion. - </p> - <p> - “Is that all?” she cheerily asked. “But avalanches melt away, and we have - each other. And if it come to the very worst, we shall still have each - other. Besides each other, we have life, and with life there is always - hope, there is always the duty to hope. If we abandon hope, life itself is - abandoned.” - </p> - <p> - This worked like good wine in his veins; but she knew by the way in which - he still clung to her, seemingly fearful that she would leave him for a - moment, that a dreadful unknown thing sat upon him. She waited patiently - for him to disclose it. She knew that the shock of the catastrophe had - wholly cleared his mind, and that the old terrors which he had concealed - from her were working upon him with renewed activity. Still he kept - silence. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know,” she presently said, “that I am glad the avalanche has come? - I understand now the dread of some terrible happening that has been - haunting you. Well, it has come, and we are still alive; and better than - that, we have each other. Think how much more dreadful it might have been! - Suppose that it had come while you were outside, and swept you away. - Suppose that it had crushed us in the cabin. But here we are, safe and - sound, and happy each in the presence of the other.... And I am thinking - of something else. The snow stopped falling long ago. Lately we have had - warm winds and some rain. This must mean, my friend, that the worst is - over. And doesn’t it mean that the rain has softened the snow and loosened - it to make this avalanche?” - </p> - <p> - A sudden strength, a surprised gladness, were in the pressure that he now - gave her hand. - </p> - <p> - “It is true, it is true!” he softly exclaimed. - </p> - <p> - “Then,” she continued, “the winter has dealt its last blow, and our - liberation is at hand; for the rains that caused the avalanche will melt - the snow that it has piled upon us, and also the snow that has closed the - roads. It seems to me that the best of all possible things has happened.” - </p> - <p> - “I hadn’t thought of that!” he exclaimed, with a childish eagerness that - made her heart glow. - </p> - <p> - “Besides,” she continued, “how do you know that the cabin is destroyed? - Let us go and see.” - </p> - <p> - Her gentle strength and courage, the seeming soundness of her reasoning, - and her determination not to take a gloomy view of their state, roused him - without making him aware of his weakness. Her suggestion that the cabin - possibly had not been destroyed was a spur to his dulled and stunned - perception. - </p> - <p> - “That is true,” he cheerfully said; “let us go and see.” - </p> - <p> - Still clinging closely to each other, they groped in the darkness for the - door. - </p> - <p> - “You have matches, haven’t you?” she inquired. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he answered, in confusion; “but we can find the door without a - light.” - </p> - <p> - That was not so easy. For the first time, now that the terrors of the - moment had passed, the young woman was nursing a happiness that she had - not known during all the dreary weeks of their imprisonment,—except - once, in his illness, when it had been of so short duration. - </p> - <p> - Feeling thus content, she suddenly reflected that she was at last in the - forbidden apartment, where she believed some fearful mystery was kept - concealed from her. Their voices had been long smothered in the cramped - hut. The contrast that she now found was startling; yet her thoughts might - not have reverted to the fact that she was at last in the presence of the - mystery had not Wilder’s embarrassed refusal to make a light rekindled her - interest. The first thing in that direction that she noticed was the - singular resonance of their voices, as though they were in a place of a - size just short of the echoing power. More than that, it was cold, though - not nearly so cold as the outer air; and she heard the musical tinkle of - dripping and running water. - </p> - <p> - Wilder had evidently lost all idea of direction. In clinging to his - companion as he groped, he took great care to guard her against stumbling - and collision. His free hand (the other arm was about her waist) was - extended. With great difficulty, increased by his eagerness, he finally - found his bearings and advanced to the door. Slowly and cautiously they - pushed on through the passage, and then, to their great relief, into the - hut itself. This they found intact, but smoky and entirely dark,—the - avalanche had smothered the chimney and shut out the light from the - window. With matches they discovered that the window had not been broken - and that the outer wall of the house held none of the pressure of the - snow. In his peculiar fashion, however, Wilder began to foresee troubles. - </p> - <p> - “The pressure of the mass above,” he said, “will compress the snow below, - and thus give our window, and perhaps the outer wall of the cabin itself, - a pressure that they can’t bear. The hut is buried. We can have no more - fires. The worst of all is that, having no air, we must suffocate in - time.” - </p> - <p> - “Is all that necessary, my friend?” his companion asked. “We can at least - try to clear away the snow and thus remove all those difficulties; and - there is a chance—and a good one, don’t you think?—for the - snow to melt quickly. Besides all that, we have not yet tried to dig out - through the snow.” - </p> - <p> - “True, true, every word of it!” he cried, delightedly. “What a clear, - strong mind you have!” - </p> - <p> - This was the first compliment that he had ever paid her, and its obvious - sincerity gave it a precious value. - </p> - <p> - It was she that now led the attack upon their prison of snow. What - infinite satisfaction and pride it gave her to know that at last she was - the guiding spirit of the hut; with what firm but gentle tact she - overcame, one by one, his objections to her worrying or working; how she - watched his every movement, hung upon his every word, relieved him as much - as possible of the stress that burdened him, and ministered to his comfort - in all ways; with what blithe songs in her heart and cheery words on her - lips she lightened the toil of that dreadful time, need only be mentioned - here. But it was she that led, that inspired, that achieved, and he knew - it. This was the blessed light that shone for her through it all. - </p> - <p> - A search revealed loose and easily removed snow at one end of the hut, - against the face of the cliff. His work in the lead, digging and - tunnelling, hers in the rear, removing the snow and keeping courage in his - heart, brought them presently to the outer air. Then, for the first time, - they beheld the glorious sunshine, and like children they shouted in glee - to see it. Both walls of the canon were still heavily covered with snow, - but numerous small slides had broken it, and the rain had softened and - ploughed it. Evidently it was rapidly melting. - </p> - <p> - Another scene held them as they stood hand in hand looking down into the - canon. The great avalanche that had overwhelmed them had been arrested in - the bottom of the canon, and had made a large lake by damming the river. - Rapidly the lake grew in size and backed up the canon. Soon at any moment - the growing mass of water must break through its dam, and that would be a - spectacle to behold. - </p> - <p> - They could not wait for that. With incredible labor—he no longer - protesting against her full share in the work, and she heedless of her - lameness and of its serious hindrance to her efforts—they together, - hand in hand, clambered over the snow until they stood above the hut, and - cheerily began to dig it free,—a task seemingly so far beyond their - powers that something wonderful must have sustained them in assailing it. - Thus they were working in the afternoon sunshine, for the first time boon - companions, and as happy and light-hearted as children, when an - exclamation from Wilder drew her attention to the dam. It was giving way - under the pressure of water. Instantly she recognized a danger that he had - overlooked. - </p> - <p> - “Back to the cliff!” she cried, seizing his hand and dragging him away, - “or we’ll go down with the snow.” - </p> - <p> - They reached their tunnel and the cabin in good time; but soon afterward - the dam broke, and the swirling, thundering mass of water bore it down the - canon. This removed the support of the snow backed up between the river - and the top of the cliff, and it went plunging down into the water, - leaving the top of the hut exposed, and solving the problem of the prison - of snow. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER TWELVE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>NCE again from the - lady’s journal: - </p> - <p> - “It is impossible for me to describe the hope, peace, and comradeship that - have transformed this place into a little nest, where it had been so - terrible a prison before. The sunshine outside continues, and I know that - it is but a matter of days when my father will come. It seems - unaccountable to me that anything in the world could have stayed him so - long; but Dr. Mal-bone assures me that the roads and mountains are still - utterly impassable; that the roads, besides being strewn with fallen - trees, are in places washed away, and that our one means of escape will be - afoot, on our own account. We are now talking it over all the time, and - are ready to start at the first favorable moment. My leg is nearly well; - only a slight pain after severe exertion, and a most embarrassing weakness - there, are the trouble now. But he is putting me through excellent - treatment and training to overcome all that; and he has given me the - joyous promise that we shall make the start in a week from to-day. - </p> - <p> - “And now I must write of some other wonderful things that have happened. - The change that has come in our mutual bearing and understanding is so - incredible that I hardly dare put it down here, lest it prove a dream. I - made a vow some time ago in this journal that I would make this man need - me and want me. That victory is won. And I know that in winning it over - him I have won it over myself. O God, how blind, how stupidly, sordidly - blind, I have been all these years! In the depths of my wretched - selfishness, in the dark caverns of my meanness, I had never dreamed of - the real human heart throbbing and aching and hoping all about me; it has - taken this strange man to drag me forth into the light. And not at all - willingly or consciously has he done so. There is a sting in that. At - times I hate him still when I think of it all. It was the silent, - intangible, undirected force radiating from him that has wrought the - change. I feel no humiliation in saying this. I say it and know it in - spite of the great distance that separates us,—the social barriers - that mean so little and do so much. It will remain with me forever, - whatever happen, to have known a man; to have known him in his strength - and weakness, in his splendid unselfishness and childish reliance; in his - simplicity and complexity; in his singleness of purpose and variety of - attributes; in his gentleness and ferocity, and, above all, in his - wonderful sense of duty. But I wish he were moved by something besides - duty. - </p> - <p> - “There is another thing I must write, and I write it with a consciousness - of burning cheeks. At times I find him—rather, I feel him—looking - at me with a certain gentleness when I am not observing. What does that - mean? Have I learned men so badly that I can mistake its meaning? The most - convenient woman will do for the man who may prefer another but - inaccessible one. Until we came closer together since the avalanche passed - and the sunshine came, I was not a woman to him. No; I was a Duty. But - there has now come into his voice and his glance a new quality,—stay! - Remember that the weakness of women is their vanity. Could there happen so - wonderful a thing as this man’s regard for me of the kind that a woman - wants from the man whom she worships? If so, is he too proud, too - reserved, too conscious of his present obligation of duty and protection, - to make it known? Does he still fear me? Does he still hold in his heart - the frightful denunciation that he hurled at me? Does he still loathe me - as a murderess? Is my wealth a barrier? Does he lack the courage to dare - what every man must dare in order to secure the woman he loves? - </p> - <p> - “Loves? Why did I write that word? By what authority or right? And yet, of - all the words that the sunshine of the soul has placed upon the tongue, - that is the sweetest.... - </p> - <p> - “Distressing things have happened since I wrote the foregoing. For a time - the stimulation of sunshine and hope, the sure prospect of <i>my</i> - release from this prison, worked miracles with his strength, both of body - and mind; but three days ago he grew silent and moody, then restless and - anxious; by night he was down with a fever, the cause of which I cannot - understand. When I see his fleshless chest and arms, I wonder if he has - some malady that is killing him, and that he has concealed from me. His - drawn face, with the skin tight to breaking on his cheek-bones, and his - extreme emaciation, look like consumption; but he has no other symptoms, - and he declares that he is perfectly sound. Is my presence so distressing - that it alone is killing him? If so, it is murder for me to stay longer. - If I only knew! - </p> - <p> - “Why does he conceal anything from me? What could he have to conceal that - it is not right for me to know? And yet I know that the act of concealment - could not thus be killing him,—it is the thing he is concealing that - has the terror. It would be infinitely better for us both if he let me - share it, and, as I am so much stronger than he, I could bear it so much - better; the sharing of it would lighten his burden, and my sympathy would - give him strength. Why cannot he see all this, when it is so clear to me? - I must be patient, patient, patient! That is my watchword now. - </p> - <p> - “As in the former case, when he was taken ill, so now he prepared for his - illness by bringing in a small, but this time utterly inadequate, supply - of provisions. Not in a single instance, down to this last attack, has he - consented to eat with me; he has always retreated through the rear door - and eaten alone. It is now getting hard for me to bear this singular - tyranny about the food. He eats with me now, because, being helpless in - bed, he cannot avoid it; but he eats so little! It is impossible for him - to gain strength in this way, and I am distressed beyond expression. He - simply declares that he cannot eat. Singularly enough, he is always urging - me of late to eat little, else I shall bring on a long list of disorders - that will prevent our escape. For that matter, there is so little left of - the store that he brought from the rear that I am uneasy lest the supply - be exhausted and he remain stubbornly to his purpose not to trust me to - get more from the place behind the rear door. What will be the end of this - dreadful situation? - </p> - <p> - “It seems an odd inconsistency in his nature that this subject of eating - should consume so much of his wandering thoughts. In his delirium he - paints gorgeous pictures of feasts. He marvels at the splendor of Nero’s - banquets, and declares that the people with so much to eat must have been - fat and content! I hate to put this down, for it seems treasonable to - betray this touch of grossness in a nature so singularly fine. If he - thinks so much of eating, why should he be urging me to eat sparingly of - the rude things that his larder might afford, and that cost me so much - effort to eat with a good grace? It is strange how many unexpected things - we learn of others in intimate association!... - </p> - <p> - “In glancing over these last pages I see how wretchedly I have failed to - give the least insight into our life and relations. How could I ever have - had the heart to see, much more put in writing, the slightest flaw in so - noble a character? It would seem that the sympathy born of this new - relation between us ought to touch only the best in my nature. Shame, - shame, shame on me! Do I not see his haunting glance follow me everywhere, - and resting upon me always with inexpressible gratitude? - </p> - <p> - “He is almost completely dependent upon me now. I nurse him as I would a - child. It would be utterly inadequate to say that this fills me with - happiness as being a return of some of the kindness that he has shown me. - No, there is something besides that. The gratitude in my heart is great,—greater - than I had thought so small and mean a heart could have. I am glad that I - have it. But the joy of it all is the doing for this man, without regard - to gratitude. To do for him; to nurse him; to cheer him; to feel that he - needs me and wants me,—that is my heaven. And although a dreadful - fear haunts me that he is dying,—that in some way that I cannot - understand I am killing him,—that if he should die my life would be - empty and dark,—still, it would be infinitely sweet to have him die - in my arms, still needing me, still wanting me. Now that I have written - that,—how could I have written it?—I will write more in all - shamelessness. I want him to <i>say</i> that he needs me and wants me,—that - he needs me and wants me to the end of his life. - </p> - <p> - “As I have written that much, I will write the rest, else my heart will - burst. I love this man. I love him with all my heart, all my soul. I love - him for everything that he is, not for anything that he has done. He is - the one man whom the great God in His cruel wisdom and merciless - providence has sent into my life for me to love. And with my tears wetting - these pages, and my soul breathing prayers for his recovery, and his - delivery to me, I pledge and consecrate myself to him to the end of my - days, whatever may come. With every good impulse within me I will strive - to be worthy of so great a heart, so noble a love. I will try to win his - love by deserving it.... - </p> - <p> - “An unexpected change for the better has come. Our supply of food had - fallen so low that I had about determined to take matters into my own - hands, enter the forbidden chamber, and get more provisions, when another - idea occurred to me. It was absolutely necessary that we have more food. - More important than that was the evident fact that he would die for the - need of it if it were not forthcoming. I feared the disturbing effect of - my going into the forbidden chamber, and so decided to make a thorough - search of the cabin first. Knowing his inexplicable peculiarity on the - subject of our food, I suspected that at some time in his mental wandering - he may have concealed some in the cabin. So this morning before daylight, - while he slept,—his sleeping is incredibly light,—I cautiously - made a search of the cabin, and happily found a few nourishing things in - the bottom of a box, where he had either concealed them or left them - forgotten. These I prepared for him in a most tempting manner. I arranged - my own dishes in a way to make him think I had eaten abundantly myself, - and told him so when he awoke and refused to eat, urging me to eat what I - had prepared for him. - </p> - <p> - “When I had convinced him that I had eaten all I could, he took a little, - gingerly, from my hand. I had laid my plans well. As I fed him I talked - incessantly, telling him a story that I knew would interest him. Before he - realized what he was doing—his mind was not as alert as it normally - is—he had eaten somewhat generously. The effect was magical. Color - came to his cheeks and the quiet old sparkle to his eyes. Before long, to - my great surprise and delight, he was up, and then went out to note the - prospect for our leaving. He came back with a radiant face and buoyant - manner, and said,— - </p> - <p> - “‘My friend, we will start at sunrise to-morrow.’ - </p> - <p> - “My heart gave a great bound. It was a simple matter to make our - preparations, as it was necessary that we travel as light as possible. It - is time that we were leaving, for the last of the food that he brought - from the rear is exhausted.... - </p> - <p> - “The morning has come. And now we are about to turn our backs upon this - strange place of suffering and mystery, its suffering endured, its mystery - unsolved. And without shame do I say that I would rather walk out thus, - and face the perils that lie ahead, with this man as my guide, my - protector, my friend, than go forth in all the stateliness and triumph - that wealth could afford. - </p> - <p> - “Farewell, dear, dear little home, my refuge, my cradle, my hope. I will - come back, and—— - </p> - <p> - “He is calling me at the door. I must kiss this table, these chairs, that - bed, the walls. But it is with Him that I go.” Thus closed the lady’s - journal. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER THIRTEEN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE two started - bravely in the fine morning sunshine. There were long and laborious miles - ahead, and only a short day in which to overcome them and their - difficulties. In his heart the young man believed that it would be - impossible for them to complete the task that day, and he dreaded the - shelterless night that would overtake them. But should he break down, the - day’s work would have hardened his companion for the rest of the journey - alone. There was a chance that they would find help on the way, for surely - efforts would be making to clear the roads. The snow had disappeared from - all exposed places. - </p> - <p> - They descended the shaly, slippery trail to the road, and here he was - gratified to see that the avalanche had cleared away the fallen tree and - the wreck of the wagon. He led the way up the canon, for in that direction - were the nearest houses. - </p> - <p> - He found the road even worse than he had expected. Being a narrow way, cut - into the steep slope of the canon, to leave it in rounding fallen trees - and breaches left by the storm was a slow and laborious task, and time was - precious for a number of reasons. Each had a load to bear,—he some - covering against the night, and she some articles of her own. These soon - became very burdensome to both. - </p> - <p> - On they plodded. While a heaviness appeared in his manner, her bearing was - cheerful and spirited. A sadness that he made no effort to conceal and - that she bravely hid oppressed them both. To find him sad was sufficient - to tinge her sadness with happiness. They rested at short intervals, for - the exertion soon began to tell upon them, but upon him the more. They - slaked their thirst from the river. To the woman it seemed a spring-time - stroll through flowering fields, softened by the sweet sadness of May. To - him it was a task that brought them step by step nearer to the end, where - he must deal her the crudest blow of her life. For at the end she expected - news of her father. She would hear it, and from the one who would have - been the most glad to spare her. But she must not know yet. All her - strength was needed for the task before her. It is time to break hearts - when their breaking can be no longer deferred. - </p> - <p> - He had been trudging ahead. He must have suspected that she observed the - labor with which he walked, the uncontrollable tendency of his knees to - give way, the reeling that now would send him against the bank, and then - upon the outer edge of the grade; for presently he asked her to walk - ahead. She complied. - </p> - <p> - Their slow and laborious work presently made it impossible for them to - talk. They went on in silence. After they had proceeded thus for some - hours, a thing occurred that struck dismay to her soul. Her companion - suddenly became voluble. At first he was coherent, although he talked - about matters to which she was a total stranger. This showed an alarming - unconsciousness of her presence. As he talked, he became more and more - incoherent, and at times laughed inanely. Presently, with awe in his - voice, he said,— - </p> - <p> - “She was the woman I loved. She’s dead, boys, she’s dead; and by God! they - killed her.” - </p> - <p> - Her spirit sank. After all that she had hoped and yearned for, there now - had come back the most terrible of the ghosts of the bitter past. After - all the seeming bridging of the chasm that had separated them, it opened - now all the wider and deeper and darker. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know what a murderer is?” he exclaimed in a loud voice, as he - swung his arm threateningly aloft. “A she-wolf, the slyest and most - dangerous of beasts. She comes whining and fawning; she licks your hand; - she wins your trust. And then, when you have warmed her, and patched her - torn skin, and mended her broken bones, she turns upon you and tears out - your heart with her fangs.” - </p> - <p> - Stifling, faint, barely able to stand, the young woman stood aside, and he - passed her without seeing her. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he resumed in great excitement, “I must be a man,—always a - man. What! kill a woman? No, no, no! Not that. That would be terrible, - brutal, cowardly. Yes, I must be a man. She needs me; I will help her. Is - that door locked? She must never know—never know so long as she - lives. Ah, that is beautiful, wonderful, savory,—a feast for gods - and angels! Yes, I will do my duty. She needs me. She despises me. Very - good; I will do my duty. She scorns my poor food—secretly, but I - know! She is getting well. Thank God for that! She shall eat all she can. - Me? No, no. I don’t want anything. No; I don’t want a thing. I have no - appetite!” - </p> - <p> - He burst into laughter, and the echo of it came back from the opposite - wall of the canon. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my love, my love!” he cried, suddenly becoming sad, “how could you - cast me off, when all had been so true and trusting between us? But I know - it was better so. It was not right for me to stand in the way.” He paused, - and his voice sank into an awed whisper as he said, “She’s dead, boys, - she’s dead; and by God! they killed her.” - </p> - <p> - He pushed rapidly on, muttering things that she could not hear, that she - did not want to hear. Not a word of kindness for her had come from him in - his delirium, and her heart was breaking. - </p> - <p> - “When it is all over,” he said aloud, “I will go to my old friend, and he - will nurse me back to health and strength, and I will begin the fight - again. I will be a man—always a man. I will do my duty. And the - she-wolf—no, no, no! She will not tear out my heart with her claws - and fangs. No! There is no she-wolf! I say, there is no she-wolf. No! She - is kind to me. I know it, I know it! She is gentle and thoughtful and - unselfish. She is very, very beautiful. She won’t leave me, will she? She - won’t leave me alone! But she is unmanning me! I must not let her do that! - I must be a man and do my duty. No, you must not take off my shoes. I can - do that. I have no pain—none whatever. Yes, I will be calm. Your - voice is sweet; it is music; it fills me with peace and comfort; and your - hand on my face—how soft and pleasant it is! I wish I could tell - you; but no, I must do my duty; I must be a man! I will not listen to your - voice. I will not let you touch me. That would keep me from my duty.” - </p> - <p> - These words raised her from despair to bliss. And so he had fought his - inclinations,—he needed her, he wanted her! - </p> - <p> - Still he kept on. She strained every hearing faculty for his slightest - word. For what he had already said, she could bear his forgetting her - presence. Still they pushed on, he muttering and laughing; but for all his - madness, he was wise and cautious amid the dangers and hardships of the - road. No longer did he advise her, guide her, assist her, and show her the - innumerable unobtrusive attentions to which she had become accustomed. - </p> - <p> - At last he suddenly stopped in a stretch of good road and looked about, - bewildered. - </p> - <p> - “Where is this?” he whispered; then aloud, “Oh, it is the trail of the - wolves! After them will come the she-wolf, and her fangs——” He - dropped his parcel and clutched his breast. “Her fangs!” he gasped. He - looked about and picked up a stick, which he swung as a club about him. - “The she-wolf is here!” he cried. - </p> - <p> - His glance fell upon his companion, standing in awe and pity and love - before him. Instantly a fearful malignity hardened his face, and his eyes - blazed with the murder that had filled them once before. He clutched the - stick more fiercely, and glared at her with a mixture of terror and - ferocity. But she stood firm, and gently said,— - </p> - <p> - “My friend!” - </p> - <p> - His face instantly softened. She stood smiling, her glance caressing, her - whole bearing bespeaking sympathy and affection. - </p> - <p> - “My dear friend,” she said, in a voice whose sweetness sank deep within - him, “you know me!” - </p> - <p> - A look of joyous recognition swept over his face. - </p> - <p> - “I am so glad!” he breathlessly said. “I thought you had left me alone!” - </p> - <p> - Saying this, he sank to the ground, smiling upon her as he fell. - </p> - <p> - She knelt beside him, placed a soothing hand upon his cheek, and spoke - comforting words. His face showed the profound gratification that filled - him, and her soul spread its wings in the sunshine that filled the day - with its glories. - </p> - <p> - He lay limp and helpless, but she knew that he must be going forward if he - could. She caressed him, she coaxed him, she raised him to a sitting - posture, she put her arms under his and lifted him to his feet; but his - breathing was short and distressed, his head rolled listlessly, and his - legs refused their offices. Then she realized that the last remnant of his - strength, both of body and spirit, was gone; and her heart sank to the - uttermost depths. - </p> - <p> - “Lay me down,” he said, very gently, but clearly, and with perfect - resignation. “Lay me down, my friend, and go on alone. I am very tired, - and must sleep. Keep to the road. I don’t think it is far to the nearest - house. You are sure to find some one. Be brave and keep on.” - </p> - <p> - She laid him down and turned away. A cruel choking had throttled her power - of speech. With tears so streaming from her eyes that she went about her - purpose half blind, she found a drier place in the road, gathered - pine-needles less soaked than the rest, made a bed for him there, and - spread upon it the blankets that he had been carrying. When she looked - again into his face he was sleeping lightly, and his breathing betrayed - great physical distress. As gently as a mother lifting her sleeping babe, - she took him up in her arms, bore him to the bed, and with infinite care - and tenderness laid him upon it. Then with some twigs and handkerchiefs - she fashioned a canopy that shielded his head from the sun. She covered - him with a free part of the blanket; but fearing that it would prove - insufficient, she removed her outer skirt and covered him with that; these - covers she tucked about him, that he might not easily throw them off. - </p> - <p> - He had not been roused by these attentions. She knelt beside him and - gently kissed his hands, his cheeks, his forehead, his lips, and wiped - away her streaming tears as they fell upon his face. He moved slightly, - opened his eyes, looked into her face, and smiled. Very feebly he took her - hand, brought it to his lips, kissed it, smiled again, closed his eyes, - and with a sigh of weariness fell asleep. She knelt thus and watched him - for a little while, seeing him sink deeper and deeper into slumber. Then - she rose. And now may the great God give heart and strength for the mighty - task ahead! - </p> - <p> - Not trusting herself to look back upon him, she gathered up her courage - and started. On she went, her head high, her eyes aflame, her cheeks - aglow. A suffocating, heart-aching loneliness haunted her, dogged her, - gnawed at her spirit. More than once she wavered, weak and trembling, - under the backward strain upon her heart-strings. More than once she cried - aloud, “I can’t leave him! I can’t leave him! I must go back!” And then - she would summon all her strength again, and cry, “It is for his sake that - I go! It is to save him that I leave him!” - </p> - <p> - Thus, rended by contending agonies, she went on and on. With incredible - self-torturings she pictured the dangers to which she had left him - exposed. What had he meant by the wolves? Was there really danger from - that source? Often in his sleep in the hut, and again when his mind would - wander, he had spoken of the wolves, and always in terror; but most - dreadful of all things to him was the she-wolf. Yet during all the time - that she had been imprisoned with him in the hut there had not been the - least sign of a wolf, not the most distant howl of one. Why had this - hallucination been so persistent with him, so terrifying to him? - </p> - <p> - The miles seemed interminable. She kept her eyes and ears strained for - signs and sounds of human life. At intervals she would call aloud with all - her might, and after hearing the echo of her voice die away in the canon, - wait breathlessly for a response that never came. With eager haste she - pushed on. Clambering over fallen trees, heading gullies that she could - not leap, wading swift rivulets with which the rapidly melting snow was - still ploughing the road, she came at length within view of some men who - were clearing the road with axes and mending it with shovels,—the - rough, strong, silent, capable men of the mountains. She frantically waved - her handkerchief and called as she went. They stopped their work and stood - gazing at her in wondering silence. They saw that she was not of their - kind; but their trained sensibilities informed them that the great - mountains had been working their terrible will upon human helplessness, - and they stood ready to put the strength of their arms and hearts into the - human struggle. - </p> - <p> - Imperfectly clad as she was, her form and bearing suggesting a princess, - her beauty, enhanced by her joy at finding help, radiant and dazzling, - their wonder and shyness held them stolid and outwardly unresponsive, and - they silently waited for her to speak. She went straight to them, and, - looking at them one after another as she spoke, she said,— - </p> - <p> - “Will you help me, men? I left a man exhausted in the road some miles down - the canon. I fear he is dying. Will you go with me and help me bring him - up? Is there a doctor anywhere near? Is there a house to which we may take - him?” - </p> - <p> - There was a moment of silence,—these men are slow, but all the surer - for that. - </p> - <p> - One of them, a bearded, commanding man of middle age, said,— - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we will go and bring him up. A doctor lives up the canon. Maybe he’s - at home. The man can’t walk?” - </p> - <p> - “No; he is lying helpless in the road.” The strong man, whom she afterward - heard the others call Samson,—one of those singular coincidences of - name and character,—turned and picked out two men. - </p> - <p> - “You two,” he said, as quietly as though he were directing the road-work, - “cut two poles and make a litter with them and a blanket. Go and bring the - man up. You,” he said to a third, “help them make the litter, and give a - hand on the trip.” Two others he directed to prepare the wagon, which - stood a short distance up the road. Another he sent up the road to summon - the doctor. Then he turned his attention to the young woman. Without - consulting her, he made a comfortable nest of greatcoats and blankets, and - when he had so deftly and quickly finished it, he said to her,— - </p> - <p> - “Come and rest here.” - </p> - <p> - “No!” she vehemently protested; “I am going back with the men.” - </p> - <p> - “You are not going back with the men. If you did, there would be two for - them to bring up instead of one. One is enough. Make yourself comfortable - here; you are safe.” - </p> - <p> - The slight rebuke in this, and the quiet determination with which the man - spoke, informed her that she must lay a reasoning hand upon her agonizing - fear and impatience. She obeyed him with as good a grace as she could - find. - </p> - <p> - Again without consulting her, he brought some hot coffee, poured it into a - tin-cup, and held it out to her. - </p> - <p> - “Drink that,” he said. - </p> - <p> - She drank it. He then produced some bread, which he sliced and buttered. - </p> - <p> - “Eat that,” he said. - </p> - <p> - She obeyed. While doing so she watched the men make the litter, and - marvelled at the skill with which they worked, and the quickness with - which the task was done, seemingly without the slightest effort or hurry. - Then in silence the three men swung down the road. - </p> - <p> - The man named Samson, although he had not appeared to be giving any - attention to his fair guest, was in front of her the moment she had - finished the bread and butter. He carried some things in his arms, and - threw them down at her feet. - </p> - <p> - “Take off your shoes and stockings,” he said, “and put on these socks; - they are thick and warm. Take off all your other things that are wet, and - wrap yourself up in these blankets. By the time the litter comes your - things will be dry in the sun.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER FOURTEEN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE three remaining - men turned to their work of clearing the road, headed by Samson. He had - not asked her any questions; he did not even look again her way; but - presently he brought her clothes, which he had spread and dried in the - sunshine, and told her that by the time she was dressed the litter would - be there. This she found to be so. - </p> - <p> - Coming down the road, on a powerful horse, she saw a bearded, ruddy-faced, - stocky, middle-aged man, whose business she easily guessed from the - country-doctor’s saddle-bags slung across his horse. The doctor rode up - and greeted,— - </p> - <p> - “Hello, Samson! Man hurt?” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t know,” answered the foreman. - </p> - <p> - Then, with a jerk of his thumb toward his guest, he added, “She can tell - you.” - </p> - <p> - The doctor had not seen her. He looked around, gazed at her a moment in - astonishment, and then, with a fine courtesy singularly different from the - hearty roughness with which he had greeted the man, he raised his hat. - </p> - <p> - This diversion had kept the attention of the two from the quiet arrival of - the men with the litter. When the young woman saw it, she forgot the - presence of all save him lying so quiet where the men had placed him on a - bed made by Samson from coats. She ran and knelt beside him; she kissed - his cheeks; she chafed his hands; she begged him to speak, to live for her - sake. - </p> - <p> - The strong hand of the doctor lifted her from the unconscious man and - gently put her aside. A moment’s astonished gaze into the pallid, upturned - face brought this burst from the doctor,— - </p> - <p> - “Adrian Wilder—dying!” He turned anxiously upon the young woman, and - demanded, “Where did you find him? What is the matter here?” - </p> - <p> - “You mistake,” she firmly said. “He is Dr. Malbone.” - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Malbone!” he exclaimed. “Why, I am Dr. Malbone. This man is my - friend, Adrian Wilder!” - </p> - <p> - His look was half fierce and full of suspicion. - </p> - <p> - Too surprised to comprehend at once the full meaning of his declaration, - she stood staring at the physician in silence. That gentleman, turning - from her, dropped on his knees and made a hurried examination of the - unconscious man. “I don’t understand this,” he said to himself. He quickly - opened Wilder’s shirt. Upon seeing the emaciation there, and exclaiming in - amazement and horror, he turned again upon the young woman as he knelt, - and demanded,— - </p> - <p> - “Explain this to me. Be quick, for every moment is precious. I don’t want - to make a mistake, and I must know. He has pneumonia; but there is - something behind it. Where and when did you find him?” - </p> - <p> - In a few words she told the salient facts of the story as she believed it,—the - running away of the horses, the breaking of her leg, her father’s - departure to fetch relief, her care at the stone hut. - </p> - <p> - “When did this accident happen to you?” the doctor asked. - </p> - <p> - “Four months ago.” - </p> - <p> - “And you two have lived alone at his cabin?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - He glanced her over, and looked more puzzled than ever. - </p> - <p> - “You are looking hearty,” he said; “how is it that my friend is in this - condition?” - </p> - <p> - “It must have been his care of me and his worry on my account.” - </p> - <p> - This appeared half to satisfy Dr. Mal-bone. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said, “not being a doctor, and being extremely susceptible to - the pressure of his duty toward you, he may have worn himself out.” - </p> - <p> - With that he hastily gave the young man a stimulant, and said,— - </p> - <p> - “Fall to here, men, and help me revive him, else he will be dead before we - know it. Chafe his wrists and ankles. Hurry, men, but be gentle. That is - good. Slow, there, John; those horny hands of yours are strong and rough. - Samson, bring some strong coffee as quickly as God will let you. Rub him - under the blankets, men; don’t let him chill. Maybe we can get him out of - this pinch. The great thing now is to take him to my house.... Ah, that is - good work, lads! His heart is waking up a little. That is good. That is - very good.” - </p> - <p> - Dr. Malbone straightened up, and turned to the young woman, again - fastening upon her the strange, severe, suspicious, half-threatening look - that she had already learned to dread. - </p> - <p> - “I fear there is something unexplained here, madam, something concealed. I - am not accusing you. My friend is a strange, fine man, and for good - reasons he may have withheld something from you. But he would never hide - anything from me. Did he give you a letter for any one?” - </p> - <p> - “He did not.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you seen him writing?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” - </p> - <p> - “Martin, hand me his coat.” - </p> - <p> - Dr. Malbone searched the pockets, and found a sealed letter addressed to - him. He tore it open and read. As he read his astonishment grew. When he - had finished, he turned a strange, pitying look upon the young woman. - </p> - <p> - “He charges me to give you this when I shall have read it.” - </p> - <p> - He handed her the letter, which she read. It ran thus: - </p> - <p> - “My dear Friend,—This is written to give Miss Andros some unhappy - information that she ought to have at the earliest safe and proper moment, - and as a precaution against my breaking down before that moment arrives. - To have told her at first might have prevented her recovery. The proper - moment to tell her will have arrived when she is in safe hands. I trust - that they may be yours, and I know that you will show her every kindness - that your generous soul can yield. - </p> - <p> - “It is this: Her father lost his life in the accident on the grade, by the - falling of a tree upon him. His body rests under the earth in the farther - end of the cave into which the rear door of my cabin opens. The grave is - marked with a board giving his name. Nailed up in a box near the door are - his personal effects. - </p> - <p> - “Give this letter to my afflicted friend. It will convey no hint of the - profound sympathy that I feel, nor of what I suffer in thus raising my - hand to deal her so cruel a blow. - </p> - <p> - “I can only crave her forgiveness for deceiving her both as to her - father’s death and my being a physician.” - </p> - <p> - The eager hope, the anxiety, the absorption of her entire self in the - stricken man at her feet, fled before the crushing whirlwind of grief that - now overwhelmed her. The loss of her father was the loss of the anchor of - her life, the loss of the one sure thing upon which her soul rested, in - which she knew peace, security, sympathy, and strength. She spoke no word, - but gazed far down the canon, a picture of complete desolation. Dr. - Malbone stood beside her, looking down thoughtfully into the face of his - friend. The men, relieved from their work of bringing back a faint glow of - the flickering life on the ground, moved away silently, with the - instinctive delicacy of their kind, knowing that they were facing a - tragedy that they did not understand. - </p> - <p> - The letter fell from the young woman’s hand as she still gazed in mute - agony down the canon. A slight swaying of her form warned Dr. Malbone that - his time for action had arrived. - </p> - <p> - “A noble life still is left to us,” he quietly said, without looking up, - and with a certain unsteadiness in his voice; “and it appeals to us for - all that we have to give of help and strength and sympathy.” - </p> - <p> - It was a timely word. Instantly she dragged herself out of the crushing - tumult into which she had been plunged. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said, radiant with love and towering above the wreck that - encompassed her, “the noblest of all lives is still left to us, and it - shall have all that lies in us to give.” - </p> - <p> - “Then,” said Dr. Malbone, “time is very precious. Let us take him to my - home at once.” - </p> - <p> - The sun had set behind the western mountains, but it still tipped the - snowy summit of Mount Shasta with a crimson glow. - </p> - <p> - “Put the horses through,” said Dr. Malbone to the man who drove. - </p> - <p> - They made good speed up the grade, Dr. Malbone pondering in silence some - problem that still sorely troubled him, the young woman sitting on the - floor of the wagon and holding the hand of the unconscious man. Presently - they arrived at Dr. Malbone’s house, where his plain, homelike wife, a - competent mountain woman, quickly had the patient comfortable in bed, - while her husband went thoroughly into the treatment. His was a mercurial - spirit, the opposite of the gentle soul now seemingly passing away under - his hands. - </p> - <p> - “I can find absolutely nothing,” he finally exclaimed, in despair, “except - simple inanition as the probable cause and a complication of this attack, - and I know that it is absurd. You must help me, madam. Tell me how you - lived.” - </p> - <p> - Numerous sharp questions were required before he finally came upon the - trail of the truth. She had delayed saying that Wilder had not eaten with - her, and that toward the last he was niggardly with the food, because she - feared that it would sound like a reproach. The moment she mentioned it, - Dr. Mal-bone was transfigured. He sprang back from the bedside and - confronted her, menacing and formidable, as Wilder had confronted her on - that terrible day when she told him the story of her breaking up the - attachment between a musician and her friend, and the death of the girl - from a broken heart. What had she done or said that should bring this - second storm of a man’s fury upon her? - </p> - <p> - “And you no doubt think,” cried Dr. Malbone, “that you have learned from - his letter the true reason for his keeping you out of the cave. In all - this broad world is there any human being so besotted with selfishness as - not to be able to burrow through its swinishness for the truth? Come and - look at this.” He dragged her to the bedside and showed her the body of - his patient. “Is there under heaven,” he continued, “a mental or a - spiritual eye so blinded with brutal egotism, so drunk with self-interest, - as not to read the story that this poor withered frame writes large? Do - you not understand that in those acts—over which you no doubt whined - and complained in your empty heart—he gave evidence of a sublime - sacrifice for you? Look at your own abundant flesh. You never went hungry - in the hut. You never asked yourself if he might have food sufficient for - two during the long winter. And now you see that he has denied himself for - your comfort. He is dying of starvation, because in his splendid - unselfishness he wanted you to be comfortable.” - </p> - <p> - Dr. Malbone paused, but his eyes were still blazing upon her, and his body - trembled with the passion that stirred him. - </p> - <p> - “One affliction has fallen upon you; may you have strength and grace to - bear it; but I say this: If ten thousand such afflictions had overtaken - you, the suffering from them would not be adequate——” - </p> - <p> - He suddenly checked himself, and gave his wife hurried instructions for - the preparation of some nutriment. While this was preparing, he resorted - to such vigorous measures as the urgency of the case demanded. All this - quickly brought him under self-control, and he worked with the sure hand - of a skilful man battling with all his might in a desperate emergency. The - young woman had sunk into a chair, where she sat dazed, weak, ill, and - ignored, not daring to offer help, and praying dumbly for the opening of a - vast gulf to entomb her. - </p> - <p> - The patient rallied under the physician’s treatment. Slowly, but with - palpable effect, Dr. Malbone dragged him a little way from the brink of - death. The doctor’s coat was off, but sweat streamed down his face. His - wife—silent, intelligent, and alert—gave him all the help that - he required, and neither of them looked toward the suffering woman sitting - crushed and miserable in the chair. Thus the time passed until the intense - anxiety in the physician’s face began to relax; and at last, with a sigh, - he sank wearily into a chair, remarking to his wife,— - </p> - <p> - “There is nothing more to do for the present. He is rallying. Give him - time. The chances are a hundred to one against him.” - </p> - <p> - He rested his head on the back of his chair and closed his eyes, while his - wife went to discharge her duties in another part of the house. Soon he - raised his head, and in his old kindly manner said to the young woman,— - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry for the way in which I talked just now, and I ask you to - forgive me. You will understand my outburst and be more inclined to - forgive me when I tell you something of my poor friend’s life; for I am - certain that he has told you nothing. Has he?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” she answered, weakly and humbly. - </p> - <p> - “He has suffered so cruel a wrong in the past that when I see the least - approach to imposition upon his noble unselfishness it maddens me. I ought - not to have blamed you. You were not conscious of imposing upon him. I - believe that he is dying. If so, there will be no harm in my telling you - his story. If he lives, I can trust you with it. - </p> - <p> - “I had known him in San Francisco, but I came to these mountains long - before him. It was less than two years ago that he came to me, and you can - never realize the shock that his condition gave me. After a while he told - me of his trouble as he understood it. It was this: Through giving violin - lessons to a young lady of wealth and of great loveliness of character, he - became deeply attached to her, and in return she gave him her whole - affection. She was willing and anxious to marry him, even though she knew - that her parents and friends would disown her if she did. He hesitated, - from pure unselfishness, to bring upon her any distress that their - marriage might cause. The poor fool could not understand that she would - have gladly given up everything in life for him. He was called away to - fill a lucrative engagement, and in his absence her heart changed toward - him. Soon afterward she died. When he came to me he was broken in spirit - and body, and it was my privilege to start him aright in a chastened and - nobler life. He and I built the cabin, and there he was to pass the winter - in unremitting study and self-mastery. - </p> - <p> - “That was the story as he told it to me and as he believed it to be. But I - saw that something was behind it that in his sweetness and generosity he - had never suspected. I myself learned the truth. By means of a few - inquiries made by letter to a friend in San Francisco, I found that an old - school-friend of the girl had made the trouble. It was a case of malicious - revenge. The girl whom my friend loved had innocently and unconsciously - received the love of a man for whom she cared nothing, as her whole - affection was with my friend. This man was very rich, and for that and - other reasons was regarded as a prize. It appears that before losing his - heart to this loveliest of girls he had been devoted to her old - school-friend, a beautiful and dashing belle, who expected to marry him. - When she found that she had lost him, she planned revenge. She was utterly - without heart or principle. So she traded on her old school-mate’s - confidence in her, and used that friendship to separate the lovers with - lies and cunning. She succeeded. The girl died of a broken heart, and my - friend’s life was ruined.” - </p> - <p> - A look of unutterable horror settled upon the young woman’s face, and she - sat upright and rigid, staring helplessly at him. - </p> - <p> - “I never told him what I had learned,” resumed the physician. “It might - have broken his heart, and he had suffered enough. I did not want him to - know that malice, revenge, and murder had played their part in his story.” - </p> - <p> - The young woman’s face bore so singular an expression that the physician - marvelled. She was white, and deep and unaccustomed lines marred her - beauty. - </p> - <p> - “He knows the whole truth,” she said, quietly, and with a strange - hardness. “He knows that I am the woman who brought about their - separation. He learned it from me long ago in his cabin.” What Dr. Malbone - might have done under the spur of the horror and amazement that filled him - was checked by a violent fit of coughing with which his patient had been - seized. His physician’s training instantly sent him to the bedside. - </p> - <p> - “Help me here!” he cried, as he raised the sufferer. - </p> - <p> - The young woman staggered to the bed. Dr. Malbone shot a malevolent glance - at her, but she did not heed it. He raised his hand to thrust her back, - but she grasped it, and quietly and firmly said,— - </p> - <p> - “I am going to help you.” - </p> - <p> - He yielded, and told her what to do, and she did it. - </p> - <p> - The cough was checked, and the sufferer was laid back upon the pillow. His - eyes were open, and he looked from one of the watchers to the other as - they stood on opposite sides of the bed. At first he was puzzled, and then - a bright look of recognition lighted up his face. He smiled as he extended - a feeble hand to each. - </p> - <p> - “You are safe,” he faintly said to the young woman. “I am glad. Dr. - Mal-bone will be kind to you.” To the physician he said, his voice - tremulous with affection, “My dear old friend, always true, always kind.” - </p> - <p> - He wanted to say more, but Dr. Mal-bone checked him and gave him something - to strengthen him. He took it, shaking his head and smiling sadly. - Presently, as his eyes grew brighter, Dr. Malbone said,— - </p> - <p> - “You may speak now, Adrian, if you wish.” - </p> - <p> - The young woman had knelt, and, taking the sufferer’s hand in both of - hers, bowed her head over it as she pressed it to her lips. - </p> - <p> - “Look at me,” he said to her. - </p> - <p> - She raised her head, and they looked long and silently at each other. He - seemed troubled and anxious. - </p> - <p> - “My poor friend,” he said, “you have not yet learned. Dr. Malbone—a - letter—my pocket.” - </p> - <p> - “I have read the letter, my friend,” she hastened to say. “I know all - about my father, and I know how thoughtful and kind you were not to tell - me.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you forgive me?” he begged. - </p> - <p> - “Forgive you, my friend? Yes, a thousand times; but how can you forgive——” - </p> - <p> - She buried her face in his pillow; her arm stole round him, and she drew - him against her breast. - </p> - <p> - “I did that long ago,” he replied. - </p> - <p> - “My noble, generous friend!” she said. “But can you understand what you - have been to me, what you have done for me, what you are to me? Can you - believe that you have made a true woman of me? Am I still the she-wolf, my - friend?” - </p> - <p> - A supreme agony moved her in this appeal. He feebly tried to check her - with his hand, but she nestled her cheek close against his and pleaded,— - </p> - <p> - “Do you understand that you have made me worthy of every kind regard that - so noble a man could have for a woman? Can you believe, friend of my life, - that you have made me such a woman as would be perfect in your eyes?” - </p> - <p> - He made no reply, and, still holding him in her arms, she raised her head - to look into his face. He was regarding her with a strange and distant - wistfulness, and there shone in his eyes a pale, far light that stretched - through infinite space. A faint smile played upon his lips, the feeble - pressure of his hand closed upon hers. - </p> - <p> - “You will not leave me, will you?” she pleaded. “You will come back to - health, my friend. You will teach me, you will guide me. The world will be - bright and beautiful, for all our suffering has been borne. We belong each - to the other, my friend, in friendship, trust, and sympathy.” - </p> - <p> - Still he smiled as he looked into her face; and as he smiled, and she saw - the strange, far light that shone from so inconceivable a distance in the - awful depths of his eyes, her eager heart found a bridge of glass spanning - the gulf between them. Then he sighed deeply, and his eyes rolled upward. - She sprang from the bed to her feet. - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Malbone!” she cried, in a suppressed voice, “quick! he has fainted!” - </p> - <p> - The physician, who had stepped a little way apart, came forward and looked - down into the still face of his friend. Then he glanced up at the young - woman, who was trembling with eager impatience. - </p> - <p> - “There is nothing to do,” sadly replied Dr. Malbone; then he passed round - the bed, took the young woman gently by the arm, and, in a kind voice, - said, “Come with me.” - </p> - <p> - She went with him, wondering, and looking over her shoulder toward the - bed. He led her into an adjoining room, closed the door, and placed a - chair for her. - </p> - <p> - “No, Dr. Malbone!” she protested. “How can I, when he needs us both so - much? Hurry back to him; I will stay here if you wish.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” replied the physician; “my place is here.” - </p> - <p> - A look of desperate eagerness settled in her face, and she was listening - intently for a sound from the other room. The physician regarded her - pityingly, as she stood trembling in an agony of impatience and - apprehension. Unable to control herself longer, she seized him by the arm, - and cried,— - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Malbone, you know best, but I can’t bear to leave him! Do you know - that I fear he will die? He is all the world to me, and I can’t bear to - let him go. Do you understand that? I want him to live. I want to show him - what a good woman’s trust and love can be. I want to give my whole life to - his happiness. I want to atone for all the evil and suffering that I have - brought upon him. I want him to know that he has found peace and a refuge - at last. Dr. Malbone, go and save him!” - </p> - <p> - Dr. Malbone took her hands in his, and said,— - </p> - <p> - “Will you try to understand what I am going to say?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes!” she answered. - </p> - <p> - “Then command all the strength of your soul.” - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Malbone!” she gasped, peering into his eyes, her face blanching. - </p> - <p> - With pity and tenderness the physician said,— - </p> - <p> - “Our friend is dead; he died in your arms.” - </p> - <h3> - THE END. - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Man: His Mark, by W. C. 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- A Man: his Mark, by W. C. Morrow
- </title>
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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Man: His Mark, by W. C. Morrow
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: A Man: His Mark
- A Romance, Second Edition
-
-Author: W. C. Morrow
-
-Illustrator: Elenore Plaisted Abbott
-
-Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51954]
-Last Updated: November 16, 2016
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAN: HIS MARK ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- A MAN: HIS MARK
- </h1>
- <h4>
- Second Edition
- </h4>
- <h3>
- A Romance
- </h3>
- <h2>
- By W. C. Morrow
- </h2>
- <h4>
- Author of “Bohemian Paris of To-Day,” “The Ape, The Idiot, and Other
- People,” etc.
