SNOW-BLIND

By Katharine Newlin Burt

Author Of The Branding Iron, Etc. 

CHAPTER I

Under a noon sun the vast, flat country, buried deep in snow, lay like apaper hoop rimmed by the dark primeval forest; its surface shone with anunbearable brightness as of sun-struck glass, every crystal gleamingand quivering with intense cold light. To the north a single blunt, lowmountain-head broke the evenness of the horizon line. 

Hugh Garth seemed to leap through paper like a tiny active clown as hedropped down into the small space shoveled clear in front of his hiddencabin door. The roof was weighted with drift, so that a curling masslike the edge of a wind-crowded wave about to break hung low over theeaves. Long icicles as thick as a man's arm stretched from roof toground in a row of twisted columns. Under this overhanging cornice ofsnow near the door there was a sudden icy purple darkness. 

As Hugh plunged down into it, his face lost a certain rapt brightnessand shadowed deeply. He let slip the load of fresh pelts from his back, drew his feet from the skis which he stuck up on their ends in the snow, and removed the fur cap from his head and the huge dark spectacles fromhis eyes. Then, crouching, he went in at the low, ill-hung door. Itstuck to its sill, and he cursed it; all his movements expressed theanger of frustration. He slammed the door behind him. 

Buried in drifts, the cabin was dim even at this bright hour of noon. The stove glowed in a corner with a subdued redness, its bulging cheeksand round mouth dully scarlet. The low room was pleasant to look at, for it had the beauty of brown bark and the salmon tints of old roughboards, and its furniture, wrought painstakingly by an unskillful hand, had the charm of all handwork even when unskilled. Some of the chairswere rudely carved, one great throne especially, awkward, pretentious, and carefully ornate. 

There was, too, a solid table in the center of the floor; and on it awoman was setting heavy earthenware plates nicked and discolored. Shewas heavy and discolored herself, but like the stove, she too seemedto have a dull glow. She was no longer young, but she might still haveencouraged her youthfulness to linger pleasantly; she was not in theleast degree beautiful, but she might have fostered a charm that lurkedsomewhere about her small, compact body and in her square, dark face. Her hair of a sandy brown was stretched back brutally so that herbright, devoted eyes--gray and honest eyes, very deep-set beneath theirbrows--lacked the usual softness and mystery of women's eyes. Her lipswere tight set; her chin held out with an air of dogged effort whichseemed to possess no relation to her mechanical occupation, yet to havea strong habitual relation to her state of mind. She seemed, in fact, under a shell of self-control, to conceal an inner light, like a dimlyburning dark-lantern. Her expression was dumb. She moved about likea deaf-mute. Indeed, her stillness and stony self-repression wereextraordinary. 

A youth rose from a chair near the stove and greeted Hugh as he entered. 

"Hullo, " he said. "How many did you get?"

It was the eager questioning of a modest, affectionate boy who curbs hisnatural effervescence of greeting like a well-trained dog. The tone wasastonishingly young, a quiet, husky boy-voice. 

"Damn you, Pete!" was snarled at him for answer. "Haven't you got myboot mended yet?"

The boot, still lacking its heel, lay on the floor near the stove, andHugh now picked it up and hurled it half across the room. 

"I have to get out into this ice chest of a wilderness and this flamingglare that cuts my eyeballs open, and work till the sweat freezes on myface, and then come home to find you loafing by the fire as if you werea house cat--purring and rubbing against my legs when I come in, " hesnarled. "Thanking me for a quiet nap and a saucer of milk, eh? Youloafer! What do I keep you for? You gorge the bread and meat I earnby sweating and freezing, and you keep your sluggish mountain of bonescovered. A year or two ago I'd have urged you along with a stick. I usedto get some work out of you then. But you think you're too big for that, now, don't you? You fancy I'm afraid of your bigness, eh? Well, do youwant me to try it out? What about it?"

During the first part of his brother's speech, Pete had faced him, butin the middle he had turned his back and stood in front of one of theclumsy windows. He looked out now at a white wall of snow, above whichshone the dazzle of the midday. He whistled very softly to himself andsank his hands deep into the pockets of his corduroys. He did not answerthe snarling question, but his wide, quiet mouth, exquisitely shaped, ran into a smile and a dimple, deep and narrow, cut into his thin andruddy cheek. 

Between the woman, who went on with her work as though no one had comeinto the room, and the silent smiling youth, Hugh Garth prowled thefloor like a shadow thrown by a moving light. 

He was a man of forty-five, gray-haired, misshapen, heavy above thewaist and light to meanness below; a man lame in one leg and with anill-proportioned face, malicious, lined, lead-colored; a man who limpedand leaped about the room with a fierce energy, the while his tongue, gifted with a rich and resonant voice, poured vitriol upon the silence. 

Suddenly the woman spoke. She turned back on the threshold of thekitchen door through which her work had been taking her to and froduring Garth's outbreak. Her voice was monotonous and smothered; it hadits share in her unnatural self-repression. 

"Why don't you tell him to be quiet, Pete? You've been chopping woodsince daybreak to make up for what he didn't do last week, and you onlycame in about ten minutes before he did. Why don't you speak out? You'regetting to be pretty close to a man now, and it isn't suitable for youto let yourself be talked to that way. You always stand like a fool andtake it from him. "

Pete turned. "Oh, well, " he answered good-humoredly, "I guess maybe he'stired. Let up, Hugh, will you? I'll finish your boot after dinner. "

"The hell you will! You'll do it now!" Venting on his brother his angerat the woman's intervention, Garth swung his misshapen body around theend of the table and thrust an elbow violently against Pete's chest. The attack was so unexpected that Pete staggered, lost his balance, andstepping down into the shallow depression of a pebbled hearth, fell, twisting his ankle. The agony was sharp. After a dumb minute he lifteda white face and pulled himself up, one hand clutching the board mantel. "Now you've done it!" he said between his teeth. "How will you get yourpelts to the station now? I won't be able to take them. "

There ensued a dismayed silence. The woman had come back from thekitchen and stood with a steaming dish in her hands. After the briefpause of consternation she set down the dish and went over to Pete. "Here, " she said, "sit down and let me take off your moccasin and batheyour ankle before it begins to swell. "

Hugh Garth had seated himself in the thronelike chair at the head of thetable. His expression was still defiant, indifferent, and lordly. "Come and eat your dinner, both of you, " he commanded. "You've had yourlesson, Pete. After this, I guess you'll do what I tell you to--notchoose the work that happens to suit your humor. Don't, for God's sake, baby him, Bella. Don't start being a grandmother before you've ever beena sweetheart. You're too young for the one even if you're getting a bittoo old for the other!"

Bella flushed deep and hot. She went to her place, and Pete hobbled tohis, opposite his brother. Between them the woman sat, dyed deep in hersudden unaccustomed wave of scarlet. Pete's whiteness too was stained insympathy. But Hugh only chuckled. "As for the pelts, " he said royally, "I'll take them down myself. "

Bella looked slowly up. 

"You think I don't mean it, I suppose?" Hugh demanded. 

They did not answer, but the eyes of the boy and the woman met. Thissilence and this dumb exchange of understanding infuriated Garth. Heclinched his hands on the carved arms of his chair and leaned a littleforward. 

"I'll take the pelts myself, " he repeated boisterously. "I'm not afraidto be seen at the station. I'm sick of skulking. Buried here--with _my_talents--in this damn country, spending my days trapping and skinningbeasts to keep the breath in our three useless bodies. Wouldn't death bebetter for a man like me? Easier to bear? Fifteen years of it! Fifteenyears! My best years!" He stared over Pete's head. "In all that time nobeauty to feed my starved senses, no work for my starved brain, no hopefor my starved heart. " The woman and the youth watched him still insilence. "That fox I killed this morning had a better life to lose thanI. "

"It wouldn't be safe for you to go, Hugh, " said Pete gently. 

"Why not--watchdog?"

The sneer deepened the flush on Pete's face, but he answered with thesame gentleness, fixing his blue eyes on his brother's. 

"Because not two months ago there was a picture of you tacked up in thepost-office. "

Bella's face whitened, and Hugh's cheeks grew a shade more leaden. "T-two months ago!" he stammered painfully; "but that's not p-possible. They--they've given me up. They've f-forgotten me. They th-think I'mdead. After fifteen years? My God, Pete! Why didn't you tell me?" Hepleaded the last with a shaken sort of sharpness, in pitiful contrast tothe bombast of the preceding speech. 

"I didn't see the good of telling you. I was waiting until this trip tosee if the picture was still there, and maybe to ask some questions. "

"What does it mean?" whispered Bella. 

"It means they've some fresh reason to hunt me--some fresh impulse--Godknows what or why. How can we tell out here, buried in the snows offifteen winters. Well!" He struck his hands down on the table edge andstood up. He drew his mouth into a crooked smile and looked at the othertwo as a naughty child looks at its doting but disapproving elders. Thesmile transfigured his ugliness. "I've a fancy to see that picture. Wantto be reminded of what I looked like fifteen years ago. I was a handsomefellow then. I'm going to take the pelts. "

Pete looked dumbly up at him, his lips parted. Bella twisted her apronabout her hands. Both seemed to know the hopelessness of protest. In thesame anxious dumbness they watched Garth make ready for his trip. As hepulled his cap down close about his ears, Pete at last found his voice. 

"Hugh, " he began doubtfully, "I wish you wouldn't risk it. We can get onwithout supplies until next trading-day, when I'll surely be all right. "

"Hold your tongue! I'm going, " was the answer. "I tell you, the spiritof adventure has me. Who knows what I may meet with out there?" He flungback the door and, pointing with a long arm, stood silhouetted againstthe dazzle. 

"Beauty? Opportunity? Danger? Hope? Death? I shan't shirk it this time. I'll meet whatever comes. But--" He came back a step into the room. Hisharsh face melted to a shamefaced gentleness; his voice softened. "Ifthey get me down there, if I _don't_ come back, you two try to thinkkindly of me, will you? I know what you think of me now. I know youwon't see me as I am--no one but God will ever do me that kindness; butyou two--be easy with me in your memories. "

Bella, her arms now twisted to their red elbows in her apron, took afew stiff steps across the floor. Her face was expressionless, her eyeslowered. Garth smiled at them both and went out, shutting the door. Theyheard him singing as he put on his skis:

 A hundred men were riding, A-hunting for Pierre. They rode and rode, but nothing could they find. They rode around by moonlight; They rode around by day; They rode and rode, but nothing could they find. 

Then came the sharp scraping of his runners across the surface of thesnow on a level with the buried roof. It lessened from a hissing speechto a hissing whisper. It sighed away. Bella sat down abruptly on achair, pulled in her chin like an unhappy child; her bosom lifted asthough a sob would force its way out. 

"If he doesn't come back!" she murmured. "If he doesn't come back!" Shewas speaking to God. 

CHAPTER II

Pete blinked, swallowed hard and began to talk fast and hopefully. 

"He'll come back. I don't believe he'll get halfway there, Bella, " hereassured the woman. "He'll come to his senses. You know how moody heis. Come over here and doctor up my ankle, please. 'Make a fuss over me, Bell. ' Isn't that what I used to say?"

He coaxed until at last she came and knelt before him and removed hismoccasin and heavy woolen sock. The strong white foot was like marble, but the ankle was swollen and discolored. Bella clicked her tongue. "He_is_ a brute, you know!" She laughed shortly. Since Garth's departureshe had become almost a human being. The deaf-mute look had melted fromher, and a sardonic humor emerged; her eyes cleared; she could evensmile. "Why do we care so much for him, Pete--the two of us?"

Pete winced under her touch and puckered his brows. "Because he's such akid, I guess. He's always fretting after the moon. "

"Don't you ever get angry with him, Pete? He does treat you shamefulsometimes. "

"N-no. Not often. He's always sorry and ashamed afterward. He'd like tobe as kind as God. I believe if he could only fool us into thinking he_was_ God, he could act like Him--ouch, Bella! Go easy. "

"You're an awful smart boy, Pete. It's a sin you've never had anyschooling. "

"Schooling! Gosh! I've had all the schooling I could digest. Hugh beatit into me. He's taught me all he had in his head and a whole lot henever ought to have had there, I guess. But _you've_ taught me most, Bella--that's the truth of it. "

"_Me_! I never knew anything. They saw to that. They never did anythingfor me at home but abuse me. Hugh Garth was the only relation I ever hadin the world that spoke kind to me. Remember how I used to run over frommy folks to tuck you into bed in your little room above the shop, Pete?No, you were too little. "

"Of course, I remember, " the boy replied. "The ankle's fine now, Bella. Let up. I can't stand that rubbing. Let me stick the foot up on anotherchair. There--that's great. It doesn't hurt near so bad now. I rememberHugh's bookshop; yes, I do--honest! I remember sitting on the ladder andlistening to him talk to the students when they came in. He always wasa gorgeous talker, Bella. They used to stand around and listen tohis yarns like kids to a fairy story. Just the same as you and I donow--when we can get him into a good humor. But, you know, he used tolike strangers best--to talk to, I mean. "

Bella assented, bitterly. She had begun to clear the table of its almostuntouched meal. "Because he could put it over better with a stranger. Itisn't the _truth_ Hugh likes--about himself, or others. "

Pete had begun to whittle a piece of wood. He was a charming figure, slouching down in his chair, slim and graceful, his shapely goldenhead ruffled, his chin pressed against his chest. His expressionwas indescribably sweet and boyish, the shadow of anxiety and painaccentuating a wistful if determined cheerfulness. He was deliberatelyentertaining Bella, diverting her mind from its agony of apprehension. She saw through him, but like a sick child she took the entertainmentlanguidly. 

"Now, _you're_ too dead bent on the truth, Bella. You know you are. You're a regular bear for the truth. "

"I can't see anything else, " she said gloomily. "Things are just so tome--no blinking them. "

He put his head a little to one side and contemplated her. "What do yousee when you look into the water-bucket, Bella?"

"The water-bucket?" She flushed. "Just because you caught me prinkingthat once!"

"Well, if you had a mirror, what would you see in it, then?"

"An ugly old woman, Pete. "

"There! Your mind's just the wrong-side-out of Hugh's. He won't seehimself ugly, and you won't see yourself pretty. I'm the only sanefellow in this house. "

"And you never in your life saw a pretty woman to remember her. Besides, you're too young. " She said it with a tart sweetness and vanished intothe kitchen. 

With her departure Pete's whittling ceased, his hands fell slack and hebegan to stare out through the snow-walled window. His anxiety for Hughslipped imperceptibly into a vague pondering over his own youthfulness. That's what those two were always telling him, sometimes savagely, sometimes tenderly! "You're too young. " What did it mean to him, anyhow, that he was "too young"? A desolation from which at times he suffered insecret overcame him. 

He was twenty-one or -two--or his memory lied. They had never celebratedhis birthdays, but he was five or six years old when Hugh had beenso suddenly, so unexplainably taken from the house, back there in thelittle Eastern college town where they had lived. It was a few monthslater that Bella--Cousin Bella, who worked at "the farm"--came for him, a furtive, desperate Bella with a bruised face--a Bella tight-strung forflight, for a breaking of the galling accustomed ties of her life, for aterrible plunge into unknown adventure. She had muttered to him, asshe dressed him and bundled together a few of his belongings, that they"were going to Hugh"--only it was another name she used, a name sinceblotted from their lives. 

Hugh had sent for them. She was the only person in the world that Hughcould trust. But no one must know where they were going. They must beaway by the time the man who took charge of the shop came back in themorning. 

Pete remembered the journey. He remembered the small frontier stationwhere they left the train at last. He remembered that strange, far-flunghorizon, streaked with dawn, and his first taste of the tangy, headyair. There had been a long, long drive and a parting with the friendlydriver where Bella turned on to the trail through the woods. It had beendim and dark and terrible among the endless regiments of trees--mazyand green and altogether bewildering. And after vague hop-o'-my-thumbwanderings, he had a disconnected memory of Hugh--a wild, rugged, ragged, bearded Hugh who caught him up fiercely as though he had anogrish hunger for the feel of little boys. It was night when they cameto Hugh's hiding-place. For miles Pete had been carried in hisbrother's arms. Bella had limped behind them. There had been a ford, he remembered; the splashing water had roused Pete, and he stayed awakeafterward until he found himself before a dancing fire of logs in aqueer, dark, resinous-smelling house, very low, with unglazed windows. He remembered, too, that Bella had burst out crying. That was thequeerest memory of them all--that crying of Bella's. --Even now he couldnot understand exactly why she had cried so then. 

