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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/38833-8.txt b/38833-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c3f3e82 --- /dev/null +++ b/38833-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5759 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lucky Piece, by Albert Bigelow Paine + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Lucky Piece + A Tale of the North Woods + +Author: Albert Bigelow Paine + +Release Date: February 11, 2012 [EBook #38833] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LUCKY PIECE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + + + THE LUCKY PIECE + + A TALE OF THE NORTH WOODS + + BY ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE + +AUTHOR OF "THE VAN DWELLERS," "THE BREAD LINE," "THE GREAT WHITE WAY," +ETC. + + + _FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR_ + + NEW YORK + THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY + 1906 + + COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY + THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY + + COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY + THE BUTTERICK PUBLISHING COMPANY + + _This Edition Published March, 1906_ + + + + +[Illustration: _He climbed down carefully and secured his treasure._] + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + PROLOGUE 1 + + 1 BUT PALADINS RIDE FAR BETWEEN 6 + + 2 OUT IN THE BLOWY WET WEATHER 18 + + 3 THE DEEP WOODS OF ENCHANTMENT 34 + + 4 A BRIEF LECTURE AND SOME INTRODUCTIONS 48 + + 5 A FLOWER ON A MOUNTAIN TOP 66 + + 6 IN THE "DEVIL'S GARDEN" 80 + + 7 THE PATH THAT LEADS BACK TO BOYHOOD 99 + + 8 WHAT CAME OUT OF THE MIST 115 + + 9 A SHELTER IN THE FOREST 134 + + 10 THE HERMIT'S STORY 148 + + 11 DURING THE ABSENCE OF CONSTANCE 166 + + 12 CONSTANCE RETURNS AND HEARS A STORY 183 + + 13 WHAT THE SMALL WOMAN IN BLACK SAW 193 + + 14 WHAT MISS CARROWAY DID 208 + + 15 EDITH AND FRANK 219 + + 16 THE LUCKY PIECE 233 + + EPILOGUE 250 + + + + +THE LUCKY PIECE + + + + +PROLOGUE + + +There is a sharp turn just above the hill. The North Elba stage +sometimes hesitates there before taking the plunge into the valley +below. + +But this was late September. The morning was brisk, the mountains +glorified, the tourists were going home. The four clattering, snorting +horses swung into the turn and made straight for the brow--the stout, +ruddy-faced driver holding hard on the lines, but making no further +effort to check them. Then the boy in the front seat gave his usual +"Hey! look there!" and, the other passengers obeying, as they always +did, saw something not especially related to Algonquin, or Tahawus, or +Whiteface--the great mountains whose slopes were ablaze with autumn, +their peaks already tipped with snow--that was not, indeed, altogether +Adirondack scenery. Where the bend came, at the brink, a little +weather-beaten cottage cornered--a place with apple trees and some +faded summer flowers. In the road in front was a broad flat stone, and +upon it a single figure--a little girl of not more than eight--her arm +extended toward the approaching stage, in her hand a saucer of berries. + +The tourists had passed a number of children already, but this one was +different. The others had been mostly in flocks--soiled, stringy-haired +little mountaineers, who had gathered to see the stage go by. The +smooth, oval face of this child, rich under the tan, was clean, the dark +hair closely brushed--her dress a simple garment, though of a fashion +unfavored by the people of the hills. All this could be comprehended in +the brief glance allowed the passengers; also the deep wistful look +which followed them as the stage whirled by without stopping. + +A lady in the back seat (she had been in Italy) murmured something about +a "child Madonna." Another said, "Poor little thing!" + +But the boy in the front seat had caught the driver's arm and was +demanding that he stop the stage. + +"I want to get out!" he repeated, with determination. "I want to buy +those berries! Stop!" + +The driver could not stop just there, even had he wished to do so, +which he did not. They were already a third of the way down, and the +hill was a serious matter. So the boy leaned out, looking back, to make +sure the moment's vision had not faded, and when the stage struck level +ground, was out and running, long before the horses had been brought to +a stand-still. + +"You wait for me!" he commanded. "I'll be back in a second!" Then he +pushed rapidly up the long hill, feeling in his pockets as he ran. + +The child had not moved from her place, and stood curiously regarding +the approaching boy. He was considerably older than she was, as much as +six years. Her wistful look gave way to one of timidity as he came near. +She drew the saucer of berries close to her and looked down. Then, +puffing and panting, he stood there, still rummaging in his pockets, and +regaining breath for words. + +"Say," he began, "I want your berries, you know, only, you see, I--I +thought I had some money, but I haven't--not a cent--only my lucky +piece. My mother's in the stage and I could get it from her, but I don't +want to go back." He made a final, wild, hopeless search through a +number of pockets, looking down, meanwhile, at the little bowed figure +standing mutely before him. "Look here," he went on, "I'm going to give +you my lucky piece. Maybe it'll bring luck to you, too. It did to me--I +caught an awful lot of fish up here this summer. But you mustn't spend +it or give it away, 'cause some day when I come back up here I'll want +it again. You keep it for me--that's what you do. Keep it safe. When I +come back, I'll give you anything you like for it. Whatever you +want--only you must keep it. Will you?" + +He held out the worn Spanish silver piece which a school chum had given +him "for luck" when they had parted in June. But the little brown hand +clung to the berries and made no effort to take it. + +"Oh, you must take it," he said. "I should lose it anyway. I always lose +things. You can take care of it for me. Likely I'll be up again next +year. Anyway, I'll come some time, and when I do I'll give you whatever +you like in exchange for it." + +She did not resist when he took the berries and poured them into his +cap. Then the coin was pushed into one of her brown hands and he was +pressing her fingers tightly upon it. When she dared to look up, he had +called, "Good-bye!" and was halfway down the hill, the others looking +out of the stage, waving him to hurry. + +She watched him, saw him climb in with the driver and fling his hand +toward her as the stage rounded into the wood and disappeared. Still she +did not move, but watched the place where it had vanished, as if she +thought it might reappear, as if presently that sturdy boy might come +hurrying up the hill. Then slowly--very slowly, as if she held some +living object that might escape--she unclosed her hand and looked at the +treasure within, turning it over, wondering at the curious markings. The +old look came into her face again, but with it an expression which had +not been there before. It was some hint of responsibility, of awakening. +Vaguely she felt that suddenly and by some marvelous happening she had +been linked with a new and wonderful world. All at once she turned and +fled through the gate, to the cottage. + +"Mother!" she cried at the door, "Oh, Mother! Something has happened!" +and, flinging herself into the arms of the faded woman who sat there, +she burst into a passion of tears. + + + + +CHAPTER I + +BUT PALADINS RIDE FAR BETWEEN + + +Frank rose and, plunging his hands into his pockets, lounged over to the +wide window and gazed out on the wild March storm which was drenching +and dismaying Fifth Avenue. A weaving throng of carriages, auto-cars and +delivery wagons beat up and down against it, were driven by it from +behind, or buffeted from many directions at the corners. Coachmen, +footmen and drivers huddled down into their waterproofs; pedestrians +tried to breast the rain with their umbrellas and frequently lost them. +From where he stood the young man could count five torn and twisted +derelicts soaking in gutters. They seemed so very wet--everything did. +When a stage--that relic of another day--lumbered by, the driver on top, +only half sheltered by his battered oil-skins, seemed wetter and more +dismal than any other object. It all had an art value, certainly, but +there were pleasanter things within. The young man turned to the +luxurious room, with its wide blazing fire and the young girl who sat +looking into the glowing depths. + +"Do you know, Constance," he said, "I think you are a bit hard on me." +Then he drifted into a very large and soft chair near her, and, +stretching out his legs, stared comfortably into the fire as if the fact +were no such serious matter, after all. + +The girl smiled quietly. She had a rich oval face, with a deep look in +her eyes, at once wistful and eager, and just a bit restless, as if +there were problems there among the coals--questions she could not +wholly solve. + +"I did not think of it in that way," she said, "and you should not call +me Constance, not now, and you are Mr. Weatherby. I do not know how we +ever began--the other way. I was only a girl, of course, and did not +know America so well, or realize--a good many things." + +The young man stirred a little without looking up. + +"I know," he assented; "I realize that six months seems a long period to +a--to a young person, and makes a lot of difference, sometimes. I +believe you have had a birthday lately." + +"Yes, my eighteenth--my majority. That ought to make a difference." + +"Mine didn't to me. I'm just about the same now as I was then, and----" + +"As you always will be. That is just the trouble." + +"I was going to say, as I always had been." + +"Which would not be true. You were different, as a boy." + +"And who gave you that impression, pray?" + +The girl flushed a little. + +"I mean, you must have been," she added, a trifle inconsequently. "Boys +always are. You had ambitions, then." + +"Well, yes, and I gratified them. I wanted to be captain of my college +team, and I was. We held the championship as long as I held the place. I +wanted to make a record in pole-vaulting, and I did. It hasn't been +beaten since. Then I wanted the Half-mile Cup, and I won that, too. I +think those were my chief aspirations when I entered college, and when I +came out there were no more worlds to conquer. Incidentally I carried +off the honors for putting into American some of Mr. Horace's justly +popular odes, edited the college paper for a year, and was valedictorian +of the class. But those were trivial things. It was my prowess that +gave me standing and will remain one of the old school's traditions long +after this flesh has become dust." + +The girl's eyes had grown brighter as he recounted his achievements. She +could not help stealing a glance of admiration at the handsome fellow +stretched out before her, whose athletic deeds had made him honored +among his kind. Then she smiled. + +"Perhaps you were a pillar of modesty, too," she commented, "once." + +He laughed--a gentle, lazy laugh in which she joined--and presently she +added: + +"Of course, I know you did those things. That is just it. You could do +anything, and be anything, if you only would. Oh, but you don't seem to +care! You seem satisfied, comfortable and good-naturedly indifferent; if +you were poor, I should say idle--I suppose the trouble is there. You +have never been poor and lonely and learned to want things. So, of +course, you never learned to care for--for anything." + +Her companion leaned toward her--his handsome face full of a light that +was not all of the fire. + +"I have, for you," he whispered. + +The girl's face lighted, too. Her eyes seemed to look into some golden +land which she was not quite willing to enter. + +"No," she demurred gently. "I am not sure of that. Let us forget about +that. As you say, a half-year has been a long time--to a child. I had +just come from abroad then with my parents, and I had been most of the +time in a school where girls are just children, no matter what their +ages. When we came home, I suppose I did not know just what to do with +my freedom. And then, you see, Father and Mother liked you, and let you +come to the house, and when I first saw you and knew you--when I got to +know you, I mean--I was glad to have you come, too. Then we rode and +drove and golfed all those days about Lenox--all those days--your memory +is poor, very poor, but you may recall those October days, last year, +when I had just come home--those days, you know----" + +Again the girl's eyes were looking far into a fair land which queens +have willingly died to enter, while the young man had pulled his chair +close, as one eager to lead her across the border. + +"No," she went on--speaking more to herself than to him, "I am older, +now--ages older, and trying to grow wise, and to see things as they are. +Riding, driving and golfing are not all of life. Life is serious--a sort +of battle, in which one must either lead or follow or merely look on. +You were not made to follow, and I could not bear to have you look on. I +always thought of you as a leader. During those days at Lenox you seemed +to me a sort of king, or something like that, at play. You see I was +just a schoolgirl with ideals, keeping the shield of Launcelot bright. I +had idealized him so long--the one I should meet some day. It was all +very foolish, but I had pictured him as a paladin in armor, who would +have diversions, too, but who would lay them aside to go forth and +redress wrong. You see what a silly child I was, and how necessary it +was for me to change when I found that I had been dreaming, that the one +I had met never expected to conquer or do battle for a cause--that the +diversions were the end and sum of his desire, with maybe a little +love-making as a part of it all." + +"A little--" Her companion started to enter protest, but did not +continue. The girl was staring into the fire as she spoke and seemed +only to half remember his existence. For the most part he had known her +as one full of the very joy of living, given to seeing life from its +cheerful, often from its humorous, side. Yet he knew her to be volatile, +a creature of moods. This one, which he had learned to know but lately, +would pass. He watched her, a little troubled yet fascinated by it all, +his whole being stirred by the charm of her presence. + +"One so strong--so qualified--should lead," she continued slowly, "not +merely look on. Oh, if I were a man I should lead--I should ride to +victory! I should be a--a--I do not know what," she concluded +helplessly, "but I should ride to victory." + +He restrained any impulse he may have had to smile, and presently said, +rather quietly: + +"I suppose there are avenues of conquest to-day, as there were when the +world was young. But I am afraid they are so crowded with the rank and +file that paladins ride few and far between. You know," he added, more +lightly, "knight-errantry has gone out of fashion, and armor would be a +clumsy thing to wear--crossing Broadway, for instance." + +She laughed happily--her sense of humor was never very deeply buried. + +"I know," she nodded, "we do not meet many Galahads these days, and most +of the armor is make-believe, yet I am sure there are knights whom we do +not recognize, with armor which we do not see." + +The young man sat up a bit straighter in his chair and assumed a more +matter-of-fact tone. + +"Suppose we put aside allegory," he said, "and discuss just how you +think a man--myself, for instance--could set the world afire--make it +wiser and better, I mean." + +The embers were dying down, and she looked into them a little longer +before replying. Then, presently: + +"Oh, if I were only a man!" she repeated. "There is so much--so many +things--for a man to do. Discovery, science, feats of engineering, the +professions, the arts, philanthropy--oh, everything! And for us, so +little!" + +A look of amusement grew about the young man's mouth. He had seen much +more of the world than she; was much older in a manner not reckoned by +years. + +"We do not monopolize it all, you know. Quite a few women are engaged +in the professions and philanthropy; many in the arts." + +"The arts, yes, but I am without talent. I play because I have been +taught, and because I have practiced--oh, so hard! But God never +intended that the world should hear me. I love painting and literature, +and all those things. But I cannot create them. I can only look on. I +have thought of the professions--I have thought a great deal about +medicine and the law. But I am afraid those would not do, either. I +cannot understand law papers, even the very simple ones Father has tried +to explain to me. And I am not careful enough with medicines--I almost +poisoned poor Mamma last week with something that looked like her +headache drops and turned out to be a kind of preparation for bruises. +Besides, somehow I never can quite see myself as a lawyer in court, or +going about as a doctor. Lawyers always have to go to court, don't they? +I am afraid I should be so confused, and maybe be arrested. They arrest +lawyers don't they, sometimes?" + +"They should," admitted the young man, "more often than they do. I don't +believe you ought to take the risk, at any rate. I somehow can't think +of you either as a lawyer or a doctor. Those things don't seem to fit +you." + +"That's just it. Nothing fits me. Oh, I am not even as much as I seem to +be, yet can be nothing else!" she burst out rather incoherently, then +somewhat hastily added: "There is philanthropy, of course. I could do +good, I suppose, and Father would furnish the money. But I could never +undertake things. I should just have to follow, and contribute. Some one +would always have to lead. Some one who could go among people and +comprehend their needs, and know how to go to work to supply them. I +should do the wrong thing and make trouble----" + +"And maybe get arrested----" + +They laughed together. They were little more than children, after all. + +"I know there _are_ women who lead in such things," she went on. "They +come here quite often, and Father gives them a good deal. But they +always seem so self-possessed and capable. I stand in awe of them, and I +always wonder how they came to be made so wise and brave, and why most +of us are so different. I always wonder." + +The young man regarded her very tenderly. + +"I am glad you are different," he said earnestly. "My mother is a +little like that, and of course I think the world of her. Still, I am +glad you are different." + +He leaned over and lifted an end of log with the tongs. A bright blaze +sprang up, and for a while they watched it without speaking. It seemed +to Frank Weatherby that nothing in the world was so worth while as to be +there near her--to watch her there in the firelight that lingered a +little to bring out the rich coloring of her rare young face, then +flickered by to glint among the deep frames along the wall, to lose +itself at last amid the heavy hangings. He was careful not to renew +their discussion, and hoped she had forgotten it. There had been no talk +of these matters during their earlier acquaintance, when she had but +just returned with her parents from a long sojourn abroad. That had been +at Lenox, where they had filled the autumn season with happy recreation, +and a love-making which he had begun half in jest and then, all at once, +found that for him it meant more than anything else in the world. Not +that anything had hitherto meant a great deal. He had been an only boy, +with a fond mother, and there was a great deal of money between them. It +had somehow never been a part of his education that those who did not +need to strive should do so. His mother was a woman of ideas, but this +had not been one of them. Perhaps as a boy he had dreamed his dreams, +but somehow there had never seemed a reason for making them reality. The +idea of mental and spiritual progress, of being a benefactor of mankind +was well enough, but it was somehow an abstract thing--something apart +from him--at least, from the day of youth and love. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +OUT IN THE BLOWY WET WEATHER + + +The room lightened a little and Constance rose and walked to the window. + +"It isn't raining so hard, any more," she said. "I think I shall go for +a walk in the Park." + +The young man by the fire looked a little dismayed. The soft chair and +the luxurious room were so much more comfortable than the Park on such a +day as this. + +"Don't you think we'd better put it off?" he asked, walking over beside +her. "It's still raining a good deal, and it's quite windy." + +"I said that _I_ was going for a walk in the Park," the girl reiterated. +"I shall run, too. When I was a child I always loved to run through a +storm. It seemed like flying. You can stay here by the fire and keep +nice and cozy. Mamma will be glad to come in and talk to you. She will +not urge you to do and be things. She thinks you well enough as you are. +She says you have repose, and that you rest her--she means, of course, +after a session with me." + +"I have the greatest regard for your mother--I might even say sympathy. +Indeed, when I consider the serene yet sterling qualities of both your +parents, I find myself speculating on the origin of your own--eh--rather +unusual and, I hasten to add, wholly charming personality." + +She smiled, but he thought a little sadly. + +"I know," she said, "I am a trial, and, oh, I want to be such a comfort +to them!" Then she added, somewhat irrelevantly, "But Father made his +fight, too. It was in trade, of course, but it was a splendid battle, +and he won. He was a poor boy, you know, and the struggle was bitter. +You should stay and ask him to tell you about it. He will be home +presently." + +He adopted her serious tone. + +"I think myself I should stay and have an important talk with your +father," he said. "I have been getting up courage to speak for some +time." + +She affected not to hear, and presently they were out in the wild +weather, protected by waterproofs and one huge umbrella, beating their +way toward the Fifty-ninth Street entrance to Central Park. Not many +people were there, and, once within, they made their way by side paths, +running and battling with the wind, laughing and shouting like children, +until at last they dropped down on a wet bench to recover breath. + +"Oh," she panted, "that was fine! How I should like to be in the +mountains such weather as this. I dream of being there almost every +night. I can hardly wait till we go." + +Her companion assented rather doubtfully. + +"I have been in the mountains in March," he said. "It was pretty nasty. +I suppose you have spent summers there. I believe you went to the +Pyrenees." + +"But I know the mountains in March, too--in every season, and I love +them in all weathers. I love the storms, when the snow and sleet and +wind come driving down, and the trees crack, and the roads are blocked, +and the windows are covered with ice; when there's a big drift at the +door that you must climb over, and that stays there almost till the +flowers bloom. And when the winter is breaking, and the great rains +come, and the wind,--oh, it's no such little wind as this, but wind that +tears up big trees and throws them about for fun, and the limbs fly, and +it's dangerous to go out unless you look everywhere, and in the night +something strikes the roof, and you wake up and lie there and wonder if +the house itself won't be carried away soon, perhaps to the ocean, and +turn into a ship that will sail until it reaches a country where the sun +shines and there are palm trees, and men who wear turbans, and where +there are marble houses with gold on them. And in that country where the +little house might land, a lot of people come down to the shore and they +kneel down and say, 'The sea has brought a princess to rule over us.' +Then they put a crown on her head and lead her to one of the marble and +gold houses, so she could rule the country and live happy ever after." + +As the girl ran on, her companion sat motionless, listening--meanwhile +steadying their big umbrella to keep their retreat cozy. When she +paused, he said: + +"I did not know that you knew the hills in winter. You have seen and +felt much more than I. And," he added reflectively, "I should not think, +with such fancy as yours, that you need want for a vocation; you should +write." + +She shook her head rather gravely. "It is not fancy," she said, "at +least not imagination. It is only reading. Every child with a +fairy-book for companionship, and nature, rides on the wind or follows +subterranean passages to a regal inheritance. Such things mean nothing +afterward. I shall never write." + +They made their way to the Art Museum to wander for a little through the +galleries. In the Egyptian room they lingered by those glass cases where +men and women who died four thousand years ago lie embalmed in countless +wrappings and cryptographic cartonnage--exhibits, now, for the curious +eye, waiting whatever further change the upheavals of nations or the +progress of an alien race may bring to pass. + +They spoke in subdued voice as they regarded one slender covering which +enclosed "A Lady of the House of Artun"--trying to rebuild in fancy her +life and surroundings of that long ago time. Then they passed to the +array of fabrics--bits of old draperies and clothing, even dolls' +garments--that had found the light after forty centuries, and they +paused a little at the cases of curious lamps and ornaments and symbols +of a vanished people. + +"Oh, I should like to explore," she murmured, as she looked at them. "I +should like to lead an expedition to uncover ancient cities, somewhere +in Egypt, or India, or Yucatan. I should like to find things right where +they were left by the people who last saw them--not here, all arranged +and classified, with numbers pasted on them. If I were a man, I should +be an explorer, or maybe a discoverer of new lands--places where no one +had ever been before." She turned to him eagerly, "Why don't you become +an explorer, and find old cities or--or the North Pole, or something?" + +Mr. Weatherby, who was studying a fine scarab, nodded. + +"I have thought of it, I believe. I think the idea appealed to me once. +But, don't you see, it takes a kind of genius for those things. +Discoverers are born, I imagine, as well as poets. Besides"--he lowered +his voice to a pitch that was meant for tenderness--"at the North Pole I +should be so far from you--unless," he added, reflectively, "we went +there on our wedding journey." + +"Which we are as likely to do as to go anywhere," she said, rather +crossly. They passed through the corridor of statuary and up the +stairway to wander among the paintings of masters old and young. By a +wall where the works of Van Dyck, Rembrandt and Velasquez hung, she +turned on him reproachfully. + +"These men have left something behind them," she commented--"something +which the world will preserve and honor. What will you leave behind +you?" + +"I fear it won't be a picture," he said humbly. "I can't imagine one of +my paintings being hung here or any place else. They might hang the +painter, of course, though not just here, I fancy." + +In another room they lingered before a painting of a boy and a girl +driving home the cows--Israel's "Bashful Suitor." The girl contemplated +it through half-closed lids. + +"You did not look like that," she said. "You were a self-possessed big +boy, with smart clothes, and an air of ownership that comes of having a +lot of money. You were a good-hearted boy, rather impulsive, I should +think, but careless and spoiled. Had Israel chosen you it would have +been the girl who was timid, not you." + +He laughed easily. + +"Now, how can you possibly know what I looked like as a boy?" he +demanded. "Perhaps I was just such a slim, diffident little chap as that +one. Time works miracles, you know." + +"But even time has its limitations. I know perfectly well how you looked +at that boy's age. Sometimes I see boys pass along in front of the +house, and I say: 'There, he was just like that!'" + +Frank felt his heart grow warm. It seemed to him that her confession +showed a depth of interest not acknowledged before. + +"I'll try to make amends, Constance," he said, "by being a little nearer +what you would like to have me now," and could not help adding, "only +you'll have to decide just what particular thing you want me to be, and +please don't have the North Pole in it." + +Out in the blowy wet weather again, by avenues and by-ways, they raced +through the Park, climbing up to look over at the wind-driven water of +the old reservoir, clambering down a great wet bowlder on the other +side--the girl as agile and sure of foot as a boy. Then they pushed +toward Eighth Avenue, missed the entrance and wandered about in a +labyrinth of bridle-paths and footways, suddenly found themselves back +at the big bowlder again, scrambled up it warm and flushed with the +exertion, and dropped down for a moment to breathe and to get their +bearings. + +"I always did get lost in this place," he said. "I have never been able +to cross the Park and be sure just where I was coming out." Then they +laughed together happily, glad to be lost--glad it was raining and +blowing--glad, as children are always glad, to be alive and together. + +They were more successful, this time, and presently took an Eighth +Avenue car, going down--not because they especially wanted to go down, +but because at that time in the afternoon the down cars were emptier. +They had no plans as to where they were going, it being their habit on +such excursions to go without plans and to come when the spirit moved. + +They transferred at the Columbus statue, and she stood looking up at it +as they waited for a car. + +"That is my kind of a discoverer," she said; "one who sails out to find +a new world." + +"Yes," he agreed, "and the very next time there is a new world to be +discovered I am going to do it." + +The lights were already coming out along Broadway, this gloomy wet +evening, and the homing throng on the pavements were sheltered by a +gleaming, tossing tide of umbrellas. Frank and Constance got out at +Madison Square, at the Worth monument, and looked down toward the +"Flat-iron"--a pillar of light, looming into the mist. + +"Everywhere are achievements," said the girl. "That may not be a thing +of beauty, but it is a great piece of engineering. They have nothing +like those buildings abroad--at least I have not seen them. Oh, this is +a wonderful country, and it is those splendid engineers who have helped +to make it so. I know of one young man who is going to be an engineer. +He was just a poor boy--so poor--and has worked his way. He would never +take help from anybody. I shall see him this summer, when we go to the +mountains. He is to be not far away. Oh, you don't know how proud I +shall be of him, and how I want to see him and tell him so. Wouldn't you +be proud of a boy like that, a--a son or--a brother, for instance?" + +She looked up at him expectantly--a dash of rain glistening on her cheek +and in the little tangle of hair about her temples. She seemed a bit +disappointed that he was not more responsive. + +"Wouldn't you honor him?" she demanded, "and love him, too--a boy who +had made his way alone?" + +"Oh, why, y-yes, of course--only, you know, I hope he won't spend his +life building these things"--indicating with his head the great building +which they were now passing, the gusts of wind tossing them and making +it impossible to keep the umbrella open. + +"Oh, but he's to build railroads and great bridges--not houses at all." + +"Um--well, that's better. By the way, I believe you go to the +Adirondacks this summer." + +"Yes, Father has a cottage--he calls it a camp--there. That is, he had. +He says he supposes it's a wreck by this time. He hasn't seen it, you +know, for years." + +"I suppose there is no law against my going to the Adirondacks, too, is +there?" he asked, rather meekly. "You know, I should like to see that +young man of yours. Maybe I might get some idea of what I ought to be +like to make you proud of me. I haven't been there since I was a boy, +but I remember I liked it then. No doubt I'd like it this year if--if +that young man is there. I suppose I could find a place to stay not more +than twenty miles or so from your camp, so you could send word, you +know, any time you were getting proud of me." + +She laughed--he thought a little nervously. + +"Why, yes," she admitted, "there's a sort of hotel or lodge or +something, not far away. I know that from Father. He said we might have +to stay there awhile until our camp is ready. Oh, but this talk of the +mountains makes me want to be there. I wish I were starting to-night!" + +It seemed a curious place to discuss a summer's vacation--under a big +wind-tossed umbrella, along Broadway on a March evening. Perhaps the +incongruity of it became more manifest with the girl's last remark, for +her companion chuckled. + +"Pretty disagreeable up there to-night," he objected; "besides, I +thought you liked all this a few minutes ago." + +"Yes, oh, yes; I do, of course! It's all so big and bright and +wonderful, though after all there is nothing like the woods, and the +wind and rain in the hills." + +What a strange creature she was, he thought. The world was so big and +new to her, she was confused and disturbed by the wonder of it and its +possibilities. She longed to have a part in it all. She would settle +down presently and see things as they were--not as she thought they +were. He was not altogether happy over the thought of the young man who +had made his way and was to be a civil engineer. He had not heard of +this friend before. Doubtless it was some one she had known in +childhood. He was willing that Constance should be proud of him; that +was right and proper, but he hoped she would not be too proud or too +personal in her interest. Especially if the young man was handsome. She +was so likely to be impulsive, even extreme, where her sympathies were +concerned. It was so difficult to know what she would do next. + +Constance, meanwhile, had been doing some thinking and observing on her +own account. Now she suddenly burst out: "Did you notice the headlines +on the news-stand we just passed? The bill that the President has just +vetoed? I don't know just what the bill is, but Father is so against it. +He'll think the President is fine for vetoing it!" A moment later she +burst out eagerly, "Oh, why don't you go in for politics and do +something great like that? A politician has so many opportunities. I +forgot all about politics." + +He laughed outright. + +"Try to forget it again," he urged. "Politicians have opportunities, as +you say; but some of the men who have improved what seemed the best ones +have gone to jail." + +"But others had to send them there. You could be one of the noble ones!" + +"Yes, of course, but you see I've just made up my mind to work my way +through a school of technology and become a civil engineer, so you'll be +proud of me--that is, after I've uncovered a few buried cities and found +the North Pole. I couldn't do those things so well if I went into +political reform." Then they laughed again, inconsequently, and so +light-hearted she seemed that Frank wondered if her more serious moods +were not for the most part make-believe, to tease him. + +At Union Square they crossed by Seventeenth Street back to Fifth Avenue. +When they had tacked their way northward for a dozen or more blocks, the +cheer of an elaborate dining-room streamed out on the wet pavement. + +"It's a good while till dinner," Frank observed. "If your stern parents +would not mind, I should suggest that we go in there and have, let me +see--something hot and not too filling--I think an omelette soufflé +would be rather near it, don't you?" + +"Wonderful!" she agreed, "and, do you know, Father said the other +day--of course, he's a gentle soul and too confiding--but I heard him +say that you were one person he was perfectly willing I should be with, +anywhere. I don't see why, unless it is that you know the city so well." + +"Mr. Deane's judgment is not to be lightly questioned," avowed the young +man, as they turned in the direction of the lights. + +"Besides," she supplemented, "I'm so famished. I should never be able to +wait for dinner. I can smell that omelette now. And may I have +pie--pumpkin pie--just one piece? You know we never had pie abroad, and +my whole childhood was measured by pumpkin pies. May I have just a small +piece?" + +Half an hour later, when they came out and again made their way toward +the Deane mansion, the wind had died and the rain had become a mild +drizzle. As they neared the entrance of her home they noticed a +crouching figure on the lower step. The light from across the street +showed that it was a woman, dressed in shabby black, wearing a drabbled +hat, decorated with a few miserable flowers. She hardly noticed them, +and her face was heavy and expressionless. The girl shrank away and was +reluctant to enter. + +"It's all right," he whispered to her. "That is the Island type. She +wants nothing but money. It's a chance for philanthropy of a very simple +kind." He thrust a bill into the poor creature's hand. The girl's eye +caught a glimpse of its denomination. + +"Oh," she protested, "you should not give like that. I've heard it does +much more harm than good." + +"I know," he assented. "My mother says so. But I've never heard that she +or anybody else has discovered a way really to help these people." + +They stood watching the woman, who had muttered something doubtless +intended for thanks and was tottering slowly down the street. The girl +held fast to her companion's arm, and it seemed to him that she drew a +shade closer as they mounted the steps. + +"I suppose it's so, about doing them harm," she said, "and I don't think +you will ever lead as a philanthropist. Still, I'm glad you gave her the +money. I think I shall let you stay to dinner for that." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE DEEP WOODS OF ENCHANTMENT + + +That green which is known only to June lay upon the hills. Algonquin, +Tahawus and Whiteface--but a little before grim with the burden of +endless years--rousing from their long, white sleep, had put on, for the +millionth time, perhaps, the fleeting mantle of youth. Spring lay on the +mountain tops--summer filled the valleys, with all the gradations +between. + +To the young man who drove the hack which runs daily between Lake Placid +and Spruce Lodge the scenery was not especially interesting. He had +driven over the road regularly since earlier in the month, and had seen +the hills acquire glory so gradually that this day to him was only as +other days--a bit more pleasant than some, but hardly more exciting. +With his companion--his one passenger--it was a different matter. Mr. +Frank Weatherby had occupied a New York sleeper the night before, +awaking only at daybreak to find the train puffing heavily up a long +Adirondack grade--to look out on a wet tangle of spruce, and fir, and +hardwood, and vine, mingled with great bowlders and fallen logs, and +everywhere the emerald moss, set agleam where the sunrise filtered +through. With his curtain raised a little, he had watched it from the +window of his berth, and the realization had grown upon him that nowhere +else in the world was there such a wood, though he wondered if the +marvel and enchantment of it might not lie in the fact that somewhere in +its green depths he would find Constance Deane. + +He had dressed hurriedly and through the remainder of the distance had +occupied the rear platform, drinking in the glory of it all--the brisk, +life-giving air--the mystery and splendor of the forest. He had been +here once, ten years ago, as a boy, but then he had been chiefly +concerned with the new rod he had brought and the days of sport ahead. +He had seen many forests since then, and the wonder of this one spoke to +him now in a language not comprehended in those far-off days. + +During the drive across the open farm country which lies between Lake +Placid and Spruce Lodge he had confided certain of his impressions to +his companion--a pale-haired theological student, who as driver of the +Lodge hack was combining a measure of profit with a summer's vacation. +The enthusiasm of his passenger made the quiet youth responsive, even +communicative, when his first brief diffidence had worn away. He had +been awarded this employment because of a previous knowledge acquired on +his father's farm in Pennsylvania. A number of his fellow students were +serving as waiters in the Lake Placid hotels. When pressed, he owned +that his inclination for the pulpit had not been in the nature of a +definite call. He had considered newspaper work and the law. A maiden +aunt had entered into his problem. She had been willing to supply +certain funds which had influenced the clerical decision. Perhaps it was +just as well. Having thus established his identity, he proceeded to +indicate landmarks of special interest, pointing out Whiteface, Colden +and Elephant's Back--also Tahawus and Algonquin--calling the last two +Marcy and McIntyre, as is the custom to-day. The snow had been on the +peaks, he said, almost until he came. It must have looked curious, he +thought, when the valleys were already green. Then they drove along in +silence for a distance--the passive youth lightly flicking the horses +to discourage a number of black flies that had charged from a clump of +alder. Frank, supremely content in the glory of his surroundings and the +prospect of being with Constance in this fair retreat, did not find need +for many words. The student likewise seemed inclined to reflect. His +passenger was first to rouse himself. + +"Many people at the Lodge yet?" he asked. + +"N-no--mostly transients. They climb Marcy and McIntyre from here. It's +the best place to start from." + +"I see. I climbed Whiteface myself ten years ago. We had a guide--an old +chap named Lawless. My mother and I were staying at Saranac and she let +me go with a party from there. I thought it great sport then, and made +up my mind to be a guide when I grew up. I don't think I'd like it so +well now." + +"They have the best guides at the Lodge," commented the driver. "The +head guide there is the best in the mountains. This is his first year at +the Lodge. He was with the Adirondack Club before." + +"I suppose it couldn't be my old hero, Lawless?" + +"No; this is a young man. I don't just remember his last name, but most +people call him Robin." + +"Um, not Robin Hood, I hope." + +The theological student shook his head. The story of the Sherwood bandit +had not been a part of his education. + +"It doesn't sound like that," he said. "It's something like Forney, or +Farham. He's a student, too--a civil engineer--but he was raised in +these hills and has been guiding since he was a boy. He's done it every +summer to pay his way through college. Next year he graduates, and they +say he's the best in the school. Of course, guides get big pay--as much +as three dollars a day, some of them--besides their board." + +The last detail did not interest Mr. Weatherby. He was suddenly +recalling a wet, blowy March evening on Broadway--himself under a big +umbrella with Constance Deane. She was speaking, and he could recall her +words quite plainly: "I know one young man who is going to be an +engineer. He was a poor boy--so poor--and has worked his way. I shall +see him this summer. You don't know how proud I shall be of him." + +To Frank the glory of the hills faded a little, and the progress of the +team seemed unduly slow. + +"Suppose we move up a bit," he suggested to the gentle youth with the +reins, and the horses were presently splashing through a shallow pool +left by recent showers. + +"He's a very strong fellow," the informant continued, "and handsome. +He's going to marry the daughter of the man who owns the Lodge when he +gets started as an engineer. She's a pretty girl, and smart. Her +mother's dead, and she's her father's housekeeper. She teaches school +sometimes, too. They'll make a fine match." + +The glory of the hills renewed itself, and though the horses had dropped +once more into a lazy jog, Frank did not suggest urging them. + +"I believe there is a young lady guest at the Lodge," he ventured a +little later--a wholly unnecessary remark--he having received a letter +from Constance on her arrival there, with her parents, less than a week +before. + +The youth nodded. + +"Two," he said. "One I brought over yesterday--from Utica, I think she +was--and another last week, from New York, with her folks. Their names +are Deane, and they own a camp up here. They're staying at the Lodge +till it's ready." + +"I see; and did the last young lady--the family, I mean--seem to know +any one at the Lodge?" + +But the youth could not say. He had taken them over with their bags and +trunks and had not noticed farther, only that once or twice since, when +he had arrived with the mail, the young lady had come in from the woods +with a book and a basket of mushrooms, most of which he thought to be +toadstools, and poisonous. Once--maybe both times--Robin had been with +her--probably engaged as a guide. Robin would be apt to know about +mushrooms. + +Frank assented a little dubiously. + +"I shouldn't wonder if we'd better be moving along," he suggested. "We +might be late with that mail." + +There followed another period of silence and increased speed. As they +neared the North Elba post-office--a farmhouse with a flower-garden in +front of it--the youth pointed backward to a hill with a flag-staff on +it. + +"That is John Brown's grave," he said. + +His companion looked and nodded. + +"I remember. My mother and I made a pilgrimage to it. Poor old John. +This is still a stage road, isn't it?" + +"Yes, but we leave it at North Elba. It turns off there for Keene." + +At the fork of the road Frank followed the stage road with his eye, +recalling his mountain summer of ten years before. + +"I know, now," he reflected aloud. "This road goes to Keene, and on to +Elizabeth and Westport. I went over it in the fall. I remember the +mountains being all colors, with tips of snow on them." Suddenly he +brought his hand down on his knee. "It's just come to me," he said. +"Somewhere between here and Keene there was a little girl who had +berries to sell, and I ran back up a long hill and gave her my lucky +piece for them. I told her to keep it for me till I came back. That was +ten years ago. I never went back. I wonder if she has it still?" + +The student of theology shook his head. It did not seem likely. Then he +suggested that, of course, she would be a good deal older now--an idea +which did not seem to have occurred to Mr. Weatherby. + +"Sure enough," he agreed, "and maybe not there. I suppose you don't +know anybody over that way." + +The driver did not. During the few weeks since his arrival he had +acquired only such knowledge as had to do with his direct line of +travel. + +They left North Elba behind, and crossing another open stretch of +country, headed straight for the mountains. They passed a red farmhouse, +and brooks in which Frank thought there must be trout. Then by an avenue +of spring leafage, shot with sunlight and sweet with the smell of spruce +and deep leaf mold, they entered the great forest where, a mile or so +beyond, lay the Lodge. + +Frank's heart began to quicken, though not wholly as the result of +eagerness. He had not written Constance that he was coming so soon. +Indeed, in her letter she had suggested in a manner which might have +been construed as a command that _if_ he intended to _come to the +Adirondacks at all_ this summer he should wait until they were settled +in their camp. But Frank had discovered that New York in June was not +the attractive place he had considered it in former years. Also that the +thought of the Adirondacks, even the very word itself, had acquired a +certain charm. To desire and to do were not likely to be very widely +separated with a young man of his means and training, and he had left +for Lake Placid that night. + +Yet now that he had brought surprise to the very threshold, as it were, +he began to hesitate. Perhaps, after all, Constance might not be +overjoyed or even mildly pleased at his coming. She had seemed a bit +distant before her departure, and he knew how hard it was to count on +her at times. + +"You can see the Lodge from that bend," said his companion, presently, +pointing with his whip. + +Then almost immediately they had reached the turn, and the Lodge--a +great, double-story cabin of spruce logs, with wide verandas--showed +through the trees. But between the hack and the Lodge were two +figures--a tall young man in outing dress, carrying a basket, and a tall +young woman in a walking skirt, carrying a book. They were quite close +together, moving toward the Lodge. They seemed to be talking earnestly, +and did not at first notice the sound of wheels. + +"That's them now," whispered the young man, forgetting for the moment +his scholastic training. "That's Robin and Miss Deane, with the book and +the basket of toadstools." + +The couple ahead stopped just then and turned. Frank prepared himself +for the worst. + +But Mr. Weatherby would seem to have been unduly alarmed. As he stepped +from the vehicle Constance came forward with extended hand. + +"You are good to surprise us," she was saying, and then, a moment later, +"Mr. Weatherby, this is Mr. Robin Farnham--a friend of my childhood. I +think I have mentioned him to you." + +Whatever momentary hostility Frank Weatherby may have cherished for +Robin Farnham vanished as the two clasped hands. Frank found himself +looking into a countenance at once manly, intellectual and handsome--the +sort of a face that men, and women, too, trust on sight. And then for +some reason there flashed again across his mind a vivid picture of +Constance as she had looked up at him that wet night under the umbrella, +the raindrops glistening on her cheek and in the blowy tangle about her +temples. He held Robin's firm hand for a moment in his rather soft palm. +There was a sort of magnetic stimulus in that muscular grip and hardened +flesh. It was so evidently the hand of achievement, Frank was loath to +let it go. + +"You are in some way familiar to me," he said then. "I may have seen you +when I was up this way ten years ago. I suppose you do not recall +anything of the kind?" + +A touch of color showed through the brown of Robin's cheek. + +"No," he said; "I was a boy of eleven, then, probably in the field. I +don't think you saw me. Those were the days when I knew Miss Deane. I +used to carry baskets of green corn over to Mr. Deane's camp. If you had +been up this way during the past five or six years I might have been +your guide. Winters I have attended school." + +They were walking slowly as they talked, following the hack toward the +Lodge. Constance took up the tale at this point, her cheeks also +flushing a little as she spoke. + +"He had to work very hard," she said. "He had to raise the corn and then +carry it every day--miles and miles. Then he used to make toy boats and +sail them for me in the brook, and a playhouse, and whatever I wanted. +Of course, I did not consider that I was taking his time, or how hard it +all was for him." + +"Miss Deane has given up little boats and playhouses for the science of +mycology," Robin put in, rather nervously, as one anxious to change the +subject. + +Frank glanced at the volume he had appropriated--a treatise on certain +toadstools, edible and otherwise. + +"I have heard already of your new employment, or, at least, diversion," +he said. "The young man who brought me over told me that a young lady +had been bringing baskets of suspicious fungi to the Lodge. From what he +said I judged that he considered it a dangerous occupation." + +"That was Mr. Meelie," laughed Constance. "I have been wondering why Mr. +Meelie avoided me. I can see now that he was afraid I would poison him. +You must meet Miss Carroway, too," she ran on. "I mean you _will_ meet +her. She is a very estimable lady from Connecticut who has a nephew in +the electric works at Haverford; also the asthma, which she is up here +to get rid of. She is at the Lodge for the summer, and is already the +general minister of affairs at large and in particular. Among other +things, she warns me daily that if I persist in eating some of the +specimens I bring home, I shall presently die with great violence and +suddenness. She is convinced that there is just one kind of mushroom, +and that it doesn't grow in the woods. She has no faith in books. Her +chief talent lies in promoting harmless evening entertainments. You will +have to take part in them." + +Frank had opened the book and had been studying some of the colored +plates while Constance talked. + +"I don't know that I blame your friends," he said, half seriously. "Some +of these look pretty dangerous to the casual observer." + +"But I've been studying that book for weeks," protested Constance, "long +before we came here. By and by I'm going to join the Mycological Society +and try to be one of its useful members." + +"I suppose you have to eat most of these before you are eligible?" +commented Frank, still fascinated by the bright pictures. + +"Not at all. Some of them are quite deadly, but one ought to be able to +distinguish most of the commoner species, and be willing to trust his +knowledge." + +"To back one's judgment with one's life, as it were. Well, that's one +sort of bravery, no doubt. Tell me, please, how many of these gayly +spotted ones you have eaten and still live to tell the tale?" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A BRIEF LECTURE AND SOME INTRODUCTIONS + + +The outside of Spruce Lodge suggested to Frank the Anglo-Saxon castle of +five or six hundred years ago, though it was probably better constructed +than most of the castles of that early day. It was really an immense +affair, and there were certain turrets and a tower which carried out the +feudal idea. Its builder, John Morrison, had been a faithful reader of +Scott, and the architecture of the Lodge had in some manner been an +expression of his romantic inclination. Frank thought, however, that the +feudal Saxon might not have had the long veranda facing the little jewel +of a lake, where were mirrored the mountains that hemmed it in. With +Constance he sat on the comfortable steps, looking through the tall +spruces at the water or at mountain peaks that seemed so near the blue +that one might step from them into the cloudland of an undiscovered +country. + +No one was about for the moment, the guests having collected in the +office for the distribution of the daily mail. Robin had gone, too, +striding away toward a smaller cabin where the guides kept their +paraphernalia. Frank said: + +"You don't know how glad I am to be here with you in this wonderful +place, Conny. I have never seen anything so splendid as this forest, and +I was simply desperate in town as soon as you were gone." + +She had decided not to let him call her that again, but concluded to +overlook this offense. She began arranging the contents of her basket on +the step beside her--a gay assortment of toadstools gathered during her +morning walk. + +"You see what _I_ have been doing," she said. "I don't suppose it will +interest you in the least, but to me it is a fascinating study. Perhaps +if I pursue it I may contribute something to the world's knowledge and +to its food supply." + +Frank regarded the variegated array with some solemnity. + +"I hope, Conny, you don't mean to eat any of those," he said. + +"Probably not; but see how beautiful they are." + +They were indeed beautiful, for no spot is more rich in fungi of varied +hues than the Adirondack woods. There were specimens ranging from pale +to white, from cream to lemon yellow--pink that blended into shades of +red and scarlet--gray that deepened to blue and even purple--numerous +shades of buff and brown, and some of the mottled coloring. Some were +large, almost gigantic; some tiny ones were like bits of ivory or coral. +Frank evinced artistic enthusiasm, but a certain gastronomic reserve. + +"Wonderful!" he said. "I did not suppose there were such mushrooms in +the world--so beautiful. I know now what the line means which says, 'How +beautiful is death.'" + +There was a little commotion just then at the doorway of the Lodge, and +a group of guests--some with letters, others with looks of resignation +or disappointment--appeared on the veranda. From among them, Mrs. Deane, +a rather frail, nervous woman, hurried toward Mr. Weatherby with evident +pleasure. She had been expecting him, she declared, though Constance had +insisted that he would think twice before he started once for that +forest isolation. They would be in their own quarters in a few days, and +it would be just a pleasant walk over there. There were no hard hills +to climb. Mr. Deane walked over twice a day. He was there now, +overseeing repairs. The workmen were very difficult. + +"But there are _some_ hills, Mamma," interposed Constance--"little ones. +Perhaps Mr. Weatherby won't care to climb at all. He has already +declared against my mushrooms. He said something just now about their +fatal beauty--I believe that was it. He's like all the rest of +you--opposed to the cause of science." + +Mrs. Deane regarded the young man appealingly. + +"Try to reason with her," she said nervously. "Perhaps she'll listen to +you. She never will to me. I tell her every day that she will poison +herself. She's always tasting of new kinds. She's persuaded me to eat +some of those she had cooked, and I've sent to New York for every known +antidote for mushroom poisoning. It's all right, perhaps, to study them +and collect them, but when it comes to eating them to prove that the +book is right about their being harmless, it seems like flying in the +face of Providence. Besides, Constance is careless." + +"I remember her telling me, as reason for not wanting to be a doctor, +something about giving you the wrong medicine last winter." + +"She did--some old liniment--I can taste the stuff yet. Constance, I do +really think it's sinful for you to meddle with such uncertain subjects. +Just think of eating any of those gaudy things. Constance! How can you?" + +Constance patted the nervous little lady on the cheek. + +"Be comforted," she said. "I am not going to eat these. I brought them +for study. Most of them are harmless enough, I believe, but they are of +a kind that even experts are not always sure of. They are called +_Boleti_--almost the first we have found. I have laid them out here for +display, just as the lecturer did last week at Lake Placid." + +Miss Deane selected one of the brightly colored specimens. + +"This," she began, with mock gravity and a professional air, "is a +_Boletus_--known as _Boletus speciosus_--that is, I think it +is." She opened the book and ran hastily over the leaves. "Yes, +_speciosus_--either that or the _bicolor_--I can't be certain just +which." + +"There, Constance," interrupted Mrs. Deane, "you confess, yourself, you +can't tell the difference. Now, how are we going to know when we are +being poisoned? We ate some last night. Perhaps they were deadly +poison--how can we know?" + +"Be comforted, Mamma; we are still here." + +"But perhaps the poison hasn't begun to work yet." + +"It should have done so, according to the best authorities, some hours +ago. I have been keeping watch of the time." + +Mrs. Deane groaned. + +"The best authorities? Oh, dear--oh, dear! Are there really any +authorities in this awful business? And she has been watching the time +for the poison to work--think of it!" + +A little group of guests collected to hear the impromptu discussion. +Frank, half reclining on the veranda steps, ran his eye over the +assembly. For the most part they seemed genuine seekers after recreation +and rest in this deep forest isolation. There were brain-workers among +them--painters and writer folk. Some of the faces Frank thought he +recognized. In the foreground was a rather large woman of the New +England village type. She stood firmly on her feet, and had a wide, +square face, about which the scanty gray locks were tightly curled. She +moved closer now, and leaning forward, spoke with judicial deliberation. + +"Them's tudstools!" she said--a decision evidently intended to be final. +She adjusted her glasses a bit more carefully and bent closer to the gay +collection. "The' ain't a single one of 'em a mushroom," she proceeded. +"We used to have 'em grow in our paster, an' my little nephew, Charlie, +that I brought up by hand and is now in the electric works down to +Haverford, he used to gather 'em, an' they wa'n't like them at all." + +A ripple of appreciation ran through the group, and others drew near to +inspect the fungi. Constance felt it necessary to present Frank to those +nearest, whom she knew. He arose to make acknowledgments. With the old +lady, whose name, it appeared, was Miss Carroway, he shook hands. She +regarded him searchingly. + +"You're some taller than my Charlie," she said, and added, "I hope you +don't intend to eat them tudstools, do you? Charlie wouldn't a et one o' +them kind fer a thousand dollars. He knew the reel kind that grows in +the medders an' pasters." + +Constance took one of Miss Carroway's hands and gave it a friendly +squeeze. + +"You are spoiling my lecture," she laughed, "and aiding Mamma in +discrediting me before the world. I will tell you the truth about +mushrooms. Not the whole truth, but an important one. All toadstools are +mushrooms and all mushrooms are toadstools. A few kinds are +poisonous--not many. Most of them are good to eat. The only difficulty +lies in telling the poison ones." + +Miss Carroway appeared interested, but incredulous. Constance continued. + +"The sort your Charlie used to gather was the _Agaricus Campestris_, or +meadow mushroom--one of the commonest and best. It has gills +underneath--not pores, like this one. The gills are like little leaves +and hold the spores, or seed as we might call it. The pores of this +_Boletus_ do the same thing. You see they are bright yellow, while the +top is purple-red. The stem is yellow, too. Now, watch!" + +She broke the top of the _Boletus_ in two parts--the audience pressing +closer to see. The flesh within was lemon color, but almost instantly, +with exposure to the air, began to change, and was presently a dark +blue. Murmurs of wonder ran through the group. They had not seen this +marvel before. + +"Bravo!" murmured Frank. "You are beginning to score." + +"Many of the _Boleti_ do that," Constance resumed. "Some of them are +very bad tasting, even when harmless. Some are poisonous. One of them, +the _Satanus_, is regarded as deadly. I don't think this is one of them, +but I shall not insist on Miss Carroway and the rest of you eating it." + +Miss Carroway sent a startled glance at the lecturer and sweepingly +included the assembled group. + +"Eat it!" she exclaimed. "Eat that? Well, I sh'd think not! I wouldn't +eat that, ner let any o' my folks eat it, fer no money!" + +There was mirth among the audience. A young mountain climber in a moment +of recklessness avowed his faith by declaring that upon Miss Deane's +recommendation he would eat the whole assortment for two dollars. + +"You'd better make it enough for funeral expenses," commented Miss +Carroway; whereupon the discussion became general and hilarious, and the +extempore lecture ceased. + +"You see," Constance said to Frank, "I cannot claim serious attention, +even upon so vital a subject as the food supply." + +"But you certainly entertained them, and I, for one, have a growing +respect for your knowledge." Then, rising, he added, "Speaking of food +reminds me that you probably have some sort of midday refreshment here, +and that I would better arrange for accommodations and make myself +presentable. By the way, Constance," lowering his voice, "I saw a +striking-looking girl on the veranda as we were approaching the house a +while ago. I don't think you noticed her, but she had black eyes and a +face like an Indian princess. She came out for a moment again, while you +were talking. I thought she rather looked as if she belonged here, but +she couldn't have been a servant." + +They had taken a little turn down the long veranda, and Constance waited +until they were well out of earshot before she said: + +"You are perfectly right--she could not. She is the daughter of Mr. +Morrison, who owns the Lodge--Edith Morrison--her father's housekeeper. +I shall present you at the first opportunity so that you may lose no +time falling in love with her. It will do you no good, though, for she +is going to marry Robin Farnham. The wedding will not take place, of +course, until Robin is making his way, but it is all settled, and they +are both very happy." + +"And quite properly," commented Frank with enthusiasm. "I heard +something about it coming over. Mr. Meelie told me. He said they were a +handsome pair. I fully agree with him." The young man smiled down at his +companion and added: "Do you know, Conny, if that young man Farnham were +unencumbered, I might expect you to do some falling in love, yourself." + +The girl laughed, rather more than seemed necessary, Frank thought, and +an added touch of color came into her cheeks. + +"I did that years ago," she owned. "I think as much of Robin already as +I ever could." Then, less lightly, "Besides, I should not like to be a +rival of Edith Morrison's. She is a mountain girl, with rather primitive +ideas. I do not mean that she is in any sense a savage or even +uncultured. Far from it. Her father is a well-read man for his +opportunities. They have a good many books here, and Edith has learned +the most of them by heart. Last winter she taught school. But she has +the mountains in her blood, and in that black hair and those eyes of +hers. Only, of course, you do not quite know what that means. The +mountains are fierce, untamed, elemental--like the sea. Such things get +into one's blood and never entirely go away. Of course, you don't quite +understand." + +Regarding her curiously, Frank said: + +"I remember your own hunger for the mountains, even in March. One might +almost think you native to them, yourself." + +"My love for them makes me understand," she said, after a pause; then in +lighter tone added, "and I should not wish to get in Edith Morrison's +way, especially where it related to Robin Farnham." + +"By which same token I shall avoid getting in Robin Farnham's way," +Frank said, as they entered the Lodge hall--a wide room, which in some +measure carried out the Anglo-Saxon feudal idea. The floor was strewn +with skins, the dark walls of unfinished wood were hung with antlers and +other trophies of the chase. At the farther end was a deep stone +fireplace, and above it the mounted head of a wild boar. + +"You see," murmured Constance, "being brought up among these things and +in the life that goes with them, one is apt to imbibe a good deal of +nature and a number of elementary ideas, in spite of books." + +A door by the wide fireplace opened just then, and a girl with jetty +hair and glowing black eyes--slender and straight as a young birch--came +toward them with step as lithe and as light as an Indian's. There was +something of the type, too, in her features. Perhaps in a former +generation a strain of the native American blood had mingled and blended +with the fairer flow of the new possessors. Constance Deane went forward +to meet her. + +"Miss Morrison," she said cordially, "this is Mr. Weatherby, of New +York--a friend of ours." + +The girl took Frank's extended hand heartily. Indeed, it seemed to the +young man that there was rather more warmth in her welcome than the +occasion warranted. Her face, too, conveyed a certain gratification in +his arrival--almost as if here were an expected friend. He could not +help wondering if this was her usual manner of greeting--perhaps due to +the primitive life she had led--the untrammeled freedom of the hills. +But Constance, when she had passed them, said: + +"I think you are marked for especial favor. Perhaps, after all, Robin is +to have a rival." + + * * * * * + +Yet not all is to be read upon the surface, even when one is so +unskilled at dissembling as Edith Morrison. We may see signs, but we may +not always translate their meaning. Her love affair had been one of long +standing, begun when Robin had guided his first party over Marcy to the +Lodge, then just built--herself a girl of less than a dozen years, +trying to take a dead mother's place. How many times since then he had +passed to and fro, with tourists in summer and hunting parties in +winter. Often during fierce storms he had stayed at the Lodge for a week +or more--gathered with her father and herself before the great log fire +in the hall while the winds howled and the drifts banked up against the +windows, gleaning from the Lodge library a knowledge of such things as +books can teach--history, science and the outside world. Then had come +the time when he had decided on a profession, when, with his hoarded +earnings and such employment as he could find in the college town, he +had begun his course in a school of engineering. The mountain winters +without Robin had been lonely ones, but with her father she had devoted +them to study, that she might not be left behind, and had taken the +little school at last on the North Elba road in order to feel something +of the independence which Robin knew. In this, the last summer of his +mountain life, he had come to her father as chief guide, mainly that +they might have more opportunity to perfect their plans for the years +ahead. All the trails carried their story, and though young men still +fell in love with Edith Morrison and maids with Robin Farnham, no moment +of distrust had ever entered in. + +But there would appear to be some fate which does not fail to justify +the old adage concerning true love. With the arrival of Constance Deane +at the Lodge, it became clear to Edith that there had been some curious +change in Robin. It was not that he became in the least degree +indifferent--if anything he had been more devoted than before. He made +it a point to be especially considerate and attentive when Miss Deane +was present--and in this itself there lay a difference. No other guest +had ever affected his bearing toward her, one way or the other. Edith +remembered, of course, that he had known the Deanes, long before, when +the Lodge was not yet built. Like Constance, she had only been a little +girl then, her home somewhere beyond the mountains where she had never +heard of Robin. Yet her intuition told her that the fact of a long ago +acquaintance between a child of wealthy parents and the farm boy who had +sold them produce and built toy boats for the little girl could not have +caused this difference now. It was nothing that Constance had engaged +Robin to guide her about the woods and carry her book or her basket of +specimens. Edith had been accustomed to all that, but this time there +was a different attitude between guide and guest--something so subtle +that it could hardly be put into words, yet wholly evident to the eyes +of love. Half unconsciously, at first, Edith revolved the problem in her +mind, trying to locate the cause of her impression. When next she saw +them alone together, she strove to convince herself that it was nothing, +after all. The very effort had made her the more conscious of a reality. + +Now had come the third time--to-day--the moment before Frank Weatherby's +arrival. They were approaching the house and did not see her, while she +had lost not a detail of the scene. Robin's very carriage--and hers--the +turn of a face, the manner of a word she could not hear, all spoke of a +certain tenderness, an understanding, a sort of ownership, it +seemed--none the less evident because, perhaps, they themselves were all +unconscious of it. The mountain girl remarked the beauty of that other +one and mentally compared it with her own. This girl was taller than +she, and fairer. Her face was richer in its coloring--she carried +herself like one of the noble ladies in the books. Oh, they were a +handsome pair--and not unlike, she thought. Not that they resembled, yet +something there was common to both. It must be that noble carriage of +which she had been always so proud in Robin. There swept across her +mental vision a splendid and heart-sickening picture of Robin going out +into the world with this rich, cultured girl, and not herself, his wife. +The Deanes were not pretentious people, and there was wealth enough +already. They might well be proud of Robin. Edith cherished no personal +bitterness toward either Constance or Robin--not yet. Neither did she +realize to what lengths her impetuous, untrained nature might carry her, +if really aroused. Her only conscious conclusion thus far was that +Robin and Constance, without knowing it themselves, were drifting into a +dangerous current, and that this new arrival might become a guide back +to safety. Between Frank Weatherby and herself there was the bond of a +common cause. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A FLOWER ON A MOUNTAIN TOP + + +Prosperous days came to the Lodge. Hospitable John Morrison had found a +calling suited to his gifts when he came across the mountain and built +the big log tavern at the foot of McIntyre. With July, guests +multiplied, and for those whose duty it was to provide entertainment the +problem became definite and practical. Edith Morrison found her duties +each day heavier and Robin Farnham was seldom unemployed. Usually he was +away with his party by daybreak and did not return until after +nightfall. Wherever might lie his inclination there would seem to be +little time for love making in such a season. + +By the middle of the month the Deanes had taken possession of their camp +on the west branch of the Au Sable, having made it habitable with a +consignment of summer furnishings from New York, and through the united +efforts of some half dozen mountain carpenters, urged in their +deliberate labors by the owner, Israel Deane, an energetic New Englander +who had begun life a penniless orphan and had become chief stockholder +in no less than three commercial enterprises on lower Broadway. + +With the removal of the Deanes Mr. Weatherby also became less in +evidence at the Lodge. The walk between the Lodge and the camp was to +him a way of enchantment. He had been always a poet at heart, and this +wonderful forest reawakened old dreams and hopes and fancies which he +had put away for the immediate and gayer things of life, hardly more +substantial and far less real. To him this was a veritable magic +wood--the habitation of necromancy--where robber bands of old might +lurk; where knights in silver armor might do battle; where huntsmen in +gold and green might ride, the vanished court of some forgotten king. + +And at the end of the way there was always the princess--a princess that +lived and moved, and yet, he thought, was not wholly awake--at least not +to the reality of his devotion to her, or, being so, did not care, save +to test it at unseemly times and in unusual ways. Frank was quite sure +that he loved Constance. He was certain that he had never cared so much +for anything in the world before, and that if there was a real need he +would make any sacrifice at her command. Only he did not quite +comprehend why she was not willing to put by all stress and effort to +become simply a part of this luminous summer time, when to him it was so +good to rest by the brook and listen to her voice following some old +tale, or to drift in a boat about the lake shore, finding a quaint +interest in odd nooks and romantic corners or in dreaming idle dreams. + +Indeed, the Lodge saw him little. Most days he did not appear between +breakfast and dinner time. Often he did not return even for that +function. Yet sometimes it happened that with Constance he brought up +there about mail time, and on these occasions they were likely to remain +for luncheon. Constance had by no means given up her nature study, and +these visits usually resulted from the discovery of some especial +delicacy of the woods which, out of consideration for her mother's +nervous views on the subject, was brought to the Lodge for preparation. +Edith Morrison generally superintended in person this particular +cookery, Constance often assisting--or "hindering," as she called +it--and in this way the two had become much better acquainted. Of late +Edith had well-nigh banished--indeed, she had almost forgotten--her +heart uneasiness of those earlier days. She had quite convinced herself +that she had been mistaken, after all. Frank and Constance were together +almost continually, while Robin, during the brief stay between each +coming and going, had been just as in the old time--natural, kind and +full of plans for the future. Only once had he referred more than +casually to Constance Deane. + +"I wish you two could see more of each other," he had said. "Some day we +may be in New York, you and I, and I am sure she would be friendly to +us." + +And Edith, forgetting all her uneasiness, had replied: + +"I wish we might"; and added, "of course, I do see her a good deal--one +way and another. She comes quite often with Mr. Weatherby, but then I +have the household and she has Mr. Weatherby. Do you think, Robin, she +is going to marry him?" + +Robin paused a little before replying. + +"I don't know. I think he tries her a good deal. He is rich and rather +spoiled, you know. Perhaps he has become indifferent to a good many of +the things she thinks necessary." + +Edith did not reflect at the moment that this knowledge on Robin's part +implied confidential relations with one of the two principals. Robin's +knowledge was so wide and varied it was never her habit to question its +source. + +"She would rather have him poor and ambitious, I suppose," she +speculated thoughtfully. Then her hand crept over into his broad palm, +and, looking up, she added: "Do you know, Robin, that for a few +days--the first few days after she came--when you were with her a good +deal--I almost imagined--of course, I was very foolish--but she is so +beautiful and--superior, like you--and somehow you seemed different +toward her, too--I imagined, just a little, that you might care for her, +and I don't know--perhaps I was just the least bit jealous. I never was +jealous before--maybe I wasn't then--but I felt a heavy, hopeless +feeling coming around my heart. Is that jealousy?" + +His strong arm was about her and her face hidden on his shoulder. Then +she thought that he was laughing--she did not quite see why--but he held +her close. She thought it must all be very absurd or he would not +laugh. Presently he said: + +"I do care for her a great deal, and always have--ever since she was a +little girl. But I shall never care for her any more than I did then. +Some day you will understand just why." + +If this had not been altogether explicit it at least had a genuine ring, +and had laid to sleep any lingering trace of disquiet. As for the Lodge, +it accepted Frank and Constance as lovers and discussed them +accordingly, all save a certain small woman in black whose mission in +life was to differ with her surroundings, and who, with a sort of +rocking-chair circle of industry, crocheted at one end of the long +veranda, where from time to time she gave out vague hints that things in +general were not what they seemed, thereby fostering a discomfort of the +future. For the most part, however, her pessimistic views found little +acceptance, especially as they concerned the affairs of Mr. Weatherby +and Miss Deane. Miss Carroway, who for some reason--perhaps because of +the nephew whose youthful steps she had guided from the cradle to a +comfortable berth in the electric works at Haverford--had appointed +herself a sort of guardian of the young man's welfare, openly +pooh-poohed the small woman in black, and announced that she shouldn't +wonder if there was going to be a wedding "right off." It may be added +that Miss Carroway was usually the center of the rocking-chair circle, +and an open rival of the small woman in black as its directing manager. + +The latter, however, had the virtue of persistence. She habitually +elevated her nose and crochet work at Miss Carroway's opinions, avowing +that there was many a slip and that appearances were often deceitful. +For her part, she didn't think Miss Deane acted much like a girl in love +unless--she lowered her voice so that the others had to lean forward +that no syllable might escape--unless it was with _some other man_. For +her part, she thought Miss Deane had seemed happier the first few days, +before Mr. Weatherby came, going about with Robin Farnham. Anyhow, she +shouldn't be surprised if something strange happened before the summer +was over, at which prediction Miss Carroway never failed to sniff +indignantly, and was likely to drop a stitch in the wristlets she was +knitting for Charlie's Christmas. + +It was about the mail hour, at the close of one such discussion, that +the circle became aware of the objects of their debate approaching from +the boat landing. They made a handsome picture as they came up the path, +and even the small woman in black was obliged to confess that they were +well suited enough "so far as looks were concerned." As usual they +carried the book and basket, and waved them in greeting as they drew +near. Constance lifted the moss and ferns as she passed Miss Carroway to +display, as she said, the inviting contents, which the old lady regarded +with evident disapproval, though without comment. Miss Deane carried the +basket into the Lodge, and when she returned brought Edith Morrison with +her. The girl was rosy with the bustle going on indoors, and her bright +color, with her black hair and her spotless white apron, made her a +striking figure. Constance admired her openly. + +"I brought her out to show you how pretty she looks," she said gayly. +"Oh, haven't any of you a camera?" + +This was unexpected to Edith, who became still rosier and started to +retreat. Constance held her fast. + +"Miss Morrison and I are going to do the russulas--that's what they +were, you know--ourselves," she said. "Of course, Miss Carroway, you +need not feel that you are obliged to have any of them, but you will +miss something very nice if you don't." + +"Well, mebbe so," agreed the old lady. "I suppose I've missed a good +deal in my life by not samplin' everything that came along, but mebbe +I've lived just as long by not doin' it. Isn't that Robin Farnham +yonder? I haven't seen him for days." + +He had come in the night before, Miss Morrison told them. He had brought +a party through Indian Pass and would not go out again until morning. + +Constance nodded. + +"I know. They got their supper at the fall near our camp. Robin came +over to call on us. He often runs over for a little while when he comes +our way." + +She spoke quite unconcernedly, and Robin's name came easily from her +lips. The little woman in black shot a triumphant look at Miss Carroway, +who did not notice the attention or declined to acknowledge it. Of the +others only Edith Morrison gave any sign. The sudden knowledge that +Robin had called at the Deane camp the night before--that it was his +habit to do so when he passed that way--a fact which Robin himself had +not thought it necessary to mention--and then the familiar use of his +name--almost caressing, it had sounded to her--brought back with a rush +that heavy and hopeless feeling about her heart. She wanted to be wise +and sensible and generous, but she could not help catching the veranda +rail a bit tighter, while the rich color faded from her cheek. Yet no +one noticed, and she meant that no one, not even Robin, should know. No +doubt she was a fool, unable to understand, but she could not look +toward Robin, nor could she move from where she stood, holding fast to +the railing, trying to be wise and as self-possessed as she felt that +other girl would be in her place. + +Robin, meantime, had bent his steps in their direction. In his genial +manner and with his mellow voice he acknowledged the greetings of this +little group of guests. He had just recalled, he said to Constance, +having seen something, during a recent trip over McIntyre, which he had +at first taken for a very beautiful and peculiar flower. Later he had +decided it might be of special interest to her. It had a flower shape, +he said, and was pink in color, but was like wax, resembling somewhat +the Indian pipe, but with more open flowers and much more beautiful. He +did not recall having seen anything of the sort before, and would have +brought home one of the waxen blooms, only that he had been going the +other way and they seemed too tender to carry. He thought it a fungus +growth. + +Constance was deeply interested in his information, and the description +of what seemed to her a possible discovery of importance. She made him +repeat the details as nearly as he could recollect, and with the book +attempted to classify the species. Her failure to do so only stimulated +her enthusiasm. + +"I suppose you could find the place, again," she said. + +"Easily. It is only a few steps from the tripod at the peak," and he +drew with his pencil a plan of the spot. + +"I've heard the McIntyre trail is not difficult to keep," Constance +reflected. + +"No--provided, of course, one does not get into a fog. It's harder then. +I lost the trail myself up there once in a thick mist." + +The girl turned to Frank, who was lounging comfortably on the steps, +idly smoking. + +"Suppose we try it this afternoon," she said. + +Mr. Weatherby lifted his eyes to where Algonquin lay--its peaks among +the clouds. + +"It looks pretty foggy up there--besides, it will be rather late +starting for a climb like that." + +Miss Deane seemed a bit annoyed. + +"Yes," she said, rather crossly, "it will always be too foggy, or too +late, or too early for you. Do you know," she added, to the company at +large, "this young man hasn't offered to climb a mountain, or to go +trouting, once since he's been here. I don't believe he means to, all +summer. He said the other day that mountains and streams were made for +scenery--not to climb and fish in." + +The company discussed this point. Miss Carroway told of a hill near +Haverford which she used to climb, as a girl. Frank merely smiled +good-naturedly. + +"I did my climbing and fishing up here when I was a boy," he said. "I +think the fish are smaller now----" + +"And the mountains taller--poor, decrepit old man!" + +"Well, I confess the trails do look steeper," assented Frank, mildly; +"besides, with the varied bill of fare we have been enjoying these days, +I don't like to get too far from Mrs. Deane's medicine chest. I should +not like to be seized with the last agonies on top of a high mountain." + +Miss Deane assumed a lofty and offended air. + +"Never you mind," she declared; "when I want to scale a high mountain I +shall engage Mr. Robin Farnham to accompany me. Can you take me this +afternoon?" she added, addressing Robin. + +The young man started to reply, reddened a little and hesitated. Edith, +still lingering, holding fast to the veranda rail, suddenly spoke. + +"He can go quite well," she said, and there was a queer inflection in +her voice. "There is no reason----" + +But Constance had suddenly arisen and turned to her. + +"Oh, I beg your pardon!" she pleaded hastily. "He has an engagement with +you, of course. I did not think--I can climb McIntyre any time. Besides, +Mr. Weatherby is right. It is cloudy up there, and we would be late +starting." + +She went over close to Edith. The latter was pale and constrained, +though she made an effort to appear cordial, repeating her assurance +that Robin was quite free to go--that she really wished him to do so. +Robin himself did not find it easy to speak, and Edith a moment later +excused herself, on the plea that she was needed within. Constance +followed her, presently, while Frank, lingering on the steps, asked +Robin a few questions concerning his trip through the Pass. Of the +rocking-chair circle, perhaps only the small woman in black found +comfort in what had just taken place. A silence had fallen upon the +little company, and it was a relief to all when the mail came and there +was a reason for a general breaking-up. As usual, Frank and Constance +had a table to themselves at luncheon and ate rather quietly, though the +russulas, by a new recipe, were especially fine. When it was over at +last they set out to explore the woods back of the Lodge. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +IN THE "DEVIL'S GARDEN" + + +Constance Deane had developed a definite ambition. At all events she +believed it to be such, which, after all, is much the same thing in the +end. It was her dream to pursue this new study of hers until she had +made a definite place for herself, either as a recognized authority or +by some startling discovery, in mycological annals--in fact, to become +in some measure a benefactor of mankind. The spirit of unrest which had +possessed her that afternoon in March, when she had lamented that the +world held no place for her, had found at least a temporary outlet in +this direction. We all have had such dreams as hers. They are a part of +youth. Often they seem paltry enough to others--perhaps to us, as well, +when the morning hours have passed by. But those men and women who have +made such dreams real have given us a wiser and better world. Constance +had confided something of her intention to Frank, who had at least +assumed to take it seriously, following her in her wanderings--pushing +through tangle and thicket and clambering over slippery logs into +uncertain places for possible treasures of discovery. His reluctance to +scale McIntyre, though due to the reasons given rather than to any +thought of personal discomfort, had annoyed her, the more so because of +the unpleasant incident which followed. There had been a truce at +luncheon, but once in the woods Miss Deane did not hesitate to unburden +her mind. + +"Do you know," she began judicially, as if she had settled the matter in +her own mind, "I have about concluded that you are hopeless, after all." + +The culprit, who had just dragged himself from under a rather low-lying +wet log, assumed an injured air. + +"What can I have done, now?" he asked. + +"It's not what you have done, but what you haven't done. You're so +satisfied to be just comfortable, and----" + +Frank regarded his earthy hands and soiled garments rather ruefully. + +"Of course," he admitted, "I may have looked comfortable just now, +rooting and pawing about in the leaves for that specimen, but I didn't +really feel so." + +"You know well enough what I mean," Constance persisted, though a little +more pacifically. "You go with me willingly enough on such jaunts as +this, where it doesn't mean any very special exertion, though sometimes +I think you don't enjoy them very much. I know you would much rather +drift about in a boat on the lake, or sit under a tree, and have me read +to you. Do you know, I've never seen any one who cared so much for old +tales of knights and their deeds of valor and strove so little to +emulate them in real life." + +Frank waited a little before replying. Then he said gently: + +"I confess that I would rather listen to the tale of King Arthur in +these woods, and as you read it, Conny, than to attempt deeds of valor +on my own account. When I am listening to you and looking off through +these wonderful woods I can realize and believe in it all, just as I did +long ago, when I was a boy and read it for the first time. These are the +very woods of romance, and I am expecting any day we shall come upon +King Arthur's castle. When we do I shall join the Round Table and ride +for you in the lists. Meantime I can dream it all to the sound of your +voice, and when I see the people here climbing these mountains and +boasting of such achievements I decide that my dream is better than +their reality." + +But Miss Deane's memory of the recent circumstances still rankled. She +was not to be easily mollified. + +"And while you dream, I am to find my reality as best I may," she said +coldly. + +"But, Constance," he protested, "haven't I climbed trees, and gone down +into pits, and waded through swamps, and burrowed through vines and +briars at your command; and haven't I more than once tasted of the +things that you were not perfectly sure of, because the book didn't +exactly cover the specimen? Now, here I'm told that I'm hopeless, which +means that I'm a failure, when even at this moment I bear the marks of +my devotion." He pointed at the knees of his trousers, damp from his +recent experience. "I've done battle with nature," he went on, "and +entered the lists with your detractors. You said once there are knights +we do not recognize and armor we do not see. Now, don't you think you +may be overlooking one of those knights, with a suit of armor a little +damp at the knees, perhaps, but still stout and serviceable?" + +The girl did not, as usual, respond to his gayety and banter. + +"You may joke about it, if you like," she said, "but true knights, even +in the garb of peasants, have been known to scale dizzy heights for a +single flower. I have never known of one who refused to accompany a lady +on such an errand, especially when it was up an easy mountain trail +which even children have climbed." + +"Then this is a notable day, for you have met two." + +She nodded. + +"But one was without blame, and but for the first there could not have +occurred the humiliation of the second, and that, too"--she smiled in +spite of herself--"in the presence of my detractors. It will be hard for +you to rectify that, Sir Knight!" + +There was an altered tone in the girl's voice. The humorous phase was +coming nearer the surface. Frank brightened. + +"Really, though," he persisted, "I was right about it's being foggy up +there. Farnham would have said so, himself." + +"No doubt," she agreed, "but we could have reached that conclusion +later. An expressed willingness to go would have spared me and all of us +what followed. As it is, Edith Morrison thinks I wanted to deprive her +of Robin on his one day at home, while he was obliged to make himself +appear foolish before every one." + +"I wish you had as much consideration for me as you always show for +Robin," said Frank, becoming suddenly aggrieved. + +"And why not for Robin?" The girl's voice became sharply crisp and +defiant. "Who is entitled to it more than he--a poor boy who struggled +when no more than a child to earn bread for his invalid mother and +little sister; who has never had a penny that he did not earn; who never +would take one, but in spite of all has fought his way to recognition +and respect and knowledge? Oh, you don't know how he has struggled--you +who have had everything from birth--who have never known what it is not +to gratify every wish, nor what it feels like to go hungry and cold that +some one else might be warm and fed." Miss Deane's cheeks were aglow, +and her eyes were filled with fire. "It is by such men as Robin +Farnham," she went on, "that this country has been built, with all its +splendid achievements and glorious institutions, and the possibilities +for such fortunes as yours. Why should I not respect him, and honor him, +and love him, if I want to?" she concluded, carried away by her +enthusiasm. + +Frank listened gravely to the end. Then he said, very gently: + +"There is no reason why you should not honor and respect such a man, +nor, perhaps, why you should not love him--if you want to. I am sure +Robin Farnham is a very worthy fellow. But I suppose even you do not +altogether realize the advantage of having been born poor----" + +The girl was about to break in, but checked herself. + +"Of having been born poor," he repeated, "and compelled to struggle from +the beginning. It gets to be a habit, you see, a sort of groundwork for +character. Perhaps--I do not say it, mind, I only say perhaps--if Robin +Farnham had been born with my advantages and I with his, it might have +made a difference, don't you think, in your very frank and just estimate +of us to-day? I have often thought that it is a misfortune to have been +born with money, but I suppose I