- </h4>
- <h3>
- With a Frontispiece by Elenore Plaisted Abbott
- </h3>
- <h5>
- Philadelphia and London J. B. Lippincott Company
- </h5>
- <h4>
- 1899
- </h4>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0006.jpg" alt="0006 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0006.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>A MAN: HIS MARK</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER ONE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER TWO </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER THREE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER FOUR </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER FIVE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER SIX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER SEVEN </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER EIGHT </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER NINE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER TEN </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER ELEVEN </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER TWELVE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER THIRTEEN </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER FOURTEEN </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br /> <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- A MAN: HIS MARK
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER ONE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>ne forenoon, in
- the winter of the great storms that swept the Pacific States, Adrian
- Wilder, a tall, slender, dark young man, stood in front of his stone hut
- on a shoulder of Mt. Shasta and watched the assembling of the elemental
- furies to do their savage work in the mountains. By all the signs that he
- had learned he knew that mighty havoc was to be done; but he did not
- foresee, nor did the oldest residents of that wilderness, that this was
- the beginning of the most memorable winter of terrors known to the white
- man’s history of the region.
- </p>
- <p>
- A strong sense of security and comfort filled him as, turning from the
- gathering tumult about him, he studied the resistance of his hut. He, with
- Dr. Malbone’s help, had built it from foundation to roof, using the almost
- perfectly shaped blocks from the talus of the lofty perpendicular basalt
- cliff at whose base he had built his nest that summer. With nice
- discrimination he had selected the stones from the great heap that
- stretched far down from one end of the shelf upon which he had built; with
- mud he had fitted the stones to form floor, walls, arched roof, and
- chimney. With boards and a window-sash borne by him up the mountain from
- the road in the canon he had fashioned a window and doors. By the same
- means—for the shelf was inaccessible to a wagon—he had brought
- furniture, books, provisions, and fuel.
- </p>
- <p>
- The hut was strong and comfortable.
- </p>
- <p>
- Should snow fall to a great depth, he could easily shovel it down the
- steep slope of the canon. Should an avalanche come,—that made him
- wince. Still, he had made calculations on that account. By arching the
- roof of his hut he had given it great strength. Better than that, should
- an avalanche plunge over the edge of the cliff it must first gather great
- speed and momentum. Stretching back mountainward from the top of the cliff
- was a considerable space nearly level; an avalanche descending from the
- higher reaches of the vast mountain would likely stop on this level
- ground; but should it be so great and swift as to pass over, its momentum
- would likely carry it safely over his hut, as the water of a swiftly
- running stream, plunging over a ledge, leaves a dry space between itself
- and the wall.
- </p>
- <p>
- But why think of the avalanche, with its crushing, burying snow, and, far
- worse, its formidable bowlders that could annihilate any structure made by
- men? It were better to think of the comfort and security of the hut, and
- listen to the pleasant music of the little stream at the base of the
- cliff.
- </p>
- <p>
- Better still was it to view the coming onslaught of the elements; to note
- the marvellous coherency of the plan by which their destruction was to be
- wrought; to observe how the splendid forces at play worked in intelligent
- harmony to shape a malevolent design. To a man of Wilder’s fine
- sensibilities, every fury unleashed in the gathering tumult seemed to be
- possessed of superhuman malignancy of purpose and capability of execution.
- The furious wind that came driving down the canon lying far below him was
- the breath of the approaching multitude of storm-demons. The giant trees
- on the slopes of the canon seemed to brace themselves against the
- impending assault. Behind the wind, filling all the sky with a gray
- blanket that darkened away to the source of the wind, was the silent,
- stealthy snow-cloud, waiting to follow up and bury the havoc of the wind,
- and finish the destruction that the wind would begin.
- </p>
- <p>
- From contemplation of this splendid spectacle the young man’s thoughts
- turned to the dangers with which the storm threatened the mountain folk,
- most of whom were engaged in the lumber traffic. Would any of these be cut
- off from their homes? The rising rage of the wind indicated the closing of
- all the roads with fallen trees: would that bring serious hardships to
- any? In the summer, now past, the environs and flanks of Mt. Shasta had
- sparkled with the life and gayety of hundreds of seekers for health and
- pleasure,—the wealthy thronging a few fashionable resorts, the
- poorer constrained to a closer touch with nature and the spirit of the
- vast white mountain; but they now were gone, and the splendid wilderness
- was left to the savage elements of winter. Had any delayed their leaving
- and were at that moment in the drag-net of the storm?
- </p>
- <p>
- Above all, there was Wilder’s one close friend in the mountains, Dr.
- Malbone, who, like Wilder, had left the turmoil of city life to bury
- himself in these wild fastnesses. They had known each other in San
- Francisco years before. For five years the scattered people of the
- mountains had employed the services of this skilful physician, and had
- come to trust and honor him in the touching way that simple natures trust
- and honor a commanding soul. It was Dr. Malbone who had so wisely assisted
- in the building of the stone cabin at the foot of the cliff. It was he who
- had explained the principle of the arch to the younger man, and had shown
- him how to bend and place the supports of the growing arch until the
- keystones were fitted in. It was he who had explained the mysteries and
- uses of ties and buttresses. What would Dr. Malbone do in the storm? What
- risks would he run, to what hardships be exposed, in visiting his
- patients? Only a few miles separated these two friends, but with such a
- storm as was hastening forward these few might as well be thousands.
- </p>
- <p>
- Far up the canon Wilder heard the first fierce impact of the storm, for
- the heavy crash of a falling tree sounded above the roaring of the wind.
- By walking cautiously out to the extremity of a point that projected from
- the shelf upon which his cabin stood, he had been accustomed to see the
- snowy domes of Mt. Shasta. He knew that the storm sweeping down the canon
- was but a feeble echo of the mightier tumult on the great father of the
- north. In the hope that he might see something of this greater battle, he
- now made his way to the extremity of the point, the wind making his
- footing insecure; but only broad slaty clouds were visible in that
- direction, transmitting the deep rumblings of the hurricane that raged
- about Mt. Shasta’s higher slopes.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was while standing on the extremity of the point that the young man,
- turning his glance to the deep canon beneath him, beheld a thing that
- filled him with alarm. At the bottom of the canon, the Sacramento River,
- here a turbulent mountain stream, and now a roaring torrent from the
- earlier rains of the season, fumed and foamed as it raced with the wind
- down the canon, hurrying on its way to its placid reaches in the plains of
- California. The crooked road cut into the hither slope above the
- high-water level of the river was not the main highway running north and
- south through the mountains; it served the needs of a small local traffic
- only. Wilder felt both surprise and apprehension to observe a light wagon
- driven at a furious pace down the road, flying before the storm. The
- incident would have been serious enough had the wagon, the two horses, and
- the man and woman in the wagon belonged to the mountains. The horses were
- of fine blood, and were unused and unsuited to the alarming situation in
- which they now found themselves; the wagon was too elegant and fragile for
- the mountains in winter; and even at the distance that separated its
- occupants from Wilder, he could see that they were filled with a terror
- such as the mountaineers never know. The man was driving. Instead of
- proceeding with caution and keeping the horses perfectly in hand, he was
- lashing them with the whip. A man used to the mountains would never have
- been guilty of that folly.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was clear that they were heading down the canon for the main road,
- still some miles away, by following which a little further they would
- arrive at a station on the railway. Pieces of luggage in the rear end of
- the wagon indicated that the travellers must have been spending the summer
- or autumn in the remoter mountains, where some beautiful lakes offered
- special charms to lovers of nature. Obviously their departure had been
- delayed until the approach of the present storm drove them hurriedly away,
- to be overtaken here in the canon.
- </p>
- <p>
- The roaring of the wind, the surge of the torrential river, and, worst of
- all, the trees that were now crashing down, might have bewildered the
- steadiest head not trained to the winter savagery of the wilderness. A
- single tree across the road ahead might have meant disaster. Except for
- the little stone hut of Adrian Wilder, placed purposely to secure as great
- isolation as possible, and invisible from the road, there was no shelter
- within miles of the spot.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently the catastrophe came. The man, evidently seeing just ahead a
- tree that was swinging to its fall, shouted to the horses, and laid on the
- whip with added vigor, aiming to pass before the tree should fall. The
- horses, wholly beside themselves with terror, reared, and then plunged
- forward; but a moment had been lost. The horses and wagon passed under the
- falling tree just in time to be crushed and buried under it. The thunder
- of the fall echoed above the roar of the wind and the crash of more
- distant falling trees. Nothing of the four living things that had passed
- under the trap remained to Wilder’s view; they had been as completely
- blotted out as though they had never filled a place in the great aching
- world.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER TWO
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>OR a moment the
- young man gazed in a stupid hope that the impossible would happen,—that
- horses, wagon, man, and woman would emerge and continue their mad flight
- down the canon. Then, so completely and suddenly had all this life and
- activity Ceased, he wondered if the old anguish that had driven him to the
- solitude of the mountains was now tricking an abnormal imagination and
- weaving phantasms out of the storm, to torture him a moment with
- breathless dread, and then suppress themselves in the seeming of a tragic
- death. He remembered the warnings of Dr. Malbone,—he must close his
- mind upon the past, must find in the present only the light with which the
- world is filled, and must aim for a sane and useful future.
- </p>
- <p>
- All this consumed but a moment. At once there burst upon him the awful
- reality of the tragedy that had worked itself out so logically before him.
- Humanity cried aloud within him. He sprang toward his hut, procured an
- axe, and plunged down the slope of the talus, taking no heed of the crude
- but surer trail that he had made from the road to his hut. He slipped,
- fell, gathered himself up, fell again, but rapidly neared his goal.
- </p>
- <p>
- He paused when he had reached the prostrate tree. Through the branches his
- peering revealed a crushed, still heap. He pushed his head and shoulders
- within and called. There was no response.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was at the rear of the wagon, and soon saw that it had been crushed
- into an indeterminate mass of wood and iron. By pushing apart the more
- yielding branches he brought to view the up-turned face of the man, whose
- eyes, fixed in death, stared horribly from a head curiously and
- grotesquely unshaped by the crush of the branches. The young man drew
- back. He gasped for breath; he called upon his self-command to bear him up
- in this strenuous time. He attacked the branches with his axe and cleared
- them away. He half wondered that the eyes of the dead remained open while
- they filled with particles of the bark riven by the axe. Presently the
- body came within reach. With unspeakable repulsion the young man placed
- his hand upon the stranger’s chest. There was no sign of life. Indeed, he
- wondered that he had taken any trouble to ascertain what he already knew.
- </p>
- <p>
- All this time the young man’s dread and terror, heightened by a sense of
- utter loneliness in the presence of the dead, had driven the woman from
- his mind. He had not yet seen the slightest trace of her. Did he have the
- strength to behold a woman mangled as he had found the man... Still, they
- should have decent interment; that was his duty as a man. And further, it
- was necessary that their identity be ascertained, in order that their
- friends might be informed.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something else. Far back in the mountains, that wilder
- wilderness of the Trinity range, and in the Siskiyou range, beyond them,
- there were huge gray wolves, fierce and formidable. Now and then a daring
- hunter had come out of those mountains with the skin of a great gray wolf.
- There were old stories in the mountains that when the snow had been deep
- and of prolonged duration, the gray wolves came down to the tamer reaches
- inhabited by men, driven thither by hunger, for the game upon which they
- subsisted had fled before the snow to find herbage. The first to come out
- had been deer; soon after them had come the wolves. As the deer fell
- before the rifles of the settlers, the wolves had been driven to
- depredations on cattle and horses. There were ugly tales, too, of men
- attacked by them. Out of all this had grown the legend of a she-wolf that
- bore away children to her wolf-pack.
- </p>
- <p>
- After the wind now raging in the mountains would come the snow, silent,
- deep, and implacable, to hide the work of the fallen tree below the hut;
- but would it hide everything so well that the great gray wolves, if driven
- by hunger from the remoter mountains, would fail to find what hunger
- required them to seek?
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilder again attacked the tree with his axe,—another one lay dead
- there, and she must be found; and there was heavy and horrifying work
- ahead before the wind should cease and the snow begin to fall. At first
- the young man resumed his attack with the furious energy that had hitherto
- sustained his effort; but wisdom and caution came now to his aid. He
- realized his feebleness of mind, spirit, and body. He had devoted weeks of
- arduous work to the construction of his hut, and that had lent a certain
- strength to his muscles and buoyancy to his soul. Still, he was hardly
- more than a shadow of his old self, before his life had been wrecked a
- year ago, and he had come into the mountains to make a sturdy fight for
- self-mastery, for the regeneration of whatever shreds of manhood were left
- within him, and for their patching and binding into a fabric that should
- take its place in the ranks of men and work out a man’s destiny.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went about his task with greater deliberation. He forced himself to
- regard with calmness the distorted dead face upturned toward him. He
- worked with that slowness which makes greater haste in achievement. This
- brought a surer judgment and an economy of effort and time. He cut the
- branches one by one and dragged them away.
- </p>
- <p>
- Soon the woman’s form appeared. In the extreme moment of the catastrophe
- she had evidently sprung forward; this had brought her body, face
- downward, between the horses; they, in being crushed under the trunk of
- the tree, fallen across them, had nevertheless given her a certain
- protection; the trunk, in breaking the backs of the horses, had missed her
- head. As for the rest, she was so closely wedged between the horses that
- it would be difficult to extricate her.
- </p>
- <p>
- This, however, was finally accomplished after great labor. The woman’s
- face and clothing were blood-stained. So much worse did she look than the
- man, that Wilder had a new struggle with himself to command courage and
- strength for the task. He dragged her out to a clear place in the road,
- and made the same perfunctory examination as in the case of the man. While
- he was doing so the woman moved and gasped, and this unexpected indication
- of life was the greatest shock of the tragedy.
- </p>
- <p>
- But it was one of those shocks which bring new life and strength. Whereas,
- before he had been facing, without daring to contemplate, the awful duty
- that he owed the dead, here now was the most precious thing that the world
- then could have offered him,—here was Life, human life, fleeting,
- perhaps, but infinitely precious.
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilder knelt beside the unconscious woman and with eager hands loosened
- her clothing. He ran to the river, dipped his handkerchief in the water,
- bathed her face, and removed some of the blood that covered it. He chafed
- her hands and wrists, anxiously watching for the slightest change. This
- came rapidly and progressed steadily. Removed from the crushing pressure
- of the horses, her chest found its natural expansion, and the rhythm of
- deep, slow breathing was established. Wilder had learned numerous
- elementary things from Dr. Malbone; he saw that, although the sufferer was
- so grievously hurt as to be unconscious, life was yet strong within her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Time, then, was the precious element here. The sufferer must be taken at
- once to the hut, and Dr. Malbone summoned. As for the dead man, there was
- no present danger on his account, and the living demanded first attention.
- </p>
- <p>
- A formidable task now confronted the young man. First, he had to bear the
- unconscious woman up the steep trail to the hut; then he should have to go
- many miles afoot to summon Dr. Malbone. The young man thought nothing of
- the difficulties, but all of the doing.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was about to assail the task of getting the woman upon his shoulder,
- when it occurred to him that her injuries might possibly be aggravated by
- his manner of carrying her. He thereupon made a hasty examination. The
- head was bleeding. The face bore no visible injuries. The bones of the
- arms were whole. The left leg, however, was broken above the knee. What
- the particular cause of the sufferer’s unconsciousness was he could only
- guess. Perhaps it was merely a condition of temporary congestion, produced
- by the fearful pressure to which she had been subjected between the
- horses. A bleeding at the ears and nose seemed to the young man a bad
- sign.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her condition having been thus approximately ascertained, the next problem
- was to bear her to the hut in a way that should do the least harm to her
- injuries. The first necessary thing to be done, therefore, was to prevent
- any mobility in the region of the fracture. To this end he burrowed again
- into the débris and brought forth some boards that had served as the
- bottom of the wagon. Tearing strips from the woman’s clothing, he bound
- the boards to her in a way to protect her from harm in moving her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The strain upon his attentiveness sharpened and strengthened him in every
- way. He formed the whole plan of his bearing her to the hut, making her
- temporarily comfortable, summoning Dr. Malbone, and attending to the
- details of nursing her back to health.
- </p>
- <p>
- To lift her gently upon a bowlder; to bend forward and adjust her upon his
- back with infinite care; to proceed with her up the laborious ascent,—all
- this was skilfully and expeditiously done.
- </p>
- <p>
- Serious difficulties began soon to embarrass him. He discovered that she
- was above the average height and weight of women, heavier than he,
- although he was the taller. He found that the numerous abrupt steps in the
- trail laid a heavy tax upon his strength, and that some steep places
- proved slippery under the burden that he bore. In addition, the muscles of
- his arms strained and cramped; and long before he had reached the shelf
- upon which his hut was perched he fell to his knees a number of times from
- exhaustion. But the end came at last when he staggered into his hut,
- dragged a cover from his bed to the floor, and gently laid his burden upon
- it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER THREE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>URING all this
- time the fury of the storm had not abated in the least. That, indeed, had
- been one of the worst obstacles with which he had contended in mounting
- the steep to his hut. Immediately upon laying his charge on the floor he
- had begun to prepare his bed for the guest, but weakness from exhaustion
- overcame him. He reeled; a red blindness assailed him; and, in spite of a
- fierce effort to maintain command of his strength and faculties, he found
- himself plunging headlong upon his bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- A moan recalled him to consciousness, and it was not until later that he
- realized the distressing length of time that he had lain unconscious. He
- remembered that when he fell he was very warm from the exertion of
- ascending the slope, and that when he awoke he was excessively cold.
- Furthermore, twilight had come.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dismayed over the loss of time, he proceeded at once to make his charge
- comfortable. He prepared his bed for her and placed her upon it. She was
- still unconscious, but he saw that she was rallying.
- </p>
- <p>
- He suddenly realized that it was now impossible for him to summon Dr.
- Mal-bone, for the fury of the storm had been steadily increasing, and the
- crash of falling trees still sounded above the roaring of the wind. It
- would be worse than foolhardy for him to brave the storm and the darkness.
- At any moment she might recover consciousness and find herself alone and
- suffering in this strange place; and a whole night and day would hardly
- have been sufficient for him to fetch the surgeon, had that been a
- physical possibility. So the young man realized that he alone, with no
- training in the surgeon’s and physician’s art, must take this woman’s life
- in his hands, and for a long time to come be her physician and nurse, cook
- and housekeeper, mother and confidant, father and protector.
- </p>
- <p>
- That realization was sufficiently cruel and taxing, but the ordeal that
- now confronted him was the most trying of all. He had not yet given any
- attention to the appearance of his charge, further than to ascertain to
- what extent she was hurt. When he now lighted a candle and held it to her
- face, he saw that she was a young and handsome woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- He noted the high-bred patrician face through the grime, the abundant
- dark-brown hair, the black brows but slightly arched and nearly meeting
- between the eyes, the fine nose, the habitual, half-hidden curve of scorn
- at the corners of her mouth, and the firm, strong, elegantly moulded chin.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was evident that the man and the woman were father and daughter, for
- the resemblance between the distorted dead face and the grimy living one
- was strong; the manifest difference in ages finished the conclusion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Was she fatally hurt? What if she should die? What effect would the
- knowledge of her father’s death have upon her? How long would she remain
- helpless on the couch, held by her injuries; and how long, after her
- possible recovery, would she be held a prisoner by the impassable
- condition of the roads? Would she be cheerful and brave through it all?
- </p>
- <p>
- She was growing more and more restless; wise haste was now the crowning
- necessity. First of all, she must have suitable clothing, and it must be
- provided before he made his bungling efforts to set her broken bone. How
- could he hope to perform this difficult surgical feat with no more
- knowledge of its requirements than he had secured while serving a few
- times as Dr. Malbone’s untrained assistant in the mountains, and with the
- most inadequate understanding of the use of such splints, bandages,
- needles, and ligatures as Dr. Malbone had given him for his use upon
- himself in case of an emergency, and with an imperfect knowledge of the
- narcotics, stimulants, febrifuges, and other medicines with which Dr.
- Malbone had provided him? The sufferer had youth and superb health; but
- how could he feel the smallest assurance that, in the event he should
- secure a knitting of the fracture, crookedness and deformity from improper
- adjustment would not result? But there was nothing to do but try, and to
- bring every intelligent force of his nature to the task.
- </p>
- <p>
- He hoped that she would not regain consciousness before he should make
- another trip to the scene of the tragedy and secure her luggage. The
- twilight was deepening. He threw logs on the smouldering fire in the
- chimney-place and started to leave. He paused a moment at the door to
- watch his patient. She was again stirring and moaning.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A sedative would be safer,” he reflected. And then, when he had poured it
- with great difficulty down her throat, he wondered if he had given her too
- much, and if it would have a bad effect in depressing her vitality and
- working against her rallying. He waited until she had become still and
- quiet, and then hastened down to the road.
- </p>
- <p>
- The storm had been gradually changing in character. He had expected the
- snow to wait until the wind had fallen, but a hurricane was still blowing,
- and snow was coming down in long gray slants. Already it had begun to
- whiten and fill crevices into which the wind was driving it. It would have
- been better had he brought a lantern, but there was no time for that; and
- the wind doubtless would have made its use impossible.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the wreck he found his axe and cleared away more branches. Only a very
- faint suggestion of the dead white face peering up at him came through the
- twilight; and there was work to be done in that quarter to-morrow, however
- much snow might be lodged and packed in the branches. Soon he found two
- large and heavy travelling bags, one larger than the other; this, he
- reasoned, must be the woman’s; his strength to carry both to the hut was
- inadequate now, and he needed all possible steadiness of nerve for the
- task ahead. A laborious climb brought him back to the hut with the bag and
- his axe. By the light of a candle he anxiously read the name on a silver
- tag attached to the handle of the bag. It was,—“Laura Andros, San
- Francisco.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was with awe and reverence that he opened the bag and in a gingerly
- fashion drew forth its contents and carefully laid them aside. He had
- already noted in a vague way that his guest was a woman of wealth and
- elegance, and he now observed that, although the articles he disclosed
- were intended in large part for vigorous mountain use, an unmistakable
- stamp of daintiness and refinement was upon them all.
- </p>
- <p>
- Having now found garments in which he could make her comfortable after his
- surgical work was done, he proceeded with the stupendous task that awaited
- him. He wondered how much precious time he had lost, if any, through sheer
- dread of his duty. But whatever the delay, and whatever its causes, it had
- been useful in preparing him for the ordeal. Up to this moment an
- unaccountable and distressing trembling of all his members at frequent
- intervals had alarmed him, but strength and steadiness came with his
- nearer approach to the task.
- </p>
- <p>
- Commanding his soul to meet the need of the hour, he went sturdily about
- his work. He knew how desperately painful were operations for the setting
- of fractured bones, and how great was the skill required for the
- administering of an anæsthetic. He had never known even a skilled surgeon
- to undertake alone what he must now do without either skill or assistance.
- It would not be sufficient should he do his best: his best must be
- perfectly done.
- </p>
- <p>
- He produced his store of splints, bandages, stimulants, and anaesthetics,
- and arranged them conveniently to hand, as he had seen Dr. Malbone do. He
- examined his patient’s pulse; it was too quick and weak to give him high
- confidence. He made a good fire, for the night was cold; and he called
- heavily upon his store of candles to furnish as much light as possible.
- </p>
- <p>
- His bed, upon which she lay, was a most crude and inadequate affair. It
- was of his own construction, and had been intended to serve its part in
- the life of severe austerity that he had made for himself in the
- mountains. It was made of rough boards nailed to wooden posts. To serve
- for mattress, fragrant pine-needles filled it. Upon this were spread
- sheets and blankets. The pillow also was made of pine-needles. Thus,
- without springs, the bed was hard and unfit for a daintily reared woman;
- more so because of the illness that she would suffer and the great length
- of time that she would be confined to the bed; but it was the best he had.
- As the hut was very small and had but one room, this bed had been fitted
- snugly into a corner. Wilder moved it out, that he might be able to work
- freely on both sides of it. This cramped the hut all the more.
- </p>
- <p>
- The examination that he had made in the road was for the purpose of
- discovering broken bones. There he had found the bone of the left thigh
- broken at some undetermined point between the knee and the hip. But broken
- bones are not all the hurts that one may receive in such an accident,—cuts
- and contusions might prove equally dangerous if overlooked.
- </p>
- <p>
- With exquisite care he prepared her for the work that he must do. As she
- was fully dressed, this required patience from his unskilled hands.
- Finally, this part of the task, inexpressibly hard for a man of his
- delicacy of feeling, was accomplished. What anguish he suffered on his own
- account and in foreseeing her confusion and possible resentment upon
- realizing that he, an utter stranger, and not a physician, had done all
- this for her, it were idle to set forth here.
- </p>
- <p>
- To his great relief he found that the bone of the left thigh was, so far
- as he could judge, the only one that had suffered fracture; but a careful
- inspection revealed several bruises; and at last, in searching for the
- source of the blood that had covered her face when he drew her from the
- débris, he found a cut in her crown. His first work must be there.
- </p>
- <p>
- Covering her comfortably, he washed the blood from her hair and face, and,
- bearing in mind the pride that she must have cherished for her glorious
- hair, he quickly shaved as small a space on her crown as possible. He
- first tried adhesive plaster to bring the edges of the cut together; but
- the water and his handling of the wound started the hemorrhage afresh, and
- this compelled him to close the wound with ligatures.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was pleased to observe that the hemorrhage was stopped. This made him
- so well satisfied and so confident that the greater magnitude of the
- remaining work appalled him less. Indeed, that had begun to exercise a
- scientific fascination that abnormally sharpened his wits and steadied his
- nerves. It was this task that he now attacked.