The frightened, furtive life they had all led since--the life of scaredwild things--had left its mark on Pete. His fear for Hugh now threw himback into the half-forgotten state of apprehension which had been theatmosphere of all his little boyhood. He had not known then why strangemen were creatures to be feared and shunned. In fact, he had neverbeen told the reason for Hugh's flight. Only, bit by bit, he had piecedtogether hints and vague allusions until he knew that this strange, embittered, boasting poet of a brother had killed or had been accused ofkilling. In his loyal boy mind Hugh Garth was promptly acquitted. It wasthe world that was wrong--not Hugh. Yet to-day, after all the long yearsof carefulness, he had gone back to the cruelty of the world. 

Like a beast the boy's anxiety for his brother began to prowl about thewalls of his mind. He imagined Hugh appearing at the trading-station. Hepictured the curious glances of the Indians and the white natives. This limping, extravagant, energetic Hugh with his whitening hair andeyebrows and flaring hazel eyes--with his crooked nose and mouth, his magnificently desperate manner and his magnificently desperatevoice--attention would inevitably fasten upon him anywhere; how muchmore in an empty land such as this! Pete fancied the inquiring looksturned from the man to the man's posted picture. It was no longer afaithful likeness, of course; still, it was a likeness. There was noother man in all the world like Hugh! He was made of odd, fantasticfragments, of ill-fitting parts--physically, mentally, spiritually. Itwas as if a soul had seen itself in a crooked mirror and had fashioned aform to match the distorted image. Hugh wouldn't, couldn't force himselfto be inconspicuous. He would swagger; he would talk loud; his big, beautiful voice would challenge attention, create an audience. He wouldhave some impossible, splendid tale to tell. 

Pete sat up straighter in his chair, gingerly rearranging the ankle, andlifted his blue and haunted eyes--the eyes of the North--to the window. 

The dazzle of noon had faded to a glow. The short winter day was nearlydone. There would be a long violet twilight, and then, the blaze ofstars. 

But for his aching ankle Pete would be sliding out on soundless skis, now poised for breathless flight down some long slope, now leapingfallen trees or buried ditches. He spent half of his wild youngrestlessness in such long night runs when, in a sort of ecstasy, heoutraced the stifled longings of his exiled youth. But there would beno ski-running for several nights now. He was a prisoner, and at a timewhen imprisonment was hard to bear. 

If only there were some way of getting quick news of Hugh! Why hadBella and he let this thing happen? Why had they stood helplessly by andallowed the rash fool to go singing to his own destruction? They mighthave held him by force, if not by argument, long enough to bring himto his senses. They had been weak; they were always weak before Hugh'smagnetic strength--always the audience, the following; Bella, forall her devastating tongue, no less than himself. And Hugh's liberty, perhaps his life, might be the price of their acquiescence. 

Straining forward in his chair, listening, there came to Pete, acrossthe silence, the sound of skis. 

He rose and hopped to the door, flinging it wide. He could not see abovethe top of the drift which rose just beyond the roof to a height of nineor ten feet, but listening intently, he thought he recognized a familiarslight unevenness in the sliding of the skis. 

"Bella!" he shouted, his boy-voice ringing with relief. "Bella! Here'sHugh. He's come back. "

Bella was instantly at his side. They stood waiting in the doorway. Against the violet sky darkening above the blue wall of snow, a bulkyfigure rose, blotting out the light. It half slid, half tumbled downupon them, clumsy and shapeless. 

"Let us in, " panted Hugh. "Let us in. "

Slipping his feet from the straps of his skis, he staggered past themand they saw that he was carrying a woman in his arms. 

CHAPTER III

"Shut the door, " Hugh whispered, and laid his burden down on a bigblack bear-hide near the stove. He knelt beside it. He had no eyes foranything else. Pete, hobbling to him, gazed curiously down, and Bellaknelt opposite and drew away Hugh's mackinaw coat, with which he hadwrapped his trove. It was not a woman whom they looked down upon, buta girl, and very young--perhaps not yet seventeen--a girl with croppeddark curly hair and a face so wan and blue and at the same time soscorched by the snow-glare that its exquisiteness of feature was all themore marked. Hugh's handkerchief was tied loosely across her eyes. 

"I heard her crying in the snow, " he said with ineffable tenderness;"crying like a little bleating lamb with cold and pain and hungerand fright--the most pitiful thing in God's cruel trap of life. She'sblind--snow-blind. "

Pete gave a sharp exclamation, and Bella gently removed thehandkerchief. The small figure moaned and moved its head. The lids ofher eyes were swollen and discolored. 

"Snow-blind, " echoed Bella. 

"A bad case, " said Hugh. "Get her some soup, Bella, and--perhaps, hotwater--I don't know. " He looked up helplessly. 

Bella went to the kitchen. She had regained her old look of dumbness. Beside the figure on the floor Pete touched one of the girl's smallclenched hands. It was like ice. At the touch she moaned, and Hughordered sharply: "Let her alone. " So the boy dragged himself up againand stood by the mantel, watching Hugh with puzzled and wondering eyes. 

"Think what she's been through, " Hugh murmured, "that little delicatething, wandering for two days, out in this cold--scared by the woods, blinded by the pain, starving. When I found her, you'd have thoughtshe'd be afraid of a wild man like me, but she just lifted up her armslike a baby and dropped her head on my shoulder. She--she patted mycheek--"

Bella brought the soup, and Hugh, raising the small black head on thecrook of his arm, forced a spoonful between the clenched teeth. The girlswallowed and began again to whimper: "Oh, my eyes! My eyes! They hurtme so!" She turned her face against Hugh's chest and clung to him. 

"They'll be better soon, " he soothed her; then fiercely to Bella: "Can'twe do something? Don't you know what to do?"

Again Bella went to the kitchen, moving like an automaton. Hugh coaxedand murmured, feeding the girl in spite of her pain. He managed to forcea little of the soup down her throat, and a faint stain of color cameback to her lips and cheeks. Bella presently reappeared with salve andlotion, and Hugh helped her hold the swollen lids apart, his big handsvery skillful, while she gently washed out the eyes. Then they put thesalve on her sun-scorched face. She sighed as though in some relief, andagain snuggled against Hugh. 

"Don't go away, please, " she pleaded in a sweet trickle of voice. "I'mscared to feel you gone. You're so warm. You're so strong. Will you talkto me again, please? Your voice is so comforting, so beau-ti-ful. "

So Hugh talked. The others drew away and watched and listened. They didnot look at each other. For some reason Pete was ashamed to meet Bella'seyes. As usual, they were the audience, those two. They sat, each in achair, the width of the room apart; below them, his grizzled head andwarped face transfigured by its new tenderness, Hugh bent over the childin his arms. Pete held his tumult of curiosity, of interest, in leash. He could hear his heart pounding. 

"You're safe now, and warm, " Hugh was murmuring. "No need to be scared, no need. I'll take care of you. Go to sleep. I'm strong enough to keepoff anything. You're safe and snug as a little bird in its nest. That'sright. Go to sleep. "

Pete's blue eyes dwelt on this amazing spectacle with curious wonder. This was a Hugh he had never seen before. For the first time in fifteenyears, he realized, the man had forgotten himself. 

CHAPTER IV

To Hugh Garth the girl told her story at last. She seemed to realizeonly dimly that there were two other living beings in this house, toher a house of darkness peopled only by voices--Pete's modest, rare boyspeeches, Bella's brief, smothered statements. The great music of Hugh'sutterance must indeed have filled her narrowed world. So it was to himshe turned--he was always near her, sitting on the pelt beside the chairto which, after a day and night in Bella's bed, she was helped. 

She had a charming fashion of speech, rather slow motions of her lips, which had some difficulty with "r" and "s, " a difficulty which sheevidently struggled against conscientiously, and as she talked, shegesticulated with her slim little hands. She was a touching thingsitting there in Hugh's carved throne--he an abdicated monarch at herfeet, knee in hand, grizzled head tilted back, hazel eyes raised to herand filled with adoration. 

"I am called Sylvie Doone, " she said with that quaint struggle overthe "S. " "I was always miserable at home. " She gave the quick sigh ofa child. "You see, my father died when I was very little, and then mymother married again. We lived in the grimmest little town, hardlymore than a dozen houses, beside a stream, up in Massachusetts--farmingcountry, but poor farming, hard farming, the kind that twists the menwith rheumatism, and makes the women all pinched and worn. Motherwas like that. She died when I was thirteen. You see--there I was, soqueerly fixed. I had to live with Mr. Pynche--there was no other homefor me anywhere. And he kind of resented it. He had enough money notto need me for work--a sister of his did the housework better than Icould--and yet he was poor enough to hate having to feed me and pay formy clothes. I was always feeling in the way, and a burden. There wasnothing I could do. 

"Then I saw something about the movies in a magazine, and pictures ofgirls, not much better-looking than me, making lots of money. I borrowedsome money from a drug-store clerk who wanted to keep company withme--I've paid it back--and I went to New York. I did get a job. But I'mnot a good actress. "

She faltered over the rest--a commonplace story of engagements, offailures, until she found herself touring the West with a wretchedtheatrical troupe. "We were booked for a little town off there beyondyour woods, and the train was stalled in a snowstorm. We got on astage-coach, but it got stuck in a drift on one of those dreadful roads. I was freezing cold, and I thought I'd make a short cut through thewoods. The road was running along the edge of a big forest of pines. Icut off while they were all working to dig out the horses. 

"Mr. Snaring said, 'Look out for the bears!' and I laughed and ran upwhat looked like a snow-buried trail. There was a hard crust. The woodswere all glittering and so beautiful. I ran into them, laughing. I wasso glad to get away by myself from those people into the woods where itwas so silent and sort of solemn--like being in a church again. I can'tthink how I got so lost. I meant to come round back to the road, butbefore I knew it, I didn't know which way the road was. The pines wereso dense, so all alike, they looked almost as if they kept sort ofshifting about me. I tried to follow back on my footprints, but insome places snow had shaken down from the branches. And there were somany--so dreadfully many other tracks--of animals--" She put her handsover her face and shrank down in her chair. 

"Forget about them, Sylvie, " Hugh admonished gently. "Even if there hadbeen bears about, they wouldn't likely have bothered you any. "

"I can't bring myself to tell you about that time--I can't!"

"Don't, then--only, how did you live through the night, my dear?"

"I don't know--except that I never stayed still. I got out from thetrees because I was afraid of bears, and I lost my hat. The sun was likefire shining up from underneath and down from up above. My eyes beganto hurt almost at once, and by the time night came, it was agony. Thedarkness didn't seem to help me any either; the glare still seemed tocome in under my lids. I couldn't sleep for the pain. I knew I'dfreeze if I stood still, so I kept moving all night, trampling round incircles, I suppose. Next morning the terrible glare began again. Theneverything went red. I was nearly crazy when you found me, Mr. Garth. "

"Please call me Hugh, " he murmured, taking her hand in his. "I feel in away that you belong to me now--I saved you from dying alone there in thecold and brought you back to my home. I've got jettison rights, Sylvie. "She let him hold her hand, and flushed. 

"You'll never know what it felt like to hear your voice call to me, tofeel you pulling me up. I'd only just dropped a few minutes before, butI'd never have struggled up. It would have been the end. " She trembledin the memory, and he patted her hand. "I don't know why a man likeyou lives off here in this wild place, but thank God, you do live here!Though, " she added with wistfulness, twisting her soft mouth, "though Ican't ever quite see why God should care much for a Sylvie Doone. " Shetouched the lids of her closed eyes. "I wonder why it doesn't worry memore not to be able to see. Now that the pain's gone, I don't seem tocare much. "

"Thank God. Perhaps, though, " he added half-grudgingly, "in a few daysyou'll see again. "

She smiled. "I'd just love to see _you_. You must be wonderful!"

"What makes you think that?" he asked, his warped face glowing. 

"You're so strong and young, such thick hair, such finely shaped handsand such a voice. " Sylvie's associates had been of a profession thatdeals perpetually in personalities. "If I'd been blind a long time, Isuppose I could just run my hand over your face, and I'd know what youlook like. But I can't tell a thing. " She felt for his face and brushedit eagerly with her fingers, laughing at herself. "I just know that youhave thick eyelashes and are clean-shaven. Is Bella your wife? And thatbig little boy your son?"

He started. "No, she's a faithful thing, the boy's nurse. And thekid's my young brother--a great gawk of a boy for his age, a regularbean-pole. "

"It's so hard to tell anything about people if you can't see them. Iwouldn't have thought he was so big. Is he about fourteen or fifteen? Hespeaks so low and gently; he might be any age. "

"And a man's height--pretty near too big to lick, though he needs it. "

"And Bella, what's she like?"

"A dried-up mummy of a woman. "

The kitchen door creaked. Hugh started and shot a look over hisshoulder. Bella stood on the kitchen threshold with an expressionlessface and lowered eyelids. 

"Why did you jump?" asked Sylvie nervously. 

Hugh wet his lips with his tongue. "Nothing. The door creaked. Go on. Tell me more, child, " he urged. 

"No. I want to hear about you now. Tell me your story. "

Hugh clenched his hands and flushed darkly. He glanced over his shoulderwith a furtive look, but Bella had gone. 

"No one else rightly knows my story, Sylvie. Will you promise me neverto speak of it, to Bella, to Pete, to any one?"

"Of course, I promise. " Her face beamed with the pride of a childentrusted with a secret. 

Then, lowering his voice and moving closer to her chair, he began afictitious history, a history of persecuted and heroic innocence, ofreckless adventure, of daring self-sacrifice. The girl listened withparted lips. Her cheeks glowed. And behind the door, Bella too listened, straining her ears. 

The murmur of Hugh's recital, rising now and then to some melodramaticclimax, then dropping cautiously, rippled on, broken now and again bySylvie's ejaculations. Behind the door Bella stood like a wooden block, colorless and stolid as though she understood not a syllable of whatshe heard. But after a rigid hour she faltered away, stumbled across thekitchen and out into the snow. 

There, in the broad light of the setting sun, Pete rhythmically bent andstraightened over his saw. The tool sang with a hissing, ringing rhythm, and the young man drove it with a lithe, long swing of body, forward andback, forward and back, in alternate postures of untiring grace. Theair was not cold. There was the cloudy softness premonitory of a springstorm; the sun glowed like a dying fire through a long, narrow rift inthe shrouded west. Pete had thrown aside his coat and drawn in his belt. The collar of his flannel shirt was open and turned back; his head wasbare. The bright gold of his short hair, the scarlet of his cheeks, the vivid blue of his brooding eyes, made shocks of color against theprevailing whiteness. Even the indigo of his overalls and the dark grayof his shirt stood out with a curious value of tint and texture. Hisbare hands and forearms glowed. He was whistling with a boy's vigor anda bird's sweetness. 

Bella caught Pete's arm as it bent for one of the strong forward sweeps. He stopped, let go of his saw, and turned to her, smiling. 

Then--the smile gone: "What's wrong?"

Her eyes flamed in her pale, tense face. "We've got to stop it, Pete, "she said. "It's horrible!"

"What? Don't stand out here with those bare arms, Bella. " He was pullinghis own shirt-sleeves down over his glistening bronze forearms as hespoke. 

"We can't talk in the house, " she said, "and I've got to talk. I--Do youknow what Hugh's doing--what he's telling that girl? What he's lettingher believe?"

Pete shook his head, but at the same time turned his blue eyes away fromher toward the glowing west. 

"Lies, " said Bella. She laughed a short, explosive laugh. "He's got hisideal audience at last--a blind one. She thinks he's young and handsomeand heroic. Pete, she thinks he's a hero. She thinks he's buried himselfout here for the sake of somebody else. Oh, it's a regular romance, andit's been going on for hours--it's still going on. By now he believesit all himself. He's putting in the details. And Sylvie: 'Oh!' she'ssaying, and 'Ah, Mr. Garth, how you must have suffered! Howwonderful you are!' And--look at me Pete--do you want to know what weare--according to him--you and I?"

He did not turn his eyes from the west, even when she shook his arm. 

"I'm a dried-up mummy of a woman--faithful?--yes, I'm faithful--an oldservant. And you're a child, an overgrown bean-pole of a boy, fourteenor fifteen years old. "

The young man stood tall and still--a statue of golden youth in thegolden light--the woman clutching at his arm, her face twisted, her eyesafire, all the colorlessness of her body and the suppressed flame of herspirit pitilessly apparent. 

"Look at me, Pete. "

"Well, " he sighed gently, "what of it?" He looked down at her andsmiled. "It's the first good time he's had for fifteen years. You knowwe don't make him happy. I don't grudge him his joy, Bella, do you?It can't last long, anyway. Fairy tales can't hurt her--Hughbelieves--almost--in his own inventions. She'll be going back--herfriends will be hunting for her. I'll let her think I'm a bean-pole of aboy if it makes him any happier to have me one. And why do you care?"