didn't think of it soon enough, and it +seems pretty late now to go back and start all over. Besides, I have no +one in need to struggle for. My mother is comfortably off, and I have no +little suffering sister----" + +She checked him a gesture. + +"Don't--oh, don't!" she pleaded. "Perhaps you are right about being +poor, but that last seems mockery and sacrilege--I cannot bear it! You +don't know what you are saying. You don't know, as I do, how he has gone +out in the bitter cold to work, without his breakfast, because there was +not enough for all, and how--because he had cooked the breakfast +himself--he did not let them know. No, you do not realize--you could +not!" + +Mr. Weatherby regarded his companion rather wonderingly. There was +something in her eyes which made them very bright. It seemed to him that +her emotion was hardly justified. + +"I suppose he has told you all about it," he said, rather coldly. + +She turned upon him. + +"He? Never! He would never tell any one! I found it out--oh, long +ago--but I did not understand it all--not then." + +"And the mother and sister--what became of them?" + +The girl's voice steadied itself with difficulty. + +"The mother died. The little girl was taken by some kind people. He was +left to fight his battle alone." + +Neither spoke after this, and they walked through woods that were like +the mazy forests of some old tale. If there had been a momentary rancor +between them it was presently dissipated in the quiet of the gold-lit +greenery about them, and as they wandered on there grew about them a +peace which needed no outward establishment. They held their course by a +little compass, and did not fear losing their way, though it was easy +enough to become confused amid those barriers of heaped bowlders and +tangled logs. By and by Constance held up her hand. + +"Listen," she said, "there are voices." + +They halted, and a moment later Robin Farnham and Edith Morrison emerged +from a natural avenue just ahead. They had followed a different way and +were returning to the Lodge. Frank and Constance pushed forward to meet +them. + +"We have just passed a place that would interest you," said Robin to +Miss Deane. "A curious shut-in place where mushrooms grow almost as if +they had been planted there. We will take you to it." + +Robin spoke in his usual manner. Edith, though rather quiet, appeared to +have forgotten the incident of the veranda. Frank and Constance followed +a little way, and then all at once they were in a spot where the air +seemed heavy and chill, as though a miasma rose from the yielding soil. +Thick boughs interlaced overhead, and the sunlight of summer never +penetrated there. Such light as came through seemed dim and sorrowful, +and there was about the spot a sinister aspect that may have been due to +the black pool in the center and the fungi which grew about it. Pale, +livid growths were there, shading to sickly yellow, and in every form +and size. So thick were they they fairly overhung and crowded in that +gruesome bed. Here a myriad of tiny stems, there great distorted shapes +pushed through decaying leaves--or toppled over, split and rotting--the +food of buzzing flies, thousands of which lay dead upon the ground. A +sickly odor hung about the ghastly place. No one spoke at first. Then +Constance said: + +"I believe they are all deadly--every one." And Frank added: + +"I have heard of the Devil's Garden. I think we have found it." + +Edith Morrison shuddered. Perhaps the life among the hills had made her +a trifle superstitious. + +"Let us be going," Constance said. "Even the air of such a place may be +dangerous." Then, curiosity and the collecting instinct getting the +better of her, she stooped and plucked one of the yellow fungi which +grew near her foot. "They seem to be all Amanitas," she added, "the most +deadly of toadstools. Those paler ones are _Amanita Phalloides_. There +is no cure for their poison. These are called the Fly Amanita because +they attract flies and slay them, as you see. This yellow one is an +Amanita, too--see its poison cup. I do not know its name, and we won't +stop here to find it, but I think we might call it the Yellow Danger." + +She dropped it into the basket and all turned their steps homeward, the +two girls ahead, the men following. The unusual spot had seemed to +depress them all. They spoke but little, and in hushed voices. When they +emerged from the woods the sun had slipped behind the hills and a +semi-twilight had fallen. Day had become a red stain in the west. +Constance turned suddenly to Robin Farnham. + +"I think I will ask you to row me across the lake," she said. "I am sure +Mr. Weatherby will be glad to surrender the privilege. I want to ask you +something more about those specimens you saw on McIntyre." + +There was no hint of embarrassment in Miss Deane's manner of this +request. Indeed, there was a pleasant, matter-of-fact tone in her voice +that to the casual hearer would have disarmed any thought of suspicion. +Yet to Edith and Frank the matter seemed ominously important. They spoke +their adieus pleasantly enough, but a curious spark glittered a little +in the girl's eyes and the young man's face was grave as they two +watched the handsome pair down the slope, and saw them enter the +Adirondack canoe and glide out on the iridescent water. Suddenly Edith +turned to her companion. She was very pale and the spark had become +almost a blaze. + +"Mr. Weatherby," she said fiercely, "you and I are a pair of fools. You +may not know it--perhaps even they do not know it, yet. But it is +becoming very clear to me!" + +Frank was startled by her unnatural look and tone. As he stood regarding +her, he saw her eyes suddenly flood with tears. The words did not come +easily either to deny or acknowledge her conclusions. Then, very gently, +as one might speak to a child, he said: + +"Let us not be too hasty in our judgments. Very sad mistakes have been +made by being too hasty." He looked out at the little boat, now rapidly +blending into the shadows of the other shore, and added--to himself, as +it seemed--"I have made so little effort to be what she wished. He is so +much nearer to her ideal." + +He turned to say something more to the girl beside him, but she had +slipped away and was already halfway to the Lodge. He followed, and then +for a time sat out on the veranda, smoking, and reviewing what seemed to +him now the wasted years. He recalled his old ambitions. Once they had +been for the sea--the Navy. Then, when he had become associated with the +college paper he had foreseen in himself the editor of some great +journal, with power to upset conspiracies and to unmake kings. Presently +he had begun to write--he had always dabbled in that--and his +fellow-students had hailed him not only as their leader in athletic but +literary pursuits. As editor-in-chief of the college paper and +valedictorian of his class, he had left them at last, followed by +prophecies of a career in the world of letters. Well, that was more than +two years ago, and he had never picked up his pen since that day. There +had been so many other things--so many places to go--so many pleasant +people--so much to do that was easier than to sit down at a remote desk +with pen and blank paper, when all the world was young and filled with +gayer things. Then, presently, he had reasoned that there was no need of +making the fight--there were too many at it, now. So the flower of +ambition had faded as quickly as it had bloomed, and the blossoms of +pleasure had been gathered with a careless hand. His meeting with +Constance had been a part of the play-life of which he had grown so +fond. Now that she had grown into his life he seemed about to lose her, +because of the flower he had let die. + +The young man ate his dinner silently--supplying his physical needs in +the perfunctory manner of routine. He had been late coming in, and the +dining-room was nearly empty. Inadvertently he approached the group +gathered about the wide hall fireplace as he passed out. Miss Carroway +occupied the center of this little party and, as usual, was talking. She +appeared to be arranging some harmless evening amusement. + +"It's always pleasant after supper," she was saying--Miss Carroway never +referred to the evening meal as dinner--"to ask a few conundrums. My +Charlie that I raised and is now in the electric works at Haverford used +to say it helped digestion. Now, suppose we begin. I'll ask the first +one, and each one will guess in turn. The first one who guesses can ask +the next." + +Becoming suddenly conscious of the drift of matters, Frank started to +back out, silently, but Miss Carroway had observed his entrance and, +turning, checked him with her eye. + +"You're just in time," she said. "We haven't commenced yet. Oh, yes, you +must stay. It's good for young people to have a little diversion in the +evening and not go poking off alone. I am just about to ask the first +conundrum. Mebbe you'll get the next. This is one that Charlie always +liked. What's the difference between a fountain and the Prince of Wales? +Now, you begin, Mr. Weatherby, and see if you can guess it." + +The feeling was borne in upon Frank that this punishment was rather more +than he could bear, and he made himself strong for the ordeal. Dutifully +he considered the problem and passed it on to the little woman in black, +who sat next. Miss Carroway's rival was consumed with an anxiety to +cheapen the problem with a prompt answer. + +"That's easy enough," she said. "One's the son of the queen, and the +other's a queen of the sun. Of course," she added, "a fountain isn't +really a queen of the sun, but it shines and sparkles and _might_ be +called that." + +Miss Carroway regarded her with something of disdain. + +"Yes," she said, with decision, "it might be, but it ain't. You guessed +wrong. Next!" + +"One's always wet, and the other's always dry," volunteered an +irreverent young person outside the circle, which remark won a round of +ill-deserved applause. + +"You ought to come into the game," commented Miss Carroway, "but that +ain't it, either." + +"I'm sure it has something with 'shine' and 'line,'" ventured the young +lady from Utica, who was a school-mistress, "or 'earth' and 'birth.' I +know I've heard it, but I can't remember." + +"Humph!" sniffed Miss Carroway, and passed it on. Nobody else ventured a +definition and the problem came back to its proposer. She sat up a bit +straighter, and swept the circle with her firelit glasses. + +"One's thrown to the air, and the other's heir to the throne," she +declared, as if pronouncing judgment. "I don't think this is much of a +conundrum crowd. My Charlie would have guessed that the first time. But +I'll give you one more--something easier, and mebbe older." + +When at last he was permitted to go Frank made his way gloomily to his +room and to bed. The day's events had been depressing. He had lost +ground with Constance, whom, of late, he had been trying so hard to +please. He had been willing enough, he reflected, to go up the mountain, +but it really had been cloudy up there and too late to start. Then +Constance had blamed him for the unpleasant incident which had +followed--it seemed to him rather unjustly. Now, Edith Morrison had +declared openly what he himself had been almost ready, though rather +vaguely, to suspect. He had let Constance slip through his fingers +after all. He groaned aloud at the thought of Constance as the wife of +another. Was it, after all, too late? If he should begin now to do and +dare and conquer, could he regain the lost ground? And how should he +begin? Half confused with approaching sleep, his thoughts intermingled +with strange fancies, that one moment led him to the mountain top where +in the mist he groped for mushrooms, while the next, as in a picture, he +was achieving some splendid triumph and laying the laurels at her feet. +Then he was wide awake again, listening to the whisper of the trees that +came through his open window and the murmur of voices from below. +Presently he found himself muttering, "What is the difference between a +fountain and the Prince of Wales?"--a question which immediately became +a part of his perplexing sleep-waking fancies, and the answer was +something which, like a boat in the mist, drifted away, just out of +reach. What _was_ the difference between a fountain and the Prince of +Wales? It seemed important that he should know, and then the query +became visualized in a sunlit plume of leaping water with a diadem at +the top, and this suddenly changed into a great mushroom, of the color +of gold, and of which some one was saying, "Don't touch it--it's the +Yellow Danger." Perhaps that was Edith Morrison, for he saw her dark, +handsome face just then, her eyes bright with tears and fierce with the +blaze of jealousy. Then he slept. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE PATH THAT LEADS BACK TO BOYHOOD + + +The sun was not yet above the hills when Frank Weatherby left the Lodge +next morning. He halted for a moment to procure some convenient +receptacle and was supplied with a trout basket which, slung across his +shoulder, gave him quite the old feeling of preparation for a day's +sport, instead of merely an early trip up McIntyre. Robin Farnham was +already up and away with his party, but another guide loitered about the +cabin and showed a disposition to be friendly. + +"Better wait till after breakfast," he said. "It don't take long to run +up McIntyre and back. You'll have plenty of time." + +"But it looks clear up there, now. It may be foggy, later on. Besides, +I've just bribed the cook to give me a bite, so I'm not afraid of +getting hungry." + +The guide brought out a crumpled, rusty-looking fly-hook and a little +roll of line. + +"Take these," he urged. "You'll cross a brook or two where there's some +trout. Mebbe you can get a few while you're resting. I'd lend you a rod +if we had one here, but you can cut a switch that will do. The fish are +mostly pretty small." + +The sight of the gayly colored flies, the line and the feeling of the +basket at his side was a combination not to be resisted. The years +seemed to roll backward, and Frank felt the old eager longing to be +following the tumbling, swirling water--to feel the sudden tug at the +end of a drifting line. + +It was a rare morning. The abundant forest was rich with every shade of +green and bright with dew. Below, where the path lay, it was still dim +and silent, but the earliest touch of sunrise had set the tree-tops +aglow and started a bird concert in the high branches. + +The McIntyre trail was not a hard one to follow. Neither was it steep +for a considerable distance, and Frank strode along rapidly and without +fatigue. In spite of his uneasiness of spirit the night before, he had +slept the sleep of youth and health, and the smell of the morning woods, +the feel of the basket at his side, the following of this fascinating +trail brought him nearer to boyhood with every forward step. He would +go directly to the top of the mountain, he thought, find the curious +flower or fungus which Robin had seen, and on his return trip would stop +at the brooks and perhaps bring home a basket of trout; after which he +would find Constance and lay the whole at her feet as a proof that he +was not altogether indifferent to her wishes. Also, it might be, as a +token that he had renewed his old ambition to be something more than a +mere lover of ease and pleasure and a dreamer of dreams. + +The suspicions stirred by Edith Morrison the night before had grown +dim--indeed had almost vanished in the clear glow of morning. Constance +might wish to punish him--that was quite likely--though it was highly +improbable that she should have selected this method. In fact, it was +quite certain that any possibility of causing heartache, especially +where Edith Morrison was concerned, would have been most repugnant to a +girl of the character and ideals of Constance Deane. She admired Robin +and found pleasure in his company. That she made no concealment of these +things was the best evidence that there was nothing to be concealed. +That unconsciously she and Robin were learning to care for each other, +he thought most unlikely. He remembered Constance as she had seemed +during the days of their meeting at Lenox, when she had learned to know, +and he believed to care for him. It had never been like that. It would +not be like that, now, with another. There would be no other. He would +be more as she would have him--more like Robin Farnham. Why, he was +beginning this very moment. Those years of idleness had dropped away. He +had regarded himself as beyond the time of beginning! What nonsense! At +twenty-four--full of health and the joy of living--swinging up a +mountain trail to win a flower for the girl he loved, with a cavalcade +of old hopes and dreams and ambitions once more riding through his +heart. To-day was life. Yesterday was already with the vanished ages. +Then for a moment he recalled the sorrow of Edith Morrison and resolved +within him to see her immediately upon his return, to prove to her how +groundless and unjust had been her conclusions. She was hardly to blame. +She was only a mountain girl and did not understand. It was absurd that +he, who knew so much of the world and of human nature, should have +allowed himself even for a moment to be influenced by the primitive +notions of this girl of the hills. + +The trail grew steeper now. The young man found himself breathing a +trifle quicker as he pushed upward. Sometimes he seized a limb to aid +him in swinging up a rocky steep--again he parted dewy bushes that +locked their branches across the way. Presently there was a sound of +water falling over stones, and a moment later he had reached a brook +that hurried down the mountain side, leaping and laughing as it ran. +There was a narrow place and a log where the trail crossed, with a +little fall and a deep pool just below it. Frank did not mean to stop +for trout now, but it occurred to him to try this brook, that he might +judge which was the better to fish on his return. He looked about until +he found a long, slim shoot of some tough wood, and this he cut for a +rod. Then he put on a bit of the line--a longer piece would not do in +this little stream--and at the end he strung a short leader and two +flies. It was queer, but he found his fingers trembling just a little +with eagerness as he adjusted those flies; and when he held the rig at +arm's length and gave it a little twitch in the old way it was not so +bad, after all, he thought. As he stealthily gained the exact position +where he could drop the lure on the eddy below the fall and poised the +slender rod for the cast, the only earthly thing that seemed important +was the placing of those two tiny bits of gimp and feathers just on that +spot where the water swirled under the edge of the black overhanging +rock. Gently, now--so. A quick flash, a swish, a sharp thrilling tug, an +instinctive movement of the wrist, and something was leaping and +glancing on the pebbles below--something dark and golden and gayly +red-spotted--something which no man who has ever trailed a brook can see +without a quickening heart--a speckled trout! Certainly it was but a boy +who leaped down and disentangled the captured fish and held it joyously +for a moment, admiring its markings and its size before dropping it into +the basket at his side. + +"Pretty good for such a little brook," he said aloud. "I wonder if there +are many like that." + +He made another cast, but without result. + +"I've frightened them," he thought. "I came lumbering down like a +duffer. Besides, they can see me, here." + +He turned and followed the stream with his eye. It seemed a succession +of falls and fascinating pools, and the pools grew even larger and more +enticing. He could not resist trying just once more, and when another +goodly trout was in his creel and then another, all else in life became +hazy in the joy of following that stream from fall to fall and from pool +to pool--of dropping those gay little flies just in the particular spot +which would bring that flash and swish, that delightful tug, and the +gayly speckled capture that came glancing to his feet. Why not do his +fishing now, in these morning hours when the time was right? Later, the +sport might be poor, or none at all. At this rate he could soon fill his +creel and then make his way up the mountain. He halted a moment to line +the basket with damp moss and water grasses to keep his catch fresh. +Then he put aside every other purpose for the business of the moment, +creeping around bushes, or leaping from stone to stone--sometimes +slipping to his knees in the icy water, caring not for discomfort or +bruises--heedless of everything except the zeal of pursuit and the zest +of capture--the glory of the bright singing water, spilling from pool to +pool--the filtering sunlight--the quiring birds--the resinous smell of +the forest--all the things which lure the feet of young men over the +paths trod by their fathers in the long-forgotten days. + +The stream widened. The pools grew deeper and the trout larger as he +descended. Soon he decided to keep only the larger fish. All others he +tossed back as soon as taken. Then there came a break ahead and +presently the brook pitched over a higher fall than any he had passed, +into a larger stream--almost a river. A great regret came upon the young +man as he viewed this fine water that rushed and swirled among a +thousand bowlders, ideal stepping stones with ideal pools below. Oh, +now, for a rod and reel, with a length of line to cast far ahead into +those splendid pools! + +The configuration of the land caused this larger stream to pursue a +course around, rather than down the mountain side, and Frank decided +that he could follow it for a distance, and then, with the aid of his +compass, strike straight for the mountain top without making his way +back up stream. + +But first he must alter his tackle. He looked about and presently cut a +much longer and stronger rod and lengthened his line accordingly. Then +he made his way among the bowlders and began to whip the larger pools. +Cast after cast resulted in no return. He began to wonder, after all, +if it would not be a mistake to fish this larger and less fruitful +stream. But suddenly there came a great gleam of light where his flies +fell, and though the fish failed to strike, Frank's heart gave a leap, +for he knew now that in this water--though they would be fewer in +number--there were trout which were well worth while. He cast again over +the dark, foamy pool, and this time the flash was followed by such a tug +as at first made him fear that his primitive tackle might not hold. Oh, +then he longed for a reel and a net. This was a fish that could not be +lightly lifted out, but must be worked to a landing place and dragged +ashore. Holding the line taut, he looked for such a spot, and selecting +the shallow edge of a flat stone, drew his prize nearer and +nearer--drawing in the rod itself, hand over hand, and finally the line +until the struggling, leaping capture was in his hands. This was +something like! This was sport, indeed! There was no thought now of +turning back. To carry home even a few fish, taken with such a tackle, +would redeem him for many shortcomings in Constance's eyes. He was sorry +now that he had kept any of the smaller fry. + +He followed down the stream, stepping from bowlder to bowlder, casting +as he went. Here and there trout rose, but they were old and wary and +hesitated to strike. He got another at length, somewhat smaller than the +first, and lost still another which he thought was larger than either. +Then for a considerable distance he whipped the most attractive water +without reward, changing his flies at length, but to no purpose. + +"It must be getting late," he reflected aloud, and for the first time +thought of looking at his watch. He was horrified to find that it was +nearly eleven o'clock, by which time he had expected to have reached the +top of McIntyre and to have been well on his way back to the Lodge. He +must start at once, for the climb would be long and rough here, out of +the regular trail. + +Yet he paused to make one more cast, over a black pool where there was a +fallen log, and bubbles floating on the surface. His arm had grown tired +swinging the heavy green rod and his aim was poor. The flies struck a +little twig and hung there, dangling in the air. A twitch and they were +free and had dropped to the surface of the water. Yet barely to reach +it. For in that instant a wave rolled up and divided--a great +black-and-gold shape made a porpoise leap into the air. The lower fly +disappeared, and an instant later Frank was gripping the tough green rod +with both hands, while the water and trees and sky blended and swam +before him in the intensity of the struggle to hold and to keep holding +that black-and-gold monster at the other end of the tackle--to keep him +from getting back under that log--from twisting the line around a +limb--in a word, to prevent him from regaining freedom. It would be +lunacy to drag this fish ashore by force. The line or the fly would +certainly give way, even if the rod would stand. Indeed, when he tried +to work his capture a little nearer, it held so like a rock that he +believed for a moment the line was already fast. But then came a sudden +rush to the right and another stand, and to the left--with a plunge for +depth--and with each of these rushes Frank's heart stood still, for he +felt that against the power of this monster his tackle could not hold. +Every nerve and fiber in his body seemed to concentrate on the +slow-moving point of dark line where the tense strand touched the water. +A little this way or that it swung--perhaps yielded a trifle or drew +down a bit as the great fish in its battle for life gave an inch only +to begin a still fiercer struggle in this final tug of war. To all else +the young man was oblivious. A bird dropped down on a branch and shouted +at him--he did not hear it. A cloud swept over the sun--he did not see +it. Life, death, eternity mattered nothing. Only that moving point of +line mattered--only the thought that the powerful, unconquered shape +below might presently go free. + +And then--inch by inch it seemed--the steady wrist and the crude tackle +began to gain advantage, the monster of black and gold was forced to +yield. Scarcely breathing, Frank watched the point of the line, inch by +inch, draw nearer to a little pebbly shore that ran down, where, if +anywhere, he could land his prey. Once, indeed, the great fellow came to +the surface, then, seeing his captor, made a fierce dive and plunged +into a wild struggle, during which hope almost died. Another dragging +toward the shore, another struggle and yet another, each becoming weaker +and less enduring, until lo, there on the pebbles, gasping and striking +with his splendid tail, lay the conquered king of fish. It required but +an instant for the captor to pounce upon him and to secure him with a +piece of line through his gills, and this he replaced with a double +willow branch which he could tie together and to the basket, for this +fish was altogether too large to go inside. Exhausted and weak from the +struggle, Frank sat down to contemplate his capture and to regain +strength before starting up the mountain. Five pounds, certainly, this +fish weighed, he thought, and he tenderly regarded the fly that had +lured it to the death, and carefully wound up the cheap bit of line that +had held true. No such fish had been brought to the Lodge, and then, boy +that he was, he thought how proud he should be of his triumph, and with +what awe Constance would regard his skill in its capture. And in that +moment it was somehow borne in upon him that with this battle and this +victory there had come in truth the awakening--that the indolent, +luxury-loving man had become as a sleep-walker of yesterday who would +never cross the threshold of to-day. + + * * * * * + +A drop of water on his hand aroused him. The sun had disappeared--the +sky was overcast--there was rain in the air. He must hurry, he thought, +and get up the mountain and away, before the storm. He could not see the +peak, for here the trees were tall and thick, but he knew his direction +by the compass and by the slope of the land. From the end of his late +rod he cut a walking stick and set out as rapidly as he could make his +way through brush and vines, up the mountain-side. + +But it was toilsome work. The mountain became steeper, the growth +thicker, his load of fish weighed him down. He was almost tempted to +retrace his way up the river and brook to the trail, but was loath to +consume such an amount of time when it seemed possible to reach the peak +by a direct course. Then it became darker in the woods, and the bushes +seemed damp with moisture. He wondered if he was entering a fog that had +gathered on the mountain top, and, once there, if he could find what he +sought. Only the big fish, swinging at his side and dragging in the +leaves as he crept through underbrush, gave him comfort in what was +rapidly becoming an unpleasant and difficult undertaking. Presently he +was reduced to climbing hand over hand, clinging to bushes and bracing +his feet as best he might. All at once, he was face to face with a cliff +which rose sheer for sixty feet or more and which it seemed impossible +to ascend. He followed it for a distance and came at last to where a +heavy vine dropped from above, and this made a sort of ladder, by which, +after a great deal of clinging and scrambling, he managed to reach the +upper level, where he dropped down to catch breath, only to find, when +he came to look for his big fish, that somehow in the upward struggle it +had broken loose from the basket and was gone. It was most +disheartening. + +"If I were not a man I would cry," he said, wearily--then peering over +the cliff he was overjoyed to see the lost fish hanging not far below, +suspended by the willow loop he had made. + +So then he climbed down carefully and secured it, and struggled back +again, this time almost faint with weariness, but happy in regaining his +treasure. And now he realized that a fog was indeed upon the mountain. +At the foot of the cliff and farther down the air seemed clear enough, +but above him objects only a few feet distant were lost in a white mist, +while here and there a drop as of rain struck in the leaves. It would +not do to waste time. A storm might be gathering, and a tempest, or even +a chill rain on the top of McIntyre was something to be avoided. He +rose, and climbing, stooping, crawling, struggled toward the +mountain-top. The timber became smaller, the tangle closer, the white +mist thickened. Often he paused from sheer exhaustion. Once he thought +he heard some one call. But listening there came only silence, and +staggering to his feet he struggled on. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +WHAT CAME OUT OF THE MIST + + +It was several hours after Frank Weatherby had set out on the McIntyre +trail--when the sun had risen to a point where it came mottling through +the tree-tops and dried the vines and bushes along the fragrant, +yielding path below--that a girl came following in the way which led up +the mountain top. She wore a stout outing costume--short skirt and +blouse, heavy boots, and an old felt school hat pinned firmly to +luxuriant dark hair. On her arm she carried the basket of many +wanderings, and her step was that of health and strength and purpose. +One watching Constance Deane unawares--noting her carriage and sureness +of foot, the easy grace with which she overcame the various obstructions +in her path--might have said that she belonged by right to these woods, +was a part of them, and one might have added that she was a perfect +flowering of this splendid forest. + +On the evening before, she had inquired of Robin the precise entrance to +the McIntyre trail, and with his general directions she had no +hesitation now in setting out on her own account to make the climb which +would bring her to the coveted specimens at the mountain top. She would +secure them with the aid of no one and so give Frank an exhibition of +her independence, and perhaps impress him a little with his own lack of +ambition and energy. She had avoided the Lodge, making her way around +the lake to the trail, and had left no definite word at home as to her +destination, for it was quite certain that Mrs. Deane would worry if it +became known that Constance had set off up the mountain alone. Yet she +felt thoroughly equal to the undertaking. In her basket she carried some +sandwiches, and she had no doubt of being able to return to the Lodge +during the afternoon, where she had a certain half-formed idea of +finding Frank disconsolately waiting--a rather comforting--even if +pathetic--picture of humiliation. + +Constance did not linger at the trout-brook which had enticed Frank from +the narrow upward path, save to dip up a cold drink with the little cup +she carried, and to rest up a moment and watch the leaping water as it +foamed and sang down the natural stairway which led from one mystery in +the dark vistas above to another mystery and wider vistas +below--somehow, at last, to reach that deeper and vaster and more +impenetrable mystery--the sea. She recalled some old German lines +beginning, "_Du Bachlein, silberhell und klar_," and then she remembered +having once recited them to Frank, and how he had repeated them in an +English translation: + + "Thou brooklet, silver-bright and clear-- + Forever passing--always here-- + Upon thy brink I sit, and think + Whence comest thou? Whence goest thou?" + +He had not confessed it, but she suspected the translation to be his +own, and it had exasperated her that one who could do a thing well and +with such facility should set so little store by his gift, when another, +with a heart hunger for achievement, should have been left so unfavored +of the gods. + +She walked rather more slowly when she had passed the brook--musing upon +these things. Then presently the path became precipitous and narrow, and +led through thick bushes, and over or under difficult obstructions. +Constance drew on a thick pair of gloves to grapple with rough limbs and +sharp points of rock. Here and there were fairly level stretches and +easy going, but for the most part it was up and up--steeper and +steeper--over stones and logs, through heavy bushes and vines that +matted across the trail, so that one must stoop down and burrow like a +rabbit not to miss the way. + +Miss Deane began to realize presently that the McIntyre trail was +somewhat less easy than she had anticipated. + +"If Robin calls this an easy trail, I should like to know what he means +by a hard one," she commented aloud, as she made her way through a great +tumble of logs only to find that the narrow path disappeared into a +clump of bushes beyond and apparently brought up plump against a +plunging waterfall on the other side. "One would have to be a perfect +salmon to scale that!" + +But arriving at the foot of the fall, she found that the trail merely +crossed the pool below and was clearly marked beyond. This was the brook +which Frank had not reached. It was no great distance from the summit. + +But now the climb became steeper than ever--a hand over hand affair, +with scratched face and torn dress and frequent pauses for breath. There +was no longer any tall timber, but only masses of dwarfed and twisted +little oak trees--a few feet high, though gnarled and gray with age, and +loaded with acorns. Constance knew these for the scrub-oak, that +degenerate but persistent little scion of a noble race, that pushes its +miniature forests to the very edge and into the last crevice of the +barren mountain top. Soon this diminutive wilderness began to separate +into segments and the trail reached a comparative level. Then suddenly +it became solid rock, with only here and there a clump of the stunted +oak, or a bit of grass. The girl realized that she must be on the summit +and would presently reach the peak, where, from a crevice, grew the +object of her adventure. She paused a moment for breath, and to +straighten her disheveled hair. Also she turned for a look at the view +which she thought must lie behind her. But she gave a little cry of +disappointment. A white wraith of mist, like the very ghost of a cloud, +was creeping silently along the mountain side and veiled the vision of +the wide lands below. Where she stood the air was still clear, but she +imagined the cloud was creeping nearer and would presently envelop the +mountain-top. She would hurry to the peak and try to get a view from the +other side, which after all was considered the best outlook. + +The trail now led over solid granite and could be followed only by +little cairns or heaps of stone, placed at some distance apart, but in +the clear air easily seen from one to the other. She moved rapidly, for +the way was no longer steep, and ere long the tripod which marked the +highest point, and near which Robin had seen the strange waxen flower, +was outlined against the sky. A moment later when she looked it seemed +to her less clear. The air, too, had a chill damp feeling. She turned +quickly to look behind her, and uttered a little cry of surprise that +was almost terror. The cloud ghost was upon her--she was already +enveloped in its trailing cerements. Behind, all was white, and when she +turned again the tripod too had well-nigh disappeared. As if about to +lose the object of her quest, she started to run, and when an instant +later the beacon was lost in a thick fold of white she again opened her +lips in a wild despairing cry. Yet she did not stop, but raced on, +forgetting even the little guiding cairns which pointed the way. It +would have made no difference had she remembered them, for the cloud +became so dense that she could not have seen one from the other. How +close it shut her in, this wall of white, as impalpable and as opaque as +the smoke of burning grass! + +It seemed a long way to the tripod. It must have been farther than she +had thought. Suddenly she realized that the granite no longer rose a +little before her, but seemed to drop away. She had missed the tripod, +then, and was descending on the other side. Turning, she retraced her +steps, more slowly now, trying to keep the upward slope before her. But +soon she realized that in this thick and mystifying whiteness she could +not be certain of the level--that by thinking so she could make the +granite seem to slope a little up or down, and in the same manner, now, +she could set the tripod in any direction from her at will. Confused, +half terrified at the thought, she stood perfectly still, trying to +think. The tripod, she knew, could not be more than a few yards distant, +but surrounded by these enchanted walls which ever receded, yet always +closed about her she must only wander helplessly and find it by mere +chance. And suppose she found it, and suppose she secured the object of +her search, how, in this blind spot, would she find her way back to the +trail? She recalled now what Robin had said of keeping the trail in the +fog. Her heart became cold--numb. The chill mist had crept into her very +veins. She was lost--lost as men have been lost in the snow--to die +almost within their own door-yards. If this dread cloud would only pass, +all would be well, but she remembered, too, hopelessly enough, that she +had told no one of her venture, that no one would know where to seek +her. + +And now the sun, also, must be obscured, for the world was darkening. An +air that pierced her very marrow blew across the mountain and a drop of +rain struck her cheek. Oh, it would be wretched without shelter to face +a storm in that bleak spot. She must at least try--she must make every +effort to find the trail. She set out in what she believed to be a wide +circuit of the peak, and was suddenly rejoiced to come upon one of the +little piles of stones which she thought must be one of the cairns, +leading to the trail. But which way must she look for the next? She +strained her eyes through the milky gloom, but could distinguish nothing +beyond a few yards of granite at her feet. It did not avail her to +remain by the cairn, yet she dreaded to leave a spot which was at least +a point in the human path. She did so, at last, only to wander down into +an unmarked waste, to be brought all at once against a segment of the +scrub-oak forest and to find before her a sort of opening which she +thought might be the trail. Eagerly in the gathering gloom she examined +the face of the granite for some trace of human foot and imagined she +could make out a mark here and there as of boot nails. Then she came to +a bit of grass that seemed trampled down. Her heart leaped. Oh, this +must be the trail, after all! + +She hastened forward, half running in her eagerness. Branches slapped +and tore at her garments--long, tenuous filaments, wet and web-like, +drew across her face. Twice she fell and bruised herself cruelly. And +when she rose the second time, her heart stopped with fear, for she lay +just on the edge of a ghastly precipice--the bottom of which was lost in +mist and shadows. It had only been a false trail, after all. Weak and +trembling she made her way back to the open summit, fearing even that +she might miss this now and so be without the last hope of finding the +way, or of being found at last herself. + +Back on the solid granite once more, she made a feeble effort to find +one of the cairns, or the tripod, anything that had known the human +touch. But now into her confused senses came the recollection that many +parties climbed McIntyre, and she thought that one such might have +chosen to-day and be somewhere within call. She stood still to listen +for possible voices, but there was no sound, and the bitter air across +the summit made her shrink and tremble. Then she uttered a loud, long, +"Hoo-oo-woo-o!" a call she had learned of mountaineers as a child. She +listened breathlessly for an answer. It was no use. Yet she would call +again--at least it was an effort--a last hope. + +"Hoo-oo-woo-oo!" and again "Hoo-oo-woo-oo!" And then her very pulses +ceased, for somewhere, far away it seemed, from behind that wall of +white her ear caught an answering cry. Once more she called--this time +wildly, with every bit of power she could summon. Once more came the +answering "Hoo-oo-woo-oo!" and now it seemed much nearer. + +She started to run in the direction of the voice, stopping every few +steps to call, and to hear the reassuring reply. She was at the brushy +edge of the summit when through the mist came the words--it was a man's +voice, and it made her heart leap---- + +"Stay where you are! Don't move--I will come to you!" + +She stood still, for in that voice there was a commanding tone which she +was only too eager to obey. She called again and again, but she waited, +and all at once, right in front of her it seemed, the voice said: + +"Well, Conny, it's a good thing I found you. If you had played around +here much longer you might have got wet." + +But Constance was in no mood to take the matter lightly. + +"Frank! Oh, Frank!" she cried, and half running, half reeling forward, +she fell into his arms. + +And then for a little she gave way and sobbed on his shoulder, just as +any girl might have done who had been lost and miserable and had all at +once found the shoulder of a man she loved. Then, brokenly---- + +"Oh, Frank--how did you know I was here?" + +His arm was about her and he was holding her close. But for the rest, he +was determined to treat it lightly. + +"Well, you know," he said, "you made a good deal of noise about it, and +I thought I recognized the tones." + +"But how did you come to set out to look for me? How did you know that I +came? Oh, it was brave of you--in this awful fog and with no guide!" + +She believed, then, that he had set out purposely to search for her. He +would let her think so for the moment. + +"Why, that's nothing," he said; "a little run up the mountain is just +fun for me, and as for fogs, I've always had a weakness for fogs since a +winter in London. I didn't really know you were up here, but that might +be the natural conclusion if you weren't at home, or at the Lodge--after +what happened yesterday, of course." + +"Oh, Frank, forgive me--I was so horrid yesterday." + +"Don't mention it--I didn't give it a second thought." + +"But, Frank--" then suddenly she stopped, for her eye had caught the +basket, and the great fish dangling at his side. "Frank!" she concluded, +"where in the world did you get that enormous trout?" + +It was no use after that, so he confessed and briefly told her the +tale--how it was by accident that he had found her--how he had set out +at daybreak to find the wonderful flower. + +"And haven't you found it either?" he asked, glancing down at her +basket. + +Then, in turn, she told how she had missed the tripod just as the fog +came down and could not get near it again. + +"And oh, I have lost my luncheon, too," she exclaimed, "and you must be +starving. I must have lost it when I fell." + +"Then we'll waste no time in getting home. It's beginning to rain a +little now. We'll be pretty miserable if we stay up here any longer." + +"But the trail--how will you find it in this awful mist?" + +"Well, it should be somewhere to the west, I think, and with the +compass, you see----" + +He had been feeling in a pocket and now stared at her blankly. + +"I am afraid I have lost something, too," he exclaimed, "my compass. I +had it a little while ago and put it in the change pocket of my coat to +have it handy. I suppose the last time I fell down, it slipped out." + +He searched hastily in his other pockets, but to no purpose. + +"Never mind," he concluded, cheerfully. "All ways lead down the +mountain. If we can't find the trail we can at least go down till we +find something. If it's a brook or ravine we'll follow that till we get +somewhere. Anything is better than shivering here." + +They set out in the direction where it seemed to Frank the trail must +lie. Suddenly a tall shape loomed up before them. It was the tripod. + +"Oh!" Constance gasped, "and I hunted for it so long!" + +"Those flowers, or whatever they were, should be over here, I think," +Frank said, and Constance produced a little plan which Robin had given +her. But when in the semi-dusk they groped to the spot only some wet, +blackened pulp remained of the curious growth. The tender flower of the +peak had perhaps bloomed and perished in a day. Frank lamented this +misfortune, but Constance expressed a slighter regret. They made an +effort now to locate the cairns, but with less success. They did not +find even one, and after wandering about for a little could not find the +tripod again, either. + +"Never mind," consoled Frank, "we'll trust a little to instinct. Perhaps +it will lead us to something." In fact, they came presently to the +fringe of scrub-oak, and to what seemed an open way. But Constance shook +her head. + +"I do not think this is the beginning of the trail. I followed just such +an opening, and it led me to that dreadful cliff." + +Perhaps it was the same false lead, for presently an abyss yawned before +them. + +"I shouldn't wonder," speculated Frank, "if this isn't a part of the +cliff that I climbed. If we follow along, it may lead us to the same +place. Then we may be able to make our way over it and down to the river +and so home. It's a long way, but a sure one, if we can only find it." + +They proceeded cautiously along the brink for the light was dim and the +way uncertain. They grew warmer now, for they were away from the bitter +air of the mountain top, and in constant motion. When they had followed +the cliff for perhaps half a mile, Frank suddenly stopped. + +"What is it?" asked Constance, "is this where you climbed up?" + +Her companion only pointed over the brink. + +"Look," he said, "it is not a cliff, here, but one side of a chasm. I +can see trees on the other side." + +Sure enough, dimly through the gloom, not many feet away, appeared the +outline of timber of considerable growth, showing that they had +descended somewhat, also an increased depth of soil. It was further +evident that the cañon was getting narrower, and presently they came +upon two logs, laid across it side by side, forming a sort of bridge. +Frank knelt and examined them closely. + +"Some one has used this," he said. "This may be a trail. Do you think we +can get over, Conny?" + +The girl looked at the narrow crossing and at the darkening woods +beyond. It was that period of stillness and deepening gloom which +precedes a mountain storm. Still early in the day, one might easily +believe that night was descending. Constance shuddered. She was a bit +nervous and unstrung. + +"There is something weird about it," she said. "It is like entering the +enchanted forest. Oh, I can cross well enough--it isn't that," and +stepping lightly on the little footway she walked as steadily and firmly +as did Frank, a moment later. + +"You're a brick, Conny," he said heartily. + +An opening in the bushes at the end of the little bridge revealed +itself. They entered and pushed along, for the way led downward. The +darkness grew momentarily. Rain was beginning to fall. Yet they hurried +on, single file, Frank leading and parting the vines and limbs to make +the way easier for his companion. They came presently to a little open +space, where suddenly he halted. + +"There's a light," he said, "it must be a camp." + +But Constance clung to his arm. It was now quite dark where they stood, +and there came a low roll of thunder overhead. + +"Oh, suppose it is something dreadful!" she whispered--"a robbers' den, +or moonshiners. I've heard of such things." + +"It's more likely to be a witch," said Frank, "or an ogre, but I think +we must risk it." + +The rain came faster and they hurried forward now and presently stood at +the door of a habitation, though even in the mist and gloom it impressed +them as being of a curious sort. There was a window and a light, +certainly, but the window held no sash, and the single opening was +covered with a sort of skin, or parchment. There was a door, too, and +walls, but beyond this the structure seemed as a part of the forest +itself, with growing trees forming the door and corner posts, while +others rose apparently from the roof. Further outlines of this unusual +structure were lost in the dimness. Under the low, sheltering eaves they +hesitated. + +"Shall we knock?" whispered Constance. "It is all so queer--so uncanny. +I feel as if it might be the home of a real witch or magician, or +something like that." + +"Then we may at least learn our fate," Frank answered, and with his +knuckles struck three raps on the heavy door. + +At first there was silence, then a sound of movement within, followed by +a shuffling step. A moment later the heavy door swung ajar, and in the +dim light from within Frank and Constance beheld a tall bowed figure +standing in the opening. In a single brief glance they saw that it was a +man--also that his appearance, like that of his house, was unusual. He +was dressed entirely in skins. His beard was upon his breast, and his +straggling hair fell about his shoulders. He stood wordless, silently +regarding the strangers, and Frank at first was at a loss for utterance. +Then he said, hesitatingly: + +"We missed our way on the mountain. We want shelter from the storm and +directions to the trail that leads to Spruce Lodge." + +Still the tall bent figure in the doorway made no movement and uttered +no word. They could not see his face, but Constance felt that his eyes +were fixed upon her, and she clung closer to Frank's arm. Yet when the +strange householder spoke at last there was nothing to cause fear, +either in his words or tone. His voice was gentle--not much above a +whisper. + +"I crave your pardon if I seem slow of hospitality," he said, quaintly, +"but a visitor seldom comes to my door. Only one other has ever found +his way here, and he comes not often." He pushed the rude door wider on +its creaking withe hinges. "I bid you welcome," he added, then, as +Constance came more fully into the light shed by a burning pine knot and +an open fire, he stopped, stared at her still more fixedly and muttered +something under his breath. But a moment later he said gently, his voice +barely more than a whisper: "I pray you will pardon my staring, but in +that light just now you recalled some one--a woman it was--I used to +know. Besides, I have not been face to face with any woman for nearly a +score of years." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A SHELTER IN THE FOREST + + +Certainly the house of the hermit, for such he undoubtedly was, proved a +remarkable place. There was no regular form to the room in which Frank +and Constance found themselves, nor could they judge as to its size. Its +outlines blended into vague shadows, evidently conforming to the +position of the growing trees which constituted its supports. The walls +were composed of logs of varying lengths, adjusted to the spaces between +the trees, intermingled with stones and smaller branches, the whole +cemented or mud-plastered together in a concrete mass. At the corner of +the fireplace, and used as one end of it, was a larger flat stone, which +became not only a part of the wall but served as a wide shelf or table +within, and this, covered with skins, supported a large wooden bowl of +nuts, a stone hammer somewhat resembling a tomahawk, a few well-worn +books, also a field glass in a leather case, such as tourists use. On a +heavy rustic mantel were numerous bits and tokens of the forest, and +suspended above it, on wooden hooks, was a handsome rifle. On the +hearth below was a welcome blaze, with a heavy wooden settle, wide of +seat, upon which skins were thrown, drawn up comfortably before the +fire. The other furniture in the room consisted of a high-backed +armchair, a wooden table, and what might have been a bench, outlined in +the dimness of a far corner where the ceiling seemed to descend almost +to the ground, and did, in fact, join the top of a low mound which +formed the wall on that side. But what seemed most remarkable in this +singular dwelling-place were the living trees which here and there like +columns supported the roof. The heavy riven shingles and a thatching of +twisted grass had been fitted closely about them above, and the hewn or +puncheon floor was carefully joined around them below. Lower limbs had +been converted into convenient hooks, while attached here and there near +the ceiling were several rustic, nest-like receptacles, showing a fringe +of grass and leaves. As Frank and Constance entered this strange shelter +there had been a light scurrying of shadowy forms, a whisking into these +safe retreats, and now, as the strangers stood in the cheerful glow of +the fire and the sputtering pine-knot, they were regarded not only by +the hermit, but by a score or more of other half-curious, half-timid +eyes that shone bright out of the vague dimness behind. The ghostly +scampering, the shadowy flitting, and a small, subdued chatter from the +dusk enhanced in the minds of the visitors a certain weird impression of +the place and constrained their speech. There was no sensation of fear. +It was only a vague uneasiness, or rather that they felt themselves +harsh and unwarranted intruders upon a habitation and a life in which +they had no part. Their host broke the silence. + +"You must needs pardon the demeanor of my little friends," he said. +"They are unaccustomed to strangers." He indicated the settle, and +added: "Be seated. You are weary, without doubt, and your clothes seem +damp." Then he noticed the basket and the large fish at Frank's belt. "A +fine trout," he said; "I have not seen so large a one for years." + +Frank nodded with an anxious interest. + +"Would you like it?" he asked. "I have a basketful besides, and would it +be possible--could we, I mean, manage to cook a few of them? I am very +hungry, and I am sure my companion, Miss Deane, would like a bite +also." + +Constance had dropped down on the settle, and was leaning toward the +fire--her hands outspread before it. + +"I am famished," she confessed, and added, "oh, and will you let me cook +the fish? I can do it quite well." + +The hermit did not immediately reply to the question. + +"Miss Deane," he mused; "that is your name, then?" + +"Yes, Constance Deane, and this is Mr. Frank Weatherby. We have been +lost on the mountain all day without food. We shall be so thankful if +you will let us prepare something, and will then put us on the trail +that leads to Spruce Lodge." + +The hermit stirred the fire to a brighter blaze and laid on a fresh +piece of wood. + +"That will I do right gladly," he said, "if you will accept my humble +ways. Let me take the basket; I will set about the matter." + +Gladly enough Frank unloosed his burden, and surrendered the big trout +and the basket to his host. As the latter turned away from the fire a +dozen little forms frisked out of the shadows behind and ran over him +lightly, climbing to his shoulders, into his pockets, clinging on to +his curious dress wherever possible--chattering, and still regarding +the strange intruders with bright, inquisitive eyes. They were tiny red +squirrels, it seemed, and their home was here in this nondescript +dwelling with this eccentric man. Suddenly the hermit spoke to them--an +unknown word with queer intonation. In an instant the little bevy of +chatterers leaped away from him, scampering back to their retreats. +Frank, who stood watching, saw a number of them go racing to a tree of +goodly size and disappear into a hole near the floor. + +The hermit turned, smiling a little, and the firelight fell on his face. +For the first time Frank noticed the refinement and delicacy of the +meager features. The hermit said: + +"That is their outlet. The tree is hollow, and there is another opening +above the roof. In winter the birds use it, too." + +He disappeared now into what seemed to be another apartment, shutting a +door behind. Frank dropped down on the settle by Constance, thoroughly +tired, stretched out his legs, and gave himself up to the comfort of the +warm glow. + +"Isn't it all wonderful?" murmured Constance. "It is just a dream, of +course. We are not really here, and I shall wake up presently. I had +just such fancies when I was a child. Perhaps I am still wandering in +that awful mist, and this is the delirium. Oh, are you sure we are +really here?" + +"Quite sure," said Frank. "And it seems just a matter of course to me. I +have known all along that this wood was full of mysteries--enchantments, +and hermits, and the like. Probably there are many such things if we +knew where to look for them." + +The girl's voice dropped still lower. + +"How quaintly he talks. It is as if he had stepped out of some old +book." + +Frank nodded toward the stone shelf by the fire. + +"He lives chiefly in books, I fancy, having had but one other visitor." + +The young man lifted one of the worn volumes and held it to the light. +It was a copy of Shakespeare's works--a thick book, being a complete +edition of the plays. He laid it back tenderly. + +"He dwells with the men and women of the master," he said, softly. + +There followed a little period of silence, during which they drank in +the cheer and comfort of the blazing hearth. Outside, the thunder +rolled heavily now and then, and the rain beat against the door. What +did it matter? They were safe and sheltered, and together. Constance +asked presently: "What time is it?" And, looking at his watch, Frank +replied: + +"A little after three. An hour ago we were wandering up there in the +mist. It seems a year since then, and a lifetime since I took that big +trout." + +"It is ages since I started this morning," mused Constance. "Yet we +divide each day into the same measurements, and by the clock it is only +a little more than six hours." + +"It is nine since I left the Lodge," reflected Frank, "after a very +light and informal breakfast at the kitchen door. Yes, I am willing to +confess that such time should not be measured in the ordinary way." + +There was a sharper crash of thunder and a heavier gust of rain. Then a +fierce downpour that came to them in a steady, muffled roar. + +"When shall we get home?" Constance asked, anxiously. + +"We won't worry, now. Likely this is only a shower. It will not take +long to get down the mountain, once we're in the trail, and it's light, +you know, until seven." + +The door behind was pushed open and the hermit re-entered. He bore a +flat stone and a wooden bowl, and knelt down with them before the fire. +The glowing embers he heaped together and with the aid of a large pebble +set the flat stone at an angle before them. Then from the wooden bowl he +emptied a thick paste of coarse meal upon the baking stone, and smoothed +it with a wooden paddle. + +Rising he said: + +"I fear my rude ways will not appetize you, but I can only offer you +what cheer I have." + +The aroma of the cooking meal began to fill the room. + +"Please don't apologize," pleaded Constance. "My only hope is that I can +restrain myself until the food is ready." + +"I'll ask you to watch the bread for a moment," the hermit said, turning +the stone a little. + +"And if I let it burn you may punish me as the goodwife did King +Alfred," answered Constance. Then a glow came into her cheeks that was +not all of the fire, for the man's eyes--they were deep, burning +eyes--were fixed upon her, and he seemed to hang on her every word. Yet +he smiled without replying, and again disappeared. + +"Conny," admonished Frank, "if you let anything happen to that cake I'll +eat the stone." + +So they watched the pone carefully, turning it now and then, though the +embers glowed very hot and a certain skill was necessary. + +The hermit returned presently with a number of the trout dressed, and +these were in a frying-pan that had a long wooden handle, which +Constance and Frank held between them, while their host installed two +large potatoes in the hot ashes. Then he went away for a little and +placed some things on the table in the middle of the room, returning now +and then to superintend matters. And presently the fish and the cakes +and the potatoes were ready, and the ravenous wanderers did not wait to +be invited twice to partake of them. The thunder still rolled at +intervals and the rain still beat at the door, but they did not heed. +Within, the cheer, if not luxurious, was plenteous and grateful. The +table furnishings were rude and chiefly of home make. But the guests +were young, strong of health and appetite, and no king's table could +have supplied goodlier food. Oh, never were there such trout as those, +never such baked potatoes, nor never such hot, delicious hoecake. And +beside each plate stood a bowl of fruit--berries--delicious fresh +raspberries of the hills. + +Presently their host poured a steaming liquid into each of the empty +cups by their plates. + +"Perhaps you will not relish my tea," he said, "but it is soothing and +not harmful. It is drawn from certain roots and herbs I have gathered, +and it is not ill-tasting. Here is sweet, also; made from the maple +tree." + +An aromatic odor arose from the cups, and, when Constance tasted the +beverage and added a lump of the sugar, she declared the result +delicious--a decision in which Frank willingly concurred. + +The host himself did not join the feast, and presently fell to cooking +another pan of trout. It was a marvel how they disappeared. Even the +squirrels came out of their hiding places to witness this wonderful +feasting, a few bolder ones leaping upon the table, as was their wont, +to help themselves from a large bowl of cracked nuts. And all this +delighted the visitors. Everything was so extraordinary, so simple and +near to nature, so savoring of the romance of the old days. This wide, +rambling room with its recesses lost in the shadows; the low, dim roof +supported by its living columns; the glowing fireplace and the blazing +knot; the wild pelts scattered here and there, and the curious skin-clad +figure in the firelight--certainly these were things to stir +delightfully the heart of youth, to set curious fancies flitting through +the brain. + +"Oh," murmured Constance, "I wish we might stay in a place like this +forever!" Then, reddening, added hastily, "I mean--I mean----" + +"Yes," agreed Frank, "I mean that, too--and I wish just the same. We +could have fish every day, and such hoecake, and this nice tea, and I +would pick berries like these, and you could gather mushrooms. And we +would have squirrels to amuse us, and you would read to me, and perhaps +I should write poems of the hills and the storms and the haunted woods, +and we could live so close to nature and drink so deeply of its ever +renewing youth that old age could not find us, and we should live on and +on and be always happy--happy ever after." + +The girl's hand lay upon the table, and when his heavier palm closed +over it she did not draw it away. + +"I can almost love you when you are like this," she whispered. + +"And if I am always like this----?" + +They spoke very low, and the hermit sat in the high-back chair, bowed +and staring into the blaze. Yet perhaps something of what they said +drifted to his ear--perhaps it was only old and troubling memories +stirring within him that caused him to rise and walk back and forth +before the fire. + +His guests had finished now, and they came back presently to the big, +deep settle, happy in the comfort of plenteous food, the warmth and the +cosy seat, and the wild unconvention of it all. The beat of the rain did +not trouble them. Secretly they were glad of any excuse for remaining by +the hermit's hearth. + +Their host did not appear to notice them at first, but paced a turn up +and down, then seated himself in the high-backed chair and gazed into +the embers. A bevy of the little squirrels crept up and scaled his knees +and shoulders, but with that curious note of warning he sent them +scampering. The pine knot sputtered low and he tossed it among the +coals, where it renewed its blaze. For a time there was silence, with +only the rain sobbing at the door. Then by and by--very, very softly, +as one who muses aloud--he spoke: "I, too, have had my dreams--dreams +which were ever of happiness for me--and for another; happiness that +would not end, yet which was to have no more than its rare beginning. + +"That was a long time ago--as many as thirty years, maybe. I have kept +but a poor account of time, for what did it matter here?" + +He turned a little to Constance. + +"Your face and voice, young lady, bring it all back now, and stir me to +speak of it again--the things of which I have spoken to no one +before--not even to Robin." + +"To Robin!" The words came involuntarily from Constance. + +"Yes, Robin Farnham, now of the Lodge. He found his way here once, just +as you did. It was in his early days on the mountains, and he came to me +out of a white mist, just as you came, and I knew him for her son." + +Constance started, but the words on her lips were not uttered. + +"I knew him for her son," the hermit continued, "even before he told me +his name, for he was her very picture, and his voice--the voice of a +boy--was her voice. He brought her back to me--he made her live +again--here, in this isolated spot, even as she had lived in my +dreams--even as a look in your face and a tone in your voice have made +her live for me again to-day." + +There was something in the intensity of the man's low speech, almost +more than in what he said, to make the listener hang upon his words. +Frank, who had drawn near Constance, felt that she was trembling, and he +laid his hand firmly over hers, where it rested on the seat beside him. + +"Yet I never told him," the voice went on, "I never told Robin that I +knew him--I never spoke his mother's name. For I had a fear that it +might sadden him--that the story might send him away from me. And I +could have told nothing unless I told it all, and there was no need. So +I spoke to him no word of her, and I pledged him to speak to no one of +me. For if men knew, the curious would come and I would never have my +life the same again. So I made him promise, and after that first time he +came as he chose. And when he is here she who was a part of my happy +dream lives again in him. And to you I may speak of her, for to you it +does not matter, and it is in my heart now, when my days are not many, +to recall old dreams." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE HERMIT'S STORY + + +The hermit paused and gazed into the bed of coals on the hearth. His +listeners waited without speaking. Constance did not move--scarcely did +she breathe. + +"As I said, it may have been thirty years ago," the gentle voice +continued. "It may have been more than that--I do not know. It was on +the Sound shore, in one of the pretty villages there--it does not matter +which. + +"I lived with my uncle in the adjoining village. Both my parents were +dead--he was my guardian. In the winter, when the snow fell, there was +merry-making between these villages. We drove back and forth in sleighs, +and there were nights along the Sound when the moon path followed on the +water and the snow, and all the hills were white, and the bells jingled, +and hearts were gay and young. + +"It was on such a night that I met her who was to become Robin's mother. +The gathering was in our village that night, and, being very young, she +had come as one of a merry sleighful. Half way to our village their +sleigh had broken down, and the merry makers had gayly walked the +remainder, trusting to our hospitality to return them to their homes. I +was one of those to welcome them and to promise conveyance, and so it +was that I met her, and from that moment there was nothing in all the +world for me but her." + +The hermit lifted his eyes from the fire and looked at Constance. + +"My girl," he said, "there are turns of your face and tones of your +voice that carry me back to that night. But Robin, when he first came +here to my door, a stripling, he was her very self. + +"I recall nothing of that first meeting but her. I saw nothing but her. +I think we danced--we may have played games--it did not matter. There +was nothing for me but her face. When it was over, I took her in my +cutter and we drove together across the snow--along the moonlit shore. I +do not remember what we said, but I think it was very little. There was +no need. When I parted from her that night the heritage of eternity was +ours--the law that binds the universe was our law, and the morning stars +sang together as I drove homeward across the hills. + +"That winter and no more holds my happiness. Yet if all eternity holds +no more for me than that, still have I been blest as few have been +blest, and if I have paid the price and still must pay, then will I pay +with gladness, feeling only that the price of heaven is still too small, +and eternity not too long for my gratitude." + +The hermit's voice had fallen quite to a whisper, and he was as one who +muses aloud upon a scene rehearsed times innumerable. Yet in the +stillness of that dim room every syllable was distinct, and his +listeners waited, breathless, at each pause for him to continue. Into +Frank's eyes had come the far-away look of one who follows in fancy an +old tale, but the eyes of Constance shone with an eager light and her +face was tense and white against the darkness. + +"It was only that winter. When the spring came and the wild apple was in +bloom, and my veins were all a-tingle with new joy, I went one day to +tell her father of our love. Oh, I was not afraid. I have read of +trembling lovers and halting words. For me the moments wore laggingly +until he came, and then I overflowed like any other brook that breaks +its dam in spring. + +"And he--he listened, saying not a single word; but as I talked his +eyes fell, and I saw tears gather under his lids. Then at last they +rolled down his cheeks and he bowed his head and wept. And then I did +not speak further, but waited, while a dread that was cold like death +grew slow upon me. When he lifted his head he came and sat by me and +took my hand. 'My boy,' he said, 'your father was my friend. I held his +hand when he died, and a year later I followed your mother to her grave. +You were then a little blue-eyed fellow, and my heart was wrung for you. +It was not that you lacked friends, or means, for there were enough of +both. But, oh, my boy, there was another heritage! Have they not told +you? Have you never learned that both your parents were stricken in +their youth by that scourge of this coast--that fever which sets a +foolish glow upon the cheek while it lays waste the life below and fills +the land with early graves? Oh, my lad! you do not want my little +girl.'" + +The hermit's voice died, and he seemed almost to forget his listeners. +But all at once he fixed his eyes on Constance as if he would burn her +through. + +"Child," he said, "as you look now, so she looked in the moment of our +parting. Her eyes were like yours, and her face, God help me! as I saw +it through the dark that last night, was as your face is now. Then I +went away. I do not remember all the places, but they were in many +lands, and were such places as men seek who carry my curse. I never +wrote--I never saw her, face to face, again. + +"When I returned her father was dead, and she was married--to a good +man, they told me--and there was a child that bore my name, Robin, for I +had been called Robin Gray. And then there came a time when a stress was +upon the land--when fortunes tottered and men walked the streets with +unseeing eyes--when his wealth and then hers vanished like smoke in the +wind--when my own patrimony became but worthless paper--a mockery of +scrolled engravings and gaudy seals. To me it did not matter--nothing +matters to one doomed. To them it was shipwreck. John Farnham, a +high-strung, impetuous man, was struck down. The tension of those weeks, +and the final blow, broke his spirit and undermined his strength. They +had only a pittance and a little cottage in these mountains, which they +had used as a camp for summer time. It stood then where it stands +to-day, on the North Elba road, in view of this mountain top. There +they came in the hope that Robin's father might regain health to renew +the fight. There they remained, for the father had lost courage and only +found a little health by tilling the few acres of ground about the +cottage. There, that year, a second child--a little girl--was born." + +It had grown very still in the hermitage. There was only a drip of the +rain outside--the thunder had rolled away. The voice, too, ceased for a +little, as if from weariness. The others made no sign, but it seemed to +Frank that the hand locked closely in his had become quite cold. + +"The word of those things drifted to me," so the tale went on, "and it +made me sad that with my own depleted fortune and failing health I could +do nothing for their comfort or relief. But one day my physician said to +me that the air and the altitude of these mountains had been found +beneficial for those stricken like me. He could not know how his words +made my heart beat. Now, indeed, there was a reason for my coming--an +excuse for being near her--with a chance of seeing her, it might be, +though without her knowledge. For I decided that she must not know. +Already she had enough burden without the thought that I was +near--without the sight of my doleful, wasting features. + +"So I sold the few belongings that were still mine--such things as I had +gathered in my wanderings--my books, save those I loved most dearly--my +furnishings, my ornaments, even to my apparel--and with the money I +bought the necessaries of mountain life--implements, rough wear and a +store of food. These, with a tent, my gun, the few remaining volumes, +and my field glass--the companion of all my travels--I brought to the +hills." + +He pointed to the glass and the volumes lying on the stone at his hand. + +"Those have been my life," he went on. "The books have brought me a +world wherein there was ever a goodly company, suited to my mood. For +me, in that world, there are no disappointments nor unfulfilled dreams. +King, lover, courtier and clown--how often at my bidding have they +trooped out of the shadows to gather with me about this hearth! Oh, I +should have been poor indeed without the books! Yet the glass has been +to me even more, for it brought me her. + +"I have already told you that their cottage could be seen from this +mountain top. I learned this when I came stealthily to the hills and +sought out their home, and some spot amid the overhanging peaks where I +might pitch my camp and there unseen look down upon her life. This is +the place I found. I had my traps borne up the trail to the foot of the +little fall, as if I would camp there. Then when the guides were gone I +carried them here, and reared my small establishment, away from the +track of hunters, on this high finger of rock which commanded the valley +and her home. There is a spring here and a bit of fertile land. It was +State land and free, and I pitched my tent here, and that summer I +cleared an open space for tillage and built a hut for the winter. The +sturdy labor and the air of the hills strengthened my arm and renewed my +life. But there was more than that. For often there came a clear day, +when the air was like crystal and other peaks drew so near that it +seemed one might reach out and stroke them with his hand. On such a day, +with my glass, I sought a near-by point where the mountain's elbow +jutted out into the sky, and when from that high vantage I gazed down on +the roof which covered her, my soul was filled with strength to tarry +on. For distance became as nothing to my magic glass. Three miles it +may be as the crow flies, but I could bring the tiny cottage and the +door-yard, as it stood there at the turn of the road above the little +hill, so close to me that it seemed to lie almost at my very feet." + +Again the speaker rested for a moment, but presently the tale went on. + +"You can never know what I felt when I first saw _her_. I had watched +for her often, and I think she had been ill. I had seen him come and go, +and sometimes I had seen a child--Robin it was--playing about the yard. +But one day when I had gone to my point of lookout and had directed my +glass--there, just before me, she stood. There she lived and moved--she +who had been, who was still my life--who had filled my being with a love +that made me surrender her to another, yet had lured me at last to this +lonely spot, forever away from men, only that I might now and again gaze +down across the tree tops, and all unseen, unknown to her, make her the +companion of my hermit life. + +"She walked slowly and the child walked with her, holding her hand. When +presently she looked toward me, I started and shrank, forgetting for the +moment that she could not see me. Not that I could distinguish her +features at such a range, only her dear outline, but in my mind's eyes +her face was there before me just as I had seen it that last time--just +as I have seen yours in the firelight." + +He turned to Constance, whose features had become blurred in the +shadows. Frank felt her tremble and caught the sound of a repressed sob. +He knew the tears were streaming down her cheeks, and his own eyes were +not dry. + +"After that I saw her often, and sometimes the infant, Robin's sister, +was in her arms. When the autumn came, and the hills were glorified, and +crowned with snow, she stood many times in the door-yard to behold their +wonder. When at last the leaves fell, and the trees were bare, I could +watch even from the door of my little hut. The winter was long--the +winter is always long up here--from November almost till May--but it did +not seem long to me, when she was brought there to my door, even though +I might not speak to her. + +"And so I lived my life with her. The life in that cottage became my +life--day by day, week by week, year by year--and she never knew. After +that first summer I never but once left the mountain top. All my wants +I supplied here. There was much game of every sort, and the fish near by +were plentiful. I had a store of meal for the first winter, and during +the next summer I cultivated my bit of cleared ground, and produced my +full need of grain and vegetables and condiments. One trip I made to a +distant village for seeds, and from that day never left the mountain +again. + +"It was during the fifth winter, I think, after I came here, that a +group of neighbors gathered in the door-yard of the cottage, and my +heart stood still, for I feared that she was dead. The air dazzled that +day, but when near evening I saw a woman with a hand to each child +re-enter the little house I knew that she still lived--and had been left +alone. + +"Oh, then my heart went out to her! Day and night I battled with the +impulse to go to her, with love and such comfort and protection as I +could give. Time and again I rose and made ready for the journey to her +door. Then, oh, then I would remember that I had nothing to offer +her--nothing but my love. Penniless, and a dying man, likely to become a +helpless burden at any time, what could I bring to her but added grief. +And perhaps in her unconscious heart she knew. For more than once that +winter, when the trees were stripped and the snow was on the hills, I +saw her gaze long and long toward this mountain, as if she saw the speck +my cabin made, and once when I stretched my arms out to her across the +waste of deadly cold, I saw a moment later that her arms, too, were +out-stretched, as if somehow she knew that I was there." + +A low moan interrupted the tale. It was from Constance. + +"Don't, oh, don't," she sobbed. "You break my heart!" But a moment later +she added, brokenly, "Yes, yes--tell me the rest. Tell me all. Oh, she +was so lonely! Why did you never go to her?" + +"I would have gone then. I went mad and cried out, 'My wife! my wife! I +want my wife!' And I would have rushed down into the drifts of the +mountain, but in that moment the curse of my heritage fell heavily upon +me and left me powerless." + +The hermit's voice had risen--it trembled and died away with the final +words. In the light of the fading embers only his outline could be +seen--wandering into the dusk and silence. When he spoke again his tone +was low and even. + +"And so the years went by. I saw the sturdy lad toil with his mother for +a while, and then alone, and I knew by her slow step that the world was +slipping from her grasp. I did not see the end. I might have gone, then, +but it came at a time when the gloom hung on the mountains and I did not +know. When the air cleared and for days I saw no life, I knew that the +little house was empty--that she had followed him to rest. They two, +whose birthright had been health and length of days, both were gone, +while I, who from the cradle had made death my bed-fellow, still +lingered and still linger through the years. + +"I put the magic glass aside after that for my books. Nothing was left +me but my daily round, with them for company. Yet from a single volume I +have peopled all the woods about, and every corner of my habitation. +Through this forest of Arden I have walked with Orlando, and with him +hung madrigals on the trees, half believing that Rosalind might find +them. With Nick the Weaver on a moonlit bank I have waited for Titania +and Puck and all that lightsome crew. On the wild mountain top I have +met Lear, wandering with only a fool for company, and I have led them in +from the storm and warmed them at this hearthstone. In that recess Romeo +has died with Juliet in the Capulets' tomb. With me at that table Jack +Falstaff and Prince Hal have crossed their wit and played each the rôle +of king. Yonder, beneath the dim eaves, in the moment just before you +came, Macbeth had murdered Duncan, and I saw him cravenly vanish at the +sound of your fearsome knocking. + +"But what should all this be to you? It is but my shadow world--the only +world I had until one day, out of the mist as you have come, so Robin +came to me--her very self, it seemed--from heaven. At first it lay in my +heart to tell him. But the fear of losing him held me back, as I have +said. And of himself he told me as little. Rarely he referred to the +past. Only once, when I spoke of kindred, he said that he was an orphan, +with only a sister, who had found a home with kind people in a distant +land. And with this I was content, for I had wondered much concerning +the little girl." + +The voice died away. The fire had become ashes on the hearth. The drip +of the rain had ceased--light found its way through the +parchment-covered window. The storm had passed. The hermit's story was +ended. + +Neither Constance nor Frank found words, and for a time their host +seemed to have forgotten their presence. Then, arousing, he said: + +"You will wish to be going now. I have detained you too long with my sad +tale. But I have always hungered to pour it into some human ear before I +died. Being young, you will quickly forget and be merry again, and it +has lifted a heaviness from my spirit. I think we shall find the sun on +the hills once more, and I will direct you to the trail. But perhaps you +will wish to pause a moment to see something of my means of providing +for life in this retreat. I will ask of you, as I did of Robin, to say +nothing of my existence here to the people of the world. Yet you may +convey to Robin that you have been here--saying no more than that. And +you may say that I would see him when next he builds his campfire not +far away, for my heart of hearts grows hungry for his face." + +Rising, he led them to the adjoining room. + +"This was my first hut," he said. "It is now my storehouse, where, like +the squirrels, I gather for the winter. I hoard my grain here, and +there is a pit below where I keep my other stores from freezing. There +in the corner is my mill--the wooden mortar and pestle of our +forefathers--and here you see I have provided for my water supply from +the spring. Furs have renewed my clothing, and I have never wanted for +sustenance--chiefly nuts, fruits and vegetables. I no longer kill the +animals, but have made them my intimate friends. The mountains have +furnished me with everything--companions, shelter, clothing and food, +savors--even salt, for just above a deer lick I found a small trickle +from which I have evaporated my supply. Year by year I have added to my +house--making it, as you have seen, a part of the forest itself--that it +might be less discoverable; though chiefly because I loved to build +somewhat as the wild creatures build, to know the intimate companionship +of the living trees, and to be with the birds and squirrels as one of +their household." + +They passed out into the open air, and to a little plot of cultivated +ground shut in by the thick forest. It was an orderly garden, with +well-kept paths, and walks of old-fashioned posies. + +Bright and fresh after the summer rain, it was like a gay jewel, set +there on the high mountain side, close to the bending sky. + +It was near sunset, and a chorus of birds were shouting in the tree +tops. Coming from the dim cabin, with its faded fire and its story of +human sorrow, into this bright living place, was stepping from +enchantment of the play into the daylight of reality. Frank praised the +various wonders in a subdued voice, while Constance found it difficult +to speak at all. Presently, when they were ready to go, the hermit +brought the basket and the large trout. + +"You must take so fine a prize home," he said. "I do not care for it." +Then he looked steadily at Constance and added: "The likeness to her I +loved eludes me by daylight. It must have been a part of my shadows and +my dreams." + +Constance lifted her eyes tremblingly to the thin, fine, weather-beaten +face before her. In spite of the ravage of years and illness she saw, +beneath it all, the youth of long ago, and she realized what he had +suffered. + +"I thank you for what you have told us to-day," she said, almost +inaudibly. "It shall be--it is--very sacred to me." + +"And to me," echoed Frank, holding out his hand. + +He led them down the steep hillside by a hidden way to the point where +the trail crossed the upper brook, just below the fall. + +"I have sometimes lain concealed here," he said, "and heard mountain +climbers go by. Perhaps I caught a glimpse of them. I suppose it is the +natural hunger one has now and then for his own kind." A moment later he +had grasped their hands, bidden them a fervent godspeed, and disappeared +into the bushes. The sun was already dipping behind the mountain tops +and they did not linger, but rapidly and almost in silence made their +way down the mountain. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +DURING THE ABSENCE OF CONSTANCE + + +Yet the adventure on the mountain was not without its ill effects. It +happened that day that Mr. and Mrs. Deane had taken one of their rare +walks over to Spruce Lodge. They had arrived early after luncheon, and +learning that Frank and Constance had not been seen there during the +morning, Mrs. Deane had immediately assured herself that dire misfortune +had befallen the absent ones. + +The possibility of their having missed their way was the most temperate +of her conclusions. She had visions of them lying maimed and dying at +the foot of some fearful precipice; she pictured them being assailed by +wild beasts; she imagined them tasting of some strange mushroom and +instantly falling dead as a result. Fortunately, the guide who had seen +Frank set out alone was absent. Had the good lady realized that +Constance might be alone in a forest growing dark with a coming storm, +her condition might have become even more serious. + +As it was, the storm came down and held the Deanes at the Lodge for the +afternoon, during which period Mr. Deane, who was not seriously +disturbed by the absence of the young people, endeavored to convince his +wife that it was more than likely they had gone directly to the camp and +would be there when the storm was over. + +The nervous mother was far from reassured, and was for setting out +immediately through the rain to see. It became a trying afternoon for +her comforters, and the lugubrious croaking of the small woman in black +and the unflagging optimism of Miss Carroway, as the two wandered from +group to group throughout the premises, gave the episode a general +importance of which it was just as well that the wanderers did not know. + +Yet the storm proved an obliging one to Frank and Constance, for the sun +was on the mountain long before the rain had ceased below, and as they +made straight for the Deane camp they arrived almost as soon as Mrs. +Deane herself, who, bundled in waterproofs and supported by her husband +and an obliging mountain climber, had insisted on setting out the moment +the rain ceased. + +It was a cruel blow not to find the missing ones at the moment of +arrival, and even their prompt appearance, in full health and with no +tale of misfortune, but only the big trout and a carefully prepared +story of being confused in the fog but safely sheltered in the forest, +did not fully restore her. She was really ill next day, and carried +Constance off for a week to Lake Placid, where she could have medical +attention close at hand and keep her daughter always in sight. + +It began by being a lonely week for Frank, for he had been commanded by +Constance not to come to Lake Placid, and to content himself with +sending occasional brief letters--little more than news bulletins, in +fact. Yet presently he became less forlorn. He went about with a +preoccupied look that discouraged the attentions of Miss Carroway. For +the most part he spent his mornings at the Lodge, in his room. +Immediately after luncheon he usually went for an extended walk in the +forest, sometimes bringing up at the Deane camp, where perhaps he dined +with Mr. Deane, a congenial spirit, and remained for a game of cribbage, +the elder man's favorite diversion. Once Frank set out to visit the +hermitage, but thought better of his purpose, deciding that Constance +might wish to accompany him there on her return. One afternoon he spent +following a trout brook and returned with a fine creel of fish, though +none so large as the monster of that first day. + +Robin Farnham was absent almost continuously during this period, and +Edith Morrison Frank seldom saw, for the last weeks in August brought +the height of the season, and the girl's duties were many and +imperative. There came no opportunity for the talk he had meant to have +with her, and as she appeared always pleasant of manner, only a little +thoughtful--and this seemed natural with her responsibilities--he +believed that, like himself, she had arrived at a happier frame of mind. + +And certainly the young man was changed. There was a new light in his +eyes, and it somehow spoke a renewed purpose in his heart. Even his step +and carriage were different. When he went swinging through the forest +alone it was with his head thrown back, and sometimes with his arms +outspread he whistled and sang to the marvelous greenery above and about +him. And he could sing. Perhaps his was not a voice that would win fame +or fortune for its possessor, but there was in it a note of ecstasy +which answered back to the call of the birds, to the shout or moan of +the wind, to every note of the forest--that was, in fact, a tone in the +deep chord of nature, a lilt in the harmony of the universe. + +He forgot that his soul had ever been asleep. A sort of child frenzy for +the mountains, such as Constance had echoed to him that wild day in +March, grew upon him and possessed him, and he did not pause to remember +that it ever had been otherwise. When the storm came down from the +peaks, he strode out into it, and shouted his joy in its companionship, +and raced with the wind, and threw himself face down in the wet leaves +to smell the ground. And was it no more than the happiness of a lover +who believes himself beloved that had wrought this change, or was there +in this renewal of the mad joy of living the reopening and the flow of +some deep and half-forgotten spring? + +From that day on the mountain he had not been the same. That morning +with its new resolve; the following of the brook which had led him back +to boyhood; the capture of the great trout; the battle with the mountain +and the mist; the meeting with Constance at the top; the hermit's cabin +with its story of self-denial and abnegation--its life so close to the +very heart of nature, so far from idle pleasure and luxury--with that +eventful day had come the change. + +In his letters to Constance, Frank did not speak of these things. He +wrote of his walks, it is true, and he told her of his day's +fishing--also of his visits to her father at the camp--but of any change +or regeneration in himself, any renewal of old dreams and effort, he +spoke not at all. + +The week lengthened before Constance returned, though it was clear from +her letters that she was disinclined to linger at a big conventional +hotel, when so much of the summer was slipping away in her beloved +forest. From day to day they had expected to leave, she wrote, but as +Mrs. Deane had persuaded herself that the Lake Placid practitioner had +acquired some new and subtle understanding of nerve disorders, they were +loath to hurry. The young lady ventured a suggestion that Mr. Weatherby +was taking vast comfort in his freedom from the duties and +responsibilities of accompanying a mushroom enthusiast in her daily +rambles, especially a very exacting young person, with a predilection +for trying new kinds upon him, and for seeking strange and semi-mythical +specimens, peculiar to hazy and lofty altitudes. + +"I am really afraid I shall have to restrain my enthusiasm," she wrote +in one of these letters. "I am almost certain that Mamma's improvement +and desire to linger here are largely due to her conviction that so long +as I am here you are safe from the baleful Amanita, not to mention +myself. Besides, it is a little risky, sometimes, and one has to know a +very great deal to be certain. I have had a lot of time to study the +book here, and have attended a few lectures on the subject. Among other +things I have learned that certain Amanitas are not poison, even