[Illustration: "It was a beautiful thing, that dance, grotesque, paganand yet divine"]

THE PLACE BEYOND THE WINDS

BY HARRIET T. COMSTOCK

_Illustrated by_HARRY SPAFFORD POTTER

GARDEN CITY, NEW YORKDOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY1914

FOREWORD

The In-Place cannot be found; you must happen upon it! Hidden behind itsrugged red rocks and hemlock-covered hills, it lies waiting for somethingto happen. It has its Trading Station, to and from which the CanadianIndians paddle their canoes--sometimes a dugout--bearing rare, lusciousblue berries invitingly packed in small baskets with their own greenleaves. And to the Station, also, go the hardy natives--good English, Scotch, or "Mixed"--with their splendid loads of fish. 

"White fish go: pickerel come"--but always there is fish through summerdays and winter's ice. 

There is a lovely village Green, around which the modest homes clustersociably. Poor, plain places they may be, but never dirty nor untidy. Andthe children and dogs! Such lovely babies; such human animals. They playand work together quite naturally and are the truest friends. 

A little church, with a queer pointed spire and a beautiful altar, stands with open doors like a kindly welcome to all. Back of this, andapologetically placed behind its stockade fence, is the jail. 

To have a jail and never need it! What more can be said of a community?But you are told--if you insist upon it--that the building is preservedas a warning, and if any one should by chance be forced to occupy it, "hewill have the best the place affords"--for justice is seasoned with mercyin the In-Place. 

If you would know the aristocracy of the hamlet you must leave thefriendly Green and the pleasant water of the Channel, climb the redrocks, tread the grassy road between the hemlocks and the pines, and findthe farms. For, be it understood, by one's ability to wrench a livingfrom the soil instead of the water is he known and estimated. To fish isto gamble; to plant and reap is conservative business. 

Dreamer's Rock and One Tree Island, Far Hill Place and Lonely Farm, safely sheltered they lie, and from them, in obedience to the "Lure ofthe States, " comes now and again an adventurous soul to make his way, ifso he may; and never was there a braver, truer wanderer than Priscilla ofLonely Farm. Equipped with a great faith, a straight method of thinking, and an ideal that never faded from her sight, she, by the help of thePoor Property Man, found her place and her work awaiting her. Love, shefound, too--love that had to be tested by a man's sense of honour and awoman's determination, but it survived and found its fulfilment beforethe Shrine in the woods beyond Lonely Farm, where, as a little child, Priscilla had set up her Strange God and given homage to it. 

Harriet T. Comstock. 

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"It was a beautiful thing, that dance, grotesque, pagan and yet divine"_Frontispiece_

"'And now, ' she cried, 'I'll keep my word to you. Here! here! here!' Thebottles went whirling and crashing on the rocks near the roadway"

"'You mean, by this device you will make me marry you! You'll blackenmy name, bar my father's house to me, and then you will be generousand--marry me?'"

"In one of those marvellous flashes of regained consciousness, the manupon the bed opened his eyes and looked, first at Travers, then atPriscilla"

"'It's past the Dreamer's Rock for us, my sweet, and out to the opensea'"

The Place Beyond the Winds

CHAPTER I

Priscilla Glenn stood on the little slope leading down from the farmhouseto the spring at the bottom of the garden, and lifted her head as a youngdeer does when it senses something new or dangerous. Suddenly, andentirely subconsciously, she felt her kinship with life, her relation tothe lovely May day which was more like June than May--and a rare thingfor Kenmore--whose seasons lapsed into each other as calmly andsluggishly as did all the other happenings in that spot known to theCanadian Indians as The Place Beyond the Wind--the In-Place. 

Across Priscilla's straight, young shoulders lay a yoke from both ends ofwhich dangled empty tin pails, destined, sooner or later, to be filledwith that peculiarly fine water of which Nathaniel Glenn was so proud. Nathaniel Glenn never loved things in a human, tender fashion, but he wasproud of many things--proud that he, and his before him, had braved thehardships of farming among the red, rocky hills of Kenmore instead ofwrenching a livelihood from the water. This capacity for tilling the soilinstead of gambling in fish had made of Glenn, and a few other men, thereal aristocracy of the place. Nathaniel's grandfather, with his wife andfifteen children, had been the first white settlers of Kenmore. So eagerhad the Indians been to have this first Glenn among them that it is saidthey offered him any amount of land he chose to select, and Glenn hadtaken only so much as would insure him a decent farm and prospects. Thisact of restraint had further endeared him to the natives, and no regretwas ever known to follow the advent of the estimable gentleman. 

The present Glenn never boasted; he had no need to; the plain statementof fact was enough to secure his elevated position from mean attack. 

Nathaniel had taught himself to read and write--a most unusual thing--andnaturally he was proud of that. He was proud of his stern, bleak religionthat left no doubt in his own mind of his perfect interpretation ofdivine will. He was proud of his handsome wife--twenty years younger thanhimself. Inwardly he was proud of that, within himself, which had beencapable of securing Theodora where other men had failed. Theodora hadcaused him great disappointment, but Nathaniel was a just man and hecould not exactly see that his disappointment was due to any deliberateor malicious act of Theodora's; it was only when his wife showed weaktendencies toward making light of the matter that he hardened his heart. 

In the face of his great desire and his modest aspirations--Theodora hadborne for him (that was the only way he looked at it) five children--allgirls, when she very well knew a son was the one thing, in the way ofoffspring, that he had expected or wanted. 

The first child was as dark as a little Indian, "so dark, " explainedNathaniel, "that she would have been welcome in any house on a New Year'sDay. " She lasted but a year, and, while she was a regret, she had beentolerated as an attempt, at least, in the right direction. Then came thesecond girl, a soft, pale creature with ways that endeared her to themother-heart so tragically that when she died at the age of two Theodorarebelliously proclaimed that she wanted no other children! This blasphemyshocked Nathaniel beyond measure, and when, a year later, twin girls wereborn on Lonely Farm, he pointed out to his wife that no woman could flyin the face of the Almighty with impunity and she must now see, in thisdouble disgrace of sex, her punishment. 

Theodora was stricken; but the sad little sisters early escaped thebondage of life, and the Glenns once again, childless and alone, viewedthe future superstitiously and with awe. Even Nathaniel, hope gone as toa son, resignedly accepted the fate that seemed to pursue him. Then, after five years, Priscilla was born, the lustiest and most demanding ofall the children. 

"She seems, " said Long Jean, the midwife, "to be made of the odds andends of all the others. She has the clear, dark skin of the first, theblue eyes of the second, and the rusty coloured hair and queer featuresof the twins. "

Between Long Jean and Mary Terhune, midwives, a social rivalry existed. On account of her Indian taint Long Jean was less sought in aristocraticcircles, but so great had been the need the night when Priscilla made herappearance, that both women had been summoned, and Long Jean, arrivingfirst, and, her superior skill being well known, was accepted. 

When she announced the birth and sex of the small stranger, Nathaniel, smoking before the fire in the big, clean, bare, living-room, permittedhimself one reckless defiance:

"Not wanted!" Long Jean made the most of this. 

"And his pretty wife at the point of death, " she gossiped to Mrs. McAdamof the White Fish Lodge; "and there is this to say about the child beinga girl: the lure of the States can't touch her, and Nathaniel may havesome one to turn to for care and what not when infirmity overtakes him. Besides, the lass may be destined for the doing of big things; thosewitchy brats often are. "

"The lure don't get all the boys, " muttered Mary McAdam, cautiouslythinking of her Sandy, aged five, and Tom, a bit older. 

"All as amounts to much, " Long Jean returned. 

And in her heart of hearts Mary McAdam knew this to be true. The timewould come to her, as it had to all Kenmore mothers, when she would haveto acknowledge that by the power of the "lure" were her boys to betested. 

But Priscilla at Lonely Farm showed a hardened disregard of her state. She persisted and grew sturdy and lovely in defiance of tradition andconditions. She was as keen-witted and original as she was independentand charming. Still Theodora took long before she capitulated, andNathaniel never succumbed. Indeed, as years passed he grew to fear anddislike his young daughter. The little creature, in some subtle way, seemed to have "found him out"; she became, though he would not admit it, a materialized conscience to him. She made him doubt himself; she laughedat him, elfishly and without excuse or explanation. 

Once they two, sitting alone before the hearth--Nathaniel in his greatchair, Priscilla in her small one--faced each other fearsomely for atime; then the child gave the gurgling laugh of inner understanding thatmaddened the father. 

"What you laughing at?" he muttered, taking the pipe from his mouth. 

"You!" Priscilla was only seven then, but large and strong. 

"Me? How dare you!"

"You are so funny. If I screw my eyes tight I see two of you. "

Then Nathaniel struck her. Not brutally, not maliciously; he wanteddesperately to set himself right by--old-time and honoured methods--forceof authority!

Priscilla sprang from her chair, all the laughter and joyousness gonefrom her face. She went close to her father, and leaning toward him asthough to confide the warning to him more directly, said slowly:

"Don't you do that or Cilla will hate you!"

It was as if she meant to impress upon him that past a certain limit hecould not go. 

Nathaniel rose in mighty wrath at this, and, white-faced and outraged, darted toward the rebel, but she escaped him and put the width of theroom and the square deal table between them. Then began the chase thatsuddenly sank into a degrading and undignified proceeding. Around andaround the two went, and presently the child began to laugh again asthe element of sport entered in. 

So Theodora came upon them, and her deeper understanding of her husband'sface frightened and spurred her to action. In that moment, while shefeared, she loved, as she had never loved before, her small daughter. Ifthe child was a conscience to her stern father, she was a materializationof all the suppressed defiance of the mother, and, ignoring consequences, she ran to Priscilla, gathered her in her arms, and over the little, hot, panting body, confronted the blazing eyes of her husband. 

And Nathaniel had done--nothing; said nothing! In a moment the fury, outwardly, subsided, but deep in all three hearts new emotions were bornnever to die. 

After that there was a triangle truce. The years slipped by. Theodorataught her little daughter to read by a novel method which served thedouble purpose of quickening the keen intellect and arousing ahousewifely skill. 

The alphabet was learned from the labels on the cans of vegetables andfruits on Theodora's shelves. There was one line of goods made by a firm, according to its own telling, high in the favour of "their Majesties Soand So, " that was rich in vowels and consonants. When Priscilla foundthat by taking innocent looking little letters and stringing themtogether like beads she could make words, she was wild with delight, andwhen she discovered that she could further take the magic words and bysetting them forth in orderly fashion express her own thoughts or knowanother's thoughts, she was happy beyond description. 

"Father, " she panted at that point, her hands clasped before her, herdark, blue-eyed face flushing and paling, "will you let me go to MasterFarwell to study with the boys?"

Nathaniel eyed her from the top step of the porch; "with the boys" hadbeen fatal to the child's request. 

"No, " he said firmly, the old light of antagonism glinting suddenly underhis brow, "girls don't need learning past what their mothers can givethem. "

"I--do! I'm willing to suffer and _die_, but I do want to know things. "She was an intense atom, and from the first thought true and straight. 

A sharp memory was in her mind and it lent fervour to her words. Itrelated to the episode of the small, fat mustard jar which always gracedthe middle of the dining table. They had once told her that the contentsof the jar "were not for little girls. "

They had been mistaken. She had investigated, suffered, and learned!Well, she was ready to suffer--but learn she must!

Nathaniel shook his head and set forth his scheme of life for her, briefly and clearly. 

"You'll have nothing but woman ways--bad enough you need them--they willtame and keep you safe. You'll marry early and find your pleasure andduty in your home. "

Priscilla turned without another word, but there was an ugly line betweenher eyes. 

That night and the next she took the matter before a higher judge, and fervently, rigidly prayed. On the third night she pronouncedher ultimatum. Kneeling by the tiny gable window of her grim littlebedchamber, her face strained and intense, her big eyes fixed on a red, pulsing planet above the hemlocks outside, she said:

"Dear God, I'll give you three days to move his stony heart to let mego to school; if you don't do it by then, I'm going to worship gravenimages!"

Priscilla at that time was eight, and three days seemed to her a generoustime limit. But Nathaniel's stony heart did not melt, and at the end ofthe three days Priscilla ceased to pray for many and many a year, andforthwith she proceeded to worship a graven image of her own creation. 

A mile up the grassy road, beyond Lonely Farm and on the way toward thedeep woods, was an open space of rich, red rock surrounded by a soft, feathery fringe of undergrowth and a few well-grown trees. From this spotone could see the Channel widened out into the Little Bay: the myriadislands, and, off to the west, the Secret and Fox Portages, beyond whichlay the Great Bay, where the storms raged and the wind--such wind asKenmore never knew--howled and tore like a raging fiend!

In this open stretch of trees and rock Priscilla set up her own god. Shehad found the bleached skull of a cow in one of her father's pastures;this gruesome thing mounted upon a forked stick, its empty eye-socketsand ears filled with twigs and dried grasses, was sufficiently paganand horrible to demand an entirely unique form of worship, and thisPriscilla proceeded to evolve. She invented weird words, meaningless buthigh-sounding; she propitiated her idol with wild dances and an abandonof restraint. Before it she had moments of strange silence when, withwonder-filled eyes, she waited for suggestion and impression by which tobe guided. Very young was she when intuitively she sensed the inner callthat was always so deeply to sway her. Through the years from eight tofourteen Priscilla worshipped more or less frequently before her secretshrine. The uncanny ceremony eased many an overstrained hour and did forthe girl what should have been done in a more normal way. The place onthe red rock became her sanctuary. To it she carried her daily task ofsewing and dreamed her long dreams. 

The Glenns rarely went to church--the distance was too great--butNathaniel, looming high and stern across the table in the bare kitchen, morning and night, set forth the rigid, unlovely creed of his belief. This fell upon Priscilla's unheeding ears, but the hours before theshrine were deeply, tenderly religious, although they were bright andmerry hours. 

Of course, during the years, there were the regular Kenmore happeningsthat impressed the girl to a greater or lesser degree, but they were likepictures thrown upon a screen--they came, they went, while her innergrowth was steady and sure. 

Two families, one familiar and commonplace, the other more mystical thananything else, interested Priscilla mightily during her early youth. Jerry and Michael McAlpin, with little Jerry-Jo, the son of old Jerry, were vital factors in Kenmore. They occupied the exalted position ofrural expressmen, and distributed, when various things did not interfere, the occasional freight and mail that survived the careless methods of thevicinity. 

The McAlpin brothers were hard drinkers, but they were most considerate. When Jerry indulged, Michael remained sober and steady; when Michael fellbefore temptation, Jerry pulled himself together in a marvellous way, andso, as a firm, they had surmounted every inquiry and suspicion of arelentless government and were welcomed far and wide, not only for theirlegitimate business, but for the amount of gossip and scandal theydisbursed along with their load. Jerry-Jo, the son of the older McAlpin, was four years older than Priscilla and was the only really youngcreature who had ever entered her life intimately. 

The other family, of whom the girl thought vaguely, as she might have ofa story, were the Travers of the Far Hill Place. 

Now it might seem strange to more social minds that people from a distantcity could come summer after summer to the same spot and yet remainunknown to their nearest neighbours; but Kenmore was not a socialcommunity. It had all the reserve of its English heritage combined withthe suspicion of its Indian taint, and it took strangers hard. Then, added to this, the Traverses aroused doubt, for no one, especiallyNathaniel Glenn, could account for a certain big, heavy-browed man whoshared the home life of the Hill Place without any apparent right orposition. For Mrs. Travers, Glenn had managed to conjure up a very actualdistrust. She was too good-looking and free-acting to be sound; and hermisshapen and delicate son was, so the severe man concluded, a curse, inall probability, for past offences. The youth of Kenmore was straight andhearty, unless--and here Nathaniel recalled his superstitions--direvengeance was wreaked on parents through their offspring. 

With no better reason than this, and with the stubbornness he mistook forstrength, Glenn would have nothing to do with his neighbours, four milesback in the woods, and had forbidden the sale of milk and garden stuff tothem. 

All this Priscilla had heard, as children do, but she had never seen anymember of the family from the Far Hill Place, and mentally relegated themto the limbo of the damned under the classification of "them, from theStates. " Their name, even, was rarely mentioned, and, while curiosityoften swayed her, temptation had never overruled obedience. 

The McAlpins, with all their opportunity and qualifications, found littleabout the strangers from which to make talk. The family were reserved, and Tough Pine, the Indian guide they had impressed into summer service, was either bought or, from natural inclination, kept himself to himself. 

So, until the summer when she was fourteen, Priscilla Glenn knew lessabout the Far Hill people than she did about the inhabitants of heavenand hell, with whom her father was upon such intimate and familiar terms. 

Once, when Priscilla was ten, something had occurred which prepared herfor following events. It was a bright morning and the McAlpin boatstopped at the wharf of Lonely Farm. While old Jerry went to thefarmhouse with a package, Jerry-Jo remained on guard deeply engrossed ina book he had extracted from a box beneath the seat. He appeared not tonotice Priscilla, who ran down the path to greet him in friendly fashion. 

The boy was about fifteen then, and all the bloods of his variousancestors were warring in his veins. His mother had been a full-bloodedIndian from Wyland Island, had drawn her four dollars every year from theEnglish Government, and ruled her family with an iron hand; his fatherwas Scotch-Irish, hot-blooded and jovial; Jerry-Jo was a compositeresult. Handsome, moody, with flashes of fun when not crossed, a goodcomrade at times, an unforgiving enemy. 

He liked Priscilla, but she was his inferior, by sex, and she sorelyneeded discipline. He meant to keep her in her place, so he kept onreading. Priscilla at length, however, attracted his attention. 

"Hey-ho, Jerry-Jo!"

"Hullo!"

"Where did you get the book?"

"It's for him up yonder. "

And with this Jerry-Jo stood up, turned and twisted his lithe body intosuch a grotesque distortion that he was quite awful to look upon, andleft no doubt in the girl's mind as to whom he referred. He brought theFar Hill people into focus, sharply and suddenly. 

"He has miles of books, " Jerry-Jo went on, "and a fiddle and pictures andgewgaws. He plays devil tunes, and he's bewitched!"

This description made the vague boy of the woods real and vital for thefirst time in Priscilla's life, and she shuddered. Then Jerry-Jogenerously offered to lend her one of the books until his father cameback, and Priscilla eagerly stepped from stone to stone until she couldreach the volume. Once she had obtained the prize she went back to thegarden and made herself comfortable, wholly forgetting Jerry-Jo and theworld at large. 

It was the oddest book she had ever seen. The words were arranged incharming little rows, and when you read them over and over they sangthemselves into your very heart. They told you, lilting along, of a roadthat no one but you ever knew--a road that led in and out through wondersof beauty and faded at the day's end into your heart's desire. YourHeart's Desire!

And just then Jerry-Jo cried:

"Hey, there! you, Priscilla, come down with that book. "

"Your Heart's Desire!" Priscilla's eyes were misty as she repeated thewords. Indeed, one large, full tear escaped the blue eyes and lay like apitiful kiss on the fair page, where there was a broad, generous spacefor tears on either side of the lines. 

"Hist! Father's coming!"

Then Priscilla stood up and a demon seemed to possess her. 

"I'm not going to give it back to you! It's mine!" she cried shrilly. 

Jerry-Jo made as if he were about to dash up the path and annihilate her, but she stayed him by holding the book aloft and calling:

"If you do I'll throw it in the Channel!" She looked equal to it, too, and Jerry-Jo swore one angry word and stopped short. Then the girl's moodchanged. Quite gently and noiselessly she ran to Jerry-Jo and held theopened book toward him. His keen eye fell upon the tear-stain, but hiscoarser nature wrongly interpreted it. 

"You imp!" he cried; "you spat upon it!"

But Priscilla shook her head. "No--it's a tear, " she explained; "and, oh!Jerry-Jo, it is mine--listen!--you cannot take it away from me. "

And standing there upon the rock she repeated the words of the poem, herrich voice rising and falling musically, and poor Jerry-Jo, hypnotized bythat which he could not comprehend, listened open-mouthed. 

 * * * * *

And now, again, it was spring and Priscilla was fourteen. Standing in thegarden path, her yoke across her shoulders, her ears straining at thesound she heard, the old poem returned to her as it had not for years. She faltered over the words at the first attempt, but with the secondthey rushed vividly to her mind and seemed set to the music of that"pat-pat-pat" sound on the water. An unaccountable excitement seizedher--that new but thrilling sense of nearness and kinship to life and thelovely meaning of spring. She was no longer a little girl looking on atlife; she was part of it; and something was going to happen after thelong shut-in winter!

And presently the McAlpin boat came in sight around Lone Tree Islandand in it stood Jerry-Jo quite alone, paddling straight for thelanding-place! For a moment Priscilla hardly knew him. The winterhad worked a wonder upon him. He was almost a man! He had the manners, too, of his kind--he ignored the girl on the rocks. 

But he had seen her; seen her before she had seen him. He had notedthe wonderful change in her, for eighteen is keen about fourteen, particularly when fourteen is full of promise and belongs, in asense, to one. 

The short, ugly frock Priscilla wore could not hide the beauty and graceof her young body--the winter had wiped out forever her awkward length oflimb. Her reddish hair was twisted on the top of her head and made herlook older and more mature. Her uplifted face had the shining radiancythat was its chief charm, and as Jerry-Jo looked he was moved toadmiration, and for that very reason he assumed indifference and gaveundivided attention to his boat. 

CHAPTER II

With skill and grace Jerry-Jo steered his boat to the landing-place atthe foot of the garden. He leaped out and tied the rope to the ring inthe rocks, then he waited for Priscilla to pay homage, but Priscilla wasso absorbed with her own thoughts that she overlooked the expectedtribute of sex to sex. At last Jerry-Jo stood upright, legs wide apart, hands in pockets, and, with bold, handsome face thrown back, cried:

"Well, there!"

At this Priscilla started, gave a light laugh, and readjusting her yoke, walked down to the young fellow below. 

"It's Jerry-Jo, " she said slowly, still held by the change in him; "andalone!"

"Yes. " Jerry-Jo gave a gleaming smile that showed all his strong, whiteteeth--long, keen teeth they were, like the fangs of an animal. 

"Where are the others?" asked Priscilla. 

"Uncle's dead, " the boy returned promptly and cheerfully; "dead, and agood thing. He was getting cranky. "

Priscilla started back as if the mention of death on that glorious daycast a cloud and a shadow. 

"And your father, Jerry-Jo, is he, too, dead?"

"No. Dad, he is in jail!"

"In--jail!" Never in her life before had Priscilla known of any one beingin Kenmore jail. The red, wooden house behind its high, stockade fencewas at once the pride and relic of the place. To have a jail and neveruse it! What more could be said for the peaceful virtues of a community?

"Yes. Dad's in jail and in jail he will stay, says he, till them as puthim there begs his pardon humble and proper. "

Priscilla now dropped the yoke upon the rocks and gave her entire thoughtto Jerry-Jo, who, she could see, was bursting with importance and a senseof the dramatic. 

"What did your father do, Jerry-Jo?"

"It was like this: Uncle Michael died and the wake we had for him was themost splendid you ever saw. Bottles and kegs from the White Fish andmoney to pay for all, too! Every one welcome and free to say his say anddrink his fill. I got drunk myself! Long about midnight Big Hornby hesaid as how he once licked Uncle Michael, and Dad he cried back that toblacken a man's name when he was too dead to stand up for it was a dirtytrick, and so it was! Then it was forth and back for a time, withcompliments and what not, and if you please just as Dad sent a bit of astool at Big Hornby, who should come in at the door but Mr. Schoolmaster, him as had no invite and was not wanted! The stool took him full on thearm and broke it--the arm--and folks took sides, and some one, after abit, got Dad from under the pile and tried to make him beg pardon! Begpardon at his own wake in his own home, and Schoolmaster taking chancescoming when he was not invited! Umph!"

Jerry-Jo's eyes flashed superbly. 

"'I'll go to jail first and be damned, ' said Dad, and that put it in themind of Big Hornby, and he up and says, 'To jail with him!' And so theytakes Dad, thinking to scare him, and claps him into jail, not evenmending the lock or nailing up the boards. That's three days since, andyesterday Hornby he comes to Dad and says as how a steamer was in withmail and freight and who was to carry it around? And Dad says as how Iwas a man now and could hold up the honour of the family, says he, andmoreover, says Dad, 'I'll neither eat nor come out till you come to yoursenses and beg pardon for mistaking a joke for an insult!'"

Jerry-Jo paused to laugh. Then:

"So here am I with the boatload--there's a box of seeds for yourfather--and then I'm off to the Hill Place, for them as stays there hascome, and there are boxes and packages for them as usual. "

Jerry-Jo proceeded to extract Mr. Glenn's box from the boat, andPriscilla, her clear skin flushed with excitement, drew near to examinethe cargo. 

"More books!" she gasped. "Oh, Jerry-Jo, do you remember the first book?"

"Do I?" Jerry-Jo had shouldered the box of seeds and now bent upon thegirl a glad, softened look. 

"Do I? You was a wild thing then, Priscilla. And I told him about theslob of a tear and he laughed in his big, queer way, and he said, Iremember well, that by that token the book was more yours than his, andhe wanted me to carry it back, but I knew what was good for you, and Iwould not! See here, Priscilla, would you like to have a peek at this?"And then Jerry-Jo put his burden down, and, returning to the boat, drewfrom under the seat a book in a clean separate wrapper and held it outtoward her. 

"Oh!" The hands were as eager as of old. 

"What will you give for it?" A deep red mounted to the young fellow'scheeks. 

"Anything, Jerry-Jo. "

"A--kiss?"

"Yes"--doubtfully; "yes. "

The book was in the outstretched hands, the hot kiss lay upon the smooth, girlish neck, and then they looked at each other. 

"It--is _his_ book?"

"No. Yours--I sent for it, myself. "

"Oh! Jerry-Jo. And how did you know?"

"I copied it from that one of his. "

Priscilla tore the wrappings asunder and saw that the book was aduplicate of the one over which, long ago, she had loved and wept. 

"Thank you, Jerry-Jo, " the voice faltered; "but I wish it--had the tearspot. "

"That was _his_ book; this is yours. " An angry light flashed inJerry-Jo's eyes. He had arranged this surprise with great pains and hadused all his savings. 

"But it cannot be the same, Jerry-Jo. Thank you--but----"

"Give us another kiss?" The young fellow begged. 

Priscilla drew back and held out the book. 

"No. " She was ready to relinquish the poems, but she would not buy them. 

"Keep the book--it's yours. "

Jerry-Jo scowled. And then he shouldered the box and ran up the path. When he came back Priscilla was gone, and the spring day seemedcommonplace and dull to Jerry-Jo; the adventure was over. Priscilla hadfilled her pails and had carried them and the book to the house. Something had happened to her, also. She was out of tune with thesunlight and warmth; she wanted to get close to life again and feel, asshe had earlier, the kinship and joy, but the mood had passed. 

It was after the dishes of the midday meal were washed that she bethoughther of the old shrine back near the woods. It was many a day since shehad been there--not since the autumn before--and she felt old anddifferent, but still she had a sudden desire to return to it and tryagain the mystic rite she had practised when she was a little girl. Itwas like going back to play, to be sure; all the sacredness was gone, butthe interest remained, and her yearning spurred her to her only resource. 

At two o'clock Nathaniel was off to a distant field, and Theodoraannounced that she must walk to the village for a bit of "erranding. " Shewanted Priscilla to join her, thinking it would please the girl, butPriscilla shook her head and pleaded a weariness that was more mentalthan physical. At three o'clock, arrayed in a fresh gown, over which hunga red cape, Priscilla stole from the house and made her way to theopening near the woods. As she drew close the power of suggestionovercame the new sense of age and indifference; the witchery of the placeheld her; the old charm reasserted itself; she was being hypnotized bythe Past. Tiptoeing to the niche in the rock she drew away the shelteringboughs and branches she had placed there one golden September day. Theleaves had been red and yellow then; they were stiff and brown now. Theleering skull confronted her as it had in the past and changed her atonce to the devotee. 

Before the dead thing the live, lovely creature bowed gravely. After all, had not the image, instead of God, answered her first prayer? Nathaniel'sheart had not been softened and school had not been permitted, but therehad been lessons given by the master when she told him of her new god. How he had laughed, clapping his knees with his long, thin, white hands!But he had taught her on hillside and woodland path. No one knew this butthemselves and the strange idol!

A rapt look spread over Priscilla's face; the look of the worshipper whocould lose self in a passion. But this was no dread god that demandedunlovely sacrifice. It was a glad creature that desired laughter, song, and dance. Priscilla had seen to that. A repetition of her father's creedwould have been unendurable. 

"Skib, skib, skibble--de--de--dosh!"

Again the deep and sweeping courtesy and chanting of the weird words. Thefinal "dosh!" held, in its low, fierce tone, all the significance ofabject adoration. With that "dosh" had the child Priscilla wooed thefavour and recognition of the god. It was a triumph of appeal. 

And then the dance began--the wild, fantastic steps full of grace and joyand the fury and passion of youth. Round and round spun the slight form, with arms over head or spread wide. The red cape floated, rising andfalling; the uplifted face changed with every moment's flitting thought. It was a beautiful thing, that dance, grotesque, pagan, and yet divine, and through it all, panting and pulsing, sounded the strange, incomprehensible words:

"Skib, skib, skibble--de--de--dosh!"

While the rite was at high tide a young fellow, lying prone under aclump of trees beyond the open space, looked on, first in amaze mingledwith amusement, and then with delight and admiration. He had neverseen anything at once so heathenish and so exquisite. To one hamperedand restricted as he was in bodily freedom, the absolute grace wasmarvellous, but the uncanny words and the girl's apparent seriousnessgave a touch of unreality to the scene. Presently, from sheer inabilityto further control himself, the looker-on gave a laugh that rent thestillness of the afternoon like a cruel shock. 

Priscilla, horrified, paused in the midst of a wild whirl and listened, her eyes dilating, her nostrils twitching. She waited for another burstthat would make her understand. 

Having given vent to that one peal of mirth, Richard Travers pulledhimself to a sitting position, and, by so doing, presented his head andshoulders to the indignant eyes of Priscilla Glenn. 

"Oh!" cried she; "how dare you!"

And now Travers got rather painfully upon his feet, and, with fiddleunder one arm and book under the other, came forward into the open andinclined his uncovered head. He was twenty then, fair and handsome, andin his gray eyes shone that kindliness that was doomed later on to bringhim so much that was both evil and good. 

"I beg your pardon. I did not know I was on sacred ground. I justhappened here, you see, and I could not help the laugh; it was the onlycompliment I could pay for anything so lovely--so utterly lovely. "

Priscilla melted at once and fear fled. Not for an instant did sheconnect this handsome fellow with the crooked wrongdoer of the HillPlace. Jerry-Jo's long-ago description had been too vivid to beforgotten, and this stranger was one to charm and win confidence. 

"Will you--oh! please do--let me play for you? You dance like a nymph. Doyou know what a nymph is?"

Priscilla shook her head. 

"Well, it's the only thing that can dance like you; the only thing thatshould ever be allowed to dance in the woods. Come, now, listen sharp, and as I play, keep step. "

Leaning against a strong young hemlock, Dick Travers placed his fiddleand struck into a giddy, tuneful thing as picturesque as the time andoccasion. With head bent to one side and eyes and lips smiling, Priscillalistened until something within her caught and responded to the trippingnotes. At first she went cautiously, feeling her way after the enchantedmusic, then she gained courage, and the very heart of her danced andtrembled in accord. 

"Fine! fine! Now--slower; see it's the nymph stepping this way and that!Forward, so! Now!"

And then, exhausted and laughing madly, Priscilla sank down upon a rocknear the musician, who, seeing her worn and panting, played on, withouta word, a sweet, sad strain that brought tears to the listener'seyes--tears of absolute enjoyment and content. She had never heard musicbefore in all her bleak, colourless life, and Dick Travers was no meanartist, in his way. 

"And now, " he said presently, sitting down a few feet from her, "justtell me who you are and what in the world prompts you to worship, soadorably, that hideous brute over there?"

Between fourteen and twenty lies a chasm of age and experience thatensures patronage to one and dependence to the other. Travers felt agedand protecting, but Priscilla grew impish and perverse; besides, shealways intuitively shielded her real self until she capitulated entirely. This was a new play, a new comrade, but she must be cautious. 

"I--I have no name--he made me!" She nodded toward the grinning skull. "On bright sunny afternoons in spring, when flowers and green things arebeginning to live, he lets me dance, once in a great while, so that I cankeep alive!"

Priscilla, with this, gave such a beaming and mischievous smile thatTravers was bewitched. 

"You----" But he did not put his thought into words; he merely gave smilefor smile, and asked:

"Did he teach you to dance?"

"No. The dance is--is me! That's why he likes me. He's so dead that helikes to see something that is alive. "

"The whole world would adore you could it see you as I just have!"

Then Travers, with the artist's eye, wondered how dark hair couldpossibly hold such golden tints, and how such a dark face could makelovely the blue, richly lashed eyes. He knew she must be from LonelyFarm--Jerry-Jo used to speak of her; lately he had said nothing, to besure, but this certainly must be the child who had once cried over abook of his. Poor, little, temperamental beggar!

"Come up and deliver!" Travers gave a laugh. "I'm Robin Hood and I wantyou to explain yourself. Why do you bow down before that brazen andevil-looking brute?"

Priscilla hugged her knees in her clasped hands, and said, on thedefence:

"He's the only god that answered my prayer. I tried father's God and--itdidn't work! Then I fixed up this one, and--it did!"

"What was it you wanted?"

"I wanted to learn things! I wanted to go to school. I prayed to havefather's heart softened, but it stayed--rocky. Then I began to worshipthis"--the right hand waved toward the bleached and grinning skull--"andmy wish came true. I told the schoolmaster. Do you know Mr. AntonFarwell?"

"I've heard of him. "

"I told him I wanted to learn, and after he got through laughing he saidhe'd been sent by my god to teach me all I wanted to know; but of coursehe can't do that!"

"Do what?" Travers was fascinated by the child's naïvety. 

"Teach me all I want to know. Why, I'm going to suffer and know manythings!"

"Good Lord!" ejaculated Travers; "you won't mind if I laugh?"

"I don't think there's anything to laugh at!" Priscilla held him sternly. "Have you ever suffered?"

The laugh died from Travers's face. 

"Suffered!" he repeated. "Yes! yes!"

"Well, doesn't it pay--when you get what you want and know things?"

"Why, see here, youngster--it does! You've managed to dig out of yourlife quite a brilliant philosophy, though I suppose you do not know whatthat is. It's holding to your ideal, the thing that seems most worthwhile, and forcing everything else into line with that. Now, you see Ihad a bad handicap--a clutch on me that made me a weak, sickly fellow, but through it all I kept my ideal. "

Priscilla was listening bravely. She was following this thought as shehad the music; something in her was responding. She did not speak, andTravers went on talking, more to himself than to her. 

"Always before the poor thing I really was, walked the fine thing I wouldbe. I _thought_ myself straight and strong and clean. Lord! how it hurtsometimes; but I grew, after a time, into something approaching the idealgoing on before me, thinking high and strong thoughts, forgetting themeannesses and aches--do you understand?"

This was a fairy story to the listener. Rigid and spellbound she replied:

"Yes. And that's what I've been doing--and nobody knew. I've just beenworking hard for that _me_ of _me_ that I always see. I don't care whatI have to suffer, but--" the throbbing words paused--"I'm going to knowwhat--it is all about!"

"It?" Again Travers was bewildered and bound. 

"Yes. Life and me and what we mean. I'm not going to stay here; when thelure of the States gets me I'm--going!"

Things were getting too tense, and Travers yielded to a nervous impulseto laugh again. This brought a frown to Priscilla's brow. 

"Forgive me!" he pleaded. "And now see here, little pagan, let us makea compact. Let us keep our ideals; don't let anything take them from us. Is it a go?"

He stretched his hand out, and the small, brown one lay frankly in it. 

"And we'll come here and--and worship before that fiend, just you and I?And we won't ever tell?"

Priscilla nodded. 

"And now will you dance once more, just once?"

The girl bounded from the rock, and before the bow struck the strings shewas poised and ready. Then it was on again, that strange, wild game. Thenotes rang clear and true, and as true tripped the twinkling feet. Withhead bent and eyes riveted on the graceful form, Travers urged her on byword and laugh, and he did not heed a shadow which fell across thesunlighted, open space, until Priscilla stopped short, and a deep voicetrembling with emotion roared one word:

"You!"

There stood Nathaniel Glenn, his face twitching with anger and somethingakin to fear. How much he had heard no one could tell, but he had heardand seen enough to arouse alarm and suspicion. In his hand was a longlash whip, and, as Priscilla did not move, he raised it aloft and sent itsnapping around the rigid figure. 

It did not touch her, but the act called forth all the resentment andfierce indignation of the young fellow who looked on. 

"Stop!" he shouted. Then, because he sought for words to comfort andcould think of no others, he said to Priscilla, "Don't let them kill yourideal; hold to it in spite of everything!"

"Yes, " the words came slowly, defiantly, "I'm going to!"

"Go!" Nathaniel was losing control. "Go--you!"

Then, as if waking from sleep, the girl turned, and with no backwardlook, went her way, Nathaniel following. 

Travers, exhausted from the excitement, stretched himself once more uponthe mossy spot from which Priscilla had roused him. He was sensitive toevery impression and quivering in every nerve. 

What he had witnessed turned him ill with loathing and contempt. Brutality in any form was horrible to him, and the thought of the pretty, spiritual child under the control of the coarse, stern man was almostmore than he could bear. Then memory added fuel to the present. It wasthat man who had conjured up some kind of opposition to his mother--hadmade living problems harder for her until she had won the confidence ofothers. The man must be, Travers concluded, a fanatic and an ignoramus, and to think of him holding power over that sprite of the woods!

He could not quite see how he might help the girl, but, lying there, herdancing image flitting before his pitying eyes, he meant to outwit therough father in some way, and bring into the child's life a bit ofbrightness. Then he smiled and his easy good nature returned. 

"I'll get her to dance for me, never fear! I'll teach her to love music, and I'll tell her stories. I must get her to explain about the lure ofthe States. What on earth could the little beggar have meant? It soundedas if she thought America had some sinister clutch on the Dominion. Andthose infernal-sounding words!"

Travers shook with laughter. "That '_dosh_' was about the mostblasphemous thing I ever listened to. In a short space of time that childmanaged to cram in more new ideas, words, and acts than any one I've evermet before. I shouldn't wonder if she proves a character. "

CHAPTER III

The day of warmth and song and dance changed to a cool evening. There wasa glowing sunset which faded into a clear, starry night. 

Dick Travers, encased in a heavy sweater, lingered, after the lightfailed, on the broad piazza facing the still purpled sky, and looked outtoward the Georgian Bay, which was hidden from sight by the ridge of hillthrough which the Fox and Secret Portages cut. The mood of the afternoonhad fallen, as had the day, into calmness and restfulness. The fiddle, which was never far from Travers, lay now beside him on the deep porchswing, and every few moments he took it up and began an air that brokeoff almost at once, either to run into another, or into silence. 

"Choppy, " muttered Doctor Ledyard as he sat across the hearth from hishostess and looked now at her fair, tranquil face and then at thecheerful fire of hemlock boughs. 

"He's always happiest when he's--choppy. " Helen Travers smiled. "I wonderwhy I take your words as I take your pills, without question?"

"You know what's good for you. "

"And so you really think there is no doubt about Dick? He can entercollege this fall?"

"As sure as any man can be. He'll always be a trifle lame probably, though that will be less noticeable when he learns to forget the cane andcrutch periods; as for his health--it's ripping, for him!"

"How wonderful you have been; what a miracle you have performed. When Irecall----"

"Don't, Helen! It's poor business retracing a hard road unless you goback to pick something up. "

"That's why--I must go back. Doctor Ledyard, I must tell you something!Now that Dick's semi-exile and mine are to end in the common highway, heand--you must know why I have done many things--will you listen?"

From under Ledyard's shaggy brows his keen eyes flashed. There had beena time when he had hoped Helen Travers would love him; he had lovedher since her husband's death, but he had never spoken, for he knewintuitively that to do so would be to risk the only thing of which hewas, then, sure--her trusting friendship. He had not dared put that tothe test even for the greater hope. That was why he had been able toshare her lonely life in the Canadian wilds--she had never been disturbedby a doubt of him. And this comradeship, safe and assured, was the oneluxury he permitted himself in a world where he was looked upon as ahard, an almost cruel, man. 

"I do not want you to tell anything in order to explain your actionsnow, or ever. I am confident that under all circumstances you would actwisely. You are the most normal woman I ever knew. "

"Thank you. But I still must speak--more for Dick than for you. I needyour help for him. "

Outside, the fiddle was repeating again and again a nocturne that Helenparticularly loved. 

"Dick is not--my son!" she said quickly and softly from out the shadows. She was rarely abrupt, and her words startled Ledyard into alertness. Hegot up and drew his chair close to hers. 

"What did you say?" he whispered, keeping his eyes upon her lowered face. 

"I said--Dick is not my son. "

"And--whose is he--may I ask?"

There was a tenseness in the question. Now that he saw the gravity of theconfession Ledyard wished beyond all else to cut quick and deep and thenbind up the wound. 

"He is the child of--my husband, and--another woman. "

In the hush that followed, Dick's fiddle, running now through a deliciousstrain of melody, seemed like a current bearing them on. 

"Perhaps you had better--tell me, " Ledyard was saying, and his wordsblended strangely with the tune. "Yes, I am sure you ought to tell me. "

Helen Travers, sitting in her low wicker chair, did not move. Herdelicate face was resting on the tips of her clasped hands, and her long, loose, white gown seemed to gather and hold the red glow of the fire. 

"I suppose I have done Dick a bitter wrong, but at first, you know, evenyou thought he could not live and so it would not have mattered, and thenI--I learned to love the helpless little chap as women of my sort do whohave to make their own lives as best they may. He clung to me sodesparately, and, you see, as he grew older I either had to accept hisbelief in me or--or--take his father from him. They were such closefriends, Dick's father and he! And now--I must lay everything low, and Iam wondering what will come of it all. He is such a strange fellow; ourlife apart has left him--well, so different! How will he take it?"

Whatever her own personal sorrow was, Helen Travers made no moan, exactedno sympathy. She had come alone to the parting of the ways, and she hadthought only for the boy whom she had mothered tenderly and successfully. Ledyard did not interrupt the gentle flow of her thoughts. There wastime; he would not startle or hurry her, although her first statement hadshocked and surprised him beyond measure. 

"I've always thought of myself as like one of those poor Asiatichornbills, " she was saying. "It seems to me that all my life long someone has walled me up in a nice, safe nest and fed me through my longingsand desires. I cannot get to life first hand. I'm not stupid exactly, butI am terribly limited. " Helen paused, then went on more rapidly: "Firstit was my father. He and I travelled after mother's death continually, and alone. He educated me and interpreted life for me; he was a man ofthe world, I suppose, but he managed to keep me most unworldly wise. Ofcourse I knew, abstractly, the lights and shadows; but I wonder if youwill believe me when I tell you that, until after my marriage, I neversuspected that--that certain codes of honour and dishonour had place inthe lives of those closest to me? The evil of the world was classifiedand pigeon-holed for me. I even had ambition to get out of my walled-upcondition and help some mystical people, detached and far from my safe, clean corner. Father left me more money than was good for any youngwoman, and my simple impulse was to use it properly. "

"You were very young?" Ledyard interrupted. 

Helen Travers shook her head. 

"Not very. I was twenty-four when I married. I had never had but oneintimate friend in my life, and to her I went at my father's death. Itwas her brother I married--John Travers. "

Ledyard nodded his head; he knew of the Traverses--the older generation. 

"This thing concerning Dick occurred some three or four years before mymarriage. My wedding was a very quiet one; it was not reported, and thataccounted for Dick's mother--Elizabeth Thornton--not knowing of it. 

"It seems that there had been an alliance between John Travers and--andDick's mother, and it had been terminated some time before he met me, bymutual consent. There was the child--Dick. The mother took him. There wasno question of money: there was enough for them, but she had told Johnthat should anything arise, such as illness or disaster, she would callupon him. They had sworn that to each other. 

"Well, my own baby came a year after my marriage and died a month later. When I was least able to bear the shock, the call came from ElizabethThornton. John had to tell me. I shall never forget his face as he didit. I realized that his chief concern was for me, and even in all thewreck and ruin I could but honour him for his bravery and sincerity. Ithink he believed I would understand, but I never did; I never shall. Theshock was more surprise than moral resentment. I could not believe atfirst that such a thing could possibly happen to--one of my own. I feltas if a plague had fallen upon me, and I shrank from every eye, fromevery touch with the world. 

"Doctor Ledyard, you can understand, I hope, but John Travers was not abad man, and that girl, Dick's mother, was good. Yes; that's the onlyword to use, strange as it seems to me even after all these years. Yousee, she was not a hornbill. She came in touch with life at first hand;she took from life what she wanted; she had, what were to me, unheard-ofideas about love and the free gift of self, and yet she never meant tohurt any one; and she had kept herself, amid all the confusion, thegentlest and sweetest of souls. 

"When she sent for John she was dying and she did not know what to doabout the boy. She had no family--no near friend. 

"I went with my husband to see her. There did not seem to be anythingelse to do. I had no feeling; it was plain duty. Even with the touch ofdeath upon her, Elizabeth Thornton was the most beautiful woman I haveever seen. I cannot describe the sensation she made upon me; but she waslike an innocent, pure child who had played with harmful and soiled toysbut had come wearily to the day's end, herself unsullied. 

"When she knew about me she was broken-hearted. She wept and called tolittle Dick, who sat in a small chair by her couch:

"'Oh! little son, we could have managed, couldn't we? We would not havehurt any one for the world, would we, sonny?' And the boy got up andsoothed her as a man might have done, and he was only a little creature. I think I loved him from the moment I saw him shielding that poor, dyingmother from her own folly. 'Course, mummy, course!' he repeated over andagain. Then he looked at me with the eyes of my own dead baby. Bothchildren were startlingly like the father. The look pleaded for mercyfrom me to them--John, the mother, and the little fellow himself. And I, who had vaguely meant to help the world some day, began--with them! Justfor a little time after Elizabeth Thornton's death I became human, orperhaps inhuman. I resented the wrong that had been done me; I wanted tofling John and the child away from me; but then a sense of power ralliedme. I had never tasted it before. I could cast the helpless pair from me, or--I could save them from the world and the world's hideous pity for me. I accepted the burden laid upon me. I think John thought I would forget, would forgive. I cannot explain--my sort of woman is never understoodby--well, John's sort of man. I am afraid he grew to have a contempt forme, but I lived on loving them both, but never becoming able to meetJohn's hope of me. I knew he was often lonely--I have pitied himsince--but I could not help being what I was. 

"I tried, but it was no use. We lived abroad for years, and little Dickforgot--I am sure he forgot--his mother, and when I felt secure I gavehim all, all the passion and devotion of my life. 

"John died abroad; I came home with my crippled boy; came home to--you. That is all!"

Ledyard bent and laid a handful of boughs upon the fire. The room wascold and cheerless, and the still, white figure in the chair seemed thequiet, chill heart of it all. And yet--how she had loved and laboured forthe boy! Was she passionless or had her passion been killed while atwhite heat?

"And--and I suppose Dick must know?"

"Yes. Dick must know. "

There was no sternness, but there was determination in the strong, evenvoice. Then:

"Helen, let me do this for you!"

For a moment the uplifted eyes faltered and fell away from the man'sface. Very faintly the words came:

"God bless you! I could not bear to see--him fail me. If he must--fail, I cannot see him until--afterward. "

The blaze rose higher, and the dark room was a background for thatdeathlike form before the hearth. 

Ledyard left the room silently, and a moment later Helen Travers heardhis heavy footfall on the porch outside. Presently the erratic violinplaying ceased and there seemed no sound on the face of the earth. 

After what seemed hours, Pine, the guide, entered the room to replenishthe fire, and Helen told him he need not light the lamps. After his goinganother aching silence followed through which, at last, stole theconsciousness that she was not alone. Some one had come into the roomfrom a long window opening on the piazza. Helen dared not look, for if itwere Ledyard she would know that things were very bad indeed. Then camethe slightly dragging step that she had learned to be so grateful forafter the helplessness of crippled childhood. Still she did not move, nordeeply hope. The boy was kind, oh! so tenderly kind, he might only havecome because he must!

The red glow of the fire made the woman's form by the hearth vividlydistinct, and toward that Dick Travers went as if led by a gleam througha new and strange experience. He knelt by her side and, for a moment, buried his face against her clasped hands; then he looked up and she sawonly intensified love and trust upon his young face. She waited for himto speak, her heart was choking her. 

"You thought, dear, that I did not know--that I had forgotten? I wonderif any lonely, burdened little chap could forget--what came before youlifted the load and taught me to be a--child? Oh! she was so sweet; sucha playfellow. I realize it now even though she has faded into somethinglike a shadowy dream. But I recall, too, the loneliness; the fear thatshe might leave me alone with no one to care for me. I can remember herfear, too; always the fear that one of us might leave the other alone. The recollection will always stand out in my memory. I shall never forgether nor her sweetness. Afterward you came and my father. Only lately haveI understood all of--that part of my life and yours--but I knew he was myfather, and I wondered about you, because I could _not_ forget--mymother!

"I learned to love you out of my great need and out of yours, too, Irealize now, and slowly, far too early, I saw that the happiest thing Icould do for you, who had given me so much, was to seem to forget andrest only on one thought--you were my mother! Can I make you understand, mother, what you are in my life--to-night?"

He kissed the cold hands clutching his hot ones, and with that touch thebarrier broke down forever between them. Travers took her in his arms, but she did not burden his young strength as the earlier mother had done. Even in her abandon, they supported each other bravely. 

 * * * * *

The days that followed were busy ones. Dick's tutor came from New York, plans were laid, and there was small opportunity, just then, for thered-rock shrine. 

"You see, " Dick said to Ledyard one afternoon, "I've never voiced itbefore--it seemed presumptuous--but now that I'm going to have the lifeof a fellow, I can choose a fellow's career. I want, more than anythingelse, to be a physician. "

Ledyard's eyes flashed, but he lowered his lids. 

"It's a devil of a life, boy. "

"I think it's the finest of all. "

"No hours you can call your own; never daring to ask for the commonthings a man cares for. You see, women are mostly too jealous and smallto understand a doctor's demands. They usually raise hell sooner orlater. I had a friend whose wife used to look through the keyhole of hisconsulting-room door. A patient tripped over her once and it nearly costmy friend his practice. Doctors are only half human anyway, and womencan't go halves with their husbands. "

Dick laughed. 

"Between a wife and a profession, " he said, "give me the profession. "

"Besides, " Ledyard went on; "you get toughened and brutal; most of usdrink, when we don't do something worse. "

"You don't. "

"How do you know?"

"I do know, and I'm sure you wouldn't let any one else say that aboutyour associates; they're the noblest ever and you know it!"