She drew in her breath. "Oh, I don't suppose I care--so much, " she saidhaltingly. "But--think of the girl. "

His eyes widened a little and fell. "The girl?"

"She's falling in love with him!"

Pete threw back his head and laughed aloud. "Oh, Bella, you know, _that's_ funny!"

"It's not. It's tragic. It's horrible. You'll see. Watch her face. "

"I have watched it. " He spoke dreamily. "It's a very pretty and sweetface. "

"Pete, Hugh's robbing _you_. "

"Me?"

"Yes, you're young. You're ready for loving. This child--God sent her toyou, to get you out of this desolation, to lead you back to loving andliving, to give you what you ought to have--Life. "

It was as though she had struck him. He started and drew himself away. "Shut up, Bella, " he said with boyish roughness and limped past her intothe house. 

CHAPTER V

In these days Hugh must have known that his magic-making, as he led thelittle blind girl through the forest of his romancing, was at the mercyof those two that knew him for what he really was; except for queer, wild, threatening looks now and again, he gave no sign. He played hispart magnificently, even trusting them to come in with help when theywere given their cue. He had dominated them for so long that even theyand the picture of him that they held in their minds were not so realas his dreams. It was a queer game, queer and breathless, played in thisnarrow space shut in by the white wilderness. And as the slow days wentby, the low log house seemed to be filled more and more with smotheredand conflicting emotions. A dozen times the whole extravaganza came nearcollapse; a dozen times Hugh saved it by a word, or Pete and Bella by asilence. Their parts were not easy, and although Pete still smiled, his young clear face grew whiter and more strained. Sylvie treated himalways as though he were a child. She would pat his head and rumple hishair if he sat near her; once, suddenly, she kissed him lightly on thecheek, after he had moved the chair for her. 

"You're a dear, quiet boy, " she said. "I frightened you to death, then, didn't I? Hasn't anyone ever kissed you before?" His cheek burned sothat, touching it with her fingers, she laughed. "I've made you blush, poor kid! I know. Boys hate petting, don't they? You'll have to get usedto it, Pete, because I mean to pet you--oh, a lot! You need some oneto draw you out. These two people snub you too much. Boys offourteen aren't quite children, after all, are they? Besides, they'reinteresting. I know. I was fourteen myself not such ages back. You'renot cross, are you, Pete?"

His eyes were misty, and his hands were cold. He could not understandhis own emotion, his own pain. He muttered something and got himselfaway. She called him "sullen" and was angry with him, complaining toHugh at supper that "Petey" had been "a bear" to her. Hugh simulated aplayful annoyance and began to scold; then a sort of nervous fury cameover him. He stamped and struck the table and snarled at Pete. The youngman rose at his place and stared at his brother silently. There were twosplotches of deep color on his cheeks. Sylvie protested: "Don't, please, be so angry with him. I was only teasing, just in fun. Bella, tellHugh to stop. I had no business to kiss Pete. But I just wanted to petsomething. "

Hugh's threatening suddenly stopped, and Pete sat down. In thestrained silence Bella laughed. Her laughter had the sound of a snappedbow-string. Sylvie had pushed her chair back a little from the table andwas turning her head quickly from one to the other of them. Her mouthshowed a tremble of uncertainty. It was easy to see that she sensed atension, a confusion. Hugh leaned forward and broke into a good-humoredrattle of speech, and as Pete and Bella sat silent, Sylvie gradually wasreassured. Near the end of the meal she put out her hand toward Pete. 

"Please don't be so cross with me, Pete! Give me a shake forforgiveness. "

He touched her hand, his eyes lowered, and drew his fingers away. Shelaughed. 

"How shy you are--a wild, forest thing! I'll have to civilize you. "

"Leave him alone, " admonished Hugh softly, "leave him alone. "

As he said this, he did not look at Sylvie, but gazed somberly at Pete. It was a strange look, at once appealing and threatening, pitiful anddangerous. Pete fingered his fork nervously. Finally Bella stood up andbegan to clear the table with an unaccustomed clatter of noisy energy. 

"How long are you going to keep it up, Pete?" she asked him afterward. He was helping her wash the dishes, drying them deftly with a piece offlour-sacking. 

"Since we've let it begin, we'll have to go on with it to a finish, " heanswered coldly. "After all"--he paused, polished a platter and turnedaway to put it on its shelf--"he's not doing anything so dreadful--justtwisting the facts a little. I _am_ an ignorant lout. I might as well befourteen, for all I know. "

"And I _am_ a mummy of a woman?"

In pity for her he made to put his arm about her. "Don't be a goose, Bella, " he said, but she flung his hand from her. "Why does it make youso sore and angry?" he asked wistfully. "Hugh is not pretty to lookat, but perhaps Sylvie sees him better than we do--in a way; and if shelearns to love him while she's blind, then, when she sees him, if sheever sees him--"

"Chances are she never will. If her eyes don't get better soon, theylikely never will. "

"Isn't it horrible?"

"You don't seem to think so. So long's she has Hugh to paint picturesfor her, what does she need eyes for? What's to come of it, Pete? She'sfalling in love with the fine figure of a hero he's made her believe heis. But how can he marry her?"

"Couldn't he go off somewhere else and marry her and start again?Honest, I think if Hugh had some one who thought he was a god, he'dlikely enough be one. He--he lives by--illusion--isn't that the word?It's kind of easy to be noble when some one you love believes you to be, isn't it? That's Hugh; he--"

Bella threw down her rag, turned fiercely upon him and gripped hisshoulders. 

"Are you a man or a child?" she said. "You love this girl yourself!"

"No!" he cried and broke from her and went limping out into the frostynight with its comfortless glitter of stars. 

As soon as his ankle was stronger, Pete spent all day and most of thenight on his skis, trying to outrun the growing shadow of his misery. Hugh's work fell on his shoulders. He had not only his accustomedchores, the Caliban duties of woodchopping and water-carrying, thedressing of wild meat, the dish-drying and heavier housework, therepairs about the cabin--but he had the trapping. In Hugh's profoundnew absorption he seemed to have forgotten the necessity for making alivelihood. During the first years of their exile they had lived on hissavings, ordering their supplies by the mail, which left them at thefoot of that distant trail leading into the forest. Thence Hugh, undershelter of night, would carry them--lonely, terrible journeys that taxedeven his strength. When Pete grew big enough to load, he was sent to thetrading-station, and Hugh became an expert trapper. The savings werenot entirely spent, but they were no longer touched; the pelts brought alivelihood. 

Pete had had his instructions concerning his behavior at thetrading-station; many years before, he had stammered a legend of asickly father who had died, who was buried back there by the lonelycabin where he and his "mother" chose to live. Bella and Hugh had evendug up a mound for which they had fashioned a rude cross. It couldbe seen, in summer, from the living-room window--that mock grave moreterrible in its suggestions than a real grave ever could have been. There was also a hiding-place under the boards of the floor. No onehad ever seen the grave or driven Hugh into hiding. It was not aninquisitive country, and its desolation was forbidding. Pete had learnedto discourage the rare sociability of the other traders. 

Now, however, the young man had not only to trade his pelts but to trapthem, and for this business of trapping which was distasteful to him, hehad not a tithe of Hugh's skill. His bundle of pelts brought him a sorrysupply of necessities. He was ashamed, himself, and having dumped theburden from his shoulders to the kitchen floor would hurry into theother room, not to see Bella's expression when she opened her bundles. 

To-night Pete was tired; the load had not been heavy, but the snow wasbeginning to soften under the mild glowing of an April sun, and his skishad tugged at his feet and gathered a clogging mass. His body ached, and there was a sullen and despairing weight upon his spirit. A mobof rebels danced in his heart. He watched Hugh's face, saw the flaringadoration of his eyes, thought that Sylvie must feel the scorch of themon her cheek, so close. In his own eyes there showed a brooding fire. 

Bella broke into the room. 

"Look here, " she said, "you'd better get to trapping again, Hugh Garth. Pete's pelts don't bring a quarter of what we need--especially thesedays. "

Sylvie quivered as though a wound had been touched. "Oh, you mean me, "she said, "I know you mean me. I'm making trouble. I'm eating too much. I'll go. Pete, has anybody been asking about me at the post-office, trying to find me? They _must_ be hunting for me. " She had stood up andwas clasping and unclasping her hands. Hugh and Pete protested in onebreath: "Nonsense, Sylvie!"

And Pete went on with: "There hasn't been anyone asking about you, but--so much the better for us. You're safe here, and comfortable, aren't you? And--Hugh, _you_ tell her what it means to us to have herhere. "

It was more of a speech than he had made since Sylvie's arrival, and itwas not just the speech, in tone or manner, of a fourteen-year-old boy. There was a new somber note in his voice, too--some of the youthfulquality had gone out of it. Sylvie took a step toward him, to thankhim, perhaps, perhaps to satisfy, by laying her hand upon him, a suddenbewilderment; but in her blindness she stumbled on the edge of thehearth, and to save her from falling, Pete caught her in his arms. For an instant he held her close, held her fiercely, closer and morefiercely than he knew, and Sylvie felt the strength of him and heard thepounding of his heart. Then Hugh plucked her away with a smothered oath. He put her into a chair, crushed her hand in one of his, and turned uponBella. 

"Go back into the kitchen, " he ordered brutally; "trapping's not yourbusiness. You mind your cooking. "

"Be careful, Hugh!" Bella's whisper whistled like a falling lash, "I'llnot stand that tone from you. Be careful!"

"Oh, " pleaded Sylvie, "why do you all quarrel so? Off here by yourselveswith nobody else to care, I'd think you would just love each other. Ilove you all--yes, I do, even you, Bella, though I know you hate _me_. Bella, _why_ do you hate me? Why does it make you so angry to have mehere? Does it make your work so much harder? I'll soon be better; I'mlearning to feel my way about. I'll be able to help you. I should thinkyou'd be glad to have a girl in the house--another woman. I'm sorry tobe a nuisance, really I am. I'd go if I could. "

The lonely, deep silence, always waiting to fall upon them, shut downwith suddenness at the end of her sweet, tearful quaver of appeal. Forminutes no one spoke. Then Pete followed Bella out of the room. Shehad not answered Sylvie's beseeching questions, but had only stood withlowered head, her face working, her hands twisting her dress. She hadrun out just as her face cramped as though for tears. 

When the other two had gone, Hugh captured both of Sylvie's hands inhis. "You don't mean that, do you?" he asked brokenly. "You don't meanyou'd go away if you could, Sylvie!"

At Hugh's voice she started and the color rushed into her cheeks. "If Imake you quarrel, if I'm a nuisance, if Pete and Bella hate me so!"

"But I"--he said--"I love you. " He drew her head--she was sitting in herchair again--against his side. "No, don't smile at me like that; I don'tmean the sort of love you think. I love you terribly. Can't you feel howI love you? Listen, close against my heart. Don't be frightened. There, now you know how I love you!"

He rained kisses on her head resting droopingly against him. 

"How can a man like you love _me_?" she asked with wistful uncertainty. 

"A man like me?" Hugh groaned. "Ah, but I do--I do! You must stay withme always. Sylvie, somehow we will be married--you--and I!"

"Now it frightens me, " she whispered, "being blind. It does frightenme now. I want so terribly to see your face, your eyes. Oh, you mustn'tmarry a blind girl, a waif. You've been so noble, you've suffered soterribly. You ought to have some wonderful woman who would understandyour greatness, would see all that you are. "

"Now, " he sighed, "now I _am_ great--because you think I am; that'swater to me--after a lifetime of thirst. "

"Hugh, _am_ I good enough for you?" She was sobbing and laughing at thesame time. 

It was too much for him. He drew himself gently away. He whispered: "Ican't bear being loved--being happy. I'll go out by myself for a bitalone. Sylvie, Sylvie! Every instant I--I worship _you_!" He threwhimself down before her and pressed his face against her knees. Shecaressed the thick, grizzled hair. He stood up and then stumbled awayfrom her, more blind than she, out of the house into the gatheringnight. 

CHAPTER VI

In the big, rudely carved chair Sylvie leaned back her head and pressedher hands to her unseeing eyes. She was not sorry that Hugh had lefther, for she was oppressed and unnerved by her own emotions. Until hehad kissed her hair, she had not known that she loved him--or ratherloved an invisible presence that had enveloped her in an atmosphere ofsympathy, of protection, that had painted itself, so to speak, in heroiccolors and proportions against her darkness, that had revealed bothstrength and tenderness in touch and movement, and warm, deep voice. 

For until now Sylvie's life had been entirely lacking in protection andtenderness; she had never known sympathy--her natural romanticism hadbeen starved. The lacks in her life Hugh had supplied the more lavishlybecause he was aided, in her blindness, by the unrestricted powers ofher fancy. But now in all the fervor of this, Sylvie felt, also forthe first time, the full bitterness of her blindness. If she could seehim--if only once! If she could see him!

And there came to Sylvie unreasonably, disconnectedly, a keen memory ofPete's embrace when he had caught her up from falling on the hearth. A boy of fourteen? Strange that he should be so strong, that his heartshould beat so loud, that his arms should draw themselves so closely, sopowerfully about her. What were they really like, these people whomoved unseen around her and who exerted such great power over her suddenhelplessness?

She got up and began to walk to and fro restlessly, gropingly across theroom. She wished now that Hugh would come back. He had been with her soconstantly that she had grown utterly dependent upon him. The dense redfog that lay so thick about her, frightened her when Hugh was notthere to keep her mind busy with his talk to paint pictures for her, tocommand her with his magnetic presence. She stood still and strained hereyes. She _must_ see again. If she tried hard, the red fog would surelylift. Happiness, and her new love, they would be strong enough to dispelthe mist. There--already it was a shade lighter! She almost thought thatshe could make out the brightness of the fire. She went toward it andsat down on the bear-skin, holding out her tremulous, excited hands. Andwith a sudden impulse toward confidence she called: "Pete, O Pete! Comehere a moment, please. "

He came, and she beckoned to him with a gesture and an upward, vaguelydirected smile, to sit beside her. She was aware of the rigid reserve ofhis body holding itself at a distance. 

"Pete, " she said wistfully, "what can I do to make you love me?"

He uttered a queer, sharp sound, but said nothing. 

"Are you jealous?"

"No, Sylvie, " he muttered. 

"Oh, how I wish I could see you, Pete! I know then I'd understandyou better. Pete, try to be a little more--more human. Tell meabout yourself. Haven't you a bit of fondness for me? You see, Iwant--Pete--some day perhaps I'll be your sister--"

"Then he has asked you to marry him?"

He was usually so quiet that she was startled at this new tone. 

"Don't, " she said. "Hush! We have only just found out. He went awaybecause he couldn't bear his own happiness. Pete--" She felt for him andher hand touched his cheek. "Oh, Pete, your face is wet. You're crying. "

"No, I'm not, " he denied evenly. "It was melting from the roof when Icame in. "

She sighed. "You are so strange, Pete. Will you let me kiss younow--since you are going to be my big little brother?"

"I can't, " he whispered. "I can't. "

She laughed and crooked her arm about his neck, forcing his face down tohers. His lips were hard and cool. 

The face that Sylvie imagined a boy's face, shy and blushing, halffrightened, half cross, perhaps a trifle pleased, was so white andpatient a face in its misery that her blind tenderness seemed almostlike an intentional cruelty. It was an intensity of feeling almostpalpable, but Sylvie's mouth remained unburnt, though it removed itselfwith a pathetic little twist of disappointment. 

"You don't need to say anything, " she said, "You've shown me how youfeel. You can't like me. You are sorry I came. And I want so dreadfullyfor some one just now to talk to--to help me, to understand. It's alldark and wonderful and frightening. I wish I had a brother--"

She bent her face to her knees and began to cry simply and passionately. At that Pete found it easy to forget himself. He put his arm verycarefully about her, laying one of his hands on her bent head andstroking her hair. 

"You have a brother, " he said. "Right here. "

The dark small silken head shook. "No. You don't like me. "

"I do--I do. Please tell me everything you feel like telling; I'd likeawfully to help you, to understand, to listen to you. You see, you'vebeen so much with Hugh, I haven't had a chance to know you as he does. And I guess--well--maybe I'm sort of shy. "

She lifted her head at that, took his stroking hand and held it in bothof hers under her chin, as a little girl holds her pet kitten for thepleasure of its warmth. "You must get over being shy with me, Pete. Weboth love Hugh; we both admire him so. I'd so love to talk to you abouthim--"

"Then do, Sylvie. "

"I've never seen him, " she sighed, "and you can see him all day long, Pete; will you try your best now to describe Hugh to me--every bitof him? Tell me the color of his eyes and the shape of his faceand--everything. Tell me all you remember about him always. "

"I--I'm no good at that, Sylvie. A fellow you see all day long--why, youdon't know what he looks like, 'specially if he's your own brother. "

"Well, you certainly know the color of his eyes. "

"He has hazel eyes--I think you'd call them--"

"Yes?" she drank in his words eagerly, pressing his hand tighter in herexcitement. "Go on. If only you were a girl, now, you'd do this so muchbetter. "

"I--I--but I don't know what else to say, Sylvie. He is very strong. "

"Of course. I know that. Didn't he pick me up out of the snow and carryme home? He moved as though he had a feather on his arm. You are verystrong too, Pete--_very_ strong. Are _your_ eyes hazel?"