when +they have the cup. One in particular that I thought deadly is not only +harmless, but a delicacy which the Romans called 'Cĉsar's mushroom,' and +of which one old epicure wrote, 'Keep your corn, O Libya--unyoke your +oxen, provided only you send us mushrooms.'" She went on to set down the +technical description from the text-book and a simple rule for +distinguishing the varieties, adding, "I don't suppose you will gather +any before my return--you would hardly risk such a thing without my +superior counsel--but should you do so, keep the rule in mind. It is +taken word for word from the book, so if anything happens to you while I +am gone, either you or the book will be to blame--not I. When I come +back--if I ever do--I mean to try at least a sample of that epicurean +delight, which one old authority called 'food of the gods,' provided I +can find any of them growing outside of that gruesome 'Devil's Garden.'" + +Frank gave no especial attention to this portion of her letter. His +interest in mushrooms was confined chiefly to the days when Constance +could be there to expatiate on them in person. + +In another letter she referred to their adventure on the mountain, and +to the fact that Frank would be likely to see Robin before her return. + +"You may tell Robin Farnham," she said, "about our visit to the hermit, +and of the message he sent. Robin may be going in that direction very +soon, and find time to stop there. Of course you will be careful not to +let anything slip about the tale he told us. I am sure it would make no +difference, but I know you will agree with me that his wishes should be +sacred. Dear me, what a day that was, and how I did love that wonderful +house! Here, among all these people, in this big modern hotel, it seems +that it must have been all really enchantment. Perhaps you and Robin +could make a trip up there together. I know, if there truly is a +hermit, he will be glad to see you again. I wonder if he would like to +see _me_ again. I brought up all those sad memories. Poor old man! My +sympathy for him is deeper than you can guess." + +It happened that Robin returned to the Lodge that same afternoon. A +little later Frank found him in the guide's cabin, and recounted to him +his recent adventures with Constance on the mountain--how they had +wandered at last to the hermitage, adding the message which their host +had sent to Robin himself. + +The guide listened reflectively, as was his habit. Then he said: + +"It seems curious that you should have been lost up there, just as I was +once, and that you should have drifted to the same place. You took a +little different path from mine. I followed the chasm to the end, while +you crossed on the two logs which the old fellow and I put there +afterward to save me time. I usually have to make short visits, because +few parties care to stay on McIntyre over night, and it's only now and +then that I can get away at all. I have been thinking about the old chap +a good deal lately, but I'm afraid it would mean a special trip just +now, and it would be hard to find a day for that." + +"I will arrange it," said Frank. "In fact, I have already done so. I +spoke to Morrison this morning, and engaged you for a day as soon as you +got in. I want to make another trip up the mountain, myself. We'll go +to-morrow morning--directly to the cabin--and I'll see that you have +plenty of time for a good visit. What I want most is another look around +the place itself and its surroundings. I may want to construct a place +like that some day--in imagination, at least." + +So it was arranged that the young men should visit the hermitage +together. They set out early next morning, following the McIntyre trail +to the point below the little fall where the hermit had bidden good-by +to mankind so many years before. Here they turned aside and ascended the +cliff by the hidden path, presently reaching the secluded and isolated +spot where the lonely, stricken man had established his domain. + +As they drew near the curious dwelling, which because of its +construction was scarcely noticeable until they were immediately upon +it, they spoke in lowered voices, and presently not at all. It seemed +to them, too, that there was a hush about the spot which they had not +noticed elsewhere. Frank recalled the chorus of birds which had filled +the little garden with song, and wondered at their apparent absence now. +The sun was bright, the sky above was glorious, the gay posies along the +garden paths were as brilliant as before, but so far as he could see and +hear, the hermit's small neighbors and companions had vanished. + +"There is a sort of Sunday quiet about it," whispered Frank. "Perhaps +the old fellow is out for a ramble, and has taken his friends with him." +Then he added, "I'll wait here while you go in. If he's there, stay and +have your talk with him while I wander about the place a little. Later, +if he doesn't mind, I will come in." + +Frank directed his steps toward the little garden and let his eyes +wander up and down among the beds which the hermit had planted. It was +late summer now, and many of the things were already ripening. In a +little more the blackening frost would come and the heavy snow drift in. +What a strange life it had been there, winter and summer, with only +nature and a pageantry of dreams for companionship. There must have +been days when, like the Lady of Shalott, he had cried out, "I am sick +of shadows!" and it may have been on such days that he had watched by +the trail to hear and perhaps to see real men and women. And when the +helplessness of very old age should come--what then? Within his mind +Frank had a half-formed plan to persuade the hermit to return to the +companionship of men. There were many retreats now in these +hills--places where every comfort and the highest medical skill could be +obtained for patients such as he. Frank had conceived the idea of +providing for the hermit's final days in some such home, and he had +partly confided his plan to Robin as they had followed the trail +together. Robin, if anybody, could win the old fellow to the idea. + +There came the sound of a step on the path behind. The young man, +turning, faced Robin. There was something in the latter's countenance +that caused Frank to regard him searchingly. + +"He is not there, then?" + +"No, he is not there." + +"He will be back soon, of course." + +But Robin shook his head, and said with gentle gravity: + +"No, he will not be back. He has journeyed to a far country." + +Together they passed under the low eaves and entered the curious +dwelling. Light came through the open door and the parchment-covered +window. In the high-backed chair before the hearth the hermit sat, his +chin dropped forward on his breast. His years of exile were ended. All +the heart-yearning and loneliness had slipped away. He had become one +with the shadows among which he had dwelt so long. + +Nor was there any other life in the room. As the birds outside had +vanished, so the flitting squirrels had departed--who shall say whither? +Yet the change had come but recently--perhaps on that very morning--for +though the fire had dropped to ashes on the hearth, a tiny wraith of +smoke still lingered and drifted waveringly up the chimney. + +The intruders moved softly about the room without speaking. Presently +Frank beckoned to Robin, and pointed to something lying on the table. It +was a birch-bark envelope, and in a dark ink, doubtless made from some +root or berry, was addressed to Robin. The guide opened it and, taking +it to the door, read: + + MY DEAR BOY ROBIN: + + I have felt of late that my time is very near. It is likely that I + shall see you no more in this world. It is my desire, therefore, to + set down my wishes here while I yet have strength. They are but + few, for a life like mine leaves not many desires behind it. + + It is my wish that such of my belongings as you care to preserve + should be yours. They are of little value, but perhaps the field + glass and the books may in future years recall the story in which + they have been a part. In a little chest you will find some other + trifles--a picture or two, some papers that were once valuable to + those living in the world of men, some old letters. All that is + there, all that is mine and all the affection that lingers in my + heart, are yours. Yet I must not forget the little girl who was + once your sister. If it chance that you meet her again, and if when + she knows my story she will care for any memento of this lonely + life, you may place some trifle in her hands. + + It was my story that I had chiefly meant to set down for you, for + it is nearer to your own than you suppose. But now, only a few days + since, out of my heart I gave it to those who were here and who, + perhaps, ere this, have given you my message to come. A young man + and a woman they were, and their happiness together led me to speak + of old days and of a happiness that was mine. The girl's face + stirred me strangely, and I spoke to her fully, as I have long + wished, yet feared, to speak to you. You will show her this letter, + and she will repeat to you all the tale which I no longer have + strength to write. Then you will understand why I have been drawn + to you so strangely; why I have called you "my dear boy"; why I + would that I might call you "son." + + There is no more--only, when you shall find me here asleep, make me + a bed in the corner of my garden, where the hollyhocks come each + year, and the squirrels frisk overhead, and the birds sing. Lay me + not too deeply away from it all, and cover me only with boughs and + the cool, gratifying earth which shall soothe away the fever. And + bring no stone to mark the place, but only breathe a little word of + prayer and leave me in the comfortable dark. + +Neither Robin nor Frank spoke for a time after the reading of the +letter. Then faithfully and with a few words they carried out the +hermit's wishes. Tenderly and gently they bore him to the narrow +resting-place which they prepared for him, and when the task was +finished they stood above the spot for a little space with bowed heads. +After this they returned to the cabin and gathered up such articles of +Robin's inheritance as they would be able to carry down the +mountain--the books and field glass, which had been so much to him; the +gun above the mantel, a trout rod and a package of articles from the +little chest which they had brought to the door and opened. At the top +of the package was a small, cheap ferrotype picture, such as young +people are wont to have made at the traveling photographer's. It was of +a sweet-faced, merry-lipped girl, and Robin scanned it long and +thoughtfully. + +"That is such a face as my mother had when young," he said at last. Then +turning to Frank, "Did he know my mother? Is that the story?" + +Frank bent his head in assent. + +"That is the story," he said, "but it is long. Besides, it is his wish, +I am sure, that another should tell it to you." + +He had taken from the chest some folded official-looking papers as he +spoke, and glanced at them now, first hastily, then with growing +interest. They were a quantity of registered bonds--the hermit's +fortune, which in a few brief days had become, as he said, but a mockery +of scrolled engraving and gaudy seals. Frank had only a slight knowledge +of such matters, yet he wondered if by any possibility these old +securities of a shipwrecked company might be of value to-day. The +corporation title, he thought, had a familiar sound. A vague impression +grew upon him that this company had been one of the few to be +rehabilitated with time; that in some measure at least it had made good +its obligations. + +"Suppose you let me take these," he suggested to Robin. "They may not be +wholly worthless. At least, it will do no harm to send them to my +solicitor." + +Robin nodded. He was still regarding the little tintype and the sweet, +young face of the mother who had died so long ago. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +CONSTANCE RETURNS AND HEARS A STORY + + +"I only told him," Frank wrote that night to Constance, "that the +hermit's story had a part in his mother's life. I suppose I might have +told him more, but he seemed quite willing to wait and hear it from you, +as suggested by the hermit's letter, and I was only too willing that he +should do so. Knowing Robin, as you have, from childhood, and the sorrow +of his early days and all, you are much better fitted to tell the story, +and you will tell it much better than I. Robin is to leave again +to-morrow on a trip over Marcy (Tahawus, I mean, for I hate these modern +names), but will be back by the end of the week, by which time I hope +you also will once more make glad these lonesome forest glades. +Seriously, Conny, I long for you much more than perhaps you realize or, +I am sure, would permit me to say. And I don't mean to write a love +letter now. In the first place, I would not disobey orders to that +degree, and even if I did, I know that you would say that it was only +because poor old Robin Gray's story and his death, and all, and perhaps +wandering about in these woods alone, had made me a bit sentimental. +Well, who knows just whence and how emotions come? Perhaps you would be +right, but if I should tell you that, during the two weeks which have +nearly slipped by since that day when we found our way through the mist +to the hermit's cabin, my whole point of view has somehow changed, and +that, whatever the reasons, I see with different eyes--with a new heart +and with an uplifted spirit--perhaps I should be right, too; and if from +such a consecration my soul should speak and say, 'Dear, my heart, I +love you, and I will love you all my days!' it may be that you would +believe and understand." + +Whether it was this letter, or the news it contained, or whether Mrs. +Deane's improved condition warranted--from whatever reason, Constance +and her mother two days later returned to the camp on the Au Sable. They +were given a genuine ovation as they passed the Lodge, at which point +Mr. Deane joined them. Frank found his heart in a very disturbing +condition indeed as he looked once more into Miss Deane's eyes and took +her hand in welcome. Later in the day, he deemed it necessary to take a +walk in the direction of the camp to see if he could be of any +assistance in making the new arrivals comfortable. It was a matter of +course that he should remain for dinner, and whatever change may have +taken place in him, he certainly appeared on this occasion much like the +old light-hearted youth, with little thought beyond the joy of the event +and the jest of the moment. + +But that night, when he parted from Constance to take the dark trail +home, he did not find it easy to go, nor yet to make an excuse for +lingering. The mantle of gayety had somehow slipped away, and as they +stood there in the fragrance of the firs, with the sound of falling +water coming through the trees, the words he had meant to utter did not +come. + +He spoke at last of their day together on the mountain and of their +visit to the hermit's cabin. To both of them it seemed something of a +very long time ago. Then Frank recounted in detail all that had happened +that quiet morning when he and Robin had visited the place, and spoke of +the letter and last wishes of the dead man. + +"You are sure you do not mind letting me tell Robin the story?" she +said; "alone, I mean? I should like to do so, and I think he would +prefer it." + +Frank looked at her through the dusk. + +"I want you to do it that way," he said earnestly. "I told you so in my +letter. I have a feeling that any third person would be an intruder at +such a time. It seems to me that you are the only one to tell him." + +"Yes," she agreed, after a pause, "I am. I--knew Robin's mother. I was a +little girl, but I remember. Oh, you will understand it all, some day." + +Frank may have wondered vaguely why she put it in that way, but he made +no comment. His hand found hers in the dusk, and he held it for a moment +at parting. + +"That is a dark way I am going," he said, looking down the trail. "But I +shall not even remember the darkness, now that you are here again." + +Constance laughed softly. + +"Perhaps it is my halo that makes the difference." + +A moment later he had turned to go, but paused to say--casually, it +seemed: + +"By the way, I have a story to read to you--a manuscript. It was written +by some one I know, who had a copy mailed me. It came this morning. I am +sure the author, whose name is to be withheld for the present, would +appreciate your opinion." + +"And my judgment is to be final, of course. Very well; Minerva holds her +court at ten to-morrow, at the top of yon small mountain, which on the +one side slopes to the lake, and on the other overlooks the pleasant +Valley of Decision, which borders the West Branch." + +"And do I meet Minerva on the mountain top, or do I call for her at the +usual address--that is to say, here?" + +"You may call for Minerva. After her recent period of inactivity she may +need assistance over the hard places." + +Frank did, in fact, arrive at the camp next morning almost in time for +breakfast. Perhaps the habit of early rising had grown upon him of late. +Perhaps he only wished to assure himself that Constance had really +returned. Even a wish to hear her opinion of the manuscript may have +exerted a certain influence. + +They set out presently, followed by numerous injunctions from Mrs. +Deane concerning fogs and trails and an early return. Frank had never +ascended this steep little mountain back of the camp, save once by a +trail that started from near the Lodge. He let Constance take the lead. + +It was a rare morning--one of the first September days, when the early +blaze of autumn begins to kindle along the hills, when there is just a +spice of frost in the air, when the air and sunlight combine in a tonic +that lifts the heart, the soul, almost the body itself, from the +material earth. + +"If you are Minerva, then I am Mercury," Frank declared as they ascended +the first rise. "I feel that my feet have wings." + +Then suddenly he paused, for they had come to a little enclosure, where +the bushes had been but recently cleared away. There was a gate, and +within a small grave, evidently that of a child; also a headstone upon +which was cut the single word, "CONSTANCE." + +Frank started a little as he read the name, and regarded it wonderingly +without speaking. Then he turned to his companion with inquiry in his +face. + +"That was the first little Constance," she said. "I took her place and +name. She always loved this spot, so when she died they laid her here. +They expected to come back sooner. Her mother wanted just the name on +the stone." + +Frank had a strange feeling as he regarded the little grave. + +"I never knew that you had lost a sister," he said. "I mean that your +parents had buried a little girl. Of course, she died before you were +born." + +"No," she said, "but her death was a fearful blow. Mamma can hardly +speak of it even to-day. She could never confess that her little girl +was dead, so they called me by her name. I cannot explain it all now." + +Frank said musingly: + +"I remember your saying once that you were not even what you seemed to +be. Is this what you meant?" + +She nodded. + +"Yes; that is what I meant." + +They pushed on up the hill, without many words. + +The little enclosure and the graven stone had made them thoughtful. +Arriving at the peak they found, at the brow of a cliff, a broad, +shelving stone which hung out over a deep, wooded hollow, where here +and there the red and gold were beginning to gleam. From it they could +look across toward Algonquin, where they tried to locate the spot of the +hermit's cabin, and down upon the lake and the Lodge, which seemed to +lie almost at their feet. + +At first they merely rested and drank in the glory of the view. Then at +last Frank drew from his pocket a folded typewritten paper. + +"If the court of Minerva is convened, I will lay this matter before +her," he said. + +It was not a story of startling theme that he read to her--"The Victory +of Defeat"; it was only a tale of a man's love, devotion and sacrifice, +but it was told so simply, with so little attempt to make it seem a +story, that one listening forgot that it was not indeed a true relation, +that the people were not living and loving and suffering toward a +surrender which rose to triumph with the final page. Once only Constance +interrupted, to say: + +"Your friend is fortunate to have so good a reader to interpret his +story. I did not know you had that quality in your voice." + +He did not reply, and when he had finished reading and laid the +manuscript down he waited for her comment. It was rather unexpected. + +"You must be very fond of the one who wrote that," she said. + +He looked at her quickly, hardly sure of her meaning. Then he smiled. + +"I am. Almost too much so, perhaps." + +"But why? I think I could love the man who did that story." + +An expression half quizzical, half gratified, flitted across Frank's +features. + +"And if it were written by a woman?" he said. + +Constance did not reply, and the tender look in her face grew a little +cold. A tiny bit of something which she did not recognize suddenly +germinated in her heart. It was hardly envy--she would have scorned to +call it jealousy. She rose--rather hastily, it seemed. + +"Which perhaps accounts for your having read it so well," she said. "I +did not realize, and--I suppose such a story might be written by almost +any woman except myself." + +Frank caught up the manuscript and poised it like a missile. + +"Another word and it goes over the cliff," he threatened. + +She caught back his arm, laughing naturally enough. + +"It is ourselves that must be going over the cliff," she declared. "I am +sure Mamma is worrying about us already." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +WHAT THE SMALL WOMAN IN BLACK SAW + + +With September the hurry at the Lodge subsided. Vacations were beginning +to be over--mountain climbers and wood rangers were returning to office, +studio and classroom. Those who remained were chiefly men and women +bound to no regular occupations, caring more for the woods when the +crowds of summer had departed and the red and gold of autumn were +marching down the mountain side. + +It had been a busy season at the Lodge, and Edith Morrison's face told +the tale. The constant responsibility, and the effort to maintain the +standard of entertainment, had left a worn look in her eyes and taken +the color from her cheeks. The burden had lain chiefly on her young +shoulders. Her father was invaluable as an entertainer and had a fund of +information, but he was without practical resources, and the strain upon +Edith had told. If for another reason a cloud had settled on her brow +and a shadow had gathered in her heart, she had uttered no word, but had +gone on, day by day, early and late, devising means and supervising +methods--doing whatever was necessary to the management of a big +household through all those busy weeks. + +Little more than the others had she seen Robin during those last August +days. He had been absent almost constantly. When he returned it was +usually late, and such was the demand upon this most popular of +Adirondack guides that in nearly every case he found a party waiting for +early departure. If Edith suspected that there were times when he might +have returned sooner, when she believed that he had paused at the camp +on the west branch of the Au Sable, she still spoke no word and made no +definite outward sign. Whatever she brooded in her heart was in that +secret and silence which may have come down to her, with those black +eyes and that glossy hair, from some old ancestor who silently in his +wigwam pointed his arrows and cuddled his resentment to keep it warm. It +had happened that during the days when Constance had been absent with +her mother Robin had twice returned at an earlier hour, and this could +hardly fail to strengthen any suspicion that might already exist of his +fidelity, especially as the little woman in black had commented on the +matter in Edith's presence, as well as upon the fact that immediately +after the return of the absent ones he failed to reach the Lodge by +daylight. It is a fact well established that once we begin to look for +heartache we always find it--and, as well, some one to aid us in the +search. + +Not that Edith had made a confidante of the sinister-clad little woman. +On the whole, she disliked her and was much more drawn toward the +good-natured but garrulous old optimist, Miss Carroway, who saw with +clear undistorted vision, and never failed to say a word--a great many +words, in fact--that carried comfort because they constituted a plea for +the creed of general happiness and the scheme of universal good. Had +Edith sought a confidante merely for the sake of easing her heart, it is +likely that it was to this good old spinster that she would have turned. +But a nature such as hers does not confide its soul-hurt merely for the +sake of consolation. In the beginning, when she had hinted something of +it to Robin, he had laughed her fears away. Then, a little later, she +had spoken to Frank Weatherby, for his sake as well as for her own. He +had not laughed, but had listened and reflected, for the time at least; +and his manner and his manhood, and that which she considered a bond of +sympathy between them, made him the one to whom she must turn, now when +the time had come to speak again. + +There came a day when Robin did not go to the woods. In the morning he +had been about the Lodge and the guides' cabin, of which he was now the +sole occupant, greeting Edith in his old manner and suggesting a walk +later in the day. But the girl pleaded a number of household duties, and +presently Robin disappeared to return no more until late in the +afternoon. When he did appear he seemed abstracted and grave, and went +to the cabin to prepare for a trip next morning. Frank Weatherby, who +had been putting in most of the day over some papers in his room, now +returning from a run up the hillside to a point where he could watch the +sunset, paused to look in, in passing. + +"Miss Deane has been telling me the hermit's story," Robin said, as he +saw who it was. "It seems to me one of the saddest stories I ever heard. +My regret is that he did not tell it to me himself, years ago. Poor old +fellow! As if I would have let it make any difference!" + +"But he could not be sure," said Frank. "You were all in the world to +him, and he could not afford to take the chance of losing you." + +"And to think that all those years he lived up there, watching our +struggle. And what a hard struggle it was! Poor mother--I wish she might +have known he was there!" + +Neither spoke for a time. Then they reviewed their visit to the +hermitage together, when they had performed the last sad offices for its +lonely occupant. Next morning Robin was away with his party and Frank +wandered over to the camp, but found no one there besides the servants. + +He surmised that Constance and her parents had gone to visit the little +grave on the hillside, and followed in that direction, thinking to meet +them. He was nearing the spot when, at a turn in the path, he saw them. +He was unobserved, and he saw that Constance had her arms about Mrs. +Deane, who was weeping. He withdrew silently and walked slowly back to +the Lodge, where he spent the rest of the morning over a writing table +in his room, while on the veranda the Circle of Industry--still active, +though much reduced as to numbers--discussed the fact that of late Mr. +Weatherby was seen oftener at the Lodge, while, on the other hand, +Constance had scarcely been seen there since her return. The little +woman in black shook her head ominously and hinted that she might tell a +good deal if she would, an attitude which Miss Carroway promptly +resented, declaring that she had thus far never known her to keep back +anything that was worth telling. + +It was during the afternoon that Frank, loitering through a little grove +of birches near the boat landing, came face to face with Edith Morrison. +He saw in an instant that she had something to say to him. She was as +white as the birches about her, while in her eyes there was the bright, +burning look he had seen there once before, now more fierce and +intensified. She paused by a mossy-covered bowlder called the "stone +seat," and rested her hand upon it. Frank saw that she was trembling +violently. He started to speak, but she forestalled him. + +"I have something to tell you," she began, with hurried eagerness. "I +spoke of it once before, when I only suspected. Now I know. I don't +think you believed me then, and I doubted, sometimes, myself. But I do +not doubt any longer. We have been fools all along, you and I. They have +never cared for us since she came, but only for each other. And instead +of telling us, as brave people would, they have let us go on--blinding +us so they could blind others, or perhaps thinking we do not matter +enough for them to care. Oh, you are kind and good, and willing to +believe in them, but they shall not deceive you any longer. I know the +truth, and I mean that you shall know it, too." + +Out of the varying emotions with which the young man listened to the +rapid torrent of words, there came the conviction that without doubt the +girl, to have been stirred so deeply, must have seen or heard something +which she regarded as definite. He believed that she was mistaken, but +it was necessary that he should hear her, in order, if possible to +convince her of her error. He motioned her into the seat formed by the +bowlder, for she seemed weak from over-excitement. Leaning against it, +he looked down into her dark, striking face, startled to see how worn +and frail she seemed. + +"Miss Morrison," he began gently, "you are overwrought. You have had a +hard summer, with many cares. Perhaps you have not been able to see +quite clearly--perhaps things are not as you suppose--perhaps----" + +She interrupted him. + +"Oh," she said, "I do not suppose--I know! I have known all the time. I +have seen it in a hundred ways, only they were ways that one cannot put +into words. But now something has happened that anybody can see, and +that can be told--something _has_ been seen and told!" + +She looked up at Frank--those deep, burning eyes of hers full of +indignation. He said: + +"Tell me just what you mean. What has happened, and who has seen it?" + +"It was yesterday, in the woods--the woods between here and the camp on +the Au Sable. They were sitting as we are, and he held her hand, and she +had been crying. And when they parted he said to her, 'We must tell +them. You must get Mrs. Deane's consent. I am sure Edith suspects +something, and it isn't right to go on like this. We must tell them.' +Then--then he kissed her. That--of course----" + +The girl's voice broke and she could not continue. Frank waited a +moment, then he said: + +"And who witnessed this scene?" + +"Mrs. Kitcher." + +"You mean the little woman who dresses in black?" + +"Yes, that is the one." + +"And you would believe that tale-bearing eavesdropper?" + +"I must. I have seen so much myself." + +"Then, let me say this. I believe that most of what she told you is +false. She may have seen them together. She may have seen him take her +hand. I know that Miss Deane told Robin something yesterday that related +to his past life, and that it was a sad tale. It might easily bring the +tears, and she would give him her hand as an old friend. There may have +been something said about his telling you, for there is no reason why +you should not know the story. It is merely of an old man who is dead, +and who knew Robin's mother. So far as anything further, I believe that +woman invented it purely to make mischief. One who will spy and listen +will do more. I would not believe her on oath--nor must you, either." + +But Edith still shook her head. + +"Oh, you don't know!" she persisted. "There has been much besides. It +is all a part of the rest. You have not a woman's intuition, and Robin +has not a woman's skill in deceiving. There is something--I know there +is something--I have seen it all along. And, oh, what should Robin keep +from me?" + +"Have you spoken to him of it?" + +"Once--about the time you came--he laughed at me. I would hardly mention +it again." + +"Yet it seems to me that would be the thing to do," Frank reflected +aloud. "At least, you can ask him about the story told him by Miss +Deane. You--you may say I mentioned it." + +Edith regarded him in amaze. + +"And you think I could do that--that I could ask him of anything that he +did not tell me of his own accord? Will you ask Miss Deane about that +meeting in the woods?" + +Frank shook his head. + +"I do not need to do so. I know about it." + +She looked at him quickly--puzzled for the moment as to his +meaning--wondering if he, too, might be a part of a conspiracy against +her happiness. Then she said, comprehending: + +"No, you only believe. I have not your credulity and faith. I see things +as they are, and it is not right that you should be blinded any longer. +I had to tell you." + +She rose with quick suddenness as if to go. + +"Wait," he said. "I am glad you told me. I believe everything is all +right, whatever that woman saw. I believe she saw very little, and until +you have seen and learned for yourself you must believe that, too. +Somehow, everything always comes out right. It must, you know, or the +world is a failure. And this will come out right. Robin will tell you +the story when he comes back, and explain everything. I am sure of it. +Don't let it trouble you for a single moment." + +He put out his hand instinctively and she took it. Her eyes were full of +hot tears. It came upon Frank in that instant that if Mrs. Kitcher were +watching now she would probably see as much to arouse suspicion as she +had seen the day before, and he said so without hesitation. Edith made a +futile effort to reflect his smile. + +"Yes," she agreed, "but, oh, that was different! There was more, and +there has been so much--all along." + +She left him then, followed by a parting word of reassurance. When she +had disappeared he dropped back on the stone seat and sat looking +through the trees toward the little boat landing, revolving in his mind +the scene just ended. From time to time he applied unpleasant names to +the small woman in black, whose real name had proved to be Kitcher. +What, after all, had she really seen and heard? He believed, very +little. Certainly not so much as she had told. But then, one by one, +certain trifling incidents came back to him--a word here--a look +there--the tender speaking of a name--even certain inflections and +scarcely perceptible movements--the things which, as Edith had said, one +cannot put into words. Reviewing the matter carefully, he became less +certain in his faith. Perhaps, after all, Edith was right--perhaps there +was something between those two; and troubling thoughts took the joy out +of the sunlight and the brightness from the dancing waters. + +The afternoon was already far gone, and during the rest of the day he +sat in the little grove of birches above the landing, smoking and +revolving many matters in his mind. For a time the unhappiness of Edith +Morrison was his chief thought, and he resolved to go immediately to +Constance and lay the circumstances fully before her, that she might +clear up the misunderstanding and restore general happiness and good +will. Twice, indeed, he rose to set out for the camp, but each time +returned to the stone seat. What if it were really true that a great +love had sprung up between Constance and Robin--a love which was at once +a glory and a tragedy--such a love as had brightened and blotted the +pages of history since the gods began their sports with humankind and +joined them in battle on the plains of Troy? What if it were true after +all? If it were true, then Constance and Robin would reveal it soon +enough, of their own accord. If it were not true, then Edith Morrison's +wild jealousy would seem absurd to Constance, and to Robin, who would be +obliged to know. Frank argued that he had no right to risk for her such +humiliation as would result to one of her temperament for having given +way to groundless jealousy. These were the reasons he gave himself for +not going with the matter to Constance. But the real reason was that he +did not have the courage to approach her on the subject. For one thing, +he would not know how to begin. For another--and this, after all, +comprised everything--he was afraid it _might be true_. + +So he lingered there on the stone seat while the September afternoon +faded, the sun slipped down the west, and long, cool mountain shadows +gathered in the little grove. If it were true, there was no use of +further endeavor. It was for Constance, more than for any other soul, +living or dead, that he had renewed his purpose in life, that he had +recalled old ambitions, re-established old effort. + +Without Constance, what was the use? Nobody would care--he least of all. +If it were true, the few weeks of real life that had passed since that +day with her on the mountain, when they had been lost in the mist and +found the hermitage together, would remain through the year to come a +memory somewhat like that which the hermit had carried with him into the +wilderness. Like Robin Gray, he, too, would become a hermit, though in +that greater wilderness--the world of men. Yet he could be more than +Robin Gray, for with means he could lend a hand. And then he remembered +that such help would not be needed, and the thought made the picture in +his mind seem more desolate--more hopeless. + +But suddenly, from somewhere--out of the clear sky of a sub-conscious +mind, perhaps--a thought, a resolve, clothed in words, fell upon his +lips. "If it is true, and if I can win her love, I will marry Edith +Morrison," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +WHAT MISS CARROWAY DID + + +The Circle of Industry had been minus an important member that +afternoon. The small woman in black was there, and a reduced contingent +of such auxiliary members as still remained in the wilds, but the chief +director and center of affairs, Miss Carroway, was absent. She had set +out immediately after luncheon, and Mrs. Kitcher had for once enjoyed +the privilege of sowing discord, shedding gloom and retailing dark +hints, unopposed and undismayed. Her opponent, for the time at least, +had abandoned the field. + +Miss Carroway had set out quietly enough, taking the path around the +lake that on the other side joined the trail which led to the Deane +camp. It was a rare afternoon, and the old lady, carefully dressed, +primly curled, and with a bit of knitting in her hand, sauntered +leisurely through the sunlit woods toward the West Branch. She was a +peaceful note in the picture as she passed among the tall spruces, or +paused for a moment amid a little grove of maples that were turning red +and gold, some of the leaves drifting to her feet. Perhaps she reflected +that for them, as for her, the summer time was over--that their day of +usefulness was nearly ended. Perhaps she recalled the days not long ago +when the leaves had been fresh and fair with youth, and it may be that +the thought brought back her own youth, when she had been a girl, +climbing the hills back of Haverford--when there had been young men who +had thought her as fresh and fair, and one who because of a +misunderstanding had gone away to war without a good-bye, and had died +at Wilson's Creek with a bullet through her picture on his heart. + +As she lingered here and there in the light of these pleasant places, it +would have been an easy task to reconstruct in that placid, faded face +the beauty of forty years ago, to see in her again the strong, handsome +girl who had put aside her own heritage of youth and motherhood to carry +the burdens of an invalid sister, to adopt, finally, as her own, the +last feeble, motherless infant, to devote her years and strength to him, +to guide him step by step to a place of honor among his fellow-men. +Seeing her now, and knowing these things, it was not hard to accord her +a former beauty--it was not difficult even to declare her beautiful +still--for something of it all had come back, something of the old +romance, of awakened purpose and the tender interest of love. + +Where the trail crossed the Au Sable Falls, she paused and surveyed the +place with approval. + +"That would be a nice place for a weddin'," she reflected aloud. +"Charlie used to say a piece at school about 'The groves was God's first +temples,' an' this makes me think of it." + +Then she forgot her reflections, for a little way beyond the falls, +assorting something from a basket, was the object of her visit, +Constance Deane. She had spread some specimens on the grass and was +comparing them with the pictures in the book beside her. As Miss +Carroway approached, she greeted her cordially. + +"Welcome to our camp," she said. "I have often wondered why you never +came over this way. My parents will be so glad to see you. You must come +right up to the house and have a cup of tea." + +But Miss Carroway seated herself on the grass beside Constance, +instead. + +"I came over to see _you_," she said quietly, "just you alone. I had tea +before I started. I want to talk about one or two things a little, an' +mebbe to give you some advice." + +Constance smiled and looked down at the mushrooms on the grass. + +"About those, you mean," she said. "Well, I suppose I need it. I find I +know less than I thought I did in the beginning." + +Miss Carroway shook her head. + +"No," she admitted; "I've give up that question. I guess the books know +more than I do. You ain't dead yet, an' if they was pizen you would 'a' +been by this time. It's somethin' else I want to talk about--somethin' +that's made a good many people unhappy, includin' me. That was a long +time ago, but I s'pose I ain't quite got over it yet." + +A good deal of the September afternoon slipped away as the two women +talked there in the sunshine by the Au Sable Falls. When at last Miss +Carroway rose to go, Constance rose, too, and, taking her hand, kissed +the old lady on the cheek. + +"You are sweet and good," she said, "and I wish I could do as much for +you as you have done, and are willing to do for me. If I have not +confided in you, it is only because I cannot--to-day. But I shall tell +you all that there is to tell as soon--almost as soon--as I tell any +one. It may be to-morrow, and I promise you that there shall be no +unhappiness that I can help." + +"Things never can be set straight too soon," said the old lady. "I've +had a long time to think of that." + +Miss Deane's eyes grew moist. + +"Oh, I thank you for telling me your story!" she said. "It is beautiful, +and you have lived a noble life." + +The shadows had grown deeper in the woods as Miss Carroway followed a +path back to the lake, and so around to the Lodge. The sun had vanished +from the tree tops, and some of the light and reflex of youth had faded +from the old lady's face. + +Perhaps she was a little weary with her walk, and it may be a little +disappointed at what she had heard, or rather what she had not heard, in +her talk with Constance Deane. At the end of the lake she followed the +path through the little birch grove and came upon Frank Weatherby, where +he mused, on the stone seat. + +Miss Carroway paused as he rose and greeted her. + +"I just come from a good walk," she said peacefully. "I've been over to +the Deanes' camp. It's a pretty place." + +Frank nodded. + +"I suppose you saw the family," he said. + +"No; only Miss Deane. She was studyin' tudstools, but I guess they +wa'n't pizen. I guess she knows 'em." + +Frank made no comment on this remark, and the old lady looked out on the +lake a moment and added, as one reflecting aloud on a matter quite apart +from the subject in hand: + +"If I was a young man and had anything on my mind, I'd go to the one it +was about and get it off as quick as I could." + +Then she started on up the path, Frank stepping aside to let her pass. +As he did so, he lifted his hat and said: + +"I think that is good advice, Miss Carroway, and I thank you for it." + +But he dropped back on the seat when she was gone, and sat staring out +on the water, that caught and gave back the colors of the fading sky. +Certainly it was good advice, and he would act on it--to-morrow, +perhaps--not to-day. Then he smiled, rather quaintly. + +"I wonder who will be next on the scene," he thought. "First, the +injured girl. Then the good old busybody, whose mission it is to help +things along. It would seem about time for the chief characters to +appear." + +Once the sun is gone, twilight gathers quickly in the hills. The color +blended out of the woods, the mountains around the lake faded into walls +of tone, a tide of dusk crept out of the deeper forest and enclosed the +birches. Only the highest mountain peaks, Algonquin and Tahawus, caught +the gold and amethyst of day's final tokens of good-bye. Then that +faded, and only the sky told the story to the lake, that repeated it in +its heart. + +From among the shadows on the farther side a boat drifted into the +evening light. It came noiselessly. Frank's eye did not catch it until +it neared the center of the lake. Then presently he recognized the +silhoueted figures, holding his breath a little as he watched them to +make sure. Evidently Robin had returned with his party and stopped by +the Deane camp. Frank's anticipation was to be realized. The chief +characters in the drama were about to appear. + +Propelled by Robin's strong arms, the Adirondack canoe shot quickly to +the little dock. A moment later the guide took a basket handed to him +and assisted his two passengers, Constance and Mrs. Deane, to land. As +they stood on the dock they were in the half dusk, yet clearly outlined +against the pale-green water behind. Frank wondered what had brought +Mrs. Deane to the Lodge. Probably the walk and row through the perfect +evening. + +The little group was but a few yards distant, but it never occurred to +Frank that he could become an eavesdropper. The presence of Mrs. Deane +would have dispelled any such idea, even had it presented itself. He +watched them without curiosity, deciding that when they passed the grove +of birches he would step out and greet them. For the moment, at least, +most of his recent doubts were put aside. + +But all at once he saw Constance turn to her mother and take her hands. + +"You are sure you are willing that we should make it known to-night?" +she said. + +And quite distinctly on that still air came the answer: + +"Yes, dear. I have kept you and Robin waiting long enough. After all, +Robin is more to you than I am," and the elder woman held out her hand +to Robin Farnham, who, taking it, drew closer to the two. + +Then the girl's arms were about her mother's neck, but a moment later +she had turned to Robin. + +"After to-night we belong to each other," she said. "How it will +surprise everybody," and she kissed him fairly on the lips. + +It had all happened so quickly--so unexpectedly--they had been so +near--that Frank could hardly have chosen other than to see and hear. He +sat as one stupefied while they ascended the path, passing within a few +feet of the stone seat. He was overcome by the suddenness of the +revelation, even though the fact had been the possibility in his +afternoon's brooding. Also, he was overwhelmed with shame and +mortification that he should have heard and seen that which had been +intended for no ears and eyes but their own. + +How fiercely he had condemned Mrs. Kitcher, who, it would seem, had been +truthful, after all, and doubtless even less culpable in her +eavesdropping. He told himself that he should have turned away upon the +first word spoken by Constance to her mother. Then he might not have +heard and seen until the moment when they had intended that the +revelation should be made. That was why Mrs. Deane had come--to give +dignity and an official air to the news. + +He wondered if he and Edith were to be told privately, or if the bans +were to be announced to a gathered company, as in the old days when they +were published to church congregations. And Edith--what would it mean to +her--what would she do? Oh, there was something horrible about it +all--something impossible--something that the brain refused to +understand. He did not see or hear the figure that silently--as silently +as an Indian--from the other end of the grove stole up the incline +toward the Lodge, avoiding the group, making its way to the rear by +another path. He only sat there, stunned and hopeless, in the shadows. + +The night air became chill and he was growing numb and stiff from +sitting in one position. Still he did not move. He was trying to think. +He would not go to the Lodge. He would not be a spectacle. He would not +look upon, or listen to, their happiness. He would go away at once, +to-night. He would leave everything behind and, following the road to +Lake Placid, would catch an early train. + +Then he remembered that he had said he would marry Edith Morrison if he +could win her love. But the idea had suddenly grown impossible. +Edith--why, Edith would be crushed in the dust--killed. No, oh, no, that +was impossible--that could not happen--not now--not yet. + +He recalled, too, what he had resolved concerning a life apart, such a +life as the hermit had led among the hills, and he thought his own lot +the more bitter, for at least the hermit's love had been returned and it +was only fate that had come between. Yet he would be as generous. They +would not need his help, but through the years he would wish them +well--yes, he could do that--and he would watch from a distance and +guard their welfare if ever time of need should come. + +Long through the dark he sat there, unheeding the time, caring nothing +that the sky had become no longer pale but a deep, dusky blue, while the +lake carried the stars in its bosom. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +EDITH AND FRANK + + +It may have been an hour--perhaps two of them--since Robin with +Constance and her mother had passed him on the way to the Lodge, when +suddenly Frank heard some one hurrying down the path. It was the rustle +of skirts that he heard, and he knew that it was a woman running. Just +at the little grove of birches she stopped and seemed to hesitate. In +the silence of the place he could hear her breath come pantingly, as +from one laboring under heavy excitement. Then there was a sort of +sobbing moan, and a moment later a voice that he scarcely recognized as +that of Edith Morrison, so full of wild anguish it was, called his name. +He had already risen, and was at her side in an instant. + +"What is it?" he demanded; "tell me everything--tell me quickly!" + +"Oh," she wailed, "I knew you must be here. They couldn't find you, and +I knew why. I knew you had been here, and had seen what I saw, and +heard what I heard. Oh, you must go to her--you must go at once!" + +She had seized his arm with both hands, shaking with a storm of +emotion--of terror, it seemed--her eyes burning through the dark. + +"When I saw that, I went mad," she raved on. "I saw everything through a +black mist, and out of it the devil came and tempted me. He put the +means in my hands to destroy my enemy, and I have done it--oh, I have +done it! You said it was the Devil's Garden, and it is! Oh, it is his--I +know it! I know it!" + +The girl was fairly beside herself--almost incoherent--but there was +enough in her words and fierce excitement to fill Frank with sudden +apprehension. + +"What is it you have done?" he demanded. "Tell me what you mean by the +devil tempting you to destroy your enemy. What have you done?" + +A wave of passion, anguish, remorse broke over her, and she clung to him +heavily. She could not find voice at first. When she did, it had become +a shuddering whisper. + +"I have killed her!" she managed to gasp. "I have killed her! I did it +with the Yellow Danger--you remember--the Yellow Danger--that day in +the Devil's Garden--that poison one--that deadly one with the cup--there +were some among those she brought to-night. She must have left them +there by mistake. I knew them--I remembered that day--and, oh, I have +been there since. But I was about to throw them away when the devil came +from his garden and tempted me. He said no one could ever suspect or +blame me. I put one of the deadly ones among those that went to her +place at dinner. When it was too late I was sorry. I realized, all at +once, that I was a murderer and must not live. So I ran down here to +throw myself in the lake. Then I remembered that you were here, and that +perhaps you could do something to save her. Oh, she doesn't know! She is +happy up there, but she is doomed. You must help her! You must! Oh, I do +not want to die a murderer! I cannot do that--I cannot!" + +The girl's raving had been in part almost inaudible, but out of it the +truth came clearly. Constance had brought some mushrooms to the Lodge, +and these, as usual, had been sent in to Edith to prepare. Among them +Edith had found some which she recognized as those declared by Constance +to be deadly, and these she had allowed to go to Constance's plate. +Later, stricken with remorse, she had rushed out to destroy herself, and +was now as eager to save her victim. + +All this rushed through Frank's brain in an instant, and for a moment he +remembered only that day in the Devil's Garden, and the fact that a +deadly fungus which Constance had called the Yellow Danger was about to +destroy her life. But then, in a flash, came back the letter, written +from Lake Placid, in which Constance had confessed a mistake, and +referred to a certain Amanita which she had thought poisonous as a +choice edible mushroom, called by the ancients "food of the gods." He +remembered now that this was the Orange Amanita or "Yellow Danger," and +a flood of hope swept over him; but he must be certain of the truth. + +"Miss Morrison," he said, in a voice that was at once gentle and grave, +"this is a bitter time for us all. But you must be calm, and show me, if +you can, one of those yellow mushrooms you did not use. I have reason to +hope that they are not the deadly ones after all. But take me where I +can see them, at once." + +His words and tone seemed to give the girl new strength and courage. + +"Oh, don't tell me that unless it is true!" she pleaded. "Don't tell me +that just to get me to go back to the Lodge! Oh, I will do anything to +save her! Come--yes--come, and I will show them to you!" + +She started hurriedly in the direction of the Lodge, Frank keeping by +her side. As they neared the lights she seized his arm and detained him +an instant. + +"You will not let her die?" She trembled, her fear returning. "She is so +young and beautiful--you will not let her die? I will give up Robin, but +she must not die." + +He spoke to her reassuringly, and they pushed on, making a wide detour +which brought them to the rear of the Lodge. Through the window they saw +the servants still passing to and fro into the dining-room serving a few +belated guests. From it a square of light penetrated the woods behind, +and on the edge of this they paused--the girl's eyes eagerly scanning +the ground. + +"I hid them here," she said. "I did not put them in the waste, for fear +some one would see them." + +Presently she knelt and brushed aside the leaves. Something like gold +gleamed before her and she seized upon it. A moment later she had +uncovered another similar object. + +"There," she said chokingly; "there they are! Tell me--tell me quick! +Are they the deadly ones?" + +He gave them a quick glance in the light, then he said: + +"I think not, but I cannot be sure here. Come with me to the guide's +cabin. It was dark as we came up, but it was open. I will strike a +light." + +They hurried across to the little detached cabin and pushed in. Frank +struck a match and lit a kerosene bracket lamp. Then he laid the two +yellow mushrooms on the table beneath it, and from an inner pocket drew +a small and rather mussed letter and opened it--his companion watching +every movement with burning eager eyes. + +"This is a letter from Miss Deane," he said, "written me from Lake +Placid. In it she says that she made a mistake about the Orange Amanita +that she called the Yellow Danger. These are her words--a rule taken +from the book: + +"'_If the cup of the Yellow Amanita is present, the plant is harmless. +If the cup is absent, it is poisonous._'" + +He bent forward and looked closely at the specimens before him. + +"That is surely the cup," he said. "She gathered these and put them +among the others by intention, knowing them to be harmless. She is safe, +and you have committed no crime." + +His last words fell on insensate ears. Edith drew a quick breath that +was half a cry, and an instant later Frank saw that she was reeling. He +caught her and half lifted her to a bench by the door, where she lay +insensible. An approaching step caught Frank's ear and, as he stepped to +the door, Robin Farnham, who had seen the light in the cabin, was at the +entrance. A startled look came into his eyes as he saw Edith's white +face, but Frank said quietly: + +"Miss Morrison has had a severe shock--a fright. She has fainted, but I +think there is no danger. I will remain while you bring a cup of water." + +There was a well at the end of the Lodge, and Robin returned almost +immediately with a filled cup. + +Already Edith showed signs of returning consciousness, and Frank left +the two, taking his way to the veranda, where he heard the voices of +Constance and her mother, mingled with that of Miss Carroway. He +ascended the steps with a resolute tread and went directly to Constance, +who came forward to meet him. + +"And where did you come from?" she demanded gayly. "We looked for you +all about. Mamma and I came over on purpose to dine with you, and I +brought a very especial dish, which I had all to myself. Still, we did +miss you, and Miss Carroway has been urging us to send out a searching +party." + +Frank shook hands with Mrs. Deane and Miss Carroway, apologizing for his +absence and lateness. Then he turned to Constance, and together they +passed down to the further end of the long veranda. Neither spoke until +they were out of earshot of the others. Then the girl laid her hand +gently on her companion's arm. + +"I have something to tell you," she began. "I came over on +purpose--something I have been wanting to say a long time, only----" + +He interrupted her. + +"I know," he said; "I can guess what it is. That was why I did not come +sooner. I came now because I have something to say to you. I did not +intend to come at all, but then something happened and--I have changed +my mind. I will only keep you a moment." + +His voice was not quite steady, but grave and determined, with a tone in +it which the girl did not recognize. Her hand slipped from his arm. + +"Tell me first," he went on, "if you are quite sure that the mushrooms +you brought for dinner--all of them--the yellow ones--are entirely +harmless." + +Certainly this was an unexpected question. Something in the solemn +manner and suddenness of it may have seemed farcical. For an instant she +perhaps thought him jesting, for there was a note of laughter in her +voice as she replied: + +"Oh, yes; quite certain. Those are the Cĉsar mushrooms--food of the +gods--I brought them especially for you. But how did you know of them?" + +He did not respond to this question, nor to her light tone. + +"Miss Deane," he went on, "I know perfectly well what you came here to +say. I happened to be in the little grove of birches to-night when you +landed with your mother and Robin Farnham, and I saw and heard what took +place on the dock, almost before I realized that I was eavesdropping. +Unfortunately, though I did not know it then, another saw and heard, as +well, and the shock of it was such that it not only crushed her spirit +but upset her moral balance for the time. You will know, of course, that +I refer to Edith Morrison. She had to know, and perhaps no one is to +blame for her suffering--and mine; only it seems unfortunate that the +revelation should have come just as it did rather than in the gentler +way which you perhaps had planned." + +He paused a moment to collect words for what he had to say next. +Constance was looking directly at him, though her expression was lost in +the dusk. Her voice, however, was full of anxiety. + +"There is a mistake," she began eagerly. "Oh, I will explain, but not +now. Where is Edith? Tell me first what has happened to Edith." + +"I will do that, presently. She is quite safe. The man she was to marry +is with her. But first I have something to say--something that I wish to +tell you before--before I go. I want to say to you in all honesty that I +consider Robin Farnham a fine, manly fellow--more worthy of you than +I--and that I honor you in your choice, regretting only that it must +bring sorrow to other hearts. I want to confess to you that never until +after that day upon the mountain did I realize the fullness of my love +for you--that it was all in my life that was worth preserving--that it +spoke to the best there was in me. I want you to know that it stirred +old ambitions and restored old dreams, and that I awoke to renewed +effort and to the hope of achievement only because of you and of your +approval. The story I read to you that day on the mountain was my story. +I wrote it those days while you were away. It was the beginning of a +work I hoped to make worth while. I believed that you cared, and that +with worthy effort I could win you for my own. I had Robin Gray's +character in mind for my hero, not dreaming that I should be called upon +to make a sacrifice on my own account, but now that the time is here I +want you to know that I shall try not to make it grudgingly or cravenly, +but as manfully as I can. I want to tell you from my heart and upon my +honor that I wish you well--that if ever the day comes when I can be of +service to you or to him, I will do whatever lies in my power and +strength. It is not likely such a time will ever come, for in the matter +of means you will have ample and he will have enough. Those bonds which +poor old Robin Gray believed worthless all these years have been +restored to their full value, and more; and, even if this were not true, +Robin Farnham would make his way and command the recognition and the +rewards of the world. What will become of my ambition I do not know. It +awoke too late to mean anything to you, and the world does not need my +effort. As a boy, I thought it did, and that my chances were all bright +ahead. But once, a long time ago, in these same hills, I gave my lucky +piece to a little mountain girl, and perhaps I gave away my +opportunities with it, and my better strength. Now, there is no more to +say except God bless you and love you, as I always will." + +And a moment later he added: + +"I left Miss Morrison with Robin Farnham in the guide's cabin. If she is +not there you will probably find her in her room. Be as kind to her as +you can. She needs everything." + +He held out his hand then, as if to leave her. But she took it and held +it fast. He felt that hers trembled. + +"You are brave and true," she said, "and you cannot go like this. You +will not leave the Lodge without seeing me again. Promise me you will +not. I have something to say to you--something it is necessary you +should know. It is quite a long story and will take time. I cannot tell +it now. Promise me that you will walk once more with me to-morrow +morning. I will go now to Edith; but promise me what I ask. You must." + +"It is not fair," he said slowly, "but I promise you." + +"You need not come for me," she said. "Our walk will be in the other +direction. I will meet you here quite early." + +He left her at the entrance of the wide hall and, ascending to his room, +began to put his traps together in readiness for departure by stage next +day. + +Constance descended the veranda steps and crossed over to the guides' +cabin, where a light still shone. As she approached the open door she +saw Edith and Robin sitting on the bench, talking earnestly. Edith had +been crying, but appeared now in a calmer frame of mind. Robin held both +her hands in his, and she made no apparent attempt to withdraw them. +Then came the sound of footsteps and Constance stood in the doorway. +For a moment Edith was startled. Then, seeing who it was, she sprang up +and ran forward with extended arms. + +"Forgive me! Oh, forgive me!" she cried; "I did not know! I did not +know!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE LUCKY PIECE + + +True to her promise, Constance was at the Lodge early next morning. +Frank, a trifle pale and solemn, waited on the veranda steps. Yet he +greeted her cheerfully enough, for the Circle of Industry, daily +dwindling in numbers but still a quorum, was already in session, and +Miss Carroway and the little woman in black had sharp eyes and ears. +Constance went over to speak to this group. With Miss Carroway she shook +hands. + +Frank lingered by the steps, waiting for her, but instead of returning +she disappeared into the Lodge and was gone several minutes. + +"I wanted to see Miss Morrison," she exclaimed, in a voice loud enough +for all to hear. "She did not seem very well last night. I find she is +much better this morning." + +Frank did not make any reply, or look at her. He could not at all +comprehend. They set out in the old way, only they did not carry the +basket and book of former days, nor did the group on the veranda call +after them with warning and advice. But Miss Carroway looked over to the +little woman in black with a smile of triumph. And Mrs. Kitcher grimly +returned the look with another which may have meant "wait and see." + +A wonderful September morning had followed the perfect September night. +There was a smack of frost in the air, but now, with the flooding +sunlight, the glow of early autumn and the odors of dying summer time, +the world seemed filled with anodyne and glory. Frank and Constance +followed the road a little way and then, just beyond the turn, the girl +led off into a narrow wood trail to the right--the same they had +followed that day when they had visited the Devil's Garden. + +She did not pause for that now. She pushed ahead as one who knew her +ground from old acquaintance, with that rapid swinging walk of hers +which seemed always to make her a part of these mountains, and their +uncertain barricaded trails. Frank followed behind, rarely speaking save +to comment upon some unusual appearance in nature--wondering at her +purpose in it all, realizing that they had never continued so far in +this direction before. + +They had gone something less than a mile, perhaps, when they heard the +sound of tumbling water, and a few moments later were upon the banks of +a broad stream that rushed and foamed between the bowlders. Frank said, +quietly: + +"This is like the stream where I caught the big trout--you remember?" + +"It is the same," she said, "only that was much farther up. Come, we +will cross." + +He put out his hand as if to assist her. She did not take it, but +stepped lightly to a large stone, then to another and another--springing +a little to one side here, just touching a bowlder all but covered with +water there, and so on, almost more rapidly than Frank could follow--as +one who knew every footing of that uncertain causeway. They were on the +other side presently, and took up the trail there. + +"I did not know you were so handy crossing streams," said Frank. "I +never saw you do it before." + +"But that was not hard. I have crossed many worse ones. Perhaps I was +lighter of foot then." + +They now passed through another stretch of timber, Constance still +leading the way. The trail was scarcely discernible here and there, as +one not often used, but she did not pause. They had gone nearly a mile +farther when a break of light appeared ahead, and presently they came to +a stone wall and a traveled road. Constance did not scale the wall, but +seated herself on it as if to rest. A few feet away Frank leaned against +the barrier, looking at the road and then at his companion, curious but +silent. Presently Constance said: + +"You are wondering what I have to tell you, and why I have brought you +all this way to tell it. Also, how I could follow the trail so +easily--aren't you?" and she smiled up at him in the old way. + +"Yes," admitted Frank; "though as for the trail, I suppose you must have +been over it before--some of those times before I came." + +She nodded. + +"That is true. You were not here when I traveled this trail before. It +was Robin who came with me the last time. But that was long ago--almost +ten years." + +"You have a good memory." + +"Yes, very good--better than yours. That is why I brought you here +to-day--to refresh your memory." + +There was something of the old banter in her voice, and something in her +expression, inscrutable though it was, that for some reason set his +heart to beating. He wondered if she could be playing with him. He could +not understand, and said as much. + +"You brought me here to tell me a story," he concluded. "Isn't that what +you said? I shall miss the Lake Placid hack if we do not start back +presently." + +Again that inscrutable, disturbing look. + +"Is it so necessary that you should start to-day?" she asked. "Mr. +Meelie, I am sure, will appreciate your company just as much another +time. And to-day is ours." + +That look--it kept him from saying something bitter then. + +"The story--you are forgetting it," he said, quietly. + +"No, I am not forgetting." The banter had all gone out of her voice, and +it had become gentle--almost tender. A soft, far-away look had come into +her eyes. "I am only trying to think how to tell it--how to begin. I +thought perhaps you might help me--only you don't--your memory is so +poor." + +He had no idea of her meaning now, and ventured no comment. + +"You do not help me," she went on. "I must tell my little story alone. +After all, it is only a sequel--do you care for sequels?" + +There was something in her face just then that, had it not been for all +that had come between them, might have made him take her in his arms. + +"I--I care for what you are about to tell," he said. + +She regarded him intently, and a great softness came into her eyes. + +"It is the sequel of a story we heard together," she began, "that day on +McIntyre, in the hermit's cabin. You remember that he spoke of the other +child--a little girl--hers. This is the story of that little girl. You +have heard something of her already--how the brother toiled for her and +his mother--how she did not fully understand the bitterness of it all. +Yet she tried to help--a little. She thought of many things. She had +dreams that grew out of the fairy book her mother used to read to her, +and she looked for Aladdin caves among the hills, and sometimes fancied +herself borne away by the wind and the sea to some far Eastern land +where the people would lay their treasures at her feet. But more than +all she waited for the wonderful fairy prince who would one day come to +her with some magic talisman of fortune which would make them all rich, +and happy ever after. + +"Yet, while she dreamed, she really tried to help in other ways--little +ways of her own--and in the summer she picked berries and, standing +where the stage went by, she held them out to the tourists who, when the +stage halted, sometimes bought them for a few pennies. Oh, she was so +glad when they bought them--the pennies were so precious--though it +meant even more to her to be able to look for a moment into the faces of +those strangers from another world, and to hear the very words that were +spoken somewhere beyond the hills." + +She paused, and Frank, who had leaned a bit nearer, started to speak, +but she held up her hand for silence. + +"One day, when the summer was over and all the people were going +home--when she had gathered her last few berries, for the bushes were +nearly bare--she stood at her place on the stone in front of the little +house at the top of the hill, waiting for the stage. But when it came, +the people only looked at her, for the horses did not stop, but galloped +past to the bottom of the hill, while she stood looking after them, +holding that last saucer of berries, which nobody would buy. + +"But at the foot of the hill the stage did stop, and a boy, oh, such a +handsome boy and so finely dressed, leaped out and ran back all the way +up the hill to her, and stood before her just like the prince in the +fairy tales she had read, and told her he had come to buy her berries. +And then, just like the prince, he had only an enchanted coin--a +talisman--his lucky piece. And this he gave to her, and he made her take +it. He took her hand and shut it on the coin, promising he would come +for it again some day, when he would give her for it anything she might +wish, asking only that she keep it safe. And then, like the prince, he +was gone, leaving her there with the enchanted coin. Oh, she hardly +dared to look, for fear it might not be there after all. But when she +opened her hand at last and saw that it had not vanished, then she was +sure that all the tales were true, for her fairy prince had come to her +at last." + +Again Frank leaned forward to speak, a new light shining in his face, +and again she raised her hand to restrain him. + +"You would not help me," she said, "your memory was so poor. Now, you +must let me tell the story. + +"The child took the wonderful coin to her mother. I think she was very +much excited, for she wept and sobbed over the lucky talisman that was +to bring fortune for them all. And I know that her mother, pale, and in +want, and ill, kissed her and smiled, and said that now the good days +must surely come. + +"They did not come that winter--a wild winter of fierce cold and +terrible storms. When it was over and the hills were green with summer, +the tired mother went to sleep one day, and so found her good fortune in +peace and rest. + +"But for the little girl there came a fortune not unlike her dreams. +That year a rich man and woman had built a camp in the hills. There was +no Lodge, then; everything was wild, and supplies hard to get. The +child's brother sold vegetables to the camp, sometimes letting his +little sister go with him. And because she was of the same age as a +little girl of the wealthy people, now and then they asked her to spend +the day, playing, and her brother used to come all the way for her again +at night. There was one spot on the hillside where they used to play--an +open, sunny place that they loved best of all--and this they named their +Garden of Delight; and it was truly that to the little girl of the hills +who had never had such companionship before. + +"But then came a day when a black shadow lay on the Garden of Delight, +for the little city child suddenly fell ill and died. Oh, that was a +terrible time. Her mother nearly lost her mind, and was never quite the +same again. She would not confess that her child was dead, and she was +too ill to be taken home to the city, so a little grave was made on the +hillside where the children had played together, and by and by the +feeble woman crept there to sit in the sun, and had the other little +girl brought there to play, as if both were still living. It was just +then that the mother of Robin and his little sister died, and the city +woman, when she heard of it, said to the little girl: 'You have no +mother and I have no little girl. I will be your mother and you shall +be my little girl. You shall have all the dresses and toys; even the +name--I will give you that.' She would have helped the boy, too, but he +was independent, even then, and would accept nothing. Then she made them +both promise that neither would ever say to any one that the little girl +was not really hers, and she made the little girl promise that she would +not speak of it, even to her, for she wanted to make every one, even +herself, believe that the child was really hers. She thought in time it +might take the cloud from her mind, and I believe it did, but it was +years before she could even mention the little dead girl again. And the +boy and his sister kept their promise faithfully, though this was not +hard to do, for the rich parents took the little girl away. They sailed +across the ocean, just as she had expected to do some day, and she had +beautiful toys and dresses and books, just as had always happened in the +fairy tales. + +"They did not come back from across the ocean. The child's foster father +had interests there and could remain abroad for most of the year, and +the mother cared nothing for America any more. So the little girl grew +up in another land, and did not see her brother again, and nobody knew +that she was not really the child of the rich people, or, if any did +know, they forgot. + +"But the child remembered. She remembered the mountains and the storms, +and the little house at the top of the hill, and her mother, and the +brother who had stayed among the hills, and who wrote now and then to +tell them he was making his way. But more than all she remembered the +prince--her knight she called him as she grew older--because it seemed +to her that he had been so noble and brave to come back up the hill and +give her his lucky piece that had brought her all the fortune. Always +she kept the coin for him, ready when he should call for it, and when +she read how Elaine had embroidered a silken covering for the shield of +Launcelot, she also embroidered a little silken casing for the coin and +wore it on her neck, and never a day or night did she let it go away +from her. Some day she would meet him again, and then she must have it +ready, and being a romantic schoolgirl, she wondered sometimes what she +might dare to claim for it in return. For he would be a true, brave +knight, one of high purpose and noble deeds; and by day the memory of +the handsome boy flitted across her books, and by night she dreamed of +him as he would some day come to her, all shining with glory and high +resolve." + +Again she paused, this time as if waiting for him to speak. But now he +only stared at the bushes in front of him, and she thought he had grown +a little pale. She stepped across the wall into the road. + +"Come," she said; "I will tell you the rest as we walk along." + +He followed her over the wall. They were at the foot of a hill, at the +top of which there was a weather-beaten little ruin, once a home. He +recognized the spot instantly, though the hill seemed shorter to him, +and less steep. He turned and looked at her. + +"My memory has all come back," he said; "I know all the rest of the +story." + +"But I must tell it to you. I must finish what I have begun. The girl +kept the talisman all the years, as I have said, often taking it out of +the embroidered case to study its markings, which she learned to +understand. And she never lost faith in it, and she never failed to +believe that one day the knight with the brave, true heart would come to +claim it and to fulfill his bond. + +"And by and by her school-days were ended, and then her parents decided +to return to their native land. The years had tempered the mother's +sorrow, and brought back a measure of health. So they came back to +America, and for the girl's sake mingled with gay people, and by and by, +one day--it was at a fine place and there were many fine folk there--she +saw him. She saw the boy who had been her fairy prince--who had become +her knight--who had been her dream all through the years. + +"She knew him instantly, for he looked just as she had known he would +look. He had not changed, only to grow taller, more manly and more +gentle--just as she had known he would grow with the years. She thought +he would come to her--that like every fairy prince, he must know--but +when at last he stood before her, and she was trembling so that she +could hardly stand, he bowed and spoke only as a stranger might. He had +forgotten--his memory was so poor. + +"Yet something must have drawn him to her. For he came often to where +she was, and by and by they rode and drove and golfed together over the +hills, during days that were few but golden, for the child had found +once more her prince of the magic coin--the knight who did not +remember, yet who would one day win his coin--and again she dreamed, +this time of an uplifting, noble life, and of splendid ambitions +realized together. + +"But, then, little by little, she became aware that he was not truly a +knight of deeds--that he was only a prince of pleasure, poor of ambition +and uncertain of purpose--that he cared for little beyond ease and +pastime, and that perhaps his love-making was only a part of it all. +This was a rude awakening for the girl. It made her unhappy, and it made +her act strangely. She tried to rouse him, to stimulate him to do and to +be many things. But she was foolish and ignorant and made absurd +mistakes, and he only laughed at her. She knew that he was strong and +capable and could be anything he chose, if he only would. But she could +not choose for him, and he seemed willing to drift and would not choose +for himself. + +"Then, by and by, she returned to her beloved mountains. She found the +little cottage at the hill-top a deserted ruin, the Garden of Delight +with its little grave was overgrown. There was one recompense. The +brother she had not seen since her childhood had become a noble, +handsome man, of whom she could well be proud. No one knew that he was +her brother, and she could not tell them, though perhaps she could not +avoid showing her affection and her pride in him, and these things were +misunderstood and caused suspicion and heartache and bitterness. + +"Yet the results were not all evil, for out of it there came a moment +when she saw, almost as a new being, him who had been so much a part of +her life so long." + +They were nearly at the top of the hill now. But a little more and they +would reach the spot where ten years before the child with the saucer of +berries had waited for the passing stage. + +"He had awakened at last," she went on, "but the girl did not know it. +She did not realize that he had renewed old hopes and ambitions; that +some feeling in his heart for her had stirred old purposes into new +resolves. He did not tell her, though unconsciously she may have known, +for after a day of adventure together on the hills something of the old +romance returned, and her old ideal of knighthood little by little +seemed about to be restored. And then, all at once, it came--the hour of +real trial, with a test of which she could not even have dreamed--and he +stood before her, glorified." + +They were at the hill-top. The flat stone in front of the tumbled house +still remained. As they reached it she stopped, and turning suddenly +stretched out her hand to him, slowly opening it to disclose a little +silken case. Her eyes were wet with tears. + +"Oh, my dear!" she said. "Here, where you gave me the talisman, I return +it. I have kept it for you all the years. It brought me whatever the +world had to give--friends, fortune, health. You did not claim it, dear; +but it is yours, and in return, oh, my fairy prince--my true knight--I +claim the world's best treasure--a brave man's faithful love!" + + + + +EPILOGUE + + +It is a lonely thoroughfare, that North Elba road. Not many teams pass +to and fro, and the clattering stage was still a mile away. The eternal +peaks alone looked down upon these two, for it is not likely that even +the leveled glass of any hermit of the mountain-tops saw what passed +between them. + +Only, from Algonquin and Tahawus there came a gay little wind--the first +brisk puff of autumn--and frolicking through a yellow tree in the +forsaken door-yard it sent fluttering about them a shower of drifting +gold. + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lucky Piece, by Albert Bigelow Paine + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LUCKY PIECE *** + +***** This file should be named 38833-8.txt or 38833-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/8/3/38833/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Lucky Piece + A Tale of the North Woods + +Author: Albert Bigelow Paine + +Release Date: February 11, 2012 [EBook #38833] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LUCKY PIECE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h1>THE LUCKY PIECE</h1> + +<h3>A TALE OF THE NORTH WOODS</h3> + +<h2>BY ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE</h2> + +<h3>AUTHOR OF "THE VAN DWELLERS," "THE BREAD LINE," "THE GREAT WHITE WAY," +ETC.</h3> + + +<p class="center"><i>FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR</i></p> + +<p class="center">NEW YORK<br /> +THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY<br /> +1906</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1906, by</span><br /> +THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1905, by</span><br /> +THE BUTTERICK PUBLISHING COMPANY</p> + +<p class="center"><i>This Edition Published March, 1906</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>He climbed down carefully and secured his treasure.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="contents"> + <tr><td>CHAPTER </td><td> </td><td align="right">PAGE</td></tr> + + <tr><td> </td><td><a href="#PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE </a></td><td align="right">1</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">1 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_I">BUT PALADINS RIDE FAR BETWEEN </a></td><td align="right">6</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">2 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_II">OUT IN THE BLOWY WET WEATHER </a></td><td align="right">18</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">3 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_III">THE DEEP WOODS OF ENCHANTMENT </a></td><td align="right">34</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">4 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">A BRIEF LECTURE AND SOME INTRODUCTIONS </a></td><td align="right">48</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">5 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_V">A FLOWER ON A MOUNTAIN TOP </a></td><td align="right">66</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">6 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">IN THE "DEVIL'S GARDEN" </a></td><td align="right">80</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">7 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">THE PATH THAT LEADS BACK TO BOYHOOD </a></td><td align="right">99</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">8 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">WHAT CAME OUT OF THE MIST </a></td><td align="right">115</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">9 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">A SHELTER IN THE FOREST </a></td><td align="right">134</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">10 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_X">THE HERMIT'S STORY </a></td><td align="right">148</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">11 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">DURING THE ABSENCE OF CONSTANCE </a></td><td align="right">166</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">12 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CONSTANCE RETURNS AND HEARS A STORY </a></td><td align="right">183</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">13 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">WHAT THE SMALL WOMAN IN BLACK SAW </a></td><td align="right">193</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">14 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">WHAT MISS CARROWAY DID </a></td><td align="right">208</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">15 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">EDITH AND FRANK </a></td><td align="right">219</td></tr> + <tr><td align="right">16 </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">THE LUCKY PIECE </a></td><td align="right">233</td></tr> + <tr><td> </td><td><a href="#EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE </a></td><td align="right">250</td></tr> +</table> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE LUCKY PIECE</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PROLOGUE" id="PROLOGUE"></a>PROLOGUE</h2> + + +<p>There is a sharp turn just above the hill. The North Elba stage +sometimes hesitates there before taking the plunge into the valley +below.</p> + +<p>But this was late September. The morning was brisk, the mountains +glorified, the tourists were going home. The four clattering, snorting +horses swung into the turn and made straight for the brow—the stout, +ruddy-faced driver holding hard on the lines, but making no further +effort to check them. Then the boy in the front seat gave his usual +"Hey! look there!" and, the other passengers obeying, as they always +did, saw something not especially related to Algonquin, or Tahawus, or +Whiteface—the great mountains whose slopes were ablaze with autumn, +their peaks already tipped with snow—that was not, indeed, altogether +Adirondack scenery. Where the bend came, at the brink, a little +weather-beaten cottage cornered—a place with apple trees and some +faded summer flowers. In the road in front was a broad flat stone, and +upon it a single figure—a little girl of not more than eight—her arm +extended toward the approaching stage, in her hand a saucer of berries.</p> + +<p>The tourists had passed a number of children already, but this one was +different. The others had been mostly in flocks—soiled, stringy-haired +little mountaineers, who had gathered to see the stage go by. The +smooth, oval face of this child, rich under the tan, was clean, the dark +hair closely brushed—her dress a simple garment, though of a fashion +unfavored by the people of the hills. All this could be comprehended in +the brief glance allowed the passengers; also the deep wistful look +which followed them as the stage whirled by without stopping.</p> + +<p>A lady in the back seat (she had been in Italy) murmured something about +a "child Madonna." Another said, "Poor little thing!"</p> + +<p>But the boy in the front seat had caught the driver's arm and was +demanding that he stop the stage.</p> + +<p>"I want to get out!" he repeated, with determination. "I want to buy +those berries! Stop!"</p> + +<p>The driver could not stop just there, even had he wished to do so, +which he did not. They were already a third of the way down, and the +hill was a serious matter. So the boy leaned out, looking back, to make +sure the moment's vision had not faded, and when the stage struck level +ground, was out and running, long before the horses had been brought to +a stand-still.</p> + +<p>"You wait for me!" he commanded. "I'll be back in a second!" Then he +pushed rapidly up the long hill, feeling in his pockets as he ran.</p> + +<p>The child had not moved from her place, and stood curiously regarding +the approaching boy. He was considerably older than she was, as much as +six years. Her wistful look gave way to one of timidity as he came near. +She drew the saucer of berries close to her and looked down. Then, +puffing and panting, he stood there, still rummaging in his pockets, and +regaining breath for words.</p> + +<p>"Say," he began, "I want your berries, you know, only, you see, I—I +thought I had some money, but I haven't—not a cent—only my lucky +piece. My mother's in the stage and I could get it from her, but I don't +want to go back." He made a final, wild, hopeless search through a +number of pockets, looking down, meanwhile, at the little bowed figure +standing mutely before him. "Look here," he went on, "I'm going to give +you my lucky piece. Maybe it'll bring luck to you, too. It did to me—I +caught an awful lot of fish up here this summer. But you mustn't spend +it or give it away, 'cause some day when I come back up here I'll want +it again. You keep it for me—that's what you do. Keep it safe. When I +come back, I'll give you anything you like for it. Whatever you +want—only you must keep it. Will you?"</p> + +<p>He held out the worn Spanish silver piece which a school chum had given +him "for luck" when they had parted in June. But the little brown hand +clung to the berries and made no effort to take it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you must take it," he said. "I should lose it anyway. I always lose +things. You can take care of it for me. Likely I'll be up again next +year. Anyway, I'll come some time, and when I do I'll give you whatever +you like in exchange for it."</p> + +<p>She did not resist when he took the berries and poured them into his +cap. Then the coin was pushed into one of her brown hands and he was +pressing her fingers tightly upon it. When she dared to look up, he had +called, "Good-bye!" and was halfway down the hill, the others looking +out of the stage, waving him to hurry.</p> + +<p>She watched him, saw him climb in with the driver and fling his hand +toward her as the stage rounded into the wood and disappeared. Still she +did not move, but watched the place where it had vanished, as if she +thought it might reappear, as if presently that sturdy boy might come +hurrying up the hill. Then slowly—very slowly, as if she held some +living object that might escape—she unclosed her hand and looked at the +treasure within, turning it over, wondering at the curious markings. The +old look came into her face again, but with it an expression which had +not been there before. It was some hint of responsibility, of awakening. +Vaguely she felt that suddenly and by some marvelous happening she had +been linked with a new and wonderful world. All at once she turned and +fled through the gate, to the cottage.</p> + +<p>"Mother!" she cried at the door, "Oh, Mother! Something has happened!" +and, flinging herself into the arms of the faded woman who sat there, +she burst into a passion of tears.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>BUT PALADINS RIDE FAR BETWEEN</h3> + + +<p>Frank rose and, plunging his hands into his pockets, lounged over to the +wide window and gazed out on the wild March storm which was drenching +and dismaying Fifth Avenue. A weaving throng of carriages, auto-cars and +delivery wagons beat up and down against it, were driven by it from +behind, or buffeted from many directions at the corners. Coachmen, +footmen and drivers huddled down into their waterproofs; pedestrians +tried to breast the rain with their umbrellas and frequently lost them. +From where he stood the young man could count five torn and twisted +derelicts soaking in gutters. They seemed so very wet—everything did. +When a stage—that relic of another day—lumbered by, the driver on top, +only half sheltered by his battered oil-skins, seemed wetter and more +dismal than any other object. It all had an art value, certainly, but +there were pleasanter things within. The young man turned to the +luxurious room, with its wide blazing fire and the young girl who sat +looking into the glowing depths.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Constance," he said, "I think you are a bit hard on me." +Then he drifted into a very large and soft chair near her, and, +stretching out his legs, stared comfortably into the fire as if the fact +were no such serious matter, after all.</p> + +<p>The girl smiled quietly. She had a rich oval face, with a deep look in +her eyes, at once wistful and eager, and just a bit restless, as if +there were problems there among the coals—questions she could not +wholly solve.</p> + +<p>"I did not think of it in that way," she said, "and you should not call +me Constance, not now, and you are Mr. Weatherby. I do not know how we +ever began—the other way. I was only a girl, of course, and did not +know America so well, or realize—a good many things."</p> + +<p>The young man stirred a little without looking up.</p> + +<p>"I know," he assented; "I realize that six months seems a long period to +a—to a young person, and makes a lot of difference, sometimes. I +believe you have had a birthday lately."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my eighteenth—my majority. That ought to make a difference."