- </p>
- <p>
- All this time the sufferer had lain unconscious. This was a blessing,
- unless the state had been induced by causes worse than consciousness of
- the pain from setting the bone. There was time hereafter to consider all
- that. The one present duty was to proceed with the operation without
- another moment’s delay, for inflammation had already set in.
- </p>
- <p>
- While, with infinite care, he was fitting, as best he could, the ends of
- the broken bone, he was startled out of all self-command by a scream of
- agony from her, half-strangled, and therefore made all the more
- terrifying, by the bandage under her chin; and she was sitting up, staring
- at him. Every one of the young man’s faculties was temporarily paralyzed.
- A benumbing coldness was upon him. With a mighty effort he gathered
- himself up, but his breathing was difficult, and sweat streamed down his
- face. He firmly laid her back upon the pillow, and said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Be quiet; you shall not be hurt again.” She was singularly docile,
- although he could see by the wildness of her eyes and a fluttering in her
- throat that something was raging within her. With one hand he gently
- pressed her eyelids down, and with the other he wetted a handkerchief from
- a bottle of chloroform and held it just clear of her mouth and nostrils.
- For a moment she rebelled against the stifling vapor and tried to drag his
- hand away; but, finding him determined, she yielded, and soon was
- stupefied.
- </p>
- <p>
- The work must be rapid now. There was no time to wonder if she had
- comprehended anything or seen in him a stranger. No interruption could
- come from her now; that was the vital thing; but the anaesthetic would
- soon lose its force. He resumed his work, taking great care, in matching
- the injured member with the sound one, to avoid crippling her for life. He
- then adjusted the splints, keeping the member straight. Finally, he
- secured it against bending at the knee by adjusting a board on the under
- side of the leg throughout its entire length. He finished his work by
- binding the upper part of her body to the bed-frame, to prevent her
- rising. Then, extinguishing his candles, making her as comfortable as
- possible on the hard bed, and putting more wood on the fire, he sat down
- to watch. Everything seemed to be going well.
- </p>
- <p>
- By this time the night was far advanced. The wind was still blowing a
- terrific gale. An aching, irresistible weariness stole over the watcher.
- He drew his chair close to the bed and anxiously observed his charge. He
- examined her pulse; it was rising; her skin was hot and dry. She had
- passed from under the influence of the anaesthetic, and was now sleeping
- restlessly. He waited in dread for her awaking, for the unexpected
- situation in which the young man found himself was complex and difficult.
- It was essential that his patient should be as tranquil as possible.
- Knowledge of her father’s death might prove disastrous. Hence she must be
- deceived, and yet deception was unspeakably repugnant to the young man’s
- nature. But now it was a duty, which above all things must be done. She
- must be buoyed with hope. All her fortitude would be needed to bear the
- miserable conditions of her imprisonment. Meantime, the young man would
- post notices along the road, calling for help from the first persons
- passing.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER FOUR
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>UCH thinking and
- planning had to be done, for the unexpected situation in which the young
- man found himself was complex and difficult. It was essential that his
- patient should be as tranquil as possible. Knowledge of her father’s death
- might prove disastrous. Hence she must be deceived, and yet deception was
- unspeakably repugnant to the young man’s nature. But now it was a duty,
- which above all things must be done. She must be buoyed with hope. All her
- fortitude would be needed to bear the miserable conditions of her
- imprisonment. Meantime, the young man would post notices along the road,
- calling for help from the first persons passing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Already the road was wholly impassable, and it would grow worse. None of
- the friends or relatives of the dead man and his daughter could have been
- informed of their leaving the lakes. The natural conclusion from their
- absence would be that an early winter of unusual severity had compelled
- them to remain until spring. The people in the mountains would have no way
- of learning that the two had failed to reach the railway. Thus had the
- travellers been completely blotted out of their world. No relief parties
- would be sent out to search for them. Not until the unlikely discovery of
- the notices that Wilder would post could there be the slightest knowledge
- of the tragedy.
- </p>
- <p>
- More than that, the road upon which Wilder’s hut looked down was only one
- of two that penetrated the wilderness in that direction. In the summer it
- had a small travel, but by reason of its crookedness, narrowness, and
- sharp grades it was avoided by heavy traffic. It would be the last road to
- be cleared. Snow-shoes were practically unknown in these mountains, for
- seasons of long snow blockades were rare; but there would be no occasion
- for snow-shoe travel over this road. The only prospect for the escape of
- Wilder and his charge was on foot, after the lapse of the months that
- would be required for her recovery, and after the snow was gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- Innumerable domestic perplexities presented themselves to the young man’s
- mind. His charge, being perfectly helpless, must depend entirely upon him
- for her every want. Would she have the wisdom and goodness to accept the
- situation cheerfully, or would its humiliation and hardships gnaw
- constantly at her strength and patience, and delay her recovery or
- precipitate her death? How could she possibly accept the situation
- philosophically? She would find a bitter contrast between this life and
- the one of luxury and indulgence to which she had been accustomed. Even
- should she develop the highest order of fortitude, the rude food, in small
- variety, that he had to give her, cooked badly, could hardly tempt her
- appetite, and thus build up her strength. Then, her bed was a wretched
- affair, and there was serious danger that its hardness alone, without
- regard to her possible resignation to its discomforts, would produce
- hurtful physical results. If only wise and helpful Dr. Malbone could know
- and come!
- </p>
- <p>
- Let the days bring forth what they would, Wilder would do his duty as he
- knew it. The fire crackled cheerily on the hearth and filled the hut with
- its warmth and glow and peace. The walls were tight and strong, and were
- holding firm against the storm. The agonizing strain of the last twelve
- hours was over, and all strength must be saved for the future.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the flickering firelight the young man studied the face of his charge
- at leisure, and he saw that she was singularly handsome; but there seemed
- to be a certain hardness in her face, relaxed in unconsciousness though it
- was. Perhaps it was only because there stood out before his memory the one
- face in all the world that, with its infinite gentleness and sweetness,
- embodied every grace for which his spirit yearned. It was not so beautiful
- and brilliant a face as this,—but there came up Dr. Malbone’s
- warning, uttered over and over with the most earnest impressiveness:
- </p>
- <p>
- “As you value your reason and life, as you value the possibilities of your
- happiness and your usefulness to humanity, turn your face from the past,
- and with all the courage and will of a man confront the future. Nature is
- kind to all of her children who love her and seek her. She heaps our past
- with wreckage, only to train and prepare us for a noble future. There can
- be no peace where there has been no travail. There would be no strength
- were there no weakness in need of its help. The man who fails to the
- slightest extent in his duties to humanity and himself burdens his life to
- that extent. Be brave and hopeful and helpful, as it becomes a man to be,
- and labor incessantly for the best, as it becomes a man to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And the man with the curiously-twisted face peering out from the
- tree-branches, what had been the aim of his life, that it should find such
- an end? After all, was there any taint of unmanliness in that end?
- Doubtless even now he was covered deep under snow. If he should be left
- there, the great gray wolves might come down and find him. They were big
- and powerful, and men who had seen them hungry told fearful tales of their
- daring and ferocity. If the snow should drive them down, they would find
- the dead horses under the tree; and after that there would be but one
- house here where they could find human beings.
- </p>
- <p>
- There need be no dread of them; but suppose that some night there should
- come a scratching at the door of the hut,—that would mean the gaunt
- shewolf, who bore away children to the wolf-pack.
- </p>
- <p>
- She would beg for a rind of bacon to eat, and a corner on the hearth to
- sleep. She would bear ugly wounds from her struggles with men and beasts,
- and these would have to be dressed, and rents in her hide stitched; and if
- there were broken bones, they must be set. Would she be patient under the
- torture, or would she snap and howl after the manner of wolves?...
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilder was startled to full consciousness by a moan. He bent over his
- patient and looked into her open eyes. She gazed up at him vacantly. He
- took her hand; it was hot. He placed a hand upon her forehead; it was
- burning. A haggard look of pain and distress sat upon her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- An eager appeal was in her glance, and her lips moved feebly. He bent his
- ear to them. She was faintly whispering—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Water, water!”
- </p>
- <p>
- His heart bounding with gladness, he brought cold water. With difficulty
- he restrained her eagerness, lest she discover that she was crippled and
- bound. He covered her eyes with a napkin, for he observed that her glance
- was becoming strained and curious. She submitted quietly, while he gave
- her the water with a spoon. After that she sighed in weariness and
- content, but her deep inspiration was checked by pain. Her burning skin
- and an uneasiness throughout her entire frame warned him that she had a
- fever. He gave her a remedy for that. It was not until daylight had come
- that, after watching her for hours as she lay awake and seemingly
- halfconscious, he observed her finally drift into sound slumber.
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man rose and found himself weak and dizzy; but after he had
- prepared and eaten a simple breakfast he felt stronger. Seemingly by a
- miracle, he had gone through his task in safety thus far. He must now
- leave his patient for a while, to discharge a grim duty that awaited him
- in the road below,—a duty from which his every sensibility recoiled
- with unspeakable repugnance. Lest an untoward accident should happen in
- his absence, he gave his patient a stupefying drug.
- </p>
- <p>
- He dreaded to open the front door of his hut. When he did, he found the
- thing that he feared: the wind had ceased after midnight, and the snow had
- been falling ever since, and still was falling. It had whitened the walls
- of the canon, and, before the wind had ceased, had eddied and drifted
- about the hut in a way that filled the young man with alarm for the
- future. Would his strength be sufficient to fight it if the storm should
- be greatly prolonged, to the end that he and his charge should not be
- buried alive?
- </p>
- <p>
- He put this dread away, and with a heavy heart followed the steep trail
- down to the road.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER FIVE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>OON was near at
- hand when the guest of the hut waked to full consciousness. Her first
- impulse was to cry out with the pain that tortured her; but her strong
- will assumed command, and she looked inquiringly into the anxious face
- beside her Obviously she realized that a catastrophe had overtaken her,
- and she was now silently demanding an explanation.
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilder had not expected this. Her calmness, and, more than that, her
- silent demand, were so different from the childish and unreasonable
- petulance that he had expected, that he was unprepared and confused.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have been hurt,” he stammered; “and it will be necessary for you to
- keep very quiet for a time.’
- </p>
- <p>
- “How was I hurt?” she faintly asked. “The horses were frightened by the
- storm and ran away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, the storm! I remember.” Then she looked quickly and anxiously about.
- “My father,” she said,—“where is he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment the oddly distorted face in the branches came grimacing
- between Wilder and his duty, but with a gasp and a repelling gesture he
- drove it away,—not so dexterously but that his struggle was seen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He—has gone to bring help,” he said. Then, quickly leaving the
- bedside to conceal his weakness and the shame of the lie that choked him,
- he added hastily, “Yes, he was not hurt; and when he and I had brought you
- to this hut he went to find help. He will return as soon as possible.” He
- felt that her glance was upon him with merciless steadiness. “Now,” said
- he, returning to the couch, “I will remove these bandages,”—referring
- to the cords that bound her to the bed;—“but you must promise me not
- to move except under my direction. Do you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She slightly nodded an assent, and he unbound her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come,” he added, “you must have some of this broth. No, don’t try to
- rise; I will feed you from this spoon. It is not too hot, is it? That is
- good. Presently you will feel much better. You are not in much pain now,
- are you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not a child,” she answered, with a slight touch of disdain and
- reproof. But he cheerily said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Excellent, excellent! That is the way to feel!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She lay silent for a while, looking up at the roof. Presently she said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I imagine that I am badly hurt. Please tell me how and where I am
- injured.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, your left leg was hurt, and we shall have to keep it bandaged and
- your knee from bending. And there were some bruises on your side, and an
- injury to the scalp.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My scalp?” she quickly asked, raising her hand and asking, “Surely you
- did not shave my head?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he replied, smiling amusedly; “except a small spot, and you can
- cover that until the hair grows out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was not fully satisfied until she had felt the splendid wealth of hair
- that lay massed upon the pillow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “May I ask who you are?” This was the question that he had dreaded most of
- all; but before he could stammer out the truth a light broke over her
- face, and she astounded him with this exclamation:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you are the famous Dr. Mal-bone! This is extraordinary! I am very,
- very fortunate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilder had never conceived a lie so dazzling and happy as this mistake.
- Between wonder at his stupidity for not having thought of it, and a great
- delight that she had so naturally erred, he was too bewildered either to
- affirm or deny. He only realized that she had unwittingly solved the most
- difficult of his present problems. Had she been looking at him, she might
- have wondered at the strange expression that lighted up his face, and
- particularly the crimson temporarily displacing the death-like pallor that
- she had observed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she resumed, after a pause, “I am fortunate; for I suppose that my
- injuries are a great deal worse than you have given me to believe, and
- that such skill as yours is needed.” She turned her glance again full upon
- him; but he had recovered his address, and now met her look with an
- approach to steadiness. “But,” she said, “you are a much younger man than
- I had expected to see; and you don’t look so crabbed as I might have
- inferred you were from the message you sent me a month ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She paused, evidently expecting him to make some explanation; but he was
- silent, and looked so distressed that she smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may remember,” she continued, “that a young lady at the lakes sent
- for you to treat her for bruises sustained in a fall, and that you told
- her messenger to give her your compliments and say that cold-water
- applications, an old woman, and God would do as well with such a case as
- you. I am that young lady.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilder liked the young woman’s blunt and forthright manner, although it
- was novel and embarrassing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There were doubtless important cases demanding attention,” he explained.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No doubt,” she agreed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And, after all,” he suggested, “didn’t you follow the advice and get good
- results?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she answered, again smiling faintly; “that is true.” She closed her
- eyes. Presently she extended her hand, which Wilder took. She looked
- earnestly into his face, and asked, “It will be a long siege with me, will
- it not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Much depends upon your temperament,” he answered. “If———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is evasion,” she interrupted. “Be candid with me.” There was no
- demand in this request; it was an appeal from such depths of her as she
- knew, and it touched him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he stammered, “unless———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The bone is broken, isn’t it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; but you are young and your health is superb. That is everything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A despairing look grayed her face, which then quickly reddened with anger
- and rebellion. Her host said nothing. He saw that she was competent to
- make the fight with herself without his aid; that her mind, though now
- disturbed by her suffering, was able to comprehend much that her condition
- meant, being obviously an uncommonly strong, clear mind, and that it would
- give to an acceptance of her position the philosophic view that was so
- much needed. He saw the hard, brave fight that she was making, and he had
- no fear for the outcome. Gradually he saw the contemplative expression of
- the eyes turned within, and the face grow gaunt and haggard under the
- strain. As slowly he saw her emerge from the depths into which he had
- thrust her, and from the very slowness of the victory, he knew that she
- had won. When again she looked into his face, he knew that her soul had
- been tried as it never had been before, and that she was stronger and
- better for it. And he knew that there was yet another trial awaiting her
- which perhaps she could not have borne had not she passed through this
- one.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Another thing,” she said, as earnestly as before; “when do you expect my
- father to return?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very soon—as soon as he——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Evasion again,” she protested, a slight frown of impatience darkening her
- face; but it instantly disappeared, and her manner was appealing again.
- “Be my friend as well as my physician, Dr. Malbone. Please tell me the
- truth. I can bear it now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man bowed his head in dejection.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Snow is still falling,” he said, “and doubtless many trees are across the
- road. We can only wait and hope.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A transient look of gratitude for his seeming candor softened her hard
- beauty, and she withdrew her hand and her glance. Then he knew that
- another mighty struggle was taking place within her. He knew from the deep
- crimson that suffused her face how fully she realized all that he must be
- to her during the weary weeks to come. He saw the outward evidences of the
- unthinkable revulsion that filled her, with him as its cause. He knew that
- in agony of soul she rebelled against the fate that had placed her
- helpless in the hands of a stranger, and that stranger a man, and that man
- the one now serving her, however willingly, however faithfully, with
- whatever tact and delicacy. He saw, from her hopless glance about the
- cabin, the bitterness of the fight that she was making to accept its
- repellent hospitality. And, worst of all, he saw, or thought he saw, that
- in the victory that she finally won there was more of an iron
- determination to endure than of a simple resignation to accept.
- </p>
- <p>
- So these two began their strange life together. As may be supposed, it was
- wholly devoid of true companionship, and necessarily so. That made it the
- harder, in a way, for both. From the severe furnishings of his larder the
- host did his best to provide for her comfort. She never complained of the
- coarse, inadequate food, all of which had to be of a kind that could bear
- keeping for months, and none of which was pleasing to a fastidious taste
- made all the more delicate by illness and prostration from her injuries.
- All of the countless attentions that her helplessness imposed upon him he
- gave with the business-like directness of a physician and nurse, and this
- was obviously gratifying to her. She never complained of the cruel
- hardness of the bed, and never failed to express her gratitude for the
- slight shiftings of position that he deemed it safe to give her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Most cheering to the host was the fair progress that his patient made. Her
- curious mistake that he was Dr. Malbone had given him a mastery of the
- situation that was of inestimable value. Manifestly she reposed full
- confidence in his skill, and he made the most of that. She never again
- asked for opinions concerning her father’s return. Her only inquiries were
- with regard to the weather, the severity of which did not relax from day
- to day, from week to week. When Wilder would return from short excursions
- over the snow, which now lay deep throughout the mountains and was
- steadily growing deeper, she would look at him a moment expectantly,
- hoping for good news; but it was not necessary for him to say that there
- was none, and she asked no questions.
- </p>
- <p>
- The dread and dismay of Wilder grew with the heaping up of snow about the
- hut. Before he built the house, he had learned that in winter, when the
- storms were very severe, the shelf upon which he had reared the structure
- was banked with snow, but to what height no one had ever ascertained.
- There had never been such a storm as this within the memory of the white
- settlers. Hence the snow was heaped higher than ever before. There were
- special reasons for this. The shelf formed an eddying-point for the wind
- that came in the intervals of the snowfall, and the snow from all sides
- was thus swirled and pitched upon the shelf. It had not yet reached the
- roof, but it had to be kept cleared from the window and the front door,
- and that meant watchfulness and labor. Should it continue to accumulate
- until it reached the roof and the top of the chimney, a serious situation
- would confront the prisoners.
- </p>
- <p>
- Not while the patient remained helpless was there anything but a rigid
- business bearing between these two unhappy mortals. Between them was
- reared an impalpable wall that neither cared to attack. But in time the
- patient grew better and stronger both in body and mind; and, besides,
- strange developments began to make themselves felt.
- </p>
- <p>
- Among the effects of the young woman, Wilder had discovered a book in
- which she kept a journal. She had called for it as soon as she was able to
- write; and, as a woman’s observation is keener than a man’s, it is best to
- introduce here (and in other places throughout the narrative) such
- extracts from her journal as seem helpful.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER SIX
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE following is
- from the lady’s journal:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I will write it again, absurd though it may turn out to be: There is
- some mystery about this cabin. I have tried over and over to convince
- myself that my weakness and the unnatural situation in which I am placed
- make me morbid and suspicious; but I know that I am still a hard-headed
- woman, without a particle of nonsense in my composition; and I know that I
- am able to see things in their proper light, and to understand them in a
- way. And I say that the signs of something wrong here are growing more and
- more evident, without furnishing me the least clue to the nature of the
- mystery; but I feel that, whatever the mystery is, it is one to be
- dreaded. I try not to think about it; but where is the sense in that? Is
- it not better for me to do all the observing and thinking I can, and thus
- be the better prepared for whatever may happen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I sometimes try to think that it is only the strangeness of this strange
- man—if I may call him a man—that makes me feel a mystery in
- the air. It is hard to get hold of anything tangible in his bearing, so
- unobtrusively alert he is. There must be some explanation of the fact that
- a physician as skilful as he is should bury himself in these mountains—should
- hide himself from the different world to which he evidently belongs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is a gentleman,—I will do him the justice to admit that. He is a
- great deal besides any gentleman that I have ever seen before. Let me try
- to explain this to myself. Although he makes not the slightest show of
- attending to my wants, I know his every thought is upon me. He sleeps on
- the stone floor in front of the fireplace,—that is, if he sleeps at
- all, which I sometimes doubt. Even when he is not looking at me in that
- distant, abstracted way that he has, I feel that the whole cabin is filled
- with his eyes, and that they are always looking at me, day and night, but
- with an expression different from the veiled one of his own eyes. They do
- not have the distant, thoughtful, perfunctory, business-like expression of
- the eyes in his head, but a different one,—an expression that seems
- to be a mixture of duty, pity, kindness, patience, forbearance, and—it
- will make me feel better to write it—<i>contempt</i>. I feel that
- these countless eyes are reading my deepest thoughts, and looking over my
- shoulder as I write.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course I do not really feel all this, else I should not be writing
- thus. But I feel something. O God! when will this wretched strain be
- over?...
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have discovered that he guards most jealously the back door of the
- cabin. When I first came to consciousness after my hurt, I saw what I took
- to be evidence that my strength of will was greater than his. I believe so
- yet; but he certainly has a way of baffling me and holding me in a
- position from which I cannot escape. I am curious to know a great many
- things; it is my right to know them. Why does he surround himself with a
- deafness that nothing can penetrate? Why and how does he make it
- impossible for me to ask him questions? And who ever heard of a man so
- supremely indifferent as not to ask a woman placed as I am a single
- question about herself, her life, her tastes, her family, her world? Why
- has he made it impossible for me to ask him any questions? At first he had
- placed my bed so that I could see the rear door by turning my head; but
- when he observed that I had become curious, he found an excuse to turn my
- bed so that it was impossible for me to see the door, and I was too proud
- to object.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish I could have respect for him. Of course he surmises that I am
- wealthy, and he must know that he will be handsomely paid for his
- services. I gave him to understand as much one day, and he looked at me in
- a blank way that was most disconcerting. But that did not deceive me. I do
- not wish to be unjust, but I know something about human nature. I think
- that the man’s whole course may be to impress me with his great solicitude
- and make his services appear the more valuable. Bah! he needn’t have gone
- to the trouble.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am going to watch that door in spite of him. I know already that he
- keeps it carefully locked, and that when he goes out he bars it on the
- other side. Such distrust, when I am so unable to pry into his secrets, is
- unwarranted and offensive. Another thing I have noted. The back door leads
- into some kind of inner apartment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How is he going to guard it when I am able to be about? Then his life
- will be a burden. I will make it so.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gratitude? Oh, yes! I have heard of such a thing. But this is an
- obligation that money can discharge, and I will see that it does. Has he
- done anything more for me than a physician ought to do? I am familiar with
- the ways in which these gentry play upon the gratitude of their wealthy
- patients, and present bills that they think a sense of shame will accept.
- So long as the rich are the prey of the poor, the poor need not expect
- sympathy from the rich. I know the power of money to secure attendance of
- all sorts, and I can see its power manifested now.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This man seems to be utterly lacking in masculine qualities. To give an
- illustration: The other day, when he thought I was absorbed in reading,—I
- must say that he has excellent taste in books,—I found tears
- trickling down his cheeks while he was reading before the fire. I noted
- from the division of the book as he held it open the approximate place
- where he was reading. Afterward I asked him for the book, and found that
- it opened readily at a place where the leaves were tear-stained. It was
- the silliest story imaginable,—a foolish account of true-lovers
- separated by designing persons and dying of a broken heart! Imagine a
- grown man crying over such nonsense as that!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here is a queer circumstance that I have noted, and have wondered about:
- In not a single one of Dr. Malbone’s books does his name appear; and it is
- evident that wherever it did appear he has erased it. There may be easy
- ways of accounting for this, but to me it looks suspicious. Is it a part
- of the mystery of a refined and skilful physician burying—I believe
- hiding—himself in these mountains? I remember to have heard at the
- lakes that he never attended city people spending the summer here if he
- could avoid it. I certainly know that he refused to visit me, and that he
- sent me an insulting message besides. What is the reason? Is he more or
- less acquainted with people of the better class, and is he afraid of
- meeting some whom he may have known when he lived somewhere else and
- passed under a different name? The inhabitants of these mountains venerate
- him, and believe that his skill is omnipotent. Well, I have nothing to say
- against his skill, for certainly he has handled my case perfectly; but if
- these simple and ignorant mountain-folk should see him in the intimacy in
- which I know him, and discover what a cold, suspicious, weak, petty man he
- is, I think they would reform their opinion of him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “During the last month he has been going oftener and oftener through the
- back door. What business has he there? If I did not have a feeling that,
- little as he trusts me, I might safely trust him to the end of the world,
- I would have a fear for my own safety. But I rest secure in the belief
- that the prospect of collecting a generous fee for restoring me safe to my
- father is a sufficient protection, to say nothing of the confidence that I
- have in the man’s queer sense of honor. Why, he treats me as though I were
- a queen, and bears himself as my humblest subject hanging upon my smallest
- word—up to a certain point. Beyond that I get bewildered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, my father, my father! There is no man in the world like you, none
- that knows me, that loves me as you do! If you only knew how my heart
- yearns every moment for you! Why could not this man have the least of your
- qualities,—your iron will, your scorn of weak things in human
- nature, your dominating, achieving power It is in comparing this man with
- you that I find him so small, so pusillanimous, so different from the
- standard of manhood that you have made me adopt, so different from me, so
- infinitely far from me. It is good that it is so, but it makes me lonely
- beyond all expression. I would rather be alone in a desert than with this
- strange mirage of a man, this male with an infinite capacity for the
- little things that only little women are suited to do. He tortures me with
- his goodness, his self-sacrifice to me, his making me feel that he lives
- only to make me comfortable and bring me back to health. Where are you, my
- father? I know that you will come to me when you can. That much I know, I
- know! Come, father, and take me from this awful prison!...