"No; blue. "

"I always liked blue eyes. I like to imagine that Hugh is just theViking sort of man I dreamed about when I was a little girl. You thinkI'm a silly goose, don't you?"

"Yes, rather. "

"Don't keep trying to pull your hand away, dear; you can't guess how itcomforts me. I'm awfully alone here, and strange. I don't suppose youknow how queer and frightening it's been--this getting lost and beingbrought here in the dark, and then--living on in the dark, just trustingmy instincts, my intuitions, instead of my eyes. Voices tell a lot aboutpeople, don't they?--more than I ever dreamed they could. Pete, there isnothing in that--that splendid, generous thing Hugh did, the thing Iam not to talk about, nothing to keep Hugh now from going back tothe world--some place--that is, far away from where it happened--andbeginning again, is there?"

"I hope not, Sylvie. "

She sighed. "Of course it was wonderful. If he hadn't told me of it, Inever should have known half of his greatness; yet I can't help wishinghe were free. It's sad to think there will always be the memory of thatdreadful suffering and danger in his life. "

"Very sad, " said Pete. 

"How alone we both are--he and I! Bella, and you, Pete--don't be angry, please--I don't think you quite understand Hugh, quite appreciate him. "

"Perhaps not. "

"He has always been lonely. You are so young, and Bella is sostupid--stupid and cross. "

"No, she isn't, Sylvie. I know Bella a lot better than you do. She's notstupid or cross--"

"Well, I like you to stick up for your old nurse. She certainly musthave loved you a lot to bring you way out here and to stay here allthese years to take care of you. I wonder where she'll go and whatshe'll do when Hugh and I get married. You're too old for a nursenow, Pete. Do you mind if I lean back against you that way? It's socomfortable. I'd be happier without Bella, Pete, you know. "

"Would you, Sylvie? Well, Bella and I will have to go away togethersomewhere, I guess. "

"I didn't say you, dear. I love you a lot--next best to Hugh. There'ssomething awfully sweet about you--you great strong overgrown thing!Your heart goes _thump-thump-thump-thump_, as though it was as big asthe sun. . . . I feel much better and happier now. Things have got steadyagain. Only--I wish Hugh would come back. "

Pete gave a strangled sigh. 

"He'll be back. " And he began to draw himself away from her. "I think Ihear him now, Sylvie. "

"Stay where you are, " she laughed. "Don't be ashamed of being found witha sister leaning against you and holding your hand. Are you afraid ofHugh? I think sometimes he's rather hard with you--I'll have to speakto him about that. Oh"--in a sudden ecstasy--"how happy I am! I feel aslight as the air. I want every one to be happy. Tell me when Hugh comesin how happy he looks, Pete--promise me, quick! There he is at the doornow. "

"Yes, " he whispered, "I promise. Let me go, please, Sylvie. "

He pulled himself away and stood up. At the instant, the door was openedand shut quickly, stealthily. It was Hugh, breathing hard, gray withfear. 

"They're coming, " he said harshly. "Pete, they're after me. Men arecoming across the flat. "

CHAPTER VII

"Did they see you?" Pete demanded anxiously. 

"I don't think so. " Hugh was breathing fast; he had evidently fledacross the snow at top speed. 

"Get in, then, quick--out of sight. " Pete was already tearing up boardsabove that long-waiting place of hiding. Hugh was about to step downinto it when he glanced up and saw Sylvie. She was standing as theunseeing stand in moments of frightened bewilderment, her hands clasped, her head turning from side to side. "Look here, " whispered Hugh, stillabsorbed in his own danger, "don't let them know that Sylvie justwandered in here. Don't let them start asking her any questions; it'stoo dangerous. Let her be--one of the family. " He smiled maliciously. "Let her be your wife, Pete. " Then, as though that picture had fired hislove through its hint of jeopardy, he held out both arms suddenly: "Comehere, Sylvie--lead her to me, Pete. "

The boy obeyed. But as her uncertain arms trembled about Hugh'sshoulders Pete turned sharply away. He heard the quick, anxious murmurof their voices:

"Hugh, dearest--are you afraid?" And his: "Trust me, little darling. Love me. " A kiss. 

Then a sharp, whispered summons: "Quick, can't you, Pete? Get theseboards down. "

When Pete turned, Hugh had dropped into the darkness, and Sylvie stoodflushed and with her hands over her face. 

Bella had meantime been collecting the most characteristic of Hugh'sbelongings--those that could not be supposed to belong to Pete--and nowthrust them down into the hiding-place. The boards were rearranged, therug laid evenly over them. Then the three stood staring at one another, listening helplessly to the nearing sounds. 

"Oh, Pete, " Sylvie gasped, "tell me what I must do--or what I ought tosay. "

"Tell them, " said Bella, "what Hugh told you--that you are Pete's wife. They'll be looking for a different household from that, and it will helpto put them off. "

"But--but Pete won't look old enough. "

"Yes, he will. He looks older than you, " Bella declared harshly. "Yousit down and keep quiet; that's the best you can do; and for God's sakedon't look so scared. There's a grave outside to show them, and nobodydigs up a six-year-old grave. They won't find Hugh. Nobody's everseen him. Don't shake so, Sylvie. They may not even be after him; thiscountry has sheltered other outlaws, you know. Hush! I hear them. I'llbe in the kitchen. Pete, be taking off your outdoor clothes. They'llhave seen Hugh's tracks even if they haven't seen him, so somebody'sgot to have just come in. Be whistling and talking, natural and calm. Remember we're all at home, just quiet and happy--no reason to beafraid. That's it. "

Through her darkness Sylvie heard the knocking and Pete's opening ofthe door, the scraping of snow, the questions, the simplicity of Pete'sreplies. 

Then she was made known. "My wife, gentlemen!" And a moment later: "Mymother!" And she heard Bella's greeting, loud and cheerful like thatof a woman who is glad to see a visitor. Chairs were drawn up andcigarettes rolled and lighted. She smelt the sharp sweetness of thesmoke. There was brief talk of the weather; Sylvie felt that whilethey talked, the two strangers searched the place and the faces of itsinmates with cold, keen, suspicious eyes. She was grateful now for herblindness. There came a sharp statement:

"We're looking for Ham Rutherford, the murderer. " Sylvie's heartcontracted in her breast. 

"Well, sir, " laughed Pete, in his most boyish, light-hearted fashion, "that sounds interesting. But it's a new name to me. "

"It's an old case, however, " said the man, the man who spoke more likean Easterner than the sheriff. "Fifteen years old! They've dug it upagain back East. The daughter of the man that was killed came into somemoney and thinks she can't spend it any better than in hunting down herfather's murderer. Now, we've traced Rutherford to this country, andpretty close to this spot. He made a getaway before trial, and he cameout here fifteen years ago. About two years later he sent back East forhis kid brother--he'd be about your age now, Mr. --what you say your namewas?--Garth, Peter Garth. You'll have to excuse the sheriff; he's boundto search your place. " Sylvie had heard the footsteps going throughthe three rooms. "A woman named Bertha Scrane, a distant cousin ofRutherford's to whom he'd been kind, brought the child out. Now, Missis--what's your name?"

"Bella Garth, " she said tranquilly. "I came out here with my husband, who died six years ago. He's buried out there under the snow. I've livedhere with my son and my son's wife. "

"Yes. It's not the household we'd been expecting to find. It's a lonelyplace, Missis. " He looked at Sylvie. "I should think you'd prefer goingto some town. "

"We're used to it here now, " Bella answered. 

"How'd your husband happen here, ma'am?"

"His health was poor; he'd heard of this climate, and he wanted to trytrapping. He got on first-rate until the illness came so bad on him, andPete's done well ever since. We haven't suffered any. "

"No, I guess not. You don't look like you'd suffered. "

The talk went on, an awkward, half-disguised cross-questioning asto Bella's birthplace, her life before she came out, her husband'santecedents. She was extraordinarily calm, ready and reasonable with herreplies. 

"Well, sir"--the sheriff strolled back into the room--"I reckon thesearen't the parties we're after. But look a-here, this is a descriptionof Ham Rutherford. Likely you might have had a glimpse of him since youcame into the country. When he made his getaway he was about thirty-two, height five feet eight, ugly, black-haired, noticeable eyes, mannerviolent. He was deformed, one leg shorter, one shoulder higher than theother, mouth twisted, and a scar across the nose. He'd been hurt in afire when he was a child--"

Sylvie broke into a spontaneous ripple of mirth, the full measure of herrelief. "Goodness, " she said with utter spontaneity. "There's certainlynever been a monster like that in this house, has there, Pete?"

It did more than all that had gone before to convince the inquisitors. From that minute there was a distinct relaxation; the evening, indeed, turned to one of sociability. 

"We hate to inconvenience you, ma'am, but it seems like at this distancefrom town we've got to ask you for supper and a place to sleep. "

If it had not been for the thought of Hugh in hiding, that supper andthe evening about the hearth would have been to Sylvie a pleasant one. The men, apparently laying aside all suspicion, were entertaining;their adventurous lives had bristled with exciting, moving, humorousexperience. It was Sylvie herself, prompted by curiosity, believingas she did that the monster the sheriff had described bore no possibleresemblance to the man she loved, who asked suddenly:

"Do tell us about the man you're hunting for now--this Rutherford? Tellus about what he did. "

The Easterner gave her a look, and Bella, seeing it, chimed in: "Yes, sure. Tell us about his crime. "

Pete stood up and rolled another cigarette. Try as he might to steadyhis fingers, they trembled. He had never heard Hugh's story. He didnot want to hear it. The very name of Rutherford that had, in what nowseemed to him another age, belonged to Hugh and to him was terriblein his ears. A sickness of dread seized him. Fortunately the eyes ofneither of the men were upon him. Sylvie had their whole attention. 

The detective spoke. "He was a storekeeper back in a university town, way East, where I came from. He kept a bookshop and had a heap ofbook-learning. I remember him myself, though I was a youngster. He was awonderful, astonishing sort of chap, though as ugly as the devil; had agreat gift of narration, never told the truth in his life, I guess, butthat only made him all the more entertaining. And he had a temper--phew!Redhot! He'd fly out and storm and strike in all directions. That'swhat did for him. Some fool quarrel about a book it was, and the man, a frequenter of the shop, a scholar, a scientist, professor at theuniversity, accused Rutherford of lying. Rutherford had a heavy brasspaper-cutter in his hand. The professor had a nasty tongue in his head. Well, a tongue's no match for a paper-cutter. The professor said toomuch, called Rutherford a hump-backed liar and got a clip on the headthat did for him. "

"It's an ugly story, " said Sylvie. Bella and Pete retained theirsilence. 

"Murder ain't pretty telling, as a general thing, " remarked the sheriff. 

"No, though I've heard of cases where a man was justified in killinganother man--I mean to save some one he loved from dreadful suffering, "Sylvie replied. 

"Well, ma'am, I don't know about that. I've read stories that make itlook that way, but in all my experience, it's the cowards and the foolsthat kill, and they do it because they're lower down, closer to thebeast, or perhaps to an uncontrolled child, than most of us. "

"But there was a time, " Bella said, with a smothered passion, "when aninsult to a gentleman's honor had to be avenged. "

"Yes, ma'am, " drawled the sheriff, "in them history days things wasfixed up to excuse animal doin's, kind of neater and easier and morebecomin' than they are now. Well, Mr. Garth, can we have our beds? We'vekept these ladies up talkin' long enough. Your mother looks plum woreout. "

They slept in the bed usually shared by Pete and Hugh. Pete lay on thefloor in the living-room not far from his brother's hiding-place--laythere rigid and feverish, staring at the night. Sylvie, at Bella's side, slept no better. Her imagination went over and over the story of HamRutherford's crime. She saw the little dark bookshop, the professor'sthin, sneering face, the hideous anger of the cripple, the blow, thedead body, Rutherford's arrest. And when her brain was sick, it wouldturn for relief to the noble story of Hugh's self-sacrifice, only to bebalked by a sense of unreality. What the detective had told, brieflyand dryly, lived in her mind convincingly; but Hugh's romance, that hadglowed on his tongue, now lay lifeless on her fancy. Back her mind wouldgo to the bookshop, the gibing professor, the heavy paper-cutter. 

In the dawn she heard Bella get up with a deep-shaken sigh and go abouther preparations for breakfast. But it was noon before the two men left. 

CHAPTER VIII

Hugh came up from his hiding-place like a man risen from the dead. Theyhelped him to his chair before the fire; they poured coffee down him, rubbed his blue, stiff hands. He sat looking up pitifully, his eyesturning from one to the other of them like those of a beaten hound. Allthe masterfulness, all the bombast, had been crushed out of him; eventhe splendor of his flaring hazel eyes was dimmed--they were hollow, hopeless, old. For a long time he did not speak, only drank the coffeeand submitted himself meekly to their ministrations; then at last hetouched Sylvie with a trembling hand. 

"Sylvie, " he whispered brokenly. 

"Hugh, dear, you're safe now; please speak; please laugh; you frightenme more than anything--why is he so silent, Pete? Bella, tell me what'swrong?"

"He's been crouching there on the damp, cold ground for hours, " saidBella, "not knowing what might happen. " Her voice trembled; she passed ahand as shaking as her voice across Hugh's bent head. "You're safe now. You're safe now, " she murmured. 

Hugh's teeth chattered, and he bent closer to the fire. 

"Ugh--it was cold down there, " he said, "like a grave! Sylvie, comehere. " Just an echo of his old imperious fashion it was--though thelook was that of a beggar for alms. "Give me those warm little hands ofyours. " She knelt close to him, rubbed his hands in hers, looking up atPete with a tremulous mouth that asked for advice. 

"He'll be all right in a minute, " said Pete. "You talk to him, Sylvie. "

"Yes, you talk--you talk. Do you remember how I talked to you when youwere afraid of the bears--ah!" He drew her head savagely against hisbreast, folded his arms about it, stroked the hair. "Sylvie! Is it allright? Can it be--the same?"

"Yes, yes, why not?"

"Were you frightened?"

"Not after the first. After they had described you, I knew that theywere looking for the wrong man, and then I felt all right. I didn'tknow--poor Hugh!--how cold and cramped you were. What a shame that youtook a false alarm and hid yourself! I don't believe there would havebeen a bit of danger if you'd stayed out. They'd never even heard ofyou, I suppose. "

Her talk, so gay, so strangely at cross-purposes with reality, was likea vivifying wine to him. The color came back into his face; a wild sortof relief lighted his eyes. 

"Then it didn't occur to you, Sylvie, that that brute might have beenme--that the men might, after all, have been describing me--eh?" heasked, risking all his hope on one throw. 

She laughed, and, lifting herself a little in his arms, touched her softmouth to his. "But, Hugh, you told me your story, don't you remember?And it is gloriously, mercifully different from Rutherford's. "

He put his chin on his fist and stared over her head into the fire. She felt the slackening of his embrace and searched his arms withquestioning fingers. "Why are you cross, Hugh? Did I say anything tohurt you? Let's forget Ham Rutherford. I wonder where he is, poor, horrible wretch!"

"Dead--dead--dead, " Hugh muttered. "Dead and buried--or he ought to be. O God!" he groaned, and crushed her close against him; "I can't ask youto love me, Sylvie--to marry me. Now you know what it is like to love aman who must be afraid of other men. What right have I to ask any womanto share my life?"

"But, Hugh--if I love you?"

"And you do love me?" he asked. 

"Yes. "

He laughed out at that, stood up, drawing her to stand beside him. "Bella--Pete, " he called, "do you hear--you two?" He beckoned themclose, laid a hand on them, drew first one, then the other towardSylvie. "She loves me. She sees me as I am!" Suddenly he put hisgrizzled head on Sylvie's shoulder and wept. She felt her way back tothe chair, sat down, and drew him to kneel with his arms about her, herhead bent over him, her small hands caressing him. She looked at Petefor help, for explanations, but she could not see his pale, tormentedface. 

After a while Hugh was calm and sat at her feet, smoking. But he wasunnaturally silent, and his eyes brooded upon her haggardly. 