"Well, we're bound and gagged, and that's a fact. We're not given muchleeway. We are led up to a case and forced to carry out the rules. Whilewe're doctors we can't be men. "

Dick recalled that years later with a bitter sense of its truth!

"All the same, if the profession will have me, I'll have it and thankGod. When I think of--well, of the little cuss I was, and of you--why, I tell you, I cannot get too soon into harness. I'd like to specialize, too. I've even gone so far as that. "

"Good Lord! In what?"

"Oh, women and children, principally--putting them straight and strong, you know. "

"Umph, " grunted Ledyard. "Well, at the first you'll probably be thankfulto get any old case that needs tinkering. "

Dick Travers did not see Priscilla again that summer. After a while hewent to the rocks, and once he laid sacrilegious hands on the strange godwith a longing to smash the hideous skull, but in the end he left it and, after a time, forgot the girl he had played for, even forgot thefantastic dance, for his thoughts were of sterner stuff. 

There were guests at the Hill Place, too, for the first time that year, and some entertainment. There were fishing, and in due season, hunting, at which Ledyard excelled, and the family returned to the States earlierthan usual, owing to Dick's affairs. 

CHAPTER IV

Nathaniel Glenn had said some terrible things in Priscilla's presence theevening of the day when he drove her before him while Richard Traversimplored her to hold to her ideal. Fortunately, youth spared Priscillafrom a full understanding of her father's words, but she caught the driftof his thought. She was convinced that he feared greatly for her here onearth, and had grave doubts as to her soul's ultimate salvation. Therewas that within her, so he explained, which, unless curbed and corrected, would cast her into eternal damnation! Those were Nathaniel's words. 

"She looked a very devil as she danced and smirked at that strangefellow, " so had Glenn described the scene; "a man she says she had neverlaid eyes on before! A daughter of Satan she seemed, with all thewitchcraft of her sort. " To Nathaniel, that which he could notunderstand, was wrong. 

Theodora spoke not a word. Certain facts from all the evidence stoodforth and alarmed her as deeply--though not as bitterly--as they did herhusband. There certainly was a daring and brazenness in a young girlcarrying on so before a total stranger. In all the conversation the nameof the stranger was not mentioned, and oddly enough Priscilla did noteven then connect her friend of the music and laughter with the boy ofthe Hill Place. How could she, when Jerry-Jo's description still stoodunchallenged in her mind? Indeed, the stranger did not seem wholly of theearth, earthy. She had accepted him as another phase evolved by themysterious rite--a new revelation of the strange god. 

From all the torrent of misinterpretation Nathaniel gave vent to, onestartling impression remained in Priscilla's mind. Sitting in the bare, unlovely kitchen of the farmhouse, with her troubled parents confrontingher, a great wave of realization overpowered the girl. She could nevermake them understand! There was no need to try. She did not really belongto them, or they to her, and she must--get away!

That was it, of course. The lure had caught her. They all felt as shewas now feeling--the Hornbys, all the boys and men who left Kenmore. Something always drove them to see they must go, and that was what thelure meant. 

Priscilla laughed. 

As usual, this angered Nathaniel beyond control. 

"You--laugh--you! Why do you laugh?"

Priscilla leaned back in her hard wooden chair. 

"The lure's got me!" she panted. 

"The--lure?"

"Yes. It means getting away. You have to follow the lure and find yourtrue place. Some people are put in the wrong place--then the lure getsthem!"

At this Theodora gave a moan of understanding. They had driven the childtoo far, been too hard upon her, and the impulse to fly from the lovethat was seeking to hold her was the one thing to be avoided. 

"I'm tired of things. Once I wanted to go to school, but you wouldn't letme. " The blazing eyes were fixed upon Nathaniel. "You're always tryingto--to hold me back from--from--my life! I want to go away somewhere!I want"--a half-sob shook the fierce, young voice--"I want to be partof--things, and you--you won't let me! I hate this--this place; I'mchoking to death!"

And with this Priscilla got up and flung her arms over her head, whileshe ejaculated fiercely: "I want to be--doshed!"

The effect of this outburst upon the two listeners was tremendous. Theodora recognized with blinding terror that her daughter was no longera child! The knowledge was like a stroke that left her paralyzed. Whatcould she hope to do with, and for, this new, strange creature in whoseyoung face rising passion and rebellion were suddenly born? Nathaniel wasawed, too, but he managed to utter the command: "Leave the room, hussy!"

When the parents were alone they took stock of the responsibility thatwas laid upon them. Helplessly Theodora began to cry. She could no morecope with this situation than a baby. She had never risen above or beyondthe dead level of Kenmore life, and surely no Kenmore woman had everborne so unnatural a child. She feared hopelessly and tremblingly. 

With Nathaniel it was different. He was a hard man who had forcedhimself, as he had others, along the one grim path, but he had the male'sinheritance of understanding of certain traits and emotions. Had any onesuggested to him that his girl had derived from him--not her colourlessmother--the desire for excitement through the senses, he would have flungthe thought madly from him. Men were men; women were women! Even iftemptation came to a girl, only a bad, an evil-natured girl wouldrecognize it and succumb. His daughter, Nathaniel firmly believed, wasmarked for destruction, and he was frightened and aroused not only forPriscilla herself but for his reputation and position. He had knownsimilar temptation; had overcome it. He understood, or thought he did!

He gave the girl no benefit of doubt; his mind conceived things thatnever had occurred. He believed she had often met the young fellow fromthe Hill Place. God alone knew what had gone before!

"What shall we do?" sobbed Theodora. "We cannot make a prisoner of her;we cannot watch her every move--and she's only a bit over fourteen!"

Had the girl died that night Nathaniel would not have mourned her, hewould have known only relief and gratitude. 

"She was unwelcomed, " he muttered to his weeping wife; "and she hasbecome a curse to us. It lies with us to turn the punishment into oursouls' good; but what can we do for her?"

Priscilla did not die that night. She slept peacefully and happily withthe red, pulsing planet over the hemlock shining faithfully upon her. Thenext day she reappeared before her parents with a cloudless face and awillingness to make such amends as could be brought about without toomuch self-abnegation. In the broad light of day the mother could not holdto the horrors of the evening before. She had been nervous andoverwrought; it wasn't so bad as they had thought!

"I want you to go erranding, " she said to Priscilla soon after the middaymeal and by way of propitiation. "It's one by the clock now. Given anhour to go, another to return, and a half hour for the buying, you shouldbe back by four at the latest. "

Priscilla looked laughingly up at her mother, "Funny, little mother, " shesaid; "he's made you afraid of me. Hadn't you better tie a string to myfoot?" But all the time the girl was thinking. "An hour for both goingand coming will be enough, and that will leave an hour for theschoolmaster. "

Aloud she said: "I was fiercely angry last night, mother, for he read mewrong and would not believe me, but it made me feel the _lure_; it reallydid. "

"You must never speak so again, child, " Theodora replied, thinking shewas impressing the girl; "and, Priscilla, what did you mean by saying youwanted to be--be doshed? That was the most unsanctified word I everheard. What does it mean? Where did you learn it?"

At this Priscilla doubled over with laughter but managed to say:

"Why, it means just--doshed! Haven't you ever wanted to be doshed, mother, when you were young, and before father took the dosh out ofyou?"

Theodora was again overcome by former fears, and to confirm her terrorPriscilla sprang toward her with outstretched, gripping fingers and wide, eager eyes. 

"It means, " she breathed, advancing upon her mother's retreating form, "it means skib, skib, skibble--de--de--dosh!"

At this she had her mother by the shoulders and was seeking to kiss theaffrighted and appalled face. 

Theodora escaped her, and realized that a changeling had indeed enteredher home. An unknown element was here. It was as if, having beendiscovered, Priscilla felt she no longer needed to hide her inner self, but was giving it full sway. 

If they could only have known that the spring of imagination and joyhad been touched in the girl and merely the madness of youth and thelegitimate yearning for expression moved her! But Theodora did notunderstand and she tried to be stern. 

"You are to be back in this house at four!" she cried; "at quarter afterat the latest. "

So Priscilla started forth. The mother watched her from the doorway. Suspicion was in her heart; she feared the girl would turn toward thewoods; she was prepared for that, but instead, the flying figure made forthe grassy road leading to Kenmore and was soon lost to sight. 

Three miles of level road, much of it smooth, moss-covered rock, waseasy travelling for nimble feet and a glad heart. And Priscilla wasthe gladdest creature afield that day. Impishly she was enjoying thesensation she had created. It appealed to her dramatic sense and animalenjoyment. In some subtle fashion she realized she had balked anddefeated her father--she was rather sorry about her mother--but thatcould be remedied later on. There was no doubt that she had the whip handof Nathaniel at last, and the subconscious attitude of defiance shealways held toward her father was strengthened by the knowledge thathe was unjustly judging her. 

There were many things of interest in Kenmore that only limited timeprevented Priscilla from investigating. She longed to go to the jail andsee if the people had prevailed upon old Jerry McAlpin to dischargehimself. She admired Jerry's spirit!

She wanted to call upon Mrs. Hornby and question her about Jamsie, herlast boy, who had succumbed to the lure of the States. She longed to knowthe symptoms of one attacked by the lure. Then there was the White FishLodge--she did so want to visit Mrs. McAdam. The annual menace of takingMrs. McAdams' license from her was man's talk just then, and Mrs. McAdamwas so splendid when her rights were threatened. On the village Greenshe annually defended her position like a born orator. Priscilla hadheard her once and had never got over her admiration for the little, thinwoman who rallied the men to her support with frantic threats as to herhandling of their rights unless they helped her fight her battle againsta government bent upon taking the living from a "God-be-praisedwidow-woman with two sons to support. "

It had all been so exactly to Priscilla's dramatic taste that she withdifficulty restrained herself from calling at the White Fish. 

There was a good hour to her credit when the erranding was finished andthe time needed for the home run set aside, so to the little cabin, builtbeside the schoolhouse, she went with heavily loaded arms and anastonishingly light heart. 

Since the day when Anton Farwell had undertaken Priscilla'senlightenment, asserting that he had been ordained to do so by her god, he had had an almost supernatural influence upon her thought. For her, he was endowed with mystery, and, with the subtle poetry of the lonelyyoung, she deafened her ears to any normal explanation of the man. 

Reaching the cabin, she pushed gently against the door, knowing that ifit opened, Kenmore was free to enter. Farwell was in and, when Priscillastood near him, seemed to travel back from a far place before he saw her. Farwell was an old-young man; he cultivated the appearance of age, butonly the very youthful were deceived. His long, dark hair fell about histhin face lankly, and it was an easy matter, by dropping his head, tohide his features completely. 

He was tall and, from much stooping over books or the work of his garden, was round-shouldered. When he looked you fully in the face, which herarely did, it was noticed that his eyes were at once childishly friendlyand deathly sad. 

The older people of Kenmore had ceased to wonder about him. Havingaccepted him, they let matters drop. To the children, to all helplessanimals, he was an enduring solace and power. When all else failed theylooked to him for solution. For this had Priscilla come. 

"To be sure!" cried Farwell at length. "It's Priscilla Glenn. Bad child!It's many a day since we had a lesson. There! there! no excuses. Sit downand--own up!"

While he was speaking Farwell replenished the wood on the fire andbrushed the ashes from the hearth. Priscilla, in a chair, sat upright andrather breathlessly wondered how she could manage all she wanted to sayand hear in the small space of time that was hers. 

Anton's back was toward her when she uttered her first question and thewords brought him to an upright position, facing her at once. 

"Mr. Farwell, where did you come from--I mean before the wreck?"

For a moment the master looked as if about to spring forward to lock thedoor and bar the windows. Real alarm was in his eyes. 

"Who told you to ask that?" he whispered. 

"No one. No one has to tell me questions; I have more of my own than Ican ask. I never thought before about you, Mr. Farwell, we're so used toyou, but now it's because of _me_. I want to know. Somebody has got tohelp me--I feel it coming again. "

"Feel what coming?" Farwell sat limply down in the chair he had latelyoccupied. 

"Why, the lure. It comes to the boys, Mr. Farwell. They just get it andgo off to the States, and it's come to me! I've always known it would. You see, I've got to go away; not just now, but some time. I'm going outthrough the Secret Portage. I'm going away, away to find my real place. I'm going to do something--out where the States are. I hoped you camefrom there; could tell me--how to go about it. Do you know, I feel as ifI had been dropped in Kenmore just to rest before I went on!"

Farwell looked at the girl and something new and changed about herstartled him as it had her parents, but, being wiser, he felt noantagonism. It was an amazing, an interesting thing. The girl hadsuddenly developed: that was all. She was eager to try her wings at alonger flight than any of her sex in Kenmore had ever before dreamed. Itwas amusing even if it were serious. 

Years before, Farwell had discovered the girl's keen mind and herquaint originality. As much for his own pleasure as her advantage hehad taught her as he had some of the other village children, erratically, inconsequently, and here she was now demanding that he fit her out witha chart for deep-sea sailing. 

How could he permit her to harbour, even for an idle moment, the idea ofleaving her shelter and going away? At this the thin, dark face grewrigid and stern. But too well the man knew the folly of setting up activeopposition to any young thing straining against the door of a cage. Better open the door even if a string on the leg or a clipped wing hadto be resorted to!

"Did you ever see the States?" The tense voice was imploring. 

"Oh, yes. Why do you wish to go there?"

"Why do the boys?"

This was baffling. 

"Well, there was Mrs. Hornby's oldest boy, he went to the States, got theworst of it, and came home to die. He did not find them happy places. "

"Yes, but all the other Hornbys went just the same, even Jamsie. It's thechance, you know, the chance to try what's in you, even if you _do_ comehome and die! You never have a chance in Kenmore; and I don't mean to belike my mother--like the other women. You see, Mr. Farwell, I'm willingto suffer, but I _am_ going to know all I want to, and I am going to finda place where I fit in, if I can. "

So small and ignorant did the girl look, yet so determined and keen, thatFarwell grew anxious. Evidently Nathaniel had borne too hard upon her, borne to the snapping point, and she had, in her wild fashion, caught theinfection of the last going away--Jamsie Hornby's. It was laughable, butpathetic. 

"What could you do?" Farwell leaned forward and gazed into the strangeblue eyes fixed upon him. 

"Dance. Have you ever seen me dance? Do you want to?" She was prepared toprove herself. 

"Good Lord! no, no!"

"Oh! I can dance. If some one would play for me--play on--on a fiddle, Icould dance all day and night. Wouldn't people pay for that?"

This was serious business. By some subtle suggestion Priscilla Glenn hadintroduced into the bare, cleanly room an atmosphere of danger, a curioussense of unreality and excitement. 

"Yes--they do pay, " Farwell said slowly; "but where in heaven's name didyou get such ideas?"

The girl looked impishly saucy. She was making a sensation again and, while Anton Farwell was not affected as her parents had been, he wasundoubtedly impressed. 

"It's this way: You have to sell what you've got until you get somethingbetter. There isn't an earthly thing I can do but dance now; of course Ican learn. Don't you remember the nice story about the old woman who wentto market her eggs for to sell? Master Farwell, I'm like her, and mydancing is my--egg!"

She was laughing now, this unreasoning, unreasonable girl, and she waslaughing more at Farwell's perplexity than at her own glibness. She mustsoon go, her time was growing short, but she was enjoying herselfimmensely. 

Looking at her, Farwell was suddenly convinced of one overpowering fact:Priscilla Glenn was destined for--living! Hers was one of those naturesthat flash now and then upon a commonplace existence, a strange soul froman unknown port, never resting until it finds its way back. 

"Poor little girl!" whispered Farwell, and then he talked to her. 

Would she let him go to her father and mother?

"What's the use?" questioned Priscilla, and she told him of theexperience in the woods. "Father saw only evil when it was the mostbeautiful thing that ever happened. "

Farwell saw a wider stretch and more danger. 

"But I will try, and anyway, Priscilla, if I promise to help you getready, will you promise me to do nothing without consulting me?"

This the girl was ready enough to do. She was restless and defiant underher new emotion, but intuitively she had sought Farwell because he hadbefore aided her and sympathized with her. Yes, she would confide in him. 

That night Farwell called at Lonely Farm. Followed by his two lean, uglysledge dogs he made his way to the barn where Nathaniel was doing theevening's work. While the men talked, the dogs, behind the building, fought silently and ferociously. Farwell had fed one before he left homeand a bitter jealousy lay between the animals. It was almost more thanone might hope that the master could influence Glenn or change his mind, but Farwell did bring to bear an argument that, because nothing elsepresented itself, swayed the father. 

"You cannot get the same results from all children, " Farwell said, looking afar and smiling grimly; "there's no use trying to make anabnormal child into a normal one. Priscilla is like a wild thing of thewoods. You may tame her, if you go about it right; you'll never be ableto force her. She's kind and affectionate, but she cannot be fettered orcaged, without mischief being done. Better let her think she is havingher own way, or--she may take it!"

"I'll break her will!" muttered Glenn. 

"And if you do--what then?"

"She'll fall into line--women do! Their life takes it out of them. Once Iget her on the right track, she'll go straight enough. There's no otherway for her sex, thank God!"

"She'd be a poor, despicable thing if she was cowed. " Contempt rang inFarwell's voice. 

"She'd serve her purpose. " Glenn was so angry that he became brutal. "Spirit ain't needed for her job. "

"Purpose? Job?" Farwell repeated. 

"Yes. Child-bearing; husband-serving. If they take to it naturallythey're all the better off; if they have to be brought to terms--well, then----"

Gradually the truth dawned upon Farwell, and his thin face flushed, whilein his heart he pitied Theodora Glenn and Priscilla. 

"I wish I'd kept to my first ideas!" Glenn was saying surlily, "and neverlet the limb learn of you or another. I gave her her head and here weare!"

"Had she been taught regularly by some one better fitted than I she wouldhave done great credit to you. She has a bright mind and a vividimagination. "

To this Glenn made no response, but the energy with which he applied thebrush to his horse caused the animal to rear dangerously. 

"Come, come, " Farwell continued; "better loosen the rein and let her runherself out--she may settle happily after a bit. If you don't, she mayrun farther than you know. "

"Run? Run where?" Nathaniel, safe from the horse's heels, glared atFarwell. 

"To the States. There is no sex line on the border. "

"But there's good, plain law. I'd have her back and well cowed, if sheattempted that!"

And then Farwell played his card. 

"See here, Mr. Glenn, you do not want to drive this girl of yours to--tohell! Of course there is law and of course you have the whip hand whilePriscilla is in your clutch, but with a wit like hers, if she slippedacross the border she could lose herself so completely that neither yourhate nor legal power could ever find her. Do you want to drive her tosuch lengths?"

Some of the truth of what Farwell was saying dashed Glenn's temper withfear. Hard and cruel as he was, he was not devoid of affection of aclammy sort, and for an instant Priscilla as a helpless girl wanderingamong strangers replaced Priscilla, the rebellious daughter, and pitymoved him. 

"Well, what do you suggest?" he asked grudgingly. 

"Simply this: You can trust me. Good Lord you surely can trust me withher! Let me teach her and bring a little diversion into her life. Whatshe wants is what all young things want--freedom and fun--pure, simplefun. Don't let her think you are expecting evil of her; let her alone!"

The extent of Glenn's confusion may be estimated by the fact that hepermitted Priscilla thereafter to go, when she chose, to Kenmore andlearn of Farwell what Farwell chose to give her, and, for the first timein the girl's life, she felt a glow of appreciation toward her father. 

With this new freedom she became happier, less restless, and heradmiration for Farwell knew no bounds. 

The schoolmaster managed to procure a violin and laboriously practisedupon it until an almost forgotten gift was somewhat restored. He did notplay as Travers did--he had only his ear to depend upon; he had neverbeen well taught--but his music sufficed to accompany Priscilla's nimblefeet, and it gave Farwell himself an added interest in his dull life. 

"She'll marry Jerry-Jo McAlpin some day, " the schoolmaster thought attimes; "and have a brood of half-breeds--no quarter-breeds--and all thisjoy and gladness will become a blurred, or blotted-out, background. GoodGod!"

CHAPTER V

Mrs. McAdam of the White Fish Lodge came out upon the village Green oneevening in late August and, in a loud voice, hailed Jerry McAlpin:

"I've heard it said, " called she, "that you, you Jerry McAlpin, are notagainst the taking away of my license; not against the making of Kenmorea teetotal town!"

There was menace in the high-pitched voice; warning in the accusation. But Jerry had not taken a drop to drink since his self-releasement fromjail (after an apology from Hornby), and he was uncannily clear headed. 

"I've said that same!" he replied, and stopped short in his walk. 

Two or three other men, followed by dogs, paused to listen. Then a boat, coming in loaded with fish, tied up to the wharf, and the crew, leaningover the sides, waited for developments. 

"And for why?" called Mary, hands on hips and her sharp eyes blazing. 

"For this: The drink turns us mad! I'm late finding it out, but I'vefound it! It sent me to jail with my wits all afire. My boy drank thatnight, drank like a young beast, and lay on the floor of the cabin, theytell me, after I went away; and he only sixteen, and his dead uncle starkthere beside him for company!"

By this time a goodly gathering was on the Green, and Mary was in herelement. 

"And so, " she said calmly, waxing eloquent as her power grew, "you andthe like of you would take an honest woman's living from her, and shea God-be-praised widow at that, because you can't control the beast inyourselves and can't train the cubs of your kennels!"

This was going to great lengths, and many a listener who sided with Marywas chilled by her offensive words. 

"Come! come!" warned Hornby, the father of the recently lured Jamsie, "them ain't exactly womanly terms, are they?"

But Mary was on her high horse. Availing herself of the safety her sexsecured for her, she struck left and right without grace or favour, andher audience gaped while they listened. 

"Oh, I know! 'Tis this year a dry town with me ruined, and it's next yeara wet town with McAlpin, Hornby, or another creature in trousers takingmy place; and after that there will be no more dry town for ever andever! It's not morals you are after, but a man-controlled tavern. Blastye!" A sneer marked Mary's thin, dark face. "You want your drinks andyour freedom, but you say you fear for your lads. Shame on you! HaveI no lads?"

Silence. 

"Have I not trained them in the way they should go? Do I fear for them?"A grave silence, and McAlpin glared at Hornby, while an irreverent youth, with a fish dangling from his hands, laughed and muttered:

"Like gorrems!"

"Play a man's part, Jerry McAlpin. 'Tis not for Jerry-Jo you fear; it'smy business you'd get from me, and you know it! Teach that lad of yoursto be decent, as I've trained mine. I have no fear for my boys! I knowwhat I'm talking about, and I tell you now, if my lads were like yoursI'd fling the business over, but I don't see why a decent woman, and hera God-be-praised widow, should lose her living because you can't trainyour brats in the way they should go. But this is mine! If you don'tstand by me and swear to do it here and now, it's not another drink oneof you shall get in my place till after things are settled. "

This was going farther than Mary McAdam had ever gone before. She hadthreatened dire restrictions against them who failed to support her causeshould her cause be won in spite of them; she had even hinted at cashpayments to insure her against want if, possibly, her license wasrevoked, but this shutting down upon human rights before election cameoff was upsetting to the last degree. Hornby looked at McAlpin andMcAlpin dropped his eyes; there was a muttering and a grumbling, and ageneral feeling prevailed that every man should be his own keeper andthe guardian of his own sons, and it would be a bitter wrong against aGod-be-praised widow to let family affairs ruin her business. 

In the end Mary McAdam, with a manly following of stern upholders ofindividual rights and the opportunity for mutual good fellowship, retiredto the bar of the White Fish and, waited upon by Mary herself and her twoexemplary sons, made merry far into the evening. 

Tom and Sandy McAdam, handsome, carefree boys of sixteen and eighteen, passed the drinks with many a jest and often a wink, but never a dropdrank they, not until the Lodge had closed its doors on all visitors, andthen Tom, the elder, with a final leer at Sandy the younger, drained offa glass of bad whisky with a grace that betokened long practice. 

"Hold, there!" cautioned Sandy, filling a glass of beer for himself;"you'll not be able to hide it from the mother, you galoot. "

"Oh, the night's long before the day breaks, and it's yourself as musttake the turn at house chores the morning. "

The following day was cloudy and threatening, and why Mary McAdam shouldtake that time for suggesting that her boys go over to Wyland Island andbuy their winter suits, she herself could not have told. Perhaps, fromthe assurance of last night, she felt freer with money; perhaps shethought the boys could not be spared so well later; be that as it might, she insisted, even against Sandy's remark that "a lad couldn't put hismind to a winter outfit with the sweat rolling down his back, " that theyshould set forth by eleven o'clock. 

"Make a lark of it, " said she generously; "take that scapegoat Jerry-JoMcAlpin with you and have it out with him about being a young beast andworrying the heart out of old Jerry, who means well but ain't got no kindof a headpiece. Take your lunch along and----"

Here she pointed her remarks with a lean, commanding finger: "You takethat sail off the launch! It's quiet enough now, but it ain't going tolast forever, and I couldn't rest with three flighty lads in a boat witha sail _and_ an engine. "

Mrs. McAdam always expected to be obeyed. Her personality was such thatshe generally was; but always, when disobedience followed, it was hiddenfrom her immediate attention, and she was never one to show the weaknessof watching to see her orders carried out. That was why she, of all thepeople in the little village, did not realize that her boys often drankmore than was good for them--always managed, by clever devices, to escapeher eye. 

"A glass of harmless stuff now and again, " she would say with a toss ofher head; "what's that but a proof of the lads' self-control? That's whatI'm a-telling you: make your lads strong and self-respecting. "

Tom did not take the sail from the boat that day, neither did he expectto use it. He furled it close and shipped it carefully, but it was late, and, in the last hurry, he kept his mother's caution in mind, but did notcarry out her command. Then Sandy, when they were about to start, did abold thing. Stealing into the bar, he took a bottle of whisky and abottle of brandy; these he hid under his reefer, and, with a laugh at hisown cunning, put into the empty places on the shelves two partly filledbottles, and ran to the wharf. 

Mary McAdam waved them a farewell from the steps. She had packed thehamper and stowed it under the very sail she had ordered off. In theexcitement of preparation she overlooked it entirely. 

"You, Sandy, see to it that you buy a suit that you won't repent when thewinter nips you!" she called. 

"And you, Tom, get a quiet colour and _no_ checks! When yer last year'ssuit shrank and the squares got crooked ye looked like a damagedchecker-board!"

Jerry-Jo McAlpin from his seat in the stern roared with laughter at this, and just then the sturdy little engine puffed, thudded, and "caught on, "and off went the three with loud words of good-bye. 

The Channel was as smooth as a summer brook, and the launch shot ahead. 

"It's a bit chilly, " Sandy said as they neared the mouth opening atFlying Point into the Little Bay. 

"Put on your storm coat, " cautioned Tom, "and you, too, Jerry-Jo; we'llget the wind when we pass Dreamer's Rock and strike the Big Bay. "

The boys got out their coats and put them on, and then Sandy said:

"See what I've got! Snitched it from under the mother's eye, too!" Heheld up the bottles. Tom laughed, but Jerry-Jo reached out for one. 

"A nip will ward off the cold better than a coat, " he said. 

They all three indulged in this preventive. 

Beyond Dreamer's Rock the wind fulfilled Tom's prophecy; it was not agreat wind, but it was a steady one, and, perhaps, because the whisky hadwarmed Tom's blood too hastily and hotly, he grew reckless. 

"What do you say, fellows, to eating our lunch and then trying sail andengine together? We could beat the record and surprise folks by our timein coming and going. The wind's safe; not a puff! What do you say?"

Jerry-Jo was something of a coward, but by the time he had eaten hislunch and washed it down with more whisky than he had meant to take, hewas ready to handle the sail himself and proceeded to do so. 

Little Bear Island was the last one before the entrance to Big Bay, andwhen the launch passed that, either the wind had changed, or Tom, at theengine and Jerry-Jo at the sail, had lost nerve and head, for the boatbecame unmanageable. Sandy, keeping to the exact middle of the boat, called to Jerry-Jo to lower the sail, but Jerry-Jo did not hear, orfailed to clearly comprehend. The little craft shot ahead like an arrow, but Tom knew that when they went about there would be trouble. They werefully a mile from either rock-bound shore. Wyland Island was a good twomiles before them, and home seven miles to the rear. 

A biggish sea was rolling and the sky was clouding threateningly. Theliquor had done its worst for the boys: it had unnerved them, while atthe same time it had given them a mad courage. 

"Keep straight ahead, " shouted Tom, "until we get near shore, and thenpull in that infernal sail!"

What happened just then Jerry-Jo could never tell, and he alone remainedat the day's end for the telling!

They were in the water, all three of them! For a moment Jerry-Jo, thoroughly sobered and keener witted than he had ever been before in hislife, believed he was the only one of the party ever again to appear inthat angry sea. Then he saw the over-turned boat, heard the last sobbingpants of the engine as it filled with water; then Tom's black head andagonized face appeared; then Sandy's red head. They all made for the boatand the wide sail lying flat in the water!

They reached the launch, chilled and desperate, climbed upon it, andgazed helplessly at each other. Through chattering teeth they tried tospeak, but only a moan escaped Tom's blue lips. The wind was colder; thesun had gone behind a bank of dull storm clouds. After a long whileSandy, looking over the expanse of ugly choppy waves, shuddered andpanted:

"It's going to be dark soon; it can't be more than a half mile to yonderrock--I'm for swimming to it! Once on land we can move about, get ourblood going, and perhaps find a sheltered spot--till--morning!"

Tom looked at his brother vaguely; he was suffering keenly:

"Don't be a fool!" he shuddered. Jerry-Jo, huddled in a wet heap, wassobbing like a baby--gone utterly to pieces. 

Another hideous space of silence followed, then Sandy spoke again:

"I'm going to make the try. I'm dying of cold. It's the only chance forany of us. Here goes!"

And before any one could interfere he made his leap and was in the water, a bobbing speck among the ugly white caps!

"Good God!"

That was all Tom said, but his crazed eyes were upon that strained, uplifted face. Jerry-Jo ceased his moaning and--laughed! It was a foolishcackle, such as a maniac might give, mistaking a death-struggle for a bitof play. 

"He's--a good swimmer!" he gasped, and laughed again. Tom turned, for aninstant, wondering eyes upon him. He may have, in that moment, estimatedhis own chance, his duty to Jerry-Jo, and his determination to be withhis brother. The perplexed gaze lasted but the briefest space of time andthen with:

"All right! here goes!" he was making for Sandy with a strength born ofdespair and madness. 

"Come back!" shrieked Jerry-Jo with the frenzy of one deserted and toocowardly or helpless to follow: "Come back!"

But neither swimmer heard nor heeded. For a moment more the black and thered heads bobbed about, the faces turned toward each other grimly. Evenin that waste and at the bitter last the sense of companionship heldtheir thought. Jerry-Jo, rigid and every sense at last alert in an effortfor self-preservation, saw Sandy smile. It was a wonderful smile: it waslike a flash of sunlight on that black sea; then Sandy's lips moved, butno one was ever to know what he said, and then--Jerry-Jo was alone in thecoming night and the rolling waves!

"They should, " said Mary McAdam, "be home by seven at the latest. Thewind's with them coming back; it was with them part of the way going!"

Anton Farwell sat on the steps of the Lodge, his dogs peacefully lying athis feet. All day, since hearing of the boys' trip, he had been restlessand anxious. Farwell had his bad hours often, but he rarely permittedhimself companionship at such times, but to-day, after his noon meal, hehad been unable to keep away from the Lodge. 

"Fall's setting in early, " Mrs. McAdam went on; "pickerel come; whitefishgo. Beasts and fish and birds ken a lot, Mr. Farwell. "

"They certainly do. The more you live with dumb creatures, the more youare impressed with that. Is that Sandy's dog, Mrs. McAdam?"

A yellow, lank dog came sniffing around the side of the house and laydown, friendly wise, by Farwell. 

"Yes, and he's a cute one. Do you believe me, Mr. Farwell, that thereBounder knows the engine of our boat! Any other boat can come into theChannel and he don't take any notice, but let my boys be out late andBounder, lying asleep on the floor, will start up at the chugging of thelaunch and make for the dock. He never makes a mistake. "

Farwell laughed and bent over to smooth Bounder's back. 

"What time is it?" he asked. 

"Six-thirty, " Mary replied with alarming readiness. "Six-thirty, and theclock's a bit slow at that. "

Farwell felt sure it was a good ten minutes slow; but because of that heturned the conversation. 

"Jerry McAlpin was telling me to-day, " he said in his low, pleasantvoice, "of how he and others used to smuggle liquor over the border. Jerry seems repenting of his past. "

Mary laughed and shrugged her shoulders. 

"My man and Jerry, with old Michael McAlpin, were the freest ofsmugglers. In them days the McAlpins wasn't pestered with feelings; theywas good sports. Jerry marrying that full-breed had it taken out of himsomewhat--she was a hifty one. Them Indians never can get off their highheels--not the full-breeds. But I tell you, Mr. Farwell, and you take itfor truth, when Jerry begins to maudle about repentance, it's just beforea--debauch. I know the signs. "

Just then Bounder raised his head and howled. 

"None of that! Off with yer!" shouted Mary, making for the dog withnervous energy. "Once, " she went on, her lips twitching, "my man andMichael McAlpin had a good one on the officers. They had a big load ofthe stuff on the cart and were coming down the road back of the Far HillPlace when they sensed the custom men in the bushes. What do they do butcut the traces and lick the horses into a run; then they turned thebarrels loose, jumped off, letting them roll down the hill, and they, themselves, made for safety. It was only a bit more trouble to go back ina week's time and gather up the barrels; but those government devilsfollowed the horses like idiots and felt mighty set up when they overtookthem! But when they saw they had _only_ the horses, oh! good Lord!"

Farwell laughed absently; his eyes were fixed on the water. Even in theChannel it had an angry look. The current was set from the Bay, and thestream rose and fell as if it had an ugly secret in its keeping. 

"Mrs. McAdam, " he said suddenly, "I'm going out to--to meet the boys!"

"God save ye, Mr. Farwell--for which?"

When Mary fell into that form of speech she was either troubled orinfuriated. 

"I'm restless; I feel like a fling. Come on, you scamps!" to his dogs, "get home and keep house till I come back. "

His dogs leaped to him and then made for the Green. Without another wordFarwell walked to his launch at the foot of the wharf steps and preparedfor his trip. 

A black wave of fear enveloped Mary McAdam. She was overcome by acertainty of evil, and, when Farwell's boat had disappeared, she strodeto the Green and gave vent to her anxiety. There were those whocomforted, those who jeered, but the men were largely away on fishingbusiness, and the women and boys were more interested in her excitementthan they were in her cause for fear. 

It was eight o'clock and very dark when Doctor Ledyard, driving downfrom Far Hill Place for the mail, paused to listen to Mrs. McAdam'sexpressions of anxiety. Young Dick Travers was beside him, and Mary'swords held him. 

"Was Jerry-Jo with your boys, Mrs. McAdam?" he asked. 

"He was that! And Jerry-Jo always brings ill-luck on a trip. I shouldhave known better than to let the half-breed scamp go. 'Twas pity asmoved me. Jerry-Jo is one as thinks rocking a boat is spirit, and yellingfor help, when no help is needed, a rare joke. The young devil!"

Doctor Ledyard and Dick stayed on after getting the mail. A strange, tense feeling was growing in the place. Mary's terror was contagious. 

"If the men would only come back, " moaned the distracted mother; "I'dsend the lot of them out after the young limbs!"

At eight-thirty the storm broke. A dull, thick storm which had used mostof its fury out beyond Flying Point, and in the breast of the sullen windcame the sound of an engine panting, panting in the darkness that wasshot by flashes of lightning and rent by thunder-claps. Mary McAdam gazedpetrified at Bounder, who had followed her to the Green. 

"Why don't yer yelp?" she muttered, giving the dog a kick. But Bounderblinked indifferently as the coming boat drew near and nearer. 

Every boy, woman, and child, with the old men and lazy young ones, wereat the wharf when the launch emerged from the darkness. Some one wasstanding up guiding the boat, ready to protect it from violent contact;some one was huddled on the floor of the boat--some one who made no cry, did not look up. They two were all! Just then a lurid flash of lightningseemed to photograph the scene forever on the minds of the onlookers. 

Ledyard, with Dick, was close to the boat when it touched the dock. Bythe lurid light of electricity the face of the man in the launch rosesharply against the darkness and for one instant shone as if to attractattention. 

Farwell was known by reputation to the doctor; he had probably been seenby him many times, but certainly his face had never made an impressionupon him before. But now, in the hour of anguish and excitement, it heldLedyard's thought to the exclusion of everything else. 

"Who? where?" The questions ran through his mind and then, because everysense was alert, he knew!

"Jerry-Jo!" Dick was calling, "where are the others?"

It was a mad question, but the boy, huddling in the launch, repliedquiveringly:

"Gone! gone to the bottom off Dreamer's Rock. "

Then he began to whimper piteously. 

A shuddering cry rang out. It was Mary McAdam, who, followed by her dog, ran wildly, apron over head, toward the White Fish Lodge. 

Farwell, casting all reserve aside, worked with Ledyard over theprostrate Jerry-Jo. The recognition was no shock to him; he had alwaysknown Ledyard; had cleverly kept from his notice heretofore, but now theone thing he had hoped to escape was upon him, and he grew strangelyindifferent to what lay before. 

He obeyed every command of the doctor as they sought to restore Jerry-Jo. More than once their eyes met and their hands touched, but the contactdid not cause a tremor in either man. 

When the inevitable arrives a strength accompanies it. Nature rarelydeserts either friend or foe at the critical moment. 

CHAPTER VI

The bay was dragged, various methods being used, but the bodies of Sandyand Tom McAdam were not recovered. Mary McAdam with strained eyes andrigid lips waited at the wharf as each party returned, and when at lasthope died in her poor heart, she set about the doing of two things thatshe felt must be done. 

The behaviour of the boys in the boat on the day of the accident had atlast reached her ears, for, with such excitement prevailing and Jerry-Joreduced to periods of nervous babbling as he repeated again and again thestory, Mary was certain of overhearing the details. As far as possibleshe verified every word. That her sons had disobeyed her about the sailthere could be no doubt, and when she went to the shelf of the bar anddiscovered the half-filled bottles which Sandy had put in the places ofthe brandy and whisky, her heart gave up doubt. She relinquished all thatshe had prided herself upon in the past. They had defied and deceivedher! They had permitted her to be mocked while she prated of hersuperiority! It was bitter hard, but Mary McAdam made no feeble cry--sheprepared for the final act in the little drama. Beyond that she couldnot, would not look. 

"Dig me two graves, " she commanded Big Hornby; "dig them one on eitherside of my husband's. "

"You'll be thinking the bodies will yet be found, poor soul?" Hornby hada tender nature kept human by his hunger for his absent boys. 

"I'm not thinking. I'm doing my part; let others do the same. "

And then Mary went to Anton Farwell. Farwell, since the night of thetragedy, was waiting, always waiting for the inevitable. Every knock athis door brought him panting to his feet. He knew Doctor Ledyard wouldcome; he fervently hoped he would, and soon, but the days dragged on. There were moments when the man had a wild desire to shoulder his bag andset forth under shadow of the night and the excitement, for one of hislong absences, this one, however, to terminate as far from Kenmore aspossible. Once he had even started, but at the edge of the water wherehis boat lay he halted, deterred by the knowledge that his safer courselay in facing what he must face sooner or later. Now that he was known tobe alive it were easier to deal with one man than with the pack ofbloodhounds which that one man might set upon him. Always the personalelement entered in--it was weak hope, but the only one. He might winLedyard; he could not win the pack!

When Mary McAdam knocked on Farwell's door he thought the time had come, but the sight of the distracted mother steadied him. Here was somethingfor him to do, something to carry him away from his lonely forebodings. 

"Come in, Mrs. McAdam. Rest yourself. You look sorely in need of rest. "

It was the early evening of a hot day. It was lighter out of doors thanin the cottage, for the shades were drawn at Farwell's windows; hedisliked the idea of being watched from without. 

"I can't rest, Master Farwell, till I've done my task, " said the poorsoul, sinking into the nearest chair. "And it's to get your help I'vecome. "

"I'll do what I can, " murmured Farwell. "What I'll be permitted to do, "he felt would be more true. 

"I've said more than once, Mr. Farwell, that were my boys like other boysI'd give up the business of the White Fish. Well, my lads were likeothers, only they were keener about deceiving me. I thought I'd made themstrong and sure, but I did the same hurt to my flesh and blood that I didto others. I put evil too close and easy to them. I prided myself on whatI had never done! They'll come back to me no more. Could I have a talkwith them, things might be straightened out; but I must do what is to bedone alone. "

Not a quiver shook the low, severe voice. The very hardness moved Farwellto deep pity. 

"It's now, Mr. Farwell, that I'd have you come to the Lodge and help mewith my task, and when it's over I want you to stand with me beside thosetwo empty graves and say what you can for them who never had the rightmother to teach them. I'm no church woman; the job of priest and ministersickens me, but I know a good man when I see one. You helped the ladswhile they lived; you risked your life to help them home at the last; andit's you who shall consecrate the empty beds where I'd have my lads lieif the power were mine!"

Farwell got up and paced the room restlessly. Suddenly, with Ledyard'srecognition, the poor shell of respectability and self-respect which, during his lonely years, had grown about him, was torn asunder, and hewas what he knew the doctor believed him. To such, Mary McAdam's requestseemed a cruel jest, a taunt to drive him into the open. And yet he knewthat up to the last ditch he must hold to what he had secured forhimself--the trust and friendship of these simple people. Hard anddistasteful as the effort was he dared not turn himself from it. Fullwell he knew that Ledyard's magnifying glass was, unseen, being usedagainst him even now. The delay was probably caused by the doctor'ssilent investigation of his recent life, his daily deeds. He could wellimagine the amusement, contempt, and disbelief that would meet the storyof his poor, blameless years during which he had played with children, worked in his garden, been friends with the common folk, not from anyhigh motive, but to keep himself from insanity! He had had to use anymaterial at hand, and it had brought about certain results that Ledyardwould dissect and toss aside, he would never believe! Still the attemptto live on, as he had lived, must be undertaken. A kind of desperationovercame him. 

What did it matter? He might just as well go on until he was stopped. Hewas no safer, no more comfortable, sitting apart waiting for his summons. He would, as far as in him lay, ignore the menacing thing that hoverednear, and play the part of a man while he might. 

"I'm ready to go with you, Mrs. McAdam, " he said, turning for his hat, "and as we go tell me what you are about to do. "

It was no easy telling. The mere statement of fact was so crude thatFarwell could not, by any possibility, comprehend the dramatic scene hewas soon to witness and partake of. 

"I'm going to keep my word, " Mary McAdam explained. "I'll not be waitingfor the license to be given, or taken away, I'll keep my word. "

It was a still, breathless night, with a moon nearly full, and as Mrs. McAdam, accompanied by Farwell, passed over the Green toward the Lodge, the idlers and loiterers followed after at a respectful distance. Marywas the centre of attraction just then, and Farwell always commandedattention, used as the people were to him. 

"Come on! come on!" called Mary without turning her head. "Bring othersand behold the sight of your lives. Behold a woman keeping her word whenthe need for the keeping is over!"

A growing excitement was rising in Mary's voice; she was nearing the endof her endurance and was becoming reckless. 

By the time the Lodge was reached a goodly crowd was at the steps leadingup to the bar. Jerry McAlpin was there with Jerry-Jo beside him. Hornby, just come from the digging of the two graves, stood nearby with the scentof fresh earth clinging to him. 

Suddenly Mary McAdam came out of the house, her arms filled with bottles, while behind her followed Farwell rolling a cask. 

What occurred then was so surprising and bewildering that those wholooked on were never able to clearly describe the scene. Standing withher load, Mary McAdam spoke fierce, hot words. She showed herself nomercy, asked for no pity. She had dealt in a business that threatened thesouls of men and boys, made harder the lives of women. She had blindedherself and made herself believe that she and hers were better, strongerthan others, and now----

Mary was magnificent in her abandon and despair. Her words flowed freely, her eyes flashed. 

[Illustration: "'And now, ' she cried, 'I'll keep my word to you. Here!here! here!' The bottles went whirling and crashing on the rocks near theroadway"]

"And now, " she cried, "I'll keep my word to you. Here! here! here!"

The bottles went whirling and crashing on the rocks near the roadway. 

"And you, Master Farwell, break open the keg and set the evil thingfree. "

This Farwell proceeded to do with energy born of the hour. "And fetch outall that remains!" shrieked Mary. "Here, you! McAlpin, I'll have none ofyour help! Stay in your place; I'd not trust you inside when all's asfree as it is to-night. You have your lad--heaven help you! Keep him andgive him a clean chance. Nor you, Hornby! Out with you! It's a wickedwaste, is it? Better so than what I suffer. Your lads are above ground, though out of your sight, Hornby, while mine----Here, Master, more! more!let us water the earth. "

The mad scene went on until the last drop of liquor was soaking into theearth or dripping from the rocks. 

White-faced and stern, Farwell carried out the mother's commands andheeded not the muttered discontent or the approach of the horse and buggybearing Doctor Ledyard and Dick Travers. He was one in the drama now andhe played his part. 

At the close a dull silence rested on the group, then Mary McAdam madeher appeal. Her voice broke; her hands trembled. She looked aged andforlorn. 

"And now, " she said; "who'll come to the graveyard with me?"

She need not have asked. To the last child they followed mutely. Theywere overcome by curiosity and fear, and the faces in the dull light ofthe late day and early night looked ghostly. 

As Farwell stood near Mary McAdam by the newly made graves, he raisedhis eyes and found Ledyard's stern, yet amused, ones on his face. Fora moment he quivered, but with the courage of one facing an operation, the outcome of which he could not know, he returned the look steadily. He heard his own voice speaking words of helpfulness, words ofmemory-haunted scenes. He told of Tom's courage and Sandy's sunshinynature. 'Twas youth, he pleaded for them, youth with its blindness andlack of foresight. He recalled the last dread act as Jerry-Jo haddepicted it. The older brother risking all for the younger. Thesmile--Sandy's last bequest--the moving lips that doubtless spoke wordsof affection to the only one who could hear them. Together they hadplayed their pranks, had trod the common path; together theywent--Farwell paused, then returned Ledyard's sneering gazedefiantly, --"To God who alone can understand and judge!" This wasflung out boldly, recklessly. 

With ceremony and the sound of sobbing, the empty graves were refilled, and the strange company turned away. 

Then, alone and spent, Farwell returned to his cottage with a sure sensethat before he slept he would know his fate, for he acknowledged that hisfate lay largely, now, in the hands of the man who no longer had anydoubt of his identity. 

It was half-past eight when the buggy passed Farwell's window bound forthe Hill Place. Young Travers was driving and the seat beside him wasempty! Nine o'clock struck; the lights went out in the village, butFarwell rose and trimmed his lamp carefully. Ten o'clock--all Kenmore, excepting Mary McAdam, slept. Still Farwell waited while his clock tickedout the palpitating seconds. The moonlight flooded the Green. Where washe, that waiting man who was to come and give the blow?

It was nearly eleven when Farwell saw him advancing across the Green. Hehad been down by the water, probably hiding in some anchored boat untilhe was sure that he would not be seen. As he reached the door ofFarwell's house a clear voice called to him:

"Will you come in, or would you prefer to have me come out?"

This took Ledyard rather at a disadvantage. He could hardly have toldwhat he expected, but he certainly did not look for this calm acceptanceof him and his errand. 

"I'll come in. I see you have a light. Thank you"--for Farwell hadoffered a chair near the table--"I hope I'm not disturbing you. "

The irony of this was apparently lost upon Farwell. He sat oppositeLedyard, his arms folded on the table, waiting. 

"So you're alive!"

"So it seems--at least partly so. " Farwell parried the blows as one doeseven when he sees failure at hand. 

"Perhaps you know your death was reported some years ago? There was afull account. You were escaping into Canada. The _La Belle_ was the nameof the boat. It went down near here?"

"Off Bleak Head, " Farwell broke in. 

"Thanks. There was even a picture of you in the papers, " Ledyard said. 

"A very poor one, I recall. " Now that he was on the dissecting table, Farwell found himself strangely calm and collected. He saw that hismanner irritated Ledyard; felt that it might ruin his chances, but heheld to it grimly. 

"So you saw--the papers?" The eyes under the shaggy brows looked ugly. 

"Oh, yes. I had them all sent to me. It was very interesting readingafter I got over the shock of the wreck and had accepted my isolatedposition. "

"I suppose--Boswell keeps in touch with you--damn him!"

"Do you begrudge me--this one friend?"

"Yes. You have put yourself outside the pale of human companionship andfriendships. "

To this Farwell made no rejoinder. Again he waited. 

"What do you think I'm going to do about it, now that I've run you downso unexpectedly?"

"I have supposed you would tell me, once we got together. "

"Well, I've come to tell you!"

Ledyard leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out beforehim. 

"But first I'm going to ask you a few questions. Your answers won'tsignify much one way or the other, but I'm curious. Why did you make sucha fight--just to live? It must have been a devil of a game. "

Farwell leaned against the table and so came nearer to his inquisitor. 

"It was, " he said quietly, "and I wonder if you can understand why it isthat I'm glad to tell--even you about it? I don't expect sympathy, pity, or--even justice, but when a man's been on a desert isle for years it's arelief to speak his own tongue again to any one who can comprehend andwho will listen. "

"I'm prepared to listen, " Ledyard muttered, and shrugged his heavyshoulders; "it will pass the time. "

"After the thing was done, " Farwell plunged in, "the thing I--had todo--I was dazed; I couldn't think clear. I'd been driven by drinkand--and other things into a state bordering on delirium. Afterward, whenthey had me and I was forced to live normally, simply, I began to thinkclearly and suffer. God! how I suffered! I faced death with the horrorthat only an intelligent person can know. I saw no escape. The trial, theverdict, brought me closer and closer to the hideous reality. At firstI thought it could _not_ happen to me--to me! But it could! I sat dayin and day out, looking at the electric chair! That was all I could see:it stood like a symbol of all the torture. I wondered how I wouldapproach it. Would I falter, or go as most poor devils do--steadily? Isaw myself--afterward--all that was left of me to give back to the world. Oh! I suffered, I suffered!"

The white, haggard face held Ledyard's fascinated gaze, but drew no wordfrom him. 

Farwell loosened the neck of his shirt--he was stifling, yet feelingrelief as the past dreams of his lonely life formed themselves intowords. 

"At night I was haunted by visions, " the low, vibrant voice rushed on. "It was worse at night when semi-unconsciousness made me helpless. I'dwake up yelling, not with fright, but pain, actual pain--the hot, knifingpain of an electric current trying to find my heart and brain. 

"Then they said I was mad. Well, so I was; and the fight was on! At firstthere was a gleam--the chair faded from sight. If I lived--there washope; but I was mistaken. You know the rest. The legal struggle, theescapes and captures. One friend and much money did what they could; itwasn't much. 