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I have done remarkably well to be as patient as I have been. This
- horrid food is enough to kill a healthy woman,—tinned meats and
- vegetables, tinned everything, and hardly any flour, but sea-biscuits
- instead! Of course my poor slave does his best to prepare things in such a
- way that it will be possible for me to eat them, for he seems to realize
- that I am a human being....
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am determined to bring this man to an acquaintance with his tongue. The
- loneliness that I feel is unbearable. He must be as lonely as I, and, like
- me, he is probably too proud to make a sign. Of course he talks to me now
- when I make him, but about things in Asia or Africa that I am certain are
- as dull to him as to me. He is maintaining this distance, I am certain,
- just to guard his history and true character, and to keep me in a position
- where it will remain impossible for me to find out what is going forward
- on the other side of that door. I will talk to him about myself; that will
- compel him to talk about himself. I can’t bear this isolation. It is
- inhuman. And I have no fears that he will presume. They passed long ago.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have just two more things to record at present. One is that my host is
- growing thinner and more hollow-eyed, and the other is that several times
- lately I have dreamed of hearing the strangest and sweetest music. It
- sounded like the playing of a violin by a master hand. I have been unable
- to determine whether I was really dreaming. One singular thing in
- connection with it is that when I looked for him the other night on his
- rugs before the fire after I had heard the music, or dreamed I heard it,
- he was not there. I tried to remain awake until he returned, for I
- wondered where he could be in the middle of the night, with the snow
- heaped up to the roof of the house and a fearful gale blowing cold
- outside, and I felt lonely and uneasy. But I went to sleep before he
- returned. I have no doubt, however, that he was on the other side of the
- rear door.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This ends, for the present, the extracts from the lady’s journal.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE patient had so
- far recovered that she could be propped up in bed, where she straightened
- out the bungling work of her inexperienced hair-dresser, and made her
- glorious hair a fit embellishment of her beauty. She was pale, and her
- cheeks had lost the roundness and her eyes the brilliancy of their wont.
- But she was regaining the flesh that she had lost, and the brightness of
- spirit that her afflictions had dimmed; and her pallor only softened and
- refined a beauty that likely had been somewhat too showy in health.
- </p>
- <p>
- Something even better than that had been accomplished. It was not
- conceivable that her strong and rebellious spirit had been ever before
- brought under other than the ordinary restraints of a conventional life.
- She had developed the good sense to make the most of her present
- uncomfortable situation, and the will to bear its hardships. In the eyes
- of her host the superiority of her character entitled her to admiration,
- which he gave her simply and unconsciously, without any regard to her sex
- and beauty. Her acute insight had informed her of this admiration, and her
- spirit chafed under its character. One day she said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems strange to me, Dr. Malbone, that you have never taken any
- interest in my past life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her quickly and curiously, and somewhat awkwardly replied,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not wish to intrude, Miss Andros.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would that have been intrusion? I hadn’t thought of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must know that I feel an interest in everything that concerns you.”
- He said this readily, simply, and naturally, and she wondered if he was
- sincere.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” she went on, “lack of all companionship between us means
- mutual distrust.” This was a sharp thrust, and it found him unguarded.
- Then she saw that she had gone too far at the start; and this impression
- was confirmed when, after a pause, he remarked,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “You and I have been strangely placed. I knew that the conventions of the
- best-bred people mean much to you, and I have merely respected your
- natural and proper regard for them. Under these circumstances it was not
- possible for me to make the first effort to be—friendly, if you will
- permit the expression.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled, but the manliness of the rebuke and its entire justice made
- her secretly resent it. She was determined to hold herself perfectly in
- hand, for a serious purpose now moved her, and she would not be balked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is all in the past now,” she said. “I have learned to know you as a
- man of the finest sense of honor, proud, reserved, and self-sacrificing.
- It would not have been possible for any other sort of man to treat a woman
- as you have treated me. No, don’t interrupt me. There is nothing but
- common sense and simple justice in what I am saying, and unless you let me
- say it you will be harsh and cruel. After all that you have done for me,
- it is my right to tell you how I feel about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked so embarrassed and miserable that she laughed outright; and the
- music of that rare note sounded in his heart; for it was not a cruel
- laugh, but merry and hearty, as one would laugh at the comical
- discomfiture of a friend; and as such it fulfilled its purpose.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thus the ice that had filled the cabin was broken, in a measure, at last,
- and this at once eased the gloom and coldness of the wretched lives
- imprisoned therein.
- </p>
- <p>
- From that beginning the convalescent drifted easily and gracefully into an
- account of her world of wealth and pleasure and fashion. She realized that
- she must first open her own life before she could expect her host to give
- her a view of his and of the nearer and stranger things that impinged upon
- her. Her voice was smooth and musical. She dwelt particularly upon the
- lighter and fashionable side of her life, because she believed that the
- tact and refinement of the man who listened so well, yet so silently, were
- born of such a life, and that he had deliberately withdrawn himself from
- it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Matters went more smoothly after that day. But the young woman was finally
- forced to accept her defeat,—she had opened her own simple, vacant
- life, but had gained not a glimpse into his. And she realized, further,
- that all the advances toward a friendlier understanding had been made by
- her, and none by him; that his manner toward her, with all its tireless
- watchfulness, its endless solicitude, its total extinction of every
- selfish thought, its impenetrable reserve, had not changed one jot or
- tittle. Then a bitter resentment filled her, and she hated him and
- determined to torture him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not been so guarded but that she had found a vulnerable spot in his
- mail. This was what she regarded as the silly, sentimental side of his
- nature. She had led him into this disclosure by a long series of adroit
- moves, the purpose of which he had not suspected. Assuming a profound
- appreciation of the softer and tenderer things of life, she had brought
- herself into the attitude of one who cherishes them, and thus led him into
- the trap. Their talk concerned love, and he opened his heart and displayed
- all its foolish weakness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can there be anything more sacred,” he asked, warmly, “than the love of
- men and women? Is there anything to which trifling should be more
- repugnant? The man who loves one woman with all in him that makes him a
- man, has taken that into his soul which will be its refining and uplifting
- force to the end of all things with him; and, noble as that is, the love
- of a woman for one man who loves her surpasses it beyond all
- comprehension, and is the truest gleam of heavenly radiance in human
- lives.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was spared him to see the amused and contemptuous curl of lip that
- bespoke a world-worn heart; but he had let down his guard, and his
- punishment would come.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was some days afterward that the blow fell. The convalescent was now
- sitting on a chair, where her ever-solicitous nurse had placed her. She
- was now ready to strike. She would hold up to him a mirror of himself,—a
- weak, sentimental, pusillanimous man. Fortunately, she could relate from
- an experience in her own life a tale whose ridiculous hero she judged had
- been just such a man as Dr. Malbone. She would be violating none of the
- rules of hospitality. Her host had permitted her to walk into a
- humiliating position, and her desire to punish him should not be denied
- gratification.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had brought the talk round to the mistakes that men and women make in
- the bestowal of their affection, and remarked carelessly that men were
- proverbially stupid in estimating the loveliness of women. Almost without
- exception, she declared, they preferred girls for their beauty, their
- softness, their negative qualities, their genuine or pretended
- helplessness; and she added that a woman of strength and true worth would
- scorn a love so cheaply won and held in so light esteem by its bestowers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But some girls,” she added, “are even worse than men. You may generally
- expect stupidity from a man, but not always folly from a girl. A rather
- distressing case of a girl’s folly once came to my notice. There was a
- girl who had been my classmate in school. It was there that we formed for
- each other the girlish affection which all girls must have at that age.
- Yet the difference between us was great even then, and it increased after
- we had gone out into the world. She and I moved in the same circle. Her
- parents were wealthy, and she had every opportunity to see and learn life
- and get something of value from it. Instead of that, she grew more and
- more retired, and less fitted for the life to which she belonged. She was
- the most unpractical and romantic girl that ever lived. Her girl friends
- dropped her one by one. I was the last to remain, and I did all I could to
- get some worldly sense into her soft and foolish head. She would only
- smile, and put her arms round me, and declare that she knew she was
- foolish, but that she couldn’t help it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was very fond of music and poetry, and at last I learned that she was
- taking lessons on the violin from some fiddling nobody who made his living
- by playing and teaching. I never happened to see him, or I might have done
- something to stop the mischief that was brewing. Her parents were blind to
- her folly, but that is a common weakness of parents.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There never had been any great exchange of confidences between Ada and me
- since our school-days. I could have told her a great deal about the ways
- of men,—you see,” the narrator hastened to add, “I had been a very
- good observer, and had learned some things that it is to the advantage of
- every girl to know. I mean, you understand, about love. It is only people
- with a silly view of that subject that ever get into trouble. Girls of
- Ada’s disposition have no sense; they invariably suffer through lack of
- perception and strength.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Although I did not see much of her, it at last became evident that
- something serious was the matter. Her manner became softer and gentler,
- her sympathies were keener, and there was a light in her eyes that an
- observing woman cannot misunderstand. I was somewhat older than she, and
- that gave me an advantage in the plan that I decided upon; but of greater
- advantage was her reliance upon me. It was necessary that I should gain
- her full confidence, as I didn’t wish to take any step in the dark, nor
- one that might have proved useless. You will understand that in all I
- afterward did and caused to be done I acted solely from a regard for her
- welfare. I believed that she had formed an attachment for this—this
- fiddler—bah! Everything in me revolts when I think of it. Here was a
- girl that was pretty, sweet, gracious, the soul of trust and fidelity,
- ready to throw herself away upon an unspeakable fiddler! And there was no
- excuse whatever for it. A score of men adored her,—men of her own
- station in life,—men of wealth, men of culture, men of strength and
- character, men of birth, men of consequence in the world. Incredible as it
- may seem, they passed over other girls far more capable in every way, and
- sighed for this shy violet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew that there was something wrong in her refusal to accept the
- attentions of any of them. I knew that her inherited tastes, the examples
- all around her, and her natural regard for the wishes of her parents and
- friends, ought to have induced her to give her affections to a man worthy
- of her. I determined to find out what that obstacle was; and it was solely
- for her own good that I did so. I knew that if she married this—this
- low musician, her life would be filled with bitterness, disappointment,
- and regrets. I knew that she would soon come to be ashamed of the
- alliance. I knew——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How did you know all that?” came in a voice so strange, so constrained,
- so distant, that she turned in wonder toward her host. He sat looking into
- the fire, the ruddy glow of which concealed the death-like pallor that
- during the last few minutes had been deepening in his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How did I know it?” she responded in surprise. “That is a singular
- question from one who ought to be as well aware of it as I.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He made no reply, and she turned her head to the window and watched the
- snow steadily rebuilding the bank that her host had so recently cleared
- away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps,” she remarked, with a slight sneer, “you asked that question to
- get an argument with me, for I have heard you express romantic and
- sentimental views on the subject of love. But of one thing I am confident:
- I know that you have been a man of the world, and that you understand life
- and human nature; and I know that while men like to assume a sentimental
- attitude toward love, it is merely a pose. I will not argue the matter
- with you. You know as well as I that such a marriage would have been a
- fatal mistake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She said this in a hard, emphatic way that indicated her desire to end the
- discussion. Then she resumed her story.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I got into her confidence by professing sympathy with her, and adopting
- her point of view,—by anticipating it, I mean, for she was too
- guarded to disclose it. The poor little idiot fell into the trap. She had
- been carrying her secret for months, and the burden of it was wearing her
- out. You know, a nature of that kind must have sympathy, must have some
- one to listen, must have a confidant. She had not dared to trust her
- parents, for she knew that they would put a stop to her folly. When she
- found, as she thought, that I was in full sympathy with her, she laid her
- poor foolish heart completely open. And what do you think she was going to
- do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned toward her host as she asked the question, and found him still
- sitting immovable and looking into the fire. He seemed not to have heard
- her, for he made no answer; and his stony silence and stillness gave her a
- strange sensation that might have weighed more with her had she not been
- so deeply interested in her narrative, and so well satisfied with her part
- in its happenings. She turned her glance again toward the window, and
- resumed:
- </p>
- <p>
- “She had decided to run away with this vulgar—fiddler. There was but
- one thing lacking,—he had not asked her; but she believed that he
- loved her with all his soul, and that he was having a fight with himself
- to decide whether it would be right for him to bring so scandalous a thing
- upon her. She and he both realized that it would be worse than useless for
- him to ask her parents for her. She said to me, ‘He fears that I shall be
- unhappy in the poverty that would be my lot if we should go away and
- marry. He fears that I should miss the luxuries to which I had been
- accustomed. He fears that my friends will think he had married me for my
- fortune. He has so many fears, and they are all for me. Yet I know that he
- would cheerfully lay down his life for me. There never was a man so
- unselfish, so generous, so ready to sacrifice himself for others.’
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could hardly keep from laughing while the poor child was telling me all
- that rubbish. Before employing harsh measures to check her foolish
- purpose, I resorted to milder ones. While continuing to be sympathetic, I
- nevertheless said a great many things that would have set her thinking if
- she had had any sense. I gave her to understand, as delicately as possible
- (for I was careful not to rouse any resentfulness or stubbornness in her),
- that her lover undoubtedly was a worthless fellow, as persons of his class
- are; that he was weak in character and loose in morals; that he was merely
- a sly adventurer, playing adroitly upon her innocence and confidence, and
- anxious to leave his laborious life for one of ease at her expense. I
- compared her station as his wife with that as the wife of a man in her own
- sphere.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The trouble was that she cared nothing for the position that she
- occupied. She honestly believed, poor idiot! that she could be as happy
- poor as rich. But the great obstacle was her infatuation for the man, and
- her belief that he was finer and better than the men of her own station.
- She was dreamy and romantic, and that is why she idealized this fiddling
- nobody. The more she told me of his gentleness, his refinement, his
- unselfishness, his poetic nature, the more I saw that he lacked the
- sterling qualities of manhood, the more I realized that he had made a
- careful study of her weaknesses and was playing upon them with all the
- unscrupulous skill of his species. She implored me to meet him, to know
- him, to study him. Of course that was out of the question. She was sure,
- she said, that I should come to admire and respect him as she had. I
- firmly declined to see him. I have even forgotten his name.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a pause in the narration. The young man was so still that his
- guest looked round at him, and found his gaze fastened upon her. She
- started, for she saw that it held a veiled quality that she did not
- understand, and that for a moment filled her with uneasiness. He quickly
- and without a word looked again at the fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE convalescent
- thrust aside the momentary depression that her host’s strange expression
- had given her, and proceeded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “At last I realized that all mild measures would be useless. I knew that
- at any time something dreadful might happen, and I was determined to save
- my old schoolmate from the disgrace and sorrow that she was inviting.
- Without directly encouraging her to proceed as she had started, I gave her
- to understand that she might always depend upon my friendship. Then I set
- about the serious work that I had to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was another long pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?” said her host, a little harshly and impatiently; and that change
- from no his habitual gentleness gave her a passing wonder. Then she saw
- that she was hurting him. She had waited for that sign.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew that it would be an easy task to match my wit with that of a
- sentimental, scheming fiddler and a foolish girl. I needn’t give all the
- details of the plan that I carried out. It was merely a matter of getting
- an engagement for him somewhere else for a time, and of presenting to her
- in his absence some evidence of his faithlessness. I knew them both well
- enough to foresee that she would never let him know what she had heard,—that
- she would simply send him adrift, and expect him to make an explanation if
- he was innocent, and that he would be too abashed to demand an explanation
- from her or make one himself. There was no danger that he would open a way
- to disprove or even deny the evidence that I produced.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All this, you understand, I did with the greatest delicacy. The plan
- worked perfectly. They never saw each other again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilder turned and looked her full in the face. It was the way in which he
- did it that sharpened her attention, for it was a look in which she felt,
- rather than saw, a command.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What became of them?” he quietly asked, but she felt that the question
- required an answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh,” she replied, her air of indifference veiling her determination to
- hold control of the situation, “the vagabond fiddler was never seen again.
- As for Ada—but that was infinitely better than to have lived a life
- of wretchedness——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “As for Ada?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was dead in a month,”—this with a hard and defiant manner.
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man rose from his chair, which he clumsily upset. In a strangely
- uncertain, stumbling fashion he went to the front door, and felt for the
- latch, as though blind. Then he changed his mind and started for the rear
- door; but whatever purpose he had was interrupted by his overturning a
- small table and sending the books and other articles upon it clattering to
- the floor. Evidently startled and confused by the noise and his own
- clumsiness,—though hardly more so than the young woman, who was
- watching him in amazement,—he righted the table with difficulty, and
- began to pick up the articles that had fallen from it. Instead, however,
- of replacing them on the table, he put them on the bed. His face was
- livid, his eyes were sunk alarmingly deep in his skull, and he seemed to
- have become suddenly old and wrinkled. His hands trembled, and weakness so
- overcame him that he sat down upon the edge of the bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- This state quickly passed, and the young man looked at his guest, who had
- been compelled to turn her chair laboriously to observe him; and when he
- saw the perplexed and distressed look in her face—seeing nothing of
- the gratification and triumph that her distress partly obscured—he
- smiled faintly and came firmly to his feet. “It must have been an attack
- of vertigo,” he explained, feebly. But he continued to look at her so
- steadily and with so penetrating a gaze that her uneasiness increased. Had
- she carried her torture of him too far? Oh, well, it would do him good in
- the end!
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now,” he said, in a voice that steadily grew stronger and firmer, “I
- will tell <i>you</i> a story.” He was standing directly in front of her
- and looking down into her face. “One day, just after a great sorrow had
- fallen upon me, I was strolling along the water-front of San Francisco,
- and sat down upon some lumber at the end of a pier. I had not noticed a
- number of rough-looking young men sitting near me, until one of them said,
- in the course of the talk that they were having, ‘Yes, but I loved her! It
- was the way in which he said it that attracted my notice. I judged from
- his appearance that he was a laborer, perhaps a stevedore; but there was
- something in his voice that belongs to stricken men in all the walks of
- life. One of his companions said, ‘Nonsense, Frank; there’s just as good
- fish in the sea as ever was caught out of it.’ But Frank shook his head
- and said, ‘Not for me.’ The others said nothing, and after a little while
- Frank repeated, ‘Not for me.’ Did you ever hear a man say that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilder’s voice, which had been steadily growing louder, suddenly sank
- almost to a whisper as he asked his guest that question. The wrinkles were
- deepening in his face, and his glance had a sharpness of penetration that
- the young woman found it hard to meet without wincing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then,” resumed Wilder, “another of his companions, seeking to show him
- the folly of his grief, made some remarks about the woman that I cannot
- repeat. Frank replied without anger: ‘Don’t say that, Joe: you mean well,
- but don’t say it. She was the woman I loved. Every night, now, when I put
- out the light to go to bed, I see her in the room; and when I go on
- streets that are dark, I think she’s walking with me. I loved that woman;
- and now I don’t know what to do. For she’s dead, boys, she’s dead; and by
- God! they killed her.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilder was still looking down into the face of his guest as he concluded,
- and she had been looking up into his; but when, with a trembling voice, he
- spoke the last sentence, her glance dropped to the floor. After a pause he
- spoke again, and his voice was full, round, and passionate.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They killed her, madam, as they have killed many another. How it was that
- they killed the woman whose death had filled this rough man’s life with
- grief and despair, I do not know. But they killed her. Some murderous
- human hand shattered a scheme that the Almighty himself had laid. I wish
- you could have heard him say, ‘She’s dead, boys, she’s dead; and by God!
- they killed her.’ The sound of its agony would have found the heart that
- was intended to do more than keep you alive with its beating. Do you know
- what murder is? Do you know the difference between the gross, stupid,
- brutal murder that in satisfying its coarse lust for blood runs its thick
- neck into the halter, and the finer, daintier, infinitely more cruel
- murder that kills with torturing cruelty, and thus outwits the gallows?
- The blood-murderer is a poor fool, dwarfed in mind and crippled in soul.
- Perhaps he gets his full punishment when the law stretches his useless
- neck. But the murderer who outwits the law in his killing, who murders the
- innocent and unsuspecting and confiding, who makes friendship the cup from
- which the poison is drunk, who employs the most damnable lies and
- treachery, who calmly watches the increasing agonies of his victim as the
- poison slowly does its work,—what punishment do you think can reach
- such a murderer as that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man’s voice had become loud, harsh, and threatening. Violent
- emotions were stirring him. His whole slender frame seemed to have
- expanded. His face was flushed, his eyes were blazing, his fingers
- clutched at invisible things, his entire aspect was menacing. His guest,
- awed and terrified, raised her glance to his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And by whom is such a murder done?” he cried. “It is done by one who,
- coming into the world with a soul fresh and complete from the hands of the
- Creator, deliberately turns aside from the way of nature and nature’s God,
- crushes the attributes that form our one link with heaven and our one hope
- of immortality, throttles all that might be useful in bringing light and
- strength into the lives of others, and in shameless defiance of the
- Almighty’s manifest will sets up false gods to worship, sacrifices
- self-respect for self-love, banishes the essence of life and clings to the
- dross, and wallows like swine in a mire of his own making. The
- blood-murderer is infinitely better than that. He has at least a human
- heart in all its savage majesty.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And for what is such a murder done? It proceeds from a dwarfed, distorted
- soul, deliberately, consciously, intelligently made so by its possessor.
- Its purpose is to destroy the one touch of beauty, sweetness, and purity
- that makes us akin to the angels. It sees an exquisite flower; that flower
- must be plucked, else its beauty would flourish and its destiny be
- fulfilled. It finds love in its purest, noblest, most unselfish form
- between two whom God had made each for the other for the fulfilling of his
- own inscrutable design, and by lies and treachery proceeds to kill one and
- destroy the happiness of the other. What punishment, madam, is adequate
- for such a murder? The hands of the law would be polluted by strangling a
- murderer so base, so cowardly, so infinitely lower and meaner than the
- lowest beasts, so utterly unworthy of the honor of the gallows-tree. There
- can be but one adequate punishment, and only Omnipotence could devise a
- hell sufficient for it. And the sooner this punishment comes, the sooner
- will the vengeance of God be satisfied. What higher duty could rest upon a
- mortal standing in awe and reverence under his Maker’s law than to set the
- law in force?”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the dismay and terror that now filled her soul the woman could not
- mistake the meaning of that threat, nor the madness that would give it
- force. A numbing fear, a feeling that she was sinking into a bottomless
- pit, put gyves upon all her faculties. In a hopeless stupor she sat, in
- speechless dread of the blow that she felt must fall. To her dazed
- attention the avenger himself stood before her in all the terror of
- infuriated justice free from its leash and plunging forward headlong and
- irresistible to satisfy its vengeance. Never had she dreamed that a mortal
- could face a thing so terrible as this man, who, having dragged her from
- death, and with infinite patience, gentleness, and unselfishness had been
- nursing her back to health and strength, now stood as the judge and
- executioner of her naked, trembling, convicted soul. Her eyes strained,
- her lips apart, she looked up, speechless and motionless, into his face;
- and to her his blazing eyes and tense frame filled all the world with
- vengeance, scorn, and death.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Woman,” he cried, “whether it be murder or justice, your death would
- remove an infamous stain from the face of this fair world. If you can,
- make your peace with God, for I am going to send your damned black soul
- where it can do no further harm. It is with immeasurable hate, with
- infinite loathing, that I am going to kill you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He clutched her shoulder, and the hot iron grip of his fingers tore her
- skin. He thrust his face close to hers, and she heard the grinding of his
- teeth, which his parted lips showed as the fangs of a maddened beast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You viper!” he cried; “you have no right to life!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She saw his free hand seeking her throat. Then her energies were unlocked.
- She threw back her head, and with all her might cried out,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father! father! help me! save me!” The young man started back, clutched
- his head with both hands, and looked about in a wild and frightened way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What was that?” he breathlessly asked. “Did you hear? The wolves are
- coming down. That was the howl of the she-wolf!” In a dazed manner he
- found his way to the back door, opened it, passed out, and bolted it
- behind him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER NINE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>ORE extracts from
- the lady’s journal:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can never begin an entry in my journal without having that frightful
- scene come between me and these pages. Oh, it was terrible,—terrible
- beyond all comprehension! I cannot believe, after thinking it over and
- over during these weeks that have passed since it occurred, that it was
- the fear of death that so terrified me, and, I know, made an old woman of
- me. No, it could not have been that. It was the fear of going with that
- awful condemnation upon me. Was it just? Was it true?