It was several days before Hugh regained his old vigor and buoyancy;then it came to life like an Antaeus flung down to mother earth. Hishour of doubt, of self-distrust, of compunction, was whirled away likean uprooted tree on the flood of his happiness. He flung reason andcaution to the four winds; he dared Bella or Pete to betray him, heplayed his heroic part with boisterous energy; his tongue wagged like atipsy troubadour's. What an empty canvas, a palette piled with rainbowtints, a fistful of clean brushes would be to an artist long starved forhis tools, such was Sylvie's mind to Hugh. She was darkness for him toscrawl upon with light; she was the romantic ear to his romantic tongue;she was the poet reader for his gorgeous imagery. He had not only thehappiness of the successful lover, but even more, the happiness of thesuccessful creator. What he was creating was the Hugh that might havebeen. 

With Sylvie clinging to his hand, he now went out singing--the three ofthem together, great Hugh and happy artist Hugh all but welded intoone man for her and for her love. Those were splendid days, days offantastic happiness. Hugh's joy, his sense of freedom, gave him atenfold gift of fascination. 

Yet one day--one of those dim, moist spring days more colorful to Hugh'sheart than any of his days--there cut into his consciousness like ahard, thin edge, a sense of a little growing change in Sylvie. It hadbeen there--the change, --slightly, dimly there, ever since the sheriff'svisit. It was not that she doubted Hugh--such a suspicion would havestruck him instantly aware and awake--but that she had become in someway uncertain of herself, restless, depressed, afraid. And it was alwayshis love-making that brought the reaction, a curious, delicate, innerrecoil, so delicate and slight, so deep beneath the threshold of herconsciousness, that in the blind glory of his self-intoxication hemissed it altogether--might, indeed, have gone on missing it, as shewould have gone on ignoring or repressing it, if it had not been fortheir kiss on the mountain-top. 

This was one of Hugh's madnesses; he would take Sylvie up a mountain andshow her his kingdom, show her himself as lord of the wilderness. He hadbeen there before many times, to the top of their one mountain, alwaysunder protest from Bella and Pete. It was a bare rock exposed to halfthe world and all the eyes of Heaven; and for a man in hiding, a man wholived, yet whose name was carved above a grave, it was a very target foruntoward accident. Some trader or trapper down in the forest might lookup and behold the misshapen figure black and bold, against the sky. Yet there was never so mighty a Hugh as when he stood there defiant andalone. Now he wanted Sylvie to sense that tragic magnificence. 

So they went out, Hugh's arm about her, as strange a pair of lovers asever tempted the spring--the great, scarred, uncouth, gray cripple andthe slim, unseeing girl, groping and clinging, absolutely shut off fromany contact with reality as long as this man should interpret creationfor her. Sylvie turned back to wave at Pete, whom they had left standingin the doorway. 

"I'll be hunting for you if you stay out late, " he called--to which Hughshouted back: "You hunting for us! Don't fancy I can't take care of thischild, myself. "

"Both of them blind!" Pete muttered to himself in answer. 

They were moving rather slowly across the rough, sagebrush-covered flat, and presently Hugh led Sylvie into the fragrant silence of the foresttrail. To her it was all scent and sound. Hugh whispered to her whatthis drumming meant and that chattering and that sudden rattle almostunder their feet. 

They had to go slowly, Sylvie touching the trees here and there, alongher side of the trail. He lifted her over logs and fallen trees, andsometimes, before he set her down, he kissed her. Then Sylvie would turnher head shyly, and he would laugh. Thus they made slow, sweet progress. 

"I see more in the woods with your eyes than I ever could with my own, "she told him. 

"I have eyes for us both, " he answered. "That's why God gave me the eyesI have, because He knew the use I'd be making of them. "

"Is this the trail Pete follows to the trading-station?" she asked. "Iwish you could take me there, Hugh, or--would you let him take me?"

He tightened his arm. "I can't bear to have you out of my sight, " heanswered. 

She sighed. "It seems so queer that they haven't tried to find me. Doyou suppose they think that I'm dead? Did Pete mail my letter to MissFoby, I wonder?"

"What does Miss Foby matter?" he asked jealously. "What does anythingmatter to you but--me? Here we leave Pete's trail and I take youstraight up the mountain, dear one. We'll rest now and then; when we getto the rocky place just below the top, I'll carry you. Are you happy?I always feel as if my heart melted with the snow when spring comes--awild, free, tumbling feeling of softness and escape. "

She sighed. "Yes--if only I could see. I miss my eyes out of doors morethan in the house. Does snow-blindness really last so long? Perhaps itwas the nervous shock and the exhaustion as much as the glare. I am sureit all will just go suddenly some day. I stare and stare sometimes, andI feel as if I might see--almost. "

He frowned. "You mustn't miss anything when you have me, Sylvie. Do yousuppose I miss anything, now that I have you? My career, my old friends, my old life, my liberty, the world? That for everything!" He snapped hisfingers. "If only I have you. "

"You love me so much, " she answered, as though she were oppressed, "itfrightens me sometimes. "

"When you are wholly mine--" he began. "Well, wait till we get to thetop of the mountain; there I'll tell you all my plans. They're as bigand beautiful as the world. I feel, with your love, that I can movemountains. I can fashion the world close to my heart's desire. We'llleave this blank spot and go to some lovely, warm, smiling land wherethe water is turquoise and the sky aquamarine--"

"And perhaps my sight will come back. " It was almost a prayer. 

He did not answer. They had come to a sharp sudden ascent. He took herin his arms, scrambled across the tumbled rocks, and set her down besidehim on the great granite crest that rose like the edge of a gray wave. The clean, wild wind smote her and shook her and pressed back her hairand dress. She clung to him. 

"Is it steep? Are we on the edge of a cliff, Hugh? I'm not afraid!"

"We're on the very top of the world, " he told her breathlessly, hisvoice filled with a sense of awe, "our world, Sylvie, I'm master here. There's no greater mind than my own in all that dark green circle. It'spines, pines, pines to the edge of the earth, Sylvie, an ocean of purpleand green--silver where the wind moves, treading down, like Christwalking on the water. And the sky is all gray, like stone. "

"Can you see the flat, the cabin?"

"The flat, yes--a round green spot, way down there behind us. The cabin?No. That's in a hollow, you may be sure, well out of sight. I'm anoutlaw, dearest, remember. There's a curve of the river, like a silverelbow. And Sylvie, up above us, an eagle is turning and turning in ahuge circle. He thinks he's king. But, Sylvie, it's our world--yours andmine. This is our marriage. "

She drew back. "What do you mean?"

"Haven't you a feeling for such images? We'll go before a parson--don'tbe afraid. Would I frighten you, Sylvie? I love you too much for that. Why, Sylvie, what's wrong?"

When his lips, clinging and compelling, had left hers, she bent her faceto his arm and began to cry. 

"Oh, I don't know. I don't know. . . . But please don't kiss me like that, not like that!"

He released her and half turned, but her hands instantly hunted for him, found him and clung. 

"Hugh, don't be angry. Be patient with me. Try to understand. Perhapsit's because I am in the dark. I do love you. I do. But you must wait. Soon it will be spring for me, too. You don't understand? You're angry?But I can't explain it any better. "

"You can lay your hand on me, " he said hoarsely. "God knows I'm realenough. " And he thought so! "My love for you is here like a graniteblock, Sylvie. "

"I know. It is the one thing in the darkness that is real. I knowyou--your love, splendid and strong and brave. Wait just a little, Hugh. Try to be patient. Suddenly it will all come right. The fog will lift. Then we'll really be on top of the mountain. " She laughed, but rathersadly. 

"I will always hate this mountain-top, " he said. "I used to love it. Iwas so close to happiness, and now you've snatched it out of my reach. "He drew in sobbing breaths. 

"No--it's myself I'm keeping from happiness, not you, " she answered. "I know it will come right, but you must not hurry me. Dear Hugh, bepatient. " She found his hand and raised it, a dead weight, to her lips. "Please be patient. Let's go down out of this wind. I can't see yourworld, and I'm cold. "

So, in silence--a dull gray silence Hugh led her down into the valley. 

CHAPTER IX

They came down the hill rapidly and carelessly. Hugh, stung by pain andanger, threw himself over the rocks, and Sylvie was too proud to showher timidity or to ask for help. She crept and climbed up and down, saving herself with groping hand, letting one foot test the distancesbefore she put the other down. At last the rattle of his progresssounded so far below that she quavered: "Aren't you going to wait forme, Hugh?"

He stopped short, and for a moment watched her silently; then, smittenby the pathos of her progress--a little child, she seemed, against themountain toppling so close behind her--he came swinging up to her andgave her his hand. 

"You _need_ me, anyway, don't you?" he asked with a tender sort ofroughness. 

She couldn't answer because she didn't want him to know that he hadmade her cry. She kept her face turned from him and hurried along at hisside. 

"Why do you go so fearfully fast?" she was forced at last to protest. 

"Because I want to get down from this accursed mountain. I want to getdown into the woods again where I was happy. "

"Hugh"--she pulled at his arm--"you are only a child after all. "

"Perhaps. "

"Well--" She stopped. "Go home alone, then. I'll be no worse off thanwhen you found me the first time. Pete will come out and hunt for me. He has a far sweeter temper than you, Hugh, and doesn't think only ofhimself. "

He swung away at that, resting his hand against a big rock to cleara hole; then, seeing her about to step down into it, he pivoted back, caught her up bodily in his arms, and, laughing, ran with her down thehill, bounding over the rocks, leaping over the crevices, while sheclung to him in fright. 

"You silly child!" he cried. "This is the way I'll take you home. NowI've got you, and I'll punish you well, too. " She clung to him andbegged him to stop. She was frightened by their rash, plunging progress, by his speech. She struggled. "Let me down. I won't be carried like thisagainst my will. Hugh, let me down!"

"All right!" He fairly flung her from him on a grassy spot. He was aboutto leave her when a rushing rattle sounded above them. The boulderhe had twice used to turn his own weight upon was charging down thehillside! Just in time he caught Sylvie, threw her to one side and fellprone, helpless, in the path of the slide. He cried out, flinging up hisarm, and, as though his cry had been of magic, the boulder faltered andstopped. A root half buried just above his body had made a hollow and aledge; it had rocked the rolling fragment back up on its haunches, so tospeak, and balanced it to a stop. 

"Hugh! Hugh!" sobbed Sylvie. "What was it? Are you hurt?"

She crept up to him. 

"No, " Hugh told her, breathing heavily. "It was a rolling rock. "

"How did you stop it? You must be hurt, crushed, bruised. "

"My arm's wrenched--not badly. " He had in fact wrenched it slightly. 

"Your poor arm! You were so quick, so strong. You didn't think of yourown life. And I've been so cruel. Hugh, Hugh, kiss me. "

Hugh took his reward, none the less sweet to his strange nature, in thatit was only potentially earned. And joy, like a warm flood, crept upagain to his heart. He sat on the hillside and held his small loveclose. One of his arms moved stiffly, and he groaned a little. Sherubbed it for him. 

"You'd better come home and let Bella and me fix it. It may be badlyhurt. You're sure it isn't broken?" she asked. 

"Quite sure. "

"Lean on me! I'll help you down. You can tell me where to step. "

"Nonsense, " he laughed, his very blood singing warm with relief. "Astrained arm won't hurt my walking apparatus. We had a lover's quarrel, didn't we? And the boulder was peacemaker. Bless the boulder!"

"Don't joke, dear. You saved my life at the risk of your own. Areyou always doing insane, generous, dangerous things? Think if you hadbeen--" She shivered. 

"Do you suppose my life is worth anything to me without yours, Sylvie?"He bent his head and kissed her again, but he had learned his lesson, and there was restraint and timidity in that kiss. 

"The sun's come out, " cried Sylvie. 

"Yes, it's splendidly bright. There's a clean slit in the sky; there atthe western edge the dark gray cap is being lifted inch by inch, the waya boy lifts his cap to see the butterfly he's caught. All's gold behindit, Sylvie, burning gold. The rocks are like bright copper. And thepines, they're incandescent, phosphorescent green--"

"If I could only see it!"

Down near the pines a tall, still figure stood watching them. It wasPete, and his smile, usually so frank and sweet, had now a sardonictwist. As they came down out of their sun into his shadow, he spoke witha drag to his syllables. 

"Hullo, " he said. "That was a narrow escape you had, you two!"

The voice might have been a pistol-shot for the start it gave to Hugh. 

"Why, it's Pete. We must be late, Pete, " Sylvie called joyously. "Didyou see how Hugh saved my life? He threw himself down before the rockand stopped it. He's hurt his poor arm. The great stone was right on topof us, and he threw me out of the way and set his own strength againstit. I couldn't see the rock, Pete, but it felt like a mountain. "

"It was big enough to smash you both, " said Pete. 

He looked at Hugh, whose eyes glared in a strained, shamed face. Theolder man's fingers worked nervously; he opened his lips and closed themagain. It was easy to understand the travail of his mind, unwillingto forego the imaginary bit of heroism, and yet abashed by the boy'sawareness of the lie. 

Pete gave one short laugh; then, springing suddenly across a fallen treethat separated them, he caught Sylvie up into his arms. 

"You can't carry her with a wrenched arm, " he said, half gayly, halftauntingly, "and at the best rate she can go, it will be night before weget her home. I'm strong. I'll carry her myself. "

Sylvie laughed protesting that she was being treated like a doll, andresigned herself to Pete's swift, smooth stride. It was as though shewere skimming through space, so quietly did his moccasined feet pressthe pine-needled earth, so exquisitely did his young strength save herfrom any jar. He whistled softly through his teeth as he ran in long, swift strides. And as he did not speak to her, she lay silent, yetstrangely peaceful and happy. Hugh was left far behind. The forestfragrance moved cool and resinous against her face. 

"I feel as if we could go on and on forever, " she said with a sigh, "forever and ever and ever. "

"We will, " he answered through his teeth, hardly pausing in hiswhistling for the odd reply. "We will. "

But for all that, he set her gently and suddenly down, and she knew thatshe stood again at the cabin door. 

"Pete, where are you?" she asked. 

But he had disappeared, still in utter silence, like a genie whose taskis done. 

CHAPTER X

"What did he say to you? What did he say to you?" asked Hugh again andagain. 

Sylvie laughed at him. 

"He didn't say anything--hardly a word, except that he pretended he wasgoing on forever. He said: 'We will, we will. ' That's absolutely all, Hugh. Don't be so silly. What _could_ he say?"

"I don't know, " Hugh answered. "He might have made fun of me. "

"Fun of you! After saving my life! I'd have boxed his ears! No, no, Peter wouldn't do that. He's afraid of me. "

She was so proud of this that Hugh, perforce, laughed. It was aftersupper, and they had walked a little way from the cabin. They werestanding just above the river on a little hillock topped with three bigpines. The dusk was thick about them; stars pricked the soft sky. Sylviewas wrapped in Hugh's coat, and they were linked by their hands hangingat their sides. Every one but Sylvie had been very silent at supper, butshe had told her story of Hugh's heroism again and again until finallyeven Hugh had grumbled at "the fuss. "

"What makes you think anyone could be afraid of you?" He smiled down atthe small dark head which did not reach his shoulder. 

"He's afraid I'll kiss him. Don't grip my hand that way; it hurts. Youcouldn't be jealous of a boy! Besides, I _don't_ kiss him any more. Inever have kissed him but that once--no, twice, when I told him that Iwas going to be his sister. "

"You told him that?" Hugh's voice had an odd anxiety. "How did he takeit?"

"I don't think he was very enthusiastic. He loves you so much, Hugh; youare the very heart of his universe, and I suppose he is jealous of yourlove for me. Since then he's avoided me and is as dumb as a fish when Italk to him. I think his body has outgrown his mind, Hugh. "

"Perhaps. I don't know, " he answered. 

"And Bella is so silent, too. Hugh, it must have been a lonely life foryou before I came. Those two people, though they love you so much, arenot companionable. I think, Hugh, that they aren't able to understandyou. You are so brilliant, and they are so dull; you are so articulate, and they are so dumb; you are so warm, so quick to see, to feel, tosympathize, while they are so slow and so cold. Dear Hugh, I'm glad Icame. I am stupid myself, but I have enough intelligence to understandyou--a little, haven't I, dear?"

"So much more than enough!" The low speech with its tremor of humilitywas almost lost. 

"What a noise the river makes!" he said presently. 

"Yes. And the pines. The whole air is full of rushing and sighing andclapping and rattling. Sounds tell me so much now. They fill my wholelife. It is very queer. Why, a voice means more to me now, I think, thana face ever did. . . . Is it a deep river, Hugh?"