"You've seen a cat play with a mouse? The mouse always runs, doesn't it?Well, so did I, though I didn't know where in God's world I was running, nor to what. "

For some minutes Farwell had been speaking like a man distraught byfever. He had forgotten the listener across the table; he was remembering_aloud_ at last, with no fear of consequences. He did not look atLedyard, and when he spoke again it was in a calmer tone. 

"It was on the last run--that I was supposed to have drowned. Well, I diddie; at least something in me died. I lost breath, consciousness, andwhen I came to I was a poor, broken thing not worth turning the houndson. I'm done for as far as the past's concerned. I'm a different man--nota reformed one! God knows I never played that rôle. I'm another man. Itook what I could to keep me from insanity. I had to do something tooccupy my time. That's why I've taught these poor little devils; itwasn't for them, it was for me; and when they grew to like me and trustme--I was grateful. Grateful for even that!"

Ledyard was holding the white, drawn face by his merciless eyes. So helooked when a particularly interesting subject lay under his knife and hewas all surgeon--no man. 

"But you're not equal to going back to the States without being hauledthere--and taking your medicine?" he asked calmly. 

"No. I suppose in the final analysis all that justice demands is that Ishould be put out of the way--out of the way of harming others? Well, that's accomplished. I don't suppose your infernal ideas of justice claimthat a man should be hounded beyond death, and every chance for rightliving be barred from him? If a poor devil ever can expatiate his sin andtry to live a decent life, why shouldn't he be given the opportunity hereand now instead of in some mythical place among creatures of one'sfancy?"

"You didn't argue that way when you shot Charles Martin down, did you? Hewas my friend; he had to--take his medicine!" Ledyard almost snarled outthese words. "He may have deserved his punishment for the lapses of hislife--but you were not the one to deal it. His family demand and shouldhave justice for him--I mean to see that they shall. Martin, for all hisfolly was a genius, and gave to the world his toll of service. Why shouldyou, who gave nothing, escape at his expense?"

"Martin was no better, no worse, than I. He and I lived on the same planethen; had the same interests. Had I not killed him, he would have killedme. He swore that. "

"But you took him--at a disadvantage, like the damned----" Ledyardpaused; he was losing his self-control. The calm, living face across thetable enraged him. 

"I met him in the open; I did not know he was unarmed. I drew my pistolin full view. A week before he had done the same; I escaped. No onebelieved that when I told it at the trial. I had no witnesses; he hadmany when I took my revenge. "

"Who could believe you? What was your life compared with his?"

"Exactly. Perhaps that is why I--I kept running. Martin only dipped intosuch lives as mine was then; he always scurried back to respectabilityand honour; I grovelled in the mire and got stuck! When you get stuck youget what the world calls--justice. "

"I recall"--Ledyard's face was hardening--"I recall you always squealed. You were always the wronged one; society was against you. Bah!"

Farwell sat unmoved under this attack. 

"I'm not squealing now, " he said quietly; "I am merely defending myselfas I can. That's the prerogative of any human being, isn't it? Why, seehere, Ledyard, there's one thing men like you never comprehend. On thedifferent stratas of life exactly the same passions, impulses, andemotions exist; it's the way they're dealt with, how they affect people, that makes the difference. Up where you live and breathe they love andhate and take revenge, don't they? That's what happened down where Iwallowed and where Martin sometimes came--to enjoy himself!"

And now Farwell clutched his thin hands on the table to stay theirtrembling as he went on:

"I loved--the woman in the case. That sounds strange to you, but it's theonly thing I warn you not to laugh at! I loved her because she wasbeautiful, fascinating, and as--as bad as I. I knew the poor creature hadnever had half a show. She was born in evil and exploited from the cradleup. Martin knew it, too, and took advantage. She was fair game for himand his money. When he came down to hell to play, he played with her anddefied me. But on my plane it was man against man, you see, and when heflung his plaything aside, she came to me; that's all! She told me how hehad brought her where she was--yes, damn him! when she was innocent! Shepaid her toll then, _not_ for his money--though who would believethat?--but for the chance to be decent and clean. He told her, whenshe was only sixteen, that the one way she could prove her vows to himwas to give herself to him. If she trusted him so far, he could trusther. She trusted, poor child! Two years later he married up on his higherplane--your plane--and laughingly offered a second best place to her. Itwas the only bargain she could make then! The rest was an easy downhillgrade. 

"Well, I took her. I was all you say, but I meant to do the rightthing by her, and she knew it! Yes, she knew it, and later he came backand tried to get her away. After I shot him and went to her with thestory--she told me she'd pull herself together and wait for meuntil--until I came for her. She understood!"

Ledyard moistened his lips and set his jaws harshly. The story had notmoved him to pity. 

"And--where is she now?" he asked. 

"In New York, I suppose. She thinks me dead. "

"Boswell tells you that?"

"Yes. And he will never let her know. Unless I----"

"You expect to go back--some day?"

Farwell gave a dry, mirthless laugh at this, and then replied:

"After I've been dead long enough, when I've been good long enough, perhaps. You know even in a disembodied spirit hope dies hard. Yes--I_had_ hoped to go back. "

"I--I thought so. " Ledyard leaned forward and across the table; his facewas not three feet from Farwell's. 

"I like to trace diseases down to the last germ, " he said. "You're adisease, Farwell Maxwell, a mighty, ugly, dangerous one. You oughtn't tobe alive; you're a menace while you have breath in your body; you shouldhave died years ago in payment of your debt, just as Martin did, but youescaped, and now some one has got to keep an eye on you; see that youdon't skip quarantine. You understand?"

Farwell felt the turning of the screw. 

"I'm going to be the eye, Maxwell. You're going to stay right where youare until you pass off this sphere. Remembering what you once were, yourpastimes and love of luxury, this seems as hellish a place and existenceas even you deserve. When I saw you last night"--and here Ledyardlaughed--"it was all I could do to control myself. You play your partwell; but you always had a knack for theatricals. I know I'm a hard, unforgiving man, but there is just one phase of human nature that I willnot stand for, and that is the refusal to take the medicine prescribedfor the disease. What incentive have people for better living and uprightthinking if every devil of a fellow who gets through his beastiality ispermitted to come up into the ranks and march shoulder to shoulder withthe best? If it's living you want and will lie for, steal for, and begfor--have it; but have it here where the chances are all against your oldself. You'll probably never murder any one here or ruin the women; sogrovel on!"

As he listened Farwell seemed to shrink and age. In that hour herecognized the fact that through all the years of self-imposed exile hehad held to the hope of release in the future: the going back to thatwhich he had once known. But looking at the hard, set face opposite heknew that this hope was futile: he must live forever where he was, or, bydeparting, bring about him the bloodhounds of justice and vengeance. Ledyard had but to whistle, he knew, and again the pursuit would be keen, and in the end--a long blank lay beyond that!

"You will--stay where you are!" Ledyard was saying. 

"Surely. I intend to stay right here. "

Then Farwell laughed and leaned back in his chair. 

CHAPTER VII

Life settled into calm after the storm and subsequent happenings. MaryMcAdam, having done what she felt she must do, grimly set her house inorder and prepared for a new career. The bar, cleansed and altered, became her private apartment. With the courage and endurance of a martyrshe determined to fight her battle out where there would be the leastencouragement or comfort. 

"I'll drink to the dregs, " she said to Mary Terhune, who gave up herprofession to share the solitude and fortunes of the White Fish; "butwhile I'm drinking there's no crime in serving my kind. Come summer I'llopen my doors to tourists and keep the kind of house a woman--and aGod-bepraised widow one at that--should keep. Time was when the bestwould not come to me, the bar being against their liking. Well, the bestmay come now and find peace. "

"'Tis a changed woman you are, Mrs. McAdam. "

"No, just a stricken one, Mary. When I sit by those empty graves back ofthe pasture lot I seem to know that I must do the work of my boys as wellas my own--and the time's short! I'm over sixty. "

"And looking forty, Mrs. McAdam. " The manners of her trade clung to Mrs. Terhune. 

"The shell doesn't count, Mary, if the heart of you is old and worn. "

The people from the Far Hill Place returned early to town that year, andAnton Farwell breathed easier and sunk back into his old life when heknew they were gone. 

In resurrecting the man Farwell once was, Ledyard had all but slain theman he had, perforce, become. 

Whether former characteristics were dead or not, who could tell?But certainly with temptation removed, with the routine of a bleak, uninteresting existence his only choice, Farwell was a harmless creature. Gradually he had found solace in the commonplaces that surroundedhim. Like a person relieved of mortal agony he was grateful forsemi-invalidism. Previous to Ledyard's recognition of him he had sunk toa monotonous indifference, waiting, he realized now, for the time when hemight safely shake off his disguise and slip away to what was once hisown. Now, with his exit from Kenmore barred, he found that he no longercould return to his stupor; he was alert, keen, and restless. In thepast he had often forced himself to exercise in order that he might beready to journey on when the time of release came. His walks to thedistant town, his long hours on the water, had all been preparationsfor the final leave-taking from his living tomb. 

But now that he had no need of lashing himself into action, he foundhimself always on the move. He worked early and late at trifling tasksthat occupied his hands while sharpening his wits. With shades drawn atnight, he drew, with pencil and paper, plans of escape. He must choosea calm spell after a storm; he would take his launch, with a rowboatbehind, to the Fox Portage. He'd set his launch free and shoulder hisboat. Once he reached the Little Bay, he'd take his chances for anoutgoing steamer. He'd have plenty of money and a glib story of a badconnection. It would go. He must defeat Ledyard. 

Then he would tear the sheets of paper in bits, toss them on the coals, and laugh bitterly as he realized that he was imprisoned forever. 

Foolish as all this was, it had its effect upon the man. He played withthe thought as a child might play with a forbidden toy. Then he decidedto test the matter. He would have to buy clothes and provisions for thewinter--he always made a pilgrimage about this time. There would be aletter from Boswell, too. There always was one in September. So on acertain morning Farwell turned the key in his lock and quite naturallyset forth with a sense of exaltation and freedom he had imagined he wouldnever feel again. 

Followed by his dogs, he went to his boat, which happened just then to betied at the ricketty dock of the White Fish. 

"It's off for a tramp you are, maybe?" asked Mrs. McAdam from herdoorway. "God keep you, Mr. Farwell, and bring you back safe and sound. "

At this Farwell paused. 

"I think I'll leave the dogs behind, " he said. "I may wish to hurry back, and a brace of dogs, keen on scents and full of spirits, is a handicap ona journey. "

"Sure I'll feed and care for the two, and welcome, and if their stayingbehind brings you quicker home, 'tis a good piece of work I'm doing forKenmore. "

With this Mary McAdam came down to the boat and looked keenly at Farwell. 

"Are you well?" she asked with a gentleness new and touching. "'Tis paleyou look, and thin, I'm thinking. I'm getting to depend upon you, and thethought of anything happening to you grieves the heart of me. In allKenmore there's no one as I lean on like you. There be nights when I lookout toward your house and see your light a-shining when all else is dark, and say to myself, 'The master and me' over and over, and I'm lesslonely. "

For a moment Farwell could not speak. Once an inward desire to laugh, to scoff, would have driven him to supernatural gravity; now he merelysmiled with grave pleasure, and said:

"A tramp will do me good, Mrs. McAdam. Thank you. I'll take your wordswith me for comfort and cheer. "

The first night Farwell slept beside his fire, not ten miles fromKenmore. He had revelled in his freedom all day, had played like a boy, often retracing his steps, carefully using the same footprints, andlaughing as he imagined the confusion of any one trying to follow him;the vague somebody being always Ledyard. 

After a frugal meal, Farwell smoked his pipe, even attempted a snatch ofrollicking song, then, rolling himself in a blanket, fell into naturaland happy slumber. 

At four he awoke with the creeping sensation of unexplainable fear. Hefirst thought some animal was prowling near, and, raising himself on hiselbow, looked keenly about. The appearance of the fire puzzled him. Itlooked as if fresh wood had been laid upon it, but, as no one was insight he concluded that his own wood had been damp, and, therefore, hadburned slower. 

He did not sleep again, however, and his excited thoughts trailed back tohis past and the one woman who had magically caught and held all the bestthat was in him. To what point of vantage had she, poor, disabled littlesoul, drifted? The world was a hard enough place for a woman, God knew, and for her, with her sudden-born determination to rise above the squalorof her early youth, it would be a serious problem. Boswell told him solittle. He could count on his fingers the few sharp facts his friend hadgiven him with the promise that if conditions changed he should know, butif all remained well, he might be secure in his faith and hope for thefuture. The future! Was there any future for him except Kenmore? And ifshe heard now that he was alive, had only _seemed_ dead for her safetyand his own, would she come to him and share the dun-coloured life of theIn-Place?

She was alive; she was faithful. Boswell was making her comfortable withFarwell's money. She was accepting less and less because she was winningher way to independence in an honourable line. Since no man had enteredher life after Farwell's death was reported, Farwell could readily seewhy. 

Over and over, that first night in the woods, Farwell rehearsed thesefacts for comfort's sake. Suppose he made an escape. Suppose he losthimself in the city's labyrinth--what then?

And then, just at daybreak, a vivid and sharp memory of the woman's facecame to him as he had last seen it pressed against the bars of his cell. Behind the squares of metal it shone like an angel's. Fair, pitiful, wonder-filled eyes, and quivering mouth. All day the picture haunted himand seemed to draw him toward it. He walked twenty miles that day andcame at sunset to a dense jungle where he made his camp and stretchedhimself exhaustedly before the fire. 

Sleep did not come easily to him; he was too excited and nerve worn. Thewhite face checked by iron bars would not fade, and in the red glow ofthe flames it began to look wan and haggard, as if the day had tired itand it could find no rest or comfort. 

The feeling of suffocation Ledyard had managed to create, returned tohim. He grew nervous, ill at ease, and fearful. 

Then he fell to moralizing. He was not often given to that, orintrospection. Longing and alternate hope and despair had been hiscomrades and bedfellows, but he rarely indulged in calm consideration. Smoking his pipe, stretched wearily on the moss, he wondered if men knewhow much they punished while fulfilling their ideals of justice?

"If only the sense of vindictiveness could be left out, " he thought; "theLord knows they have it all in their power once the key is turned on us. I deserved all they meant to inflict, but no human being deserves allthat was given unconsciously. "

Then Farwell relived his life, while the wood crumbled to ashes and themoon came up over the hills. A misguided, misspent boyhood; too muchmoney; too little common sense; then the fling in the open with everyemotion and desire uncurbed. Well, he had to learn his lesson and Godknew he had; but why, in the working of things, shouldn't one be givena chance to prove the well-learned task; an opportunity, while among theliving, to settle the question?

However, such fancies were idle, and Farwell shook the ashes from hispipe and gave a humorous shrug. 

It would be a fine piece of work to slip from the clutches of the pastand make good! This idea caused him to tremble. Surely no one would lookfor him in the camp of the upright. Walking the paths of the clean andsane he would be more surely secure from detection than anywhere else onearth. That was what his past had done for him. The truth of this sankinto the lonely man's soul with sickening finality. And as he realizedit, and compared it with the fact of his youth, he groaned. What aninfernal fool he had been! What fools all such fellows were who, likehim, wasted everything in their determination to make the unreal, real. He did not now desire to be a drivelling repentant; he wanted, God knewhe really wanted, a chance to be decent and live; but in order to live hemust go on acting a part and cringing and hiding. 

These thoughts led nowhere and unfitted him for his journey, so he madethe fire safe, lay down beside it, and slept as many a better man wouldhave given much to sleep. 

At four he awoke as on the previous night. So quietly, however, did heopen his eyes that he took by surprise a man crouching by the fire as ifstealing a bit of warmth. Farwell turned over, and the two eyed eachother with wide, penetrating gaze. 

Tough Pine, the guide, finding himself discovered, grinned sheepishly; hewas loathing himself for being taken off guard, and muttered:

"Me share fire? me helped keep it. "

Farwell raised himself on his elbow, all the light and courage gone fromhis face. It was the old story, the dream of freedom and--the prisonbars!

"Where are you going?" he asked, though he knew full well. 

"Where--you go? There, Pine go! Pine--good friend and good guide. "

They questioned each other no more. Farwell finished his errand in dullfashion, bought his goods, found a letter, long waiting him, read all thepapers he could lay hands on, and then set his face toward Kenmore. Andthat winter he devoted himself as he never had before to the simplepeople who were the means of keeping him sane. 

Upon this newly restricted and devastated horizon Priscilla Glenn loomedlarge and vital. With Nathaniel's loosened rein and Theodora's restoredfaith, the girl developed wonderfully. Farwell made no more objection toher dancing or her flights of fancy. He fiddled for her and fed the flameof her imagination. She was the sunniest creature he had ever known;the bleak life of Lonely Farm had spurred her to greater lengths ofself-defence; nothing could daunt her. She had an absorbing curiosityabout life, out and beyond the Kenmore confines; and more to keep his ownmemory clear than to satisfy Priscilla, Farwell set himself to the taskof educating the girl in ways that would have appalled Nathaniel andreduced Theodora again to tears and apprehension. 

The bare room of the master's house was the stage upon which were set, inturn, the scenes of distant city life. Vicariously Priscilla learned themanners of a "real lady" under the most trying circumstances. Farwelltold her of plays, operas, and, over his deal table, they chatted inbrilliant restaurants. They walked gay streets and stood bewilderedbefore flashing shop windows. It was all dangerous, but fascinating, andin the playing of the game Farwell grew old and drawn, while Priscillagradually came into her Heart's Desire of delight. 

"My Road!" she proudly thought. "My Road!"

The old poem was recalled and was often repeated like a litany, whilelife became more and more vital and thrilling with dull Kenmore as abackground and setting. 

Just about this time Jerry-Jo took to wearing his Sunday suit on weekdays, thus proclaiming his aspirations and awaking the ribald jests ofhis particular set. 

Mary Terhune, now partner of Mrs. McAdam, took note of Jerry-Jo'sappearance, and, on a certain afternoon in midwinter, when she, LongJean, and Mary McAdam sat by the range in the White Fish kitchen, fanneda lively bit of gossip into flame. 

"Trade's a bit poor these days, eh, Jean?"

Jean grunted over her cup of green tea. 

"Not so many children born as once was, eh? What you make of it, Jean--the woman getting heady or--which?"

Mary McAdam broke in. 

"What with poverty and the terrors of losing them, there's enough born tomy thinking. Time was when the young 'uns happened; they're thought moreon, these days. Women _should_ have a say. If there's one thing a manshould keep his tongue off it's this matter of families!"

To this outrageous sentiment the listeners replied merely by two audiblegulps of tea, and then Mary Terhune found grace to remark:

"You certainly do talk most wonderful things, Mary McAdam. You be anornament to your sex, but only such women as you can grip them audaciousideas. Let them be sowed broadcast and----"

"Where would me, and such as me, be?" Long Jean muttered, defending herprofession. 

Mrs. Terhune tactfully turned the conversation:

"Have you noticed the change in Jerry-Jo McAlpin?" she asked with amysterious shake of her head. 

"Any change for the better would be welcome, " Mrs. McAdam retorted. "Haveanother cup, Jean? Strong or weak?"

"Strong. I says often, says I, that unless tea curls your tongue youmight just as well take water. When I'm on duty I keep a pot on the backof the stove week in and week out; it do brace me powerful. "

Mrs. McAdam poured the tea into the outstretched cup and proceeded todiscuss Jerry-Jo. 

"Why doesn't the scamp go to the States and find himself instead ofworrying old Jerry's very life out of him--the vampire!"

"He may have it in his mind, " soothed Mary Terhune, "but the lad's deepand far seeing like his Injun mother--beg pardon, Jean, the term's acompliment, God save me!"

"You've saved your face, Mrs. Terhune. Go on!"

Jean had begun to resent, but the explanation mollified her. 

"More tea, " she said quietly, "and you might stir the dregs a mite, Mrs. McAdam; it's plain sinful to let the strength go to waste. "

"If I was Theodora Glenn, " Mary Terhune went on, monotonously stirringthe cold liquid in her cup, "I'd have my eye on that girl of hers. "

And now the ingredients were prepared for the mixing!

"What's Priscilla Glenn got to do with Jerry-Jo McAlpin?" Mrs. McAdamasked sharply, fixing her little ferret eyes on the speaker. 

Long Jean bridled again and interjected:

"And for why not? Young folks is young folks, and there ain't too manyboys for the gels. What with the States and the toll to death, the gelscan't be too particular, not casting my flings at Jerry-Jo, either. He'sa handsome lad and will get a footing some day. Glenn's girl ain't nonetoo good for him; he'd bring her to her senses. All that dancing andfiddle-scraping at Master Farwell's is not to my liking. The goings-onare evil-looking to my mind. The girl always was a parcel ofwhim-whams--made up of odds and ends, as it was, of her fore-runners. What _all_ the children of the Glenns might have been--Priscilla is!"

"So Jerry-Jo's fixed his bold eyes on the girl?" asked Mary McAdam. "Itbodes no good for her. She's a sunny creature and mighty taking in herways. I wish her no ill, and I hate to think of Jerry-Jo shadowing herlife till she forgets to dance and sing. For my part, I wish the masterwere twenty-five years younger and could play for the lass to dance tothe end of their days. "

"And a poor outlook for me!" grumbled Jean humorously. "Another cup ofthe tea, Mary Terhune, and make it stronger. I begin to feel the bitterin my toes. "

And while this talk and more like it was permeating Kenmore, Jerry-Jo, adorned and uncomfortable, did his own thinking and planned his own plansafter the manner of his mixed inheritance. He could not settle to anytask or give heed to any temptation from the States until he had madePriscilla secure. The girl's age in no wise daunted McAlpin. His eighteenyears were all that were to be considered; he knew what he wanted, whathe meant to have. He could wait, he could bide the fulfillment of hishopes, but one big, compelling subject at a time was all he could master. 

He secretly and furiously objected to the dancing and visits in Farwell'scottage. He was ashamed to voice this feeling, for Farwell was his friendand had taught him all he knew, but Farwell's age did not in the leastblind Jerry-Jo to the fact that he was a man, and he did not enjoy seeingPriscilla so free and easy with any other of the male sex, be he ancientenough to topple into the grave. 

"She'll dance for me--for me!" the young fellow ground his teeth. "I'llmake her forget to prance and grin unless she does it for me. Themaster's just training her away from me and putting notions in her head. I'll take her to the States--maybe her dancing will help us both there. I don't mean to drudge as Jamsie Hornby does! Better things for me!"

Sex attraction swayed Jerry-Jo madly in those days and he thought itlove, as many a better man had done before him. The blood of his mothercontrolled him largely and he wished that he might carry the girl off tohis wigwam, and, at his leisure, with beads and blankets, or other lesstangible methods, win her and conquer her. But present conditions heldthe boy in check and compelled him to adopt more modern tactics. Hestole, when he couldn't beg, from his poor father all the money Jerrywrenched from an occasional day's work. With this he bought books forPriscilla, vaguely realizing that these would most interest her, but hisselection often made her laugh. Piqued by her indifference, Jerry-Joplotted a thing that led, later, to tragic results. Remembering thefavour Priscilla had long ago shown for the book from Far Hill Place, hedecided to utilize the taste of the absent owner, and the owner himself, for his own ends, not realizing that Priscilla had never connected thecripple Jerry-Jo had described, with the musician of the magic summerafternoon that had set her life in new currents. 

It was an easy matter to enter the Far Hill Place, and, where one wasnot troubled with conscience, a simple thing to select at random, butwith economy, books from the well-filled shelves. These gifts presentlyfound their way to Priscilla, cunningly disguised as mail packages. Inadvertently the very book Priscilla had once cried over came to her andtouched her strangely. 

"Why should he send me these--send me this?" she asked Jerry-Jo, who hadbrought the package to her. 

"He always wanted you to have it. I told you that; he remembers, Isuppose, and wants you to have it. He said it was more yours than his. "To test her Jerry-Jo was hiding behind Travers. 

"I'd walk a hundred miles over the rock on bare feet to thank him, " thegirl replied, her big eyes shining. And with the words there entered intoJerry-Jo's distorted imagination a concrete and lasting jealousy of poorDick Travers, who was innocent of any actual memory of Priscilla Glenn. Travers at that time was studying as few college men do, always with thespur of lost years and a big ambition lashing him on. 

During that winter the stolen books from the Far Hill Place causedPriscilla much wonderment and some little embarrassment. She had to keepthem secret owing to her father's sentiment, and, for some reason, shedid not confide in Farwell. This new and unexpected interest in her lifewas so foreign to anything with which the master had to do that she feltno inclination to share it. 

"But I cannot understand, " she often said to Jerry-Jo. "I'd like to writeto him. Do you think you could find out for me where he is? That heshould even remember me! I would not have him think me so ungrateful asI must seem. "

She and Jerry-Jo were in the path leading to Lonely Farm from Kenmore asshe spoke, and suddenly something the young fellow said brought her to asharp standstill. 

"Oh! I suppose, after your cutting up in the woods that day he wants tomake you remember him. "

This was an outburst that Jerry-Jo permitted himself without forethought. He was using Travers as an old tribeman might have used torture, to testhis own bravery and endurance, but the effect upon Priscilla was sostartling and unexpected that he fell back bewildered. 

"In--the--the--woods?" she gasped. 

"Sure. That time your father drove you home. "

For a full moment Priscilla stared helplessly, then she began to seelight. 

"Do you mean, " she gasped, "that he who made me dance--was the boy of theHill Place?"

"As if you did not know it!" Jerry-Jo grunted. 

"But Jerry-Jo you said he--that boy was a poor, twisted thing, ugly pastall belief, while he who played and laughed that day was like an angel oflight just showing me the way to heaven!"

And now Jerry-Jo's dark face was not pleasant to look upon. 

"Can't a twisted thing become straight?" he muttered; "can't a devil traphimself out like an--an angel?"

"Oh! Jerry-Jo, he who played for me in the woods could never have beenevil. Why, all his life he had been making himself into something bigand fine. He put into words the things I had always thought and dreamedabout--an ideal was what he called it! And to think I never knew! And heremembered and wanted to be kind! I shall worship him now while I live. And when he comes back to the Hill Place I will go and thank him, evenif my father should kill me. I shall never be happy until I can explain. What a stupid he must think me!"

After that the secret became the sacredest thing in Priscilla's life andthe most tormenting in Jerry-Jo's. They were both at ages when such anoccurrence would appeal to a girl's sentimentality and a young man'shatred. 

The family did not return to the Hill Place for many summers, and onlyonce during the following years did Priscilla's name pass Travers'slips. 

Apropos of something they were talking about he said to Helen Travers: "Iwonder what has become of that little dancing dervish up in Canada? Shewasn't plain, ordinary stuff, but I suppose she'll be knocked into shape. Maybe that half-breed, Jerry-Jo, will get her when she's been reduced tohis level. There are not girls enough to go around up there, I fancy. That little thing, though, was too spiritual to be crushed andremodelled. As she danced that day, her scarlet cape flying out in thebreeze, she looked like a living flame darting up from the red rock. And those awful words she uttered--poor little pagan! Jerry-Jo toldme afterward what the lure of the States meant: it's a provincialexpression. Mother, if the lure should ever control that girl of LonelyFarm I wish we might greet her, for safety's sake. "

But it was not likely that either of the Traverses for a moment conceivedof the reality of Priscilla leaving the In-Place, and in time even thememory of her became blurred to Dick by the eternal verities of hisstrenuous young life. 

Gradually his lameness disappeared until a slight hesitation at times wasall that remained. Five years of college, two abroad--one with Helen, onewith Doctor Ledyard--and then Richard Thornton Travers (Helen had, whenhe went to college, insisted for the first time upon the middle name)hung out his modest sign--it looked brazenly glaring to him--under thatof Thomas R. Ledyard, and nervously awaited the first call upon him. Hewas twenty-five when he started life, and Priscilla Glenn, back inforgotten Kenmore, was nearing nineteen, with Jerry-Jo in hot pursuitbehind her. As to Anton Farwell, there was no doubt about his age now. Not even the very old called him young, and there was a pathos about himthat attracted the attention of those with whom he had lived so long. 

"He looks haunted, " Mary Terhune ventured; "he starts at times when onespeaks sudden, real pitiful like. The look of his eyes, too, has thequeer flash of them as sees forward as well as back. Do you mind, Mrs. McAdam, how 'tis said that them as comes nigh to drowning have a glimpseon before as well as the picture of all that has past?"

"I've heard the same, " nodded Mary McAdam. 

"Belike the master remembers and often looks to the end of his journey. Well, he's been a good harmless sort, as men go. He's kept the childrenout of trouble far more than one could expect, and he's been a mercifulcreature to humans and beasts. I wonder what he had in his life before hewashed up from the _La Belle_?"

All this seemed to end the discussion. 

Mary McAdam was an important personage about that time. The White FishLodge had become famous. Without bar or special privilege of any sort, the house was patronized by the best class of tourist. Mary was a bornproprietress, and, while she extracted the last penny due her, alwaysgave full value in return. She and Mary Terhune did the cooking; a bevyof clean, young Indian girls from Wyland Island served as waitresses andmaids, their quaint, keen reserve was charming, and no better publichouse could have been found on the Little or Big Bay. 

Priscilla drifted to the Lodge as naturally as a flower turns to the sun. The easy-going people, the laughter and merriment appealed strongly toher, and again did she cause Jerry-Jo serious displeasure and arouse herfather's lurking suspicions. 

"Watch her! watch her!" was his warning, and Theodora returned to herfears and tears. 

CHAPTER VIII

Anton Farwell had, little by little, accepted the fate of those who, deprived of many blessings, learn to depend on a few. As the remainingsenses are sharpened by the loss of one, so in this man's life thecramping process, begun by his own wrongdoing, and prolonged andcompleted by other conditions, had the effect of focussing all his poweron the atoms that went to the making up of the daily record of his days. Had he kept a diary it would have been interesting from its very lack oflarge interest. And yet, with all this narrowing down, a certain finenessand purpose evolved that were both touching and inspiring. He nevercomplained, not even to himself. After recognizing the power whichLedyard held in his life, he relinquished the one hope that had held himto the past. Then, for a year or two, the light of the doctor's contempt, which had been turned on him, took the zest from the small efforts he hadmade for better living and caused him to distrust himself. He saw himselfwhat he knew Ledyard thought him--a mean, cowardly creature, and yet, inhis better moments, he knew this was not so. 

"Men have made friends of mice and insects in prison, " he argued; "theyhave kept their reason by so doing; why, in heaven's name, shouldn't Iplay with these people here and make life possible?"

But try as he might he found his courage failing, and more and more hedwelt apart and clung to the few--Priscilla Glenn, Mary McAdam, and oldJerry McAlpin--who regarded him in the light of a priest to whom theymight confess freely. 

Then one of Farwell's dogs died and he was genuinely anxious at theeffect this had upon him. 

"So this is what I've come to!" he muttered as he buried the poor brute, while the tears fell from his eyes and the other dog whined dolorouslybeside him--"broken hearted over--a mongrel!" But he got another dog!

For a time Farwell vigorously set himself against depending uponPriscilla Glenn as a support in his narrowing sphere. Many thingsthreatened such a friendship--Nathaniel, Jerry-Jo, and the girlherself--for Priscilla, during the first years of Nathaniel's relaxedseverity, was like a bee sipping every flower, and Farwell was not atall confident that anything he had to give would hold even her passinginterest for long. Then, too, like a many-wounded creature, he dreadeda new danger, even though for a moment it gave promise of comfort. Butfinally Priscilla got her bearings and more and more brought all herpowers to bear upon one ambition. 

The childish madness that prompted her to run away from anything thathurt or angered her, gradually disappeared, and in its place came a staiddetermination to seek her fortunes, soon, in some place distant fromKenmore. 

The tourists opened a new vista to her, but many of them, with stupidignorance, mistook her position and traditions. She was offeredoccupations as cook, maid, or laundress. She had sense of humour enoughto laugh at these, and often wished she dared repeat them for herfather's edification. 

"The daughter of the King of Lonely Farm, " she said to Farwell one daywith her mocking smile and comical courtesy "is bidden to the service ofMrs. Flighty High as skivvy. If this comes to the king's ears, 'twillmean the head of Mrs. Flighty High!"

Farwell joined her in her amusement and felt the charm of her comingwomanhood. 

"But there is one up at the Lodge, " Priscilla went on more gravely, "whois not such a wild fool. She has a sick baby, and for two nights she andI have watched and tended together. She says I have the touch and natureof the true nurse and she has told me how in the States, and England, too, they train young girls in this work. She says we Canadians are ingreat demand, and the calling is a wonderful one, Master Farwell. "

This interested Anton Farwell a good deal and he and Priscilla discussedit often after the woman who had just broached it had departed. It seemedsuch a normal, natural opening for Priscilla if the time really came forher to go away. The doubt that she would eventually go was slight inFarwell's heart. He, keener than others, saw the closing-in ofconditions. He was not blind to Jerry-Jo's primitive attempts to attractthe girl's attention, but he was not deceived. When the moment came thatPriscilla recognized the half-breed's real thought, Farwell knew herquick impulse would, as of old, be to fly away. She was like a wild bird, he often pondered; she would give to great lengths, flutter close, andlove tenderly, but no restraining or harsh touch could do aught but sether to flight. 

At twenty-three Jerry-Jo surlily and passionately came to the conclusionthat he must in some way capture his prize. Other youths were wearinggaudy ties and imperilling their Sunday bests; he was letting precioustime slip. Then, too, by Farwell's advice, old Jerry was growing rigidalong financial lines, and at last the _States_ took definite shape inJerry-Jo's mind, but he meant to have Priscilla before he heeded thelure. With all his brazen conceit and daring he intuitively knew thatthe girl had never thought of him as he thought of her, and he dared notawaken her by legitimate means. Quite in keeping with his unrestrainednature, he plotted, indirectly, to secure what otherwise might escapehim. Fully realizing Nathaniel's attitude toward his daughter, countinghis distorted conceptions and foolish pride, Jerry-Jo began to constructan obstacle that would shut Priscilla from her father's protection andcause her to accept what others had to offer--others, being always andever, himself!

Once Lonely Farm was closed to the girl, other houses in the serenelymoral In-Place would inevitably slam their doors. The cunning of thehalf-breed was diabolic in its sureness. Anton Farwell could not assumeresponsibility for Priscilla if all Kenmore turned its back on her, andin that hour the girl would, of course, come running or crawling--neverdancing--to him, Jerry-Jo!

It was all for her own good, the evil fellow thought. 

"I'll be kind to her when I get her. I'm only playing her with the hookin her mouth. "

But Jerry-Jo was scheming without considering the Lure, which never waslong absent from Priscilla's mind at that time. 

One early September afternoon Priscilla presented herself at Farwell'scabin in so startling a manner that she roused the man as nothingpreviously in his association with her had ever done. 

He was sitting at the west window of his living-room, his back toward thedoor leading to the Green. For a wonder, what he was reading had absorbedhim, and he was far and away from the In-Place. He had taken to fine, oldliterature lately and had found, to his delight, that his mind wascapable of appreciating it. 

 "Wisdom, slow product of laborious years, The only fruit that life's cold winter bears, Thy sacred seeds in vain in youth we lay, By the fierce storm of passion torn away; Should some remain in rich, gen'rous soil, They long lie hid, and must be raised with toil; Faintly they struggle with inclement skies, No sooner born than the poor planter dies. "

With such word-comfort did Farwell dig, from other's experiences, crudeguidings for himself! And at that moment a stir outside the open doorcaused him to turn and confront what, in the excited moment, seemed anapparition from the past, which, for him, was sealed and barred. 

"Good Lord!" he ejaculated under his breath and started to his feet. Avisitor from the Lodge apparently had descended upon him. 

"I beg pardon, " he said aloud, and then a laugh, familiar and ringing, brought the colour to his pale, thin face. 

The girl came in, threw back the veil from her merry face, and confrontedFarwell. 

"Miss Priscilla Glenn, sir! Behold her in the battered finery of theplace she is going to--to grace some day!"

Then Priscilla wheeled about lightly and displayed her gown to Farwell'sastonished eyes. 

"Cast-offs, " she explained; "the Honourable Mrs. Jones from the Statesleft them with Mrs. McAlpin for the poor. Just imagine the 'poor'glinting around in this gay silk gown all frayed at the hem and in holesunder the arms! The hat and veil, too, go with the smart frock; likewisethe scarf of rainbow colours. But, oh! Mr. Farwell, how do I look as areal lady in my damaged outfit?"

Farwell stared without speaking. He had grown so used to the change inthe girl since the time when he had prevailed upon Glenn to loosen therein upon her, that the even stream of their intercourse had beenunruffled. He had passed from teacher to friendly guide, from guide togood comrade; but here he was suddenly confronting her--man to woman!

All his misfortune and limitations had but erected a shield of age abouthim beneath which smouldered dangerously, but unconsciously, all theforbidden and denied passions and sentiments of a male creature of earlymiddle life. 

In thinking afterward of the shock Priscilla gave him, Farwell was alwaysglad to remember that his first thought was for her, her danger, herneed. 

"I declare!" he exclaimed. "I did not know you, Priscilla Glenn. "

His tone had a new ring in it, a vibration of defence--the astonishedmale on guard against the attack of a subtle force whose power he couldnot estimate. 

"And no wonder. I did not know myself when I first saw myself. Do youknow, Mr. Farwell, I never thought about my--my face, much, but it isreally a--very nice face, isn't it? As faces go, I mean?"

"Yes, " Farwell returned, looking at her critically and speaking slowly. "Yes, you are very--beautiful. I had not thought of it before, either. "

"Drop me down, now, in the States, Mr. Farwell, and I fancy that with mylooks and my dancing I might--well, go! What do you think?"

She was preening herself before a small mirror and did not notice theelderly man, who, under her fascination, was being transformed. 

"You're a regular Frankenstein, " he muttered, while the consciousnessof the blue eyes in the dusky skin, the long slenderness of her body, and the hue of her strange hair grew upon him. "Do you know what aFrankenstein is?"

"No. " And now Priscilla, weary of her play and self-contemplation, turnedabout and took a chair opposite Farwell. "Tell me. "

So he told her, but she shook her head. 

"You've only helped me to find myself; you did not make me, " she saidwith a little sigh. "Oh, Mr. Farwell, I do--much thinking up at LonelyFarm. The winters are long, and the nights, too. You know there is aqueer little plant beside the spring at the foot of our garden; it hasroots long enough and thick enough for a thing twice its size. It grewstrong and sure underground before it ventured up. It blossomed lastsummer; an odd flower it had. I think I am like that. You've taught meto--well, know myself. I shall not shame you, Master Farwell. You know weof the lonesome In-Place make friends with strange objects; everything innature talks to us, if we will but listen. You have taught me to listen, too. Back a piece in the woods are a strong young hemlock and a littlewhite birch. For years I have watched and tended them. When I was a smallgirl I likened the hemlock to you, sir, and there was I, leaning andhuddling close to you, like the ghostly stripling of the woods. Well, Inoticed to-day, Mr. Farwell, the birch stands quite securely; it doesn'tbend for support on the hemlock, but it is standing friendly all thesame. I think"--and here Priscilla clasped her hands close andoutstretched them--"I think I am soon going away!"

Her eyes were tear-dimmed, her face very earnest. 

"I wish--you would give up the childish folly, Priscilla. " A fear rosein Farwell's eyes. "What could you, such an one as you have become, doout--in the States? It is madness--sheer, brutal madness. "

Priscilla shook her head. 

"You think it childish folly? Why, I have never lost sight of it for aday. You have not understood me if you have imagined that. I have alwaysknown I must go. Lately I have felt the nearness of the going, and it isthe _how_ to break away and begin that puzzle me. I am ready. "

"Priscilla, you are a wild child still, playing with dangerous tools. You cannot comprehend the trouble into which you are willing, in yourblindness, to plunge. Why, you are a--a woman; a beautiful one! Do youknow what the world does with such, unless they are guarded andprotected?"

"What does it do?" The true eyes held Farwell commandingly, and with asense of dismay he looked back at the only world he really knew: theworld of his own ungoverned passions and selfishness. A kind of shamecame over him, and he felt he was no safe guide. There were worlds andworlds! He had sold his birthright; this woman, bent upon finding hers, might inherit a fairer kingdom. 

"What does it do, Master Farwell?"

"I do not know. It depends upon--you. It is like a great quarry--I haveread somewhere something like this--we must all mould and chisel ourcharacters; some of us crush them and chip them. It isn't always theworld's fault. God help us!"

Priscilla looked at him with large, shining eyes and the maternal in herrose to the call of his sad recognition of failure where she was to gowith such brave courage. 

"Do not fear for me, " she said gently; "'twould be a poor return if Ifailed, after all you have done for me. "

"I--what have I done?"

"Everything. Have you ever thought what sort I would have been had LonelyFarm been my only training?" she smiled faintly, and her girlish face, inthe setting of the faded hat and soiled veil, struck Farwell again by itschange, which now seemed to have settled into permanency. Of course itwas only the ridiculous fashion of the world he once knew, but he couldnot free himself of the fancy that Priscilla was more her real self inthe shabby trappings than she had ever been in the absurd costumes of theIn-Place. 

With the acceptance of the fact that the girl really meant to get awayand at once, a wave of dreariness swept over him. He thought of the timeon ahead when his last vital interest would be taken from him. Then hearoused from his stupor and brought his mind to bear upon the inevitable;the here and now. 

"It's a big drop in your ambition, Priscilla, " he said; "you used tothink you could dance your way to your throne. "

"There is no throne now, Master Farwell. I'm just thinking all the timeof My Road. "

"But there's the Heart's Desire at the end, you know. "

"Yes; but I do not think I would want it to be a throne. "

"What then?"

"Oh! love--my own life--the giving and giving just where I long to give. It's splendid to tramp along your road, if it _is_ your road, and bejolly and friendly with those you care for. It will all be so differentfrom Kenmore, where one has to take what one must. "

"I wonder how Jerry-Jo will feel about all this?"

"Jerry-Jo! And what right has he to think at all--about me?"

The girl's eyes flashed with mischief and daring. 

"Jerry-Jo!" she laughed with amusement. "Just big, Indian-boy Jerry-Jo!We've played together and quarrelled together, but you're all wrong, Master Farwell, if you think he cares about me! He knows better thanthat--far, far, better. "

But even as she spoke the light and fun left her eyes. She looked older, more thoughtful. 

"Isn't it queer?" she said after a pause. 

"What, Priscilla?"

"Oh, life and people and the things that go to their making? You're quitewrong about Jerry-Jo. I'm sure you're wrong. "

Then suddenly she sprang up. 

"I must go, " she said abruptly; "go and exchange these rags for my ownplain things. I only wanted to surprise you, sir; and how deadly seriouswe have grown. "

She passed out of the cottage without a word more. Farwell watched heracross the Green and up to the Lodge. He was disturbed and restless. Theold fever of escape overcame him. With the thought of Priscilla's flightinto the open, he strained against the trap that Ledyard had caught himin. The guide who, he knew, never permitted him to escape his vigilance, became a new and alarming obstacle, and Farwell set his teeth grimly. Then he muttered:

"Curse him! curse him!" and an emotion which he had believed was longsince dead rose hotly in his consciousness. Before the dread spectre, suddenly imbued with vitality, Farwell reeled and covered his face. Murder was in his heart--the old madness of desire to wipe out, by anymeans, that which barred his way to what he wanted. 

"My God!" he moaned; "my God! I--I thought I--was master. I thought itwas dead in me. "

Farwell ate no evening meal that night. Early he closed and locked hisouter door, drew the dark green shades, and lighted his lamp. His handswere clammy and cold, and he could not blot out with book or violin thehorror of Charles Martin's face as it looked up at him that night so longago. Way on toward morning Farwell paced his room trying to forget, buthe could not. 

But Priscilla, after leaving Farwell, dressed again in her plainserviceable gown and hat, had made her way toward the farm. Her happy, light-hearted mood was past; she felt unaccountably gloomy, and as shewalked on she sought to explain herself to herself, and presentlyJerry-Jo came into focus and would not stir from her contemplation. Yes, it was Jerry-Jo's personality that disturbed her, and it was Farwell'swords that had torn the shield she herself had erected, and set the truthfree. Yes, she had played with Jerry-Jo; she had tested her coquetry andcharm upon him for lack of better material. In her outbreaks of youthfulspirits she had claimed him as prey because the others of his sex wereless desirable. Jerry-Jo had that subtle, physical attraction thatresponded to her youthful allurements, but the young fellow himself, taken seriously, repelled her, and Farwell had taken Jerry-Jo seriously!

That was it! She was no longer a child. She was a woman and must rememberit. Undoubtedly Jerry-Jo himself had never given the matter a moment'sdeep thought. Well, she must take care that he never did. Jerry-Jo inearnest would be unbearable. 

And then, just as she reached the pasture bars separating her father'sfarm from the red rock highway, Jerry-Jo McAlpin strode in sight from thewood path into which the highway ran. She waited for him and gave him anervous smile as he came near. His first words startled her out of herdull mood. 

"I've been up to the Hill Place. Him and her's there for a few days. "

"Him and her!" Priscilla repeated, her face flushing. "Oh, him and her!"

"Sure!" McAlpin was holding her with a hard, fixed gaze. 

In the mesh that was closing about Priscilla, strangely enough nameswere always largely eliminated. They might have altered her course lateron, might have held her to the past, but Kenmore dealt briefly withpersonalities and visualized whatever it could. The name Travers hadrarely, if ever, been spoken in Priscilla's presence. "The Hill Placefolks" was the title found sufficient for general use. 

"And I was remembering, " Jerry-Jo went on, "how once you said you wantedto thank him for--for the books. We might take the canoe, come to-morrow, and the day is fine, and pay a visit. "

Still Priscilla did not notice the gleam in McAlpin's keen eyes. 

"Oh! if I only dared, Jerry-Jo! What an adventure it would be, to besure. And how good of you to think of it. "

"What hinders?"

"Father would never forgive me!"

"And are you always to be at the beck and whistle of your father even inyour pleasures?"

Priscilla was in just the attitude of mind to receive this suggestionwith appreciation. 

"There's no reason why I shouldn't go if I want to, " she said with anuplift of her head. 

"And--don't you want to?" Jerry-Jo's eyes were taking in the lovelinessof the raised face as the setting sun fell upon it. 

"Yes, I do want to! I'll go, Jerry-Jo. "

Then McAlpin came close to her and said in a low voice:

"Priscilla, give us a kiss for pay. "

So taken out of herself was the girl, so overpowered by the excitementof adventure, that before she realized her part in the small drama ofpassionate youth, she gave a mocking laugh and twisted her lips saucily. 

Jerry-Jo had her in his arms on the instant, and the hot kiss he pressedon her mouth roused her to fury. 

"If you ever touch me again, " she whispered, struggling into freedom, "I'll hate you to the last day of my life!"

So had she spoken to her father years ago; so would she always speak whenher reservations were threatened. "I declare I am afraid to go with youto-morrow. "

McAlpin fell back in shamed contrition. 

"You need not be afraid, " he muttered. "I reckon I was biddingyou--good-bye. Him and me is different. Once you see him and he sees you, it's good-bye to Jerry-Jo McAlpin. "

Something in the words and tone of humility brought Priscilla, with abound, back to a kindlier mood. After all, it was a tribute that McAlpinwas paying her. She must hold him in check, that was all. 

They parted with no great change. There had been a flurry, but it hadserved to clear the atmosphere--for her at least. 

But Nathaniel, that evening in the kitchen, managed to arouse in the girlthe one state of mind needed to drive her on her course. 

"What was the meaning of that scuffling by the bars a time back?" heasked, eyeing Priscilla with the old look of suspicious antagonism. Everynerve in the girl's body twitched with resentment and her spirit flaredforth. She shielded herself behind the one flimsy subterfuge that Glenncould never understand or tolerate. 

"A kiss you mean. What's a kiss? You call that a scuffle?"

Theodora, who was washing the tea dishes while Priscilla wiped them, tookher usual course and began to cry dispiritedly and forlornly. 

"What's between you and--McAlpin?" Nathaniel asked, scowling darkly. 

"Between us? What need for anything between us?"

Priscilla ceased smiling and looked defiant. 

"Maybe you better marry that half-breed and have done with it. "

"It's more like--would _he_ marry me?"

This was unfortunate. 

"And why not?" Nathaniel shook the ashes from his pipe angrily. "A littlemore such performance as I saw to-day and no decent man will marry you!As for Jerry-Jo, he'll marry you if I say so! You foul my nest, miss, andout you go!"

"Husband! husband!" And with this Theodora dropped a cup, one of Glenn'smother's cups, and somehow this added fire to his fury. 

"And when the time comes, wife, you make your choice: Go with her, whoyou have trained into what she is, or stay with me who has been defied inhis own home, by them nearest and closest to him. "

Priscilla breathed fast and hard. The tangible wall of misunderstandingbetween her and her father stifled her to-night as it never had before. Again she realized the finality of something--the breaking of the oldties, the helpless sense of groping for what lay hidden, but none theless real, just on before. 

CHAPTER IX

The next day was gloriously clear and threateningly warm. Such days donot come to Kenmore in September except to lure the unheeding to acts offolly. And at two o'clock in the afternoon Priscilla, from the kitchendoor, saw Jerry-Jo paddling his canoe in still, Indian fashion aroundLone Tree Island. Theodora was off erranding, and Nathaniel, as far ashuman knowledge went, was in some distant field; he had started offdirectly after dinner. Priscilla was ready for her adventure. With thenatural desire of youth, she had decked herself out in her modestfinery--a stiffly starched white gown of a cheap but pretty design, afluff of soft lace at throat and wrist, and, over it, the old red capethat years before had added to her appearance as she danced on the rocks. Perhaps remembering that, she had utilized the garment and was thankfulthat cloth lasted so long in Kenmore!

The coquetry of girlhood rose happily in Priscilla's heart. Jerry-Jo hadbecome again simply a link in her chain of events; he had lost theimportance the flash of the evening before had given him; he was notforgiven, but for the time he was, as a human being, forgotten. He wasJerry-Jo who was to paddle her to her Heart's Desire! That was it, andthe old words, set to music of her own, were the signals used to attractMcAlpin's attention. But the merry call brought Glenn from out the barnjust as the canoe touched the rocks lightly, and Priscilla prepared tostep in. 

"Where you two going?" he shouted in the tone that always roused theworst in Priscilla's nature. Jerry-Jo paused, paddle in air, but hiscompanion whispered:

"Go on!" To Nathaniel she flung back: "We're going to have a bit of fun, and why not, father? I'm tired of staying at home. "

This was unfortunate: on the home question Glenn was very clear anddecided. 

"Come back!" he ordered, but the little canoe had shot out into theChannel. "Hi, there McAlpin, do you hear?"

"Go on!" again whispered Priscilla, and Jerry-Jo heard only her softcommand, for his senses were filled with the loveliness of her charming, defiant face set under the broad brim of a hat around which was twineda wreath of natural flowers as blue as the girl's laughing eyes. 

Nathaniel, defied and helpless, stood by the barn door and impotentlyfumed as the canoe rounded Lone Tree Island and was lost to hisinfuriated sight. 

