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diff --git a/old/51954-h/51954-h.htm b/old/51954-h/51954-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 87fb909..0000000 --- a/old/51954-h/51954-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4539 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title> - A Man: his Mark, by W. C. 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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