"Now it is--deep and dangerous. But it goes down very quickly when thesnow at its source has melted. In summer it is a friendly little brook, and in the fall a mere trickle that hardly wets your shoe. I have a boathere tied to the root of one of these trees, a boat I made myself, topole across when the stream is too deep for wading. I'll take you out init when the flood's down; it wouldn't last fifteen minutes now. Inthe spring, Sylvie, a nymph comes down from the mountain, a wild whitenymph. She has ice-green hair and frost-white arms; you can see herlashing the water, and if you listen, you can hear her sing and cry. Let's go in, dear; you're tired and cold--I can feel you shivering. We'll start a big fire, and I'll tell you how that nymph caught meonce and nearly strangled me with her cold, wet arms. I was trying tosave--you'll laugh when I tell you about it--a baby bear. "

Pete and Bella made room for them silently about the hearth where Petehad already built up a fire. Sylvie groped her way to the throne fromwhich the other woman slipped half furtively and so noiselessly thatSylvie never guessed her usurpation. 

"Hugh is going to tell us a story, " she said, and rested her head backso that her small chin pointed out and her slim neck was drawn up--"awonderful story about the river and a bear. I hope it's a baby bear, Hugh, for you know how I feel about bears. I honestly think that beingso afraid of seeing them is what made me blind!" She gave her small, shylaugh. "I thought I saw them everywhere I looked that day and night. Itseems so long ago now, and yet it is not so many weeks. I can still hearHugh's voice calling out to me across the snow. And now, " she said, "thesnow's all gone and none of you are strangers any more, and--Go on withyour story, Hugh. "

Pete added a log to the fire so that the flames stretched up bravelyand made a great fan of light against which they all seemed paintedlike ornamental figures, Hugh lounging along the rug to make a strikingcentral figure. Bella was drawn up rigidly on a stiff, hard chair; shehemmed a long, coarse towel with her blunt, work-roughened fingers. 

Pete sat opposite Sylvie on the floor, his back against the corner ofthe fireplace, his knees drawn up in his hands, his head a little bent. He too--from under his long level brows--looked for the most part atHugh, not devotedly, not wistfully, but with a somber wondering. It wasonly now and then, and as though he couldn't help it, that the blue, smouldering Northern eyes were turned to Sylvie on her throne. Then theywould brighten painfully, and his lips would tighten so that the dimple, meant for laughter, cut itself like a touch of pain into his cheek. Thefirelight heightened his picturesqueness--the dull blue of his shirt, open at the round, smooth throat, the dark gold-brown of his corduroytrousers, against which the long, tanned hands, knit strongly together, stood out in the rosy, leaping light--beautifully painted against thebackground of old brown logs. 

Yet it was Hugh, after all, who dominated the room by right of hispower, his magnetism, the very distortion of his spirit. Here in thislonely square of light and warmth, surrounded by a world of savage, lawless winds heightening the voices of vast loneliness, these threepeople were imprisoned by him, a Merlin of the West. 

He sat up to begin his story, pressing tobacco into his pipe. "Oh, it'snot so much of a story, Sylvie. It was last spring when the river washigh and I'd been out with my traps. I was coming home along the riveredge, pretty tired, a big load on my back. I came around a bend of theriver, and not far below me a little black bear, round as a barrel, wastrying to scramble over the flood on a very shaky log. The mother wason the other side, but I didn't know that then. Well, there's nothing inGod's world, Sylvie, so beguiling as a baby bear. This little fellow wasscared by what he was doing, but he was bound he'd get across the river. He'd make a few steps; then he'd back up and half rise on his hind legs. I watched him a long time. Then he made up his mind he'd better make adash for it. He began scrambling like a frantic kitten, and it was justin the most ticklish spot that he heard me and jumped and went rollingoff into the river. I tell you, my heart came right up into my mouth. "

"Oh, _was_ he drowned?" wailed Sylvie. 

Hugh rose and stood with his back to the fire, dominating the room evenmore convincingly, with his vivid ugliness. Sylvie's face turned up tohim like a white flower to the sun it lives by, without seeing. It wasstrange to watch the adoration, the worship on that small face, and atthe same time to behold the grotesqueness toward which it was directed. Bella was listening with her lowered eyes and tightened lips. She wasinterested in spite of herself; and Pete's inscrutable face followed thestory with absorption. 

"Well, in he rolled with a splash and went rattling down the current, turning over and over. Like a fool, I threw away my hides, ran down thebank and jumped in after him--that is, I meant to hold on to a branchand stand out in the water and catch him as he went by. But the nymphI told you about had her own plans. She wrapped her arms round me, andaway we went, bear all. Oh, yes, I'd caught the cub all right, and hewas about half drowned by that time--no fight left in him. 

"Well, for a bit it was a question whether the world wouldn't be quicklyand well rid of us both, but we tumbled up against a root and scrambledout, and when I'd rested, I picked up limp and trembling Master Bear andwent back for my hides. And while I was collecting them, I heard a sortof grumpy, grumbling sound, and I looked up--and, by Jove, Mother Bearwas coming across that log with the longest steps you ever saw. That'swhen I ran to collect my gun--it was a little farther up the bank thanmy hides, worse luck!"

Even Bella had forgotten her bitterness in listening, and Pete's partedlips were those of an excited child. Sylvie leaned forward in her chair, her cheeks tingling, her hands locked. Hugh had thrown himself into theaction of his story; his face was slightly contorted as though sightingalong a gun-barrel, his arm raised, the ungainliness of his deformitystrongly accentuated. He was not looking at Sylvie; true to his natureand his habit, he had forgotten every one but that Hugh of adventureand of romance, the one companion of his soul. None of them was watchingSylvie, and when she gave a sharp, little cry, a queer start and thensat utterly still, Hugh accepted it--they all accepted it--as a tributeto his story-telling powers. 

But Sylvie, leaning her elbows on her knees, raised trembling hands toher eyes and hid them. She sat very still, very white, while the storywent on, vividly imagined, picturesquely told. When it was over, and themother bear, after a worthy struggle, defeated, Hugh looked about forhis applause. It came, grudgingly from Bella, eagerly from Pete--andfrom Sylvie in a sudden extravagant clapping of hands, a ripple of high, excited laughter, and a collapse in her chair. She had fainted in a limplittle heap. 

She came to in an instant, but seemed bewildered and, unprotesting, permitted herself to be carried to bed. She declared she felt quite wellagain and wanted only to be alone. She repeated this moaningly. "Oh, tobe alone!"

Hugh seated himself on the end of the bed and kissed her forehead andher hand, but it quivered under his lips and was drawn away. 

He came back into the living-room with a pale, bewildered face. 

CHAPTER XI

Next day there came out of that room a new Sylvie or rather a dozen newSylvies: a flighty witch of a Sylvie who tempted her blindness with rashventures about the rooms and even out of doors, who laughed at Hugh andled him on, and drew him out to his maddest improvisations, who treatedPete to snubs and tauntings that stung like so many little whips; andagain a Sylvie who was still and timid and a trifle furtive, whorarely spoke, but sat with locked hands in an attitude of desperateconcentration and seemed to be planning something secret and dangerous;and then there was a haughty, touch-me-not Sylvie; and a Sylvie whomysteriously wept. But all of these Sylvies showed an impetuous, newtenderness toward Bella. 

"I've been all wrong about you, Bella, " she confessed. "I know you'renot really old and ugly and cross at all. Let me touch your face. "Bella, awkward and flushed, had no choice but to submit to the flick ofthe light, young fingers. "I'm learning the touch of the blind, " Sylvieboasted. "Now, listen--isn't this right? You have thick, straighteyebrows and deep-set eyes; are they blue or brown, Bella, or brightgray?"

"They're gray, " said Pete. 

Hugh was watching from eyes sunk in a nervous, pallid face. He had comein from his traps in the midst of Sylvie's experiment. 

"And she has a nice, straight, strong, short nose, and a mouth that sheholds too tight. Loosen your mouth, Bella; it might be very sweet ifyou gave it a chance. And she has a sharp chin--not pretty, yourchin, but--look! If you'd soften your hair, pull it over your ears andforehead--Why do you brush it back that way? It _must_ be unbecoming. And, Bella, it's curly, or would be with a little freedom. What color isyour hair?"

"Gray--like my eyes, " said Bella, scarlet now, and trying to drawherself away. 

"Is it really gray, Pete? Tell me the truth, if you can. "

"Her hair is a very light brown, " said Pete, flushed as scarlet now asBella; "sort of a grayish brown; you wouldn't notice any gray hairs, hardly. "

"Bella, I'm sure you don't look a day older than thirty-five. Your skinfeels smooth and young. Why do you let Hugh call you an old woman? PoorBella, I'm afraid you've spoiled those two boys?"

Sylvie turned suddenly and imperiously upon the men, and Bella madeher escape, not from the room, for she was too stirred, too full of anexcited suspense, to bring herself to leave. From a far corner, near thewindow through which came the soft May wind, she watched them. 

"Now, Pete, " said Sylvie, "it's your turn. If I'm to learn the touch ofthe blind, I must have practice. What can I make of you! Come here. Whydon't you come?" She stamped her foot. "My, but you are badly trained. Really, Hugh, you ought to discipline him. Wait until I am yoursister-in-law. "

Hugh started angrily. "Don't joke about that!" he threatened in a harsh, sudden voice. 

She turned toward him with quickness and bent her head sidelong asthough listening intently for what else he might have to say. Her lipswere set close and narrow. She had listened to him like this, almostbreathlessly, ever since her sudden faintness, listened as though shewould draw his very soul in through her ears. 

He too flushed. "It's life and death to me, Sylvie, " he pleaded. 

"Life and death--life _or_ death, " she repeated strangely. She stood, as if turning the speech over in her mind, then gave her head a quicklittle shake like a diver coming to the surface of deep water, and moveda step toward Pete. "Are you coming, boy, or not? I want to feel yourface. "

"Do as she says, " Hugh commanded harshly, and Pete came slowly to herand stood with his hands locked behind him, bending over the littlefigure. She put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a shake, andsmiled. 

"Such a big, strong boy! Where's your face?" It winced and paled underher touch. His eyes fell, shifted, could not meet Hugh's, who watchedwith unsteady breathing and white lips. 

"Your face is as smooth as a girl's, Pete. What a wide, low foreheadand crisp, short hair; it ripples back from your temples. You must bea pretty boy! A neat nose and a round, hard chin and--oh, Pete, Pete! Ibelieve you have a dimple. How absurd! A great, long dimple like a slitin your right cheek. Why do you blink your eyes so? They're long eyes, with thick, short lashes. What a strong, round neck! I think I like yourface. "

She patted his cheek, the pat more like a smart slap. He pulled away. "That's for disobedience. Come back. I'm not through with you. Where'syour mouth? A big, long mouth. Pete, why does your mouth tremble?" Herhand fell from his lips, and she turned away. "Take me out for a walk, Hugh, please, " she said. "This cabin is stuffy, now that the days arewarm. I want to sit under the pines and listen to the river. You cantell me one of your wonderful stories about yourself. "

"What does it mean, Bella?" Pete asked breathlessly when Hugh had goneout, not so much leading the girl as hurrying after her to save her fromthe rashness of her impetuous progress. "What does it mean?" Pete was aswhite as paper. 

"I don't know. " Bella came over from the window and stood by thefireplace, rolling her arms in her apron and shaking her head. "She's acrazy little witch. She'll drive us mad. Hugh is half mad now--have younoticed? She won't let him touch her. And you, poor boy! Pete, why don'tyou go away?"

"I've thought about it, " he said. "I--I can't. " He flung himself down inHugh's chair and rested his head in his hands. 

Bella bent over him. "Poor Pete! It's cruel for you--and, " she addedsoftly, uncertainly, "and for me. "

"For you too, Bella?" He looked up at her through tears. 

She nodded her head, and her face worked. "Perhaps you could take herback to her friends, Pete?"

"And leave Hugh? Didn't you hear what he said, Bella? Life and death! Itwould kill him if she should go away with me. Or--he'd follow and killme. "

"Yes, " Bella assented somberly; "yes, he'd kill you. The devil is stillliving in his heart. "

"No. Sylvie will marry him. Hugh gets his will. " Pete shook his head. "Wait a few days--you'll see. She's fighting against him now; I don'tknow why--some instinct. But though he tells her so many lies, hedoesn't lie about one thing. He loves her. He does love her. "

"No! No!" Bella's passion, tearing its way through her long habit ofrepression, was almost terrifying. "He loves the image she has of him. If he knew that she could see him as I do, his love would shrivel uplike a flower in a drought. Hugh can't love the truth. He can't loveanything but his delusions. Pete, tell her the truth. For God's sake, tell her the truth. Give her back her eyesight. Let her know his name, his story--his _face_!"

"Don't dare ask me, Bella!"

"Why not?" She seemed to be out of breath, like a person who has beenclimbing in thin air. Her lips were dry. 

"Because--well, would you do it yourself?"

"Ah! He would hate me, if I did. But you, Pete, when Sylvie lovedyou--and if she knew you, she would surely love you; any womanwould--why, then you could bear Hugh's hatred. I have only him--onlyhim. "

She locked her hands and lifted them to her forehead and was now makingblind steps toward the kitchen door. 

Pete followed her, and turning her about, drew down the hands from herface. 

"Bella--_you_? Without saying a word? All these years?"

Under the first pressure of sympathy that her agony had ever known, shecould not speak. She bent her head for an instant against his arm, then moved away from him, groping through the kitchen door, back to herunutterable loneliness. 

Pete stood staring after her. A new Bella, this, not the cousin, thelittle cousin from the farm; not the nurse who had saved him from Hugh'shardness and told him limping fairy tales and doctored his hurts; notthe accepted necessity, but a woman--a woman young, yes, young. In theinstant when he had glimpsed her face, broken and quivering, the tightlips parted and the hair disarranged about flushed, quivering cheeks, the eyes deep with widened pupils, she had revealed beauty andpassion--the two halves of youth. How blind, how blind Hugh had been, blind and selfish and greedy, drinking up the woman's heart, feedingupon her youth!

CHAPTER XII

"When you sit so silent, Pete, " Sylvie said softly, "I sometimes wonderif you're not staring at me. "

"When I'm making a trap, " he answered, smiling a little to himself andinstinctively shifting his gaze, "I can't very well be staring at you, can I?"

He was kneeling on the ground before the cabin door, she sitting on thelow step under the shadow of the roof. Her chin rested on the backs ofher hands, the limber wrists bent up a little, the sleeves slipped awayfrom her slim, white wrists. Her face was brightly rosy, her lips veryred--at once a little stern, yet very sweet. 

"Traps are cruel, " she said. 

"I think so myself. But we have to make a living, don't we?"

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself sometimes, Pete?"

"For making traps, and catching live things in them?"

"Yes. It's a sort of deceitful cruelty, catching the little blind, wandering wild things. "

"Blind?" he repeated blankly, then flushed. 

"Yes, blind. But it wasn't only that I meant. "

"What else ought I to be ashamed of?"

"Of living on your brother. " He winced sharply, but she went on coolly:"Of staying here in the wilderness. You are a big boy now. Many a boy ofyour age, even smaller and weaker, has gone out in the world to make hisown way. There's no reason for _you_ to hide, is there? _You_ haven'tsacrificed your life for anyone. "

"No, " he answered doubtfully, "n-no; but, you see, Sylvie, some one hasto take the skins. It isn't safe for Hugh. "

"Yes, of course. So that's what you'll do all your life--carry loads toand fro, between this cabin and the trading-station. But if Hugh goesaway himself?"

"Yes?" he asked breathlessly. 

His skillful hands paused in their fashioning of a snare. 

"You know, of course, that he wants to take me away with him, to marryme, to start life again. "

"And--and you will, Sylvie?"

"Give me your advice, " she said. She pressed her red lips together; herface was bent upon him as though she watched. 

"But, " he stammered, "you tell me all the time, a dozen times a day, that I'm badly trained. What good's my advice?"

"_Are_ you badly trained?"

"I suppose so. "

"You are absurdly unselfish, Pete!" She moved a chip along the groundwith her foot, but Pete failed to notice this curious seeing gesture. 

"Why? What do you mean?"

She waited, waited until, in the sickness of his vague suspense, hishands had turned cold and the color had sucked itself in irregularheartbeats from his lips. 

At last she spoke deliberately. "You would lay down your life for yourfriend?" she said. It was almost a whisper. 

Pete's face went red and white and red again. Through the tumult of hisheart he searched for loyal words. 

"I love Hugh--if that's what you mean, " he said. 

"I love you?" she repeated softly, perversely. "Did you say 'Hugh' or'you, ' Pete?"

His face tightened; faint lines came about his mouth. "I said 'Hugh!'"