</p> + +<p>"Mine didn't to me. I'm just about the same now as I was then, and——"</p> + +<p>"As you always will be. That is just the trouble."</p> + +<p>"I was going to say, as I always had been."</p> + +<p>"Which would not be true. You were different, as a boy."</p> + +<p>"And who gave you that impression, pray?"</p> + +<p>The girl flushed a little.</p> + +<p>"I mean, you must have been," she added, a trifle inconsequently. "Boys +always are. You had ambitions, then."</p> + +<p>"Well, yes, and I gratified them. I wanted to be captain of my college +team, and I was. We held the championship as long as I held the place. I +wanted to make a record in pole-vaulting, and I did. It hasn't been +beaten since. Then I wanted the Half-mile Cup, and I won that, too. I +think those were my chief aspirations when I entered college, and when I +came out there were no more worlds to conquer. Incidentally I carried +off the honors for putting into American some of Mr. Horace's justly +popular odes, edited the college paper for a year, and was valedictorian +of the class. But those were trivial things. It was my prowess that +gave me standing and will remain one of the old school's traditions long +after this flesh has become dust."</p> + +<p>The girl's eyes had grown brighter as he recounted his achievements. She +could not help stealing a glance of admiration at the handsome fellow +stretched out before her, whose athletic deeds had made him honored +among his kind. Then she smiled.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you were a pillar of modesty, too," she commented, "once."</p> + +<p>He laughed—a gentle, lazy laugh in which she joined—and presently she +added:</p> + +<p>"Of course, I know you did those things. That is just it. You could do +anything, and be anything, if you only would. Oh, but you don't seem to +care! You seem satisfied, comfortable and good-naturedly indifferent; if +you were poor, I should say idle—I suppose the trouble is there. You +have never been poor and lonely and learned to want things. So, of +course, you never learned to care for—for anything."</p> + +<p>Her companion leaned toward her—his handsome face full of a light that +was not all of the fire.</p> + +<p>"I have, for you," he whispered.</p> + +<p>The girl's face lighted, too. Her eyes seemed to look into some golden +land which she was not quite willing to enter.</p> + +<p>"No," she demurred gently. "I am not sure of that. Let us forget about +that. As you say, a half-year has been a long time—to a child. I had +just come from abroad then with my parents, and I had been most of the +time in a school where girls are just children, no matter what their +ages. When we came home, I suppose I did not know just what to do with +my freedom. And then, you see, Father and Mother liked you, and let you +come to the house, and when I first saw you and knew you—when I got to +know you, I mean—I was glad to have you come, too. Then we rode and +drove and golfed all those days about Lenox—all those days—your memory +is poor, very poor, but you may recall those October days, last year, +when I had just come home—those days, you know——"</p> + +<p>Again the girl's eyes were looking far into a fair land which queens +have willingly died to enter, while the young man had pulled his chair +close, as one eager to lead her across the border.</p> + +<p>"No," she went on—speaking more to herself than to him, "I am older, +now—ages older, and trying to grow wise, and to see things as they are. +Riding, driving and golfing are not all of life. Life is serious—a sort +of battle, in which one must either lead or follow or merely look on. +You were not made to follow, and I could not bear to have you look on. I +always thought of you as a leader. During those days at Lenox you seemed +to me a sort of king, or something like that, at play. You see I was +just a schoolgirl with ideals, keeping the shield of Launcelot bright. I +had idealized him so long—the one I should meet some day. It was all +very foolish, but I had pictured him as a paladin in armor, who would +have diversions, too, but who would lay them aside to go forth and +redress wrong. You see what a silly child I was, and how necessary it +was for me to change when I found that I had been dreaming, that the one +I had met never expected to conquer or do battle for a cause—that the +diversions were the end and sum of his desire, with maybe a little +love-making as a part of it all."</p> + +<p>"A little—" Her companion started to enter protest, but did not +continue. The girl was staring into the fire as she spoke and seemed +only to half remember his existence. For the most part he had known her +as one full of the very joy of living, given to seeing life from its +cheerful, often from its humorous, side. Yet he knew her to be volatile, +a creature of moods. This one, which he had learned to know but lately, +would pass. He watched her, a little troubled yet fascinated by it all, +his whole being stirred by the charm of her presence.</p> + +<p>"One so strong—so qualified—should lead," she continued slowly, "not +merely look on. Oh, if I were a man I should lead—I should ride to +victory! I should be a—a—I do not know what," she concluded +helplessly, "but I should ride to victory."</p> + +<p>He restrained any impulse he may have had to smile, and presently said, +rather quietly:</p> + +<p>"I suppose there are avenues of conquest to-day, as there were when the +world was young. But I am afraid they are so crowded with the rank and +file that paladins ride few and far between. You know," he added, more +lightly, "knight-errantry has gone out of fashion, and armor would be a +clumsy thing to wear—crossing Broadway, for instance."</p> + +<p>She laughed happily—her sense of humor was never very deeply buried.</p> + +<p>"I know," she nodded, "we do not meet many Galahads these days, and most +of the armor is make-believe, yet I am sure there are knights whom we do +not recognize, with armor which we do not see."</p> + +<p>The young man sat up a bit straighter in his chair and assumed a more +matter-of-fact tone.</p> + +<p>"Suppose we put aside allegory," he said, "and discuss just how you +think a man—myself, for instance—could set the world afire—make it +wiser and better, I mean."</p> + +<p>The embers were dying down, and she looked into them a little longer +before replying. Then, presently:</p> + +<p>"Oh, if I were only a man!" she repeated. "There is so much—so many +things—for a man to do. Discovery, science, feats of engineering, the +professions, the arts, philanthropy—oh, everything! And for us, so +little!"</p> + +<p>A look of amusement grew about the young man's mouth. He had seen much +more of the world than she; was much older in a manner not reckoned by +years.</p> + +<p>"We do not monopolize it all, you know. Quite a few women are engaged +in the professions and philanthropy; many in the arts."</p> + +<p>"The arts, yes, but I am without talent. I play because I have been +taught, and because I have practiced—oh, so hard! But God never +intended that the world should hear me. I love painting and literature, +and all those things. But I cannot create them. I can only look on. I +have thought of the professions—I have thought a great deal about +medicine and the law. But I am afraid those would not do, either. I +cannot understand law papers, even the very simple ones Father has tried +to explain to me. And I am not careful enough with medicines—I almost +poisoned poor Mamma last week with something that looked like her +headache drops and turned out to be a kind of preparation for bruises. +Besides, somehow I never can quite see myself as a lawyer in court, or +going about as a doctor. Lawyers always have to go to court, don't they? +I am afraid I should be so confused, and maybe be arrested. They arrest +lawyers don't they, sometimes?"</p> + +<p>"They should," admitted the young man, "more often than they do. I don't +believe you ought to take the risk, at any rate. I somehow can't think +of you either as a lawyer or a doctor. Those things don't seem to fit +you."</p> + +<p>"That's just it. Nothing fits me. Oh, I am not even as much as I seem to +be, yet can be nothing else!" she burst out rather incoherently, then +somewhat hastily added: "There is philanthropy, of course. I could do +good, I suppose, and Father would furnish the money. But I could never +undertake things. I should just have to follow, and contribute. Some one +would always have to lead. Some one who could go among people and +comprehend their needs, and know how to go to work to supply them. I +should do the wrong thing and make trouble——"</p> + +<p>"And maybe get arrested——"</p> + +<p>They laughed together. They were little more than children, after all.</p> + +<p>"I know there <i>are</i> women who lead in such things," she went on. "They +come here quite often, and Father gives them a good deal. But they +always seem so self-possessed and capable. I stand in awe of them, and I +always wonder how they came to be made so wise and brave, and why most +of us are so different. I always wonder."</p> + +<p>The young man regarded her very tenderly.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you are different," he said earnestly. "My mother is a +little like that, and of course I think the world of her. Still, I am +glad you are different."</p> + +<p>He leaned over and lifted an end of log with the tongs. A bright blaze +sprang up, and for a while they watched it without speaking. It seemed +to Frank Weatherby that nothing in the world was so worth while as to be +there near her—to watch her there in the firelight that lingered a +little to bring out the rich coloring of her rare young face, then +flickered by to glint among the deep frames along the wall, to lose +itself at last amid the heavy hangings. He was careful not to renew +their discussion, and hoped she had forgotten it. There had been no talk +of these matters during their earlier acquaintance, when she had but +just returned with her parents from a long sojourn abroad. That had been +at Lenox, where they had filled the autumn season with happy recreation, +and a love-making which he had begun half in jest and then, all at once, +found that for him it meant more than anything else in the world. Not +that anything had hitherto meant a great deal. He had been an only boy, +with a fond mother, and there was a great deal of money between them. It +had somehow never been a part of his education that those who did not +need to strive should do so. His mother was a woman of ideas, but this +had not been one of them. Perhaps as a boy he had dreamed his dreams, +but somehow there had never seemed a reason for making them reality. The +idea of mental and spiritual progress, of being a benefactor of mankind +was well enough, but it was somehow an abstract thing—something apart +from him—at least, from the day of youth and love.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>OUT IN THE BLOWY WET WEATHER</h3> + + +<p>The room lightened a little and Constance rose and walked to the window.</p> + +<p>"It isn't raining so hard, any more," she said. "I think I shall go for +a walk in the Park."</p> + +<p>The young man by the fire looked a little dismayed. The soft chair and +the luxurious room were so much more comfortable than the Park on such a +day as this.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think we'd better put it off?" he asked, walking over beside +her. "It's still raining a good deal, and it's quite windy."</p> + +<p>"I said that <i>I</i> was going for a walk in the Park," the girl reiterated. +"I shall run, too. When I was a child I always loved to run through a +storm. It seemed like flying. You can stay here by the fire and keep +nice and cozy. Mamma will be glad to come in and talk to you. She will +not urge you to do and be things. She thinks you well enough as you are. +She says you have repose, and that you rest her—she means, of course, +after a session with me."</p> + +<p>"I have the greatest regard for your mother—I might even say sympathy. +Indeed, when I consider the serene yet sterling qualities of both your +parents, I find myself speculating on the origin of your own—eh—rather +unusual and, I hasten to add, wholly charming personality."</p> + +<p>She smiled, but he thought a little sadly.</p> + +<p>"I know," she said, "I am a trial, and, oh, I want to be such a comfort +to them!" Then she added, somewhat irrelevantly, "But Father made his +fight, too. It was in trade, of course, but it was a splendid battle, +and he won. He was a poor boy, you know, and the struggle was bitter. +You should stay and ask him to tell you about it. He will be home +presently."</p> + +<p>He adopted her serious tone.</p> + +<p>"I think myself I should stay and have an important talk with your +father," he said. "I have been getting up courage to speak for some +time."</p> + +<p>She affected not to hear, and presently they were out in the wild +weather, protected by waterproofs and one huge umbrella, beating their +way toward the Fifty-ninth Street entrance to Central Park. Not many +people were there, and, once within, they made their way by side paths, +running and battling with the wind, laughing and shouting like children, +until at last they dropped down on a wet bench to recover breath.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she panted, "that was fine! How I should like to be in the +mountains such weather as this. I dream of being there almost every +night. I can hardly wait till we go."</p> + +<p>Her companion assented rather doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"I have been in the mountains in March," he said. "It was pretty nasty. +I suppose you have spent summers there. I believe you went to the +Pyrenees."</p> + +<p>"But I know the mountains in March, too—in every season, and I love +them in all weathers. I love the storms, when the snow and sleet and +wind come driving down, and the trees crack, and the roads are blocked, +and the windows are covered with ice; when there's a big drift at the +door that you must climb over, and that stays there almost till the +flowers bloom. And when the winter is breaking, and the great rains +come, and the wind,—oh, it's no such little wind as this, but wind that +tears up big trees and throws them about for fun, and the limbs fly, and +it's dangerous to go out unless you look everywhere, and in the night +something strikes the roof, and you wake up and lie there and wonder if +the house itself won't be carried away soon, perhaps to the ocean, and +turn into a ship that will sail until it reaches a country where the sun +shines and there are palm trees, and men who wear turbans, and where +there are marble houses with gold on them. And in that country where the +little house might land, a lot of people come down to the shore and they +kneel down and say, 'The sea has brought a princess to rule over us.' +Then they put a crown on her head and lead her to one of the marble and +gold houses, so she could rule the country and live happy ever after."</p> + +<p>As the girl ran on, her companion sat motionless, listening—meanwhile +steadying their big umbrella to keep their retreat cozy. When she +paused, he said:</p> + +<p>"I did not know that you knew the hills in winter. You have seen and +felt much more than I. And," he added reflectively, "I should not think, +with such fancy as yours, that you need want for a vocation; you should +write."</p> + +<p>She shook her head rather gravely. "It is not fancy," she said, "at +least not imagination. It is only reading. Every child with a +fairy-book for companionship, and nature, rides on the wind or follows +subterranean passages to a regal inheritance. Such things mean nothing +afterward. I shall never write."</p> + +<p>They made their way to the Art Museum to wander for a little through the +galleries. In the Egyptian room they lingered by those glass cases where +men and women who died four thousand years ago lie embalmed in countless +wrappings and cryptographic cartonnage—exhibits, now, for the curious +eye, waiting whatever further change the upheavals of nations or the +progress of an alien race may bring to pass.</p> + +<p>They spoke in subdued voice as they regarded one slender covering which +enclosed "A Lady of the House of Artun"—trying to rebuild in fancy her +life and surroundings of that long ago time. Then they passed to the +array of fabrics—bits of old draperies and clothing, even dolls' +garments—that had found the light after forty centuries, and they +paused a little at the cases of curious lamps and ornaments and symbols +of a vanished people.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I should like to explore," she murmured, as she looked at them. "I +should like to lead an expedition to uncover ancient cities, somewhere +in Egypt, or India, or Yucatan. I should like to find things right where +they were left by the people who last saw them—not here, all arranged +and classified, with numbers pasted on them. If I were a man, I should +be an explorer, or maybe a discoverer of new lands—places where no one +had ever been before." She turned to him eagerly, "Why don't you become +an explorer, and find old cities or—or the North Pole, or something?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Weatherby, who was studying a fine scarab, nodded.</p> + +<p>"I have thought of it, I believe. I think the idea appealed to me once. +But, don't you see, it takes a kind of genius for those things. +Discoverers are born, I imagine, as well as poets. Besides"—he lowered +his voice to a pitch that was meant for tenderness—"at the North Pole I +should be so far from you—unless," he added, reflectively, "we went +there on our wedding journey."</p> + +<p>"Which we are as likely to do as to go anywhere," she said, rather +crossly. They passed through the corridor of statuary and up the +stairway to wander among the paintings of masters old and young. By a +wall where the works of Van Dyck, Rembrandt and Velasquez hung, she +turned on him reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"These men have left something behind them," she commented—"something +which the world will preserve and honor. What will you leave behind +you?"</p> + +<p>"I fear it won't be a picture," he said humbly. "I can't imagine one of +my paintings being hung here or any place else. They might hang the +painter, of course, though not just here, I fancy."</p> + +<p>In another room they lingered before a painting of a boy and a girl +driving home the cows—Israel's "Bashful Suitor." The girl contemplated +it through half-closed lids.</p> + +<p>"You did not look like that," she said. "You were a self-possessed big +boy, with smart clothes, and an air of ownership that comes of having a +lot of money. You were a good-hearted boy, rather impulsive, I should +think, but careless and spoiled. Had Israel chosen you it would have +been the girl who was timid, not you."</p> + +<p>He laughed easily.</p> + +<p>"Now, how can you possibly know what I looked like as a boy?" he +demanded. "Perhaps I was just such a slim, diffident little chap as that +one. Time works miracles, you know."</p> + +<p>"But even time has its limitations. I know perfectly well how you looked +at that boy's age. Sometimes I see boys pass along in front of the +house, and I say: 'There, he was just like that!'"</p> + +<p>Frank felt his heart grow warm. It seemed to him that her confession +showed a depth of interest not acknowledged before.</p> + +<p>"I'll try to make amends, Constance," he said, "by being a little nearer +what you would like to have me now," and could not help adding, "only +you'll have to decide just what particular thing you want me to be, and +please don't have the North Pole in it."</p> + +<p>Out in the blowy wet weather again, by avenues and by-ways, they raced +through the Park, climbing up to look over at the wind-driven water of +the old reservoir, clambering down a great wet bowlder on the other +side—the girl as agile and sure of foot as a boy. Then they pushed +toward Eighth Avenue, missed the entrance and wandered about in a +labyrinth of bridle-paths and footways, suddenly found themselves back +at the big bowlder again, scrambled up it warm and flushed with the +exertion, and dropped down for a moment to breathe and to get their +bearings.</p> + +<p>"I always did get lost in this place," he said. "I have never been able +to cross the Park and be sure just where I was coming out." Then they +laughed together happily, glad to be lost—glad it was raining and +blowing—glad, as children are always glad, to be alive and together.</p> + +<p>They were more successful, this time, and presently took an Eighth +Avenue car, going down—not because they especially wanted to go down, +but because at that time in the afternoon the down cars were emptier. +They had no plans as to where they were going, it being their habit on +such excursions to go without plans and to come when the spirit moved.</p> + +<p>They transferred at the Columbus statue, and she stood looking up at it +as they waited for a car.</p> + +<p>"That is my kind of a discoverer," she said; "one who sails out to find +a new world."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he agreed, "and the very next time there is a new world to be +discovered I am going to do it."</p> + +<p>The lights were already coming out along Broadway, this gloomy wet +evening, and the homing throng on the pavements were sheltered by a +gleaming, tossing tide of umbrellas. Frank and Constance got out at +Madison Square, at the Worth monument, and looked down toward the +"Flat-iron"—a pillar of light, looming into the mist.</p> + +<p>"Everywhere are achievements," said the girl. "That may not be a thing +of beauty, but it is a great piece of engineering. They have nothing +like those buildings abroad—at least I have not seen them. Oh, this is +a wonderful country, and it is those splendid engineers who have helped +to make it so. I know of one young man who is going to be an engineer. +He was just a poor boy—so poor—and has worked his way. He would never +take help from anybody. I shall see him this summer, when we go to the +mountains. He is to be not far away. Oh, you don't know how proud I +shall be of him, and how I want to see him and tell him so. Wouldn't you +be proud of a boy like that, a—a son or—a brother, for instance?"</p> + +<p>She looked up at him expectantly—a dash of rain glistening on her cheek +and in the little tangle of hair about her temples. She seemed a bit +disappointed that he was not more responsive.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you honor him?" she demanded, "and love him, too—a boy who +had made his way alone?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, why, y-yes, of course—only, you know, I hope he won't spend his +life building these things"—indicating with his head the great building +which they were now passing, the gusts of wind tossing them and making +it impossible to keep the umbrella open.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but he's to build railroads and great bridges—not houses at all."</p> + +<p>"Um—well, that's better. By the way, I believe you go to the +Adirondacks this summer."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Father has a cottage—he calls it a camp—there. That is, he had. +He says he supposes it's a wreck by this time. He hasn't seen it, you +know, for years."</p> + +<p>"I suppose there is no law against my going to the Adirondacks, too, is +there?" he asked, rather meekly. "You know, I should like to see that +young man of yours. Maybe I might get some idea of what I ought to be +like to make you proud of me. I haven't been there since I was a boy, +but I remember I liked it then. No doubt I'd like it this year if—if +that young man is there. I suppose I could find a place to stay not more +than twenty miles or so from your camp, so you could send word, you +know, any time you were getting proud of me."</p> + +<p>She laughed—he thought a little nervously.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," she admitted, "there's a sort of hotel or lodge or +something, not far away. I know that from Father. He said we might have +to stay there awhile until our camp is ready. Oh, but this talk of the +mountains makes me want to be there. I wish I were starting to-night!"</p> + +<p>It seemed a curious place to discuss a summer's vacation—under a big +wind-tossed umbrella, along Broadway on a March evening. Perhaps the +incongruity of it became more manifest with the girl's last remark, for +her companion chuckled.</p> + +<p>"Pretty disagreeable up there to-night," he objected; "besides, I +thought you liked all this a few minutes ago."</p> + +<p>"Yes, oh, yes; I do, of course! It's all so big and bright and +wonderful, though after all there is nothing like the woods, and the +wind and rain in the hills."</p> + +<p>What a strange creature she was, he thought. The world was so big and +new to her, she was confused and disturbed by the wonder of it and its +possibilities. She longed to have a part in it all. She would settle +down presently and see things as they were—not as she thought they +were. He was not altogether happy over the thought of the young man who +had made his way and was to be a civil engineer. He had not heard of +this friend before. Doubtless it was some one she had known in +childhood. He was willing that Constance should be proud of him; that +was right and proper, but he hoped she would not be too proud or too +personal in her interest. Especially if the young man was handsome. She +was so likely to be impulsive, even extreme, where her sympathies were +concerned. It was so difficult to know what she would do next.</p> + +<p>Constance, meanwhile, had been doing some thinking and observing on her +own account. Now she suddenly burst out: "Did you notice the headlines +on the news-stand we just passed? The bill that the President has just +vetoed? I don't know just what the bill is, but Father is so against it. +He'll think the President is fine for vetoing it!" A moment later she +burst out eagerly, "Oh, why don't you go in for politics and do +something great like that? A politician has so many opportunities. I +forgot all about politics."</p> + +<p>He laughed outright.</p> + +<p>"Try to forget it again," he urged. "Politicians have opportunities, as +you say; but some of the men who have improved what seemed the best ones +have gone to jail."</p> + +<p>"But others had to send them there. You could be one of the noble ones!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course, but you see I've just made up my mind to work my way +through a school of technology and become a civil engineer, so you'll be +proud of me—that is, after I've uncovered a few buried cities and found +the North Pole. I couldn't do those things so well if I went into +political reform." Then they laughed again, inconsequently, and so +light-hearted she seemed that Frank wondered if her more serious moods +were not for the most part make-believe, to tease him.</p> + +<p>At Union Square they crossed by Seventeenth Street back to Fifth Avenue. +When they had tacked their way northward for a dozen or more blocks, the +cheer of an elaborate dining-room streamed out on the wet pavement.</p> + +<p>"It's a good while till dinner," Frank observed. "If your stern parents +would not mind, I should suggest that we go in there and have, let me +see—something hot and not too filling—I think an omelette soufflé +would be rather near it, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Wonderful!" she agreed, "and, do you know, Father said the other +day—of course, he's a gentle soul and too confiding—but I heard him +say that you were one person he was perfectly willing I should be with, +anywhere. I don't see why, unless it is that you know the city so well."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Deane's judgment is not to be lightly questioned," avowed the young +man, as they turned in the direction of the lights.</p> + +<p>"Besides," she supplemented, "I'm so famished. I should never be able to +wait for dinner. I can smell that omelette now. And may I have +pie—pumpkin pie—just one piece? You know we never had pie abroad, and +my whole childhood was measured by pumpkin pies. May I have just a small +piece?"</p> + +<p>Half an hour later, when they came out and again made their way toward +the Deane mansion, the wind had died and the rain had become a mild +drizzle. As they neared the entrance of her home they noticed a +crouching figure on the lower step. The light from across the street +showed that it was a woman, dressed in shabby black, wearing a drabbled +hat, decorated with a few miserable flowers. She hardly noticed them, +and her face was heavy and expressionless. The girl shrank away and was +reluctant to enter.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," he whispered to her. "That is the Island type. She +wants nothing but money. It's a chance for philanthropy of a very simple +kind." He thrust a bill into the poor creature's hand. The girl's eye +caught a glimpse of its denomination.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she protested, "you should not give like that. I've heard it does +much more harm than good."</p> + +<p>"I know," he assented. "My mother says so. But I've never heard that she +or anybody else has discovered a way really to help these people."</p> + +<p>They stood watching the woman, who had muttered something doubtless +intended for thanks and was tottering slowly down the street. The girl +held fast to her companion's arm, and it seemed to him that she drew a +shade closer as they mounted the steps.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it's so, about doing them harm," she said, "and I don't think +you will ever lead as a philanthropist. Still, I'm glad you gave her the +money. I think I shall let you stay to dinner for that."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE DEEP WOODS OF ENCHANTMENT</h3> + + +<p>That green which is known only to June lay upon the hills. Algonquin, +Tahawus and Whiteface—but a little before grim with the burden of +endless years—rousing from their long, white sleep, had put on, for the +millionth time, perhaps, the fleeting mantle of youth. Spring lay on the +mountain tops—summer filled the valleys, with all the gradations +between.</p> + +<p>To the young man who drove the hack which runs daily between Lake Placid +and Spruce Lodge the scenery was not especially interesting. He had +driven over the road regularly since earlier in the month, and had seen +the hills acquire glory so gradually that this day to him was only as +other days—a bit more pleasant than some, but hardly more exciting. +With his companion—his one passenger—it was a different matter. Mr. +Frank Weatherby had occupied a New York sleeper the night before, +awaking only at daybreak to find the train puffing heavily up a long +Adirondack grade—to look out on a wet tangle of spruce, and fir, and +hardwood, and vine, mingled with great bowlders and fallen logs, and +everywhere the emerald moss, set agleam where the sunrise filtered +through. With his curtain raised a little, he had watched it from the +window of his berth, and the realization had grown upon him that nowhere +else in the world was there such a wood, though he wondered if the +marvel and enchantment of it might not lie in the fact that somewhere in +its green depths he would find Constance Deane.</p> + +<p>He had dressed hurriedly and through the remainder of the distance had +occupied the rear platform, drinking in the glory of it all—the brisk, +life-giving air—the mystery and splendor of the forest. He had been +here once, ten years ago, as a boy, but then he had been chiefly +concerned with the new rod he had brought and the days of sport ahead. +He had seen many forests since then, and the wonder of this one spoke to +him now in a language not comprehended in those far-off days.</p> + +<p>During the drive across the open farm country which lies between Lake +Placid and Spruce Lodge he had confided certain of his impressions to +his companion—a pale-haired theological student, who as driver of the +Lodge hack was combining a measure of profit with a summer's vacation. +The enthusiasm of his passenger made the quiet youth responsive, even +communicative, when his first brief diffidence had worn away. He had +been awarded this employment because of a previous knowledge acquired on +his father's farm in Pennsylvania. A number of his fellow students were +serving as waiters in the Lake Placid hotels. When pressed, he owned +that his inclination for the pulpit had not been in the nature of a +definite call. He had considered newspaper work and the law. A maiden +aunt had entered into his problem. She had been willing to supply +certain funds which had influenced the clerical decision. Perhaps it was +just as well. Having thus established his identity, he proceeded to +indicate landmarks of special interest, pointing out Whiteface, Colden +and Elephant's Back—also Tahawus and Algonquin—calling the last two +Marcy and McIntyre, as is the custom to-day. The snow had been on the +peaks, he said, almost until he came. It must have looked curious, he +thought, when the valleys were already green. Then they drove along in +silence for a distance—the passive youth lightly flicking the horses +to discourage a number of black flies that had charged from a clump of +alder. Frank, supremely content in the glory of his surroundings and the +prospect of being with Constance in this fair retreat, did not find need +for many words. The student likewise seemed inclined to reflect. His +passenger was first to rouse himself.</p> + +<p>"Many people at the Lodge yet?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"N-no—mostly transients. They climb Marcy and McIntyre from here. It's +the best place to start from."</p> + +<p>"I see. I climbed Whiteface myself ten years ago. We had a guide—an old +chap named Lawless. My mother and I were staying at Saranac and she let +me go with a party from there. I thought it great sport then, and made +up my mind to be a guide when I grew up. I don't think I'd like it so +well now."</p> + +<p>"They have the best guides at the Lodge," commented the driver. "The +head guide there is the best in the mountains. This is his first year at +the Lodge. He was with the Adirondack Club before."</p> + +<p>"I suppose it couldn't be my old hero, Lawless?"</p> + +<p>"No; this is a young man. I don't just remember his last name, but most +people call him Robin."</p> + +<p>"Um, not Robin Hood, I hope."</p> + +<p>The theological student shook his head. The story of the Sherwood bandit +had not been a part of his education.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't sound like that," he said. "It's something like Forney, or +Farham. He's a student, too—a civil engineer—but he was raised in +these hills and has been guiding since he was a boy. He's done it every +summer to pay his way through college. Next year he graduates, and they +say he's the best in the school. Of course, guides get big pay—as much +as three dollars a day, some of them—besides their board."</p> + +<p>The last detail did not interest Mr. Weatherby. He was suddenly +recalling a wet, blowy March evening on Broadway—himself under a big +umbrella with Constance Deane. She was speaking, and he could recall her +words quite plainly: "I know one young man who is going to be an +engineer. He was a poor boy—so poor—and has worked his way. I shall +see him this summer. You don't know how proud I shall be of him."</p> + +<p>To Frank the glory of the hills faded a little, and the progress of the +team seemed unduly slow.</p> + +<p>"Suppose we move up a bit," he suggested to the gentle youth with the +reins, and the horses were presently splashing through a shallow pool +left by recent showers.</p> + +<p>"He's a very strong fellow," the informant continued, "and handsome. +He's going to marry the daughter of the man who owns the Lodge when he +gets started as an engineer. She's a pretty girl, and smart. Her +mother's dead, and she's her father's housekeeper. She teaches school +sometimes, too. They'll make a fine match."</p> + +<p>The glory of the hills renewed itself, and though the horses had dropped +once more into a lazy jog, Frank did not suggest urging them.</p> + +<p>"I believe there is a young lady guest at the Lodge," he ventured a +little later—a wholly unnecessary remark—he having received a letter +from Constance on her arrival there, with her parents, less than a week +before.</p> + +<p>The youth nodded.</p> + +<p>"Two," he said. "One I brought over yesterday—from Utica, I think she +was—and another last week, from New York, with her folks. Their names +are Deane, and they own a camp up here. They're staying at the Lodge +till it's ready."</p> + +<p>"I see; and did the last young lady—the family, I mean—seem to know +any one at the Lodge?"</p> + +<p>But the youth could not say. He had taken them over with their bags and +trunks and had not noticed farther, only that once or twice since, when +he had arrived with the mail, the young lady had come in from the woods +with a book and a basket of mushrooms, most of which he thought to be +toadstools, and poisonous. Once—maybe both times—Robin had been with +her—probably engaged as a guide. Robin would be apt to know about +mushrooms.</p> + +<p>Frank assented a little dubiously.</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't wonder if we'd better be moving along," he suggested. "We +might be late with that mail."</p> + +<p>There followed another period of silence and increased speed. As they +neared the North Elba post-office—a farmhouse with a flower-garden in +front of it—the youth pointed backward to a hill with a flag-staff on +it.</p> + +<p>"That is John Brown's grave," he said.</p> + +<p>His companion looked and nodded.</p> + +<p>"I remember. My mother and I made a pilgrimage to it. Poor old John. +This is still a stage road, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but we leave it at North Elba. It turns off there for Keene."</p> + +<p>At the fork of the road Frank followed the stage road with his eye, +recalling his mountain summer of ten years before.</p> + +<p>"I know, now," he reflected aloud. "This road goes to Keene, and on to +Elizabeth and Westport. I went over it in the fall. I remember the +mountains being all colors, with tips of snow on them." Suddenly he +brought his hand down on his knee. "It's just come to me," he said. +"Somewhere between here and Keene there was a little girl who had +berries to sell, and I ran back up a long hill and gave her my lucky +piece for them. I told her to keep it for me till I came back. That was +ten years ago. I never went back. I wonder if she has it still?"</p> + +<p>The student of theology shook his head. It did not seem likely. Then he +suggested that, of course, she would be a good deal older now—an idea +which did not seem to have occurred to Mr. Weatherby.</p> + +<p>"Sure enough," he agreed, "and maybe not there. I suppose you don't +know anybody over that way."</p> + +<p>The driver did not. During the few weeks since his arrival he had +acquired only such knowledge as had to do with his direct line of +travel.</p> + +<p>They left North Elba behind, and crossing another open stretch of +country, headed straight for the mountains. They passed a red farmhouse, +and brooks in which Frank thought there must be trout. Then by an avenue +of spring leafage, shot with sunlight and sweet with the smell of spruce +and deep leaf mold, they entered the great forest where, a mile or so +beyond, lay the Lodge.</p> + +<p>Frank's heart began to quicken, though not wholly as the result of +eagerness. He had not written Constance that he was coming so soon. +Indeed, in her letter she had suggested in a manner which might have +been construed as a command that <i>if</i> he intended to <i>come to the +Adirondacks at all</i> this summer he should wait until they were settled +in their camp. But Frank had discovered that New York in June was not +the attractive place he had considered it in former years. Also that the +thought of the Adirondacks, even the very word itself, had acquired a +certain charm. To desire and to do were not likely to be very widely +separated with a young man of his means and training, and he had left +for Lake Placid that night.</p> + +<p>Yet now that he had brought surprise to the very threshold, as it were, +he began to hesitate. Perhaps, after all, Constance might not be +overjoyed or even mildly pleased at his coming. She had seemed a bit +distant before her departure, and he knew how hard it was to count on +her at times.</p> + +<p>"You can see the Lodge from that bend," said his companion, presently, +pointing with his whip.</p> + +<p>Then almost immediately they had reached the turn, and the Lodge—a +great, double-story cabin of spruce logs, with wide verandas—showed +through the trees. But between the hack and the Lodge were two +figures—a tall young man in outing dress, carrying a basket, and a tall +young woman in a walking skirt, carrying a book. They were quite close +together, moving toward the Lodge. They seemed to be talking earnestly, +and did not at first notice the sound of wheels.</p> + +<p>"That's them now," whispered the young man, forgetting for the moment +his scholastic training. "That's Robin and Miss Deane, with the book and +the basket of toadstools."</p> + +<p>The couple ahead stopped just then and turned. Frank prepared himself +for the worst.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Weatherby would seem to have been unduly alarmed. As he stepped +from the vehicle Constance came forward with extended hand.</p> + +<p>"You are good to surprise us," she was saying, and then, a moment later, +"Mr. Weatherby, this is Mr. Robin Farnham—a friend of my childhood. I +think I have mentioned him to you."</p> + +<p>Whatever momentary hostility Frank Weatherby may have cherished for +Robin Farnham vanished as the two clasped hands. Frank found himself +looking into a countenance at once manly, intellectual and handsome—the +sort of a face that men, and women, too, trust on sight. And then for +some reason there flashed again across his mind a vivid picture of +Constance as she had looked up at him that wet night under the umbrella, +the raindrops glistening on her cheek and in the blowy tangle about her +temples. He held Robin's firm hand for a moment in his rather soft palm. +There was a sort of magnetic stimulus in that muscular grip and hardened +flesh. It was so evidently the hand of achievement, Frank was loath to +let it go.</p> + +<p>"You are in some way familiar to me," he said then. "I may have seen you +when I was up this way ten years ago. I suppose you do not recall +anything of the kind?"</p> + +<p>A touch of color showed through the brown of Robin's cheek.</p> + +<p>"No," he said; "I was a boy of eleven, then, probably in the field. I +don't think you saw me. Those were the days when I knew Miss Deane. I +used to carry baskets of green corn over to Mr. Deane's camp. If you had +been up this way during the past five or six years I might have been +your guide. Winters I have attended school."</p> + +<p>They were walking slowly as they talked, following the hack toward the +Lodge. Constance took up the tale at this point, her cheeks also +flushing a little as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"He had to work very hard," she said. "He had to raise the corn and then +carry it every day—miles and miles. Then he used to make toy boats and +sail them for me in the brook, and a playhouse, and whatever I wanted. +Of course, I did not consider that I was taking his time, or how hard it +all was for him."</p> + +<p>"Miss Deane has given up little boats and playhouses for the science of +mycology," Robin put in, rather nervously, as one anxious to change the +subject.</p> + +<p>Frank glanced at the volume he had appropriated—a treatise on certain +toadstools, edible and otherwise.</p> + +<p>"I have heard already of your new employment, or, at least, diversion," +he said. "The young man who brought me over told me that a young lady +had been bringing baskets of suspicious fungi to the Lodge. From what he +said I judged that he considered it a dangerous occupation."</p> + +<p>"That was Mr. Meelie," laughed Constance. "I have been wondering why Mr. +Meelie avoided me. I can see now that he was afraid I would poison him. +You must meet Miss Carroway, too," she ran on. "I mean you <i>will</i> meet +her. She is a very estimable lady from Connecticut who has a nephew in +the electric works at Haverford; also the asthma, which she is up here +to get rid of. She is at the Lodge for the summer, and is already the +general minister of affairs at large and in particular. Among other +things, she warns me daily that if I persist in eating some of the +specimens I bring home, I shall presently die with great violence and +suddenness. She is convinced that there is just one kind of mushroom, +and that it doesn't grow in the woods. She has no faith in books. Her +chief talent lies in promoting harmless evening entertainments. You will +have to take part in them."</p> + +<p>Frank had opened the book and had been studying some of the colored +plates while Constance talked.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that I blame your friends," he said, half seriously. "Some +of these look pretty dangerous to the casual observer."</p> + +<p>"But I've been studying that book for weeks," protested Constance, "long +before we came here. By and by I'm going to join the Mycological Society +and try to be one of its useful members."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you have to eat most of these before you are eligible?" +commented Frank, still fascinated by the bright pictures.</p> + +<p>"Not at all. Some of them are quite deadly, but one ought to be able to +distinguish most of the commoner species, and be willing to trust his +knowledge."</p> + +<p>"To back one's judgment with one's life, as it were. Well, that's one +sort of bravery, no doubt. Tell me, please, how many of these gayly +spotted ones you have eaten and still live to tell the tale?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>A BRIEF LECTURE AND SOME INTRODUCTIONS</h3> + + +<p>The outside of Spruce Lodge suggested to Frank the Anglo-Saxon castle of +five or six hundred years ago, though it was probably better constructed +than most of the castles of that early day. It was really an immense +affair, and there were certain turrets and a tower which carried out the +feudal idea. Its builder, John Morrison, had been a faithful reader of +Scott, and the architecture of the Lodge had in some manner been an +expression of his romantic inclination. Frank thought, however, that the +feudal Saxon might not have had the long veranda facing the little jewel +of a lake, where were mirrored the mountains that hemmed it in. With +Constance he sat on the comfortable steps, looking through the tall +spruces at the water or at mountain peaks that seemed so near the blue +that one might step from them into the cloudland of an undiscovered +country.</p> + +<p>No one was about for the moment, the guests having collected in the +office for the distribution of the daily mail. Robin had gone, too, +striding away toward a smaller cabin where the guides kept their +paraphernalia. Frank said:</p> + +<p>"You don't know how glad I am to be here with you in this wonderful +place, Conny. I have never seen anything so splendid as this forest, and +I was simply desperate in town as soon as you were gone."</p> + +<p>She had decided not to let him call her that again, but concluded to +overlook this offense. She began arranging the contents of her basket on +the step beside her—a gay assortment of toadstools gathered during her +morning walk.</p> + +<p>"You see what <i>I</i> have been doing," she said. "I don't suppose it will +interest you in the least, but to me it is a fascinating study. Perhaps +if I pursue it I may contribute something to the world's knowledge and +to its food supply."</p> + +<p>Frank regarded the variegated array with some solemnity.</p> + +<p>"I hope, Conny, you don't mean to eat any of those," he said.</p> + +<p>"Probably not; but see how beautiful they are."