"You'll catch it, " Jerry-Jo comforted when pursuit was impossible, and hehad the responsibility of the rebel on his hands. "I wouldn't be in yourplace, and you need not drag me in, for I'd have turned back had you saidthe word. "

A fleeting contempt stirred the beauty of the girl's face for a moment, and then she told him of that which was seething in her heart. 

"What does it matter, Jerry-Jo? All my life, ever since I can remember, I have been growing surely to what is now near at hand. I cannot abide myfather; nor can he find comfort in me. Why should I darken the lives ofmy parents and have no life of my own? The lure of the States has alwaysbeen in my thought and now it calls near and loud. "

McAlpin stared helplessly at her, and her beauty, enhanced by her unusualgarments, moved him unwholesomely. 

"What you mean?" he muttered. 

"Only this: It would be no strange thing did a boy start for the States. A little money, a ticket on a steamer, and--pouf! Off the boys and mengo to make their lives. Well, then, some day you will--find me gone, Jerry-Jo. Gone to make my life. Will you miss me?"

This question caused McAlpin to stop paddling. 

"You won't be--let!" he murmured; "you--a girl!"

"I, a girl!" Priscilla laughed scornfully. "You will see. This day, afterI have thanked him up yonder, I am going to ask his mother to help me getaway. Surely a lady such as she could help me. I will not ask much ofher, only the guiding hand to a safe place where I can--live! Oh! can youunderstand how all my life I have been smothered and stifled? I oftenwonder what sort I will be--out there! I'm willing to suffer while Ilearn, but Jerry-Jo"--and here the excited voice paused--"I have astrange feeling of--myself! I sometimes feel as if there were two of me, the one holding, demanding, and protecting the other. I will not have menalways making my life and shielding me; the woman of me will have itsway. Men and boys never know this feeling. "

And Jerry-Jo could, of course, understand nothing of this, but the thinghe had set out to do, more in rude, brutish fun than anything else, assumed graver purpose. A new and ugly look grew in his bold eyes, asinister smile on his red mouth, which showed the points of his white, fang-like teeth. But Priscilla, too absorbed with her own thoughts, didnot notice. 

It was four o'clock when the canoe touched the landing spot of Far HillPlace, and Priscilla sprang out. 

"I'll bide here; don't be long, " said McAlpin. 

But Priscilla paused and glanced up at the sky. 

"It's darkening, " she faltered, a shyness overcoming her. "Ismell--thunder. Don't you think you better come up with me Jerry-Jo?Suppose they are not at home?"

"They'll be back soon in that case, and as for a shower, that wouldhasten them and you would be under shelter. I can turn the canoe over meand be dry as a mouse in a hayrick. I'll not go with you, not I. Do yourown part, with them looking on as will enjoy it. "

"I believe you are--jealous, Jerry-Jo. " This was said idly and more tofill in an awkward pause than for anything else. 

"And much good that would do me, after what you've just said. If you'rebound for the devil, Priscilla, 'tis little power I have to stay you. "

"I'm not--for the devil!" Priscilla flung back, and started sturdily upthe hill path toward the house hidden among the trees. 

Out of McAlpin's sight, the girl went more slowly, while she sought toarrange her mode of attack. If her host were what he once was, he wouldmake everything easy after she recalled herself to him. As for themother, Priscilla had only a dim memory of her, but something told herthat the call would be a happy and memorable one after the first moment. 

A bit of tune cheered the girl; a repeating of the Road Song helped evenmore, for it resurrected most vividly the young fellow who had introducedmusic and happiness into her life. 

"I'll be doshed!" she cried. The word had not passed her lips for years;it brought a laugh and a complete restoration of poise. So she reachedthe house. Smoke was issuing from the chimney. A fire had been made evenon this hot day, but like enough it was to dry the place after the yearsof closed doors and windows. Evidently it was a many-houred fire, for theplume of smoke was faint and steady. The broad door was set wide but thewindows were still boarded up at the front of the house, though the sideones had escaped that protection. 

Priscilla knocked and waited. No reply or sound came in response, andpresently a low muttering of distant thunder broke. 

"That will bring them in short order, " she said, "and surely they willnot object if I make myself comfortable until they come. "

She went inside. The room had the appearance of one from which the ownerhad long been absent, that unaccountable, vacant look, although awork-bag hung on the back of a chair by the roaring fire, and a blot ofoil lay on the table near the lamp which had evidently been recentlyfilled. Back of these tokens lay a wide sense of desolation. 

For a moment Priscilla hesitated before sitting down; her courage failed, but a second thought reconciled conditions with a brief stay after longabsence, and she decided to wait. 

And while she waited, suddenly and alarmingly, the storm burst! Thedarkness of the room and the wooded space outside had deceived her: therewas no escape now!

She was concerned for the people she had come to see. Jerry-Jo, she knew, would crawl under his boat and be as dry as a tortoise in its shell. Butthose others!

With this thought she set about, mechanically, making the roomcomfortable. She piled on fresh wood and noticed that it was so wet thatit sputtered dangerously. Presently the wind changed sharply, and a blastof almost icy coldness carried the driving rain halfway across the floor. 

It was something of a struggle to close the heavy door, for it openedoutward, and Priscilla was drenched by the time it was made secure. Breathing hard, she made her way to the fire and knelt before it. Theglow drew her attention from the darkness of the space back and aroundher. 

It was unfortunate and depressing, and she had no choice but to makeherself as comfortable as she might, though a sense of painful uneasinessgrew momentarily. At first she imagined it was fear of what she mustencounter upon her return home; then she felt sure it was her dread ofmeeting the people for whom she had risked so much. Finally Jerry-Joloomed in the foreground of her thought and an entirely new terror wasborn in her soul. 

"Jerry-Jo!" she laughed aloud as his name passed her lips. "Jerry-Jo, tobe sure. My! how thankful I'd be to see him this instant!"

And with the assertion she turned shudderingly toward the door. The gloombehind her only emphasized her nervousness. 

"I'll--I'll have to go!" she whispered suddenly, while the wind and theslashing of sleety rain defied her. "It will be better out of doors, badas it is!"

The grim loneliness of four walls, compared with the dangers of the open, was worse. But when Priscilla, trembling and panting, reached the doorand pushed, she found that the storm was pitting its strength againsthers and she could not budge it. 

"Oh, well, " she half sobbed; "if I must, I must. " And she stealthilytiptoed back to the warmth and light as if fearing to arouse something, she knew not what, in the dim place. 

There was no way of estimating time. The minutes were like hours and thehours were like minutes while Priscilla sat alone. As a matter of fact, it was after seven when steps, unmistakable steps, sounded on the porchand carried both apprehension and relief to the storm-bound prisonerinside. 

"Thank heaven!" breathed she, and sprang to her feet. She was midway inthe room when the door opened, and, as if flayed forward by the lashingstorm, Jerry-Jo broke into the shadow and drew the heavy oak door afterhim. In a black panic of fear Priscilla saw him turn the key in the lockbefore he spoke a word to her; then he came forward, flung his wet captoward the hearth, and laughed. 

"What's the matter?" he asked quickly as Priscilla's white faceconfronted him. "Disappointed, I suppose. Do you begrudge me a bit ofwarmth and shelter? God knows I'm drenched to the bone. The rain came upfrom the earth as well as down from the clouds. It's a devil's storm andno mistake. What you staring at, Priscilla? Had you forgotten me? Thoughtme dead, and now you're looking at my ghost? Didn't I wait long enoughfor you? Where are the--others?"

This seemed to clarify and steady the situation and Priscilla gave aslight laugh:

"To be sure. You did not know. They--they were away. The storm came upsuddenly. I had to wait. You are wet through and through, Jerry-Jo. It'sgood we have such a fire. You'll be comfortable in a moment. I'm glad youcame; I was getting--afraid. "

"Let's see if there is any oil in the lamp!" Jerry-Jo exclaimed. He wasin no mood for darkness himself. 

"They must have filled it before they went, " Priscilla answered. "See, there is some oil on the table. "

McAlpin struck a match and soon the room was flooded with a newbrightness that reached even to the far corners and seemed to set freethe real loneliness that held these two together. 

"I--I managed to keep this dry, " McAlpin spoke huskily. "I always havea bite with me when I take to the woods. Who can ever tell what mayhappen!"

He pushed a coarse sandwich toward Priscilla and began eating onehimself. 

"Go on!" he said. 

"I'm not hungry, Jerry-Jo, and I want to start back home at once. "

Jerry-Jo leered at her over his bread and meat. 

"What's your hurry? I want to get warm and dry before I set out again. This is an all-nighter of a storm, if I know anything about it. "

"Get dry, of course, Jerry-Jo. It won't take long with this heat; then wemust start, storm or no storm. "

The old discomfort and unrest returned, and she fixed her eyes onJerry-Jo. 

"There's no great hurry, " said he, munching away. "It's warm here andcozy. What's got you, Priscilla? You was mighty keen to come, and youain't finished your errand yet. What's ailing you? No one could help thestorm, and we'd be swamped in the bay if we was there now. "

Priscilla got up and walked slowly toward the door, but without anyapparent reason Jerry-Jo arose also, and, still chewing his bread andmeat, backed away from the table, keeping himself between the girl andwhatever her object was. Noticing this, a real terror seized uponPriscilla and she darted in the opposite direction, reached the hearth, and was bending toward a heavy poker which lay there, before she herselfcould have explained her motive. Jerry-Jo was alert. Tossing his foodupon the table as he strode forward, he gripped her wrist. 

"None of that!" he muttered. "What ails you, Priscilla?" They faced eachother at close range. 

"I--I am afraid of you!"

At this McAlpin threw back his head and roared with laughter, releasingher at the same time. With freedom Priscilla gained a bit of courage anda keen sense of the necessity of calmness. She did not move away fromJerry-Jo, but fixing him with her wide eyes she asked:

"Are--are the--family here--here in Kenmore?" Suspicion and anger shookthe voice. The slow, tense words brought things down to fact. 

"No! God knows where they are! I don't know or care. "

Brought face to face with great danger, mental or physical, the majorityof people rise to the call. Priscilla knew now that she was in graveperil--peril of a deeper kind than even her tormentor could realize. Every nerve and emotion came to her defence. She would hold this creatureat bay as hunters hold the wild things of the woods when gun or clubfail. Then, after that, she would have to deal with what must inevitablyconfront her at home. She seemed to be standing alone amid cruel andunfamiliar foes, but she was calm!

"You lied, then? What for?"

"What do you think?"

"You believe, by shutting me away from everything, every one, you can winwhat otherwise you could not get?" It all seemed cruelly plain, now. Shefelt she had always known it. 

"Something like that, yes. You'll come to me fast enough, after to-night. Once you come I'll--I'll do the fair and square thing by you, Priscilla. "

The half-pleading caught the girl's thought. 

"You mean, by this device you will make me marry you? You'll blackenmy name, bar my father's house to me, and then you will be generousand--marry me?"

[Illustration: "'You mean, by this device you will make me marry you?You'll blacken my name, bar my father's house to me, and then you will begenerous and--marry me?'"]

Jerry-Jo dropped his bold, dark eyes. 

"I never cared for you, Jerry-Jo. I hate you, now!"

At this McAlpin raised his head and a fierce red coloured his face. 

"You'll get over that!" he muttered. "Any port in a storm, you know. You better not drive me now! I ain't--safe, and I've got you tightfor--to-night!"

Suddenly the pure flame of spirituality flashed into the soul ofPriscilla Glenn. Alone, undefended, facing a hideous possibility, beyondwhich lay a black certainty of desolation, she rose supreme to protectsomething that her rudely aroused womanhood must defend, even by death!

"You--beast!" she cried, and all her shrinking fear fell from her. "Goback! Sit down! I have something to say to you--before----" She did notfinish, but the pause made Jerry-Jo understand that she recognized herposition. 

"I'll stand here, by God!" he almost shouted, and came close. 

The proximity of the rough, coarse body was the one thing the girl feltshe could not bear. She smelled the odour of his wet clothing, felt hisbreath, and she shrank back a step. 

"This--this body, Jerry-Jo McAlpin, " she whispered, "is all you cantouch. That, I will kill to-morrow--the next day--it does not matter. Butthe soul of me shall haunt you while you live. Night and day it shalltorment and clutch you until it brings your sinful spirit to--to God!"

"You--you devil!" cried McAlpin, all the superstitious fear of his mixedblood chilling him. "You----" And then as if daring the fate she had itin her power to evoke, he rushed toward her and clasped her close in hisstrong arms. His face was bent over hers, his lips parted from his cruelteeth, but he did not force them upon her. 

So here she was--she, Priscilla Glenn, in the jaws of death, she whowould have laughed, danced, and sang her way straight into happiness!Here she was, with what on ahead--if she lived?

She waited, she struggled, then she relaxed in the iron hold, and for amoment, only a moment, lost the sense of reality. Presently words thatMcAlpin was saying came to her in the black stillness of herconsciousness. 

"I had--to have you! Now that I've shown you my power, I can wait untilyou come whining to me. I ain't going to hurt you! I want you as you arewhen you come a-begging of me. I only wanted to prove to you that--I'vegot you!"

Again Priscilla was aware of the red warmth of the fire, the sickeningsmell of drying wool, the loosening of the bands of McAlpin's arms. 

"You--you who boast that when you hunt, out of season, you shootone shot in the air in order to give a poor wild thing a chance ofescape--you bring me here with a lie; close every hope to me, and--call that--victory! You--you--fiend! What do you mean?"

She was standing free at last! She was so weak that she staggered to achair, fearing that McAlpin, seeing her need, might again lay hands uponher. 

"I mean--that I've fired my shot!" Her words had caught his fancy. "Youhave your chance to--to get away! But where? Where?"

The dark face leered. 

"See! I'm going to leave you. Go out into the night. You can try foryour--your life, but in the end you'll come to me. I don't care what theyof Kenmore will say, I'll know you are--what you are, and sympathy willbe with me, gal, when I take you. And you'll know, once you come to me, proper and asking, I'll do--I'll do the best any man could do--for--Ilove you!"

This was flung out desperately, defiantly. 

"Yes, I love you as--Jerry-Jo McAlpin knows how to love. It's his way. Remember that!"

Not a word rose to Priscilla's lips. She saw McAlpin turn and stride tothe door; she heard him turn the key and--she was alone! But a strangething happened just at that moment, a thing that did more to unnerve thegirl than anything that had gone before. As the heavy oak door slammedafter the retreating figure, the jar caused the tall clock, back amongthe shadows of the far side of the room, to strike! One, two, three!Then followed a whirring that faded into deathly silence. It was like thevoice of one, believed to be dead, speaking!

Frightened, but thoroughly roused to her only hope, Priscilla staggeredto the door, clutched the key in cold, trembling fingers, and turned itin the lock. Then, sinking upon her knees, she crept back to the fire, keeping close to the wall. If an eye were pressed to a knothole in theshutter it could not follow her. 

CHAPTER X

Priscilla kept the fire alive. She laid the sticks and logs oncautiously; she turned wide eyes now and again on the tall clock whosewhite face gleamed pallidly among the shadows like a dead thing that hadused its last breath to speak a message. If the clock struck againPriscilla felt that she might go mad. 

It was after midnight when Nature laid a commanding and relentless touchupon the girl, and, crouching by the hearth, her head in her arms foldedupon a chair, she slept. 

Outside the storm sobbed itself into silence; the rain drippedcomplainingly from the roof of the porch and then ceased. At five o'clockthe new day, rosy and full of cheer, made itself felt in the dim roomwhere Priscilla, breathing evenly and softly, still slept. No gleam ofbrightness made its way through the heavy shutters or curtains, but aconsciousness of day at last roused the sleeper. At first the experiencethrough which she had passed made no demand upon her. She got painfullyupon her feet and looked about. The fire was but embers, the air was hotand stifling, and then, with the thought of opening a door or window, thegrim spectre of the black hours lay warning touch upon her. She shrankback and began again to--wait! Of course McAlpin would return--and whatlay before her when he did? Her strength was spent, lack of food----Andhere her eyes fell on the broken fragments of stale bread and meat thatJerry-Jo had tossed aside. 

She took the morsels and devoured them eagerly; the nerves of the stomachwere calling for nutrition, and even the coarse crumbs gave relief. 

The moments passed slowly, but presently, with the knowledge that day laybeyond her prison, she gained a new, a more desperate courage. If shemust die, she would die in the open, where she at least might test herpitiful strength against Jerry-Jo's did he pursue her. The determinationto act gave relief. The dark, damp room she could no longer bear; thelamp had hours before ceased to burn; the smell of stale oil smoke wassickening. No matter what happened she felt she must make a break forfreedom. She knew full well that should Jerry-Jo enter now she could notcombat him. 

Then, for the first time, she wondered why no one had come to seek herthrough the long, black hours of the night. The men of Kenmore neverpermitted a wanderer to remain unsought; there was danger. Why, even herfather could not be so--so hard as to sleep undisturbed while she wasunhoused! And her mother? Oh! surely her mother would have roused thepeople! And Anton Farwell? Why, he would have started at once, as hehad for the McAdam boys. And with that conclusion came a new hope:

"If they are searching it will be on the water!"

Of course. Cheered by this thought, Priscilla made her way silentlytoward the door. With trembling fingers she turned the key and pushedgently outward. Through the crack the sun poured, and oh, the freshsweetness of the morning air! Again she pushed, once again, and then witha rush she dashed through and was a hundred feet down the path when aloud laugh stayed her like a shot from a gun. 

She turned and braced herself against a tree for support. Jerry-Jo, pressed close to the house and not a foot from the door through which shehad come, again shrieked with laughter. Presently he conquered himself, and, without moving, said:

"You're free! The canoe's ready for you, too. Go home--if you want--gohome and get what's coming to you! I've been busy. There's a boatstopping at the wharf to-night. I'm leaving for the States. I've toldthem, as will pass it on, that you and me are going together. I'll standby it, too, God hears me!"

"My--my father will kill you when he knows of this night!"

Priscilla flung the words back savagely. She knew now that she wasfree--free for what? Again Jerry-Jo's laugh taunted her, and as sheturned to the path her father faded from her hope. Only Anton Farwellseemed to loom high. Just and resourceful, he would help her!

The soggy, mossy path made heavy travelling for weary, nervous feet, butat the foot of the hill Priscilla saw the little canoe bobbing at theside of the dock. Once out upon the sunlit water the soul-horrordisappeared and the task before her appeared easy. Now that the realdanger was past, her physical demands seemed simple and well within hercontrol. If her father turned her away--and as she drew near to LonelyFarm she felt that he probably would--she would go to Farwell, and fromhim, with his assistance, go to the States. The time had come--that wasall--the time had come! She was as ready as she ever would be. She hadherself well in hand before she stepped from the canoe at the foot of herfather's garden. 

The only signs of anxiety in evidence about the house were Nathaniel'spresence in the kitchen at eleven in the morning, and Theodora's red andswollen eyes as she bent over the dishwashing of a belated breakfast. 

"Mother! Father!"

They turned and gazed at the pale, dishevelled girl in the doorway. Neither spoke and Priscilla asked:

"May I come in?"

Had she wept, or flung herself upon their mercy, Nathaniel could haveunderstood, but her very calmness and indifference angered him, coming asit did upon his real anxiety. He had not heard the village gossip thatLong Jean had already started. He had been out alone most of the night onthe water, and the relief of seeing his girl alive and unharmed turnedhis earlier emotions to bitterness. 

"Yes, come in, " he said sternly. "Where have you been?"

Had Priscilla been given more time, had she been less physically spent, she would have protected herself from her father's thought; as it was shecould only summon enough strength to parry his questions with truthfulanswers, and until it was too late she did not realize how they damnedher. 

"Up at--at--Far Hill Place. "

"All night?"

"Yes. "

"With----"

"With--with Jerry-Jo McAlpin. "

"Oh!" This came like a snake's warning. 

"The--the storm was--oh! Father----"

"The storm!" roared Nathaniel; "the storm! Are you sugar or salt? Haveyou so little morality that you choose to stay overnight with a man in alonely house instead of coming wet but clean-charactered to your safehome?"

And then Priscilla understood! She had come into the room and was sittingnear the door she had closed behind her. She, on the sudden, seemed togrow old and strong; the ancient distrust and dislike of her fatherovercame her; she looked at her mother, bent and sobbing over the sink, and only for _her_ sake did she continue the useless conversation. 

"You--you judge me unheard!" she went on, addressing Nathaniel with ananger, glowing in her eyes, that equalled his own. 

"Have you not just incriminated yourself--you!"

"Stop! Do you think that is all? Do you think I would have stayedthere--if--if----" Here the memory of what she had endured choked her. 

"A woman who puts herself in a man's power as you have can expect nomercy. " Nathaniel stormed. 

"Why?"

"Because it is God's law. All decent women know it. That is what I'vefeared for you always, but I'll still stand by you if you show reason. I'll do it for your mother's sake and my good name. He shall marry you, by God! Say the word and I'll bring him here. "

Priscilla's upper lip twitched. This was a trick her nerves had ofwarning her, but she heeded not. 

"You--you would _force_ me to marry Jerry-Jo even against his will?You would make that little hell for me without even knowing what hashappened? You'd fling me in it to--to save your name?"

"You've made your own hell! No matter what has happened, there is onlyone way out for you. If you refuse that----" And here Nathaniel flung hisbig arms wide, as if pushing his child out--out!

With white face but blazing eyes Priscilla got up and went over to hermother. She drew the bowed and quivering form toward her and lookedstraight into the tear-flooded eyes. 

"Mother, tell me, do you believe me--dishonoured?"

The contact of the dear, strong young body gave Theodora power to say:

"Oh! my dear, my dear, I cannot, I will not believe evil of you. But youmust do what your father thinks best; it is the only way. You have beenso heedless, my child, my poor child. "

"You--side with her?" thundered Nathaniel, feeling himself defied. "Thenheed me! If she refuses, out you go with her! No longer will I live withmy family divided against me. The world with her, or the home with me!"

Then suddenly and quite clearly Priscilla saw the only way open to her, the only way that led to even the poor peace she yearned to leave to thesad, little, clinging, broken creature looking piteously up at her. 

"My child, my child, your father knows best. "

"There! there mother. Now listen!"

Still holding Theodora, she looked over the gray head at her father'scruel face. 

"I have only to tell you, " she said slowly and with deadly hardness, "youwill not have to force Jerry-Jo McAlpin to marry me; he's eager enough todo it. He leaves to-night for the States; he has arranged for me to gowith him. " She paused, then went on, speaking now to her mother:

"As God hears me, I am not dishonoured, little mother. I will never bringdishonour upon you. I could have explained to you--you would haveunderstood, but father--never! I am going to the States. Good-bye. "

"My child! oh! my girl!"

"Good-bye, dear mother. "

"Oh, Priscilla! Do not leave us so!"

"This is the only way. "

"But, you--you are not yet wedded. "

Priscilla smiled. 

"You must leave that to Jerry-Jo and me. And now a kiss--and the dearcheek against mine. So!"

"But you will come back----" Theodora sank gently to the floor. She hadfainted quite away!

Priscilla bent with her, she lifted the white head to her knee, and againaddressed her father. 

"You are satisfied?" she asked. The shield was down between them. Man andwoman, they stared, understandingly, in each other's eyes. 

"Leave her to me!" commanded Nathaniel, and strode toward the prostrateform. 

"You've lied first and last. Neither McAlpin nor any other honest manwill have you! Go!"

"I will go and--my hate I leave with you!"

And when Theodora opened her eyes she was lying on the rough couch in thesunny kitchen, and Nathaniel was bathing her face with cool water. 

"The child?" faltered the mother, looking pleadingly around. And thenNathaniel showed mercy, the only mercy in his power. 

"She's gone to McAlpin. They leave for the States to-night. It's you andI alone now to the end of the way. "

"Husband, husband! We've been hard on her; we've driven her to----"

"Hush, you! foolish one. Would you defy God? Each one of us walks thepath our feet are set upon. 'Twas fore-ordained and her being ours makesno difference. Every light woman was--some one's, God knows--and with Himthere be no respecter of persons. "

"Oh! but if you had only been kinder. It seems as if we haven't gonebeside her on her path. Couldn't we have drawn her from it--if we hadexpected different of her? Oh! I shall miss her sore. The loneliness, theloneliness with her out of the days and the long nights. "

Theodora was weeping again desolately. 

"Be grateful, woman, that worse has not come to us. "

Now that the deathlike faint was over, Nathaniel's softening was passing. 

"And she went from our door hungry, the poor dear! We wouldn't havetreated a beggar so. "

"Had she come as a suppliant, all would have been different. "

Then Theodora sat up, and a kind of frenzy drove her to speak. 

"She had something to tell! You did not let her say her say. _What_ kepther away all night? Jerry-Jo McAlpin has the devil blood in him when he'sup to--to pranks. Suppose----" A sort of horror shook the thin, lividface. Nathaniel, in spite of himself, had a bad moment; then his hardcommon sense steadied him. 

"Would she go to him, if what you fear was true?"

"Has she gone to him?"

"Where else then--and all Kenmore not know? Wait till to-morrow beforeyou leap to the doing of that which you may regret. Calm yourself andwait until to-morrow. "

And Theodora waited--many, many morrows. 

CHAPTER XI

"And you see, Master Farwell, I cannot go back to my father's house. "

It was after nine of the evening of the day Priscilla Glenn had lefthome. She had reached Farwell's shack without being seen. By keeping tothe woods and watching her opportunity, she had gained the rear of theschoolhouse, entered while Farwell was absent, and breathed freely onlyafter securing the door. 

The master had returned an hour later and, the gossip of the Greenringing in his ears, confronted the white, silent girl with no questions, but merely a glad smile of relief. He had insisted upon her taking food, drink, and rest before explaining anything, and Priscilla had gratefullyobeyed. 

"I'll gather all the news that is floating about, " Farwell had comfortedher. "Sleep, Priscilla. You are quite safe. " Then he went out again. 

So she had eaten ravenously and slept far into the early evening whileAnton Farwell went about listening to all who talked. It was a great dayfor Kenmore!

"She and him were together all the night, " panted Long Jean, about noon, in the kitchen of the White Fish. 

"What's that?" called Mary McAdam from the closet. Jean repeated herchoice morsel, and Mary Terhune, preparing the midday meal, thrilled. 

"I was at her borning, " Jean remarked, "and I minded then and spoke itopen, that she was made of the odds and ends of them who went before her. I've a notion that the good and evil that might have thinned out over allthe Glenn girls must work out thick in Priscilla. "

"I'm thinking, " Mary Terhune broke in, "that the mingling with such asvisits at the Lodge has upset the young miss. Her airs and graces! Lordof heaven! how she has flouted the rest of the young uns! Aye, but theyare mouthing about her this day! 'Me and her, ' said Jerry-Jo to me thisearly morning, 'me and her got caught up in the woods, and, understandingone another, we chose the dry to the wet, and brought things to a point. Her and me will make tracks for the States. It's all evened up. ' And I dosay, " Mary went on, "that all considering, Jerry-Jo is doing the handsomething. I ain't picking flaws in her--maybe she's as clean as thecleanest, but there's them who wouldn't believe it, as you both very wellknow. "

This last was to include Mrs. McAdam, who had issued from the closet withan ugly look on her thin, dark face. 

"You old harpies!" she cried, striding to the middle of the big room andgetting into position for an oratorical outburst. "You two blighted oldmidwives as ought, heaven knows, to have mercy on women; you who see thetortures of women! You would take a girl's name from her on the word ofthat half-breed, who would sooner lie than steal--and both are easy tothe whelp. That girl is the straightest girl that ever walked, and noevil has come to her from my house. A word more like that, Mary Terhune, and you'll never share my home again, and as for you, Jean, you whohelped the lass into life, what kind of a snake-heart have you?"

Mary McAdam had both women trembling before her. 

"I'll go up to Lonely Farm myself, " screamed she, "and if Glenn and hispoor little slave-wife are doing the low trick by their girl, as Godhears me, I'll take her for my own, and turn you both back to the tradeyou dishonour!"

Anton Farwell, passing near the window, heard this and went his way. 

Later old Jerry McAlpin came to him on the wharf where the men weregathered to meet the incoming steamer. 

"Lordy! Master Farwell, " quavered Jerry; "while I was out on the bay thisearly morning, my lad, what all the town is humming about, goes to myhome and takes everything--everything of any vally and leaves this----"

McAlpin passed a dirty piece of paper to Farwell. 

 "I'm going to get out on the steamer. Going to the States, and had to have the stuff to get away with. _I--ain't--alone!_ I'm going down the Channel to board the steamer where it stops for gasoline. _Don't_ follow me for God's sake. I'll pay you back and more. "

Farwell read the words twice, then said:

"Well?"

"Shall I--stop him, Master Farwell?"

"Can you spare what he has taken?"

"'Tain't that, sir. "

"Then let him go! Let him have his fling. "

"They do say--Long Jean, she do say--it's Glenn's girl. My lad's beencrazy for her. I'm afraid of Glenn. "

"Let things alone, McAlpin. This is your time to lie low and hold yourtongue. "

Farwell tore the paper in shreds and cast them to the wind. 

The steamer came in at eight. At nine-thirty it left the wharf, and, amile down the Channel, stopped at the little safety station to take onoil and gasoline. Tom Bluff, a half-breed, had the place in charge, andlater that evening he put the finishing touch to the day's gossip. 

"'Twas Jerry-Jo, as you live, who jumped aboard, taking the last can Iwas hauling up with him. So in a hurry was he that he nigh pushed someone down who was in front of him. 

"'Where going?' calls I. 'To the States, ' he says back, and picks up theyoung person he nigh knocked down. "

Long Jean, to whom Tom was confiding this, drew near. 

"Who was the young person?" whispered she, with the fear of Mary McAdamstill upon her. 

"Her face? I did not see her face. "

"'Twas Glenn's girl, " panted Long Jean; "Priscilla!"

"Ugh!" grunted Tom as his ancestors had often grunted in the past. "Ugh!"

That was all for the day, and behind closed doors and windows Kenmoreslept. The storm of the previous night had been followed by a cold wave, and upon Farwell's hearth a fire crackled cheerily. 

 * * * * *

"And so, you see, I cannot go back to my father's house. "

Farwell bent his head over his folded arms. 

"But Mrs. McAdam will take you in, Priscilla. After things calm down andthe truth is accepted, your people will forgive and forget. You poorchild!"

Priscilla closed her lips sharply. Her eyes were very luminous, verytender, as they rested upon Farwell, but her heart knew no pity for herfather. 

"How old one grows, Master Farwell, in--a night, " she said with a quiverin her voice. "I went happily away with Jerry-Jo, quite, quite a girl, only yesterday. I had the feeling of a child trying to make believe I wasa woman. I wanted to show my father he could no longer control me as healways had before. I--I wanted to have my way, and then my way brought meto--those black hours of horror when something in me died forever andsomething new was born. And how strange, Master Farwell, that when Icould think at all clear--you stood out as my only friend. I seemed toknow how it would be with my father and my poor mother. My father hasalways expected evil of me, and something in me seemed ever to workagainst the good of me, to give him cause for believing me wrong. Butyou saw the good, my friend, and to you I come--a woman, now. I do notknow the language of what I feel here"--she pressed her hands to herheart--"but I feel sure you will understand. I cannot stay in Kenmore!I do not want to. Always I have wanted to have a bigger place, a largeropportunity, and even if Kenmore would take me, I will not have Kenmore!Somehow I feel as if I had never belonged here, really. You do not belonghere. Oh, Master Farwell, can you not come, too?"

As she spoke, the old, weary look passed for an instant from her eyes;she was a child, daring, yet fearful! Ready to go forward into the dark, but pleading for a trusted hand to hold. And Farwell, who, could she haveknown, was clinging more to her than she to him, almost groaned the oneword:

"No!"

"Why, oh, why, Mr. Farwell? Like father and daughter we could make ourway. I think I have never known what a father might be, but you wouldshow me now in my great need. "

"Hush!" Farwell's eyes held hers commandingly, entreatingly. "You musthear what I have to say. Why do you think I have stayed in Kenmore? WhyI _must_ stay? Have you thought?"

"No. " And for the first time in her life Priscilla wondered. Before, theman had been but part of her life; now she wondered about him, with thewoman-mind that had come so suddenly and tragically to her. 

"No, Master Farwell, why?"

"Because--well, because Kenmore is my grave--must always be my grave. I'mdead. Good people, just people said I was dead. I am dead. Alive, I wouldbe a menace, a curse. Dead, I am safe. I've paid my debt, and you, you, the people of my grave, since you do not know, have given me a chance, and I've been a friend among friends! Why, I've even come to aconsciousness that--perhaps it is best for me to be dead, for back there, back among the living, the thing I once was might assert itself again. "

The bitterness, the pitiful truthfulness, of Farwell's voice and wordssank deep into Priscilla's heart. Out of them she instantly accepted onegreat, vital fact: he was in Kenmore as a refugee; he had been--haddone--wrong! With the acceptance of this, a strange thing happened. Curiosity, even interest, departed. For no reason that she could haveclassified, Priscilla Glenn fiercely desired to--keep Farwell! If sheknew what he seemed bent upon telling, he might take away her faith--heronly support. She would keep and hold to what she believed him, what hehad been since he came to the In-Place. It was childish, blind perhaps, but her words were those of a determined woman. 

"Master Farwell, I will not listen to you. If you are dead, and aresafe, dead, I will not look into the grave. All my life you have beengood to me, been my only friend; you shall not take yourself from me! AndI--please let me do this one little thing for you--let me prove that Ican love and honour you without--explanation!"

Farwell's face twitched. He struggled to speak, and finally saidunsteadily:

"I have been--good, as you say, because I had to be. At any momentI might have been what I once was. Why, girl, without knowing it, Kenmore--all of you--had it in your power to fling me to the dogs hadyou known, so you see----"

But Priscilla shook her head. 

"You did not have to risk your life as you did for the McAdam boys. Perhaps you do not know how you have--grown in your grave, MasterFarwell. Trust and liking come hard to us in Kenmore, yet not one of usdoubts you. No, no, lie quiet. I do not want to see you as you rememberyourself; you are better as you are. I will not hear; I will not have itin my thought when I am far away. "

The hardness passed from Farwell's face. Something like relief replacedit, and he said slowly:

"My God! what a woman you will make if they do not harry you to death. "

"They will not!" The white, tired face seemed illumined from within. "Last night made me so sure--of myself. It showed me how weak I was, and how strong. Do you know"--and here a flush, not of ignorance, but of strange understanding, struck across Priscilla's face like aflame--"women like my mother, all the women here in Kenmore, do notunderstand? They just let people take from them what no one has a rightto take, what only they should give! It's when this something is takenthat they become like my poor mother--afraid and crushed. If I live anddie alone and lonely, I shall keep what is my own until I--I give itgladly and because I trust. I am not afraid! But if I had marriedJerry-Jo because of--of--what he and my father thought, then I would havebeen lost, like my mother, don't you see? I--I can--live alone, but Iwill not be lost. "

"But, great heavens! you are a woman!"

"Is it so sad a thing to be a--woman? Why?"

To this Farwell made no reply. Shading his gloomy eyes with his thinhand, he turned from the courageous, uplifted face and sighed. Finally hespoke as if the fight had all gone from him. 

"Stay here. The thing you want isn't worth the struggle. There is no usearguing, but I urge you to stay. The In-Place is safer for you. What isit that you must have?"

Priscilla laughed--a wild, dreary little sound it was, but it dashed hopefrom Farwell's mind. 

"I want my chance, a woman's chance, and I cannot have it here. I'm notgoing to hide under Mrs. McAdam's wing, or even yours, Master Farwell. I've left all the comfort with my poor mother that I can. Never let herknow the truth, now I am going--going to start on My Road! I do not carewhere it leads, it is mine, and I am not afraid. "

In her ignorance and defiance she was splendid and stirred the deadembers of Farwell's imagination to something like life. If she werebent upon her course, if his hand could not rest upon the tiller of heruntested craft when she put out to sea, what could he do for her? To whomturn?

"Is there not one, Master Farwell, just one, out beyond the In-Place, who, for your sake, would help me at first until I learned the way?"

The question chimed in with Farwell's thought. 

He leaned across the table separating him from Priscilla Glenn and askedsuddenly:

"Can you keep a secret?"

Promptly, emphatically, the answer came. "Yes, I can. "

"Then listen! You must stay here, hide yourself, keep yourself as bestyou may, while I go to--make arrangements. I will be no longer than I canhelp, but it will take time. The house is well stocked; make yourselfcomfortable. There are days when no one knows whether I am here orelsewhere. Protect yourself until I return. And when"--Farwell paused andmoistened his lips--"when you are over the border, in the whirlpool, thepast, this life, must be forgotten. Raise up a high wall, Priscilla, thatno one can scale. Begin your new life from the hour you reach the States. The one who will befriend you need know no more than I tell him; othersmust take you on faith. At any moment your father, or some one likeJerry-Jo, might hound you unless you live behind a shield. Youunderstand?"

He did not plead for his own safety, and he was, at that moment, humanlythinking of hers alone. 

"If you get the worst of it, come back; but leave the gate open onlyfor--yourself. "

"Yes, yes. " And now Priscilla's eyes were shining like stars. "I will doall that you say; I feel so brave and strong and sure. I want the test, and I will leave the door to Kenmore ajar until the day when I can pushit wide and enter as I will, taking or bringing my dear friends with me. I see"--she paused and her eyes grew misty--"I see My Road, stretching onand on, and it ends--oh, Master Farwell, it ends in my Heart's Desire!"She was childishly elated and excited. 

Farwell was fascinated. 

"Your Heart's Desire?" he muttered; "and what is that?"

"Who knows until--she sees it? Hurry! hurry! Master Farwell, I long toset forth. "

Forgotten was her recent experience of horror; fading already was Kenmorefrom her sight. Danger by the way did not daunt her; the man bowed beforeher was but a blurred speck upon her vanishing horizon; then suddenly asound caught her ear. 

"You--you--are"--she arose and stood beside Farwell, her hand upon hisbent shoulder--"you are crying; and for why?"

"Loneliness, remorse, and fear for _you_, poor child. "

And then Priscilla came back to the grim room and the cowering form. 

"I will bring happiness to you, " she whispered; "this I swear. In someway you shall be happy. "

But Farwell shook his head. 

"To bed, " he said suddenly; "to bed, girl, and to sleep. I'll take a napout here on the couch. Before you awake I'll be on my way. Keep theshades drawn; it's my way of saying I do not wish to be disturbed. Goodnight, and God bless you, Priscilla. "

CHAPTER XII

About two in the morning Farwell set out upon his business for Priscilla. He left a safe and roaring fire upon the hearth; the window shades he didnot raise, and well he knew that with that signal of desire for privacyhis house would be passed by without apparent notice. The smoke mightcurl from the chimney, the dogs might, or might not, materialize, butwith those close-drawn shades the simple courtesy of Kenmore wouldprotect the master. 

Priscilla was sleeping when Farwell silently closed the door after him, and, followed by his dogs, provided with food and blankets, henoiselessly took to the shadowy woods. It was a starry, still hour, lying between night and morning, and it partook of both. Dark it was, butwith that silvery luminosity which a couple of hours later would bechanged to pink glow. The stars shone, and the one great, pulsing planetthat hung over the sleeping village seemed more gloriously near thanFarwell had ever before noticed it. All nature was waiting for the magictouch of day; soon action and colour and sound would stir; just then thehush and breathlessness were a strange setting for the lonely man movingforward into the deeper shadows followed close by his faithful dogs. Thisman who, in the mad passion of his blighted youth, had taken life as ifit were but one of the many things over which he claimed supremacy, withbowed head and slow steps, was going on an errand of mercy; he was goingto claim, for a helpless human creature, assistance from the only man inall God's world upon whom he could call with hope of success. 

The program, the next few days, was as clear in Farwell's mind as if hehad already followed it from start to finish. By eight Pine would be onhis tracks; by noon they would be together, the dogs grumbling andfighting at their heels. Two nights by the fire, smoking in a dullsilence, broken now and then, in sheer desperation, by Farwell himself. 

In Ledyard's plan there had evidently been but one stipulation: theconstant guardianship with explicit reports. Beyond that there seemed tobe no exactions. Farwell had tried to make Pine drink more than was goodfor him on various occasions in order to test the metal of the restraint, but the Indian displayed a wonderful self-control. He knew when and whereto begin and stop in any self-indulgence, but having fulfilled his parthe showed no interest or curiosity in his companion. Once the tradingstation was reached, Farwell might buy or seek pleasure as he chose; hemight write or receive letters; might sleep or wake. So long as thetangible Farwell was where the guide could locate him at a moment'snotice, he was free to think and act to his own satisfaction. 

As he plodded on Farwell contemplated, as he never had before, hisrelations with the Indian; in fact, the Indian himself. A superficialfriendliness had sprung up between the two. How deep was it? how much tobe depended upon? If Ledyard could buy the fellow, might not a higherprice secure his allegiance? This, strange to say, was a new thought toFarwell. Perhaps he had accepted the situation too doggedly; it was hisway to cease struggling when the tide turned against him. It wasweakness, it was folly, and, after Priscilla went, after the girl openedthe doors again into that old life, how could he endure the loneliness, the tugging of her hold upon him from the place he once had called his?

The day came late to the deep woods beyond Kenmore, and Farwell seemedgoing toward the night instead of facing the morning. At five he pausedto feed his dogs and take a bite himself, and, as he sat upon a fallentree, the mystic stirrings of life thrilled him as they often had before. It was more a sense of rustle and awakening than actual sound. Hiddenunder the silence of the forest lay the quivering promises, as the rosylight lay just on the border of the woodland. Both were pressing warm andcomfortingly close to the lonely man with his patient dogs at his feet. Farwell was a better man, a finer man, than he knew, but onlysubconsciously did this support him. 

It was three of the afternoon before he heard the quick, measured stepson the trail behind him. He did not turn his head, but he called back agenial "Hello!" which was answered by a grunt not devoid of friendliness. 

The evening meal was eaten together, and the two arranged their blanketsnear the fire for the night's rest. Farwell's two dogs and Pine's onefaithful henchman lay down in peace a short distance away. It was as ithad been for a time back, except that the Indian had become, suddenly, either an obstacle to be overcome or a friend to assist. Not realizinghis new importance, the guide grunted a good night and fell into thatsleep of his that never seemed to capture his senses entirely. 

At the small town, which was reached late the following day, Farwellengaged two rooms at the ramshackle tavern and informed Pine that he wasto share the luxuries. 

This was unusual. In the past a day at the station sufficed for businesstransactions, and night found them in the woods again. Pine was confusedbut alert. However, things progressed comfortably enough. The expectedmail was awaiting Farwell, and he greedily bought all the newspapers hecould get. His purchases at the store did not interest the Indian and hewas not even aware that several garments for a woman were included inFarwell's list. A telegram sent, and another received, did perturb thefellow a good deal, but when Farwell tore the one he got into shreds, thesimple mind of the guide concluded that the matter was unimportant, andhe forgot it before they reached Kenmore. He could not burden his poorintellect with unnecessary rubbish, and the whole business was getting onto what stood for nerves in the Indian's anatomy. 

What really had occurred was this: Farwell had reached across thedesolate stretches that divided him from his one friend and got aresponse. He had impressed upon John Boswell that he could not come inperson to Kenmore, but he could meet a certain needy young person andconvey her to safety in the States. And he had asked a question that formonths had never risen to the surface--he had been too crushed to give itplace. 

"Is Joan Moss still alive?"

Boswell was ready to aid him in any way, would even deny himself thelonging of seeing his old friend face to face, since that seemeddesirable. He would meet the young woman at a place called Little Cornersand would do what he could for her. 

"Joan Moss is still alive. "

A strong light and a new hope came into Farwell's sad eyes. He had a holdon the future! With the possibility of supplanting Ledyard in Pine'sideas of loyalty and economics what might not happen?

And so they started back. 

It was midnight, four days after Farwell had left home, that he enteredhis own door again. The return trip had been rushed, much to Pine'sapprobation. Priscilla was quietly sewing at the table when Farwell, having loudly bidden the Indian good night, came into the living-room. 

The girl's alarmed glance turned to one of relieved welcome when she sawFarwell. She had some food ready for him--every night she had beenprepared--and he ate it ravenously. She noted how white and weary helooked, but the triumphant expression in his sad eyes did not escape her, either. 

"You have good news?" she asked as soon as Farwell had rested a bit byhis fireside. 

"Yes. And you?"

"Oh! I have done famously. Only two knocks at the door, and I was wellhidden. Once it was Mrs. McAdam and once old Jerry. They did not try toenter. "

"They would not. And there was food and fuel enough?"

"Food--yes; I went out three times for wood, and I took one wild, madwalk. I ran, while all the world slept, to Lonely Farm. I looked in at myfather's window; he was dozing by the fire, and--my mother----"

"Well, Priscilla?"

"My mother--was crying! I shall always remember her--crying. I did notknow there were so many tears in the world!"

"You--you still insist upon going away?"

"Yes. There is no other way for me. Already I seem a stranger, apasserby. Not even for my mother can I stay; it could work no good forher or me. Perhaps, by and by----" Priscilla paused. Now that she wasabout to turn her back on all that was familiar to her, she becameserious and intense, but she knew no shadow of wavering. 

Then Farwell told her the arrangements he had made. 

"I have a hundred dollars for you, Priscilla. I wish it were more. Myfriend Boswell will meet you at Little Corners. This is Friday; he willbe there on Sunday and will wait for you at the inn; there is only one. Ask for it and go straight to it. From here to Little Corners is thehardest part. I will go as far as I dare with you; the rest you must makealone. Halfway, there is a deserted shanty near the old factory; thereyou can make yourself comfortable for the night. Are you afraid?"

Priscilla was white and intent, but she answered:

"No, I shall not be afraid. "

"You ought to cover the distance in a couple of days and a night; thewalking is not hard, and the woods are fairly well cleared. Once youreach Boswell you are safe. He will not question you, but you can trusthim. He's a strange man--younger than I; he stands, has always stood, forall that is noble and good in my life. I have told him that you are someone in whom I am interested. "

The feeling of adventure closed in and clutched the girl. Now that thehour had actually come, the hour up to which all her preparations tended, she quivered with excitement tinged with sadness. 

"This way of leaving Kenmore is safer, " Farwell was saying. "If any onewere to see you and know you, your father would find you out and bringyou back. No one will know you at Little Corners. That's a place whichmost honest people let alone. You'll like Boswell--every one does--afterthe first. He'll put you in the way of helping yourself, and your peoplemay still hold their belief about you and Jerry-Jo, since it makes thingseasier for them. "

"Yes; they must believe that until----" But Priscilla did not finish thesentence. 

The two sat silent for a few minutes while the tired dogs upon the hearthbreathed loud and evenly. Then at last Priscilla asked:

"When do we start, Master Farwell?"

"Start? Oh, to be sure. I had forgotten. " Farwell roused himself from hislethargy. "We start at once; in an hour or two at the latest. I will naphere on the couch; you must rest as best you can. There's a long coat anda hat in yonder bundle. They must serve you until you meet Boswell. He'llrig you out in some town before you reach civilization. Here's the money;take wallet and all. Hide it somewhere, Priscilla. " Farwell was on hisfeet and active once more. 

"Go in an hour or two?" gasped Priscilla absentmindedly, followingFarwell's words and accepting the money with a long, tender look ofgratitude. "In an hour or two? Why, you've only just come in, MasterFarwell!"

"What matters? After to-morrow I shall have time to rest and sleep to myfill. "

"You will--miss me, Master Farwell?" Priscilla's eyes were dim. "I wouldlike to have some one--miss me!"

"I shall, indeed, miss you! You can never understand what you have meantto me, Priscilla. I cannot make you understand; I shall not try; but inhelping you I have perhaps helped myself. I cannot walk out of theIn-Place beside you, as I would like to do--not now. Maybe a long timehence, some day, I may follow!"

Farwell's excitement showed in his eyes and voice and wiped out theweariness of his face. 

"You mean that, Master Farwell? You are not trying to comfort me?"

"No; I am comforting myself!"

Then, forgetful of the need for sleep, he went on rapidly:

"Out where you are going, Priscilla, there is a--a woman I love; she onceloved me. This must seem queer to you who have only known me as--as I nowseem. I will seem different to you when you have wakened up--seen otherkinds of men and women. "

"Is she young--pretty?"

The senseless words escaped Priscilla's lips because quivering interestand a strange embarrassment held her thought. 

"I--I do not know--how she is now. She _was_ pretty. Good God! how prettyshe was, and young, and kind, too. It was the kindness that matteredmost. You see, she thinks me dead; it was best so. I--I had to be deadfor a while and then I meant to go to her myself. But--somethinghappened. I was obliged to stay on here, and she might not haveunderstood. I'd like----" Farwell paused and looked pleadingly at thewhite girl-face across the rude table, where the fragments of food stilllay: "I'd like you to go and see her. Boswell could take you. He's doneeverything for her, God bless him! I'd--I'd like to have you tell hergently, kindly, that I am alive. You might say it so as to spare hershock; you might, better than any one else!"

The longing in the man's eyes was almost more than Priscilla couldendure. Crude as she was, wrong and sinful as the man near her may at onetime have been, she knew intuitively that the love for that woman in theStates had been his consuming and uplifting passion. If he had sinned forher, he had also died for her, and now he pleaded for resurrection in herlife. 

"I will do anything in all the world for you, Master Farwell; anything!"

And Priscilla stretched her hands out impulsively. Farwell took them inhis cold, thin ones and clung to her grimly. 

"I'd like to know she'd welcome me!" he whispered. "Unless she could, I'drather stay--dead!"

Another silence fell between the man and girl while he relived the pastand she sought to enter the future. 

The clock struck the half-hour of one and Farwell sprang up. 

"Get ready!" he said. "No time for napping now. It is--it is Saturdaymorning! We must be off! I'll go with you as far as I can. For therest----" He stopped suddenly and looked blankly at Priscilla. 

A little after two they started away from the small, darkened house. Itwas a cloudy morning; day would be long in coming, and the two made themost of the darkness. They were well in the deep woods by six o'clock; atseven they ate some food Farwell had hurriedly prepared, and were ontheir way again by eight. They did not talk much. Priscilla found thatshe needed all her strength, now that she must soon depend upon herself, and Farwell had nothing more to say but--good-bye!

Anton Farwell had got ahead of his spy for once! Not even soindefatigable an Indian as Pine could be expected to watch a man who hadjust returned from a long tramp. But Farwell knew full well that by highnoon his guard would have sensed danger and be uncommonly active, so hepushed the march to Priscilla's utmost limit. 

At four o'clock they reached the deserted hut near the old factory. Afire was made upon the hearth and a broken-down settle drawn close. 

"I'd rest until early morning, " advised Farwell in a hard, constrainedvoice. "Good Lord, Priscilla, it's a cruel place to leave you--alone!"

"I shall not mind, Master Farwell. " All that was brave and unselfish inthe girl rose now to the fore. She recognized that Farwell, even morethan she, needed comfort. 

"I shall never forget you, " she said, holding her hands out to him;"never forget you or cease to--love you!"

The last words made him wince. 