"Ah--you love only him--nobody else in all the world?"

Her young and wistful voice came to him like a fragrance. He struggledas though his spirit were fighting in deep water. He tried to rememberHugh. He rose up slowly to meet this passionate moment, and now he madea short step toward the waiting girl. She _was_ waiting, breathing fast. Pete's arms quivered at his sides. 

A hand gripped the quivering muscles and turned him about. Hugh had comeup behind, without sound, on moccasined feet. His face was gray; hiseyes were drawn into slits; his distorted mouth was trying to become astraight, hard line. The effort gave a twitch to the pale, lower lip. 

Sylvie stood up, singing as though in absent-minded idleness, andvanished into the house. It would have been difficult to tell whether ornot she had heard Hugh's arrival. 

"What's the matter?" Pete stammered like a boy wakened from a dream tobehold a lifted cane. "Let go my arm, Hugh. Your fingers cut. "

"Come away from the house, " said Hugh coldly, tightening the iron gripas though Pete's wincing gave him satisfaction. "Come up here by thepines. I want to talk to you. "

"I'll come, " said Pete. "Let go my arm. "

There was that in his voice that compelled obedience. Hugh's hand felland knotted into a fist. Pete walked beside him up the abrupt slope oftheir hollow to the little hill above the river. Its noise was loud inthe still, sunny air. There was no wind stirring. It was high noon. Asloping tent of shadow drooped from the pines and made a dark circleabout their roots. In this transparent, purplish tent the brothers facedeach other. Pete's lips were tremulous, and Hugh's distorted. 

"Now, " said Hugh, breathing irregularly and speaking very low, "I'lltell you what I think of you. "

"No, Hugh, don't, " Pete pleaded. "You'll say things you don'tmean--unkind things, terrible things. I don't deserve it from you. You--you think that I--that I--"

"Go on. Don't stop. Tell me what I think--I think--that you--that you--"

It was an unbearable moment, an impossible atmosphere, for therevelation of a first love. Pete felt stripped and shamed. 

"You think that I was telling Sylvie, that Sylvie--that I--"

Hugh lifted his hand and struck. The younger man sprang back, thenforward, and was at his elder's throat. For an instant they struggled, silently, terribly, slipping on the red pine-needles. Then Pete gave ahard laugh. "Are we tigers?" he asked, and he pulled himself back andleaned, shaking, against a tree-trunk, gripping it with his hands. Hisblue eyes were cold and blazing in his white face, against which Hugh'sblow had made a mark. "You won't strike me again, " Pete said. Allboyishness was gone from his hard, level voice. "Go on. Say what youlike. I'll listen. "

"You liar!" stormed Hugh. "You cheat!"

Pete laughed again. 

A certain quality in his bitter self-control flicked Hugh. He tried toemulate the young man's coolness. 

"I've trusted you, " he began again; "and behind my back you have beentrying to win the love of the woman who has promised to be my wife. "

"I have not. "

"You were not making love to her there, then, when I came up behind you?When you were so excited that you didn't hear me? when you were movingtoward her--trembling all over? _I_ felt your arm!"

Pete's eyes dropped, then lifted as though under a great weight. 

"And you say you're not a liar!"

"I _am_ a liar, though not in the way you mean. We are all liars. Wehave caught that little blind girl in a trap. We have lied to her, allthree of us--Bella and I, and you, Hugh--you have lied most of all. "

"She loves me, " Hugh panted. "She knows me. She understands me. "

"Yes, " Pete answered, trembling. "I've seen that. I've kept quiet. Bellaand I have given you your happiness. Now you thank me by striking me andcalling me a liar and a cheat!"

Hugh, even in the midst of his bitter and suspicious rage, felt thejustice of the reproach. He paused, looked about, then came close, put ahand on each of his brother's shoulders, searching the white, young facewith his wild eyes. 

"I must have Sylvie, " he groaned. "Pete, I must. You don't know; youcan't know--" He dropped his grizzled head against Pete's neck, and hisbreath caught. "You don't know what I felt when I saw you there, when Ithought--Tell me the truth, Pete. You are not going to take my love, myonly joy, my one prize away from me?"

After a long and difficult silence Pete put his arm half mechanicallyacross the twisted, gasping back. 

"Of course not, Hugh. I--I couldn't. But I've had to play a part, andit's not come easy. You must have guessed how hard it's been, becauseyou seem to have guessed how I--how Sylvie--Perhaps if I went away?"

He was gripped again, shaken a little. "No, don't leave me. Wait. Itwon't be long. She will go away with me soon, as soon as she gets overa girl's timidity. Pete, she does love me. She does. Don't stand dumb;tell me that she does. "

"She does, " Pete repeated tonelessly. 

"I'm sorry I struck you. I have a devil's temper. And I think of you asstill a boy. I wanted to beat you. A few years ago I would have beatenyou. " He put this forward as though it were a reasonable excuse. 

"Yes. " Pete smiled grimly. "I can remember your beatings. " He drewhimself away. "Shall we go back?"

Hugh still held him, though at arm's length. "First I must have apromise from you. " He spoke sternly. 

"What do you want?"

"I want your promise to keep hands off, to hold your tongue to the end. "

"You won't trust me, then?"

"Not since I watched you moving toward her, not since I felt your arm. "

Pete was silent. He studied the ground. There was a sullen look on hisface, and his tightened mouth deepened the odd, incongruous dimple. 

"Well, perhaps you're right. I promise. " He flashed up a bluedesperation of young eyes as he asked: "How long will it last, Hugh?"

"Not long. Not long. Surely not long. "

"I promise. "

"Give me your hand. "

They came back down from the hill. 

CHAPTER XIII

Pete looked forward with white-hot impatience to the day of his tripto the trading-station; twelve hours of relief, it would mean, from theworst pressure of his torment--twelve hours of merciful solitude in theold, voiceful friendliness of his forest trail. He started early, at thebreak of a sweet, singing dawn. The earth was elastic under his feet, the air tingling and mellow with a taste of growth; the flooded riverchattered loudly like a creature half beside itself with joy. Petecame out of the dark and silent cabin in which he had made his tiptoepreparations, and lifted his face, letting the light, soft fingers ofthe wind, cooler and softer even than Sylvie's, smooth out the knots ofsuffering from his tired brain. He shook his shoulders before settlingthem under the load of pelts. He would, he swore, just for this day, be a boy again. He sprang lightly up from the hollow and strode forwardwith long, swift steps, swinging a companionable stick in his free hand. 

Loneliness and the dawn and love had made a poet of the young man, sothat he had the release of poetry and forgot reality in its translationinto a tale that is told. He thought of Sylvie, but he thought of her asa man thinks of a lovely memory. He went through the wood with his chinlifted, half smiling, almost happy, an integral part of the wild, glad, wistful spring. 

It was not until the afternoon when he was nearing the station--just, infact, before he left the wood-trail for the rutted, frontier road--thathis mind was caught as sharply as a cloth by a needle, by the lightsound of following steps. In the solitude of that trail which his feetalone had worn, the sound brought him to a stop with a sense of terrorand suspense. His mind leaped to Hugh, and for the first time in hisloyal life Pete remembered, and remembering, felt a creeping on hisskin, that this brother of his, who had grown harsh and jealous andsuspicious, had been a murderer. The cold, unkindly memory slid alonghis senses like a snake. On the edge of the sloping road-bank, studdedwith little yellow flowers, just where the trees stopped, Pete set downhis load and waited, instinctively bracing his body, drawing it backbeneath the shelter of one of the big pines. 

The steps were light and swift and stealthy. In the purplish confusionof the distance, a tangled and yet ordered regiment of trunks andboughs, sun-splotches and shadow-blots, through which the uncertaintrail seemed to rise like a slender thread of smoke to the pale, fleckedsky, Pete made out a moving shape. It slipped in and out; it hesitated, hurried, paused, moved on. With a shudder of relief and of surprise, Pete saw it; out from behind the great, close trunks came Sylvie, her chin lifted, her hands stretched out on either side, brushing theswinging branches along the trail, her small head turning from this sideto that, as though she listened in suspense. 

Pete called out her name and ran quickly to meet her. Forgettinghis part of a dull, sullen boy, he spoke eagerly, catching her hand, watching the warm, happy blush flow in her cheeks. 

"Where were you?" she asked. She had stood to wait for him as soon ashis voice reached her. "I couldn't see--I mean, I lost the sound of yoursteps. I've been following you for hours and hours and hours. I was soafraid of being lost again that I didn't dare drop too far behind. "

"But why didn't you call to me? Why have you come? Is anything wrong athome?"

Her fingers moved uncertainly in his grasp, like the fingers of a shychild. "Nothing is wrong. I wanted to come with you. I wanted to go tothe trading-station and the post-office. I didn't dare ask you totake me with you. I was afraid you'd send me home. I suppose I'll be anuisance, but--Oh, Pete, please be nice to me and take care of me, won'tyou?" She paused, turned her face away from him and smiled. "Afterall, since you have called me your wife before witnesses, you ought tointroduce me to your friends at the trading-station, oughtn't you? Theymight think it was queer that I should hide myself, now that the snowhas gone. "

He dropped her hand. Suddenly he realized the consequences, thenecessary effect upon Hugh of this willful venture of hers. 

"Does Hugh know where you are?" he asked painfully. 

"No. I ran away. I heard you getting ready, and I just felt that Icouldn't bear to be left behind. I slipped out of bed so quietly thatBella didn't even stir, and I dressed just as quietly, and when you hadgone half across the clearing, I ran out after you, listening to yoursteps. You see, I have the hearing, as well as the touch, of the blind. "This was said with a cunning sort of recklessness; but Pete, absorbed inhis anxiety, did not challenge the improbable statement. "Please don'tbe angry with me, Pete. " She touched his hand where it hung at his side. "Can't I have my adventure? Let's call it _ours_. "

In spite of himself, the young man's pulse quickened, but his face andvoice were stern. 

"Do you know that we'll be very late?" he said. "It will be midnightbefore we can possibly make it back to the cabin, if you can even do itat all. You'll have to spend the night somewhere at the station. Whatwill they think? They will be anxious, Bella and Hugh. "

"But what can they think?" Her cheeks were unexplainably scarlet. "If Ichoose to trust you to take care of me, why should they grumble? And Iwon't have to spend the night. You don't know how strong I am. I'mvery strong. I don't feel tired. We'll go back by moonlight. There's abeautiful moon. "

"It will be almost morning. " He made a reckless gesture. "Well, it's toolate to think of that now. Come on. "

He threw himself down the bank, held up his hands to catch hers, andswung her down beside him. The sun slanted warmly along the road andjust ahead flickered the blue ripples of a lake. 

Sylvie moved quickly and easily beside him, barely touching his arm withher hand. She seemed definitely to decide to put away her childishness. She treated him as though she had forgotten his supposed youth; shetalked straightforwardly, with a certain dignity, about her childhood, about her amusing and pitiful experience as a third-rate little actress, and she asked him a question now and then half diffidently, whichhe answered in stumbling, careful speech, always weighed upon by hispromise, by the deception he must practice, by the dread of what mustcome. Nevertheless, minute by minute, his pulse quickened. This, God bethanked, would mean the end. The insufferable knot of circumstance, so fantastic, so extravagantly unlivable and unreal, would break, Hughwould tear the tangle of his making to tatters with angry hands whenthey got back. His difficult trust in Pete's promise would go down underthe strain of these long and unexplained hours of Sylvie's absence inhis company. It was the last act in the extravaganza, queer and painful, that had twisted them all out of their real shapes for the confusion ofa blind waif. This adventure that Sylvie's impatience had planned wouldbring down the curtain. After all, no matter what came of it, Pete wasglad. The color warmed his face; his blue eyes deepened; he smileddown at Sylvie beside him. For this hour she seemed to belong to himrightfully, naturally, by her own will. He let go of his inhibitions andresigned himself to Fate. 

When, on the far shore of the lake, the low walls of the trading-stationcame in sight, a double image, reflected faithfully with the strip ofsand at its door, the low, level wall of pines behind and the blue, still sky above, Pete caught the girl's hand in his. 

"Here we are, Sylvie, " he said. "Keep quiet and follow my lead. Remember, now, that I am supposed to be your husband and you my wife. Can you play that part?"

She nodded, bending down her face so that he saw only the tip of hersmall, sunburnt chin. She was hatless; the sun struck blue, bright linesin her black hair. 

"I'll be careful, Pete. "

She pressed his hand, and he returned the pressure. 

The station was full of silent curiosity; a couple of squaws, a seriousbuck Indian, and a bearded trapper or two made little secret of theirobservation. In the far corner of the big, bare room, down one sideof which ran a long and littered counter, there was another, even moreinterested spectator of the young couple's entrance. He sat at asmall table under one of the high, unshaded windows, and from overa spread-out time-table he gave them a large and heavy share ofhis attention. He was a man of middle age and sturdy build, round, clean-shaven, dressed in Eastern outing clothes of dignifiedcorrectness. He put on a pair of glasses to peer closer at the twowho came in hand in hand like adventuring children, with the lithe, half-fearful grace of wild things. 

A tall and sallow man behind the counter smiled under his long, ragged, blond mustache and made a gesture of polite greeting. 

"Well, you've sure kept us in the dark as to your movements, PeterGarth. We had no notion there was a bride in these parts until thesheriff brought us back word the other day. Ma'am, I'm glad to make youracquaintance. " He glanced keenly and curiously at Sylvie's averted face. 

"I'd have been here before, " she said, "but I've been suffering fromsnow-blindness. "

"Ah, that's bad sometimes. Your eyes are better now?"

"Y-yes, I think so. "

"I can give you a first-class lotion, lady. "

Sylvie and he discussed the lotion while Pete stood, drawn up, proudand silent, his cheeks flushed, waiting to dispose of his pelts. Thebartering prolonged itself in spite of his best endeavors. Sylvie seemedto have no sense of peril or anxiety. She insisted upon taking a bite ofearly supper, forced coffee and bread and meat upon her companion, andchatted affably. Pete saw that the Eastern stranger had riveted upon herhis attention, that he observed every gesture, listened to everyword, and while she ate, that he walked over and asked a few murmuredquestions of the trader, nodding his head, then shaking it over theanswers as though they confirmed some suspicion or anxiety. 

At last Pete could bear the delay no longer. Gruffly he bade Sylvie comewith him. He caught her hand and led her out, she looking back over hershoulder like a loath child. They had gone but a few yards along thebeach trail when the sober, solid gentleman came out across the porchand waved his hand to them. Pete hastened his steps without replying. Then came a summons in a loud, full, authoritative voice: "Hi, there!One moment, please. "

It was already evening; the lake was ruffled rosily under a sunsetlight. Pete stopped and turned. He waited, pale, tightlipped, andformidable; Sylvie moved a little closer to him. This mysterious summonsgave her a first little spasm of distrust and fear. The man's squarebody and square, serious face bore down upon them, freighted withincongruous judgments. He came sturdily, defying the unspoken threat ofloneliness. 

He spoke when he came up to them--spoke with evident effort. 

"My friends, " he said, "I am a minister of the gospel, and thoughmy mission in this wilderness does not rightly include you in itsministrations, still, my conscience, the commands of my Master, will notallow me to neglect so obvious and urgent a call for spiritual aid. "

He cleared his throat. "Your name I didn't catch, " he said doubtfully, and Pete did not supply the knowledge, "but I heard you introduce thisyoung woman as your wife. I watched her very closely; I watched you, too, sir; I took the liberty of making some inquiries about you. I havehad much and varied experience in the study of human nature. " Here heput out a broad, clean hand with square finger-tips and lifted Sylvie'sbrown, unwilling left hand high from her side. "I am a minister of thegospel, " he repeated. "In a land where such a symbol is thought much of, this woman has no wedding-ring. There is no register of your marriagehere in the one spot where such a registration might have been mostconveniently made--"

Sylvie jerked away her fingers; Pete laid down his load and slowly drewhis right hand into a terrible fist. 

"No, no!" The square-tipped fingers were lifted deprecatingly. "You mustnot be angry with me, my children. I am not here to judge you. I haveno knowledge of your temptation, of your difficulties; you have met andloved in a wild and difficult land. I was not even sure of my surmise. Now, however; your silence and your anger confirm my opinion. I wantonly to offer you my services. Will you continue in your life and loveas I have seen them to be, or will you, if only for the sake of otherlives not yet your responsibility--perhaps, will you take advantage ofthis opportunity which God has now given you and let me make you indeedman and wife?"

Pete's fist was still terrible, and his lips were gathering their words, when Sylvie unbelievably spoke. 

"Pete, " she asked tremulously, and he felt her drawing even closer tohis side, "Pete, don't you want--you _do_ want--I know--I mean, willyou, would you--marry me?"