- </p>
- <p>
- “He seems to have recovered at last from the alarming depression that
- followed his outbreak, and this gives me leisure to think, leisure to
- recall many circumstances that in my blindness, my incredible blindness
- and stupidity, I had overlooked. I take into account the fearful strain
- under which he had suffered so long. He is a delicate, finely organized
- man, and has had more to do and to bear than a dozen strong men would have
- done and borne so well and patiently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There was his anxiety on the score of my recovery. Then there were the
- endless duties of waiting on me, of thinking of the thousands of little
- things that had to be thought of and done, and that he never forgot nor
- neglected. He has done my cooking, my washing,—everything that was
- hard and distasteful for a man to do. Then there was his constant anxiety
- on account of the snow; and it has been growing daily all through the
- winter with the increasing dangers and discomforts; and besides his
- anxiety was the hard physical labor—far too heavy for him—that
- he has been compelled to do in order to keep our hut from being buried and
- ourselves from being smothered. And, last, there has been the constant
- wearing upon him of a close imprisonment with me, for whom I know he now
- must have a most intense dislike.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am satisfied, too, that he has anxieties concealed from me. That they
- are associated with something upon which the back door opens, I have no
- doubt. There are several reasons for my thinking so. I am so nearly well
- now that I could get about and be helpful to him if he would only make me
- a crutch, as I have often begged him to do; but he has always put me off,
- saying that it was too early for a crutch, that my desire to be useful
- would give me a serious setback through making me overdo, and that the
- main thing for us both to consider was the return of my strength as
- quickly as possible, and our escape on snow-shoes that he would make as
- soon as I should be able to walk. It has all sounded very plausible, but
- it seems to me that common-sense would suggest that I take a little
- exercise. In spite of my having regained my flesh, I am as weak as an
- infant. Knowing that he is a good physician, I doubt his sincerity about
- the crutch. I believe the solemn truth is that he fears I would try to
- invade his cherished secret if I were able to be about.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know that he keeps the provisions in the place into which the back door
- opens, and that this fact seems to give him a sufficient excuse for going
- there so often,—especially as he does the cooking there; and that is
- another strange circumstance. For weeks after I was first brought to the
- hut he prepared the food on the broad hearth here; but after a while he
- did that in the rear apartment, explaining that the odors from the cooking
- were not good for me, and that it was uncomfortable for him to cook before
- an open fireplace. I protested that I did not mind the odors, and he
- replied that I would at least consider his comfort.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Another thing: He has not eaten with me for a long, long time. His
- original plan was to prepare my meal, wait on me until I had finished, and
- then have his own at the little table in the chimney-corner. I did not
- observe for some time that he had quit eating in that way, and that he
- took his meals in the rear apartment. He always speaks of it as an
- ‘apartment,’ and not as a room. I wonder why. I have been sitting up for a
- long time now, and do not require his assistance after he has brought me
- my food. It would be much pleasanter if he would sit at the little table
- and eat with me. Is his dislike of me so deep that he cannot eat with me?
- With all my sense, I have permitted this condition of affairs to come
- about! And we both are sufferers by it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is no wonder, with all these things troubling him, that he has changed
- so much since I came. He is as scrupulously neat as ever, and he makes
- this poor little hut shine, but he has changed remarkably since I came. It
- has been so gradual that I didn’t observe it until my blindness was no
- longer sufficient to keep me from seeing it. He was slender and evidently
- not strong when I came, but he has become a shadow, and his gaunt cheeks
- and hollow eyes are distressing to me. When he comes in now from fighting
- the snow,—for we must not be buried by it, and must have light and
- air, and the top of the chimney must be kept clear,—his weakness and
- exhaustion, though he tries so hard to conceal them, are terrible to see.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now a great fear has come to me. It is that at any moment he may
- break down and die. I wish I had not written that, I wish I had never
- thought of it. Oh, if my father would only come! What can be keeping him?
- Do I not know that he loves me better than anything else in the world? Am
- I not all that he has to love and cling to? I cannot, cannot, understand
- it. Dr. Malbone says it is unreasonable for me to expect my father, and
- that if he should make the effort to reach me now it would be at too great
- a risk to his own life. He tries to assure me that my father will be
- governed entirely by the advice of the people who know the mountains, and
- that they will restrain him from making any such attempt, as they would
- not dare to make it themselves. All that may be true, but it is difficult
- for me to believe it. If I could only get a word from him, it would give
- me greater strength to bear the horrors of my situation. But why should I
- complain, when Dr. Malbone bears it all so patiently, so sweetly, so
- cheerfully?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Still, that awful picture of murder comes between me and these pages
- unceasingly. I think I can understand now why men sometimes kill women.
- Why should men and women be so different? Why should it be impossible for
- them to comprehend each other? It was Murder that I saw standing before me—both
- the horrible picture of murder as he painted it, with me as the murderess—me
- as the murderess!—and Murder in the flesh as he stood ready to
- strangle me. Oh, the incredible ferocity of the man, the terrible, wild
- savagery of him, the awful dark and nether side of his strangely complex
- character! All along I had taken him for a pusillanimous milksop, a baby,
- an old woman, a weak nobody; and at once he dropped his outer shell and
- stood forth a Man,—terrible, savage, brutal, overwhelming, splendid,
- wonderful! What is my judgment worth after this? And I was so proud of my
- understanding of men!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why didn’t he kill me? It was my cry that checked him; but why should it?
- Was it my appeal for help that brought him to his senses? I think so. It
- touched that within him which had been so keenly alert, so unrelaxingly
- vigilant, ever since I had come under his care. But what did he mean by
- the howl of the she-wolf? And what did he mean by saying that the wolves
- had come down? Several times since that terrible scene he has waked me in
- the night with groans, and with crying out in his sleep, ‘The she-wolf?’
- These things have a meaning, I know. Why does he explain nothing? And why
- have I permitted an estrangement between us that makes it impossible for
- me to seek his confidence? Is it too late now?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, the terrible moments, the interminable hours, that passed after he
- had left the hut by the rear door! Every second, at first, I expected him
- to return and kill me. Would he have a rifle, a revolver, a knife, or a
- bludgeon, or would he come with those terrible long fingers hooked like
- claws to fasten upon my throat? And yet, somehow, I felt safe; I felt that
- his old watchfulness and solicitude had returned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As soon as I could overcome the half-stupor into which his outburst had
- thrown me I dragged myself to the rear door, intending to barricade it
- against him. The effort was exceedingly painful and exhausting, and
- brought me great suffering for a week afterward. But my sufferings of mind
- and spirit were so much greater that I could bear those of the flesh. When
- I had crawled to the door and was trying to drag a box against it, I heard
- something that stopped me. I am not certain that it was anything real.
- There was a loud singing in my ears from the awful fright that I had
- suffered, and what I heard may have been that, made seemingly coherent by
- my over-strained imagination. What I heard sounded like the distant,
- smothered, awful strains of Saint-Saens’s ‘Dance of Death’ played on the
- violin. But wild and terrible as it sounded, it came as a pledge of my
- safety. Murder cannot come with music.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I drew myself away and with great effort clambered upon the bed, where I
- lay a long time in complete exhaustion. Time had no meaning for me. A
- dull, massive, intangible weight seemed to be crushing me, and I longed—oh,
- how I longed!—for human sympathy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The hut was dark when he returned. We had been very saving with the
- candles, for Dr. Malbone explained that they were running low; so in the
- evenings we generally had only the fire-light. There seemed to be a
- generous supply of fire-wood in the rear apartment, and some of it was a
- pitchy pine that gave out a fine blaze. When he returned the fire had
- burned out. I felt no fear when I heard him enter. I knew by the
- unsteadiness of his movements that he was weak and ill, but the first
- sound of his voice as he called me anxiously was perfectly reassuring.
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘I am lying on the bed,’ I answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He groped to the bedside and there he knelt, and buried his face in his
- hands upon the coverlet. And then—I say it merely as his due, merely
- as the simple truth—he did the manliest thing that a man ever did.
- He raised his head and in dignified humility said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘I have done the most cowardly, the most brutal thing that a man can do.
- Will you forgive me? Can you forgive me?
- </p>
- <p>
- “I put out my hand to stop him, for it was terrible that a man should be
- so humble and broken; but he took my hand in both of his and held it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘Will you? Can you? he pleaded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was the only time that his touch had been other than the cold and
- perfunctory one of the physician, and—I feel no shame in writing it—it
- was the first time in my life that the touch of a man’s hand had been so
- comforting. For a moment his hand seemed to have been thrust through the
- wall that hitherto had separated us so completely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘You were not the one to blame,’ I said. ‘I alone was the guilty one.’
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘No, no!’ he protested, warmly. ‘What provocation under heaven could
- excuse such conduct as mine?’
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘I will forgive you,’ I said, ‘upon one condition.’
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘And that———-’
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘You forgive me in turn.’
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very slowly, as soon as I had said that, the pressure with which he had
- been holding my hand began to relax. What did that mean, and why did he
- remain silent, and why did a pain come stealing into my heart? Could not
- he be as generous as I? Had I overrated him, after all?
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘It was terrible!’ he half whispered. ‘By every obligation resting upon a
- man, I should have been kind to you. You were my guest as well as my
- patient. You were crippled and helpless, and unable to defend yourself.
- You were a woman, looking to every man, by the right of your sex, for
- comfort and protection. I was a man, owing to you, because you were a
- woman, all the comfort and protection that every man owes to every woman.
- All of these obligations I trampled under foot.’
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why did he put that sting into our reconciliation? Had he not done it so
- innocently, so unintentionally, it would not have hurt so much. I withdrew
- my hand from his very slowly; he made no effort to retain it. He did not
- again ask me to forgive him, and he did not offer me his forgiveness. The
- breach in the wall was closed, and the barrier stood intact and
- impregnable between us.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Presently he rose and made a fire, and prepared me something to eat; but
- I had no appetite. Then he found that I had a fever, and he was much
- distressed. There was just one comforting touch of sympathy when he said
- to me,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘You were sobbing all the time I was making the fire and preparing your
- supper. I promise not to frighten nor distress you again.’
- </p>
- <p>
- “How did he know I had been sobbing, when I had taken so much pains to
- conceal it And yet I might have known that his watchfulness upon my
- welfare is so keen, so unrelaxing, that nothing affecting me can be hidden
- from him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was confined to bed a week, and suffered greatly both in mind and body.
- I had hurt my crippled leg, and that made my physician very anxious.
- During all this time it had not occurred to me, so sodden with selfishness
- is my nature, that he had suffered a very serious nervous shock from his
- outburst of mad passion, and that only by a mighty effort was he holding
- up to put me again on the road to recovery. A realization of the truth
- came when my ill turn had passed. He had hardly placed me comfortably on a
- chair when a ghastly pallor made a death’s-head of his face, and he reeled
- to the bed and fell fainting upon it, still having the thoughtfulness to
- say, as he reeled,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘I am—a little—tired—and sleepy. I—am perfectly—well.
- Have no—uneasiness.’
- </p>
- <p>
- “Except for his slight, short breathing, he lay for hours as one dead; and
- then I realized more fully than ever the weight of the awful burden that
- my presence has laid upon him. I know that I am killing him. O God! is
- there nothing that I can do to help him, to make it easier for him? What
- have I done that this horrible curse should have come upon me?
- </p>
- <p>
- “The most wonderful of all the strange things that I have seen and learned
- in this terrible imprisonment is that his kindness toward me has not
- suffered the slightest change. He is still the soul of thoughtfulness,
- watchfulness, unselfishness, and yet he has denounced me to my face as a——
- </p>
- <p>
- “Another thing I have found: All the training that I have had in
- cleverness goes for nothing here. He always avoids the beginning of any
- conversation on subjects other than those that lie immediately near us. It
- therefore requires a great effort on my part—and I think I deserve
- some praise for it—to draw him into discussions of general matters.
- In these discussions he never advances an opinion if he suspects that I
- have an opposite one, and never opposes nor contradicts me; but I cannot
- help feeling that his views are so much broader and deeper than mine, so
- much wiser, so much more charitable, so much nearer to what he calls ‘the
- great heart of humanity,’ as to make me seem shallow and mean. Am I really
- so? I try not to be.
- </p>
- <p>
- “With indescribable tact and delicacy, he holds me at an infinite
- distance, and I have been unable to find any way to bridge the vast
- gulf.... After all, why should I try? If he despises me, I cannot help it.
- This miserable position in which I am placed will be at an end some time;
- and when I am again free, and in my own world, I will show him the
- gratitude that I feel. Will he let me?...
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is there so repulsive about me? Why should I be treated as a viper?
- And why is it that of all the men I have known—men whom I could
- handle as putty—this obscure backwoods doctor sets himself wholly
- apart from me, remains utterly impregnable, shames and humiliates me with
- a veiled pity, and feels not the slightest touch of the power that I know
- myself to have? Is my face ugly? Are my manners crude? Is my voice
- repellent? Where are my resources of womanly tact that I have used
- successfully in the past? Why is it that I fail utterly to impress him as
- having a single admirable trait, a single grace of appearance, manner, or
- character?
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is hard to bear all this. I try to be brave and strong and cheerful,
- as he always is; but it is human nature to resent his treatment, and it is
- cruel of him to keep me in such a position. It is the first time in my
- life that I have been at a disadvantage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I imagine that he has suffered some great sorrow. Indeed, he said so in
- his outburst. His distrust of me seems to indicate its character. He
- probably gave some heartless woman his whole love, his whole soul, and she
- laughed at him and cast him off. That would go hard with a man of his
- kind. There can be no other explanation; and now I am the sufferer for
- that woman’s sin: he thinks that all women are like her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will write this vow, so that I may turn to it often and strengthen my
- purpose by reading it:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will make this man like me. I will tear down the wall that he has built
- between us. I will employ every resource to bring him to my feet. I will
- make him appreciate me. I will make him need me. I will make him want me.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is my vow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Thus end, again for the present, these extracts from the lady’s journal.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER TEN
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE severity of the
- winter did not relax. There were intervals when the wind did not blow and
- the snow did not fall; but there were neither warm winds nor sunshine to
- melt the snow, the depth of which grew steadily and aggravated the
- impassableness of the roads. Day by day, week by week, month by month it
- strengthened the bars of the prison holding the two unhappy souls.
- </p>
- <p>
- With the prolonged and increasing rigors of the winter harder and harder
- grew the rigors of the prison. The strength of Wilder’s spirit was
- beginning to break down; and while it distressed his fair charge to see
- him suffer, it warmed her heart to realize that the day of her triumph was
- near,—the day when she should serve him as gently, as unselfishly,
- as faithfully as he had served her. It would be sweet to have him
- helpless, to have him lean upon her, need her, want her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her manner had undergone a great change since the terrible scene in which
- her life was threatened. Her firmness, her self-reliance, her
- aggressiveness, her condescension, all had gone, and she bore herself
- toward her rescuer as mother, sister, and friend. In innumerable little
- ways she saved him trouble through denying herself, and did it so
- tactfully that he never suspected the deception. Under the influence of
- this he had at last made her a crutch, which, though rude and
- uncomfortable, she declared to be a miracle of ease. She believed that in
- giving it to her he expressed more confidence in her than he had felt
- before.
- </p>
- <p>
- Its introduction into the scheme of their lives worked changes that
- astonished and pleased him. In spite of his distressed protests, she
- overhauled his meagre wardrobe, and with deft workmanship put every
- article in perfect order. Her skill and ingenuity were employed in many
- other ways, so that the cabin soon took on a look very different from that
- which she had found when she came. Little touches lent an air of grace and
- a sense of comfort that the place had not borne before.
- </p>
- <p>
- She relieved him of all the work of caring for her, except that of
- cooking; this was a duty that he reserved with immovable stubbornness. Nor
- could she contrive with all her wiles and persuasion to make him have his
- meals with her. She formed many a theory to explain his conduct in that
- particular. Finally, she settled upon this one: He preferred to fill the
- rôle of a servitor; as such he must take his meals apart. But why should
- he so choose? Was it because he deemed it the safer course for them both?
- Was it because he wished to discipline her by placing her above him, when
- by obvious right they were equals? Speculation was useless; she was forced
- to accept the fact, which she did with all the grace at her command.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had grown thin to emaciation. His hands were those of a skeleton
- covered tightly with skin. His cheeks were greatly sunken, and the drawn
- skin upon his cheek-bones was a chalky white. But his eyes were the most
- haunting of his features. They seemed to be looking always for something
- that could not be found, and to show a mortal dread of a catastrophe that
- had given no sign of its imminence. In their impenetrable depths she
- imagined that she saw all mysteries, all fears, all anxieties.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still, though very weak, he kept sturdily and cheerfully at his duties.
- There was the snow to fight. There was the fire to be kept up, for the
- cold was intense. There was the cooking to do.
- </p>
- <p>
- Uncomfortable as her bed was, she knew that it was luxurious in comparison
- with the thinly covered floor of stones and earth upon which he slept. In
- time this came to haunt her unceasingly, and she pondered every
- conceivable plan to make him more comfortable. At first it was her firm
- intention to make him take the bed while she slept on the floor; but she
- knew that it would be useless to make the suggestion; so she was forced to
- abandon the idea, dear as it was to her, and happy as its adoption would
- have made her. Instead, she did what she could to make his pallet
- comfortable. Her ingenuity made so great a difference that his gratitude
- touched her.
- </p>
- <p>
- One day she discovered him in agonizing pain. The torture was so great
- that it broke down his iron fortitude and drew his face awry. She was
- instantly at his side, her hand on his shoulder and her face showing a
- wistful anxiety.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is it, my friend?” she inquired, in the gentlest voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- With a pitiful effort at self-mastery he declared that it was only a
- trifling and transitory pain, and that it was rapidly passing. She knelt
- beside him and looked anxiously into his face. Her solicitude evidently
- increased his suffering, but she was determined to make the fight then and
- there.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me what it is, my friend,” she begged.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was the second time that she had called him “my friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is only rheumatism,” he said, somewhat impatiently, and making a
- gentle effort to push her away. But she persisted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is not a trifling thing,” she said, “for your strength is greatly
- reduced. Where is the pain?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I don’t know; you are only making it harder for me!” he petulantly
- exclaimed.
- </p>
- <p>
- A great gladness filled her heart, for she knew that he was giving way,
- and that her solicitude was hastening his collapse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she said, “I will make you well. Where is the pain?” His face gave
- the glad sign of his wavering.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where is the pain?” she repeated. “It is my right to know and your duty
- to tell me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In my——” he said, gasping, “in my chest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She rose and went to the bed, which she prepared for him. When he saw what
- her intention was he came to his feet with great effort. Before she could
- divine his purpose or check him, he had gone to the rear door, hastily
- opened it, and saying, “I will be back in a moment,” passed out and closed
- it after him. She stood bewildered at the neatness with which he had
- baffled her, and alarmed for his safety. But he had promised to return at
- once, and she knew that he would if he could. To her great relief he soon
- came back, bearing some biscuits and a few tins of provisions. As he
- stepped within and locked the door he dropped a tin, and before she could
- go to his assistance he had fallen while trying to pick it up. She drew
- him to his feet, and was amazed to discover how much stronger she was than
- he, and yet she had thought herself very weak. She seated him upon the
- edge of the bed and began to remove his shoes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no!” he gasped; “you shall not do that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But she kept on and succeeded, and laid him upon the bed and drew the
- covers over him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now,” she said, “tell me what to give you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did so, and it gave her infinite satisfaction to have him take the
- medicine from her hand. Soon his pain relaxed, and he fell into a heavy
- slumber.
- </p>
- <p>
- While she watched him as might a mother her slumbering first-born, her
- soul warmed and expanded, and her one shy regret was that his head was not
- resting on her breast. But there were duties awaiting her. She took up the
- surplus ashes from the hearth. She revived the fire with the wood that he
- had heaped up at the chimney-side the night before. She put snow into a
- vessel to heat water. She stowed away his pallet. She prepared to make tea
- as soon as the water should be hot. In the performance of these and other
- minor tasks she was very happy, and for the first time since she had
- entered the hut she sang softly. The work was not easy, for she had little
- strength, being unused so long to exercise, and her lameness and the
- crutch interfered sorely.
- </p>
- <p>
- One sting hurt unceasingly. She reflected that her host had decided to
- take to the bed under her persuasion, and that he had brought the
- provisions from the rear apartment so that she might prepare food during
- his helplessness; but this was because he had not trusted her to get the
- provisions herself,—had made it unnecessary for her to enter the
- forbidden chamber. As well as she could she tried to be generous; she
- tried to think that a man so kind, so thoughtful, so respectful, must have
- the best reasons for keeping her out of that room. If so, she had no right
- to expect his confidence. But why did he give her no explanation? Why
- should he not trust her to that extent? This was the sting that hurt.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a vague way she believed that something ought to be put on his chest
- for the pain that he had suffered there.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had an intense desire to do something for him. She thought that cloths
- saturated with liniment would be good for him. With great caution, to
- avoid waking him, she opened the garments covering his chest. He still
- slept heavily, for the medicine that he had taken carried a soporific
- element. When she had bared his breast and seen the frightful emaciation
- of his body, she quickly covered him, fell upon her face to the floor, and
- sobbed.
- </p>
- <p>
- The day advanced, but still he slept. Her one hope now was that he would
- sleep into the night, for that would require her to sleep on the pallet
- before the hearth. She had another precious hope, and it was that they
- would at last eat a meal together; but she would rather that he slept; so,
- toward evening, she made a simple meal and ate her share alone, and kept
- his ready for him against his waking.
- </p>
- <p>
- She marvelled that there was so much to do in so small a place, and that
- the day—the sweetest, she believed, of all the days of her life—had
- passed so quickly. At short intervals she would lean over him and listen
- to his short, half-checked breathing; or she would gently lay her cool
- hand upon his hot forehead, or hold one of his burning hands in hers, and
- then press it to her cheek. It seemed surpassingly wonderful that the
- strong man, strong in spirit only, should be lying now as helpless as an
- infant, wholly dependent upon her.
- </p>
- <p>
- At times he was restless, and talked unintelligibly in his sleep; she was
- instantly at his side, to soothe him with her cool, soft hand upon his
- face; and when she saw that it always calmed him, she sighed from the
- sweet pain that filled her breast. Once, when he seemed on the verge of
- waking, she slipped her arm under his head, and gave him more of the
- medicine, which he took unresistingly, and slept again. As the night wore
- on, she made herself unhappy with trying to choose between sitting at his
- bedside and watching, and suffering the hardship that he had borne so long
- in sleeping on the pallet. While she was in the throes of this contention,
- another urgent matter arose. It had been her host’s custom to bring in a
- supply of wood every night. That which he had brought the night before was
- now exhausted, and more was needed. How could she get it. She knew that he
- had locked the back door and put the key into a certain pocket. She knew
- that she could not get the wood without the key. Procuring a supply of
- fuel was one precaution that he had overlooked when he had brought in a
- supply of provisions.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was in a profound slumber. She could get the key, and thus provide the
- wood for the night. But would it be right to do so? If the fire went out
- the cold would be intense, and might prove fatal to him. If she should
- enter the forbidden room, would that be taking an unfair advantage of his
- helplessness? It was a hard problem, but in the end her sense of duty
- outweighed her sense of delicacy. With the greatest caution she slipped
- her hand into his pocket and secured the key. With equal caution she went
- to the door and unlocked it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then a great fear assailed her. What lay beyond the door? Might it not be
- some danger that only her host could safely face? If so, what could it
- be?... It were wise to have a candle; but search failed to discover one.
- She secured a small torch from the fire, and cautiously opened the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- To her surprise, no chamber was revealed, but merely a walled and roofed
- passage closed at the farther end with a door. Piled within it was a store
- of wood; there was nothing else. It was very awkward for the young woman
- to carry the crutch, the torch, and the wood all at once; it was necessary
- to relinquish the torch. She carried it back to the fireplace, and went
- again to the passage, piled some wood in her free arm, and started back.
- As she did so she saw her host sitting up and staring at her in horror.
- This so frightened her that she dropped the wood, screamed, and fell
- fainting to the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- When she became conscious she found herself on the bed and her host
- watching beside her. There was the old look of command in his face, the
- old veil that hung between her and his confidence; and thus her glorious
- day had come to an inglorious end, and her spirit was nearly crushed. Her
- host had recovered in a measure,—sufficiently for him to resume the
- command of his house. No questions were asked, no explanations were given.
- He thanked her gratefully for her kindness to him, and thus her brief
- happiness came to an end. The old round of labor, of waiting, of hoping,
- of suffering, of imprisonment, was taken up again.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> FEW days
- afterward they were sitting before the fire in silence. It had become
- habitual with the young woman to study every look and movement of her
- host; to anticipate him in the discharge of the household duties; to
- provide for him every little comfort that the meagre resources of the hut
- afforded; and to observe with a strange pleasure the steady breaking down
- of his will and courage. She realized that his recent attack, though so
- quickly overcome, was a warning of his approaching complete collapse; and
- she believed that only when that should happen could she hope with
- sympathy and careful nursing to save him. She welcomed the moroseness that
- was stealing over him, his growing failure to study her every want, and
- his occasional lapses into a petulant bearing toward her. It gratified her
- to see him gradually loosen the iron mask that he had worn so long. Most
- significant of all his symptoms were hallucinations that began to visit
- him. At times he would start up in violent alarm and whisper, “Did you
- hear the howling of the wolves?” At others he would start in alarm to
- resist an imaginary attack upon the rear door. A touch of her hand, a
- gentle, firm word, would instantly calm him, and then he would look
- foolish and ashamed.