"Good-bye, Priscilla. "

"Good-bye, Master Farwell. "

When the door closed upon the man, for a moment Priscilla stood withhorrified glance following him. The sense of high adventure perished athis going. Alone in the woods, in the ghostly hut, the night to face, andthe blank future stretching beyond! It was more than she could bear, anda cry escaped her parted lips. But Farwell did not hear, and the paroxysmpassed. 

Priscilla slept that night, slept well and safely, and the early light ofSunday morning found her refreshed and full of courage. She never knewthat two hours after leaving her Farwell met Pine and found in him--afriend!

They had come face to face on a side trail. 

"Here I am!" said Farwell cheerfully; then he took his place in front ofthe guide. That had always been the unspoken understanding. 

"See here, Pine, we've never said much to each other about what--all thismeans, but I want to say something now. I won't give you much trouble inthe future. I shall not go often for my mail, or necessaries. In return, forget _this_ journey. I went to let a--a poor little devil of a creatureout of a trap. That is all. I just couldn't--leave it to suffer--and Ihadn't time to call you up after our long tramp of yesterday. "

"Ugh!" came from behind. 

"Pine, can you trust me?"

"Ugh!" But the grunt was affirmative. 

"Smoke on it, Tough?"

And they smoked while they plodded wearily back into bondage. 

CHAPTER XIII

Little corners, lying on the borderland of Canada and the States, stretched like a hand, the thumb and small finger of which belonged tothe Dominion, the three digits, in between, to the sister country. Ofcourse it was comparatively easy to bring merchandise, and what not, by way of the thumb and little finger and send the same forth by thethree exits, known to Timothy Goodale as "furrin parts. " Timothy wasexcessively British, as so many Canadians are, but he was a broad-mindedman in his sympathies, and a friend to all--when it paid. He was a man ofkeen perceptions, of conveniently short memory, and had the capacity forgiving a lie all the virtuous appearance of truth and frankness. Goodalehad no family, and, as far as possible, served his guests himself. Ahalf-breed cooked for him; a half-witted French-Canadian girl didunimportant tasks about the bedchambers, but the host himself took hispatrons into his own safekeeping and their secrets along with them. 

Little Corners was not a town of savoury reputation. Law-abiding folksgave it a wide berth; tourists found nothing interesting there, andnewcomers, of a permanent type, were discouraged. For these reasons itwas the place of all places for Mr. John Boswell to enter, by way of thelong, middle finger, and meet Priscilla Glenn, who advanced via thethumb. No one would know them; no one would remember them an hour afterthey departed. 

Timothy was bustling about on a certain Sunday morning, ruminating on thethanklessness of the task of getting ready for people who might neverappear, when, to his delight, he saw a team of weary horses advancing. Hehad time only to put his features in order for business when a manentered the room. 

No one but Goodale could have taken the shock of the traveller'spersonality in just the way he did. The smile froze on his face, his eyesbeamed, and his stiff, red hair seemed bristling with welcome. "Advanceagent of a circus, " he thought; "sort of advertising guy. "

The man who had entered was about three feet tall, horribly twisted as tolegs, and humped as to back and chest. The long, thin arms reached belowthe bent knees, and large, white hands dangled from them as if attachedby wires. The big head, set low on the shoulders, seemed to have noconnecting link of neck. It was a great, shaggy head with deep-set, wonderful eyes, sensitive mouth and chin, and a handsome nose. 

"Ah, sir, delighted, " said Goodale. "Shall I tell your driver to go tothe stables?"

"I'm my own driver, but I'd like your man to see to the horses. I'm JohnBoswell from New York, though you'll probably forget that an hour after Ileave. "

Goodale nodded. This was quite in his line, and he suddenly became awareof the exquisite texture and quality of the stranger's clothing; thefineness of the piping voice. All sorts came to the inn, but this lastcomer was a gentleman, for all his defects. 

"I'm expecting a young woman, a distant relative, from farther back inCanada. I shall await her here. My stay is uncertain. Make me ascomfortable as you can; I like to be comfortable. "

"You--you are alone, sir?"

"Until the young lady comes, yes. She is to return to the States with me. It depends upon her how soon we travel back. "

This did away with the show business, but it added romance to theadventure. 

Goodale made Boswell extremely comfortable, surprisingly so. Two bedroomswere got in order as if by magic; a little sitting-room emerged frombehind closed doors; an apartment quite detached and cozy, with agenerous fireplace and accommodations for private meals. 

After a good dinner Boswell went for a stroll, telling his host to makethe young lady welcome upon her arrival. 

At half-past four Priscilla Glenn walked into the office of the inn. Shewas tired and worn, rather unkempt as to appearance, but she steppederect and with some dignity. 

"Is--is Mr. Boswell here?" she asked. 

"He is, and then again he ain't, " smiled Timothy, who was always playfulwith women when he wasn't brutal. None knew better than he the use andabuse of chivalry. 

"You are to make yourself at home, Miss; then I'll serve tea in thesitting parlour; all quite your own and no fear of intrusion. I'm hostand servant to my guests. I never trust them to--to menials. "

"Where's my room?" Priscilla broke in abruptly. She was near thebreaking-point and she longed for privacy and shelter before shecollapsed. Her tone and manner antagonized Goodale. He understood andrecognized only two classes of women, and this girl's attitude did notfit either class. In silence he showed her to her bedchamber, and oncethe door separated him from her his smile departed and he relieved hisfeelings by muttering a name not complimentary to Mr. Boswell's relative. 

The sense of safety, warmth, and creature comforts speedily brought aboutcourage and hope to Priscilla; a childish curiosity consumed her; she wasdisappointed that Boswell did not present himself, but his absence gaveher time for rallying her forces. She found her way to the littlesitting-room by six o'clock, and, to her delight, saw that tea thingswere on a table by the hearth and a kettle was boiling over the fire. 

"And so--this is Miss Priscilla Glenn?"

So noiselessly had the man entered the room through the open door, sokind and gentle his voice, that, though the girl started, she felt nofear until her eyes fell upon the speaker. Boswell waited. He knew whatmust follow. Readjustment always took time. In this case the time mightbe longer because of the crudity of the girl. 

"Ah!" The shuddering word escaped the trembling lips and the tightlyclasped hands that had instinctively gone to the face. "Ah!"

The man by the door sent forth a pitiful appeal for mercy and acceptancein so sweet and rare a smile that for very shame Priscilla stood up andsmiled back wanly and apologetically. 

Boswell liked the attempt and ready willingness; they showed character. 

"Now that that is over, " he said in his strange, fine voice, "we may sitdown and be friends. May we not?"

"I will make fresh tea for you--please let me!" for Boswell was wavingaside the suggestion. 

"Very well! Weak--just flavoured water. Now, then!"

The sidling form edged to the deep chair beside the hearth and scrambledup, using both hands as a child does. Priscilla kept her eyes upon hertask and struggled for composure. 

"I--I suppose Max--I mean Farwell--did not describe me?"

"No, sir. "

"It was mistaken kindness. My friends have a habit of doing that. Theythink to spare me; it only makes it harder. Try to forget, as soon asyou can, my ugly shell; I am commonplace beneath. "

The pathos of this almost brought tears to Priscilla Glenn's eyes. Herwarm, sympathetic nature responded generously. 

"I--I am very sorry I gave you pain, sir. Forgive me!"

"We will not mention it again. If you can think of me as--a man, a friendwho wishes to help you for another friend's sake, you will honour me andmake easier your own position. You see, you are no stranger to me; I havethe advantage of you. Farwell has kept me in touch with you from yourchildhood up. You have amused him, helped him to bear many things thatwould have been harder for him without you. I thank you for this. Iam Farwell's friend. Why, do you know"--and now the deep eyes glowedkindly--"he has even told me of that original religion you evolved fromyour needs; he pictured the strange god you worshipped. I've laughed overthat many times. "

"Your tea is getting cold, sir. "

Priscilla was gaining control of her emotions, and John Boswell's evidentdetermination to place her in a comfortable position won her gratitudeand admiration. 

"I like cold tea; the colder and weaker the better. Thank you. Let thecup stand on the table; I will help myself presently. I sincerely hopewe, you and I, are going to be friends. It would hurt Farwell so if wewere not. "

"How good you are!"

"Yes. Goodness is--my profession. " The drollery in the voice was moretouching than amusing. "I call myself the Property Man. I help peopleartistically, when I can. It is my one pleasure, and I find it mostexciting. You will learn, now that you have taken your place on the stageof life, that the Property Man is very important. "

In this light talk, half serious, half playful, he reassured Priscillaand claimed for himself what his deformity often retarded. 

"Already you seem my friend. Mr. Farwell said you would be. "

Priscilla's eyes did not shrink now. The soul of the man had, in somesubtle fashion, transformed him. She began to succumb to that power ofBoswell's that had held many men and women even against their wills. 

"Farwell was always a dramatic fellow, " the weak voice continued. "Whenhe sent me word, I wanted to go direct to Kenmore; I wanted to see himafter all these years. But he had made his own plans in his own way. There were--reasons. "

Priscilla looked bravely in the thin, kindly face. She remembered thatFarwell had said that she need tell nothing more than she cared to, butan overpowering desire was growing upon her to confide everything to thisfriend of an hour. His deep, true eyes, fixed upon her, were challengingevery doubt, every reserve. 

"Farwell says you dance like a sprite. "

At this Priscilla started as if from sleep. 

"Ah! a childish bit of play, " she said. "I--I have almost forgotten howto dance. "

"I hope you will never forget. To dance and sing and laugh should be theheritage of all young things. You must forget to be serious, past thesafety point! That's where danger lies. It does not pay to take our partsponderously. I learned that long ago. "

"I shall be--happy after a while. " And now, quite simply and frankly, Priscilla cast away her anchors of caution and timidity and spoke openly:

"I--I have been so troubled. Things have happened to me that should nothave happened if--if my mother and father could have trusted in me. Theybelieved--wrong of me when really they should have pitied me. You trustme?"

"Absolutely. "

"Master Farwell trusted me. As things were, the only comfort I could givemy poor parents was to let them think I left Kenmore with--with a youngman. Something had occurred that--looked wrong. It was only a terribleexperience. No one helped me but Master Farwell. My--my people turnedfrom me. "

"It was Farwell's way: to help where he had faith, " murmured Boswell. 

The deep eyes were so perilously kind that Priscilla had to struggle tokeep back her tears. A sense of security and peace flooded her heart, butthe past strain had left its mark. 

"My father would have been glad to have me marry the--the man. I wouldrather have died after what happened! They--my father and mother--mustbelieve I have gone with him. It will at least make them feel I have notdisgraced them. Now--you can understand!"

"Perfectly. "

"I want to go into training. I want to be a nurse. I am sure I cansucceed. "

So very humble and modest was the ambition that it quite took Boswell bysurprise. Priscilla did not notice the uplifting of the shaggy brows. Shewent on eagerly, thoughtfully:

"You see, I have only such education as Master Farwell has given me, butI have a ready mind, he says. I am sure I could watch and tend the sick. A lady staying in Kenmore at one time told me I had the--the touch of askilled hand. I want--to help the world, somehow, and this seems the onlyway open to a girl like me. I am strong; I never tire. Yes; I want to bea nurse, the best one I can be. "

Boswell understood the deeper truth. This girl, original, artistic, wasforegoing much in accepting this safe, humble course. She expected nocharity, nothing but a helpful interest. It was unusual and delightful. 

"I have a hundred dollars that Master Farwell gave me. It will help, andI can repay it by and by. I know it will be years before I can do so, buthe understands. While I am studying there will be little expense, thelady told me. And oh!"--here Priscilla interrupted herself suddenly--"Ihave an errand to do for Master Farwell as soon as I get to New York. Hetold me you--would help me. "

"An errand?"

"Yes. There is a--woman he once--loved; loves still. She thinks he--isdead. It was best so in the past. There was a reason for letting herbelieve so; but now he wants her--to know!"

Boswell sprang up in his chair as if he were on a strong spring. 

"Wants you to go and tell her--that he still lives?"

"Yes. It will be hard, but I will do it for him. "

Boswell settled back in his seat. 

"I thought he only meant her to know--when he could go himself, " he saidquietly. 

"He made me promise. "

Boswell leaned forward and drew the cup from the table, and in one longdraught drank the cold, weak tea. When he spoke again the conversationwas set in a different channel. 

"I hardly know what I expected to find you, Miss Glenn, " he said with hisrare, sweet smile. "You evidently seemed more a child to Farwell than youdo to me. That was natural. Now that we have become acquainted I hope youwill accept my help and hospitality until your own plans are formed. Ican make you very comfortable in my town home. I am sure I can place youin the best training school in the city; I have some influence there. Butbefore you settle to your hard work you will let me play host, as Farwellwould in my place? This would be a great pleasure to me. "

What there was in the words and tone Priscilla could never tell, butat once the future seemed secure, and the present placed on a soundfoundation. Every disturbing element was eliminated and the wholesituation put upon a perfectly commonplace basis. By a quick transitionthe unreality was swept aside. 

"Indeed, I will be glad to accept. "

They smiled quite frankly and happily at each other. 

"An odd story occurs to me. " Boswell pressed back in his chair and hisface was in shadow. "You must get used to my stories and plays. TheProperty Man must have his sport. There was once a garden, verybeautiful, very desirable, but full of traps to the unwary. Quiteunexpectedly, one day, a particularly fine butterfly found herself poisedon the branch of a tree with a soaring ambition in her heart, but a blindsense of danger, also. It was a wise butterfly, by way of change. Whileit hesitated, a beetle crawled along and offered its services as guide. The pretty, bright thing was sane enough to accept. Do you follow?"

Priscilla started. She had been caught in the mesh of the story, and nowwith a sudden realization of its underlying thought she flushed andlaughed. 

"I still have my childish delight in stories, you see, " she said. Then, "I--I do see what you mean. Again I repeat, I am so glad to acceptyour--your kindness. "

"Middle life has its disadvantages. " The voice from out the shadowssounded weary. "It has none of the blindness of youth and none of theassurance of old age. If I were twenty, you and I could play together inthe Garden; if I were ninety I could tuck you safely away in my nest andfeed you on dainties, and no one could say a word. As it is--well, we'lldo the best we can, and, after you are in your training, you'll be gladenough to have my nest to fly to for a change of air and an opportunityto chat with me. The Property Man will come in handy. Hark! the wind isrising. How it blows!"

The ashes were flying about on the hearth and the trees outside beattheir branches against the windows. 

"It never roars like that in the In-Place, " whispered Priscilla, awed bythe sound and fury that were rapidly gaining power. 

"The In-Place?" Boswell sighed. "What a blessed name! To think of any onefluttering about in the dangerous Garden when he or she might remain inthe In-Place!"

There was a tap on the door, and in reply to Boswell's "Come!" Goodaleentered. 

"Shall I serve supper now, sir?"

"Yes. "

"In here?"

"No; in the dining-room. " Then, "How far is it to the railway station?"

"Twenty-six miles, sir. "

"It seemed like a hundred. Can the team make it to-morrow if the stormceases?"

"They look capable, sir. "

"Then we will start to-morrow for the States. "

CHAPTER XIV

Priscilla Glenn always looked back on the next four weeks of her life asa transition stage between one incarnation and another. Kenmore, and thatwhich had gone to the making of her life previous to her meeting withJohn Boswell, seemed to have accomplished their purpose and left herdetached and finished, up to a certain point, for the next period of herexistence. In the severing of all the ties of the past, even affection, gratitude, and memory, for the time being, were held in abeyance. Thiswas a merciful state, for, had ordinary emotions and sentiments held her, she would have been unfitted for the difficult task of readjustment whichshe gradually achieved, simply because of her dulled mental and spiritualsensations. 

The noise and flash of the big city bewildered and dazzled the girl fromthe In-Place and encrusted her with an unreality that spared her many apang of loss, and also fear for the future. Boswell's apartment, highabove the street and overlooking the Hudson River and Palisades, became averitable sanctuary from which she dreaded to emerge and to which sheclung in a passion of self-preservation. The gray wall of stone acrossthe sparkling stream grew to be, in her vivid fancy, the barrier betweenthe past and future. Against it, unseen, faint, but persistent, beat whatonce had been--her grim father, her weak, tearful mother, lonely, kindlyMaster Farwell, and all the lesser folk of Kenmore. Pressing close andstraining to hold her, these dim, shadowy memories clustered, but she nolonger appeared a part of them, like them, or in any way connected withthem. On the other hand, below the eyrie dwelling in which she wastemporarily sheltered, lay the whirlpool of sound and motion into which, sooner or later, she must plunge. 

With keen appreciation and understanding of this phase of herdevelopment, John Boswell kept conversation and life upon the surface, and rarely permitted a letting-down of thought. Cautiously, and not toooften, he took his guest on tours of inspection and watched her while sheunderwent new ordeals or experienced pain from unknown thrills. He hadnever been more interested or amused in his life, and, in his enthusiasm, exaggerated Priscilla's capabilities. He revelled in her frankness andher confidence; he learned from her more of Farwell than he could havelearned in any other way, and his faithful heart throbbed in pity, pride, and affection for the lonely master of the In-Place, who, little heedinghis own progress, had triumphed over his old and lesser self at last. 

The home of Boswell was a large and sunny apartment high up in the hugebuilding. Only one servant, a marvellously silent and efficient Japanese, ran the economic machinery, awesomely defended Boswell's library when themaster retired to perform his mystic rites, and in all relations wasexemplary. Poor Boswell's rites comprised a devouring appetite forreading and a rather happy talent for turning off a short story as uniqueand human as he was himself. 

After Priscilla Glenn arrived, Toky, as the servant was called, wastested to the uttermost. Never before had Boswell introduced a woman intothe sphere sacred to Man. Toky disapproved, was utterly disgusted; helost his implicit faith in his master's wisdom, but he adopted a mannerat once so magnanimous and charming that Boswell set to work and plannedfuture gifts of appreciation for his servant. 

No other woman came to the apartment; Boswell shrank from them, notbitterly or resentfully, but sensitively. Men took him more or less forgranted when he touched their lives; women overdid the determination, ontheir parts, to set him at ease. Long since he had turned his poor, misshapen back upon the very natural and legitimate desire for the happymingling of both sexes, but after Priscilla Glenn became his guest herecognized the need of women friends in a sharp and painful manner. Theycould have helped him so much; could have solved so many problems for himand the girl; but as it was he had to do the best he could alone. 

The hundred dollars, still to be repaid to Farwell, worked wonders in theweek following the arrival of the Beetle and the Butterfly, as Boswellinsisted upon calling himself and Priscilla. Having no power at court, Boswell cast himself on the mercy of lesser folks and managed, by way ofsecret nods and whispers, to gain the coöperation of sympathetic-lookingshop girls in order to array Priscilla in garments that would secure herand him from impudent stares and offensive leers. The evenings followingthese shopping expeditions were devoted to "casting up accounts. "Priscilla was absolutely lacking in worldly wisdom, but she had a senseof accuracy that drove Boswell to the outer edge of veracity. Neverhaving bought an article of clothing for herself, Priscilla attacked thisnew problem with perfectly blank faith. Prices often surprised andstartled her by their smallness, but the results obtained were gloriouslygratifying. 

"I can better understand the lure of the States now, Mr. Boswell, " shesaid one evening as the two sat in the library with the wind howlingdown Boswell's exaggerations and the fire illuminating the girl'sface. "Kenmore prices were impossible, but one can go wild here for solittle. Just fancy! That whole beautiful suit for two dollars andeighty-seven----"

"Eighty-nine!" Boswell severely broke in, shaking his pencil at her as hesat perched, like a benign gargoyle, by his study table. "I'll not haveFarwell defrauded while he cannot protect his own interests. "

"Two eighty-nine, " Priscilla agreed, with a laugh so merry and carefreethat the listener dropped his tired eyes. "And how much does that leaveof the hundred, Mr. Boswell? I tremble when I think of the silk gown sosoft and pretty, the slippers and stockings to match, and the storm coat, umbrella, heavy shoes, and--and--other things. "

Boswell referred to his notes and long lines of figures. 

"All told, and in round numbers, there are forty-seven dollars and threecents left. "

"It's marvellous! wonderful!" Priscilla exclaimed. "You are sure, Mr. Boswell?"

"Do you doubt me?"

"Sometimes I do, you are so kind, so generous, and under ordinarycircumstances it would seem impossible to buy things so cheap. You mustselect your shops carefully. "

"One has to on a moderate allowance. "

Then quite suddenly Priscilla Glenn spoke quickly and breathlessly:

"Mr. Boswell, I--I must begin my training. Have you made anyarrangements? And, when I go, will they pay me from the start?"

Boswell grew grave as he thought of the knowledge that would comeconcerning dollars and cents later on. 

"I have started operations, " he replied; "in a short time you will beable to begin your studies, and I hear they will pay you the princely sumof ten dollars a month from the day you are accepted. Canadians aregreatly in demand. "

"Ten dollars!" gasped Priscilla, "Ten dollars a month! when I think whatthis hundred has done, and the twelve months in each year, it--it dazzlesme!"

Boswell gave an uncomfortable laugh. In the light of nearbydisillusionment his practical joke looked mean and ghastly. 

Then, with another abrupt change of thought, Priscilla brought Boswellagain at bay. 

"Before I go into training, " she said, "I must go and see MasterFarwell's friend--his old friend, you know. I feel very guilty andungrateful, but it has all been so strange and bewildering, I have seemeddead and done for and then born again, I could not help myself; but I cannow. Please tell me all about her, Mr. Boswell, and how I can find her. "

Boswell dropped the pencil upon the mahogany desk and looked blankly atPriscilla. 

"Let us sit by the fire, " he said presently, "I am cold and--tired. Turndown the lights. "

They took their positions near the hearth: the dwarf in his low, deepleather chair with its wide "wings" that hid him so mercifully; Priscillain the small rocker that from the first had seemed to meet every curveand line of her long, young body with restful welcome. 

"And now, " Priscilla urged, "please tell me. I feel, to-night, likemyself once more. I am adjusted to the new life, I hope, ready to do mypart. "

When John Boswell cast aside his whimsical phase he was a very simple anddirect man. He, too, was becoming adjusted to Priscilla's presence in hishome and her rightful demands upon him. 

"Yes, I will tell you, " he said slowly, wearily. 

"Perhaps you are too tired to-night, Mr. Boswell? To-morrow will do. "

"No. I never sleep when the wind howls; it gets into my imagination. I'drather talk. The thing I have to tell you--is what I shall tell Farwellif I ever see him again. It's rather a bungling thing I've done. I'llreceive my reward, doubtlessly, but I would do the same, were I placed inthe same position, over and over again. 

"Farwell Maxwell, known to you as Anton Farwell, has been part, thebiggest part, of my life since we were young boys. We were about aspitiful a contrast as can be imagined, and for that reason met eachother's needs more completely. We had only one thing in common--money. Hewas a straight, handsome fellow, while I was--what you see before you--acrooked, distorted creature, but one in whose heart and soul dwelt allthe cravings and aspirations of youth and intelligence. I was alone inthe world. My father died before my birth, and I cost my mother--herlife. Farwell had, until he was twenty, an adoring though foolish mother, who laid undue emphasis upon his rights and privileges. She, and an olderbrother, died when he was twenty-one--died before the trouble came, butnot before they had done all they could to train him for it. Attwenty-one he was a selfish, hot-headed fellow with a fortune at hiscommand, a confused sense of right and wrong, an ungoverned, artisticnature swayed by impulse, and, yes, honest affection and generousflashes. And I? Well, I found I could buy with my money what otherwise Imust have gone without, but the shadow never counted for the substancewith me. The fawning favour, which held its sneer in check, filled mewith disgust, and I would have been a bitter, lonely fellow but--forFarwell. 

"I never could quite understand him; I do not to-day, but he, from thebeginning, did not seem to recognize or admit my limitations. Throughpreparatory school and college we went side by side. He called me by thefrank and brutal names that boys and men only use to equals. I wonder ifyou can understand when I say that to hear him address me as an infernalcoward, when I shrank from certain things, was about the highestcompliment I knew?"

"Yes, " murmured Priscilla, "I can understand that. " She could not seeBoswell; the low, impassioned words came from out the shadows likethoughts. "Yes, I can quite understand how you felt. "

"I am glad that you can, for then you will see--why I have done--what Icould for Farwell--when he needed me. Back in those old days he was notcontent to shame me into playing my part; by that power of his, thatworked both good and evil, he compelled others, in accepting him, toaccept me on equal terms. There was a seat for me at the tables to whichhe was invited; he discovered my poor talent for telling a story, andsomehow hypnotized others into considering me a wit! A wit!"

A silence fell between the two by the fire. Priscilla's throat was hardand dry, her heart aching with pity. 

"And then, " Boswell continued drearily, "the crash came when he was onlytwenty-five! I suppose he was savagely primitive. That was why externalsdid not count so much with him. He could not brook opposition, especiallyif injustice marked it; he was never able to estimate or eliminate. Hewas like a child when an obstacle presented itself. If he could not getaround it, he attacked it with blind passion. 

"It was part of his nature to espouse the cause of the weak and needy;that was what held him, unconsciously, to me; it was what attracted himto Joan Moss. "

The name fell upon Priscilla's mind like a shock. The story was nearingthe crisis. 

"She was outwardly beautiful; inwardly she was as deformed--as I! But inneither case was he ever able to get the right slant. He loved us both inhis splendid, uncritical way. His love brought me to his feet in abjectdevotion: it lured the woman to accomplish his destruction. Something, some one, menaced her! He tried to sweep the evil aside, but----"

"Yes, yes, please go on!" Priscilla was breathless. 

"Well, he couldn't sweep it aside; so he committed--murder. "

"Oh! Mr. Boswell!"

The shuddering cry drew Boswell to the present. He remembered that hislistener knew Farwell only as a friend and gentle comrade. Her shock wasnatural. 

"You--you never guessed? Why do you think he, that brilliant fellow, stayed hidden like a dead thing all these years?"--there was a quiver inBoswell's voice--"hidden so deep that--not even I dared to go to him forfear I would be followed and he again trapped! Oh! 'twas an ugly thing hedid; but he was driven to insanity--even his judges believed that--at thelast; but his victim was too big a man to go unavenged, so they huntedFarwell down, caught him in a trap, and tried to finish him, but he gotaway and they thought him--dead. "

"Yes, yes, " moaned Priscilla, "yes, I know. And the woman--did her heartbreak?"

At this Boswell leaned forward, and, in the fire's glow, Priscilla sawhis face grow cruel and hard. 

"Her heart break? No, she went promptly to the devil, once she was sureshe had lost Farwell and his money. Down to the last hope she made himbelieve in her. How she acted! But when he was reported dead, well!"--andBoswell gave a harsh laugh--"her heart did not break!"

A sound brought Boswell back to the dim room. 

"You are--crying?" he said slowly; "crying for him?"

"For him, yes, and for you!"

"For me?"--a wonderful tenderness stole into the man's voice--"for me? Ido not think any one before--ever cried for me. Thank you. You understandwhat all this meant to me? What a--woman you will be--if----"

Priscilla raised her tear-stained face and her lips quivered as sherecalled that Farwell had said almost exactly the same words to her backthere in the In-Place. She understood because she had been lonely andknown the suffering of the lonely. She must never forget, never failthose who needed her! But Boswell was talking on again with a new note offeeling in his voice. 

"While I thought him dead I sank back into my shell, sank lower than Ihad ever been before. I wanted to die; wanted it so truly that I plannedit; grew interested in arranging my affairs. Preparing to die became myexcitement, and when everything was ready, Farwell spoke to me--from hisgrave! That letter from your In-Place worked a miracle upon me. While helived there would always be something for me to do. He had made a placein the world for me; I could keep his place ready for him. It was a smallreturn, but it meant life--for me. 

"There were years when Farwell felt he was coming back. I heard from himspring and autumn, and there were hope and promise each time. When peopleforgot, he would return, and he wanted to go to--to Joan Moss himselfwith his story. So long as he knew that she was alive and faithful it wasenough, and, besides, he realized that had she or I gone to him just thenit might have been fatal. He believed that if she knew where he was shewould hasten to him!

"Well, just at first I thought that he might come at any time and mightrescue--Joan Moss. I was even willing for him to have her if it could addany happiness to him. Then there was the money--his money. I kept hisbelief in that, too. Everything of his went at the time of the trial, butmine was his, so that was a small matter. I suppose all the sentiment andpassion that most men spread over their entire lives were, in me, concentrated on Farwell. When I thought of him caged and alone, in thewilds, I found lying to him about the only thing I could do. So I kepthis belief in Joan Moss and his fortune. Then something happened to him. I never knew what it was, but it seemed to take all the hope and couragefrom him. He wanted me to see that Joan Moss was well taken care of, andin case of his death she must have all that he died possessed of. Just atthat time Joan Moss came to me, a wreck! She lived only six months, butfor his sake I saw that she had all that he would have had for her. Shethought that he gave it to her, too, or at least she thought his moneygave it, since it was in his will that she should have it. His name wason her lips when the end came. I will tell him that some day. It willhelp him to forgive me. After that I wrote and wrote to him, makingfrantic efforts to secure to him, until he were free, what existed nolonger on earth! That is all. "

The fire had died down and become ashy; the wind no longer howled; thenight had fallen into peace at last. 

Priscilla got up stiffly, for she was cold and nerve-worn. She walkedunsteadily to Boswell, her tear-stained face twitching with emotion, herhands outstretched. In her eyes was the look that only once or twicein his life had Boswell ever seen directed toward him by any humanbeing--the look that claimed the hidden and best in him, forgetting thedeformities that limited him. 

"I think you are the best man on earth, the noblest friend. Oh! what canwe do for Master Farwell?"

Quite simply Boswell took the hands in his. Her eyes made him brave andstrong, and her "we" throbbed in his thoughts like a warm and tendercaress. 

"You must leave that to me, " he said gently, giving his kindly smile. "Icannot share this burden with you. So long have I borne it that it hasbecome sacred to me. It means only making the story a little longer, alittle stronger. Some day he will have to know--some day; but not now!not now!"

Just then a distant church bell struck the midnight hour. Solemnly, insistently, the twelve strokes rose and fell. 

"The wind has passed, " whispered Boswell. 

"Yes, and the fire is dead. You are very, very tired, I am sure, "Priscilla murmured. 

Something new and maternal had entered into her thought and voice. Whilelife lasted she was always to see in the crippled man a brave and patientsoul who played with sternest problems because he had no other toys withwhich to while away his dreary years; no other offerings for them heloved. 

"Yes. The play is over for--to-night. The Property Man can take his restuntil--to-morrow. Turn on the lights, Priscilla Glenn. You and I mustfind our way out of the darkness. "

"Let me help you, Mr. Boswell. "

"Help me? That sounds very kind. I will make believe that I am ninety!Yes, you may help me. Thank you! And now good night. You need not writeof--Joan Moss to Farwell. I am grateful because you understand andappreciate my--my attempt. I can bring the tale to a close in greatstyle. I was a bit discouraged, but it seems clear and convincing now. That is often the way in my trade of story-maker. We come against a blankwall, only to find there a gateway that opens to our touch. "

CHAPTER XV

After Boswell's confidence concerning Anton Farwell, Priscilla's relationto the man who had befriended her, to life itself, became more vital andnormal. The superficial conditions were dissipated by the knowledge thatBoswell, in speaking so frankly to her, considered her a woman, not achild, and expected a woman's acceptance of duties and responsibilities. Besides this, Boswell himself took on new proportions. His whimsicaloddities had been, for an hour, set aside. For a time he had permittedher to see and know him--the simple, good man he really was. In short, Priscilla could no longer play, could no longer make a defence of hershyness and ignorance; she realized that she must plunge into thewhirlpool for which she had left the In-Place and she must do so at once. 

Boswell might fantastically play at being ninety and permit her to lendher strength and youth to his use, but she never again could be deceived. He was assisting her for Farwell's sake. He liked her, found herentertaining, but intuitively she knew that in order to retain hisrespect and confidence she must fulfil her part. 

For a week or so longer he and she went to operas and theatres togetherwhile final arrangements were being completed for her immediateadmittance, on trial, to the finest private hospital in the city, towhich was attached a training school of high repute. 

Priscilla was both right and wrong about Boswell. He did appreciate andadmire her insistence to begin her career. It was the only course for herto take; but he looked forward to the lonely, empty days without her withreal concern. 

He had, to a certain extent, grown used to the detachment andcolourlessness of his life since Farwell had left it; but here, quiteunexpectedly, a young and vital personality had entered in and had givenhim, in a crude, friendly way, to be sure, what his absent friend hadgiven--the assurance that his deformity could not exclude him from thesweet humanity that was keen enough to recognize the soul of him. Sensitive, shrinking from suffering and publicity, the man found inPriscilla's companionship and confiding friendliness the deepest joy hehad known since his great loss. He wished that he was ninety, indeed, andthat his infirmity and wealth might secure for him this new interest thathad taken him out of himself and caused his sluggish senses to revive. But he was not yet fifty. For all his handicaps he was still in fairhealth, and the best that he could hope for was that Priscilla, amongher new duties, would remember him, come back to him, make his lonelyhome a retreat and comfort when her arduous duties permitted. 

Those last few days of freedom and companionship were beautiful to themboth. With pride and a certain complacency, Boswell saw that he hadsomewhat formed and developed Priscilla's tastes and judgment. She was nolonger the ignorant girl she once had been. Music did not now move her totears and a kind of dumb suffering. She began to understand, to controlher emotions, and gain, through them, pleasure without pain. 

"She laughs, " Boswell thought, "more intelligently and discriminatelywhen she sees a good farce. "

All this was satisfying to them, but on a certain late-winter day it cameto an end, and Priscilla, thrilling with a sense of achievement, enteredSt. Albans on probation. 

What the weeks of doubt and preparation meant, no one, not even Boswell, ever knew. The old childish determination to suffer, in order to know, held true and unfaltering. The tortured nerves, after the first shocks, regained their poise and strength; the heavy work and strict disciplineleft the sturdy body like fine steel, although weariness often tested itsorely. 

"'Tis not to dance, Priscilla Glenn, " she often warned herself; "it is tosuffer and know!"

Then she grimly set her strong, white teeth. With all the getting andrelinquishing, however, she never forgot to laugh, and her courageouscheerfulness won for her more than she realized while she was learningthe curves of her Road. 

And then she was accepted. No one but herself had ever doubted hertriumph, but when she first learned the verdict she was wild with delightand could hardly wait for her "hours off" to tell Boswell all about it. 

She was "capped" at last. No hard-won crown was ever appreciated morethan that white trifle which rested like a bit of snow upon the "rustyhair" of Priscilla Glenn. 

Before the little mirror in her own bedchamber, on that first victoriousday, she posed and confided to her appreciative reflection. 

"So this is Priscilla Glenn of the In-Place?" she whispered. "I simplycan't believe it! No one else would believe it either; and you are notthe same. You never will be again what you once were. "

The flush of excitement showed plainer now than of yore, for the clear, dark skin had taken on the delicacy of the city's tint. The eyes weredeep and grave, for already they had witnessed the mystery of life anddeath. They had smiled down at pain-racked motherhood; had held, in calmcourage, many an outgoing soul. Priscilla had a closer vision than sheonce had had when she dreamed her dreams of what lay beyond the SecretPortage and the Big Bay. 

The reflection nodded acknowledgment to all that the excited brainaffirmed. Then suddenly:

"Why, Priscilla Glenn, you are crying! And for--which?"

The quaint expression brought a smile. 

"You are homesick, Priscilla Glenn, homesick for what you have never had!That's the matter with you. You want some one to go to and tell aboutthis, but in all the world there isn't any one who could understand. Youpoor, poor dear! What would your father and mother think of you? There, now, never mind. You are only a--blue and white nurse. Even MasterFarwell and Mr. Boswell could not understand; but a woman could. Somewoman! She would know what it means to be free at last and havesomething, quite your own, with which to hew and cut your own road; yes, your own road, right along to--to the end, just as old Pine used to cutthe new trails. It's the standing up straight at last on your own rootslike the dear little white birch in the Place Beyond the Winds. A womancould understand, but no one else. "

By some subtle power Priscilla had thought and talked her fancy far andaway from the plain room of St. Albans. Her longing, her quaint "forwhich?" the memory of the Indian guide and the little white birch hadperformed a miracle. Through the excitement and elation stole thefantastic power of childhood. She was on her Road, bound for her Heart'sDesire! No doubt, no misgiving, assailed the moment of joy. Forward, justa little beyond, success awaited her. The possibility of defeat was overforever. From now on, through weariness, toil, and perhaps suffering, shewas going to her own. She had never realized the tense mental andphysical strain through which she had passed; she did not realize it now, but with the relaxation came an almost dangerous exhilaration. Thepresent, only so far as it verified the past, had no hold upon her;she let herself go. 

Back again was she in Kenmore. It was springtime, and the red rocks andhemlocks shone and the water sparkled; she heard it lapping against thetiny islands, so glad was it to be free of the winter's grasp. Some onewas dancing to the Spring's Call--a small, graceful thing with a brightred cape flying on the wind, the soft wind of the In-Place. There wasmusic, too! Oh! how clearly it came rising and falling; and then, in thebare hospital room, the blue-clad nurse tripped this way and that, whilememory held true to note and step!

Oh! It was on again, on again, that dear old dance. It dried the tears inthe tender eyes and held the smile on the joyous lips. Then, as suddenlyas it had begun, the dance ceased, a flushed face confronted thereflection in the glass, and a low curtsey followed, while a reverentvoice repeated as if in prayer:

"Skib, skib, skibble--de--de--dosh!"

The words came of their own volition; they were part and kin to the moodthat held and swayed her. They were a pagan plea for guidance andprotection in the opening life where wind and fury would beset her. 

Suddenly words of everyday life found their way to her detachedconsciousness and recalled her to the present with almost cruel force. 

"It's the little Canuck he wants! Just fancy! I heard him say so to--toMrs. Thomas. Such injustice! But there the old Grenadier comes now. Hustle!"

Priscilla heard the scampering feet, then, after a moment's pause, thedignified advance of the superintendent. There was a tap on the door. Thedoors of some rooms, owing to discipline, were never tapped by Mrs. Thomas, but the reason that compelled her to show this courtesy toPriscilla also caused her to wish this young Canadian was a less seriousperson; one more prone to frivol in her "hours off, " and not have, forher most intimate companion, the strange dwarf. She could have forgivenPriscilla Glenn if, having overdone her "late leave, " she had crawledinto a back window to escape punishment. It would have made her moreunderstandable. As it was, Mrs. Thomas tapped!

"Come in, please, " said Priscilla, and the large, handsome superintendententered and sat down. 

"I thought I would come and tell you, " she said, trying to keep herprofessional expression while her maternal heart warmed to the girl, "that you have been highly honoured. There is to be a very importantoperation to-morrow at three o'clock. Doctor Ledyard is to perform it, assisted by his young partner. He has asked for several nurses, and henamed _you_--singled you out. He has observed you; wishes to--use you. It's a great compliment, Miss Glynn. " So often had Priscilla corrected, to no avail, the wrong pronouncing of her name, that she now accepted itwithout further demur. Flushing and trembling, she went close to Mrs. Thomas and held her hands out impulsively. 

"All my glory is coming at once!" she faltered. 

"Glory? Well, you are a queer girl. To stand for hours under that man'seye! You call it glory? Why, it is an honour because it is _that man, that eye_; but as to glory! My dear Miss Glynn, I must insist that you gooff this afternoon and play--somewhere. Then come back and get a goodnight's rest. The life of the richest man in New York will hang in thebalance to-morrow, and not even the glorified nurse can afford to have atrembling hand when she passes up an instrument or wipes the perspirationfrom the surgeon's brow. "

"Thank you, oh! thank you, Mrs. Thomas! Of course, if I were not sostupid I could make you understand how I feel. I seem to have found theright way, and everything is conspiring to tell me so. You see, I mightnot have qualified; some girls do not. No one might have noticed me; youmight not have been so kind. Often I am rather lonely and ungrateful;but you must try to believe that I am--very happy now. "

"I suppose"--Mrs. Thomas was holding the radiant young face with herclear, calm eyes--"I suppose you are one of those natures that cravessuccess; cannot brook defeat. Life will deal harshly with you. "

"I am willing to suffer. It is the learning I must have. It is the chanceto learn that makes me so glad, " Priscilla burst in, "and it's this surefeeling that I am on the right trail. "

"There is a difference. But somehow the career of a nurse isso--well--difficult, and--hard, " Mrs. Thomas went on. "I wonder how youcan approach it with your enthusiasm undaunted after months of service. "

"I do not know, but it seems my road to what is mine. It gets me so nearpeople--when they most need me--are so glad to have me! There seems tobe nothing between me--and them. I love it, oh! I love it, Mrs. Thomas!"

"See here, Miss Glynn, where are you going this afternoon?"

"I do not know; just--going. "

"I wish--dear me! I do wish you could go somewhere; do somethingshockingly frivolous. "

"No, I couldn't to-day. I feel like praying--or dancing. There's the mostwonderful, singing feeling inside of me. That's why I do not need--funas much as most of the girls do. You are very kind; I think I will go toyour big, fine park and walk and walk. I'd like to see the sun set andthe stars----"

"Now, Miss Glynn, unless you promise me to get under shelter before thestars come out I'll call the police. Some day you will learn that NewYork is not your Canadian hamlet. "

Priscilla laughed gayly. 

"Very well. I will take my walk and then go to my dear old friend. He'llbe looking for me from his high window. He always stands there lateafternoons, on the chance of my coming. He says it's a pleasure to feelyou have something that _may_ come, even if you know it isn't coming justthen. "

Priscilla changed her clothing and set forth a half hour later for herwalk and to meet with an adventure that changed the current of herthought materially. From that afternoon she was pressed and forced up herRoad by a power that had taken her into control with definite purpose. 

She went into the park at the lower entrance and walked rapidly to a highplace that was a favourite with her. So peaceful and detached it was thatshe could generally think her thoughts, sing aloud a little song, andfeel safe from intrusion. Being high and open, the sunlight rested longerthere than it did below and misled one as to time. 

There was a glorious sunset that evening, a golden, deep one, againstwhich the bare trees, towers, and house roofs stood outlined black andsharp. It was like a burnished shield. It was a still day, with a gentlecrispness in the air that stimulated while it did not chill. 

"Everything is waiting. What for? what for?" Priscilla whispered sociablyto herself. She was young, full of health and success. Of course she waswaiting as the young do. And then something touched her cheek softly, and, looking down, she saw that her dark suit was covered with featherysnowflakes. So silently had they escaped a passing cloud that she wasstartled. She arose at once and was surprised to find, in the hollowbelow, that the paths were crusted and the electric lights gleamedyellow through a fluttering mist of flying snow. It was very beautiful, but it warned one to hasten, and besides it had grown quite dark. 

There was a path, Priscilla knew it well, that led straight across thepark to an entrance near Boswell's home, and she took it now at a rapidpace. 

The beauty of the walk did not escape her, the exhilaration of the airacted like a cordial upon her, she seemed hardly to touch the ground asshe ran on; and once she paused before setting her foot upon the lovelywhiteness. As she hesitated some one stepped from the shadow of a clumpof bushes and confronted her under the electric light. 

"Can you tell me how to find the nearest way out? I'm lost. "

Priscilla's heart gave one hard throb and stood still, it seemed for anhour, while an almost forgotten terror seized and held her. She waslooking full upon Jerry-Jo McAlpin! A soiled and haggard shadow he wasof what he once had been, but it was Jerry-Jo and no other. 

"I--I did not mean to frighten you. Forgive me. I ain't going to hurtyou, Miss. I----"

But Priscilla was gone before the sentence was finished. Gone before sheknew whether the speaker had recognized her or not. Gone before--and thenshe stood still. She could not leave him to wander alone at night in thatbig, strange place. No matter what happened, she must treat him humanly, she, who knew the danger. She went back, her blood running like icethrough her body; but Jerry-Jo McAlpin was not there. Priscilla waited, and once she spoke vague directions to the empty space, but no answeringvoice replied. Presently she controlled herself, and took to the pathagain, and reached John Boswell's house before he had left his window. 

She did not tell of the encounter; she felt she must wait, but in herheart she knew that Jerry-Jo McAlpin was as surely on her trail as shewas herself. Such things as that meeting did not happen to them of theIn-Place unless for a purpose. 

She had a wonderful evening with Boswell. They did not go out, and afterdinner he read her some manuscript stories. Boswell had never before sointimately permitted her to come close to his work. She had seen storiesof his in print, had heard plans for others, but before the fire in hisstudy that night he read, among other things, "The Butterfly and theBeetle. " So beautifully, so touchingly, had he pictured the littleromance, of which Priscilla herself was part, that the tears fell fromthe girl's eyes while her lips were smiling at the tender humour. Theundercurrent of meaning threw new light on the lonely life of the rich, but wretched man. The joy depicted in simple, friendly intercourse, theaspiration of the Beetle, the grateful appreciation for the plain, commonhappenings that in most lives were taken for granted, but which in hisrose to monumental importance, endeared him to her anew. It brought backto her what Boswell had told her of his relations with Farwell Maxwell, her Anton Farwell. She could now, with her broader, more mature reason, understand the devotion the cripple had given the one man who, in theempty years, had taken him without reservation, had ignored hislimitations, and had been his friend and comrade. 

Suddenly she asked:

"Have you heard from--from Master Farwell lately?" The question startledBoswell. 

"Yes. I had a letter yesterday. He has been ill. That squaw woman, LongJean, took care of him. The letter sounded restless. There'll be troublewith Farwell before we get through. My letters are evidently lackingpower, and your silence baffles him. "

"Poor Master Farwell!"

"I fancy he thought Joan Moss would go to him. It has been hard work tobuild a barrier between him and her that could satisfy, now that hebelieves you have told her of his being among the living. "

"What have you said to him all this time?"

Boswell shifted his position, and Priscilla saw the haggard, carewornlook spread over his face. By sudden insight she realized that he lookedold, pitiful, and far from well, and her heart filled with sympathy. The half-mystical life was telling upon him, becoming a burden. 

"Oh, at first I said the surprise of knowing he lived had made her, madeJoan Moss, ill. It took nearly six months to cover that, and I did somegood writing during that period. Then I told him there were things tosettle; then, fear for his safety overpowered her: dread of beingtracked. And since then--well, since then there has been silence. Canyou not understand? His pride has asserted itself at last. If she willnot communicate with him herself, he will have none of me; none of you. Has he ever said a word about her to--you?"

"Never, " Priscilla answered. 

"But, " Boswell went on, "I notice a change in him; an almost feverishimpatience. I fear he doubts me--after all these years!"

"And when he knows?"

The man by the fire shrank deeper in his chair. 

"When he knows?" he repeated. "Why, then he will have an opportunity tounderstand my life-long devotion, my gratitude, my love! That is all. "

CHAPTER XVI

"For real emergencies, " Doctor Ledyard once remarked to Helen Travers, "give me the nervous, high-strung women. They come through shock anddanger better, they hold to a climax more steadily. Your phlegmatic womangoes to pieces because she hasn't imagination and vision enough to carryher over the present. "

This reasoning caused him to select Priscilla Glenn for one of the mostcritical operations he had ever performed. Among the blue and whitenurses of his knowledge this girl with the strange, uplifted expressionof face; this girl who was actually on the lookout for experience andpractice, and who seriously loved her profession, stood in a class byherself. He had long had his eye upon her, had meant to single her out. And now the opportunity had come. 

Perhaps the most important man in business circles, certainly one of therichest men in the city, had come to that period of his life's careerwhen he must pay toll for the things he had done and left undone in hispast. The broad, common gateway gaped wide for him, and only one chancepresented itself as a possible means of holding him back from the longjourney he so shudderingly contemplated. 

"One chance in ten?" he questioned. 

"One--in----" Ledyard had hesitated. 

"A hundred?"

"A thousand. "

A breathless pause followed. Then:

"And if I do not take it, how long?"

"A week, a month; not longer. "

"I'll take it. "

"I'll have my partner----Would you care for any one else?" Ledyard asked. 

"No. Since it must be, I put myself in your hands. I trust you above anyone I know. Do your best for me, and in case I slip through your fingersI thank you now, and--good-bye. "

Before any great event, or operation, Ledyard was supersensitive, highlywrought, and nervous. When he heard the announcement that day of theoperation: "All is ready, sir!" he stepped, gowned and masked, into theoperating-room, and was aware of a senseless inclination to ask someone--he did not know whom--to make less noise and to lower the shades. Then his eye fell, not on the dignified and serene head nurse, not on theother ghostly young forms in their places near the table, not on theanesthetist, nor young Travers, his partner, but on the nurse who stooda little apart, the girl he had selected in order to test her on a reallygreat case. So radiant and inspired was Priscilla Glenn's face that itfairly shone in that grim place and positively had the effect of bringingLedyard to the calmness that characterized his action once the necessitydemanded. 

"How is your patient, Doctor Sloan?" he asked the anesthetist. 

"Fine, Doctor Ledyard. I'm ready when you are. "

Then tense silence followed, broken only by the click of instruments andthe curt, crisp commands. The minutes, weighted with concentration, raninto the hour. Not a body in that room was aware of fatigue or anxiety. Alife was at stake, and every one knew it. It did not matter that the manupon the table was important and useful: had he been the meanest of themean and in the same critical state, that steady hand, which guided theknife so scientifically and powerfully, would have worked the same. 

The sun beat down upon the glass roof of that high room; the perspirationstarted to Ledyard's forehead and a nurse wiped it away. 

From her place Priscilla Glenn watched breathlessly the scene before her. It seemed to her that she had never seen an operation before; had nevercomprehended what one could be. She realized the odds against which thosetwo great men were battling, and her gaze rested finally, not on the headsurgeon, but on his partner. Once, as if by some subtle attraction, heraised his eyes and met hers. Above the mask his glance showed kindly andencouragingly. He knew that some nurses lost their nerve when a thingstretched on as this did; he never could quite overlook the fact thatnurses were women, as well, and he hated to see one go under. But thisyoung nurse was showing no weakness. Travers saw that, after a moment, and dropped his eyes. But that glance had fixed Priscilla's face in hismemory, and when, after the great man had been carried to his room withhope following him, when he could be left with safety to his privatenurse, Travers came upon the girl standing by a deep window in the upperhall. He remembered her at once and stopped to say a pleasant word. 

This was not the strictly proper thing to do, and Travers knew it. Ledyard was always challenging his undignified tendencies. 

"Unless doctors and nurses can leave their sex outside their profession, "was a pet epigram of Ledyard's, "they had better choose another. "

But Travers had never been able to fulfil his partner's ideal. 

"It was a wonderful operation, " he said. "I hope it did not overtire you. You will get hardened after a while. "

"I am not at all tired. Yes, it was--wonderful! I did not know anyoperation could be like that--I mean in the way that it was done. I havealways been afraid of Doctor Ledyard before; all of us are; I shall neverbe again. "

"May I ask why?"

Travers, being young and vital, was forgetting, for the moment, hisprofessional air to a dangerous extent. He was noticing the strangecoloured hair under the snowy cap, the poise of the head, the deepviolet eyes in the richly tinted face. 