He was dumb as a rock, and gray. His hand opened; he stared from herto the impossible intruder, the worker of the miracle, or rather forhe felt like a beast trapped, the strange layer of the snare. For aninstant the lake and the forest and the red sky turned in a great wheelbefore his eyes. Then he caught Sylvie's wrist almost brutally in hishand. "Be quiet!" he said; it was the savage speaking to his woman. "You've gone mad. Come with me. As for you, sir, my marrying or notmarrying is none of your business--"

The minister looked sadly up into the young man's white and rigid face. 

"God be with you!"

He bowed, turned and walked back along the beach, hands locked behindhis broad tweed back, his head bent. 

Pete tightened his grip on Sylvie's arm. "Come, " he said to her asharshly as before. "We must hurry. It's nearly night. "

Sylvie set her small teeth tight, bent down her head, and followed himwithout a word. Their silence seemed to grow into a pressure, a weight. It bent Pete's shoulders and Sylvie's slender neck, and whitened theirlips. All that they did not dare to say aloud bulked itself, huge andthunderous, before the combined consciousness which makes a strangethird companion in such dual silences. They dared not pause, or look ateach other, or move their strained lips for fear truth, the desperate, treacherous truth, would leap out and link them like a lightning-flash. The somber forest enveloped them. They moved through it as through adeep wall that opened by enchantment. The moon came up, gibbous andwhite and glittering, paler than silver; and the forest became streakedand mottled with its light. A soft, sudden wind tore the light and shadeinto eerie, dancing ribbons and tatters and shreds. There were suchsounds as are not heard in daylight--moon sounds and cloud sounds andsounds of dark wind; branches talked and other small voices answered inanxious undertones. A moose rubbed his antlers and coughed. They heardhis big body hulking through a swamp down there in a well of darkness. 

"I can't go so fast. " Sylvie's shaken voice moved doubtfully. "I'mtired. "

She pulled at his arm and stopped. The whole forest seemed to sway andstir and urge them to haste and secrecy. 

"A storm's coming, " Pete answered. "I can't carry you, Sylvie, unless Ileave my load. "

"Do you think I'd let you carry me?" she answered through her set teeth. "I'd rather die here than let you lift me up in your arms. I'll go ontill I drop. I don't care for the storm. But I can't walk so fast. Howcan you see? The moon isn't--can't be, I mean--very, very bright here inthe woods. "

"The moon? There's a big storm-cloud just going to wipe it out. Listen!Don't you hear that thunder, that wind?"

The storm blew its distant trumpets, shouted louder, trampled the worldwith great steps, crashed and came upon them with a wet, cold blast. They were stunned with noise, dazzled with flashes, smothered and beatenwith long, wet whips. Under a big rocking pine which shouted with ahundred confused tongues they found a dangerous shelter. Not far fromthem a tree was struck, splitting their ears, half stunning them. Whenthe worst was over, Pete drew Sylvie out relentlessly and started inthe heavily falling rain. The storm was drawing away, but the night wasstill impenetrably black. They walked for a few groping yards when Petegave a sudden desperate laugh and stopped. 

"What's the good of this! We're off the trail. We'll have to wait forthe light. My God! How cold and wet and trembling you are. " He threwdown his pack, took off his coat, wet only on the outside, and wrappedit closely about her. She felt that he parted branches for her, and sheknew that they were in a dry, still, scented place whose walls stirredand breathed. She sank down beside him on the smooth pine-needlesand crept close. They were giddy, beaten and confused; they felt eachother's trembling warmth; for greater comfort she tucked her hands underhis arm. Her head dropped back against his shoulder so that her breathfell on his cheek. He felt the silent tears of her humiliation, hot andbitter and human after the cold, impersonal wetness of rain. It was asthough a hand drew them together in the darkness; they moved numbly atthe same instant, by the same impulse; then with a sort of convulsionthey were in each other's arms. Cold, wet, tremulous, their lips met. The night became the beating of a heart. 

CHAPTER XIV

Hugh sat in his great carved chair, his hands laid out across the bulkyarms, his head bent forward a little so that his eyes encompassed allthe restless beauty of the fire. After nightfall, when the wind beganto shake the cabin, he had built up the fire, and its light now foughtruddily against the whiteness of the moon. Hugh had not lighted hislamp, nor let Bella light it, but he told her to make some strong coffeeand keep it hot on the stove. "When Sylvie comes in, " he had said, "she'll be exhausted. We'll give her a hot drink and send her to bed, eh, Bella! The foolish child!" This had been said softly, but with awild, half-vacant look which Bella could not meet. 

It was her belief that Pete and Sylvie had gone, not to return thatnight or any other night. In a desperate, still fashion she guarded thisflaming conviction, peering up from long contemplations of it to learnwhether there flickered any light of torment on Hugh's face. But allday, after the queer blankness of face and eyes with which he had firstreceived her news of Sylvie's disappearance, he had been alternately gayand tranquil. All morning he had mended his boat, and in the afternoonhe had cleaned his gun; and whenever he could cajole Bella into beinghis audience, he had talked. His talk was all of Sylvie, of her prettychildishness, her sweet, wayward ways, of her shyness, her timidity; andlater, when supper was cleared away and he had throned himself inthe center of that familiar circle of firelight, he had dropped hisbeautiful voice to a lower key and had boasted of Sylvie's love for him. 

Bella sat on a big log sawed to the height of a low stool. She sat withher face bent down between her hands as though she were saving her eyesfrom the fire, but those bright, devoted eyes never left Hugh's face, though sometimes they made of it but a blurred image set in the brokencrystals of her tears. 

Thus, together, they heard the first rumble of the storm and saw thewhite squares of moonlight wiped from the floor as with a dark cloth. Next, the windows seemed to jump at them and jump away. "Lightning!"said Hugh. "She'll be afraid! Will Pete be able to comfort her? Will he, Bella?" Then, because she took courage to look into his face, she sawthat his heart had been burnt all day, but that his faith, stronger thanhis fear, had kept the flame smothered, almost below his consciousness. 

While the storm raged across their roof, beat a brutal tattoo closeabove their deafened heads, pushed at the door, drove a pool of waterunder the threshold, Hugh walked up and down, to and fro, from fireto window, from door to wall, but not fast, rather with a sort ofstateliness. Sometimes he looked sidelong at Bella's expressionless, listening face. At last he forced himself back to the chair and satthere, mechanically polishing the barrel of his gun, but his tonguestill spoke the saga of illusion. It stopped when the storm dropped intothe bottomless silence of dawn. Then there was only the dripping fromtheir eaves. Hugh sat there, very white, his gun laid across his lap. Bella, as white, lifted her face. 

"They're coming, " she whispered, and got stiffly to her feet. 

Hugh moved back into his chair, turning sidewise and gathering himselfas though for a spring. His nervous hands clutched at his gun. Upon thesilence the door opened, and Pete and Sylvie came into the room. Wet andstorm-beaten and beautiful they were, with scarlet cheeks. 

Pete came quickly over to Hugh's chair; he let fall his pack and gazedresolutely down at his brother's face. 

"Sylvie had a fancy to come with me to the trading-station, " he said. "She came out after me and didn't overtake me until just where the trailcomes out into the road. We hurried back, but the storm caught us. Itwas pitch-black in the woods; we couldn't keep the trail. We had towait for daylight. I hope you weren't too anxious about her, Hugh. --Bella"--he glanced over his shoulder--"could you make us some hotcoffee and help Sylvie into some dry clothes? We are properly drenched, both of us. "

This speaker of terse, authoritative sentences was not the boy that hadgone out that morning. That boy was gone forever. 

Hugh stood up and looked slowly from Sylvie, who had stayed near thedoor and held her head up like a queen, to Pete. 

"Where were you, " he asked gently--"where were you while it stormed?"

Pete moved toward the fire, holding out his hands. "Ugh!" he shivered, "I'm numb with cold. "

"Where were you, " Hugh repeated, "during the storm?"

Pete lifted his eyes slowly. They were bluer than the blue heart of asapphire. "Under a pine-tree, " he answered casually enough, and then, just as Hugh would have smiled, the color creeping up into his lips, Pete's young and honest blood poured over his forehead, engulfing him, blazing the truth across his face. Bella saw it and clenched her hands. Sylvie's cheeks, too, caught fire. Hugh turned from him, blinded byterror, saw Sylvie's trembling mouth in her dyed countenance, and turnedback. He lifted the hand that had held, all this while, to the chair, and balled it into a fist. 

"Don't strike him, " said Sylvie quietly, not moving from her place bythe door. "Don't ever strike him again--_Ham Rutherford_!"

Hugh's bones seemed to crumble; his knees bent; he leaned back againstthe chair, holding to it behind him with both hands. The gun clatteredto the floor. In the silence Sylvie walked across the room and liftedher face. As if for the first time they saw her eyes, black andbrilliant and young, sharpening the softness of her features. She lookedat Hugh mercilessly, pitilessly. 

"I've been able to see you for a long time now, Ham Rutherford, " shesaid. "And the instant I first saw you, I knew your name. Ever since thenight you told me that story about the river, I've been watching you. You are a great and infamous liar! Yes, I know that you once killed aman for telling you that. Kill me if you like, for I am going to repeatit after him--a liar, hideous and deformed outside and in. I have nopity for a liar. Not even your physical misfortune shall shield you!You have made too great a mockery of it. You brought me here, blind, ashelpless as one of the things you catch in your traps, and you playedthe hero with me. And you fed me with lies and lies and lies. I've eatenand drunk them until I'm sick. Now stand up and look at the truth. Youare to eat that until _you_ are sick. --No, Bella; no, Pete; I'm going tospeak; no one can stop me. I know you love him. How you can look at himand see him as he is and know what he has done and still love him, Ican't understand. Now, Hugh Garth--the name you tried to make me loveyou by--I'll tell these people that love you, some of the beautifulfables with which you tried to win _my_ love. Maybe, then, they willbegin to see you as you are. Here is the first: 'There was once a verynoble youth who had a friend--'"

"Don't!" Hugh groaned pitifully, his head bent before her. 

"Perhaps I won't; after all, it's not interesting unless you're foolenough, or blind enough, to be tricked into fancying it's the truth. Butlet me tell them some of the other things. This noble youth, this mansacrificed his life for his friend and bore the blame of that friend'sguilt. He is as handsome as a Viking, the very ideal of a girl'simagination, strong and shapely and graceful. Has he a humped shoulderand a lame leg and a scarred face revealing his scarred soul? Answerme. "

Hugh flinched as though under a lash. 

Pete put out his hand uncertainly; his face was drawn with pain. "Sylvie--stop. You _must_ stop. You're too cruel. He did lie to you, butremember, that was because he--"

The brilliant black eyes flashed back at him. 

"Because he loved me, you were going to say? When you love a woman, doyou try to ruin her life? Do you creep up in the dark under cover of herblindness and touch her with some dreadful, poisonous wound? Youdon't know my horror of that man, Pete. Oh, he kissed--kissed me!" Sheshivered. "A murderer! Yes, a murderer. Oh, Ham Rutherford, if I couldonly _make_ you see yourself! If I could give you my eyes when theyopened, and I saw Pete's beauty and Bella's sweetness and the horribleugliness of you! And then, day by day--you see, I was afraid to let youknow that I _had_ seen you. I was in terror of you, of what you mightdo to me. I was afraid of you all; you had all deceived me. Day by dayI learned the utter distortion of you, mind, body, and soul. How couldI help but--but--" She faltered and half turned to Pete, holding outher hands. Her indignation at the treachery practiced upon her, an angerthat had grown in silence to unbearable heat, had spent itself in words. She was all for consolation now--for sympathy. But Pete stepped backfrom her. He was looking at Hugh, and his clear, young face was an openwound. 

Hugh pushed himself up and slowly lifted his face. It was then that hesaw Sylvie's hands stretched out to Pete. He started--no one knew whatthe convulsive movement meant; but as he started--the gun tripped him. He caught it up carelessly, blindly. There was a flash--a crash. Peteleaped and bent, holding his arm. Blood spurted between his fingers, soaking his wet sleeve; and Sylvie, crying aloud, wrapped him intrembling, protective arms. 

"I'm not much hurt, " he said half dazedly. "It--it was an accident. Hedidn't mean it. I was looking at him. The gun went off. He didn't shootat me. . . . _Hugh_!"

The man was staring straight ahead of him, and now he drew his handacross his eyes, the fingers crooked as though they tore a veil. 

"Now, " he said, "I do see myself just as I am. Yes, I did shoot at you. Yes, I think I meant to kill you. I must have meant to kill you. That'sthe truth. For the second time I'm a murderer. Yet now, as God lives, even if I am down in the dust, I'll lay hold of my stars. I'm going towalk out of your lives so that they can shape themselves to theirown good ends. Sylvie can shape yours with you, Pete. " He hesitated amoment. "If a coward, a murderer, can say 'God bless you, ' take thatblessing!"

He picked up his gun and shuffled across the floor, flinching aside fromBella as though he could bear no further touch or word, and went out ofthe door, letting in the brightness of the sunrise. 

Pete had sunk into a chair, faint from the shock and weakness of hiswound; and Sylvie bent over him. For a minute, in great and bitterloneliness Bella stood and watched them; then she followed Hugh. 

He had put down his gun and gone slowly up from the hollow and waswalking along the river-bank. He had the look of a man who strolls inmeditation. When he came to his boat where it lay near the roots of thethree big pines, he turned it over--he had been mending its bottom themorning of yesterday--and began to push it down toward the plungingstream. The glitter of morning took all the swirlings and ripplingsand plungings of the swift water in its golden hands. Hugh steadied theboat. Above him on the bank Bella spoke quietly. 

"Hugh, " she said, "look up at me. What are you going to do?"

He lifted his face, still holding to the boat. 

"What are you going to do?" she repeated. 

"Why do you want to know? You've heard the truth. "

She came down the bank and stood beside him so close that her hair, loosened by the wind, was blown against his shoulder. She pressed itback and gazed into his eyes. The inner glow had worn through at last. She was all warmth, all flame now. She smiled with soft and parted lips. "Do you think that was the truth of you, my dear, " she said, "_my_ truthof you? I have always seen you as you are. But"--she drew a big breath, like a climber who has reached the height--"but--I came to you, didn'tI?"

Hugh's eyes widened, the pupils swallowing her light. "You--you came tome? Not for Pete's sake?"

"Never for his sake. "

"But, Bella--you laughed at me. "

"Yes, once, for your poor folly in trying to be what you are not. Whenhave I ever laughed at what you are? It's what you are I've loved, mydear, just what you are--a tormented child. Only be honest with me, Hugh. Tell me what do you want: the moon now or--or all the truth?"

"I want the truth--and the end, " he said. "I'm going down the river. "

She glanced at the flood as though it were a brook. "I am going with youthen. You must take me. My life has always been yours. "

He laid one of his hands on either of her cheeks so that her face wasframed for him to read. It was flushed; the deep eyes were beautiful. 

"You--all these empty years! _You_, Bella. " It was as though he saw hernow for the first time. The revelation dazzled him. "I've gone thirsty, with wine at my elbow, until it's too late. " He shook his shoulders. "Come with me, then, if you must. "

She stepped into the boat and sat in the stern, her hands folded in herlap, her eyes in their great and sudden beauty still fixed on his face. The wind blew her hair wildly in a long, streaming veil across herforehead, down her cheek, out over her shoulder. She was beautiful withthe joy that was hers at last. 

Hugh stepped in and stood to push the boat out from the shore. Hiseyes never left hers. It was a deep, long look of which her soul drank, quenching its thirst. Very slowly the boat moved; then it turned. A handseemed to grip it's prow. There was a mighty, confused roaring in theirears; the bank seemed to be snatched back from them. The sunlight, shoneinto Hugh's face. Suddenly he caught at his oar. 

"The river is not so high, " he shouted; "the flood's going down. " Helooked away from her and back. "We have--just a chance. We'll leave itto the river. It may be the end of you and me--or, Bella, it may be thebeginning. "

He steadied the boat with all his skill. It was drawn with frightfulswiftness down the swollen stream. 

 * * * * *

Before noon Sylvie and Pete moved slowly across the open space and wentback along their forest trail. They walked like lovers, and Sylvie'sarm helped to support him. Just before he stepped in among the trees heturned for a long, desolate, backward look. 

Now the hoop of green, once white as paper under the noon sun, and thelevel, circular rim of the forest are empty and silent except for therattling of the river and the moving of the pines against the fixed, grave stars. The human tragedy--or was it comedy?--has burnt itself outlike the embers of a camp-fire that will never again be kindled in thatlonely spot. 

 THE END