- </p>
- <p>
- On this day, as they sat before the fire, matters took a new and strange
- turn. He suddenly said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Listen!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was so deeply absorbed in watching him and so expectant of erratic
- conduct from him that she gave no thought to the possibility of danger
- from an external source. For dreary months she had waited in this small
- prison, and no longer gave heed to any tumult without. The young man had
- been lounging in hopeless langour, but now he sat upright, every nerve,
- muscle, and faculty under extraordinary tension.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is coming!” he cried. “I have been expecting it every day. Come—quick,
- for God’s sake!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Saying that, he seized her by the arm, and with furious eagerness and
- surprising strength dragged her to the rear door, giving her little time
- to seize her crutch. He unlocked the door and threw it open, but before he
- could open the door at the further end of the passage she heard a heavy
- roar and felt the great mountain tremble. Wholly ignorant of the meaning
- of it all, but seeing that her host was moved by an intelligent purpose,
- and feeling profound confidence and comfort in the protection that he was
- throwing about her, she placed herself completely under his guidance.
- </p>
- <p>
- The rear door was opened, and they entered a dark, cold chamber. With
- every moment the roaring increased and the trembling of the mountain was
- augmented. Then came a tremendous, stupefying crash, and the cataclysm
- gradually died away in silence, leaving an impenetrable, oppressive
- blackness.
- </p>
- <p>
- The two prisoners stood in breathless silence, held tightly in each
- other’s arms. The young woman asked no questions; her sense of security
- and comfort in this man’s arms filled the whole want of her hour. She felt
- vaguely that something more dreadful than all their past misfortunes had
- befallen them; but that feeling brought no chill to the strong warm blood
- that swept rhythmically through her heart. She was at peace with her fate.
- If this was death, it was death for them both, it was death with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her keen sympathy made her intensely attentive to every sign that he gave;
- and thus it was that she accepted, without surprise or dismay, the
- realization that he was not rallying, and that, on the contrary, he was
- sinking under the nameless blow that had fallen upon them. It was not
- anxiety for that, but for him, that now gave her every conscious quality a
- redoubled alertness. His grasp upon her tightened, and by this she knew
- that he felt the need of her, and was clinging to her. He trembled in
- every member, and swayed as he stood. With little effort she bore him to
- the ground, where, kneeling beside him and holding his hands, she softly
- spoke,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “My friend, we are together; and so long as each is the stay of the other,
- we shall have strength and courage for all things. Now tell me what I may
- do for you.” She knew by the pressure of his hand upon hers that her words
- had found good ground. She gently pressed her advantage. “Tell me what I
- may do for you. You are weak. You know how strong and healthy and willing
- I am; then, imagine how much pleasure it would give me to help you! You
- need a stimulant. Is there one in the cabin? Tell me where it is, and I
- will bring it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are kind,” he said, tremulously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But do you know what has happened?” As he asked this question he rose to
- a sitting posture, she assisting him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she calmly answered; “but no matter what has happened, we are
- together, and thus we have strength and courage for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah,” he said, hopelessly, “but this is the end! An avalanche has buried
- us and the cabin is destroyed!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Terrible as was this declaration, it had no weakening effect upon his
- companion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that all?” she cheerily asked. “But avalanches melt away, and we have
- each other. And if it come to the very worst, we shall still have each
- other. Besides each other, we have life, and with life there is always
- hope, there is always the duty to hope. If we abandon hope, life itself is
- abandoned.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This worked like good wine in his veins; but she knew by the way in which
- he still clung to her, seemingly fearful that she would leave him for a
- moment, that a dreadful unknown thing sat upon him. She waited patiently
- for him to disclose it. She knew that the shock of the catastrophe had
- wholly cleared his mind, and that the old terrors which he had concealed
- from her were working upon him with renewed activity. Still he kept
- silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know,” she presently said, “that I am glad the avalanche has come?
- I understand now the dread of some terrible happening that has been
- haunting you. Well, it has come, and we are still alive; and better than
- that, we have each other. Think how much more dreadful it might have been!
- Suppose that it had come while you were outside, and swept you away.
- Suppose that it had crushed us in the cabin. But here we are, safe and
- sound, and happy each in the presence of the other.... And I am thinking
- of something else. The snow stopped falling long ago. Lately we have had
- warm winds and some rain. This must mean, my friend, that the worst is
- over. And doesn’t it mean that the rain has softened the snow and loosened
- it to make this avalanche?”
- </p>
- <p>
- A sudden strength, a surprised gladness, were in the pressure that he now
- gave her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is true, it is true!” he softly exclaimed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then,” she continued, “the winter has dealt its last blow, and our
- liberation is at hand; for the rains that caused the avalanche will melt
- the snow that it has piled upon us, and also the snow that has closed the
- roads. It seems to me that the best of all possible things has happened.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hadn’t thought of that!” he exclaimed, with a childish eagerness that
- made her heart glow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Besides,” she continued, “how do you know that the cabin is destroyed?
- Let us go and see.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her gentle strength and courage, the seeming soundness of her reasoning,
- and her determination not to take a gloomy view of their state, roused him
- without making him aware of his weakness. Her suggestion that the cabin
- possibly had not been destroyed was a spur to his dulled and stunned
- perception.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is true,” he cheerfully said; “let us go and see.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Still clinging closely to each other, they groped in the darkness for the
- door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have matches, haven’t you?” she inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he answered, in confusion; “but we can find the door without a
- light.”
- </p>
- <p>
- That was not so easy. For the first time, now that the terrors of the
- moment had passed, the young woman was nursing a happiness that she had
- not known during all the dreary weeks of their imprisonment,—except
- once, in his illness, when it had been of so short duration.
- </p>
- <p>
- Feeling thus content, she suddenly reflected that she was at last in the
- forbidden apartment, where she believed some fearful mystery was kept
- concealed from her. Their voices had been long smothered in the cramped
- hut. The contrast that she now found was startling; yet her thoughts might
- not have reverted to the fact that she was at last in the presence of the
- mystery had not Wilder’s embarrassed refusal to make a light rekindled her
- interest. The first thing in that direction that she noticed was the
- singular resonance of their voices, as though they were in a place of a
- size just short of the echoing power. More than that, it was cold, though
- not nearly so cold as the outer air; and she heard the musical tinkle of
- dripping and running water.
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilder had evidently lost all idea of direction. In clinging to his
- companion as he groped, he took great care to guard her against stumbling
- and collision. His free hand (the other arm was about her waist) was
- extended. With great difficulty, increased by his eagerness, he finally
- found his bearings and advanced to the door. Slowly and cautiously they
- pushed on through the passage, and then, to their great relief, into the
- hut itself. This they found intact, but smoky and entirely dark,—the
- avalanche had smothered the chimney and shut out the light from the
- window. With matches they discovered that the window had not been broken
- and that the outer wall of the house held none of the pressure of the
- snow. In his peculiar fashion, however, Wilder began to foresee troubles.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The pressure of the mass above,” he said, “will compress the snow below,
- and thus give our window, and perhaps the outer wall of the cabin itself,
- a pressure that they can’t bear. The hut is buried. We can have no more
- fires. The worst of all is that, having no air, we must suffocate in
- time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is all that necessary, my friend?” his companion asked. “We can at least
- try to clear away the snow and thus remove all those difficulties; and
- there is a chance—and a good one, don’t you think?—for the
- snow to melt quickly. Besides all that, we have not yet tried to dig out
- through the snow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “True, true, every word of it!” he cried, delightedly. “What a clear,
- strong mind you have!”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was the first compliment that he had ever paid her, and its obvious
- sincerity gave it a precious value.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was she that now led the attack upon their prison of snow. What
- infinite satisfaction and pride it gave her to know that at last she was
- the guiding spirit of the hut; with what firm but gentle tact she
- overcame, one by one, his objections to her worrying or working; how she
- watched his every movement, hung upon his every word, relieved him as much
- as possible of the stress that burdened him, and ministered to his comfort
- in all ways; with what blithe songs in her heart and cheery words on her
- lips she lightened the toil of that dreadful time, need only be mentioned
- here. But it was she that led, that inspired, that achieved, and he knew
- it. This was the blessed light that shone for her through it all.
- </p>
- <p>
- A search revealed loose and easily removed snow at one end of the hut,
- against the face of the cliff. His work in the lead, digging and
- tunnelling, hers in the rear, removing the snow and keeping courage in his
- heart, brought them presently to the outer air. Then, for the first time,
- they beheld the glorious sunshine, and like children they shouted in glee
- to see it. Both walls of the canon were still heavily covered with snow,
- but numerous small slides had broken it, and the rain had softened and
- ploughed it. Evidently it was rapidly melting.
- </p>
- <p>
- Another scene held them as they stood hand in hand looking down into the
- canon. The great avalanche that had overwhelmed them had been arrested in
- the bottom of the canon, and had made a large lake by damming the river.
- Rapidly the lake grew in size and backed up the canon. Soon at any moment
- the growing mass of water must break through its dam, and that would be a
- spectacle to behold.
- </p>
- <p>
- They could not wait for that. With incredible labor—he no longer
- protesting against her full share in the work, and she heedless of her
- lameness and of its serious hindrance to her efforts—they together,
- hand in hand, clambered over the snow until they stood above the hut, and
- cheerily began to dig it free,—a task seemingly so far beyond their
- powers that something wonderful must have sustained them in assailing it.
- Thus they were working in the afternoon sunshine, for the first time boon
- companions, and as happy and light-hearted as children, when an
- exclamation from Wilder drew her attention to the dam. It was giving way
- under the pressure of water. Instantly she recognized a danger that he had
- overlooked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Back to the cliff!” she cried, seizing his hand and dragging him away,
- “or we’ll go down with the snow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They reached their tunnel and the cabin in good time; but soon afterward
- the dam broke, and the swirling, thundering mass of water bore it down the
- canon. This removed the support of the snow backed up between the river
- and the top of the cliff, and it went plunging down into the water,
- leaving the top of the hut exposed, and solving the problem of the prison
- of snow.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>NCE again from the
- lady’s journal:
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is impossible for me to describe the hope, peace, and comradeship that
- have transformed this place into a little nest, where it had been so
- terrible a prison before. The sunshine outside continues, and I know that
- it is but a matter of days when my father will come. It seems
- unaccountable to me that anything in the world could have stayed him so
- long; but Dr. Mal-bone assures me that the roads and mountains are still
- utterly impassable; that the roads, besides being strewn with fallen
- trees, are in places washed away, and that our one means of escape will be
- afoot, on our own account. We are now talking it over all the time, and
- are ready to start at the first favorable moment. My leg is nearly well;
- only a slight pain after severe exertion, and a most embarrassing weakness
- there, are the trouble now. But he is putting me through excellent
- treatment and training to overcome all that; and he has given me the
- joyous promise that we shall make the start in a week from to-day.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now I must write of some other wonderful things that have happened.
- The change that has come in our mutual bearing and understanding is so
- incredible that I hardly dare put it down here, lest it prove a dream. I
- made a vow some time ago in this journal that I would make this man need
- me and want me. That victory is won. And I know that in winning it over
- him I have won it over myself. O God, how blind, how stupidly, sordidly
- blind, I have been all these years! In the depths of my wretched
- selfishness, in the dark caverns of my meanness, I had never dreamed of
- the real human heart throbbing and aching and hoping all about me; it has
- taken this strange man to drag me forth into the light. And not at all
- willingly or consciously has he done so. There is a sting in that. At
- times I hate him still when I think of it all. It was the silent,
- intangible, undirected force radiating from him that has wrought the
- change. I feel no humiliation in saying this. I say it and know it in
- spite of the great distance that separates us,—the social barriers
- that mean so little and do so much. It will remain with me forever,
- whatever happen, to have known a man; to have known him in his strength
- and weakness, in his splendid unselfishness and childish reliance; in his
- simplicity and complexity; in his singleness of purpose and variety of
- attributes; in his gentleness and ferocity, and, above all, in his
- wonderful sense of duty. But I wish he were moved by something besides
- duty.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is another thing I must write, and I write it with a consciousness
- of burning cheeks. At times I find him—rather, I feel him—looking
- at me with a certain gentleness when I am not observing. What does that
- mean? Have I learned men so badly that I can mistake its meaning? The most
- convenient woman will do for the man who may prefer another but
- inaccessible one. Until we came closer together since the avalanche passed
- and the sunshine came, I was not a woman to him. No; I was a Duty. But
- there has now come into his voice and his glance a new quality,—stay!
- Remember that the weakness of women is their vanity. Could there happen so
- wonderful a thing as this man’s regard for me of the kind that a woman
- wants from the man whom she worships? If so, is he too proud, too
- reserved, too conscious of his present obligation of duty and protection,
- to make it known? Does he still fear me? Does he still hold in his heart
- the frightful denunciation that he hurled at me? Does he still loathe me
- as a murderess? Is my wealth a barrier? Does he lack the courage to dare
- what every man must dare in order to secure the woman he loves?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Loves? Why did I write that word? By what authority or right? And yet, of
- all the words that the sunshine of the soul has placed upon the tongue,
- that is the sweetest....
- </p>
- <p>
- “Distressing things have happened since I wrote the foregoing. For a time
- the stimulation of sunshine and hope, the sure prospect of <i>my</i>
- release from this prison, worked miracles with his strength, both of body
- and mind; but three days ago he grew silent and moody, then restless and
- anxious; by night he was down with a fever, the cause of which I cannot
- understand. When I see his fleshless chest and arms, I wonder if he has
- some malady that is killing him, and that he has concealed from me. His
- drawn face, with the skin tight to breaking on his cheek-bones, and his
- extreme emaciation, look like consumption; but he has no other symptoms,
- and he declares that he is perfectly sound. Is my presence so distressing
- that it alone is killing him? If so, it is murder for me to stay longer.
- If I only knew!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why does he conceal anything from me? What could he have to conceal that
- it is not right for me to know? And yet I know that the act of concealment
- could not thus be killing him,—it is the thing he is concealing that
- has the terror. It would be infinitely better for us both if he let me
- share it, and, as I am so much stronger than he, I could bear it so much
- better; the sharing of it would lighten his burden, and my sympathy would
- give him strength. Why cannot he see all this, when it is so clear to me?
- I must be patient, patient, patient! That is my watchword now.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As in the former case, when he was taken ill, so now he prepared for his
- illness by bringing in a small, but this time utterly inadequate, supply
- of provisions. Not in a single instance, down to this last attack, has he
- consented to eat with me; he has always retreated through the rear door
- and eaten alone. It is now getting hard for me to bear this singular
- tyranny about the food. He eats with me now, because, being helpless in
- bed, he cannot avoid it; but he eats so little! It is impossible for him
- to gain strength in this way, and I am distressed beyond expression. He
- simply declares that he cannot eat. Singularly enough, he is always urging
- me of late to eat little, else I shall bring on a long list of disorders
- that will prevent our escape. For that matter, there is so little left of
- the store that he brought from the rear that I am uneasy lest the supply
- be exhausted and he remain stubbornly to his purpose not to trust me to
- get more from the place behind the rear door. What will be the end of this
- dreadful situation?
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems an odd inconsistency in his nature that this subject of eating
- should consume so much of his wandering thoughts. In his delirium he
- paints gorgeous pictures of feasts. He marvels at the splendor of Nero’s
- banquets, and declares that the people with so much to eat must have been
- fat and content! I hate to put this down, for it seems treasonable to
- betray this touch of grossness in a nature so singularly fine. If he
- thinks so much of eating, why should he be urging me to eat sparingly of
- the rude things that his larder might afford, and that cost me so much
- effort to eat with a good grace? It is strange how many unexpected things
- we learn of others in intimate association!...
- </p>
- <p>
- “In glancing over these last pages I see how wretchedly I have failed to
- give the least insight into our life and relations. How could I ever have
- had the heart to see, much more put in writing, the slightest flaw in so
- noble a character? It would seem that the sympathy born of this new
- relation between us ought to touch only the best in my nature. Shame,
- shame, shame on me! Do I not see his haunting glance follow me everywhere,
- and resting upon me always with inexpressible gratitude?
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is almost completely dependent upon me now. I nurse him as I would a
- child. It would be utterly inadequate to say that this fills me with
- happiness as being a return of some of the kindness that he has shown me.
- No, there is something besides that. The gratitude in my heart is great,—greater
- than I had thought so small and mean a heart could have. I am glad that I
- have it. But the joy of it all is the doing for this man, without regard
- to gratitude. To do for him; to nurse him; to cheer him; to feel that he
- needs me and wants me,—that is my heaven. And although a dreadful
- fear haunts me that he is dying,—that in some way that I cannot
- understand I am killing him,—that if he should die my life would be
- empty and dark,—still, it would be infinitely sweet to have him die
- in my arms, still needing me, still wanting me. Now that I have written
- that,—how could I have written it?—I will write more in all
- shamelessness. I want him to <i>say</i> that he needs me and wants me,—that
- he needs me and wants me to the end of his life.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As I have written that much, I will write the rest, else my heart will
- burst. I love this man. I love him with all my heart, all my soul. I love
- him for everything that he is, not for anything that he has done. He is
- the one man whom the great God in His cruel wisdom and merciless
- providence has sent into my life for me to love. And with my tears wetting
- these pages, and my soul breathing prayers for his recovery, and his
- delivery to me, I pledge and consecrate myself to him to the end of my
- days, whatever may come. With every good impulse within me I will strive
- to be worthy of so great a heart, so noble a love. I will try to win his
- love by deserving it....
- </p>
- <p>
- “An unexpected change for the better has come. Our supply of food had
- fallen so low that I had about determined to take matters into my own
- hands, enter the forbidden chamber, and get more provisions, when another
- idea occurred to me. It was absolutely necessary that we have more food.
- More important than that was the evident fact that he would die for the
- need of it if it were not forthcoming. I feared the disturbing effect of
- my going into the forbidden chamber, and so decided to make a thorough
- search of the cabin first. Knowing his inexplicable peculiarity on the
- subject of our food, I suspected that at some time in his mental wandering
- he may have concealed some in the cabin. So this morning before daylight,
- while he slept,—his sleeping is incredibly light,—I cautiously
- made a search of the cabin, and happily found a few nourishing things in
- the bottom of a box, where he had either concealed them or left them
- forgotten. These I prepared for him in a most tempting manner. I arranged
- my own dishes in a way to make him think I had eaten abundantly myself,
- and told him so when he awoke and refused to eat, urging me to eat what I
- had prepared for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I had convinced him that I had eaten all I could, he took a little,
- gingerly, from my hand. I had laid my plans well. As I fed him I talked
- incessantly, telling him a story that I knew would interest him. Before he
- realized what he was doing—his mind was not as alert as it normally
- is—he had eaten somewhat generously. The effect was magical. Color
- came to his cheeks and the quiet old sparkle to his eyes. Before long, to
- my great surprise and delight, he was up, and then went out to note the
- prospect for our leaving. He came back with a radiant face and buoyant
- manner, and said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘My friend, we will start at sunrise to-morrow.’
- </p>
- <p>
- “My heart gave a great bound. It was a simple matter to make our
- preparations, as it was necessary that we travel as light as possible. It
- is time that we were leaving, for the last of the food that he brought
- from the rear is exhausted....
- </p>
- <p>
- “The morning has come. And now we are about to turn our backs upon this
- strange place of suffering and mystery, its suffering endured, its mystery
- unsolved. And without shame do I say that I would rather walk out thus,
- and face the perils that lie ahead, with this man as my guide, my
- protector, my friend, than go forth in all the stateliness and triumph
- that wealth could afford.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Farewell, dear, dear little home, my refuge, my cradle, my hope. I will
- come back, and——
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is calling me at the door. I must kiss this table, these chairs, that
- bed, the walls. But it is with Him that I go.” Thus closed the lady’s
- journal.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE two started
- bravely in the fine morning sunshine. There were long and laborious miles
- ahead, and only a short day in which to overcome them and their
- difficulties. In his heart the young man believed that it would be
- impossible for them to complete the task that day, and he dreaded the
- shelterless night that would overtake them. But should he break down, the
- day’s work would have hardened his companion for the rest of the journey
- alone. There was a chance that they would find help on the way, for surely
- efforts would be making to clear the roads. The snow had disappeared from
- all exposed places.
- </p>
- <p>
- They descended the shaly, slippery trail to the road, and here he was
- gratified to see that the avalanche had cleared away the fallen tree and
- the wreck of the wagon. He led the way up the canon, for in that direction
- were the nearest houses.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found the road even worse than he had expected. Being a narrow way, cut
- into the steep slope of the canon, to leave it in rounding fallen trees
- and breaches left by the storm was a slow and laborious task, and time was
- precious for a number of reasons. Each had a load to bear,—he some
- covering against the night, and she some articles of her own. These soon
- became very burdensome to both.
- </p>
- <p>
- On they plodded. While a heaviness appeared in his manner, her bearing was
- cheerful and spirited. A sadness that he made no effort to conceal and
- that she bravely hid oppressed them both. To find him sad was sufficient
- to tinge her sadness with happiness. They rested at short intervals, for
- the exertion soon began to tell upon them, but upon him the more. They
- slaked their thirst from the river. To the woman it seemed a spring-time
- stroll through flowering fields, softened by the sweet sadness of May. To
- him it was a task that brought them step by step nearer to the end, where
- he must deal her the crudest blow of her life. For at the end she expected
- news of her father. She would hear it, and from the one who would have
- been the most glad to spare her. But she must not know yet. All her
- strength was needed for the task before her. It is time to break hearts
- when their breaking can be no longer deferred.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been trudging ahead. He must have suspected that she observed the
- labor with which he walked, the uncontrollable tendency of his knees to
- give way, the reeling that now would send him against the bank, and then
- upon the outer edge of the grade; for presently he asked her to walk
- ahead. She complied.
- </p>
- <p>
- Their slow and laborious work presently made it impossible for them to
- talk. They went on in silence. After they had proceeded thus for some
- hours, a thing occurred that struck dismay to her soul. Her companion
- suddenly became voluble. At first he was coherent, although he talked
- about matters to which she was a total stranger. This showed an alarming
- unconsciousness of her presence. As he talked, he became more and more
- incoherent, and at times laughed inanely. Presently, with awe in his
- voice, he said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was the woman I loved. She’s dead, boys, she’s dead; and by God! they
- killed her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her spirit sank. After all that she had hoped and yearned for, there now
- had come back the most terrible of the ghosts of the bitter past. After
- all the seeming bridging of the chasm that had separated them, it opened
- now all the wider and deeper and darker.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know what a murderer is?” he exclaimed in a loud voice, as he
- swung his arm threateningly aloft. “A she-wolf, the slyest and most
- dangerous of beasts. She comes whining and fawning; she licks your hand;
- she wins your trust. And then, when you have warmed her, and patched her
- torn skin, and mended her broken bones, she turns upon you and tears out
- your heart with her fangs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Stifling, faint, barely able to stand, the young woman stood aside, and he
- passed her without seeing her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he resumed in great excitement, “I must be a man,—always a
- man. What! kill a woman? No, no, no! Not that. That would be terrible,
- brutal, cowardly. Yes, I must be a man. She needs me; I will help her. Is
- that door locked? She must never know—never know so long as she
- lives. Ah, that is beautiful, wonderful, savory,—a feast for gods
- and angels! Yes, I will do my duty. She needs me. She despises me. Very
- good; I will do my duty. She scorns my poor food—secretly, but I
- know! She is getting well. Thank God for that! She shall eat all she can.
- Me? No, no. I don’t want anything. No; I don’t want a thing. I have no
- appetite!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He burst into laughter, and the echo of it came back from the opposite
- wall of the canon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, my love, my love!” he cried, suddenly becoming sad, “how could you
- cast me off, when all had been so true and trusting between us? But I know
- it was better so. It was not right for me to stand in the way.” He paused,
- and his voice sank into an awed whisper as he said, “She’s dead, boys,
- she’s dead; and by God! they killed her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He pushed rapidly on, muttering things that she could not hear, that she
- did not want to hear. Not a word of kindness for her had come from him in
- his delirium, and her heart was breaking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When it is all over,” he said aloud, “I will go to my old friend, and he
- will nurse me back to health and strength, and I will begin the fight
- again. I will be a man—always a man. I will do my duty. And the
- she-wolf—no, no, no! She will not tear out my heart with her claws
- and fangs. No! There is no she-wolf! I say, there is no she-wolf. No! She
- is kind to me. I know it, I know it! She is gentle and thoughtful and
- unselfish. She is very, very beautiful. She won’t leave me, will she? She
- won’t leave me alone! But she is unmanning me! I must not let her do that!
- I must be a man and do my duty. No, you must not take off my shoes. I can
- do that. I have no pain—none whatever. Yes, I will be calm. Your
- voice is sweet; it is music; it fills me with peace and comfort; and your
- hand on my face—how soft and pleasant it is! I wish I could tell
- you; but no, I must do my duty; I must be a man! I will not listen to your
- voice. I will not let you touch me. That would keep me from my duty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- These words raised her from despair to bliss. And so he had fought his
- inclinations,—he needed her, he wanted her!