"It was that--well, the look on his face after he had done all that hecould--done it so wonderfully. That look was--a prayer! I shall neverforget. "

Travers gave a light laugh. 

"It would be like Doctor Ledyard, " he said with a peculiarly boyish ringin his voice, "to do his part first and pray afterward. "

"But no one could ever be afraid of him again having once seen thatlook!"

"Miss Glynn, " Travers replied; "they could! and yet the _look_ holds thefear in check. "

Priscilla went early to bed that night. She had planned a visit toBoswell when her enthusiasm was at its height, but at the day's end shefound herself so exhausted that she sought her room in a state borderingon collapse. 

Sounds outside caught and held her attention; every sense was quiveringlyalert and receptive; she was at the mercy of her subconscious self. 

"Extry! extry!" bellowed a boy just below her window; "turribulaccident on--de--extry! extry! Latest bulletin--Gordan Moffatt--bigfin--cier--extry! extry!"

Priscilla sat up in bed and listened. So intimate had the insistent boyin the street become that she was drawn to him by a common bond ofsympathy. 

Slowly a luxurious sense of weariness overcame her and again she leanedback on her pillow and sank into a semiconscious sleep. Balanced betweenlife and the oblivion, into which reason enters blindfolded, she made noresistance, but was swayed by every passing wave of thought, memory, andvision. 

The voice outside merged presently into Jerry-Jo McAlpin's. So naturallydid it do so that the girl upon the bed, rigid and pale, accepted thechange with no surprise. 

Jerry-Jo was asking her the way out! He was lost--lost. He wanted to getout of the darkness and the noise; he wanted to find his way back to theIn-Place. 

Yes, she would show him! There was no fear of him; no repulsion. She wasvery safe and strong, and she knew that it was wiser for Jerry-Jo to goback home. 

Then suddenly she and he were transported from the bewildering city, talking in its sleep, to the sweet, fresh dimness of the Kenmore Green, where the steamer had left them. It was early, very early morning, notmore than four o'clock, and the stars were bright and the hemlocks black, and the red rocks looked soft in the shadows, like pillows. And over theGreen, loping and inquisitive, came Sandy McAdam's dog, Bounder. Hownatural and restful the scene was! Then it was Jerry-Jo, not Priscilla, who was leading. The half-breed with a gesture of friendliness wasbeckoning her on toward the mossy wood path leading to Lonely Farm. Therewas a definiteness about the slouching figure that forbade any pause atthe White Fish Lodge or the master's dark and silent house. Priscillalonged to stop, but she hastened on, feeling a need for hurry. 

Presently she saw the little house, her father's house, and there was alight shining from the kitchen window. Jerry-Jo, still preceding her, tapped on the outer door, but when the door fell open Jerry-Jo was gone!Alone, Priscilla confronted her father, and saw with surprise that heevidently expected her. While the look of hatred and doubt still restedin his eyes, there was also a look of dumb pity. No word was spoken. Nathaniel merely stepped aside and closed the door behind her. Then shebegan a strange, breathless hunt for something which, at first, she couldnot call by name; it evaded and eluded her. Something was missing;something she wanted desperately; but the rooms were horribly dark andlonely, and the stillness hurt her more and more. 

At last she came back to her father and the warm, lighted kitchen. 

"I cannot find--my mother, " she said, and the reality set her trembling. 

"Your--mother? I--I cannot find her, either. I thought she--followedyou!"

Cold and shivering, Priscilla sat up in bed. Her teeth chattered andthere were tears on her cheeks. They did not seem like her own tears. Itwas as if some one, bending over her, had let them fall from eyes seekingto find her in the dark. 

"Mother!" moaned Priscilla, and with the word a yearning and craving forher mother filled every sense. By a magic that the divine only controls, poor Theodora Glenn in that moment was transformed and radiantly crownedwith the motherhood she had so impotently striven to achieve in hernarrowed, blighted life. The suffering of maternity, its denials andrelinquishings she had experienced, but never its joy of realization, unless, as her spirit passed from the Place Beyond the Winds to itsHome, it paused beside the little, narrow, white bed upon which Priscillalay, and caught that name "Mother!" spoken with a sudden inspiration ofunderstanding. 

And that night, with only her grim husband and Long Jean beside her, Theodora escaped the bondage of life. 

After the strange dream, Priscilla, awed and trembling, walked to thewide open window of her room. For some moments she stood there breathingfast and hard while the cruel clutch of superstition hurt and held her. 

"Something has happened, " she faltered, leaning upon the casement andlooking down into the silent street, for the restless city had at lastfallen to sleep. "Something in Kenmore!"

A red, pulsing planet, shining high over a nearby church tower, caughther eye and brought a throb of comfort to her--a tender thought of home. 

"To-morrow, perhaps, a letter will come from Master Farwell; if not, Iwill write to him. I must know. "

CHAPTER XVII

For two or three days things fell into such commonplace routine that theexcitement of the big operation and the disturbing dream of the nightlost their sharp, clear lines; became blurred and part of the web andwoof of the hospital régime. There was little time for introspection orromancing and even the chance meeting with Jerry-Jo was relegated to thenon-essentials. Of course he was in the city, but so were the Hornby boysand others from the In-Place. The whirlpool was a big and rushing thing, and if they who had once been neighbours caught a glimpse of each otherfrom dizzy eddies, what did it matter? The possibility of second meetingswas rare. 

John Boswell had been sympathetic, to a certain degree, with Priscillaconcerning the operation and her very evident pride in the part she hadbeen permitted to take in it. With the instinctive horror that many haveconcerning sickness and suffering, he always made an effort to appearsympathetic when Priscilla grew graphic. Often this caused her to laugh, but she never doubted Boswell's sincere interest in her, personally. Thatshe had overcome and achieved was a thing of real gratification to thelonely man; that she came to him naturally and eagerly, during her hoursof freedom, was the only unalloyed joy of his present existence. EvenToky hailed her appearances now with frank pleasure, for she, and shealone, brought the rare, sweet smile to the master's face and gave ameaning to the artistic meals that were planned. 

"I think, my Butterfly, " Boswell often said to her, "that you have soaredto glory through suffering and gore! But it is the soaring and the glorythat matter, after all. Do not lay it up against your poor Beetle if hemakes a wry face now and then. You are desperately dramatic, you know, but even in my shudders I do not lose sight of the fact that you are avery triumphant Butterfly. "

Priscilla beamed upon him; the new light of well-poised serenity did notescape him. 

"If I could only explain!" she once said to him as they sat facing eachother across the table that Toky had laid so artistically. "When I feelthe deepest my words seem shut in a cage; only a few get through thebars. I really believe people all feel the same about their littlevictories. It isn't the kind of victory; it is the sure realization thatyou are doing _your_ work--the work you can do best. Why, sometimes Ifeel as if I were the big All Mother, and the sad, helpless, sufferingfolk were _my_ dear children just looking to me--to me! And then I tryto take the pain and fear from their faces by all the arts my professionhas taught me and all the--the _something_ that is in me, and--I tellyou----"

Priscilla paused, while the shining light in her big eyes was brightened, rather than lessened, by the tears that gathered, then retreated. 

"And for all this, " Boswell broke in, "you are to get twenty-five per, orfor a particular case, thirty-five per?"

They smiled broadly at each other, for their one huge, compelling jokeloomed close. 

"Well, sir, when one considers what two intelligent people, like you andme, did with Master Farwell's one hundred dollars, the future lookswonderfully rich! I shall soon be able to repay the loan with interest. "

And then they talked a bit of Master Farwell and the In-Place, alwaysskirting the depths gracefully, for Boswell never permitted certainsubjects to escape his control. It was the half-playful, but whollykind dignity that had won for him Priscilla's faith and dependence. 

For a week or two after Gordon Moffatt's operation things went calmly andprosaically at the hospital. The rich man recovered so rapidly andsatisfactorily that even the outside world took things for granted, andany items of news concerning him were to be found on the inside pages ofthe newspapers. During his convalescence Priscilla met Doctor Ledyard andDoctor Travers many times. Once, by some mysterious arrangement, she wasassigned charge, in the rich man's room, while his own nurse was absent. For three days and nights she obeyed his impatient commands and reasonedwith him when he confused his dependent condition with his usualdomineering position. 

"Damn me!" he once complained to Travers when he thought Priscilla wasout of hearing; "that young woman you've given charge over me ought tohave a bigger field for her accomplishments. She's a natural-born tyrant. I tried to escape her this morning; had got as far as one foot out of bedwhen she bore down upon me, calmly, devilishly calmly, pointed to myoffending foot, and said: "Back, sir!" Then we argued a bit--I'm afraid Iwas a trifle testy--and finally she laid hands upon my ankle in the mostscientific manner and had me on my back before I could think of theproper adjectives to apply to her impudence. "

Travers laughed and looked beyond the sick man's bed to the bowed head ofPriscilla as she bent over some preparation she was compounding in ananteroom. From a high window the sunlight was streaming down on thewonderful rusty-coloured hair. The girl's attitude of detachment andconcentration held the physician's approving glance, but the wave ofhair under the white cap and against the smooth, clear skin lingered inthe memory of the _man_ long after he forgot Moffatt's amusing anecdote. 

And then, because things were closing in upon Priscilla Glenn's littlestage, something happened so commonplace in its character that its effectupon the girl was out of all proportion. 

After a rather strenuous day she was sleeping heavily in her little whiteroom when a sharp knock on her door brought her well-trained senses intoaction at once. 

"There's been an accident, Miss Glynn. " It was the superintendent whospoke. "Please report on Ward Five as soon as possible. "

It was an insignificant accident; such a one as occurs shockingly oftenin our big cities. A large touring car, with seven passengers, rushing upa broad avenue with a conscientious man at the wheel, had overhauled apoor derelict with apparently no fixed purpose in his befuddled brain. Inorder to spare the fellow, the chauffeur had wheeled his car madly to oneside, and, by so doing, had hit an electric-light pole, with the resultthat every one was more or less injured, the forlorn creature who hadcaused the excitement, most of all, for the over-turned machine hadincluded him in its crushing destruction. 

Four men and three women were carried to St. Albans and now occupiedprivate rooms, while the torn and broken body of the unknown stranger layin Ward Five, quite unconscious. He was breathing faintly, and, sincethey had made him clean and decent, he looked very young and wan as herested upon the narrow, white bed. 

Priscilla stood at the foot of the cot and read the chart which a formernurse had hurriedly made out; then she came around to the side and lookeddown upon--Jerry-Jo McAlpin!

She knew him at once. The deathlike repose had wiped away much thatrecent years had engraven on his face. He looked as Priscilla rememberedhim, standing in his father's boat, proudly playing the man. 

For a moment the quiet girl grew rigid with superstitious fear. Thatdeathlike creature before her filled her with unreasoning alarm. Shealmost expected him to open his black eyes and laughingly announce thathe had found her at last! She longed to flee from the room before he hada chance to gain control of her. She breathed fast and hard, as she hadthat morning when his ringing jeer had stayed her feet as she ran fromthe Far Hill Place after the night of terror. Then sanity came to herrelief and she knew, with a pitying certainty born of her training, thatJerry-Jo McAlpin could never harm her again. That he was a link betweenthe past and the future she realized with strange sureness. He had alwaysbeen that. He had made things happen; been the factor in bringingexperiences to her. She, in self-preservation, would not claim anyknowledge of him now; she would care for him and wait--wait until sheunderstood just what part he was to play in her present experience. He might threaten all that she had gained for herself--her peace andsecurity. Her only safeguard now was to ignore the personality beforeher and respond to the appeal of the "case. "

Jerry-Jo was destined to become interesting before he slipped away. Knownonly as a number, since he had not been identified or claimed, he rapidlyrose to importance. After three days of unconsciousness he stillpersisted, and while his soul wandered on the horizon, his body respondedto the care given it and grew in strength. One doctor after anotherwatched and commented on his chances, and in due time Doctor Travers, hearing of the case, stopped to examine it, and, in the interest ofscience, suggested an operation that might possibly return the poorfellow to a world that had evidently no place for him. 

"It's worth trying, " Travers said as he and Priscilla stood beside thebed. "We haven't found out anything concerning him, have we?"

Priscilla shook her head. 

"Suppose he--well, suppose he had any claim upon you, would you take thechance of the operation for him?"

The deep, friendly eyes were fixed upon the girl. She coloured sharply, then went quite pale. There was a most unaccountable struggle, andTravers smiled as he thought how conscientious she was to feel any deepresponsibility in a question he had asked, more in idle desire to maketalk than for any other reason. 

"Yes, " she replied suddenly, as her head was lifted; "yes, I'd give himevery chance. "

Just then, in one of those marvellous flashes of regained consciousness, the man upon the bed opened his eyes and looked, first at Travers, thenat Priscilla. Again his gaze shifted, gaining strength and meaning. Fromthe far place where he had fared for days his mind, lighted by reason, was abnormally clear and almost painfully reinforced by memory. Then helaughed--laughed a long, shuddering laugh that drew the thin lips backfrom the white, fang-like teeth. Before the sound was finished the lightfaded from the black eyes and the grim silence shut in close upon thelast quivering note. 

[Illustration: "In one of those marvellous flashes of regainedconsciousness, the man upon the bed opened his eyes and looked, first at Travers, then at Priscilla"]

"We'll take the chance, " said Travers. And late that very afternoon theytook it. 

A week later Priscilla sat beside the man's bed, her right hand upon hispulse, her watch in her left. So intent was she upon the weak movementunder her slim fingers that she had forgotten all else until a voice froma far, far distance seemingly, whispered hoarsely:

"So--so this is--you? I'm not dreaming? I wasn't dreaming beforewhen--when he and you came?"

They had all been expecting this. The operation had been very successful, though it was not to give the patient back to life. They all knew that, too. 

"Yes, Jerry-Jo, it's I. "

There was no tremor in the low voice, only a determination to keep theworld from knowing. Jerry-Jo was past hurting any one. 

"The--lure got you, too?"

"Yes, the lure got me. "

"I knew you that night in the dark--that night in the park--you ran fromme. I was lost and--and starving!"

"I came back, Jerry-Jo. I did indeed. "

"Have I been here--long?"

"Not very. Do not talk any more. You must rest. There is to-morrow, youknow. "

The poor fellow was too weak to laugh, but the long teeth showed for amoment. 

"I must talk. Listen! Do they know here--about me? know my name?"

"No. "

"Don't tell them. Don't tell any one. I have done something for you!They think, back there in Kenmore, that you are with me. I've writtenthat--and schoolmaster hasn't let on. I haven't gone to the Hornbys here, because I stood by you. No one must know. See?"

"Yes, Jerry-Jo, I see. Please lie still now. It shall be as you wish. Youhave been--very good--for my sake!"

"I've starved and slept in dark holes--for you, and now you and him--havegot to take care of me--or--I'll tell! I'll tell, as sure as God hearsme!"

"We will take care of you, Jerry-Jo. There! there! I promise; and youknow we of the In-Place stand by each other. "

He was comforted at last, and fell into the deep sleep of exhaustion. Occasionally, in the days following, he opened his tired eyes and gaveevidence of consciousness. He was drifting out calmly and painlessly, and all the coarseness and degeneracy of the half-breed seemed droppingby the way. Sometimes his glance rested on Doctor Travers's face, forthe young physician was deeply interested in the case and was touched bythe lonely, unclaimed fellow who had served science, but could derive nobenefit in return. Often Jerry-Jo's dark eyes fell upon the pitying faceof Priscilla Glenn with ever-growing understanding and kindliness. Sometimes in the long nights he clung to her like a child, for she wasvery good to him; very, very devoted. 

One night, when all the world seemed sleeping, he whispered to her:

"You--you don't know, really?"

Priscilla thought he was wandering, and said gently:

"No, Jerry-Jo, really I do not know. "

"What will you give me--if I tell you the biggest secret in the world?"

She had his head in the hollow of her arm; he was resting more calmly so. He had been feverish all day. 

"What--can I give you, Jerry-Jo?"

The old, pleading look was in the dark eyes, but low passion had vanishedforever. 

"Could you--would you give me a kiss for the secret?"

"Yes, Jerry-Jo, " and the kiss fell upon the white brow. 

Could John Boswell have been there then he would have understood. 

"You--you are crying! I feel a tear with the kiss!"

The quivering, broken smile smote Priscilla to the heart. The wardwas deathly quiet; only the deep breathing of men closer to life thanJerry-Jo McAlpin broke the stillness. 

"Why--do you cry?"

"You know, it's a bad habit of mine, Jerry-Jo. "

"Yes. You--you cried on his book, you remember?"

"I remember. "

"Do--you know where he is--now?"

"No. Do you?"

The head upon the strong, young arm moved restlessly. 

"Yes--I know--and I'm--going to tell you! It's the biggest joke I everknew. Just to think--that you don't know, and he doesn't know, and--andI do!"

A rattling, husky laugh shook the thin form dangerously. Every instinctof the nurse rose in alarm and defence. 

"You must not talk any more, Jerry-Jo. Lie still. Come, let us think ofthe In-Place. "

Priscilla slipped her arm from under the dark head, and took thewandering hands in hers. Her random words had power to hold and chainthe weak mind. 

"I'm going to tell you--where he is--but we'll go back to the In-Place. Iwant to tell you there, and--he'll come and find you. I'd like to do youboth a good turn--for what you've done for me. "

Then, after a pause and a gasping breath:

"It's growing dark, but there's Dreamer's Rock and Bleak Head!"

"And, Jerry-Jo, " whispered Priscilla, "there's Lone Tree Island, don't you see? Your boat is coming around into the Channel. Please tellme--where he is, Jerry-Jo----"

Priscilla realized he was going fast, and the secret suddenly gripped herwith strange power. She must have it; she must know!

"Please, Jerry-Jo, tell me where he is. I have wanted so to know! Listen!Can you not hear--the dear old sounds, the pattering of the soft littlewaves that the ice has let go free? There's the farm, the woods----" ButJerry-Jo was struggling to rise; his black eyes wide and straining, histhin arms outstretched. 

"No!" he moaned hoarsely, and already he seemed far away. "I can't makethe Channel. I'm headed for the Secret Portage and the Big Bay. "

"Jerry-Jo! oh! tell me, where is he? Where is he?"

But Priscilla knew it was too late. She bent and listened at the stillbreast that was holding the secret close from her. Then, with a sense ofhaving been baffled, defeated, and cruelly cheated, she dropped her wetface in her hands for a moment before she went to do her last duty forJerry-Jo. 

CHAPTER XVIII

The following June Priscilla Glenn graduated. She and John Boswell grewquite merry over the event. 

"I really can't let you spend anything on me, " she said laughingly;"nothing more than the cost of a few flowers. I have the awful weight ofdebt upon me at the beginning of my career. One hundred dollars to MasterFarwell, and----"

"The funeral expenses of that poor waif you were so interested in! Mydear child, you are as niggardly with your philanthropies as you are withyour favours. Why not be generous with me? And, by the way, can you tellme just why that young fellow appealed to you so? I daresay other'unknowns' drift into St. Albans. "

"He looked--you will think me foolish, Mr. Boswell--but he looked likesome one I once knew in Kenmore. "

The warm June day drifted sunnily into Boswell's study window. There wasa fragrance of flowers and the note of birds. Priscilla, in her plainwhite linen dress, was sitting on the broad window seat, and Boswell, from his winged chair, looked at her with a tightening of the throat. There were times when she made him feel as he felt when Farwell Maxwellused to look at him before the shadow fell between them--the shadow thatdarkened both their lives. 

"And that was why you had a--a Kenmore name graven on the stone?"

"Yes, Mr. Boswell, Jerry-Jo McAlpin. Jerry-Jo is dead, too, you know. They name living people after dead ones. Why not dead people?"

"Why, indeed? It's quite an idea. Quite an original idea. But as to myspending money on your graduation, a little more added to what youalready owe me will not count, and, besides, there is that trifle leftfrom Farwell's loan still to your credit. "

"Now, Mr. Boswell, don't press me too close! I was a sad innocent whenI came from the In-Place, and a joke is a joke, but you mustn't bank onit. "

The bright head nodded cheerfully at the small, crumpled figure in thedeep chair. 

"After you live in New York three years, Mr. Boswell, you never mistakea shilling for a dollar, sir. But just because it is such a heavenlyday--and between you and me, how much of that magic fund is left?"

"I've mislaid my account, " Boswell replied, the look that Toky watchedfor stealing over his thin face; "but, roughly speaking, I should saythat, with the interest added, about fifty dollars, perhaps a triflemore. "

Priscilla threw back her head and laughed merrily. 

"I can understand why people say your style is so absorbing, " she saidpresently; "you make even the absurd seem probable. "

"Who have you heard comment on my style?" Boswell leaned forward. He wasas sensitive as a child about his work. 

"Oh, one of the doctors at St. Albans told me that, to him, you were theHans Christian Andersen of grown-ups. He always reads you after a longstrain. "

A flush touched the sallow cheeks, and the long, white fingers tapped thechair arms nervously. 

"Well!" with a satisfied laugh, "I can prove the amount to your credit inthis case without resorting to my style. Would you mind going into yourold room and looking at the box that you will find on the couch?"

Priscilla ran lightly from the study, her eyes and cheeks telling thestory of her delight. 

The box was uncovered. Some sympathetic hand, as fine as a woman's, hadbared the secret for her. No mother could possibly have thought outdetail and perfection more minutely. There it lay, the gift of a generousman to a lonely girl, everything for her graduating night! The filmy gownwith its touch of colour in embroidered thistle flowers; the slippers andgloves; even the lace scarf, cloud-like and alluring; the long gloves andsilken hose. 

Down beside the couch Priscilla knelt and pressed her head against thesacred gift. She did not cry nor laugh, but the rapt look that used tomark her hours before the shrine in Kenmore grew and grew upon her face. 

"You will accept? You think I did well in my--shopping?"

Boswell stood in the doorway, just where a long path of late Junesunlight struck across the room. For the girl, looking mutely at him withshining eyes, he was transfigured, translated. Only the great, tendersoul was visible to her; the unasking, the kind spirit. Moved by a suddenimpulse, Priscilla rose to her feet and walked to him with outstretchedhands; when she reached him he took her hands in his and smiled up ather. 

"I--I accept, " she whispered with a break in her voice. "You have mademe--happier than I have ever been in my life!"

Boswell drew her hands to his lips and kissed them. 

"And you will come and see me in them"--Priscilla turned her eyes to thebox--"when I--dance?"

"You are to dance?"

"We are all to dance. "

"I have not seen you dance for many a day. If you dance as you once didthere will be only you dancing. Yes, I will come. "

And Boswell went. The exercises were held in the little chapel. From hisfar corner he watched the young women, in uniforms of spotless white, file to the platform for their diplomas. They all merged, for him, intoone--a tall, lithe creature with burnished hair, coppery and fine, and anexalted face. Later, from behind the mass of palms and ferns in thedancing hall, he saw only one girl--a girl in white with the tints ofthe thistle flower matching the deep eyes. 

And Priscilla danced. Some one, a young doctor, asked her, andfortunately for him he was a master hand at following. After a moment ofsurprise, tinged with excited determination, he found himself, with hisbrilliant partner, the centre of attraction. 

"Look! oh, do look at the little Canuck!" cried a classmate. 

"I never saw any one dance as she does"--it was Doctor Travers who spokefrom the doorway beside Mrs. Thomas--"but once before. It's quiteprimeval, an instinct. No one can teach or acquire such grace as that. "

Then, suddenly, and apropos of nothing, apparently:

"By the way, Mrs. Thomas, Miss Moffatt has been ordered abroad by DoctorLedyard. He spoke to-day about securing a companion-nurse for her. She'snot really ill, but in rather a curious nervous condition. I waswondering if----" His eyes followed Priscilla, who was nearing thecluster of palms behind which Boswell sat. 

"Of course!" Mrs. Thomas smiled broadly; "Miss Glynn, of course! She'smade to order. The girl has her way to make. She's been rather overdoinglately. I don't like the look in her eyes at times. She never asks forsympathy or consideration, you understand, but she makes every woman, andman, too, judging by that rich cripple, Mr. Boswell, yearn over her. She'd be the merriest soul on earth, with half a chance, and she's themost capable girl I have: ready for an emergency; never weary. Why, ofcourse, Miss Glynn!"

"I'll speak to Doctor Ledyard to-night, " said Travers. 

Then, strangely enough, Travers realized that he was very tired. Heexcused himself, and, walking back through the dim city streets to theLedyard home, he thought of Kenmore and the old lodge as he had not foryears. 

"I believe I'll run up there this summer, " he muttered half aloud. "I'lltake mother and urge Doctor Ledyard to join us. I would like to see howfar I've travelled from the In-Place in--why it's years and years! Allthe way from boyhood to manhood. "

But Ledyard changed the current of his desire. The older man was sittingin his library when Travers entered, and Helen Travers was in the deepwindow opening to the little garden space behind the house. 

Time had dealt so gently with Helen that now, in her thin white gown, shelooked even younger than in the Kenmore days, when her dress had beenmore severe. 

"You're late, " said Ledyard, looking keenly at him. 

"Very late, " echoed Helen, smiling. "I had dinner here and am waiting tobe escorted home. "

"She's refused my company. Where have you been, Dick?"

"I had to give out the diplomas, you know, at St. Albans. "

"It's after eleven now, Dickie. " Helen's gaze was full of gentle pride. 

"I stopped for an hour to see those little girls play. "

"The nurses?" Ledyard frowned. "Girls and nurses are not one and the samething, to a doctor. "

"Oh, come, come, dear friend!" Helen Travers went close to the two whowere dearest to her in the world. "Do not be unmerciful. Being a woman, I must stand up for my sex. Did they play prettily, Dick? I'm sure theydid not look as dear as they do in their uniforms. "

"One did. She was--well, to put it concisely, she was a--dance!"

"Umph! That ruddy-headed one, I bet!" Ledyard turned on another electriclight. "See here, Dick, do you think that girl could go abroad withGordon Moffatt's daughter? Moffatt spoke about her. She rather impressedhim while he was in St. Albans. She stood up against him. He neverforgets that sort; he swears at it, but he trusts it. The old housekeeperis going along to keep the party in order, but a trained hand ought togo, too. The Moffatt girl has the new microbe--Unrest. It's playing thedevil with her nerves. She's got to be jogged into shape. "

"I think we could prevail upon Miss Glynn to go. She has her way to make. She's been rather----" Travers stopped short; he was quoting Mrs. Thomastoo minutely. 

"Rather what, Dick?" Helen had her head against her boy's shoulder. 

"Hunting a job, " he lied manfully. "Most of those girls are up against itonce the training is over. "

"And Dick, " Helen raised her eyes, "Doctor Ledyard and I were talkingof a trip abroad this summer for--ourselves. Will you come? We want theoff-the-track places. Little by-products, you know. I'm hungry for--well, for detachment; but with those I love. "

"Just the thing, little mother, just the thing!" The In-Place faded fromsight. In its stead rose a lonely mountain peak that caught the firsttouch of day and held it longest. A little lake lay at its foot, andthere was the old house where he and Helen had spent so much of thesummer while he and she were abroad!

"Where does Miss Moffatt intend to go?" asked Travers. 

"That's it. Her ideas at present are typical of her condition. 'Snipthe cord that holds me, ' she said to me to-day; 'beg father to giveme a handful of blank checks and old Mousey'--that's what she callsthe housekeeper--'buy a nice nurse for me in case I need one--a niceun-nurse-like nurse, ' she stipulated--'and let me play around the worldfor a few months to see if I can find my real self hiding in some cranny;then I'll come back and be good!' The girl's a fool, but most girls arewhen they've been brought up as she has been. Moffatt is at his wits'end. Young Clyde Huntter is on the carpet just now. Think of that match!think of what it would mean to Moffatt! There are times when I regret theclub and cliff-dwelling age where women are concerned. "

"Now, now, my dear friend, please remember my sex. "

Helen ran from Richard to Ledyard. "We're all fagged, and the June nightis sultry. After all, girls, even women, should be allowed a mind oftheir own! Take me home, Dick, I'm deeply offended. " She smiled and heldout her hands. 

"If they were all as sane as you, Helen, " Ledyard's glance softened. "Youare exceptional. "

"Every woman is an exceptional something, good friend, if only anexceptional fool. I'm rather proud of Margaret Moffatt's determination tohave her way, and that idea of finding herself in some cranny of the oldworld is simply beautiful. I wonder----"

"What, Helen?"

"I wonder if an old lady like me, a lady with hair turning frosty, might, by any possibility, find _her_ real self left back there--oh! ages, agesbefore--well, before things happened which she never understood?"

Ledyard's eyes grew moist, but he made no reply. 

It was three days later that Priscilla Glenn received a note fromMargaret Moffatt, but she had already been prepared for it by DoctorLedyard and Mrs. Thomas. 

"Since they think I need a nurse, " the note ran, "will you call at elevento-morrow and see if you consider me sufficiently damaged to require yourcare? From what father says, I am prepared to succumb to you at once. Both father and I like strong oppositions!"

The June weather had turned chilly after the brief spell of heat, andwhen Priscilla was ushered into Margaret Moffatt's private library shefound a bright cannel coal fire in the little grate, beside which sat atall, handsome girl in house gown of creamy white. 

"And so you are--Miss Glynn?"

As a professional accepts a non de plume, Priscilla had accepted hername. 

"Yes. And you are--Miss Moffatt?"

"Please sit down--no, not way off there! Won't you take this chair besideme? I'm rather an uncanny person, I warn you. If I do not like to haveyou close to me now, we could never get on--across the water! Whatbelongs to me, and what I ought to have, is mine from the first. Besides, I want you to know the worst of me--for your own sake. Would you mindtaking off your hat? You have the most cheerful hair I ever saw. "

Priscilla laid her broad-brimmed hat aside and laughed lightly. She wasas uncanny as Margaret Moffatt, but she could not have described thecharm that drew her to the girl across the hearth. 

"I'm rather a hopelessly cheerful person, " she said, settling herselfcomfortably; "it's probably my chief virtue--or shortcoming. "

"You know I am not a bit sick--bodily, Miss Glynn. It's positivelyridiculous to have a nurse for me, but if I am to get my way with myfather I must humour him. A dear old family servant is going with me. Father did want a private cook and guide, but we've compromised on--you!I do hope you'll undertake the contract. I'm not half bad when I have myway. Do you think, now that you have seen me for fifteen minutes, thatyou could--tolerate me; take the chance?"

"I should be very glad to be with you. " Priscilla beamed. 

"Your eyes are--blue, I declare! Miss Glynn, by all the laws of natureyou should have eyes as dark as mine. "

"Yes; an old nurse back in my Canadian home used to say I was made of theodds and ends of all the children my mother had and lost. "

"What a quaint idea! I believe she was right, too. That will make youadaptable. Miss Glynn, let me tell you something, just enough to beginon, about myself--as a case. I'm tired to death of everything that hasgone before; I do not fit in anywhere. I believe I'm quite a differentperson from what every one else believes; I've never had a chance toknow myself; I've been interpreted by--by generations, traditions, andthose who love me. I want to get far enough away to--get acquainted withmyself, and then if I am what I hope I am, I will return like a happyqueen and triumphantly enter my kingdom. If I am not worthy--well, wewill not talk about that! Something, I may tell you some day, hassuddenly awakened me. I'm rather blinded and deafened. I must have time. Can you bear with me?"

Margaret Moffatt leaned forward in her chair. Priscilla saw that herlarge brown eyes were tear-filled; the strong, white, outstretchedhands trembling. A wave of sympathy, understanding, and great likingoverwhelmed Priscilla, and she rose suddenly and stood beside the girl. 

"I--think I was meant--to help you, " she said so simply that she couldnot be misunderstood. "When do we--go?"

"Go? Oh! you mean on the hunt for myself?"

"Yes. "

"Father has the refusal of staterooms on two steamers. Could you startin--a week? Or shall we say three weeks?"

"It will not take me a day to get ready. My uniforms----"

"Please, Miss Glynn, leave them behind. I'm sure you're just a nice girlbesides being a splendid nurse. I want the nice girl with me. "

"Very well. That may take two days longer. "

"We'll sail, then, in a week. And will you--will you--will you acceptsomething in advance, since time is so short?"

"Something----?"

"Yes. Your--your salary, you know. "

"Oh, you mean money? I had forgot. I shall be glad to have some. I amvery poor. "

Again the simple, frank dignity touched Margaret Moffatt with pleasurableliking. 

"It's to be a hundred and fifty dollars a month and all expenses paid, Miss Glynn. "

"A hundred and fifty? Oh! I cannot----"

"Doctor Ledyard arranged it with my father. You see, they know what youare to undergo. I rather incline to the belief that they consider theyare making quite a bargain. I hate to see you cover your hair. Somehowyou seem to be dimming the sunshine. Good-bye until----"

"Day after to-morrow. "

"I will send a check to St. Albans to-night, Miss Glynn. "

And she did. A check for two hundred dollars with a box of yellowroses--Sunrise roses they were called. 

CHAPTER XIX

There are times in life, especially when one is young, that high peaksare the only landmarks in sight. Priscilla Glenn felt that henceforth herRoad was to be a highway constructed in such a fashion that airy bridgeswould connect the lofty altitudes, and all below would exist merely asviews. 

Her first thought, on the day following her interview with MargaretMoffatt, was to get to John Boswell, and, as she laughingly put it, payoff her debts!

Two hundred dollars and a full month's money from St. Albans! GordonMoffatt certainly could not feel richer than she. And then the monthsahead! Well--one could get dizzy on one's own heights. So Priscillacalmed herself by a day of strenuous shopping and looked forward to theevening with Boswell. 

A dim drizzle set in late in the afternoon, and there was a chill in theair that penetrated sharply. The mist transformed everything, and, totired, overexcited nerves, the real had a touch of the unreal. The parkglistened: the tender new green on tree, bush, and grass looked as if ithad just been polished, and the early flowers stood crisply on theiryoung stalks. 

At the point where once she had met poor Jerry-Jo McAlpin, Priscillapaused and was taken into control by memory and the long-ago Past. Quiteunaccountably, she longed to have her mother, even her father, know ofher wellbeing. Surely they would forgive everything if they knew just howthings had turned out for her! She almost wished she had decided to goback to the In-Place before she started on her trip abroad. She couldhave made them understand about her and poor Jerry-Jo. Was old Jerrywaiting and waiting? Something clutched Priscilla sharply. The lonelinessand silence of the Place Beyond the Winds enfolded her like a compellingdream. How they could patiently wait, those home folks of hers! And howdear they suddenly became, now that she was going into the new life thatpromised her her Heart's Desire!

Then she decided: since she could not go to them she must write to MasterFarwell, he had never answered her last letter, and beg him to tell themall about it. He would go, she felt sure, and, by some subtle magic, sheseemed to see him passing along the red-rock road, his long-caped coatflapping in the soft wind, his hair blowing across his face, the dogsfollowing sociably. He'd go first to old Jerry's, and then afterward, anhour, maybe, for it would be hard for Jerry McAlpin--he would go toLonely Farm by way of the wood path that led by the shrine in the openplace--was the skull still there with the long-dead grasses in its ears?It would be night, perhaps, when the master reached the farm; maybe thestar would be shining over the hemlock----

At this point Priscilla paused and caught her breath sharply. She hadcome out of the park by the gateway opposite Boswell's apartment, andjust ahead of her, across the street, was a thin, stooping figure withcaped coat flapping in the rising wind, and hair blowing across a bentface. 

"I--I am dreaming!" The words came brokenly. "I am bewitched!"

But with characteristic quickness of thought and action she put her doubtto the test. Running across the space between her and that slow-steppingfigure she panted huskily:

"Master Farwell! Master Farwell!"

He turned and fixed his deep, haunting eyes upon her. 

"It's Priscilla Glenn!" he whispered, as if to reassure himself; "littlePriscilla of the In-Place. "

By some trick of over-stimulated imagination Priscilla tried to adjustthe gentle, kindly man she knew and loved to the strange creature intowhich he had evolved since last she met him, but she could not! To her hewould always be the friend and helper, the understanding guide of herstormy girlhood. The rest was but shadows that came and went, cast byhappenings with which she had nothing to do. 

They were holding each other's hands under the window from which Boswellwas, perhaps, at that very moment watching and waiting. 

"Oh! my Master Farwell!" The tears rolled from the glad eyes. "I did notknow how far and how sadly I had gone until this minute!"

"But you have not forgotten to be little Priscilla Glenn. My dear! Mydear! how glad and thankful I am to see you. You have grown--yes; youhave grown into the woman I knew you would. Your eyes are--faithful; yourlips still smile. Oh! Priscilla, the world has not"--he paused and hisold, quivering laugh rang out cautiously--"the world has not--doshedyou!"

And then Priscilla caught him by the arm. 

"You have not seen--him?" she looked upward. 

"No. I was getting up my courage. The bird just freed from its cage--istimid. "

"Come! A minute will not matter. I must know about my home people. "

They walked on together. Then, because her heart was beating fast and thetears lying near, she drew close to her deepest interest by a circuitousway. 

"Tell me of--of Mrs. McAdam and Jerry McAlpin?"

"Mrs. McAdam is famous and rich. The White Fish Lodge has a waiting listevery summer. The--the body of Sandy drifted into the Channel a monthafter you left. Bounder found it. You remember how he used to know thesound of Sandy's engine? The day the body was washed up he--seemed toknow. One grave is filled, and Mary McAdam has put a monument between thetwo graves with the names of both boys. Jerry McAlpin has grown oldand--and respectable. He has a fancy that Jerry-Jo will come back a finegentleman. All these years he has been preparing for the prodigal. Theyoung devil has never sent a line to his father. A bad lot was Jerry-Jo. "

And then Priscilla told her story with many a catch in her voice. 

"You see--he did it for me, Master Farwell. He was not all bad. Who is, I wonder? He lies in a quiet spot Mr. Boswell and I found far out in thecountry. There's a hemlock nearby and a glimpse of water. I--I think Iwill not let old Jerry know. While he waits, he is happy. While he isgetting ready, life will mean something to him. And oh! Master Farwell, when--when Jerry-Jo went, he thought he was going through the SecretPortage to the Big Bay. I believe he will--welcome his father in the opensome day. I will not send word back to the In-Place. "

Farwell frowned. 

"Boswell has touched you with his fanciful methods, " he muttered; "isit--for the best?"

"I am sure it is. And--my--my people, Master Farwell, my mother?"

At this Farwell started and stepped back. The light from an electric lampfell full on the girl's quivering, brilliant face. He had told Boswell ofthe mother's death. 

"You--you did not know?" he asked. "She died----"

"Died? Master Farwell, my mother dead!"

"You see--how it hurts when Boswell plays with you?"

A note of bitterness crept into the voice. 

"When the day of reckoning comes--it hurts, it hurts like--hell!"

He had forgotten the girl, the white, frantic face. 

"Tell me, tell me when she, my poor mother, died?"

The words brought him back sharply, and with wonderful tenderness he toldher. 

"Long Jean was with her. She would have her and no other, because shesaid Jean had helped you into the world and only she should help her out. It is a beautiful story they tell in Kenmore of your mother's passing. She thought she was going to you. She seemed quite happy once she foundthe way!

"'I have found her!' she cried just at the last, 'andshe--understands!'"

"And I did, I did!" sobbed Priscilla. 

A passerby noticed the sound and paused to look at the two sharply. 

"Come, come, " Farwell implored her; "we will arouse suspicion. Let us getback to--to Boswell. I haven't much time, you see. I have promised Pineto be back in ten days. Ten days!"

"You promised--Pine?"

"And you never knew?" Farwell gave an ugly laugh. "Well, I carried theball and chain without a whimper, I can say that for myself. Pine is myball and chain. Because he isn't all devil, because he knows I am not, hewent off to play on Wyland Island. You know they kill the devil there thesecond week in June. Have you forgotten? Well, Pine has gone to take astab at satan, and I'm free--for ten days. Free!"

"And then?"

"And then I'm going back voluntarily, and--assume the ball and chain!"

"Master Farwell!"

"Do not pity me! It doesn't matter now. I only wanted to--settle withBoswell. I've been in town--three days. "

They were nearing the big apartment house; lights from the windows wereshowing cheerily through the misty fog. A chill fear shook Priscilla asshe began to comprehend the meaning of Farwell's words. In her lifeBoswell, and this man beside her, stood for friendship in its truest, highest sense, and she felt that she must hold them together in spite ofeverything. She stood still and gripped Farwell's arm. 

"You--you shall not go to him, " she whispered, "until you tell me--howyou are to pay him--for what he has done!"

Farwell's white, grim face confronted her. 

"How does one pay another for lying to him, cheating him, and--andplaying with him as though he were an idiot or a child?"

"Why did he do it, Master Farwell, why did he do it?"

"Because----" But for very shame Farwell hesitated. "It makes nodifference, " he muttered. "I'm no fool and Boswell shall find it out. "

"He has told me--the story. " Priscilla still stayed the straining figure. "All his life he has given and given to you all that was in his power togive. He is the noblest man I ever knew, the gentlest and kindest, and Inever knew a man could love another as he has loved you. What have yougiven to him--really? The smiles and jokes of the days long ago that wereheavenly to him--what did they cost you? He gave, and gave his heart'sbest; he lied and cheated you, that you might have--some sort of peacein--in Kenmore. Oh! if you only knew how he has hated it all, how he hasstruggled to keep up the play even when he was so weary that the soul ofhim almost gave out! And now you come to--to pay him with hate andrevenge when you have the only thing he wants in all the world at yourcommand--to give him!"

The impassioned words fell into silence; the uplifted face with itsshining eyes, mist-wet and indignant, aroused Farwell at last. 

"And that is?" he asked. 

"Yourself! your faith! See, that is his light. He is waiting--for me, because, since you sent me to him, he has been kind, heavenly kind to me, for your sake! Everything is, has always been, for your sake. Go to him, Master Farwell--go alone. I will come by and by; not now. Pay him for allhe has done for you--all these lonely years!"

Farwell no longer struggled. He took Priscilla's hands in a long, closeclasp. 

"What a woman you have become, Priscilla Glenn! Thank you. "

Without a word more they parted: Farwell to go to the reckoning;Priscilla to walk in the mist for a bit longer. 

All that occurred in Boswell's library Priscilla was never to know. 

There had been a moment of shock when Boswell, raising his eyes to greetPriscilla, saw Farwell Maxwell standing in the doorway. 

"You have come!" Boswell gasped, with every sacred thing at stake. 

"I--have come. "

"For--what--Max?"

"To--to thank you, if I can. To--to tell youmy story. "

 * * * * *

In the outer room Toky artistically held the dinner back. The honourablemaster and his strange but equally honourable friend must not bedisturbed. Something was happening; but after a time Boswell laughed asToky had never heard him laugh; so it was well, and the dinner could bideits time. 

Then Priscilla came, wet and white-faced, but with the "shine-look" inher eyes that Toky, despite his prejudices and profession, had noted andrespected. 

"We will have the dinner now, Mees?" as if Toky ever considered her tothat extent!

"I will--see Mr. Boswell. "

"He has--honourable friend. "

"My friend, Toky. The honourable friend is mine, also! And, oh! theflowers, Toky! There are no roses like the June roses. How wonderfullyyou have arranged them! A rose should never be crowded. "

Toky grinned helplessly. 

"Tree hours I take to make--look beautifully. One hour for each--rosy. That why it look beautifully. "

"Yes, that is why it looks--beautifully. Three hours and--you, Toky!"

Boswell and Farwell were sitting in front of the grate, upon which thewood lay ready to light. Their faces were pale and haggard, but theireyes turned to Priscilla without shame or doubt. 

"There is much--to talk about, " said Boswell with his ready friendliness;"Max--your Farwell and mine--has told me----"

"After dinner, dear friends. I am hungry, bitterly hungry and--cold!"

"Cold?"

"Yes; see, I am going to set the wood to burning. By the time we comeback the room will be ready for us. "

"To be sure!" Boswell sidled from his deep chair, the pinched look on hisface relaxing. 

"A fire, to be sure. Now, Max, no one but a woman would have thought of afire in June. "

"No one but Priscilla!" Farwell added. 

They talked before the fire until late that evening. Priscilla's planswere discussed and considered. So full was she of excitement and joy thatshe did not notice the shock of surprise that Farwell showed when thenames of Ledyard and Travers passed her lips. Seeing that she either didnot connect the men with her past, or had reasons for not referring toit, Farwell held his peace. It was long afterward that he confided hisknowledge to Boswell, and that wise friend bade him keep his secret. 

"It's her life, and she's treading her Road, " he said; "she has an oddfancy that her Heart's Desire lies just ahead. I cannot see that eitheryou or I have the right to awaken her to realities while she lives somagically in her dreams. "

After Priscilla's own plans were gone over and over again, Boswell saidquietly:

"I'm going back to that blessed In-Place of yours, Butterfly. Youremember how I told you, the first day I met you, that I could notunderstand any one choosing the dangerous Garden when he might have--thePlace Beyond the Winds?"

Priscilla leaned forward, her breath coming sharply. 

"You mean--you are going to--to live in Kenmore?"

"Yes! _Live!_ That is a bright way of putting it. Live! live! The Beetleis--going to live!"

Priscilla looked about at the rich comfort of the room, thought of whatit meant to the delicate cripple crouching toward the blaze, his deepeyes flame-touched and wonderful. Then she looked at Master Farwell, whose lips were trembling. 

"He--he calls that--living!" he said slowly. "Tell him, Priscilla, of thebareness and hardness of the life. I have tried to, but he will notlisten. "

The tears, the ready, easy tears filled Priscilla's eyes, and her heartthrobbed until it hurt. 

"He will love the hemlocks and the deep red rocks, " she said, as ifspeaking to herself; "he will love the Channel and the little islands, hewill love the woods--and the wind does not blow hard there--he will beglad of that. "

"But the ugly, wretched bareness of my hut, Priscilla! For heaven's sake, make him see that!"

"But the--fireplace, Master Farwell!"

"And--the friend beside it!" Boswell broke in; "and no more loneliness. Abeetle that has crawled in the Garden so long will thank God for a realplace--of its own. 'Tis but a change of scene for the Property Man. "

"I love the Garden!" murmured Priscilla, sitting between the two men, her clasped hands outstretched toward the fire, which was smoulderingruddily. 

"That is because you have wings, Butterfly, " Boswell whispered. 

"And no fetter on your soul, " Farwell said so softly that only Boswellheard. 

"I see, " Priscilla childishly wandered on, "such a lovely trail leading, leading--where?"

"Where, indeed?" Boswell was watching her curiously. 

"That is the beauty of it! I cannot see beyond the next step. All my lifeI have tried to keep my yearnings within bounds; now I--just follow. It'svery, very wonderful. Some day I am going back to the In-Place. I shallfind you both sitting by Master Farwell's beautiful fire, I am sure. Itwill be the still morning time, I think, and you will be so glad to seeme, and I shall tell you--all about it!"

"Heaven keep you!"

Boswell's voice was solemn and deep. 

"Life will keep her safe, " Farwell said with a laugh. "Life will take noliberties with her. She got her bearings, Jack, before the winds knockedher. Let us both walk home with her. What sort of a night is it?"

Priscilla went to the window. 

"It's rather black, " she returned; "as black as the big city ever is. Themist is clearing; it's a beautiful night. "

CHAPTER XX

"Of course, " Priscilla leaned back in her deep-cushioned chair andlaughed from sheer delight, "I was a better girl in my former lifethan I ever had any idea of, or I wouldn't have been given this----"

She and Margaret Moffatt were sitting on the piazza of a little Swissinn. Below them lay a tiny lake as blue and as clear as a rare gem; roundabout them towered snowy peaks, protectingly. All that was past--waspast! There did not seem to be any future; the present was sufficient. 

"I think you must have been rather a good child, back there, " MargaretMoffatt said, looking steadfastly at the girl near her; "and, anyway, youought to have a rich reward for your hair if for no other reason. "

"A recompense, you mean?"

"Heavens! no! I was thinking, as I often do when I see the lights in yourhair, that for making people so cheerful and contented nothing is toogood for you. I'm extremely fond of you, Priscilla Glynn! It's only whenyou put on your cap and apron manner that I recall--unpleasant things. Just tuck them out of sight and let us forget everything but--this!Isn't it divine?"

"It's--yes, it is divine, Miss Moffatt. "

"Now then! Along with the cap and apron, please pack away Miss Moffattand Miss Glynn. Let us be Priscilla and Margaret. This is a whim of mine, but I have a fancy for knowing what kind of _girls_ we are. No one cantamper with us here. Dear old Mousey never gets above a dead level, orbelow it. Practically we are alone and detached. Let us play--girls!Nice, chummy girls. Do you know, I never had a friend in my life whowasn't labelled and scheduled? I was sent to school where just such andsuch girls were sent--girls proper for me to know. Often they were not, but that was not considered so long as they wore their labels. It wasn'tdeemed necessary for me, or my kind, to go to college: our lines ofaction were chosen for us. Certain labelled men were presented; alwayslabels, labels! Even when I was running about with my label on I used tohave mad moments of longing to snatch all the hideous things off--my ownas well as others--and find out the truth! And here we are, you and I! Ido not want to know anything about you; I want to find out for myself, inmy own way. I want you to forget that I ever wore a tag. Did you everhave a girl chum?"

"I think I know, now, " Priscilla said quietly, "why this particularlittle heaven was given to me. I never, in all my life, had a girlfriend. Think of that! I did not realize what I was missing until I--cameinto your life. Actually, I never had a girl or woman friend in the senseyou mean. I was a lonely, weird little child; and then I--I came to thetraining school; and the girls there did not like me--I was stillweird----"

"Now, Priscilla, I do not want to know anything more about you! I intendto find you out for myself. Come, there's a boat down there, big enoughfor you and me. Do you row?"

"Yes, and paddle. "

"You lived near the water! Ha! ha!"

"And you do--not row, Margaret?"

"No. "

"Then you have never lived at all. You must learn to use oars and apaddle. It's when you have your own hand on the power that makes yougo--that you live. "

Margaret Moffatt turned and looked at Priscilla. 

"You say, haphazard, the most Orphic things. There are times when I canimagine you before some shrine making an offering and chanting all sortsof uncanny rites. Of course it is when one has her hand on her owntiller, and is heading for what she wants, that she begins to--live. Ideclare, I haven't felt so young in--twenty years! I'm twenty-five, Priscilla. My father considers me on the danger-line. Poor daddy!"

"I'm----"

"I do not want to know your age, Priscilla. Mythological characters areageless. "

Those were the days when Priscilla Glenn and Margaret Moffatt found theiryouth. Safeguarded by the faithful old housekeeper, who, happily, couldunderstand and sympathize, they played the hours away like children. 

"We'll travel by and by, " promised Margaret. "It's rather selfish for meto hold you here when all the world would be fresh to you. "

"I take root easily, " Priscilla returned, "and I'm like a plant we havein my old home. My roots spread, and time is needed to strengthen them;suddenly I shoot up and--flower. The little Canadian blossom doesn't seemto justify the strong, spreading roots. I hope you will not find medisappointing, Margaret. "

Margaret Moffatt smiled happily. 

"Just to think, " she said, "that my real self and your real selfwere waiting for us here behind the white hills! All along, throughgenerations and generations, they have been acquainted and have loved andtrusted each other, and then we, the unreal selves, came! Sometimes Iwonder"--Margaret looked dreamy--"what they think of us, just betweenthemselves? I am sure your true self must be prouder of you than mine canbe of me, for, with everything at my command, what am I? While you--oh, Priscilla, how you have made everything tell!"

But Priscilla shook her head. 

"Still, " Margaret went on, "things were not at my command. They were allthere, but pigeon-holed and controlled. Such and such things were fornice little girls like me! After a time I got to believe that, and it wasonly when, one day, I touched something not intended for me that my soulwoke up. Priscilla, did you ever feel your soul?"

"Yes. "

"Isn't it wonderful? It makes you see clearly your--your----"

"Ideal?" suggested Priscilla. 

"Yes; the thing you want to be; the thing that seems best to _you_without the interpretation of others. It stands unclouded and holy; andnothing else matters. "

"And you never forget--never!"

"No. Your eyes may be blinded for a moment, but you do not forget--ever!"

They were out on the gemlike lake now, and Priscilla was sternlyinstructing Margaret how to handle an oar. 

"It will never go the way you want it to, " Margaret protested, making anineffectual dab at the water. 

"When it does you will know the bliss! Get a little below the surface, and have faith in yourself. "

And that was the day that Priscilla caught a new light on Margaret'scharacter. They landed at a tiny village across the lake and wanderedabout, Margaret talking easily to the people in their own tongue, Priscilla straining to follow by watching faces and gestures. While theystood so, discussing the price of some corals, a little child came closeto them and slipped a deliciously dimpled, but very dirty little hand inMargaret's. At the touch the girl started, turned first crimson and thenpale, and looked down. Suddenly her eyes deepened and glowed. 

"The darling!" she whispered, and bent to catch what the child wassaying. Presently she looked up, tears dimming her eyes, and said toPriscilla, "She says a new baby came to their house last night. Shewanted to tell--me!"

"And ten already have been there, " broke in a brown-faced native woman. 

"But she is glad, and she wanted _me_ to know! Come, my sweet, tell memore about the baby, and then we will go and see it. "

They sat down under a clump of trees, and the dirty little maid nestledclose to Margaret, while with uplifted head and unabashed confidence shetold of the mystery. 

Priscilla watched Margaret Moffatt's face. She was almost awed by thechange that had come over it. The aloofness and pride which often markedit had disappeared as if by magic; the tenderness, passionate in itsintentness, cast upon the little child, moved her to wonder andadmiration. Later they went to the poor hovel and bent beside the humblebed on which the mother and child lay. Then it was that Priscilla playedher part and made comfortable and grateful the overburdened creature, worn and weak from suffering. 

"'Twas the good God who sent you, " murmured she. 

"'Twas your little maid, " smiled Margaret, tucking a roll of bills underthe hard, lumpy pillow. "Take time to love the babies--leave otherthings--but love them and enjoy them. "

"Yes, my lady. "

On the way back in the boat Margaret was very silent for a time as shewatched Priscilla row; finally she said:

"Did it surprise you--my show of feeling for the--the child?"

"It was very beautiful. I did not know you cared so much for children, and this one was so--dirty. "

"But so real! You see I have never had real children in my life. Thekinds passed out to nice girls like me were sad travesties. Since I sawthe darling of to-day I've been wondering--do not laugh, Priscilla--butI've been wondering what poor, cheated little morsel of humanity, in theunreal world, would find herself in that eleventh miracle of the wretchedhovel? And what an art yours is, dear Priscilla! How you soothed away thesuffering by your touch. I loved you better as I realized how thattraining of yours knows neither high nor low when it seeks to heal. "

Priscilla thought of the operation on Margaret Moffatt's father, and herquick colour rose. 

"And I loved you better when I saw how your humanity knows neither highnor low--just love!"

"Only toward little children. I cannot explain it, but when I touch thebabies, their littleness and helplessness make me weak and tremblingbefore--well, before the strength comes in a mighty wave. There is aphysical sensation, a thrill, that comes with the first contact, and whenthey trust me, as that darling did this morning, I feel as if--God hadsingled me out! Only lately have I begun to understand what this meansin me. It is one reason why I came away. I had to think it out. Isuppose"--she paused and looked steadily at Priscilla--"I suppose thematernal has always been a master passion in me, and I've rebelled atbeing an only child; at having no children but the--specialized kind. I have been hungry for so many things I am realizing now. "

"In my training I have seen--what you mean. All sorts drift in--to paythe price of love or the penalty of passion, as Doctor Ledyard used toexpress it; but"--and Priscilla's eyes grew darker--"I used to find--anurse gets so much closer, you know, than a doctor can--I found thatsometimes it was the penalty of love and the price of passion. Thosesad young creatures, with only blind instinct to uphold them, wereso--divinely human, and paid so superbly. When it comes to the hour ofa life for a life, one thing alone matters, I am afraid, and it is thething _you_ mean, Margaret. "

"Yes. And what a horrible puzzle it all is. The thing I mean should bealways there--always. The world's wrong when it is not. "

Suddenly Priscilla, sending the light boat forward by the impulse of herlast stroke, said, as if it were quite in line with all that had gonebefore:

"There's Doctor Travers on the wharf!"

He heard her, and called back:

"Quite unintentionally, I assure you. I was waiting for the boat to takeme across. I've been wandering about, sleeping where I could. I simplyfind myself--here!"

At this both girls laughed merrily. 

"This is the place of Found Personalities, " Margaret Moffatt said, jumping lightly to the wharf. "Perhaps you'll come to the inn and haveluncheon with us--that is, if you are sure Doctor Ledyard did not sendyou here to spy on me. "

"I haven't seen him since I left America. My mother is with me; she's ina crack of the hills in Italy. She wanted to be alone. Doctor Ledyardwill join us later. "

"Then come to the house. They serve meals on a dangerously poised balconyover the lake; we curb our appetites for fear our weight may be the onething the structure cannot stand. Our old housekeeper waits upon us, butis in no wise responsible for the food which is often very bad andlacking in nourishment. "

"You seem to thrive on it. " Travers looked at the two before him. "Iwonder just what it is this air and place have done to you?"

"Tell him, Priscilla. "

"Oh, like you, Doctor Travers, we simply found ourselves--here! That'sall. "

Travers did not leave the inn that night, nor for many days thereafter. 

"Doctor Ledyard will join my mother and me early in August, " heexplained; "until then I'm a floating proposition. I wish you'd let mestay on a while, Miss Moffatt, right here. I want to analyze the food, itpuzzles me. Why just this kind of conglomeration should achieve suchresults is interesting. I've gained five pounds in six days. "

"And lost ten years, " Margaret broke in. "I never thought of you asyoung, Doctor Travers; professional men never do seem youthful; but_here_ you're rather a good sort. "

And Travers remained, much to the delight of the old housekeeper, who, with a nurse and a doctor in command, cast all responsibility aside. 

"Young Miss looks well, " she confided to the proprietor's wife, who, fortunately, could understand a word or so of English; "but folks is likeweather: the fairer they seem, the nearer a storm. When a day or a personlooks uncommonly fair--a weather breeder, says I, and generally, ninetimes out of ten, I'm right. My young lady is too changed to becomfortable. It's either a breaking up, or----" But here a shout for"Mousey, " silenced further prophecy. 

The days ran along without cloud or shadow. Quite naturally, perhaps, Priscilla began to think that a drama of life was being enacted in thequiet, detached village. They three were always together, always enjoyingthe same things, but certainly no man, so she thought, could be withMargaret Moffatt long without falling at her feet. Gradually to PriscillaGlenn this girl stood for all that was fine and perfect. In her she sawall women as women should be. With the adoration she was so ready to giveto that which appealed to her, Priscilla lavished the wealth of heraffection upon Margaret Moffatt. Surely it was because of Margaret thatDoctor Travers stayed on, and became the life of the party. To be sure hewas tact itself in making Priscilla feel at ease; but that only confirmedher in her belief that he wanted to please Margaret to the uttermost. Often Priscilla recalled, with keener appreciation, John Boswell'sdescription of Anton Farwell's conception of friendship. In like mannerMargaret Moffatt claimed for her companion all that justly belonged toherself. Dispassionately, vicariously, Priscilla learned to know andadmire the man who undoubtedly in time would win her one friend. It wasall beautiful and natural, and in the lovely detachment it grew and grew. The long walks and drives, the rows upon the lake by sunlight andmoonlight, all conspired to perfect the comradeship. They read together, sang together--very poorly to be sure--and once, just to vary the charm, they travelled to a nearby town and danced at a village fête. An oddthing happened there. Owing to high spirits and a sense ofunconventionality, they entered into the sports with abandon. Traverseven begged a reel with a pretty Swiss maiden, and led her proudly away, much to Margaret's and Priscilla's delight. Later, the men and women ofthe place came forward, and, entering a little ring formed by admiringfriends, performed, separately, the native dances. 

Travers watched Priscilla with a puzzled look in his eyes. She trembledwith excitement; seemed hypnotized by the exhibition, much of which wasdelightfully graceful and picturesque. Then, suddenly, to the surprise ofevery one, she took advantage of a moment's pause and ran into the ring. 

"Whatever possesses her?" whispered Margaret to Travers; "she looksbewitched. See! she is--dancing!"

Travers watched the tall, slim figure in the thin white gown overwhich a light scarf, of transparent crimson, floated as the eveningbreeze and the girl's motions freed it. At first Priscilla took her stepsfalteringly, her head bent as if trying to recall the measure and rhythm;then with more confidence she swung into the lovely pose and action. Withuplifted eyes and smiling lips, seeming to see something hidden fromothers, she bent and glided, curtesied and tripped, this way and that. 

The lookers-on were wild with delight. The beauty of the thing itself, the willingness of the foreigners to join in the sport, aroused thetemperamental enthusiasm, and the clapping and cheering filled the hallwith noise. Suddenly the musicians dropped their instruments. They werebut human, and, since they could not keep in time with this new andamazing dance, they drew near to admire. 

"Play!" pleaded Priscilla, past heeding the sensation she was creating. "The best is yet to come!"

Carried out of himself, entering now wholly into the adventure, Traverscaught up a violin near him and sent the bow over the strings with amaster touch. He hardly knew what he played; he was himself, carried awayon a wave of enchantment. 

"Ah!"

The word escaped Priscilla like a cry of glad response. 

"Now!"

They two, the musician and the dancer, seemed alone in the open space. The flashing eyes, the cheering voices, the clapping hands, even MargaretMoffatt, pale, puzzled, yet charmed, were obliterated. It was spring timein the Place Beyond the Winds, and the dance of adoration was in fullswing, while the old tune, never out of time with the graceful, whirlingform, played on and on. And then--the ring melted away, the lights grewdim, and Priscilla stood still. 

"I'm--I'm tired, " faltered she. A hand was laid upon her arm, some oneguided her out of the heated, breathless room; they were alone, she andhe, under wide-spreading trees, and a particularly lovely star waspulsing overhead. 

"You are crying!" Travers's voice was low and tense. "Why?"

"It--it was the music! It was like something I had heard, and--and I wasso tired. I was very foolish. Can you, can Margaret, forgive me?"

"Forgive you? Why, you were--I dare not tell you what you were! Here, sitdown. Do not tremble so! Tell me, where did you learn to dance as youdo?"

Priscilla had dropped upon the rough rustic seat; she did not seem tonotice the hand that rested upon her clasped ones under the thin scarf. She no longer cried, but the tears shone on her long lashes. 

"I--I never learned. It--it is I, myself. I thought I had grown intosomething else, but--I shall always be the same--when I let myself go. "

"Let yourself go? Good heavens! Why not let yourself go--forever?"Travers's voice shook. "You have brought joy and youth to us all--to me, who never had youth. What--who are you?" he laughed boyishly. She satrigidly erect and turned her sad eyes upon him. 

"I'm Priscilla Glynn--a nurse! And you? Oh! you are Doctor Travers! Canyou not see my beautiful, happy, happy life is ended--must end? Margaret, you, everything this joyous summer has made me--forget. Soon I am goingback--where there is no dancing!"

"And--cease to be yourself?"

"Yes. But I shall always remember. Not many have had the wonderfulglimpse I have had--not many. "

"I--I will not let you go back! You belong in the light; in love and thegiving of love. You have given me a glimpse of myself--as I should be. Ihave stayed in this magic place without a past and a future--for yoursake! I see it now. I love----"

"Oh! please, please stop. We are both mad, and when to-morrow comes andthe day after, and the day after that, we will both be sorry, and, oh! Iwant all my life to--to--be glad because of this night. "

"You shall--remember it--all your life as--your happiest night, if I canmake it so!"

His face was bent close to hers. For the first time Travers wasoverpowered by the charm of woman, and all the pent passion and love ofhis life broke bonds like a wild, primeval thing that education andconventions had never touched. 

"I--I want you! I want you without knowing any more than if you and I hadbeen born anew in this wonderful life. Look at me! You believe I canoffer you--the one perfect gift a man should offer a woman?"

She looked long and tenderly in his eyes. She was--going to leave him;she could afford the truth. She was brave now. 

"Yes, " she whispered. 

"And I know you to be--what I want. Isn't that enough? Can we not trusteach--for the rest?"

"Yes, if the white hills could shut us forever from the other things. "

"Other things?"

"Yes, the things of to-morrow. Duty, the demands that lie--over theAlps. "

"I--renounce them all!"

"But they will not renounce us!"

Travers felt her slipping from him. A man whose youth has been denied, ashis had, is a puppet in Fate's hands when youth makes its claims. 

"I--mean to have you! Do you hear me? I mean to have you. "

And just then Margaret Moffatt drew near. Calmly, smilingly, she camelike one playing her part in a perfectly arranged drama. 

"You are here? Ready for home? Wasn't it sublime and exactly as it shouldbe? We are so nice and friendly with our real selves. "

There was no surprise; no suggestion of disapproval. The world in whichthey were all playing could have only direct and simple processes. But, having lived in a past world where her perceptions had been made keen andvital, Margaret Moffatt understood what she saw. She had noticed everyletting down and abandonment of Travers since he had joined them. She wastoo wise not to know the effect of such a woman as Priscilla upon such aman; such a denied and almost puritanical man as Travers. She knew hisstory from her father. An artistic triumph was hers that night. Thesplendid elements of primitive justice had been set in motion, and almostgleefully she wondered what they would do with Richard Travers andPriscilla Glynn. 

For herself? Well, she had put herself to the test and had come outclear-visioned and glad to a point of dangerous excitement. Only two orthree mighty things mattered, if one were to gain in the marvellous game. She meant to hold to them and let the rest go!

But Travers had not passed through Ledyard's school and come outuntouched. After leaving Priscilla, silent and white, he had gone to hisroom and flung himself down upon a low couch by the window. Then his oldself took him in hand while he stubbornly resisted every attack thatreason, as trained by Ledyard, made upon him. 

"Think of--your mother! What has she not done and suffered that you mightstand before the world--a free man? And your profession; your future!They are all your mother holds to for her peace and joy. And I? Well, Ido not claim anything for myself; but you know the game as well as I. Ifyou toss to the winds all that has been gained for you, professionallyand socially, you are done for! Your renunciation and restraint, whathave they amounted to, unless you accept them as stepping-stones andgo--on?"

And then Travers clenched his hands and had his say. 

In that moment his own mother rose clear and radiant beside him and madeher appeal. She pleaded for justice, but she showed mercy. He must notforget or forego anything that had been gained for him; but he was herchild, the child of her love--unasking, unfettered love--and the passionthat was throbbing in him was pure and instinctive; he must not deny itor the rest would be shucks! Non-essentials must not hamper him. Alone, unsought, a strange and compelling force had made him captive. All thatothers, and himself, had achieved for him must make holy this simple butall-powerful desire. 

Then she faded, that poor, little, half-forgotten mother! But she left, like the fragrance of rare flowers that had been taken from the dim, moon-lighted room, a memory of happiness and sweetness and content. 

CHAPTER XXI

By all the deductions of experience the three people in the little innshould have, in the light of the morning after, been reduced to commonsense; but the day laughed common sense to scorn and fanned the fires ofthe previous evening to bright flame. 

"I must write a letter, " announced Margaret after breakfast, "a letter somomentous that it will take me--an hour and a half! But my plans andyours are all laid. Now, Priscilla, none of your cap and apron look. You'll do exactly what I tell you to do; and you, too, Doctor Travers. "

"I haven't the slightest intention of disobeying. And as for my cap andapron, I've burned them!" Priscilla tossed her head. 

Travers looked at her, and her loveliness seemed enhanced in her trimwhite linen gown with its broad collar of Irish lace. How magnificent herthroat was! What a perfect woman she was! And _what_ hair!

"There is a train that leaves here at nine-thirty, a mad littleramshackle train that goes to The Ghost and back in an hour and a half. We've all yearned to climb The Ghost, or as much of it as we dared. Nowyou two, with Mousey and a servant, are to go on the nine-thirty. I'llfinish my destruction of the social system and catch the eleven o'clocktrain. We'll have picnic lunch. They say there's a dreadful cavern at thebase of The Ghost that is corking for picnics, and then we'll exploreuntil we have to return. Any objections?"

There were none. 

"Very well! It's nine now! Priscilla, wear the roughest, heaviest thingsyou've got. You always have your hours of remorse too late. The Ghostwill chill your blood. "

When the little party reached the small station at the mountain foot theservants started at once to the cavern to build a fire and prepare forthe luncheon. 

"Let us walk a bit up the trail, " suggested Travers. "I always feellike the Englishman who said the views halfway up a mountain are moreenjoyable than those on top. At least, you have life enough left to enjoythem. This particular trail is a mighty wicked one. There ought to beguides, for safety. I know the way perfectly; my mother and I once stayedhere some years ago. She meant to come here this summer early, but hasdecided to wait until Doctor Ledyard joins us. I feel as if I were takingthe cream off the thing. Will you trust me--Priscilla?"

There was challenge and command in the use of her name. 

"Absolutely. "

"Come, then! I want you to go first. The rise is easy for a half-mile orso. I can better watch out for you and catch you--if you make a misstep. The stones are loose and mischievous; the path is ridiculously near theedge of things. If one should--now do not get nervous, but if you shouldgo over, just clutch the bushes, the sturdy little clumps, and nothingcan really happen. "

"I never get nervous in high places. Being used to dead levels, I havethe courage of the ignorant. Doesn't the air make one----"

"Heady?"

"Yes. I suppose that is it. Heady and--light-hearted. "

Travers had his eyes fixed on the form ahead in its dark blue mountainskirt and corduroy waist. 

"I wish you would take off your hat, " he said. 

Priscilla obeyed. 

"Thank you! Will you let me--love you?"

He noticed a tremor run the length of her body. 

"Is--that in my giving?" Priscilla meant to play just a little longer, only a little, and then she must make him see that because this suddenand great thing had come to them both, they must prove themselves worthyof it by unselfish recognition of deep truths. 

"No. But I would like to have you say--yes! I meant all I said lastevening; you said nothing. I mean to have you, because I love you;because I know you love me, and because nothing else matters. It's onlyfair to warn you. You _do_ love me?"

"Is it love--when everything else is swept aside?"

"Yes. "

"All but the longing--for the best?"

"Yes. That is love. "

"Then, I love you. "

"On ahead there is a tiny bluff, do not speak again until we reach it. Astrange and wonderful thing came to me there once--years ago. I want totell you about it, my beloved!"

Travers watched her as he spoke. Again that tremor ran through Priscilla. 

It was nearly noon when they stopped, at Travers's word. They had come, silently, up the trail, only their footsteps and their quicker breathingbreaking the awesome stillness. Their separate thoughts were bringingthem dangerously nearer together, trampling caution, warning, and purposebeneath their young yearning for the vital meaning of life. When theyfaced each other at last it was as if they had indeed been transfigured. 

"Mine!" whispered Travers, stretching out his hands. "You are mine! Donot struggle. "

Priscilla put her hands in his, but did not speak. 

"And now let us sit here. I want you to understand. You will try tounderstand?"

"Yes. "

All her life Priscilla was to look back on that moment as the firstperfect one of her life. She felt no shame in taking it. It belonged toher, and she meant to prove herself to him. 

"I feel as if there were a new heaven and a new earth, Priscilla, andthat you and I had just been created--the first man, the first woman. Dear heart, rest your head, so, against my knee. " He was sitting aboveher. "Your hair holds all the glory of the sunlight, and how white andwarm your throat is!" His fingers touched it reverently. "Let us clingto this one hour that has given us to each other. Are you happy?"

"It means--something more than that--this moment----" Priscilla spoke asif held by a dream. 

"You are--content?"

"Yes. That is it. I am--content. I shall never ask for anything more, anything better. I have everything--the world and--and God, has to give. "

"My darling! Now let me tell you. Years ago I came here after a hardstruggle for health. I had never had childhood or boyhood, in the realsense; but I was well at last! I saw that I was going to have a man'slife, with all that that means, and for months the emotions and cravings, that generally go to the years of making a child and boy, had beencrowding and pushing me to a sense of having been defrauded, and I meantto have my turn at last: my joy and pleasure. It seemed just and right tome that I should taste and revel in all that I had been deprived of. Ihad even been deprived of the longing, had not even had the glory ofconquest. I had been such a meaningless creature, I thought I couldafford even to be selfish. I shrank from being _different_--I had beenforced to in the past--but I meant to make up for lost time and take myplace among my fellows. 

"One morning, just such a morning as this, I found myself alone--here!Then I had it out with myself. More distinctly than anything had evercome to me before I realized that life meant one thing, and one thingonly: the biggest fight or the meanest defeat! I knew that every passionthat burned and flayed me was a warhorse that, if controlled, would carryme safely through the battle; if succumbed to, would trample me under itsrelentless feet. This I knew with my brain, while tradition, inclination, and longing called me--fool! Well, I was given strength to follow myhead; but every year has been a struggle. I found that to be differentmeant contempt often, misunderstanding always. Sometimes it has notseemed worth while; the victories were so lonely and useless; but Ithanked God last night, when I saw your face as you danced, that I couldoffer you a love that need not make the pitiful plea for mercy from yourlove. Through temptation and the long fight it has always seemed to methat no man should ask for pure love without the equivalent to offer inreturn. 

"Can you understand when I say that this battle of mine has brought mecloser to men and women, with no bitterness in my heart; has left mefree, not to despise them, but to help them?"

"Yes, oh, yes; all my life I could understand those who--fight. I, too, have fought and fought. "

Travers's hand was pressing upward the head against his knee so that hecould look in the uplifted eyes. 

"My love! as free man and woman, let us give ourselves to each other!"

Then he bent and kissed the smiling mouth. 

"Speak to me, my--wife. "

"Yes! But let me think, dear heart. I must speak; the half has only beentold. " She moved a bit away from him. Travers let her go with no fear. 

"Now, strange little thing, since you cannot speak in my arms, have yourwill!" he whispered. 

"There is a to-morrow. " The even voice had no strain of pain or sorrow init. "And we must not forget that. We have played and played until we havemade ourselves believe--such wonderful things; but to-morrow--we willwake up and be what we have been made! I have heard, oh! so many people, tell of your future, your honours. I have seen Doctor Ledyard's eyes uponyou; I know you have a mother who adores you. I do not know your world; Icould not touch your place but to mar it, and, because I love you so--oh!so absolutely, and because I would want, and must have, glory in my ownlove--we must stop playing! We have not"--and now the eyes dimmed--"wehave not played for keeps!"

"You poor, little girl! How you use the old, foolish arguments, thinkingyourself--wise. Do you imagine I could let you dim the sacred thing thathas come to us--by such idle prating? There are only you and I and--thefuture. You darling child, come here!"

In reaching toward her, Travers's foot pressed too heavily against thestone upon which she sat; it moved, slipped, and Priscilla escaped hisclutch. Not realizing her danger, she smiled up at him radiantly. Shemeant what she had said, but youth could not relinquish its rightswithout a struggle, and his eyes were so heavenly kind. 

"My God! Clutch the bushes, Priscilla!"

"What--is the matter?" But with the question came the knowledge. She wasgoing down, down, and every effort he made to save her sent her fartheralong the awful slope! She held to a nearby bush but uprooted it by theforce with which she gripped it. Faster, faster, with that terrified faceabove her!

"My precious one! Try again! Do not be afraid!"

"No. "

And then they both heard the hoarse whistle of the little shuttle trainnearing The Ghost, with Margaret Moffatt on board!

Travers realized the new danger. Very steep was the grade of themountain, and it ended on--the tracks!

He shut his eyes; he could do no more. Every move he made imperilled thewoman he would give his life to save. The only comfort he knew was thathe, too, was losing, losing. They would be together at the last. 

Priscilla understood also. She looked up and saw him close his eyes; thenfear fled, as it does when the last hope takes it. It would soon be overfor them, and--nothing in all the world could separate them. There wasnothing but him and her! He had seen that; but now she saw it, too. Himand her! him and her!

"I--love you so!" she whispered. "I am not afraid. I'm sorry. I wouldhave given myself to you! I would indeed!"

She wanted him to know. He opened his eyes and smiled a twisted, hideoussmile. 

"I--meant--to have you. " The words came to her faintly. A nearer shriekof the whistle, and a deafening clang of the bell! Some one at thethrottle of the engine had an inspiration and sent the crazy thingshooting ahead. 

Then it was past, and upon the tracks over which the car had but justgone lay Priscilla Glenn quite unconscious!

Travers came to himself at once, and took her head on his knee where buta short time ago it had lain so happily. 

"You, Priscilla!" It was Margaret Moffatt who spoke. The train hadstopped; the few passengers had come back to see what had happened. 

"Yes; my God! Yes! Miss Moffatt, will you see if she is dead? I dare nottrust--myself. "

 * * * * *

It was late that night, in Priscilla's room at the inn, that she andMargaret had their talk. 

Priscilla lay upon her bed weak and bruised, but otherwise safe. Margaretsat beside her, her hand in Priscilla's. 

"Doctor Travers has pulled himself together at last, " she said. "I neversaw a strong man so shattered. And you, dear, you are sure you have toldme the truth--you are not suffering?"

"No, only a little dazed. That's natural after looking death in the facefor hours and hours while everything slipped away from you--things youhad always thought meant something. "

"Yes, poor girl!"

"And they--meant nothing. They never do. "

"No. You found that at death's door; I found it at life's. I want to tellyou something, dear, that will make you forget yourself--and think of me. You are sure you cannot sleep?"

"I do not want to sleep. "

"Priscilla, I have given myself to love! You can understand. Travers hasjust told me--about him and you!"

A faint colour touched the face on the pillow. 

"It was the telling that brought him around. He's superb, and you're adaffy little goose, Cilla. Imagine a man like Travers letting a girl likeyou slip through his fingers. "

"He did!" weakly interrupted Priscilla. 

"But he followed you right down, and into--hell!"

"Into life and joy, you mean, Margaret--life!"

"Well, at any rate, he was with you. It is magnificent to see a man, or a woman, big enough, brave enough, and sensible enough to sweep thesenseless rubbish of life aside, and get each other! Oh! it's life as Godmeant it. Priscilla, the letter I wrote to-day was to--_my_ man. He's assplendid as yours. I told you once how I--I loved children. I had takenthat love for granted until something happened. A friend of minemarried--one of the girls my people thought was the kind for me to know. She didn't understand life any more than I did; she just took one of themen who wore the same label she did. Her child came--a year after; ahorrible little creature--diseased; dreadful--can you understand?"

"Yes"--Priscilla had turned toward the girl by her side--"yes, I knowwhat you mean. I have been a nurse. "

"That was the first time things we should have known--were known by myfriend and me!" Margaret's voice was low and hard. 

"She--she cursed him, her husband--and left him! It was terrible! I wasfrightened, more frightened than I had ever been. Everything seemedtottering around me. I thought--I must die; I dared trust nothing. Justthen--some one told me--he loved me; and I--I had loved him. But I wasmore afraid of him than of any one in God's world. I thought I was goingmad, and then--I went to Doctor Ledyard and told him all about it. I justthrew my whole burden of doubt and ignorance upon him--he is such a_good_ man! Sometimes I weep when I think of him. He was father, friend, and physician, all in one. He understood. He told me to go away; he gotyou for me. He told me to play like a little girl, with only the real andbeautiful things of life; to forget the worries, and he would make sure!

"Priscilla, he has made sure! My love is safe. I can give myself to mylove and let it have its way with me, and in the beautiful future, ourfuture, his and mine, little children cannot--curse us by their sufferingand deformity. 

"This _must_ be the heritage a woman should be able to give her children, or she has no right to her own love. God has been so good to me--he hasnot asked for sacrifice; but"--here she spoke fiercely--"I was ready tosacrifice my love--for I had seen my friend's baby!

"I had never known God before as I know him now. He came to me with loveand faith and my glorious life. Before, my God was a prayer-book God; adead thing that only rustled when we touched him; and now, oh! Cilla, heis alive and breathing in good men and women, in little children, in allthe beautiful, real things. They did not bury my God, or yours, long ago;they only set him free for us to find and love and follow. "

They clung to each other in a passion of reverence and happiness, andthen kissed each other good night. 

CHAPTER XXII

"My girl, " said Travers a week later, "how shall it be? May I tell everyone how madly happy I am? May I take you to that little shrine a mile upthe mountain yonder and make you--mine--and then show them all _why_ Iam so happy? Or----"

"Yes. Or----" Priscilla lay quite contentedly in his arms, her eyes onthe shining outlines of The Ghost. 

"And that means, my sweet?"

"That we should keep this blessed secret just a little longer--toourselves. I feel as if I could not bear to have it explained, defended, or justified, and all that must follow, my very dear man, when the playis over and we return to--to school. I shall be glad and ready to do allthis a little later on; proud to have you do it for me, and--we'll facethe music. It is going to be music, dear, I am sure of that. But somevery stern questions will be asked by that sweet mother of yours, and sheshall have her answer. Then Doctor Ledyard, with all the prayer gone fromhis eyes, will call me up for judgment and demand to know what right anurse, even a white nurse, had to lay hands upon a young physician whowas on the road to glory! It will be hard to answer him; but never mind!"

"And then, dear lady of mystery, what then?"

"Why, then I'm going to beckon to you and we'll dance----"

"Dance, my darling?"

"Yes, dance away and away to a holy place I know, and then I'm going totell you the whole story of Priscilla----"

But at that moment Margaret Moffatt came upon the scene. The miracle oflove had transfigured the girl. She looked, as Travers had said toPriscilla, like the All Woman: large, fine, and noble, with unashamedsurrender in her splendid eyes. 

"And that is what she is!" Priscilla had replied, "the All Woman. I coulddie for her, live for her, do anything for her. For me, she is the first, the one woman, in all the world. "

"Young devotee, could you, would you, give your--love up for her?"Travers had asked, and then Priscilla spoke words that Travers rememberedlong afterward. 

"I could not give my love up for--that is--I, myself; just as the danceis--just as my soul is--but I could; yes, I know I could give up--myhappiness for her, if by so doing I could spare her one shadow. Herglorious nature could reach where mine never could. "

"Yours reaches to me, little girl. "

"But hers--oh! my dear man, hers reaches to--the world. If you knew heras I know her!"

But Margaret was whimsical and witchy as she came upon the two in thesmall arbour by the lake. 

"Folks, " she said, "let us keep our nice little surprises to ourselvesfor a while, like miserly creatures. My dear old daddy-boy is frettingand fussing about me, 'dreading the issue, ' as he told Doctor Ledyard, and behold--I'm going to do exactly what my daddykins desires! And you, Doctor Richard Travers, you are wanted by your lady mother. Here's atelegram. The girl in the office always tells what is in a telegram, tospare shock. And Cilla, my shining-headed chum, you and I are going toscamper about a bit before we go home. I'd be a miserable defaulter, indeed, if I did not give you your share of this experience. Oh! I knowyou've snatched bits that in no wise were included in the program, butwe're all grafters. I want to play fair. Will you flit over the continentwith me and Mousey, dear little--pal?"

And three days later they began their trip, while Travers returned toHelen. It was a charming trip the girls made, but their hearts wereelsewhere. 

In October they were in New York again, and the inevitable happened. Margaret was returned to her world, and, for the moment, was absorbed. Priscilla lost sight of her, though she heard constantly from her bytelephone or delicately worded notes. 

A sad occurrence kept Richard Travers abroad. Helen contracted fever andfor weeks lay between life and death. Doctor Ledyard waited until thedanger was past, and then left the two together in Paris, while Helenrecovered, with Travers to watch and care for her. 

The letters that came to Priscilla were all that kept her eyes shiningand her heart singing. 

"I shall go on as usual, " she wrote to Richard. "When you come, thenwe'll make the wonderful announcement. I see now that we have no right toour secret alone; but with the ocean between us, it is best. "

During those months Priscilla learned to know Helen Travers throughTravers's letters. Woman-like, she read between the lines and caught aglimpse of Helen's nobility and simple sweetness. Her loved ones were sosacred to her that no personal demands could ever cause her to raiseobjections. Once she was sure that they she worshipped wanted anythingfor their true happiness, her energies were bent to that end. 

"And she will love you, my girl; will learn to depend upon you as I do. As for Doctor Ledyard, when he is cornered, he is the best soul that everdrew breath, and mother can bully him into anything. "

It was in February that Priscilla was called up by Doctor Hapgood, a manof high repute. 

"Are you on duty?"

"No, sir. "

"Any immediate engagement?"

"None until March. "

"I would like to have you take a case of mine that requires tact as wellas efficiency. Can you take it?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Report then at 60 West Eighty-first Street this afternoon, at four. "

Priscilla found herself promptly at four o'clock in the waiting-room of apalatial bachelor apartment, and there Doctor Hapgood joined her. 

"Before we go upstairs, " he said, drawing his chair close to Priscilla'sand lowering his voice, "I wish to say to you what, doubtless, there isno real need of saying. I simply emphasize the necessity. The young manwho requires your services is Clyde Huntter. This means nothing to you, but it does to many others. He is supposed to be in--Bermuda. Youunderstand?"

"Yes, Doctor Hapgood. "

"The case is a particularly tragic one, such an one as you may encounterlater on in your career. It demands all your sympathy, encouragement, andpatience. Mr. Huntter is as fine a man, as upright a one, as I know, hisideals and--and present life are above reproach. He is paying a bitterdebt for youthful and ignorant folly. I believed this impossible, but soit is. I am thankful to say, however, that he has every reason to hopethat the future, after this, is secure. I have chosen you to care forhim, because I know your ability; have heard of your powers of reticenceand cheerfulness. I depend upon you absolutely. "

"Thank you, Doctor Hapgood. "

Priscilla's face had gone deadly white, but never having heard Huntter'sname before, she was impersonal in her feeling. 

"I will do my best. "

The days following were days of strain and torture to Priscilla. Herpatient was a man who appealed to her strongly, pathetically. There werehours when his gloom and depression would almost drag her along to thedepths into which he sank; then again he would beg her to pardon him forhis brutal thoughtlessness. 

"Sit there, Miss Glynn, " he said one day. "The sunshine is ratherniggardly, but when it rests on your hair--it lasts longer. "

"Oh, my poor hair!"

"Poor? It looks like a gold mine. " Then: "I wish you would read to me. No; nothing recent or superficial. Something from the old, cast-ironwriters who knew how to use thumb screws and rack. There's somethingwholesome in them; something you buck up against. They make you writheand groan, but they leave you with the thought that--you've lived throughsomething. "

Again, another day, after a bad night:

"I think you'd better go into the next room, Miss Glynn, and take a nap. I'd feel less brutally selfish if I could see your eyes calmer. Besides, being shut away here from all I'm dying to have makes an idiot of me. Ifyou stay any longer, looking at me with those queer eyes of yours, I maybreak down and tell you all about it, just for the dangerous joy ofeasing my own soul by dumping a load on yours. Good God! Miss Glynn, such women as you should not be nurses; it isn't fair. I'd give--let mesee--well, I'd give six months of my life--since Hapgood says I stand afair chance for ninety years--to talk to you, man to woman, and get yourpoint of view--about something. There are moments, after a bad night, when I think you women haven't had all they say you should have had. Wemen have been too blindly sure we could play your game as well as ourown. Run now! If you stay another minute I'll regret it, and so willyou. "

"Shall I shake your pillow before I go, Mr. Huntter?"

"Yes. Thank you. You manage to shake more whim-whams out of the creasesthan you know. "

He stayed her by a wistful, longing, and half-boyish smile. 

"Say, " he said, "you see you didn't run quick enough, and now I'm goingto ask you something. You must have seen a good deal of women as wellas men in your calling. "

"Yes, I have. "

"Seen them with their masks off?"

"Yes. "

"What does love count for in the big hours of life? Does it standeverything, anything?"

Priscilla felt her throat contract. She longed to say something thatwould reach Huntter without arousing his suspicions. 

"No; love--at least, woman's love, doesn't stand everything--always. "

"What doesn't it stand? The essence, I mean. "

"It doesn't stand unfair play! Women understand fair play and forit would die. They may not say much, but--they never forgivebeing--tricked. "

"Oh! of course. How graphic you are, Miss Glynn. You sound as if wewere discussing a game of--of tennis or bridge. Gentlemen do not trickladies. " He frowned a bit. 

"Don't they, Mr. Huntter?"

"Certainly not! What I meant was this: You seem, for a trained woman, very human and--and--well, what shall I say?--observing and rathera--thoroughbred. If _you_ loved, now, loved really, is there anything youwould not forgive a man? That is, if his love for you was the biggestthing in his life?"

Priscilla stood quite still and looked at the pale, handsome face on thepillow. 

"My love--yes; my love could and would forgive anything, if it relatedonly to--to--the man I loved and--me!"

The frown deepened on Huntter's face; he turned uneasily. 

"After all, " he muttered, "a man and woman see things so differently. There is no use!"

"I wonder--if things would not seem plainer if they saw them--together?"

But Priscilla saw she had gone too far. The whimsical mood in Huntter hadpassed. He was himself again, and she was his nurse--his nurse who knewtoo much! More fretfully than he had ever spoken to her, he said:

"I wish to be alone, Miss Glynn. "

Priscilla passed out, leaving the door between the rooms ajar, and laydown upon the couch. 

To Doctor Hapgood she was a machine merely; an easy-running one, adependable one, but none the less a machine. To Huntter, shut away fromsociety, gregarious, friendly, and kindly, she had meant much more. Herrecent experience abroad, with all the exquisite touches of humaninterest and uplift, had left her peculiarly sensitive to her presentenvironment. 

She liked the man in the room next her. There was much that was noble andfine about him, but he was a type that had never entered her life before, and often, by his kindliest word and gesture, drew her attention to ayawning space between them. She was at her ease, perfectly so, when nearhim, but she knew it was because of the distance that separated them. Still, she was confronted by a certain grim fact, and that ugly knowledgeheld him and her together. By some strange process of reason she wantedhim to live up to the best in him. There were two markedly differentsides of his nature; she trembled before one; before the other she gavehomage as she did to Travers, to John Boswell, and Master Farwell. 

The day before, Huntter had had a long talk with Doctor Hapgood while shewas off duty. That conversation had doubtlessly caused the bad night; shewondered about it now. It had evidently upset Huntter a good deal. 

Then Priscilla, losing consciousness gradually, thought of Travers, ofMargaret Moffatt, who believed her to be out of the city. She smiledhappily as she relived her blessed memories of good men and women. Theyjustified and sanctified life, love, and happiness, and they made itpossible for her, poor, struggling, little white nurse as she was, withall her professional knowledge, to trust and sympathize, and faithfullyserve. 

She must have slept deeply, for it took her a full moment to realize thatsome one in the next room was talking and--saying things!

"No, she's asleep, Huntter. She looks worn out. We must get a nightnurse. Well, I have only this to say: God knows I pity you, but my dutycompels me to say that--you should not marry! The chances are about even;but--you shouldn't take the risk. "

A groan brought Priscilla to her feet, alert and quivering. Like a suddenand blinding shock she understood, what seemed to her, a whole lifehistory. She stumbled to the door and faced Dr. Hapgood, hat in hand, keen-eyed, but detached. 

"You slept--heavily?"

"Yes, Doctor Hapgood. "

"I am going to send a night nurse to relieve you. When did you say yournext engagement began?"

"March fifth. "

"Well, you will need a week to recuperate. Make your plans accordingly. Do you understand?"

"Yes. "

Did he suspect? Did he warn her? But his next words were kindness alone. 

"There should have been two nurses all along. One forgets your youth inyour efficiency. Good morning. "

When Priscilla stood beside Huntter again his wan face, close-shut eyes, and grim mouth almost frightened her. 

"I want to sleep, " he said briefly. "Draw down the shades. "

The night nurse became a staple joke between her and Huntter. 

"Lord!" he exclaimed one day as Priscilla entered; "you're like themorning: clear, fresh, and hopeful. Do you know, that to escape thenightmare that haunts my chamber after you go, I have to play sleep evenif I'm dying with thirst or blue devils? She's religious! Think of anurse with religion that she feels compelled to share with a sick man!I'm going to get up to-day, Miss Glynn. I've bullied Hapgood into givingpermission, and I've done him one better. I'm going to have a visitor!I'm back from Bermuda, you know. After you've fixed me up--isn't it aglorious day?--open the windows, and--I've ordered a lot of flowers. Put them in those brass bowls. My visitor is a lady. She likes yellowroses. By the way, Miss Glynn, Doctor Hapgood tells me that you've beenin--Bermuda, too? Thorough old disciplinarian he! You must have beenlonely. And you leave me next week? I want to thank you. I shall thankyou ceremoniously every time you enter after this. You've been--a goodnurse and a--good friend. I couldn't say more, now could I?"

"No, Mr. Huntter. And you've been--a very brave man! I know you willalways be that, and make light of it. I rather like the half-joking wayyou do your kindest things. Here are the flowers! Oh, what beauties!"

Priscilla turned from helping Huntter and began arranging the gloriousmass of roses in the brass bowls. 

"What time is it, Miss Glynn?"

"Eleven o'clock. "

"And my friend is due at eleven-thirty. She will be here on the minute. I feel like a boy, Miss Glynn. One gets the doldrums being alone andconvalescing. How the grim devils catch and hold you while they try todistort life! I must have been a sad trial to you, but I'm myself again. Tell me, honest true, Miss Glynn, just how have I come out in yourestimation? A man is no hero to his valet. What is he to his trainednurse?"

"You have been very patient and considerate. " Priscilla's back was turnedto Huntter; her face was quivering. 

"Negative virtues! Had I been a brute you would have gone. I might havehad the night nurse for twenty-four hours. I dared not run the risk ofletting you go. "

"I've come out pretty well in _your_ estimation? That's a feather in mynice, white cap, " she said. 

"I wonder why I care what you think of me?"

"I do not know, Mr. Huntter, except that we all care for the good opinionof those who wish us well. "

"You wish me well?"

"With all my heart. "

"I'd like"--Huntter turned his face toward the window and the gloriouswinter day--"I'd like to be worthy of every well-wisher. I feel quite thegood boy this morning. I've been--well, I've been rather up against it, Ifear, and a trial to you, for all that you say to the contrary; but I amgoing to make amends to you--and the world! Now, when my friend comes, you won't mind if I ask you to leave us alone for a few moments? I cancall you when I need you. "

"Yes, Mr. Huntter. "

"The lady is--you may have guessed--my fiancée. I have important thingsto say to her, and----"

Priscilla's heart beat madly. She felt she was near a deeper tragedy thanany that had ever entered her life. And just then, as the clock struckthe half hour, came a tap on the door:

"Come!" cried Huntter, in a tone of joy; "Come!" And in burst MargaretMoffatt!

She did not notice the rigid figure by the bowl of flowers; her radiantface was fixed upon Huntter, and she ran toward him with outstretchedarms. 

"My beloved!" she whispered. "Oh! my dear, my dear! How ill you havebeen! They did not tell me. I shall never forgive them. When did youget back from Bermuda?"

Priscilla slipped from the room and closed the door noiselessly behindher, but not before she had seen Margaret Moffatt sink into Huntter'sarms; not before she heard the sigh of perfect content that escaped her. 

Alone in the anteroom, the hideous truth flayed Priscilla into sufferingand clear vision. 

"What shall I do?" she moaned, clasping her hands and swaying back andforth. All the burden and responsibility of the world seemed cast uponher. Then reason asserted itself. 

"He will tell her! He is telling her now! Killing her love--killing her!Oh, my God!"

Then she shrank from the thought that she would, in a few moments, haveto face her friend! How could she, when she remembered that holy night ofconfession in the little Swiss village? Again she moaned, "Oh! my God!"But she was spared that scene. Moments, though they seemed ages, passed, and then Huntter called:

"Miss Glynn!"

She hardly recognized his voice. It was--triumphant, thrilling. It rangboldly, commandingly. When she entered, Huntter was alone. Gone was theguest; gone the mass of golden roses. Huntter turned a face glowing andconfident to her. 

"Just because you are you, Miss Glynn, and because I'm the happiest manin New York, I want you to congratulate me. That was Miss Moffatt. Sheand I are to marry--in the spring. "

"Did you--mention my name to her?"

Priscilla's haggard face at last attracted the man. 

"No. I was inhumanly selfish. You must forgive me. I meant to tell her ofyour faithful care; I meant to have you meet her. I forgot. "

"Never mention--me to her! She is my--one friend in all the world; my onewoman friend. "

They faced each other blankly, fiercely. Then:

"Good Lord, Miss Glynn!" and Huntter--laughed!

CHAPTER XXIII

The week of recuperation Doctor Hapgood recommended was one of prolongedtorture to Priscilla Glenn. Thinking of it afterward, she realized thatit was the Gethsemane of her life--the hour when, forsaken by all, shefought her bitter fight. 

The drift of the ages confronted her. Her own insignificance, herhumbleness, accentuated and betrayed her. Who would listen? How dared shespeak! Who would heed her?

One, and one only. Margaret Moffatt!

From her Priscilla shrank and hid until she could gain courage to goand--by saving her, kill her! Yes, it meant that. The killing of thebeautiful All Woman, as Travers had called her. After the telling therewould be only the shadow of the splendid creature that God had meant tobe so happy, if only the wrong of the world had not come between!

There were moments when, worn by struggle and wakeful nights, Priscillafelt incapable of sane thought. 

Why should she interfere, she asked herself. Professional silence was heronly course. And--there was the chance--the chance! Against it stood, pleading, Margaret's radiant love and Huntter's strength and devotion. 

Who could blame her if she--forgot? But oh! how they would curse her ifshe spoke! They might not believe; they might ruin her!

Then faith laid its commanding touch upon her spirit. It had been givenher to know a woman who, for high principles and all the sacred future, was prepared to sacrifice her love if needs must be!

They two, Margaret of the high-soul, and she, Priscilla Glenn of theunderstanding devotion, seemed to stand apart and alone, each, in herway, called upon to testify and act. 

"It must be done!" moaned Priscilla; "she must know and--decide! But how?how?"

John Boswell and Master Farwell were gone to the In-Place. The sanctuaryoverlooking the river was closed. There was no one, no place, to whichPriscilla could go for comfort and advice, and her secret and her dutyleft her no peace or rest. 

She had taken a tiny suite in a family hotel. The rooms had the comfortneeded for her physical wants, but she tossed on the bed nights and sleptbrokenly. She ate poorly and grew very thin, very pale. She walked, days, until her body cried out for mercy. She cancelled her engagement, for shewas unfitted for service, and intuitively she knew that, for her, a greatchange was near. 

When she was weak from weariness and lonely to the verge of exhaustion, she thought of Kenmore--not Travers--with positive yearning. The womanof her, madly defending, or about to defend, woman, excluded even her ownlove and her own man. It was sex against sex; the world's injusticeagainst all that woman held sacred! If Margaret were to be sacrificed, sowas she, for she blindly felt that Travers would not uphold her! Howcould he when tradition held him captive? How could he when his oathbound him like a slave? Doctor Hapgood had done his part, had spoken hisword--to man! But that was not enough. Man had flaunted it, was willingto take--the chance without giving the woman intelligent choice. Oh! itwas cruel, it was unjust, and it must be defied. She and Margaret muststand side by side, or life never again would taste sweet and pure!

Priscilla had not heard from Travers in ten days, and this added to hersense of desolation. Then, one evening, coming in from a long tramp inthe park, snow covered and bedraggled, she faced him in her own littleparlour!

"My blessed child!" cried he, rushing toward her. "What have you beendoing to yourself?"

She was in his arms; his hands were taking off her snow-wet coat and hat. He was whispering to her his love and gladness while he placed her in achair and lighted the tiny gas log in the grate. 

"It's a wicked shame!" he said laughingly; "but it will have to do. Nowthen, confess!"

"Oh! I have longed so for you! I have been--mad!"

Priscilla tried to smile, but collapsed miserably. 

"I don't believe you have eaten a morsel since----" Travers glared at herferociously. 

"Since I--I was in Switzerland. " The sob aroused Travers to the girl'scondition. 

"You poor little tyke!" he said. "Now lean back and do as you're told. I'm going to ring for food. Just plain, homely food. I'm as hungry as abear myself. I came to you from the vessel. I sent mother home in a cab. I had to see you. We'll eat--play; and then, my precious one, we'll talkbusiness. "

"How I have wanted you! needed you!" Again the pitiful wail. 

"Now behave, child! When the waiter comes we must be as staid as Darbyand Joan. You poor little girl! Heavens! how big your eyes are, and howfrightened! Come in! Yes. This is the order; serve it here. "

The waiter took the order wrapped in a good-sized bill, and departed onwilling feet. 

"Your hair is about all that's familiar; longing for me couldn't take theshine from that!" Travers kissed it. 

"I see my next case, " he laughed. "To get you in shape will be quite anachievement. We both need--play. We thrive on that. "

"Yes, my dear, my dear; but I have forgotten how!"

"Nonsense! Here's the food. Put the table near the grate"--this to theman--"things smoking hot; that's good. The wine, please. Thanks! MissGlynn, to your health!"

How Travers managed it no one could tell, but his own unfettered joydrove doubt and care from the little room. Priscilla, warmed andcomforted, laughed and responded, and the meal was a merry one. But itwas over at last, and the grim spectre stalked once more. Travers noticedthe haunted look in the eyes following his every movement, and tookwarning. Something was seriously wrong, that was evident; but he hadboundless faith in his love and power to drive the cloud away. After theroom was cleared of dishes and the grateful waiter, Travers attacked theshadow at once. 

He drew a stool to Priscilla's chair and flung his long body beside her. 

"Now, " he said, with wonderful tenderness, "let me begin my life work atonce, my darling. You are troubled; I am here to bear it all--for you!"

"Oh! Will you bear--half, dear heart?"

"Yes, and that is better. We need not waste words, my tired little girl. Out with the worst and then--you and I are going to--my mother!"

"Your--mother?"

"My mother! God bless her! You know she came near slipping away. She willneed and love you more than ever. "

"Oh! how good it sounds! Mother! Oh, my love, my love! I've had so littleand I've wanted so much! Your mother!"