- </p>
- <p>
- Still he kept on. She strained every hearing faculty for his slightest
- word. For what he had already said, she could bear his forgetting her
- presence. Still they pushed on, he muttering and laughing; but for all his
- madness, he was wise and cautious amid the dangers and hardships of the
- road. No longer did he advise her, guide her, assist her, and show her the
- innumerable unobtrusive attentions to which she had become accustomed.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last he suddenly stopped in a stretch of good road and looked about,
- bewildered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where is this?” he whispered; then aloud, “Oh, it is the trail of the
- wolves! After them will come the she-wolf, and her fangs——” He
- dropped his parcel and clutched his breast. “Her fangs!” he gasped. He
- looked about and picked up a stick, which he swung as a club about him.
- “The she-wolf is here!” he cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- His glance fell upon his companion, standing in awe and pity and love
- before him. Instantly a fearful malignity hardened his face, and his eyes
- blazed with the murder that had filled them once before. He clutched the
- stick more fiercely, and glared at her with a mixture of terror and
- ferocity. But she stood firm, and gently said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “My friend!”
- </p>
- <p>
- His face instantly softened. She stood smiling, her glance caressing, her
- whole bearing bespeaking sympathy and affection.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear friend,” she said, in a voice whose sweetness sank deep within
- him, “you know me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- A look of joyous recognition swept over his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am so glad!” he breathlessly said. “I thought you had left me alone!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Saying this, he sank to the ground, smiling upon her as he fell.
- </p>
- <p>
- She knelt beside him, placed a soothing hand upon his cheek, and spoke
- comforting words. His face showed the profound gratification that filled
- him, and her soul spread its wings in the sunshine that filled the day
- with its glories.
- </p>
- <p>
- He lay limp and helpless, but she knew that he must be going forward if he
- could. She caressed him, she coaxed him, she raised him to a sitting
- posture, she put her arms under his and lifted him to his feet; but his
- breathing was short and distressed, his head rolled listlessly, and his
- legs refused their offices. Then she realized that the last remnant of his
- strength, both of body and spirit, was gone; and her heart sank to the
- uttermost depths.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lay me down,” he said, very gently, but clearly, and with perfect
- resignation. “Lay me down, my friend, and go on alone. I am very tired,
- and must sleep. Keep to the road. I don’t think it is far to the nearest
- house. You are sure to find some one. Be brave and keep on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laid him down and turned away. A cruel choking had throttled her power
- of speech. With tears so streaming from her eyes that she went about her
- purpose half blind, she found a drier place in the road, gathered
- pine-needles less soaked than the rest, made a bed for him there, and
- spread upon it the blankets that he had been carrying. When she looked
- again into his face he was sleeping lightly, and his breathing betrayed
- great physical distress. As gently as a mother lifting her sleeping babe,
- she took him up in her arms, bore him to the bed, and with infinite care
- and tenderness laid him upon it. Then with some twigs and handkerchiefs
- she fashioned a canopy that shielded his head from the sun. She covered
- him with a free part of the blanket; but fearing that it would prove
- insufficient, she removed her outer skirt and covered him with that; these
- covers she tucked about him, that he might not easily throw them off.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not been roused by these attentions. She knelt beside him and
- gently kissed his hands, his cheeks, his forehead, his lips, and wiped
- away her streaming tears as they fell upon his face. He moved slightly,
- opened his eyes, looked into her face, and smiled. Very feebly he took her
- hand, brought it to his lips, kissed it, smiled again, closed his eyes,
- and with a sigh of weariness fell asleep. She knelt thus and watched him
- for a little while, seeing him sink deeper and deeper into slumber. Then
- she rose. And now may the great God give heart and strength for the mighty
- task ahead!
- </p>
- <p>
- Not trusting herself to look back upon him, she gathered up her courage
- and started. On she went, her head high, her eyes aflame, her cheeks
- aglow. A suffocating, heart-aching loneliness haunted her, dogged her,
- gnawed at her spirit. More than once she wavered, weak and trembling,
- under the backward strain upon her heart-strings. More than once she cried
- aloud, “I can’t leave him! I can’t leave him! I must go back!” And then
- she would summon all her strength again, and cry, “It is for his sake that
- I go! It is to save him that I leave him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Thus, rended by contending agonies, she went on and on. With incredible
- self-torturings she pictured the dangers to which she had left him
- exposed. What had he meant by the wolves? Was there really danger from
- that source? Often in his sleep in the hut, and again when his mind would
- wander, he had spoken of the wolves, and always in terror; but most
- dreadful of all things to him was the she-wolf. Yet during all the time
- that she had been imprisoned with him in the hut there had not been the
- least sign of a wolf, not the most distant howl of one. Why had this
- hallucination been so persistent with him, so terrifying to him?
- </p>
- <p>
- The miles seemed interminable. She kept her eyes and ears strained for
- signs and sounds of human life. At intervals she would call aloud with all
- her might, and after hearing the echo of her voice die away in the canon,
- wait breathlessly for a response that never came. With eager haste she
- pushed on. Clambering over fallen trees, heading gullies that she could
- not leap, wading swift rivulets with which the rapidly melting snow was
- still ploughing the road, she came at length within view of some men who
- were clearing the road with axes and mending it with shovels,—the
- rough, strong, silent, capable men of the mountains. She frantically waved
- her handkerchief and called as she went. They stopped their work and stood
- gazing at her in wondering silence. They saw that she was not of their
- kind; but their trained sensibilities informed them that the great
- mountains had been working their terrible will upon human helplessness,
- and they stood ready to put the strength of their arms and hearts into the
- human struggle.
- </p>
- <p>
- Imperfectly clad as she was, her form and bearing suggesting a princess,
- her beauty, enhanced by her joy at finding help, radiant and dazzling,
- their wonder and shyness held them stolid and outwardly unresponsive, and
- they silently waited for her to speak. She went straight to them, and,
- looking at them one after another as she spoke, she said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you help me, men? I left a man exhausted in the road some miles down
- the canon. I fear he is dying. Will you go with me and help me bring him
- up? Is there a doctor anywhere near? Is there a house to which we may take
- him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a moment of silence,—these men are slow, but all the surer
- for that.
- </p>
- <p>
- One of them, a bearded, commanding man of middle age, said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we will go and bring him up. A doctor lives up the canon. Maybe he’s
- at home. The man can’t walk?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; he is lying helpless in the road.” The strong man, whom she afterward
- heard the others call Samson,—one of those singular coincidences of
- name and character,—turned and picked out two men.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You two,” he said, as quietly as though he were directing the road-work,
- “cut two poles and make a litter with them and a blanket. Go and bring the
- man up. You,” he said to a third, “help them make the litter, and give a
- hand on the trip.” Two others he directed to prepare the wagon, which
- stood a short distance up the road. Another he sent up the road to summon
- the doctor. Then he turned his attention to the young woman. Without
- consulting her, he made a comfortable nest of greatcoats and blankets, and
- when he had so deftly and quickly finished it, he said to her,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come and rest here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No!” she vehemently protested; “I am going back with the men.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are not going back with the men. If you did, there would be two for
- them to bring up instead of one. One is enough. Make yourself comfortable
- here; you are safe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The slight rebuke in this, and the quiet determination with which the man
- spoke, informed her that she must lay a reasoning hand upon her agonizing
- fear and impatience. She obeyed him with as good a grace as she could
- find.
- </p>
- <p>
- Again without consulting her, he brought some hot coffee, poured it into a
- tin-cup, and held it out to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Drink that,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- She drank it. He then produced some bread, which he sliced and buttered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Eat that,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- She obeyed. While doing so she watched the men make the litter, and
- marvelled at the skill with which they worked, and the quickness with
- which the task was done, seemingly without the slightest effort or hurry.
- Then in silence the three men swung down the road.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man named Samson, although he had not appeared to be giving any
- attention to his fair guest, was in front of her the moment she had
- finished the bread and butter. He carried some things in his arms, and
- threw them down at her feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take off your shoes and stockings,” he said, “and put on these socks;
- they are thick and warm. Take off all your other things that are wet, and
- wrap yourself up in these blankets. By the time the litter comes your
- things will be dry in the sun.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE three remaining
- men turned to their work of clearing the road, headed by Samson. He had
- not asked her any questions; he did not even look again her way; but
- presently he brought her clothes, which he had spread and dried in the
- sunshine, and told her that by the time she was dressed the litter would
- be there. This she found to be so.
- </p>
- <p>
- Coming down the road, on a powerful horse, she saw a bearded, ruddy-faced,
- stocky, middle-aged man, whose business she easily guessed from the
- country-doctor’s saddle-bags slung across his horse. The doctor rode up
- and greeted,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hello, Samson! Man hurt?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t know,” answered the foreman.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, with a jerk of his thumb toward his guest, he added, “She can tell
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The doctor had not seen her. He looked around, gazed at her a moment in
- astonishment, and then, with a fine courtesy singularly different from the
- hearty roughness with which he had greeted the man, he raised his hat.
- </p>
- <p>
- This diversion had kept the attention of the two from the quiet arrival of
- the men with the litter. When the young woman saw it, she forgot the
- presence of all save him lying so quiet where the men had placed him on a
- bed made by Samson from coats. She ran and knelt beside him; she kissed
- his cheeks; she chafed his hands; she begged him to speak, to live for her
- sake.
- </p>
- <p>
- The strong hand of the doctor lifted her from the unconscious man and
- gently put her aside. A moment’s astonished gaze into the pallid, upturned
- face brought this burst from the doctor,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Adrian Wilder—dying!” He turned anxiously upon the young woman, and
- demanded, “Where did you find him? What is the matter here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mistake,” she firmly said. “He is Dr. Malbone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Malbone!” he exclaimed. “Why, I am Dr. Malbone. This man is my
- friend, Adrian Wilder!”
- </p>
- <p>
- His look was half fierce and full of suspicion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Too surprised to comprehend at once the full meaning of his declaration,
- she stood staring at the physician in silence. That gentleman, turning
- from her, dropped on his knees and made a hurried examination of the
- unconscious man. “I don’t understand this,” he said to himself. He quickly
- opened Wilder’s shirt. Upon seeing the emaciation there, and exclaiming in
- amazement and horror, he turned again upon the young woman as he knelt,
- and demanded,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Explain this to me. Be quick, for every moment is precious. I don’t want
- to make a mistake, and I must know. He has pneumonia; but there is
- something behind it. Where and when did you find him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- In a few words she told the salient facts of the story as she believed it,—the
- running away of the horses, the breaking of her leg, her father’s
- departure to fetch relief, her care at the stone hut.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When did this accident happen to you?” the doctor asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Four months ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you two have lived alone at his cabin?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced her over, and looked more puzzled than ever.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are looking hearty,” he said; “how is it that my friend is in this
- condition?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It must have been his care of me and his worry on my account.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This appeared half to satisfy Dr. Mal-bone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he said, “not being a doctor, and being extremely susceptible to
- the pressure of his duty toward you, he may have worn himself out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With that he hastily gave the young man a stimulant, and said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fall to here, men, and help me revive him, else he will be dead before we
- know it. Chafe his wrists and ankles. Hurry, men, but be gentle. That is
- good. Slow, there, John; those horny hands of yours are strong and rough.
- Samson, bring some strong coffee as quickly as God will let you. Rub him
- under the blankets, men; don’t let him chill. Maybe we can get him out of
- this pinch. The great thing now is to take him to my house.... Ah, that is
- good work, lads! His heart is waking up a little. That is good. That is
- very good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Malbone straightened up, and turned to the young woman, again
- fastening upon her the strange, severe, suspicious, half-threatening look
- that she had already learned to dread.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I fear there is something unexplained here, madam, something concealed. I
- am not accusing you. My friend is a strange, fine man, and for good
- reasons he may have withheld something from you. But he would never hide
- anything from me. Did he give you a letter for any one?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He did not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you seen him writing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Martin, hand me his coat.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Malbone searched the pockets, and found a sealed letter addressed to
- him. He tore it open and read. As he read his astonishment grew. When he
- had finished, he turned a strange, pitying look upon the young woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He charges me to give you this when I shall have read it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He handed her the letter, which she read. It ran thus:
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear Friend,—This is written to give Miss Andros some unhappy
- information that she ought to have at the earliest safe and proper moment,
- and as a precaution against my breaking down before that moment arrives.
- To have told her at first might have prevented her recovery. The proper
- moment to tell her will have arrived when she is in safe hands. I trust
- that they may be yours, and I know that you will show her every kindness
- that your generous soul can yield.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is this: Her father lost his life in the accident on the grade, by the
- falling of a tree upon him. His body rests under the earth in the farther
- end of the cave into which the rear door of my cabin opens. The grave is
- marked with a board giving his name. Nailed up in a box near the door are
- his personal effects.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give this letter to my afflicted friend. It will convey no hint of the
- profound sympathy that I feel, nor of what I suffer in thus raising my
- hand to deal her so cruel a blow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can only crave her forgiveness for deceiving her both as to her
- father’s death and my being a physician.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The eager hope, the anxiety, the absorption of her entire self in the
- stricken man at her feet, fled before the crushing whirlwind of grief that
- now overwhelmed her. The loss of her father was the loss of the anchor of
- her life, the loss of the one sure thing upon which her soul rested, in
- which she knew peace, security, sympathy, and strength. She spoke no word,
- but gazed far down the canon, a picture of complete desolation. Dr.
- Malbone stood beside her, looking down thoughtfully into the face of his
- friend. The men, relieved from their work of bringing back a faint glow of
- the flickering life on the ground, moved away silently, with the
- instinctive delicacy of their kind, knowing that they were facing a
- tragedy that they did not understand.
- </p>
- <p>
- The letter fell from the young woman’s hand as she still gazed in mute
- agony down the canon. A slight swaying of her form warned Dr. Malbone that
- his time for action had arrived.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A noble life still is left to us,” he quietly said, without looking up,
- and with a certain unsteadiness in his voice; “and it appeals to us for
- all that we have to give of help and strength and sympathy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a timely word. Instantly she dragged herself out of the crushing
- tumult into which she had been plunged.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said, radiant with love and towering above the wreck that
- encompassed her, “the noblest of all lives is still left to us, and it
- shall have all that lies in us to give.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then,” said Dr. Malbone, “time is very precious. Let us take him to my
- home at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The sun had set behind the western mountains, but it still tipped the
- snowy summit of Mount Shasta with a crimson glow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Put the horses through,” said Dr. Malbone to the man who drove.
- </p>
- <p>
- They made good speed up the grade, Dr. Malbone pondering in silence some
- problem that still sorely troubled him, the young woman sitting on the
- floor of the wagon and holding the hand of the unconscious man. Presently
- they arrived at Dr. Malbone’s house, where his plain, homelike wife, a
- competent mountain woman, quickly had the patient comfortable in bed,
- while her husband went thoroughly into the treatment. His was a mercurial
- spirit, the opposite of the gentle soul now seemingly passing away under
- his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can find absolutely nothing,” he finally exclaimed, in despair, “except
- simple inanition as the probable cause and a complication of this attack,
- and I know that it is absurd. You must help me, madam. Tell me how you
- lived.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Numerous sharp questions were required before he finally came upon the
- trail of the truth. She had delayed saying that Wilder had not eaten with
- her, and that toward the last he was niggardly with the food, because she
- feared that it would sound like a reproach. The moment she mentioned it,
- Dr. Mal-bone was transfigured. He sprang back from the bedside and
- confronted her, menacing and formidable, as Wilder had confronted her on
- that terrible day when she told him the story of her breaking up the
- attachment between a musician and her friend, and the death of the girl
- from a broken heart. What had she done or said that should bring this
- second storm of a man’s fury upon her?
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you no doubt think,” cried Dr. Malbone, “that you have learned from
- his letter the true reason for his keeping you out of the cave. In all
- this broad world is there any human being so besotted with selfishness as
- not to be able to burrow through its swinishness for the truth? Come and
- look at this.” He dragged her to the bedside and showed her the body of
- his patient. “Is there under heaven,” he continued, “a mental or a
- spiritual eye so blinded with brutal egotism, so drunk with self-interest,
- as not to read the story that this poor withered frame writes large? Do
- you not understand that in those acts—over which you no doubt whined
- and complained in your empty heart—he gave evidence of a sublime
- sacrifice for you? Look at your own abundant flesh. You never went hungry
- in the hut. You never asked yourself if he might have food sufficient for
- two during the long winter. And now you see that he has denied himself for
- your comfort. He is dying of starvation, because in his splendid
- unselfishness he wanted you to be comfortable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Malbone paused, but his eyes were still blazing upon her, and his body
- trembled with the passion that stirred him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “One affliction has fallen upon you; may you have strength and grace to
- bear it; but I say this: If ten thousand such afflictions had overtaken
- you, the suffering from them would not be adequate——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He suddenly checked himself, and gave his wife hurried instructions for
- the preparation of some nutriment. While this was preparing, he resorted
- to such vigorous measures as the urgency of the case demanded. All this
- quickly brought him under self-control, and he worked with the sure hand
- of a skilful man battling with all his might in a desperate emergency. The
- young woman had sunk into a chair, where she sat dazed, weak, ill, and
- ignored, not daring to offer help, and praying dumbly for the opening of a
- vast gulf to entomb her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The patient rallied under the physician’s treatment. Slowly, but with
- palpable effect, Dr. Malbone dragged him a little way from the brink of
- death. The doctor’s coat was off, but sweat streamed down his face. His
- wife—silent, intelligent, and alert—gave him all the help that
- he required, and neither of them looked toward the suffering woman sitting
- crushed and miserable in the chair. Thus the time passed until the intense
- anxiety in the physician’s face began to relax; and at last, with a sigh,
- he sank wearily into a chair, remarking to his wife,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is nothing more to do for the present. He is rallying. Give him
- time. The chances are a hundred to one against him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He rested his head on the back of his chair and closed his eyes, while his
- wife went to discharge her duties in another part of the house. Soon he
- raised his head, and in his old kindly manner said to the young woman,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry for the way in which I talked just now, and I ask you to
- forgive me. You will understand my outburst and be more inclined to
- forgive me when I tell you something of my poor friend’s life; for I am
- certain that he has told you nothing. Has he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she answered, weakly and humbly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has suffered so cruel a wrong in the past that when I see the least
- approach to imposition upon his noble unselfishness it maddens me. I ought
- not to have blamed you. You were not conscious of imposing upon him. I
- believe that he is dying. If so, there will be no harm in my telling you
- his story. If he lives, I can trust you with it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had known him in San Francisco, but I came to these mountains long
- before him. It was less than two years ago that he came to me, and you can
- never realize the shock that his condition gave me. After a while he told
- me of his trouble as he understood it. It was this: Through giving violin
- lessons to a young lady of wealth and of great loveliness of character, he
- became deeply attached to her, and in return she gave him her whole
- affection. She was willing and anxious to marry him, even though she knew
- that her parents and friends would disown her if she did. He hesitated,
- from pure unselfishness, to bring upon her any distress that their
- marriage might cause. The poor fool could not understand that she would
- have gladly given up everything in life for him. He was called away to
- fill a lucrative engagement, and in his absence her heart changed toward
- him. Soon afterward she died. When he came to me he was broken in spirit
- and body, and it was my privilege to start him aright in a chastened and
- nobler life. He and I built the cabin, and there he was to pass the winter
- in unremitting study and self-mastery.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was the story as he told it to me and as he believed it to be. But I
- saw that something was behind it that in his sweetness and generosity he
- had never suspected. I myself learned the truth. By means of a few
- inquiries made by letter to a friend in San Francisco, I found that an old
- school-friend of the girl had made the trouble. It was a case of malicious
- revenge. The girl whom my friend loved had innocently and unconsciously
- received the love of a man for whom she cared nothing, as her whole
- affection was with my friend. This man was very rich, and for that and
- other reasons was regarded as a prize. It appears that before losing his
- heart to this loveliest of girls he had been devoted to her old
- school-friend, a beautiful and dashing belle, who expected to marry him.
- When she found that she had lost him, she planned revenge. She was utterly
- without heart or principle. So she traded on her old school-mate’s
- confidence in her, and used that friendship to separate the lovers with
- lies and cunning. She succeeded. The girl died of a broken heart, and my
- friend’s life was ruined.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A look of unutterable horror settled upon the young woman’s face, and she
- sat upright and rigid, staring helplessly at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never told him what I had learned,” resumed the physician. “It might
- have broken his heart, and he had suffered enough. I did not want him to
- know that malice, revenge, and murder had played their part in his story.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young woman’s face bore so singular an expression that the physician
- marvelled. She was white, and deep and unaccustomed lines marred her
- beauty.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He knows the whole truth,” she said, quietly, and with a strange
- hardness. “He knows that I am the woman who brought about their
- separation. He learned it from me long ago in his cabin.” What Dr. Malbone
- might have done under the spur of the horror and amazement that filled him
- was checked by a violent fit of coughing with which his patient had been
- seized. His physician’s training instantly sent him to the bedside.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Help me here!” he cried, as he raised the sufferer.
- </p>
- <p>
- The young woman staggered to the bed. Dr. Malbone shot a malevolent glance
- at her, but she did not heed it. He raised his hand to thrust her back,
- but she grasped it, and quietly and firmly said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am going to help you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He yielded, and told her what to do, and she did it.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cough was checked, and the sufferer was laid back upon the pillow. His
- eyes were open, and he looked from one of the watchers to the other as
- they stood on opposite sides of the bed. At first he was puzzled, and then
- a bright look of recognition lighted up his face. He smiled as he extended
- a feeble hand to each.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are safe,” he faintly said to the young woman. “I am glad. Dr.
- Mal-bone will be kind to you.” To the physician he said, his voice
- tremulous with affection, “My dear old friend, always true, always kind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wanted to say more, but Dr. Mal-bone checked him and gave him something
- to strengthen him. He took it, shaking his head and smiling sadly.
- Presently, as his eyes grew brighter, Dr. Malbone said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may speak now, Adrian, if you wish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young woman had knelt, and, taking the sufferer’s hand in both of
- hers, bowed her head over it as she pressed it to her lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look at me,” he said to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- She raised her head, and they looked long and silently at each other. He
- seemed troubled and anxious.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My poor friend,” he said, “you have not yet learned. Dr. Malbone—a
- letter—my pocket.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have read the letter, my friend,” she hastened to say. “I know all
- about my father, and I know how thoughtful and kind you were not to tell
- me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you forgive me?” he begged.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Forgive you, my friend? Yes, a thousand times; but how can you forgive——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She buried her face in his pillow; her arm stole round him, and she drew
- him against her breast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did that long ago,” he replied.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My noble, generous friend!” she said. “But can you understand what you
- have been to me, what you have done for me, what you are to me? Can you
- believe that you have made a true woman of me? Am I still the she-wolf, my
- friend?”
- </p>
- <p>
- A supreme agony moved her in this appeal. He feebly tried to check her
- with his hand, but she nestled her cheek close against his and pleaded,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you understand that you have made me worthy of every kind regard that
- so noble a man could have for a woman? Can you believe, friend of my life,
- that you have made me such a woman as would be perfect in your eyes?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He made no reply, and, still holding him in her arms, she raised her head
- to look into his face. He was regarding her with a strange and distant
- wistfulness, and there shone in his eyes a pale, far light that stretched
- through infinite space. A faint smile played upon his lips, the feeble
- pressure of his hand closed upon hers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will not leave me, will you?” she pleaded. “You will come back to
- health, my friend. You will teach me, you will guide me. The world will be
- bright and beautiful, for all our suffering has been borne. We belong each
- to the other, my friend, in friendship, trust, and sympathy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Still he smiled as he looked into her face; and as he smiled, and she saw
- the strange, far light that shone from so inconceivable a distance in the
- awful depths of his eyes, her eager heart found a bridge of glass spanning
- the gulf between them. Then he sighed deeply, and his eyes rolled upward.
- She sprang from the bed to her feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Malbone!” she cried, in a suppressed voice, “quick! he has fainted!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The physician, who had stepped a little way apart, came forward and looked
- down into the still face of his friend. Then he glanced up at the young
- woman, who was trembling with eager impatience.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is nothing to do,” sadly replied Dr. Malbone; then he passed round
- the bed, took the young woman gently by the arm, and, in a kind voice,
- said, “Come with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She went with him, wondering, and looking over her shoulder toward the
- bed. He led her into an adjoining room, closed the door, and placed a
- chair for her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, Dr. Malbone!” she protested. “How can I, when he needs us both so
- much? Hurry back to him; I will stay here if you wish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” replied the physician; “my place is here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A look of desperate eagerness settled in her face, and she was listening
- intently for a sound from the other room. The physician regarded her
- pityingly, as she stood trembling in an agony of impatience and
- apprehension. Unable to control herself longer, she seized him by the arm,
- and cried,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Malbone, you know best, but I can’t bear to leave him! Do you know
- that I fear he will die? He is all the world to me, and I can’t bear to
- let him go. Do you understand that? I want him to live. I want to show him
- what a good woman’s trust and love can be. I want to give my whole life to
- his happiness. I want to atone for all the evil and suffering that I have
- brought upon him. I want him to know that he has found peace and a refuge
- at last. Dr. Malbone, go and save him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Malbone took her hands in his, and said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you try to understand what I am going to say?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, yes!” she answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then command all the strength of your soul.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Malbone!” she gasped, peering into his eyes, her face blanching.
- </p>
- <p>
- With pity and tenderness the physician said,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Our friend is dead; he died in your arms.”
- </p>
- <h3>
- THE END.
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Man: His Mark, by W. C. Morrow
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