"She'll be yours, too, Priscilla. But hurry, child! Just the barestructure; my love will fill in the rest. "

"Do not look up at me, dear man! So, let me rest my face on your head. Can you hear me--if I whisper?"

"Yes. "

"It's about Margaret--Margaret Moffatt. "

"The All Woman, the happiest creature, next to what you're going to be, in all God's world?"

"No!"

"No? Priscilla, what do you mean?"

"Do not move. Please do not look up. She is--engaged to--to ClydeHuntter!"

"Well?"

"I did not know; she never mentioned his name. While we played, names didnot matter--his, mine, no one's. " An hysterical gasp caused Travers tostart. 

"No, please keep your face turned. I must tell you in my way. I have justtaken care of--Mr. Huntter. He is not--fit to marry any woman--he cannotmarry--Margaret! Doctor Hapgood told him, but--he--means to marry! Shecame to see him; she did not see me; she does not know; but she _must_know!" fiercely; "she must know! That is the one thing above all elsethat would matter to her; she told me so! She does not live for the--thenow; she was made for--for bigger things!"

"My God!" Travers was on his feet, and he dragged Priscilla with him. Heheld her close by her wrists and searched her white, agonized face. Truthand stern purpose were blazoned on it. She had never looked so beautiful, so noble, or so--menacing. 

"You heard Doctor Hapgood say that?"

"I did. "

"In your presence?"

"No. " Then she described the little scene graphically. 

"But Ledyard----" Then he paused. Ledyard's confidence must be sacred tohim. 

"And Huntter--Huntter knows that you know; does he know that you areMargaret's friend?"

"Yes. "

"And--he trusts you?"

"He thinks I do not count, but I do--with Margaret. "

"Priscilla, this is no work for you, poor child!"

"It is--hers--and mine, and God's!" determinedly. 

"Darling, you are overwrought. You must trust me. You know what I thinkof such things; you can safely leave this to me. Ledyard is Huntter'sphysician. Why he called Hapgood in, I do not know. I will go to Ledyard. Can you not see--that they would not believe--you?"

"Margaret will!"

"But her father! You do not understand, my precious. You dear, little, unworldly soul! Margaret Moffatt's marriage means a ninth wonder. Anymeddling with that would have to be sifted to the dregs. And when theyreached you, my own girl, they would grind you to atoms!"

"Not--Margaret!"

Priscilla drew herself away from the straining hands. She was quite calmnow and terribly earnest. 

"When all's told, it is Margaret and I--and God!"

"No. There are others, and other things. All the world's forces areagainst you. "

"No, they are not! They are turning with me. I feel them; I feel them. I am not afraid. " Then she took command, while Travers stood amazed. Sheput her hands on his shoulders and held him so before the bar of hercrude, woman-judgment. 

"Answer me, my beloved! You believe--what I have told you?"

"I do. "

"You know Doctor Hapgood will do no more?"

"He--cannot. "

"If you go to Doctor Ledyard--and he knows and believes--what will hedo?"

"He has been Huntter's physician for years. If he has been mistaken, hewill go to Huntter. "

"Go to--Huntter! And what then? Suppose Mr. Huntter--still takes thechance?"

"Ledyard will--he will forbid it!"

"And what good will that do?" A pitiful bitterness crept into Priscilla'svoice; her lips quivered. 

"It is all Huntter! Huntter! All men! men! and there stands mydear--alone! No one goes to her to let--_her_ choose; no one but me!Don't you see what I mean? Oh! my love, my love! My good, good man, canyou leave her there in ignorance, all of you? Through the ages she hasnot had her say--about the chance, and that is why----"

Priscilla paused, choked by rising passion. 

"Little girl, listen! What do you mean?" Travers was genuinely alarmedand anxious. 

"I mean"--the white, set face looked like an avenger's, not apassionately loving woman's--"I mean--that because women have never hadan opportunity to know and to choose, you and I, and all people like us, stand helpless with our own great heaven-sent love at peril!"

"At peril! Oh, my dear girl!"

"Yes, at peril. We do not know what to do, where to turn. You see thegreat injustice clearly as I do; but you--all men have tried to right itby themselves, in their way, while all women, through all the ages, havestood aside and tried to think they were doing God's will when theyaccepted--your best; your _half_ best! Now, oh! now something--I think itis God calling loud to them--is waking them up. They know--you cannot dothis thing alone; it is their duty, too--they must help you, for, oh!"--Priscilla leaned toward him with tear-blinded eyes and pleadinghands--"For the sake of the--the little children of the world. Oh! menare fathers, good fathers, but they have forgotten the part mothers musttake! We women cannot leave it all to you. It is wicked, wicked for womento try! There is something mightier than our love--we are learning that!"

Travers took her in his arms. She was weeping miserably. His heartyearned over her, for he feared she was feeling, as women sometimes did, the awful weight of injustice men had unconsciously, often in deepestlove, laid upon them. 

"Priscilla, you trust me; trust my love?"

"Yes. "

"You believe me when I say that I see this--as you do--but that we onlydiffer as to methods?"

"I--I hope I see that and believe it. "

"Then"--and here Travers did his poor, blind part to lay another strawupon the drift of burden--"leave this--to me. I know better than you dothe end of any such mad course as you, in your affection and sense ofwrong, might take. Little girl, let me try to show you. Suppose you wentto Margaret Moffatt. You know her proud, sensitive nature; her loyaltyand absolute frankness. After the shock and torture she would go to herfather with the truth--for she would believe you--and announce herunwillingness--I am sure, even though her heart broke, she would dothis--to marry Huntter. Then the matter would lie among men; men with thetraditional viewpoint; men with much, much at stake. If Huntter has, asyou say, taken the chance, in his love for Margaret--and he does loveher, poor devil!--he will defend himself and his position. "

"How?" Priscilla was regaining her calm; she raised her head and facedTravers from the circle of his arms. 

"He will--send Moffatt to--to--Hapgood. "

"And he--what will he do?"

"What does the priest do when the secrets of the confessional areattacked?"

"Yes, yes--but then?"

"Then--oh! my precious girl! Can you not see? You will come into focus. You, my love, my wife, but, nevertheless, a woman! a trained nurse!Hapgood would flay you alive, not because he has anything against you, but professional honour and discipline would be at stake. Between such aman as Hapgood and--Priscilla Glynn--oh! can you not see my dear, deargirl?"

"Yes, I begin to see. And--I see I dare not trust even you!" The hardnote in Priscilla's voice hurt Travers cruelly. "And--you, you and DoctorLedyard--how would you stand?" she asked faintly. 

Travers held her at arm's length, and his face turned ashen gray. 

"Besides being men, we, too, are physicians!" he said. "Brutal as thissounds, it is truth!"

The light burned dangerously in Priscilla's eyes. 

"When you are physicians--you are _not_ men!" she panted, and suddenly, by a sharp stab of memory, Ledyard's words, back in the boyhood days atKenmore, stung Travers. They were like an echo in his brain. 

"You--you of all women, cannot say that and mean it, my darling!" hecried, and tried to draw her to him. She resisted. 

"Our love, the one sacred thing of our very own, " he pleaded, "is inperil. " He saw it now. "Can you not see? Even if it is woman againstwoman, what right have you, Priscilla, to cloud and hurt our love?"

"It is not--woman against woman--any more. " The words came sweetly, almost joyously; something like renunciation tinged them. "It is woman_for_ woman until men will take us by the hands, trustingly, faithfully, and work with us for what belongs equally to us both!"

The radiance of the uplifted eyes frightened Travers. So might she look, he thought, had she passed through death and come out victorious. 

"Now, just for a time, " the tense, thrilling voice went on, "she andI--women--must stand alone, and do our best as we see it. It is no goodleaving it to--to any man. I see that! And our love, yours and mine! Oh!dear man of my heart, that can never die or be hurt. It is yours, mine!God gave it. God will not take it away. God will not take Margaret'seither. She will understand, and, even alone, far, far from _her_ love, she will be true, as I will be. That is what it means to us!" Then shepaused and smiled at Travers as across a widening chasm. 

"I--am going now!"

"Going? My beloved--going--where?"

"To Margaret. "

"You--dare not! You shall not! You are--mad!"

"No. I am--going, because, as things are, I cannot--trust you, even you!That is our penalty for the world's wrong. Long, long ago some one--oh!it was back in the days when I did not know what life meant--some onetold me--never to let any one kill my ideal! No one ever has! It goes onbefore, leading and beckoning. I must follow. I do not know where he is, he who told me, but I know, as sure as I know that I shall always loveyou, that he is following _his_ ideal, and living true and sure. Goodnight. "

Unable to think or act, Travers saw Priscilla take up her still damp coatand hat. Like a man in a nightmare he saw her turn a deadly white faceupon him, and then the door closed and he was alone in her little room!

He looked about, dazed and emotionless. He felt _her_ in every touchof the lonely place; her books, her little pictures, herself! Some womenare like that: they leave themselves in the presence of them theylove--forever!

"Kill her ideal!" The words rang in the empty corners of his heart andmind. "Somewhere he is following his ideal, and living true and sure!"

Unconsciously, as men do in an hour of stress, Travers turned to action. Presently he found himself setting the tiny room in order as one doesafter a dear one has departed, or a spirit taken its flight. And while hemoved about his reason was slowly readjusting itself, and he feltpoignantly his impotency, his inability to use even his love fordominance. Being a just and honest man, he could not deny what Priscillahad said; truth rang in every sentence, chimed in with the minor notes ofhis life. No thought of following or staying her entered his mind; shehad set about her business, woman's business, and, to the man's excitedfancy, he seemed to see her pressing forward to the doing of that towhich her soul called her. Then it was her beautiful shining hair heremembered, and his passion cried out for its own. 

"This comes, " he fiercely cried, setting his teeth hard, "of our leavingthem behind--our women! Through the ages their place has been beside usas we fought every foe of the race. We set them aside in our folly, andnow"--he bowed his head upon his folded arms--"and now they are waking upand demanding only what is theirs!"

A specimen of the new man was Travers, but inheritance, and Ledyard'steaching, had left their seal upon him. Bowed in Priscilla's little roomhe tried to see his way, but for a time he reasoned with Ledyard's wordsringing in his ears. Had he not gone over this with his friend andpartner many a time?

"Yes, I know the cursed evil, know its power and danger! Yes, itthreatens--the race, but it has its roots in the ages; it must betackled cautiously. If we take the stand you suggest"--for Travers hadput forth his violent, new opposition--"what will happen? The quacks andmoney-making sharks will get the upper hand. Do you think men would cometo us if exposure faced them? It's the devil, my boy; but of the twoevils this, God knows, is the least. We must do what we can; work fora scientific and moral redemption, but never play the game likefools. "--"But the women, " Travers had put in feverishly, "thewomen!"--"Spare me, boy! The women have clutched the heart of me--always. The women and the--the babies. I've used them to flay many men intoremorse and better living. I am thinking of them, as God hears me, when Itake the course I do!"

And so Travers suffered and groaned in the small, deserted room. 

Above and beyond Ledyard's reasoning stood two desolate figures. Theyseemed to represent all women: his Priscilla and Margaret Moffatt! One, the crude child of nature with her gleam undimmed, leading her forthunhampered, though love and suffering blocked her way; the other, thedaughter of ages of refinement and culture, who had heard the call of thefuture in her big woman-heart and could leave all else for the sake ofthe crown she might never wear, but which, with God's help, she wouldnever defile. 

On, on, they two went before Travers's aching eyes. The way before themwas shining, or was it the light of Priscilla's hair? They were leavinghim, all men, in the dark! It was to seek the light, or----And thenTravers got up and left the room with bowed head, like one turning hisback upon the dead. 

He went to Ledyard at once, and found that cheerful gentleman awaitinghim. 

"At last!" he cried. "Helen telephoned at seven. She thought you were onyour way here. Did you get lost?"

"Yes. "

"What's the matter, Dick? You look as if you had seen a ghost. "

"I have. An army of them. "

"Are you--ill?"

"No. "

"Sit down, boy. Here, take a swallow of wine. You're used up. Now then!"

"Doctor Ledyard, you were wrong--about Huntter! You remember what youtold me, before Margaret Moffatt announced her engagement?"

"Yes. " Ledyard poured himself a glass of wine and walked to his chairacross the room. 

"You were wrong; he is not what you think. "

"What do you mean? I haven't seen Huntter for--for a year or more. I tookcare, sacred care, though, to--to trace him from the time he first cameto me, more than ten years ago. No straighter, more honourable manbreathes than he. He was one of the victims of ignorance and crookedreasoning, but, thank God! he was spared the worst. "

"He was--not. "

"Dick, in God's name, what do you mean?"

"Hapgood was called in. Huntter has not been in Bermuda; he has beenright here in New York, under Hapgood's care. "

"And Hapgood--told you?"

A purplish flush dyed Ledyard's face. 

"No. "

"Who, then? No sidetracking, Dick. Who?"

"The--the nurse. "

"She-devil! Fell in love with her patient? I've struck that kind----"

"Stop!"

Both men were on their feet and glaring at each other. 

"You are speaking of my future--wife!"

Ledyard loosened his collar and--laughed!

"You're mad!" he said faintly, "or a damned fool!"

"I'm neither. I am engaged to marry Priscilla Glynn; have been since thesummer. I meant to tell you and mother to-night. I went to her from thevessel. Priscilla Glynn took care of Huntter without knowing of hisconnection in the Moffatt affair. Above all else in the world"--Travers'svoice shook--"she adores Margaret Moffatt, knows her intimately, andwishes, blindly, to serve her as she understands her. There are suchwomen, you know, and they are becoming more numerous. She has goneto--tell Margaret Moffatt. "

"Gone?" Ledyard reeled back a step. "And you permitted that?"

"I had no choice. You do not know--my--my--well, Miss Glynn. "

"Not know her? The young fiend! Not know her? I remember her well. Imight have known that no good could come from her. But--we can crush her, the young idiot! I do not envy you your fiancée, Dick. "

The telephone rang sharply and Ledyard took up the receiver withtrembling hand. 

"It's your mother, " he said; "you had better speak for yourself. "

"So you are there, Dick?"

"Yes, mother. "

"There was a message just now. Such a peculiar one. I thought you hadbetter have it at once. It was only this: 'She knows' and a 'good-bye. '"

"Thanks, mother. I understand. "

Ledyard watched the unflinching face and noted the even voice. He was sonear he had caught Helen's words. 

"And that is all, mother?"

"All, dear. "

"I'll be home soon. Good night. "

Then he looked up at Ledyard, and the older man's face softened. 

"You'll find this sort of thing is a devil of a jigsaw. It cuts in alldirections, " he said, laying his hand on Travers's shoulder. 

"Yes, doesn't it? But, Doctor Ledyard, I want to tell you something. She's right--that girl of mine, and Margaret Moffatt, too--and you knowit as well as I do! If I can, I'm going to have my love and my woman; buteven if I go empty hearted to my grave I shall know--they are right!Besides being women, and our loves, they are human beings, and they arebeginning to find it out. The way may lead through hell, but it endsin----"

"What?" Ledyard breathed; his eyes fixed on the stern young face. 

"In understanding. It leads to the responsibility all women must take. Good night, old friend. "

CHAPTER XXIV

Priscilla had gone straight from Margaret Moffatt's to her own littleapartment. She had no sense of suffering; no sensation at all. She mustpack and get away! And like a dead thing she set to work, although it wasmidnight and she had been so weary before; and then she smiledquiveringly:

"Before!"

She stood and stretched out her arms to the empty space where Travers hadbeen. 

"Oh! my dear, dear man!" she moaned. "My beloved!"

She had set the spark to the powder; by to-morrow the devastation wouldbe complete. That, she knew full well. And he--the man she loved aboveall else in life--in order to escape must seek safety with those others!All those others--men! men! men! Only she and Margaret, suffering andalone, would stand in the ruins. But from those ruins! Her eyes shone aswith a vision of what must be. 

"I wish I could tell you--all about it!" the weak, human need called tothe absent love. The whispered words brought comfort; even his memory wasa stronghold. It always would be, even when she was far away in herIn-Place, never to see him again. 

How thankful she was that he did not know, really. He could not follow;she would not be able to hurt him--after to-morrow. Her changed namehad saved her!

"Priscilla Glynn, " she faltered, "hide her, hide her forever, hide poorPriscilla Glenn. "

Then her thoughts flew back to the recent past. She had found Margaretalone in her own library. 

"Now how did you know I wanted you more than any one else in the world?"Margaret had said. "When did you get back? You baddest of the bad! Whydid you hide from me? Where were you?"

"In--Bermuda. " How ghastly it sounded, but it caught Margaret's quickthought. 

"Sit down, you little ghost of bygone days of bliss. You'll have to playagain. Work is killing you. In Bermuda? What doing?"

"Wearing--my cap and apron, dear, dear----"

"Your cap and apron? I thought you burned them! I shall tell Travers, youdeceitful, money-getting little fraud! Well, who has taken it out of youso? You are as white as ivory. Do you know the Traverses came in on the_St. Cloud_ to-day?"

"Yes. Doctor Travers came to see me. "

"Ha! ha! He doesn't seem to have cheered you much. I wager he's told youwhat he thinks of you, tossing to the winds all the beautiful health andspirits of the summer! When are you to be married? I must tell him tobully you as--as my dear love is bullying me! Has Doctor Ledyard growledat you? I can twist him easily! He is a darling, and just wears that faceand voice for fun in order to scare little redheaded nurses. Cilla, dearheart, I'm going to be married in June! Dear, old-fashioned June, withroses and good luck and--oh! the heaven seems opening and the glory ispouring down! There, girlie! cuddle here! I'm going to tell youeverything; even to the mentioning of names! I've always hated to labelmy joy before. But, first, take some chocolate; it's hot and piping. Now!Who did you nurse in Bermuda? I'm going to tell him, or her, what I thinkof him!"

"I--nursed--Mr. Clyde Huntter. We were in New York all the time. That iswhy--I had to keep--still----"

"Mr. Clyde Huntter?" Margaret set the cup she held, down sharply. Thequick brain was alert and in action. 

"Mr. Clyde Huntter?" And then Margaret Moffatt came close to Priscilla, and looked down deep into the unfaltering eyes raised to hers. 

"Mr. Clyde Huntter--is the man I am to marry!" she said in a voice fromwhich the girlish banter had gone forever. It was the voice of a woman inarms to defend all she worshipped. 

"Yes, I know. I was in his room the day you called. I thought I shoulddie. I hoped he would tell you. I was ready to stand beside you; but hedid not tell!"

"Tell--what? As God hears you, Priscilla, as you love me, and--and as Itrust you, tell me what?"

And then Priscilla had told her. At first Margaret stood, taking thedeadly blow like a Spartan woman, her grave eyes fixed upon Priscilla. Slowly the cruel truth, and all it implied, found its way through thearmour of her nobility and faith. She began to droop; then, like onewhose strength has departed, she dropped beside Priscilla's chair andclung to her. It had not taken long to tell, but it had lain low everybeautiful thing but--courage!

"Back there, " Margaret had said at last, "back there where we played, Itold you I was ready for sacrifice. I thought my God was not going toexact that, but since he has, I am ready. Priscilla, I still have God! Iwonder"--and, oh! how the weak, pain-filled voice had wrung Priscilla'sheart--"I wonder if you can understand when I tell you that I love mylove better now--than ever? Shall always love him, my poor boy! Can younot see that he did not mean--to be evil? It was the curse handed down tohim, and when he found out--his love, our love, had taken possession ofhim, and he could not let me--go! I feel as if--as if I were his mother!He cannot have the thing he would die for, but I shall love him to theend of life. I shall try to make it up to him--in some way; help him tobe willing and brave, to do the right; teach him that my way is theonly--honourable way. I am sure both he and I will be--glad not--not tolet others, oh! such sad, little others, pay the debt for us. Our dayis--is short at best, but the--the eternity! And you, dear, faithfulCilla! You, with your blessed love, how will it be when I have done whatI must do? I must go to--to father and tell the truth, and then----"

"I know, " Priscilla had said. "Doctor Travers told me what would follow. I shall not be here for him to suffer for; I am going----"

"Where, my precious friend?"

"To--the Place Beyond the Winds! You do not understand. You cannot; noone can follow me; but I cannot bear the hurting blasts any more. I wantthe In-Place. "

Then it was over, and now she was back in her lonely rooms. She packedher few, dear possessions, and toward morning lay down upon her bed. Atdaylight she departed, after settling her affairs with the night clerkand leaving no directions that any one could follow. 

"It is business, " she had cautioned, and the sleepy fellow nodded hishead. 

The rest did not matter. She would travel to the port from which theboats sailed to Kenmore. Any boat would do; any time. Some morning, perhaps, at four o'clock, if the passage had not been too rough, shewould find herself on the shabby little wharf with the pink morning lightabout her, and the red-rock road stretching on before. 

Then Priscilla, like a miser, gripped her purse. Never before had moneyheld any power over her, but the hundreds she had saved were precious toher now. Her father's doors were still, undoubtedly, closed to her. Shecould not be a burden to the two men living in Master Farwell's smallhome. There was, to be sure, Mary McAdam! By and by, perhaps, when thehurt was less and she could trust herself more, she would go to the WhiteFish Lodge and beg for employment; but until then----

The morning Priscilla departed, Ledyard, unequal to any further strain, was called upon to bear several. By his plate, at the breakfast table, lay a scrawled envelope that he recognized at once as a report fromTough Pine. 

"What's up now?" muttered he. "This thing isn't due for--three weeksyet. "

Then he read, laboriously, the crooked lines:

 I give up job. Dirty work. Money--bad money. I take no more--or I be damned! He better man--than you was; you bad and evil, for fun--he grow big and white. No work for bad man--friend now to good mens. 

 Pine. 

"The devil!" muttered Ledyard; but oddly enough the letter raised, ratherthan lowered, his mental temperature. Those ill-looking epistles ofPine's had nauseated him lately. He had begun to experience the sensationof over-indulgence. Some one had told him, a time back, of Boswell'sleaving the city, and he had been glad of the suspicion that arose in himwhen he heard it. 

Later in the day the forces Priscilla had set in motion touched and drewhim into the maelstrom. 

"Ledyard"--this over the telephone--"my daughter has just informed methat she is about to break her engagement. May I see you at--three?"

"Yes. Here, or at your office?"

"I will come to you. "

They had it out, man to man, and with all the time-honoured and hoaryarguments. 

"My girl's a fool!" Moffatt panted, red-faced and eloquent. "Not tomention what this really means to all of us, there is the girl's ownhappiness at stake. What are we to tell the world? You cannot go aboutand--explain! Good Lord! Ledyard, Huntter stands so high in public esteemthat to start such a story as this about him would be to ruin my ownreputation. "

"No. The thing's got to die, " Ledyard mused. "Die at its birth. "

"Die in my girl's heart! Good God! Ledyard, you ought to see her afterthe one night! It wrings my heart. It isn't as if the slander had killedher love for him. It hasn't; it has strengthened it. 'I must bear thisfor him and for me, ' she said, looking at me with her mother's eyes. Shenever looked like her mother before. It's broken me up. What's the worldcoming to, when women get the bit in their teeth?"

"There are times when all women look alike, " Ledyard spoke half tohimself; "I've noticed that. " The rest of Moffatt's sentence he ignored. 

"Why, in the name of all that is good, " Moffatt blazed away, "did yousend that redheaded girl into our lives? I might have known from the hourshe set her will against mine that she was no good omen. Things I haven'tcrushed, Ledyard, have always ended by giving me a blow, sooner or later. Think of her coming into my home last night and daring----" The wordsended in a gulp. "Let me send Margaret to you, " pleaded the father at hiswits' end. "Huntter is away. Will not be back until to-morrow. Perhapsyou can move her. You brought her into the world; you ought to try andkeep her here. "

At four Margaret entered Ledyard's office. She was very white, veryself-possessed, but gently smiling. 

"Dear old friend, " she said, drawing near him and taking the rôle ofcomforter at once. "Do not think I blame you. I know you did your bestwith your blessed, nigh-to glasses on, but we younger folks have longvision, you know. Do you remember how you once told me to swallow yourpills without biting them? I obeyed you for a long, long time; but I'vebitten this one! It's bitter, but it is for the best. The medicine is inthe pills; we might as well know. "

"See here, Margaret, I'm not going to use your father's weapons. I onlyask you--to wait! Do not break your engagement; let me see Huntter. Donot speak to him of this. I can explain, and--" he paused--"if the worsecomes to the worst, the wedding can be postponed; then things can happengradually. "

"No, " Margaret shook her head. "This is his affair and mine, and our lovelies between us. I want--oh! I want to make him feel as I do, if I can;but above all else he must know that whatever I do is done in love. Yousee, I cannot hate him now; by and by it would be different if we werenot just to each other. "

"My poor girl! Do you women think you are going to be happier, the worldbetter, because of--things like this? Men have thought it out!"

"Alone, yes. And women have let you bear the burden--alone. Happinessis--not all. And who can tell what the world will be when we all do thework God sent us to do? I know this: we cannot push our responsibilitiesoff on any one else without stumbling across them sooner or later, forthe overburdened ones cannot carry too much, or forever!"

Ledyard expected Travers for dinner, but, as the time drew near, he feltthat his young partner would not come. At six a note was handed to him:

 Kindest of Friends:

 To-morrow, or soon, I will come to you; not to-night. I have to be alone. I am all in confusion. I can see only step by step, and must follow as I may. Two or three things stand out clear. We haven't, we men, played the game fair, though God knows we meant to. They--she and such women as my girl--are right! Blindly, fumblingly right. They are seeking to square themselves, and we have no business to curse them for their efforts. 

 Lastly, I love Priscilla Glynn, and mean to have her, even at the expense of my profession! You have set my feet on a broad path and promised an honourable position. I have always felt that to try and follow in your steps was the noblest ambition I had. I know now that I could not accomplish this. You have truth and conviction to guide and uphold you. I have doubt. I must work among my fellows with no hint of distrust as to my own position. Forgive me! Go, if you will, to my mother--to Helen. She will need you--after she knows. You will, perhaps, understand when I tell you that, for a time at least, I must be by myself, and I am going to the little town where my own mother and I, long ago, lived our strange life together. She seems to be there, waiting for me. 

Ledyard ate no dinner that night; he seemed broken and ill; he pusheddish after dish aside, and finally left the table and the house. 

Everything had failed him. All his life's work and hopes rustled past himlike dead things as he walked the empty streets. 

"Truth and conviction, " he muttered. "Who has them? The young ass! Whatis truth? How can one be convinced? It's all bluff and a doing of one'sbest!"

And then he reached Helen Travers's house and found her waiting for him. 

"I have a--a note from Dick, " she said. Ledyard saw that she had beencrying. 

"Poor boy! He has gone to--his mother; his real mother. We"--she caughther breath--"we have, somehow, failed him. He is in trouble. "

"I wonder--why?" Ledyard murmured. Never had his voice held that tonebefore. It startled even the sad woman. 

"We have tried to do right--have loved him so, " she faltered. 

"Perhaps we have been too sure of ourselves, our traditions. Eachgeneration has its own ideals. We're only stepping-stones, but we liketo believe we're the--end-all!"

"That may be. "

Then they sat with bowed heads in silence, until Ledyard spoke again. 

"I'm going to retire, Helen. Without him, work would be--impossible. His empty place would be a silent condemnation, a constant reminder, of--mistakes. "

"If he leaves me, I shall close this house. I could not live--without himhere. I never envied his mother before. I have pitied, condoned her, butto-night I envy her from my soul!"

"Helen"--and here Ledyard got up and walked the length of the roomrestlessly; he was about to put his last hope to the test--"Helen, thisworld is--too new for us; for you and me. We belong back where the lightis not so strong and things go slower! We get--blinded and breathless andconfused. I have nothing left, nor have you. Will you come with me tothat crack in the Alps, as Dick used to call it, and let me--love you?"

"Oh! John Ledyard! What a man you are!"

"Exactly! _What_ a man I am! A poor, rough fool, always loving what wasbest; never daring to risk anything for it. I'm tired to death----"

She was beside him, kneeling, with her snow-touched head upon his knee. 

"So am I. Tired, tired! I could not do without you. I have leaned on youfar too long; we all have. Now, dear, lean on me for the rest of theway. "

He bent his grizzled head upon hers and his eyes had the look of prayerthat Priscilla once discovered. 

"Dick--has not told me his real trouble, " Helen faintly said. "I know itis somehow connected with a--nurse. "

"The redheaded one, " Ledyard put in; "a regular little marplot!" Then hegave that gruff laugh of his that Helen knew to be a signal of surrender. 

"It's odd, " he went on, "how one can admire and respect when often hedisapproves. I disapprove of this--redheaded girl, but, if it willcomfort you any, my child, I will tell you this: Dick's future, in herhands, would be founded on--on everlasting rock!"

"Perhaps--she won't have him!"

"Helen"--and Ledyard caught her to him--"you never would have said thatif you had been Dick's mother!"

"Perhaps--not!"

"No. You and I have only played second fiddles, first and last; butsecond fiddles come in handy!"

The room grew dim and shadowy, and the two in the western window clungtogether. 

"Have you heard--John, that Margaret Moffatt has broken her engagement toClyde Huntter?"

"Yes. Where did you hear it?"

"She came--to see me; wanted to know how I was. She was very beautifuland dear. She talked a good deal about that--that----"

"Redheaded nurse?" asked Ledyard. 

"Yes. I couldn't quite see any connecting link then, but you know Dickdid go to that Swiss village last summer. I fear the party wasn'tproperly chaperoned, for 'twas there he met--the nurse!"

"It--was!" grunted Ledyard. 

"There is something sadly wrong with this broken engagement ofMargaret's, but I imagine no one will ever know. Girls are so--sodifferent from what they used to be. "

"Yes, " but a tone of doubt was in Ledyard's voice. Presently he said:"Since Dick has left, or may leave, the profession, I suppose he'll taketo writing. He's always told me that when he could afford to, he'd liketo cut the traces and wollop the race with his pen. Many doctors wouldlike to do that. A gag and a chain and ball are not what they're crackedup to be. The pen is mightier than the pill, sometimes, but it ofteneliminates the butter from the bread. "

Helen caught at the only part of this speech that she understood. 

"There's the little income I'm living on, " she said; "it's Dick'sfather's. I wish--you'd let me give it to him--now. I am old-fashionedenough to want to live on my husband's money. "

"Exactly!" Ledyard drew her closer; "quite the proper feeling. It can beeasily arranged. "

And while they sat in the gathering gloom, Travers was wending his way upa village street, and wondering that he found things so little changed. 

While his heart grew heavier, his steps hastened, and he felt like asmall boy again--a boy afraid of the dark, afraid of the mystery ofnight--alone! The boy of the past had always known a heavy heart, too, and that added reality to the touch. 

There stood the old cottage with a sign "To Let" swinging from the porch. Had no one lived there since they, he and the pretty creature he calledmother, had gone away?

There had been workmen in the house, evidently. They had carelessly leftthe outer door open and a box of tools in the living-room. Travers wentin and sat down upon the chest, closed his eyes, and gave himself up tohis sad mood. Clearly he seemed to hear the low, sweet voice:

"Little son, is that you?" Yes, it was surely he! "Come home to--tomother? Tired, dear?" Indeed he was tired--tired to the verge ofexhaustion. "Suppose--suppose we have a story? Come, little son! It shallbe a story of a fine, golden-haired princess who loves and loves, but--isvery, very wise. And you are to be the prince who is wise, too. If youare not both very wise there will be trouble; and of course princessesand princes do not have trouble. " The old, foolish memory ran on with itsdeeper truth breaking in upon the heart and soul of the man in thehaunted room. 

Then Travers spoke aloud:

"Mother, I will make no mistake if I can help it, and as God hears me, I will not cheat love. As far as lies in me, I will play fair for hersake--and yours!"

When he uncovered his eyes he almost expected to see a creaky littlerocker and a sleepy boy resting on the breast of a woman so beautifulthat it was no wonder many had loved her. 

"Poor, little, long-ago mother!"

Then he thought of Helen and her strong purpose in life, her devotion andsacrifice. 

"I must go to her!" he cried resolutely. "I owe her--much, much!"

CHAPTER XXV

The pines and the hemlocks stood out sharply against a pink, throbbingsky in which the stars still shone faintly but brilliantly. It was fiveo'clock of a dim morning, and no one was astir in the In-Place as thelittle steamer indolently turned from the Big Bay into the Channel andheaded for the wharf. 

Not a breath of air seemed stirring, and the stillness was unbrokenexcept by the panting of the engines. 

Priscilla Glenn stood near the gangway of the boat. Now that she had leftall her beautiful love and life, she was eager to hide, like a hurt andbruised thing, in the old, familiar home. Leaning her poor, tired headagainst the post near her, she thought of the desolate wreck behind, andthe tears came to the deep, true eyes. 

"I could have done--nothing else!" she murmured, as if to comfort the sadthing she was. "It had to be! Margaret knew that; she understood. By nowshe is as bereft as I; poor, dear love! Oh! it seems, just sometimes itseems, like an army of men on one side and all of us women on the other. Between us lies the great battlefield, and they, the men, are trying tofight alone--fight our battle as well as theirs. And--they cannot! theycannot!"

Just then the boat touched the wharf, and a sleepy man, a stranger toPriscilla, materialized and looked at her queerly. 

"For the Lodge?" he grunted. 

"Yes--I suppose so. Yes, the Lodge. "

"Up yonder. " Then he turned to the freight. Once she was on the Green, Priscilla paused and looked about. 

"For which?" Then she smiled a ghost of her bright, sunny smile. 

"My father's doors are shut to me, " she sighed; "I cannot go to theLodge, yet! I must go--to----" Something touched her hand, and shelooked down. It was Farwell's dog, the old one, the one who used to playwith Priscilla when she was a little girl. 

"You dear!" she cried, dropping beside him; "You've come to show me theway. Beg, Tony, beg like a good fellow. I have a bit of cake for you!"

Clumsily, heavily, the old collie tried to respond, but of late he hadbeen excused from acting; and he was old, old. 

"Then take it, Tony, take it without pay. That comes of being a doggie. You ought to be grateful that you are a dog, and--need not pay!"

It was clear to her now that Farwell's home must be her first shelter, and taking up her suit-case she passed over the Green and took the pathleading to the master's house. 

Some one had been before her. Some one who had swept the hearth, lighteda fire, and set the breakfast table. Pine had taken Toky's place and wasvying with that deposed oriental in whole-souled service. 

Priscilla pushed the ever-unlatched door open and went inside. The bareliving-room had been transformed. John Boswell had transferred thecomfort, without the needless luxury, from the town home to theIn-Place--books, pictures, rugs, the winged chair and an equally easy oneacross the hearth. And, yes, there was her own small rocker close by, asif, in their detachment, they still remembered her and missed her andwere--ready for her coming! Priscilla noiselessly took off her wraps andsat down, glad to rest again in the welcoming chair. 

She swayed back and forth, her closely folded arms across herfast-beating heart. She kept her face turned toward the door throughwhich she knew the men would enter. She struggled for control, for amanner which would disarm their shock at seeing her; but never in herlife had she felt more defeated, more helplessly at bay. 

The early morning light, streaming through the broad eastern window, struck full across her where she sat in the low rocker; and so Boswelland Farwell came upon her. They stopped short on the threshold and each, in his way, sought to account for the apparition. The brave smile uponPriscilla's face broke and fled miserably. 

"I--I've been doshed!" she cried in a last effort at bravado, and then, covering her face with her hands, she wept hysterically, repeating againand again, "I've come home, come home--to--no home!"

They were beside her at once. Boswell's hand rested on the bowed head;Farwell's on the back of her chair. 

"Dear, bright Butterfly!" whispered Boswell comfortingly; "it has come togrief in the Garden. "

"Oh! I wanted to learn, and oh! Master Farwell, I said I was willing tosuffer, and I have, I have!"

Then she looked up and her unflinching courage returned. 

"I was tired!" she moaned; "tired and hungry. "

"After breakfast you will explain--only as much as you choose, child. "This from Farwell. "Make the toast for us, Priscilla. I remember howyou used to brown it without blackening it. Boswell always gets dreamingon the second side of the slice. "

After the strange meal Priscilla told very little, but both men readvolumes in her pale, thin face and understanding eyes. 

"Damn them!" thought Farwell; "they have taken it out of her. I knew theywould; but they have not conquered her!"

Boswell thoughtfully considered her when her eyes were turned from him. 

"She learned, " he thought; "suffered and learned; but when she gets herbreath she will go back. The In-Place cannot hold her. "

Then they told her of the Kenmore folk. 

"Your father has had a stroke, Priscilla, " Farwell said in reply to herquestion; "it has made him blind. Long Jean cares for him. He will haveno other near him. "

"And--he never wants me?" Priscilla whispered. 

"No; but he needs you!" Boswell muttered. "You must let your velvetywings brush his dark life; the touch will comfort him. "

"And old Jerry?"

Farwell leaned forward to poke the fire. 

"Old Jerry, " said he, "has gone mildly--mad. All day he sits dressed inhis best, ready to start for Jerry-Jo's. He fancies that scapegoat of hishas a mansion and fortune, and is expecting his arrival. He amuseshimself by packing and unpacking a mangy old carpet-bag. Mary McAdamlooks after him and the village youngsters play with him. It's rathera happy ending, after all. "

Many a time after that Priscilla packed and unpacked the old carpet-bag, while Jerry rambled on of his great and splendid lad to the "Miss fromthe States. "

"It's weak I am to-day, ma'am, " he would say, "but to-morrow, to-morrow!'Tis the Secret Portage I'll make for; the Fox is a bit too tricky for myboat--a fine boat, ma'am. I'm thinking the Big Bay may be a trifle rough, but the boat's a staunch one. Jerry-Jo's expecting me; but he'llunderstand. "

"I am sure he will be glad to see you, sir. " Priscilla learned to playthe sad game. The children taught her and loved her, and all the quietvillage kept her secret. Mary McAdam claimed her, but Priscilla clungto the two men who meant the only comfort she could know. They neverquestioned her; never intruded upon her sad, and often pitiful, reserve;but they yearned over her and cheered her as best they could. 

Priscilla's visits to her father's house were often dramatic. At firstthe sound of her voice disturbed and excited the blind man pathetically. 

"Eh? eh?" he stormed, holding to Long Jean's hand; "who comes in mydoor?"

"Oh! a lass--from the States, " Jean replied with a reassuring pat on thebony shoulder. 

"From the States?" suspiciously. 

"Aye. She's taken training in one of them big hospitables, and is afriend to the crooked gentleman who bides with Master Farwell. The lasscomes to give me lessons in my trade. " Jean had a touch of humour. 

"I'll have no fandangoing with me!" asserted Glenn, settling back in hischair. "Old ways are good enough for me, Jean, and remember that, if youvalue your place. I want no woman about me who has notions different fromwhat God Almighty meant her to have. Larning is woman's curse. Give 'emlarning, I've always held, and you've headed 'em for perdition. "

But Priscilla won him gradually, after he had become accustomed to herdisturbing voice. He would not have her touch him physically. She seemedto rouse in him a strange unrest when she came near him, but eventuallyhe accepted her as a diversion and utilized her for his own hidden need. 

One day, with a hint of spring in the air, he reached out a lean handtoward the window near which Jean had placed him, and said:

"Woman, are you here?"

"Jean's gone--erranding. " The old mother-word attracted Glenn'sattention. 

"Eh?" he questioned. 

"To the village. I'm waiting until she comes back. Can I do anything foryou, sir?"

"No. Is--is it a sunny day?"

"Glorious. The ice is melting now--in the shady places. "

"I thought I felt the warmth. 'Tis cold and drear sitting forever indarkness. "

"I am sure it must be--terrible. "

But Glenn resented pity. 

"God's will is never terrible!" he flung back. Then:

"Are you one--who got larning?"

"I--learned to read, sir. "

"And much--good it's done you--the larning! I warrant ye'd be better offwithout it. Women are. Good women are content with God's way. My wifewas. Always willing, was she, to follow. God was enough for her--God andme!"

"I wonder!"

"Eh? What was that?"

"Nothing, sir. May I read to you?"

"Is the Book there?"

"Right here on the stand. What shall I read?"

"There's one verse as haunts me at times; find it in Acts--theseventeenth, I think--and along about the twenty-third verse. I used toconjure what it might mean more than was good for me. It haunts me now, though I ain't doubting but what the meaning will come to me, some day. Them as sits in darkness often gets spiritual leadings. "

And Priscilla read:

"'For as I passed by, and beheld your devotions, I found an altar withthis inscription, To the Unknown God. Whom, therefore, ye ignorantlyworship, him I declare unto you?'"

A silence fell between the old, blind father and the stranger-girllooking yearningly into his face. 

"I've conned it this way and that, " Glenn said, with his oratoricalmanner claiming him. "It might be that some worship an Unknown God andthe true God might pass by and set things straight. There be altars andaltars, and sometimes even my God seems----"

"An Unknown God?" Priscilla asked tenderly. "That must be such a lonelyfeeling. "

"No!" almost shrieked Nathaniel, as if the suggestion insulted him; "no!The true God declared himself to me long since. But what do you makeof it, young Miss?"

Priscilla turned her eyes to the open, free outer world, where thesunshine was and the stirring of spring. 

"Sometimes, " she whispered, "I love to think of God coming down from allthe shrines and altars of the world, and walking with his children--inthe Garden! They need him so. I do not like altars or shrines; the Gardenis the holiest place for God to be!"

"Thou blasphemer!" Glenn struggled to an upright position and hissightless eyes were fixed upon his child. "Wouldst thou desecrate theholy of holies, the altars of the living God?"

"If he is a living God he will not stay upon an altar; he will come andwalk with his children!"

The tone of the absorbed voice reached where heretofore it had nevertouched. 

"I'll have none of thee!" commanded Nathaniel, his face dangerouslypurple. "Your words are of the--the devil! Leave me! leave me!" And forthe second time Priscilla was ordered from her father's house. 

It did not matter. It was all so useless, and the future was so blank. Still, to go back to Master Farwell's just then was impossible, andPriscilla turned toward the wood road leading to the Far Hill Place. Shehad no plan, no purpose. She was drifting, drifting, and could not seeher way. The bright sun touched her comfortingly. In the shadow it waschilly; but the red rock was warm and luring. And so she came to the openspace and the almost forgotten shrine where once she had raised herStrange God. 

She sat down upon a fallen tree and looked over the little, many-islandedbay to the Secret Portage. Through that she seemed to pass yearningly, and her eyes grew large and strained. Then she stretched out her arms, her young, empty arms. 

"My Garden!" she called; "my Garden, my dear, dear love and Margaret'sGod! Margaret's and mine!"

And so she sat for a while longer. Then, because the chill air creptcloser and closer, she arose and faced the old, bleached skull. Thewinters had killed the sheltering vines that once hid it from all eyesbut hers. It stood bare and hideous, as if demanding that she againworship it. A frenzy overpowered Priscilla. That whitened, dead thingbrought back memories that hurt and stung by their very sweetness. Sherushed to the spot and seized the forked stick upon which the skullrested. 

"This for all--Unknown Gods!" she cried in breathless passion, and dashedthe skull to the ground. "And this! and this!" She trampled it. "Theyshall not keep you upon shrines! They shall not keep you hidden from allin the Garden!" With that she took a handful of the shattered god andflung it far and wide, with her blazing eyes fixed on the Secret Portage. 

Standing so, she looked like a priestess of old defying all falseness andtraditional wrong. 

Among the trees Richard Travers gazed upon the scene with a kind ofhorror gripping him. 

He was not a superstitious man, but he was a worn and weary one, and hehad come to the Far Hill Place, two days before, because, after muchsearching, he had failed to find Priscilla Glynn, and his love was hurtand desperate. He had wanted to hide and suffer where no eyes couldpenetrate. But he had discovered that for a man to return to his boyhoodwas but to undergo the torture of those who are haunted by lost spirits. It had been damnable--that dreary, dismantled house back on the hill!The nights had maddened him and left him unable to cope intelligentlywith the days. Nothing comforting had been there. The pale boy he oncehad been taunted him with memories of lowered ideals, unfilled promiseand purpose. He had travelled a long distance from the Far Hill Place, and he was going back to fight it out--somehow, somewhere. He wouldstop at Master Farwell's and then take the night steamer for the oldbattle-ground. And just at that moment, in the open space, he saw thestrange sight that stopped his breath and heart for an instant. 

Of course his wornout senses were being tricked. He had known of suchcases, and was now thoroughly alarmed. Like a man in delirium, he walkedinto the open and confronted the fascinated gaze of the girl for whom hehad been searching for weeks. 

"How came--you here?" he asked in a voice from which normal emotions wereeliminated. 

"And--you?" she echoed. 

They came a step nearer, their hands outstretched in a poor, blindgroping for solution and reality. 

"Why--I am--I meant to tell you--some day. I am Priscilla Glenn--notGlynn--Priscilla Glenn of--Lonely Farm. "

"My God!" Travers came a step nearer, his face set and grim. "Of course!I see it now--the dance! Don't you remember? The dance at the Swissvillage?"

"And the--the tune that made me cry. Who--are----How did _you_ know thattune? How did you know--the In-Place?"

Their hands touched and clung now, desperately. Together they must findtheir way out. 

"I am--I was--the boy of the Far Hill Place. I played for you--once--todance--right here!"

Something seemed snapping in Priscilla's brain. 

"Yes, " she whispered, breathing hard and quick. "I remember now: youtaught me music, and--and you taught me--love, but you told me not to letthem kill my ideal; and, oh! I haven't! I haven't!"

She shut her eyes and reeled forward. She did not faint, but for a momenther senses refused to accept impressions. 

Travers knelt and caught her to him as she fell. Her dear head was uponhis knee once more, and he pressed his lips to the wonderful hair fromwhich the little hat had fallen. Then her eyes opened, but her lipstrembled. 

"You--came all the way from the Place Beyond the Winds, little girl, toshow me my ideal again; to strike your blow--for women. " Travers waswhispering. 

"Your ideal? But no, dear love. Your ideal is back there--in the Garden. "

"And yours? I--I do not understand, Priscilla. I am still dazed. WhatGarden?"

"The big world, my dear man; your world. "

"My blessed child! Do not look like that. Do you think I'm going backwithout you? I've been looking for--Priscilla Glynn--fool that I was!And you were--great heavens! You were the little nurse in St. Albans!"

"Yes--and you and I--stood by Jerry-Jo McAlpin's bed--you and I! That washis secret. "

"Priscilla, what do you mean?"

Then she told him, clinging to him, fearing that he might fall from herhold as she had once fallen from his, on the mountain across the sea. 

"And you danced before my eyes as only one woman on earth can dance--andI did not know! Tricked by a name and--and the change in me! You werealways the same--the flame-spirit that I first saw--here!"

"And you played--that tune, and you were divinely good; and I--I did notknow. "

"But we drifted straight to each other, my girl!"

"Only--to part. "

"To part? Never! It's past the Dreamer's Rock for us, my sweet, and outto the open sea. We'll slip our moorings to-night, and send word after!I must have you, and at once. I know what it means to see you escaping myhold. Flame-spirits are elusive. "

"And--and Margaret?"

"She--needs you. A fortnight ago I saw her, and this is what she said, smiling her old, brave smile: 'I think I could bear it better if herdear, shining head was in sight. Greater love hath no woman! Find her andbring her back!' That's your place, my sweet. Out there where the fightis on. Such as you can show us--that 'tis no fight between men and women, but one against ignorance and tradition. You'll trust yourself to me, dear girl?"

[Illustration: "'It's past the Dreamer's Rock for us, my sweet, and out to the open sea'"]

"I did--long ago!"

"To think"--Travers was gaining control of himself; the shock, thereadjustment, had been so sudden that sensation returned slowly--"tothink, dear blunderer, of your coming among us all, striking your blow, and then rushing to your In-Place! But love is mightier than thou;mightier than all else!"

"Not mightier than honour--such honour as Margaret knows!" Then fiercely:"What right have I to my--joy, when she----"

"She told me that only by your happiness being consummated could she hopefor peace. "

Travers's voice was low and reverent. 

"What--a girl she is!" Priscilla faltered. 

"The All Woman. "

"Yes, the All Woman. "

The sun began to drop behind the tall hemlocks. Priscilla shivered in thearms that held her. 

"Little girl, I wish I could wrap you in the old red cape you wore once, before the shrine. "

"It is gone now, like the shrine. Oh! my love, my love, to think of theGarden makes me live again. " The fancy caught Travers's imagination. 

"The Garden!"

'Twas a day for dreamy wandering, now that they had come to a clearedspace from which they could see light. 

"The Garden, with its flowers and weeds. "

"And its men and women!" added Priscilla, her eyes full of gladness. "Oh! long ago, I told Master Farwell that I felt Kenmore was only mystopping-place; I feel it now so surely. "

"Yes, my sweet, but you and I will return here to polish our ideals andcatch our breaths. "

"In the Place Beyond the Winds, dear man?"

"Exactly! Those old Indians had a genius for names. "

"And in the Garden--what are we to do?" Priscilla asked, her eyes growingmore practical. "They will have none of--Priscilla Glynn, you know. Andyou, dear heart, what will they do to you, now that you have defied theircode?"

"Priscilla Glynn has done her best and is--gone! There will be aPriscilla Travers with many a stern duty before her. "

"Yes, but you?"

"I shall try to keep your golden head in sight, little girl! For therest--I have a small income--my father's. I must tell you about him andmy mother, some day; and I shall write--write; and men and women may readwhat they might not be willing to listen to. "

"I see! And oh! how rich and bright the way on ahead looks! Just when Ithought the clouds were crushing me, they opened and I saw----"

"What, Priscilla?"

"You!"

"And now, " Travers got upon his feet and drew her up; "do you know whatis going to happen?"

"Can anything more happen to-day?"

"We are going to Master Farwell's, you and I. We are going to take himwith us to the little chapel down the Channel; there we'll leavePriscilla Glenn, and, in her place, bring Priscilla Travers forth. "

The colour rose to the thin, radiant face. 

"And may we take John Boswell, too?"

"Boswell? Is he here?"

"Yes, with my Master Farwell. "

Travers rapidly put loose ends of the past together, then exclaimed:

"God bless him; God bless Master Farwell!"

"I only know"--Priscilla's eyes were dim--"I only know--they are goodmen--both!"

"Yes, both! And to-night, " Travers came back to the present, "I will takemy wife away with me on the steamer. "

"A poor, vagabond wife. Nothing but a heart full of love--as baggage. "

"The Garden is a rich place, my love. "

"And one can get so much for so little there. " Priscilla meant to hold toher dear old joke. 

"And so little--for so much!"

"That's not the language of the Garden, good man!"

It was so easy to play, now that Travers was leading the way from thewrecked shrine. 

"You are right, my girl!" Then Travers stopped and faced her, his eyesglowing with love and courage. "And to-morrow--is not yet touched!" hesaid. 

THE END

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BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR

Joyce of the North WoodsPrincess Rags and TattersA Son of the HillsJanet of the DunesA Little Dusky HeroMeg and the OthersCamp Brave Pine