</p> + +<p>They were indeed beautiful, for no spot is more rich in fungi of varied +hues than the Adirondack woods. There were specimens ranging from pale +to white, from cream to lemon yellow—pink that blended into shades of +red and scarlet—gray that deepened to blue and even purple—numerous +shades of buff and brown, and some of the mottled coloring. Some were +large, almost gigantic; some tiny ones were like bits of ivory or coral. +Frank evinced artistic enthusiasm, but a certain gastronomic reserve.</p> + +<p>"Wonderful!" he said. "I did not suppose there were such mushrooms in +the world—so beautiful. I know now what the line means which says, 'How +beautiful is death.'"</p> + +<p>There was a little commotion just then at the doorway of the Lodge, and +a group of guests—some with letters, others with looks of resignation +or disappointment—appeared on the veranda. From among them, Mrs. Deane, +a rather frail, nervous woman, hurried toward Mr. Weatherby with evident +pleasure. She had been expecting him, she declared, though Constance had +insisted that he would think twice before he started once for that +forest isolation. They would be in their own quarters in a few days, and +it would be just a pleasant walk over there. There were no hard hills +to climb. Mr. Deane walked over twice a day. He was there now, +overseeing repairs. The workmen were very difficult.</p> + +<p>"But there are <i>some</i> hills, Mamma," interposed Constance—"little ones. +Perhaps Mr. Weatherby won't care to climb at all. He has already +declared against my mushrooms. He said something just now about their +fatal beauty—I believe that was it. He's like all the rest of +you—opposed to the cause of science."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Deane regarded the young man appealingly.</p> + +<p>"Try to reason with her," she said nervously. "Perhaps she'll listen to +you. She never will to me. I tell her every day that she will poison +herself. She's always tasting of new kinds. She's persuaded me to eat +some of those she had cooked, and I've sent to New York for every known +antidote for mushroom poisoning. It's all right, perhaps, to study them +and collect them, but when it comes to eating them to prove that the +book is right about their being harmless, it seems like flying in the +face of Providence. Besides, Constance is careless."</p> + +<p>"I remember her telling me, as reason for not wanting to be a doctor, +something about giving you the wrong medicine last winter."</p> + +<p>"She did—some old liniment—I can taste the stuff yet. Constance, I do +really think it's sinful for you to meddle with such uncertain subjects. +Just think of eating any of those gaudy things. Constance! How can you?"</p> + +<p>Constance patted the nervous little lady on the cheek.</p> + +<p>"Be comforted," she said. "I am not going to eat these. I brought them +for study. Most of them are harmless enough, I believe, but they are of +a kind that even experts are not always sure of. They are called +<i>Boleti</i>—almost the first we have found. I have laid them out here for +display, just as the lecturer did last week at Lake Placid."</p> + +<p>Miss Deane selected one of the brightly colored specimens.</p> + +<p>"This," she began, with mock gravity and a professional air, "is a +<i>Boletus</i>—known as <i>Boletus speciosus</i>—that is, I think it +is." She opened the book and ran hastily over the leaves. "Yes, +<i>speciosus</i>—either that or the <i>bicolor</i>—I can't be certain just +which."</p> + +<p>"There, Constance," interrupted Mrs. Deane, "you confess, yourself, you +can't tell the difference. Now, how are we going to know when we are +being poisoned? We ate some last night. Perhaps they were deadly +poison—how can we know?"</p> + +<p>"Be comforted, Mamma; we are still here."</p> + +<p>"But perhaps the poison hasn't begun to work yet."</p> + +<p>"It should have done so, according to the best authorities, some hours +ago. I have been keeping watch of the time."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Deane groaned.</p> + +<p>"The best authorities? Oh, dear—oh, dear! Are there really any +authorities in this awful business? And she has been watching the time +for the poison to work—think of it!"</p> + +<p>A little group of guests collected to hear the impromptu discussion. +Frank, half reclining on the veranda steps, ran his eye over the +assembly. For the most part they seemed genuine seekers after recreation +and rest in this deep forest isolation. There were brain-workers among +them—painters and writer folk. Some of the faces Frank thought he +recognized. In the foreground was a rather large woman of the New +England village type. She stood firmly on her feet, and had a wide, +square face, about which the scanty gray locks were tightly curled. She +moved closer now, and leaning forward, spoke with judicial deliberation.</p> + +<p>"Them's tudstools!" she said—a decision evidently intended to be final. +She adjusted her glasses a bit more carefully and bent closer to the gay +collection. "The' ain't a single one of 'em a mushroom," she proceeded. +"We used to have 'em grow in our paster, an' my little nephew, Charlie, +that I brought up by hand and is now in the electric works down to +Haverford, he used to gather 'em, an' they wa'n't like them at all."</p> + +<p>A ripple of appreciation ran through the group, and others drew near to +inspect the fungi. Constance felt it necessary to present Frank to those +nearest, whom she knew. He arose to make acknowledgments. With the old +lady, whose name, it appeared, was Miss Carroway, he shook hands. She +regarded him searchingly.</p> + +<p>"You're some taller than my Charlie," she said, and added, "I hope you +don't intend to eat them tudstools, do you? Charlie wouldn't a et one o' +them kind fer a thousand dollars. He knew the reel kind that grows in +the medders an' pasters."</p> + +<p>Constance took one of Miss Carroway's hands and gave it a friendly +squeeze.</p> + +<p>"You are spoiling my lecture," she laughed, "and aiding Mamma in +discrediting me before the world. I will tell you the truth about +mushrooms. Not the whole truth, but an important one. All toadstools are +mushrooms and all mushrooms are toadstools. A few kinds are +poisonous—not many. Most of them are good to eat. The only difficulty +lies in telling the poison ones."</p> + +<p>Miss Carroway appeared interested, but incredulous. Constance continued.</p> + +<p>"The sort your Charlie used to gather was the <i>Agaricus Campestris</i>, or +meadow mushroom—one of the commonest and best. It has gills +underneath—not pores, like this one. The gills are like little leaves +and hold the spores, or seed as we might call it. The pores of this +<i>Boletus</i> do the same thing. You see they are bright yellow, while the +top is purple-red. The stem is yellow, too. Now, watch!"</p> + +<p>She broke the top of the <i>Boletus</i> in two parts—the audience pressing +closer to see. The flesh within was lemon color, but almost instantly, +with exposure to the air, began to change, and was presently a dark +blue. Murmurs of wonder ran through the group. They had not seen this +marvel before.</p> + +<p>"Bravo!" murmured Frank. "You are beginning to score."</p> + +<p>"Many of the <i>Boleti</i> do that," Constance resumed. "Some of them are +very bad tasting, even when harmless. Some are poisonous. One of them, +the <i>Satanus</i>, is regarded as deadly. I don't think this is one of them, +but I shall not insist on Miss Carroway and the rest of you eating it."</p> + +<p>Miss Carroway sent a startled glance at the lecturer and sweepingly +included the assembled group.</p> + +<p>"Eat it!" she exclaimed. "Eat that? Well, I sh'd think not! I wouldn't +eat that, ner let any o' my folks eat it, fer no money!"</p> + +<p>There was mirth among the audience. A young mountain climber in a moment +of recklessness avowed his faith by declaring that upon Miss Deane's +recommendation he would eat the whole assortment for two dollars.</p> + +<p>"You'd better make it enough for funeral expenses," commented Miss +Carroway; whereupon the discussion became general and hilarious, and the +extempore lecture ceased.</p> + +<p>"You see," Constance said to Frank, "I cannot claim serious attention, +even upon so vital a subject as the food supply."</p> + +<p>"But you certainly entertained them, and I, for one, have a growing +respect for your knowledge." Then, rising, he added, "Speaking of food +reminds me that you probably have some sort of midday refreshment here, +and that I would better arrange for accommodations and make myself +presentable. By the way, Constance," lowering his voice, "I saw a +striking-looking girl on the veranda as we were approaching the house a +while ago. I don't think you noticed her, but she had black eyes and a +face like an Indian princess. She came out for a moment again, while you +were talking. I thought she rather looked as if she belonged here, but +she couldn't have been a servant."</p> + +<p>They had taken a little turn down the long veranda, and Constance waited +until they were well out of earshot before she said:</p> + +<p>"You are perfectly right—she could not. She is the daughter of Mr. +Morrison, who owns the Lodge—Edith Morrison—her father's housekeeper. +I shall present you at the first opportunity so that you may lose no +time falling in love with her. It will do you no good, though, for she +is going to marry Robin Farnham. The wedding will not take place, of +course, until Robin is making his way, but it is all settled, and they +are both very happy."</p> + +<p>"And quite properly," commented Frank with enthusiasm. "I heard +something about it coming over. Mr. Meelie told me. He said they were a +handsome pair. I fully agree with him." The young man smiled down at his +companion and added: "Do you know, Conny, if that young man Farnham were +unencumbered, I might expect you to do some falling in love, yourself."</p> + +<p>The girl laughed, rather more than seemed necessary, Frank thought, and +an added touch of color came into her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"I did that years ago," she owned. "I think as much of Robin already as +I ever could." Then, less lightly, "Besides, I should not like to be a +rival of Edith Morrison's. She is a mountain girl, with rather primitive +ideas. I do not mean that she is in any sense a savage or even +uncultured. Far from it. Her father is a well-read man for his +opportunities. They have a good many books here, and Edith has learned +the most of them by heart. Last winter she taught school. But she has +the mountains in her blood, and in that black hair and those eyes of +hers. Only, of course, you do not quite know what that means. The +mountains are fierce, untamed, elemental—like the sea. Such things get +into one's blood and never entirely go away. Of course, you don't quite +understand."</p> + +<p>Regarding her curiously, Frank said:</p> + +<p>"I remember your own hunger for the mountains, even in March. One might +almost think you native to them, yourself."</p> + +<p>"My love for them makes me understand," she said, after a pause; then in +lighter tone added, "and I should not wish to get in Edith Morrison's +way, especially where it related to Robin Farnham."</p> + +<p>"By which same token I shall avoid getting in Robin Farnham's way," +Frank said, as they entered the Lodge hall—a wide room, which in some +measure carried out the Anglo-Saxon feudal idea. The floor was strewn +with skins, the dark walls of unfinished wood were hung with antlers and +other trophies of the chase. At the farther end was a deep stone +fireplace, and above it the mounted head of a wild boar.</p> + +<p>"You see," murmured Constance, "being brought up among these things and +in the life that goes with them, one is apt to imbibe a good deal of +nature and a number of elementary ideas, in spite of books."</p> + +<p>A door by the wide fireplace opened just then, and a girl with jetty +hair and glowing black eyes—slender and straight as a young birch—came +toward them with step as lithe and as light as an Indian's. There was +something of the type, too, in her features. Perhaps in a former +generation a strain of the native American blood had mingled and blended +with the fairer flow of the new possessors. Constance Deane went forward +to meet her.</p> + +<p>"Miss Morrison," she said cordially, "this is Mr. Weatherby, of New +York—a friend of ours."</p> + +<p>The girl took Frank's extended hand heartily. Indeed, it seemed to the +young man that there was rather more warmth in her welcome than the +occasion warranted. Her face, too, conveyed a certain gratification in +his arrival—almost as if here were an expected friend. He could not +help wondering if this was her usual manner of greeting—perhaps due to +the primitive life she had led—the untrammeled freedom of the hills. +But Constance, when she had passed them, said:</p> + +<p>"I think you are marked for especial favor. Perhaps, after all, Robin is +to have a rival."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Yet not all is to be read upon the surface, even when one is so +unskilled at dissembling as Edith Morrison. We may see signs, but we may +not always translate their meaning. Her love affair had been one of long +standing, begun when Robin had guided his first party over Marcy to the +Lodge, then just built—herself a girl of less than a dozen years, +trying to take a dead mother's place. How many times since then he had +passed to and fro, with tourists in summer and hunting parties in +winter. Often during fierce storms he had stayed at the Lodge for a week +or more—gathered with her father and herself before the great log fire +in the hall while the winds howled and the drifts banked up against the +windows, gleaning from the Lodge library a knowledge of such things as +books can teach—history, science and the outside world. Then had come +the time when he had decided on a profession, when, with his hoarded +earnings and such employment as he could find in the college town, he +had begun his course in a school of engineering. The mountain winters +without Robin had been lonely ones, but with her father she had devoted +them to study, that she might not be left behind, and had taken the +little school at last on the North Elba road in order to feel something +of the independence which Robin knew. In this, the last summer of his +mountain life, he had come to her father as chief guide, mainly that +they might have more opportunity to perfect their plans for the years +ahead. All the trails carried their story, and though young men still +fell in love with Edith Morrison and maids with Robin Farnham, no moment +of distrust had ever entered in.</p> + +<p>But there would appear to be some fate which does not fail to justify +the old adage concerning true love. With the arrival of Constance Deane +at the Lodge, it became clear to Edith that there had been some curious +change in Robin. It was not that he became in the least degree +indifferent—if anything he had been more devoted than before. He made +it a point to be especially considerate and attentive when Miss Deane +was present—and in this itself there lay a difference. No other guest +had ever affected his bearing toward her, one way or the other. Edith +remembered, of course, that he had known the Deanes, long before, when +the Lodge was not yet built. Like Constance, she had only been a little +girl then, her home somewhere beyond the mountains where she had never +heard of Robin. Yet her intuition told her that the fact of a long ago +acquaintance between a child of wealthy parents and the farm boy who had +sold them produce and built toy boats for the little girl could not have +caused this difference now. It was nothing that Constance had engaged +Robin to guide her about the woods and carry her book or her basket of +specimens. Edith had been accustomed to all that, but this time there +was a different attitude between guide and guest—something so subtle +that it could hardly be put into words, yet wholly evident to the eyes +of love. Half unconsciously, at first, Edith revolved the problem in her +mind, trying to locate the cause of her impression. When next she saw +them alone together, she strove to convince herself that it was nothing, +after all. The very effort had made her the more conscious of a reality.</p> + +<p>Now had come the third time—to-day—the moment before Frank Weatherby's +arrival. They were approaching the house and did not see her, while she +had lost not a detail of the scene. Robin's very carriage—and hers—the +turn of a face, the manner of a word she could not hear, all spoke of a +certain tenderness, an understanding, a sort of ownership, it +seemed—none the less evident because, perhaps, they themselves were all +unconscious of it. The mountain girl remarked the beauty of that other +one and mentally compared it with her own. This girl was taller than +she, and fairer. Her face was richer in its coloring—she carried +herself like one of the noble ladies in the books. Oh, they were a +handsome pair—and not unlike, she thought. Not that they resembled, yet +something there was common to both. It must be that noble carriage of +which she had been always so proud in Robin. There swept across her +mental vision a splendid and heart-sickening picture of Robin going out +into the world with this rich, cultured girl, and not herself, his wife. +The Deanes were not pretentious people, and there was wealth enough +already. They might well be proud of Robin. Edith cherished no personal +bitterness toward either Constance or Robin—not yet. Neither did she +realize to what lengths her impetuous, untrained nature might carry her, +if really aroused. Her only conscious conclusion thus far was that +Robin and Constance, without knowing it themselves, were drifting into a +dangerous current, and that this new arrival might become a guide back +to safety. Between Frank Weatherby and herself there was the bond of a +common cause.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>A FLOWER ON A MOUNTAIN TOP</h3> + + +<p>Prosperous days came to the Lodge. Hospitable John Morrison had found a +calling suited to his gifts when he came across the mountain and built +the big log tavern at the foot of McIntyre. With July, guests +multiplied, and for those whose duty it was to provide entertainment the +problem became definite and practical. Edith Morrison found her duties +each day heavier and Robin Farnham was seldom unemployed. Usually he was +away with his party by daybreak and did not return until after +nightfall. Wherever might lie his inclination there would seem to be +little time for love making in such a season.</p> + +<p>By the middle of the month the Deanes had taken possession of their camp +on the west branch of the Au Sable, having made it habitable with a +consignment of summer furnishings from New York, and through the united +efforts of some half dozen mountain carpenters, urged in their +deliberate labors by the owner, Israel Deane, an energetic New Englander +who had begun life a penniless orphan and had become chief stockholder +in no less than three commercial enterprises on lower Broadway.</p> + +<p>With the removal of the Deanes Mr. Weatherby also became less in +evidence at the Lodge. The walk between the Lodge and the camp was to +him a way of enchantment. He had been always a poet at heart, and this +wonderful forest reawakened old dreams and hopes and fancies which he +had put away for the immediate and gayer things of life, hardly more +substantial and far less real. To him this was a veritable magic +wood—the habitation of necromancy—where robber bands of old might +lurk; where knights in silver armor might do battle; where huntsmen in +gold and green might ride, the vanished court of some forgotten king.</p> + +<p>And at the end of the way there was always the princess—a princess that +lived and moved, and yet, he thought, was not wholly awake—at least not +to the reality of his devotion to her, or, being so, did not care, save +to test it at unseemly times and in unusual ways. Frank was quite sure +that he loved Constance. He was certain that he had never cared so much +for anything in the world before, and that if there was a real need he +would make any sacrifice at her command. Only he did not quite +comprehend why she was not willing to put by all stress and effort to +become simply a part of this luminous summer time, when to him it was so +good to rest by the brook and listen to her voice following some old +tale, or to drift in a boat about the lake shore, finding a quaint +interest in odd nooks and romantic corners or in dreaming idle dreams.</p> + +<p>Indeed, the Lodge saw him little. Most days he did not appear between +breakfast and dinner time. Often he did not return even for that +function. Yet sometimes it happened that with Constance he brought up +there about mail time, and on these occasions they were likely to remain +for luncheon. Constance had by no means given up her nature study, and +these visits usually resulted from the discovery of some especial +delicacy of the woods which, out of consideration for her mother's +nervous views on the subject, was brought to the Lodge for preparation. +Edith Morrison generally superintended in person this particular +cookery, Constance often assisting—or "hindering," as she called +it—and in this way the two had become much better acquainted. Of late +Edith had well-nigh banished—indeed, she had almost forgotten—her +heart uneasiness of those earlier days. She had quite convinced herself +that she had been mistaken, after all. Frank and Constance were together +almost continually, while Robin, during the brief stay between each +coming and going, had been just as in the old time—natural, kind and +full of plans for the future. Only once had he referred more than +casually to Constance Deane.</p> + +<p>"I wish you two could see more of each other," he had said. "Some day we +may be in New York, you and I, and I am sure she would be friendly to +us."</p> + +<p>And Edith, forgetting all her uneasiness, had replied:</p> + +<p>"I wish we might"; and added, "of course, I do see her a good deal—one +way and another. She comes quite often with Mr. Weatherby, but then I +have the household and she has Mr. Weatherby. Do you think, Robin, she +is going to marry him?"</p> + +<p>Robin paused a little before replying.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I think he tries her a good deal. He is rich and rather +spoiled, you know. Perhaps he has become indifferent to a good many of +the things she thinks necessary."</p> + +<p>Edith did not reflect at the moment that this knowledge on Robin's part +implied confidential relations with one of the two principals. Robin's +knowledge was so wide and varied it was never her habit to question its +source.</p> + +<p>"She would rather have him poor and ambitious, I suppose," she +speculated thoughtfully. Then her hand crept over into his broad palm, +and, looking up, she added: "Do you know, Robin, that for a few +days—the first few days after she came—when you were with her a good +deal—I almost imagined—of course, I was very foolish—but she is so +beautiful and—superior, like you—and somehow you seemed different +toward her, too—I imagined, just a little, that you might care for her, +and I don't know—perhaps I was just the least bit jealous. I never was +jealous before—maybe I wasn't then—but I felt a heavy, hopeless +feeling coming around my heart. Is that jealousy?"</p> + +<p>His strong arm was about her and her face hidden on his shoulder. Then +she thought that he was laughing—she did not quite see why—but he held +her close. She thought it must all be very absurd or he would not +laugh. Presently he said:</p> + +<p>"I do care for her a great deal, and always have—ever since she was a +little girl. But I shall never care for her any more than I did then. +Some day you will understand just why."</p> + +<p>If this had not been altogether explicit it at least had a genuine ring, +and had laid to sleep any lingering trace of disquiet. As for the Lodge, +it accepted Frank and Constance as lovers and discussed them +accordingly, all save a certain small woman in black whose mission in +life was to differ with her surroundings, and who, with a sort of +rocking-chair circle of industry, crocheted at one end of the long +veranda, where from time to time she gave out vague hints that things in +general were not what they seemed, thereby fostering a discomfort of the +future. For the most part, however, her pessimistic views found little +acceptance, especially as they concerned the affairs of Mr. Weatherby +and Miss Deane. Miss Carroway, who for some reason—perhaps because of +the nephew whose youthful steps she had guided from the cradle to a +comfortable berth in the electric works at Haverford—had appointed +herself a sort of guardian of the young man's welfare, openly +pooh-poohed the small woman in black, and announced that she shouldn't +wonder if there was going to be a wedding "right off." It may be added +that Miss Carroway was usually the center of the rocking-chair circle, +and an open rival of the small woman in black as its directing manager.</p> + +<p>The latter, however, had the virtue of persistence. She habitually +elevated her nose and crochet work at Miss Carroway's opinions, avowing +that there was many a slip and that appearances were often deceitful. +For her part, she didn't think Miss Deane acted much like a girl in love +unless—she lowered her voice so that the others had to lean forward +that no syllable might escape—unless it was with <i>some other man</i>. For +her part, she thought Miss Deane had seemed happier the first few days, +before Mr. Weatherby came, going about with Robin Farnham. Anyhow, she +shouldn't be surprised if something strange happened before the summer +was over, at which prediction Miss Carroway never failed to sniff +indignantly, and was likely to drop a stitch in the wristlets she was +knitting for Charlie's Christmas.</p> + +<p>It was about the mail hour, at the close of one such discussion, that +the circle became aware of the objects of their debate approaching from +the boat landing. They made a handsome picture as they came up the path, +and even the small woman in black was obliged to confess that they were +well suited enough "so far as looks were concerned." As usual they +carried the book and basket, and waved them in greeting as they drew +near. Constance lifted the moss and ferns as she passed Miss Carroway to +display, as she said, the inviting contents, which the old lady regarded +with evident disapproval, though without comment. Miss Deane carried the +basket into the Lodge, and when she returned brought Edith Morrison with +her. The girl was rosy with the bustle going on indoors, and her bright +color, with her black hair and her spotless white apron, made her a +striking figure. Constance admired her openly.</p> + +<p>"I brought her out to show you how pretty she looks," she said gayly. +"Oh, haven't any of you a camera?"</p> + +<p>This was unexpected to Edith, who became still rosier and started to +retreat. Constance held her fast.</p> + +<p>"Miss Morrison and I are going to do the russulas—that's what they +were, you know—ourselves," she said. "Of course, Miss Carroway, you +need not feel that you are obliged to have any of them, but you will +miss something very nice if you don't."</p> + +<p>"Well, mebbe so," agreed the old lady. "I suppose I've missed a good +deal in my life by not samplin' everything that came along, but mebbe +I've lived just as long by not doin' it. Isn't that Robin Farnham +yonder? I haven't seen him for days."</p> + +<p>He had come in the night before, Miss Morrison told them. He had brought +a party through Indian Pass and would not go out again until morning.</p> + +<p>Constance nodded.</p> + +<p>"I know. They got their supper at the fall near our camp. Robin came +over to call on us. He often runs over for a little while when he comes +our way."</p> + +<p>She spoke quite unconcernedly, and Robin's name came easily from her +lips. The little woman in black shot a triumphant look at Miss Carroway, +who did not notice the attention or declined to acknowledge it. Of the +others only Edith Morrison gave any sign. The sudden knowledge that +Robin had called at the Deane camp the night before—that it was his +habit to do so when he passed that way—a fact which Robin himself had +not thought it necessary to mention—and then the familiar use of his +name—almost caressing, it had sounded to her—brought back with a rush +that heavy and hopeless feeling about her heart. She wanted to be wise +and sensible and generous, but she could not help catching the veranda +rail a bit tighter, while the rich color faded from her cheek. Yet no +one noticed, and she meant that no one, not even Robin, should know. No +doubt she was a fool, unable to understand, but she could not look +toward Robin, nor could she move from where she stood, holding fast to +the railing, trying to be wise and as self-possessed as she felt that +other girl would be in her place.</p> + +<p>Robin, meantime, had bent his steps in their direction. In his genial +manner and with his mellow voice he acknowledged the greetings of this +little group of guests. He had just recalled, he said to Constance, +having seen something, during a recent trip over McIntyre, which he had +at first taken for a very beautiful and peculiar flower. Later he had +decided it might be of special interest to her. It had a flower shape, +he said, and was pink in color, but was like wax, resembling somewhat +the Indian pipe, but with more open flowers and much more beautiful. He +did not recall having seen anything of the sort before, and would have +brought home one of the waxen blooms, only that he had been going the +other way and they seemed too tender to carry. He thought it a fungus +growth.</p> + +<p>Constance was deeply interested in his information, and the description +of what seemed to her a possible discovery of importance. She made him +repeat the details as nearly as he could recollect, and with the book +attempted to classify the species. Her failure to do so only stimulated +her enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you could find the place, again," she said.</p> + +<p>"Easily. It is only a few steps from the tripod at the peak," and he +drew with his pencil a plan of the spot.</p> + +<p>"I've heard the McIntyre trail is not difficult to keep," Constance +reflected.</p> + +<p>"No—provided, of course, one does not get into a fog. It's harder then. +I lost the trail myself up there once in a thick mist."</p> + +<p>The girl turned to Frank, who was lounging comfortably on the steps, +idly smoking.</p> + +<p>"Suppose we try it this afternoon," she said.</p> + +<p>Mr. Weatherby lifted his eyes to where Algonquin lay—its peaks among +the clouds.</p> + +<p>"It looks pretty foggy up there—besides, it will be rather late +starting for a climb like that."</p> + +<p>Miss Deane seemed a bit annoyed.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, rather crossly, "it will always be too foggy, or too +late, or too early for you. Do you know," she added, to the company at +large, "this young man hasn't offered to climb a mountain, or to go +trouting, once since he's been here. I don't believe he means to, all +summer. He said the other day that mountains and streams were made for +scenery—not to climb and fish in."</p> + +<p>The company discussed this point. Miss Carroway told of a hill near +Haverford which she used to climb, as a girl. Frank merely smiled +good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>"I did my climbing and fishing up here when I was a boy," he said. "I +think the fish are smaller now——"</p> + +<p>"And the mountains taller—poor, decrepit old man!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I confess the trails do look steeper," assented Frank, mildly; +"besides, with the varied bill of fare we have been enjoying these days, +I don't like to get too far from Mrs. Deane's medicine chest. I should +not like to be seized with the last agonies on top of a high mountain."</p> + +<p>Miss Deane assumed a lofty and offended air.</p> + +<p>"Never you mind," she declared; "when I want to scale a high mountain I +shall engage Mr. Robin Farnham to accompany me. Can you take me this +afternoon?" she added, addressing Robin.</p> + +<p>The young man started to reply, reddened a little and hesitated. Edith, +still lingering, holding fast to the veranda rail, suddenly spoke.</p> + +<p>"He can go quite well," she said, and there was a queer inflection in +her voice. "There is no reason——"</p> + +<p>But Constance had suddenly arisen and turned to her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I beg your pardon!" she pleaded hastily. "He has an engagement with +you, of course. I did not think—I can climb McIntyre any time. Besides, +Mr. Weatherby is right. It is cloudy up there, and we would be late +starting."</p> + +<p>She went over close to Edith. The latter was pale and constrained, +though she made an effort to appear cordial, repeating her assurance +that Robin was quite free to go—that she really wished him to do so. +Robin himself did not find it easy to speak, and Edith a moment later +excused herself, on the plea that she was needed within. Constance +followed her, presently, while Frank, lingering on the steps, asked +Robin a few questions concerning his trip through the Pass. Of the +rocking-chair circle, perhaps only the small woman in black found +comfort in what had just taken place. A silence had fallen upon the +little company, and it was a relief to all when the mail came and there +was a reason for a general breaking-up. As usual, Frank and Constance +had a table to themselves at luncheon and ate rather quietly, though the +russulas, by a new recipe, were especially fine. When it was over at +last they set out to explore the woods back of the Lodge.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>IN THE "DEVIL'S GARDEN"</h3> + + +<p>Constance Deane had developed a definite ambition. At all events she +believed it to be such, which, after all, is much the same thing in the +end. It was her dream to pursue this new study of hers until she had +made a definite place for herself, either as a recognized authority or +by some startling discovery, in mycological annals—in fact, to become +in some measure a benefactor of mankind. The spirit of unrest which had +possessed her that afternoon in March, when she had lamented that the +world held no place for her, had found at least a temporary outlet in +this direction. We all have had such dreams as hers. They are a part of +youth. Often they seem paltry enough to others—perhaps to us, as well, +when the morning hours have passed by. But those men and women who have +made such dreams real have given us a wiser and better world. Constance +had confided something of her intention to Frank, who had at least +assumed to take it seriously, following her in her wanderings—pushing +through tangle and thicket and clambering over slippery logs into +uncertain places for possible treasures of discovery. His reluctance to +scale McIntyre, though due to the reasons given rather than to any +thought of personal discomfort, had annoyed her, the more so because of +the unpleasant incident which followed. There had been a truce at +luncheon, but once in the woods Miss Deane did not hesitate to unburden +her mind.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," she began judicially, as if she had settled the matter in +her own mind, "I have about concluded that you are hopeless, after all."</p> + +<p>The culprit, who had just dragged himself from under a rather low-lying +wet log, assumed an injured air.</p> + +<p>"What can I have done, now?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"It's not what you have done, but what you haven't done. You're so +satisfied to be just comfortable, and——"</p> + +<p>Frank regarded his earthy hands and soiled garments rather ruefully.</p> + +<p>"Of course," he admitted, "I may have looked comfortable just now, +rooting and pawing about in the leaves for that specimen, but I didn't +really feel so."</p> + +<p>"You know well enough what I mean," Constance persisted, though a little +more pacifically. "You go with me willingly enough on such jaunts as +this, where it doesn't mean any very special exertion, though sometimes +I think you don't enjoy them very much. I know you would much rather +drift about in a boat on the lake, or sit under a tree, and have me read +to you. Do you know, I've never seen any one who cared so much for old +tales of knights and their deeds of valor and strove so little to +emulate them in real life."</p> + +<p>Frank waited a little before replying. Then he said gently:</p> + +<p>"I confess that I would rather listen to the tale of King Arthur in +these woods, and as you read it, Conny, than to attempt deeds of valor +on my own account. When I am listening to you and looking off through +these wonderful woods I can realize and believe in it all, just as I did +long ago, when I was a boy and read it for the first time. These are the +very woods of romance, and I am expecting any day we shall come upon +King Arthur's castle. When we do I shall join the Round Table and ride +for you in the lists. Meantime I can dream it all to the sound of your +voice, and when I see the people here climbing these mountains and +boasting of such achievements I decide that my dream is better than +their reality."</p> + +<p>But Miss Deane's memory of the recent circumstances still rankled. She +was not to be easily mollified.</p> + +<p>"And while you dream, I am to find my reality as best I may," she said +coldly.</p> + +<p>"But, Constance," he protested, "haven't I climbed trees, and gone down +into pits, and waded through swamps, and burrowed through vines and +briars at your command; and haven't I more than once tasted of the +things that you were not perfectly sure of, because the book didn't +exactly cover the specimen? Now, here I'm told that I'm hopeless, which +means that I'm a failure, when even at this moment I bear the marks of +my devotion." He pointed at the knees of his trousers, damp from his +recent experience. "I've done battle with nature," he went on, "and +entered the lists with your detractors. You said once there are knights +we do not recognize and armor we do not see. Now, don't you think you +may be overlooking one of those knights, with a suit of armor a little +damp at the knees, perhaps, but still stout and serviceable?"</p> + +<p>The girl did not, as usual, respond to his gayety and banter.</p> + +<p>"You may joke about it, if you like," she said, "but true knights, even +in the garb of peasants, have been known to scale dizzy heights for a +single flower. I have never known of one who refused to accompany a lady +on such an errand, especially when it was up an easy mountain trail +which even children have climbed."</p> + +<p>"Then this is a notable day, for you have met two."</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>"But one was without blame, and but for the first there could not have +occurred the humiliation of the second, and that, too"—she smiled in +spite of herself—"in the presence of my detractors. It will be hard for +you to rectify that, Sir Knight!"</p> + +<p>There was an altered tone in the girl's voice. The humorous phase was +coming nearer the surface. Frank brightened.</p> + +<p>"Really, though," he persisted, "I was right about it's being foggy up +there. Farnham would have said so, himself."</p> + +<p>"No doubt," she agreed, "but we could have reached that conclusion +later. An expressed willingness to go would have spared me and all of us +what followed. As it is, Edith Morrison thinks I wanted to deprive her +of Robin on his one day at home, while he was obliged to make himself +appear foolish before every one."</p> + +<p>"I wish you had as much consideration for me as you always show for +Robin," said Frank, becoming suddenly aggrieved.</p> + +<p>"And why not for Robin?" The girl's voice became sharply crisp and +defiant. "Who is entitled to it more than he—a poor boy who struggled +when no more than a child to earn bread for his invalid mother and +little sister; who has never had a penny that he did not earn; who never +would take one, but in spite of all has fought his way to recognition +and respect and knowledge? Oh, you don't know how he has struggled—you +who have had everything from birth—who have never known what it is not +to gratify every wish, nor what it feels like to go hungry and cold that +some one else might be warm and fed." Miss Deane's cheeks were aglow, +and her eyes were filled with fire. "It is by such men as Robin +Farnham," she went on, "that this country has been built, with all its +splendid achievements and glorious institutions, and the possibilities +for such fortunes as yours. Why should I not respect him, and honor him, +and love him, if I want to?" she concluded, carried away by her +enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>Frank listened gravely to the end. Then he said, very gently:</p> + +<p>"There is no reason why you should not honor and respect such a man, +nor, perhaps, why you should not love him—if you want to. I am sure +Robin Farnham is a very worthy fellow. But I suppose even you do not +altogether realize the advantage of having been born poor——"</p> + +<p>The girl was about to break in, but checked herself.</p> + +<p>"Of having been born poor," he repeated, "and compelled to struggle from +the beginning. It gets to be a habit, you see, a sort of groundwork for +character. Perhaps—I do not say it, mind, I only say perhaps—if Robin +Farnham had been born with my advantages and I with his, it might have +made a difference, don't you think, in your very frank and just estimate +of us to-day? I have often thought that it is a misfortune to have been +born with money, but I suppose I didn't think of it soon enough, and it +seems pretty late now to go back and start all over. Besides, I have no +one in need to struggle for. My mother is comfortably off, and I have no +little suffering sister——"</p> + +<p>She checked him a gesture.</p> + +<p>"Don't—oh, don't!" she pleaded. "Perhaps you are right about being +poor, but that last seems mockery and sacrilege—I cannot bear it! You +don't know what you are saying. You don't know, as I do, how he has gone +out in the bitter cold to work, without his breakfast, because there was +not enough for all, and how—because he had cooked the breakfast +himself—he did not let them know. No, you do not realize—you could +not!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Weatherby regarded his companion rather wonderingly. There was +something in her eyes which made them very bright. It seemed to him that +her emotion was hardly justified.</p> + +<p>"I suppose he has told you all about it," he said, rather coldly.</p> + +<p>She turned upon him.</p> + +<p>"He? Never! He would never tell any one! I found it out—oh, long +ago—but I did not understand it all—not then."</p> + +<p>"And the mother and sister—what became of them?"</p> + +<p>The girl's voice steadied itself with difficulty.</p> + +<p>"The mother died. The little girl was taken by some kind people. He was +left to fight his battle alone."</p> + +<p>Neither spoke after this, and they walked through woods that were like +the mazy forests of some old tale. If there had been a momentary rancor +between them it was presently dissipated in the quiet of the gold-lit +greenery about them, and as they wandered on there grew about them a +peace which needed no outward establishment. They held their course by a +little compass, and did not fear losing their way, though it was easy +enough to become confused amid those barriers of heaped bowlders and +tangled logs. By and by Constance held up her hand.</p> + +<p>"Listen," she said, "there are voices."</p> + +<p>They halted, and a moment later Robin Farnham and Edith Morrison emerged +from a natural avenue just ahead. They had followed a different way and +were returning to the Lodge. Frank and Constance pushed forward to meet +them.</p> + +<p>"We have just passed a place that would interest you," said Robin to +Miss Deane. "A curious shut-in place where mushrooms grow almost as if +they had been planted there. We will take you to it."</p> + +<p>Robin spoke in his usual manner. Edith, though rather quiet, appeared to +have forgotten the incident of the veranda. Frank and Constance followed +a little way, and then all at once they were in a spot where the air +seemed heavy and chill, as though a miasma rose from the yielding soil. +Thick boughs interlaced overhead, and the sunlight of summer never +penetrated there. Such light as came through seemed dim and sorrowful, +and there was about the spot a sinister aspect that may have been due to +the black pool in the center and the fungi which grew about it. Pale, +livid growths were there, shading to sickly yellow, and in every form +and size. So thick were they they fairly overhung and crowded in that +gruesome bed. Here a myriad of tiny stems, there great distorted shapes +pushed through decaying leaves—or toppled over, split and rotting—the +food of buzzing flies, thousands of which lay dead upon the ground. A +sickly odor hung about the ghastly place. No one spoke at first. Then +Constance said:</p> + +<p>"I believe they are all deadly—every one." And Frank added:</p> + +<p>"I have heard of the Devil's Garden. I think we have found it."</p> + +<p>Edith Morrison shuddered. Perhaps the life among the hills had made her +a trifle superstitious.</p> + +<p>"Let us be going," Constance said. "Even the air of such a place may be +dangerous." Then, curiosity and the collecting instinct getting the +better of her, she stooped and plucked one of the yellow fungi which +grew near her foot. "They seem to be all Amanitas," she added, "the most +deadly of toadstools. Those paler ones are <i>Amanita Phalloides</i>. There +is no cure for their poison. These are called the Fly Amanita because +they attract flies and slay them, as you see. This yellow one is an +Amanita, too—see its poison cup. I do not know its name, and we won't +stop here to find it, but I think we might call it the Yellow Danger."</p> + +<p>She dropped it into the basket and all turned their steps homeward, the +two girls ahead, the men following. The unusual spot had seemed to +depress them all. They spoke but little, and in hushed voices. When they +emerged from the woods the sun had slipped behind the hills and a +semi-twilight had fallen. Day had become a red stain in the west. +Constance turned suddenly to Robin Farnham.</p> + +<p>"I think I will ask you to row me across the lake," she said. "I am sure +Mr. Weatherby will be glad to surrender the privilege. I want to ask you +something more about those specimens you saw on McIntyre."</p> + +<p>There was no hint of embarrassment in Miss Deane's manner of this +request. Indeed, there was a pleasant, matter-of-fact tone in her voice +that to the casual hearer would have disarmed any thought of suspicion. +Yet to Edith and Frank the matter seemed ominously important. They spoke +their adieus pleasantly enough, but a curious spark glittered a little +in the girl's eyes and the young man's face was grave as they two +watched the handsome pair down the slope, and saw them enter the +Adirondack canoe and glide out on the iridescent water. Suddenly Edith +turned to her companion. She was very pale and the spark had become +almost a blaze.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Weatherby," she said fiercely, "you and I are a pair of fools. You +may not know it—perhaps even they do not know it, yet. But it is +becoming very clear to me!"</p> + +<p>Frank was startled by her unnatural look and tone. As he stood regarding +her, he saw her eyes suddenly flood with tears. The words did not come +easily either to deny or acknowledge her conclusions. Then, very gently, +as one might speak to a child, he said:</p> + +<p>"Let us not be too hasty in our judgments. Very sad mistakes have been +made by being too hasty." He looked out at the little boat, now rapidly +blending into the shadows of the other shore, and added—to himself, as +it seemed—"I have made so little effort to be what she wished. He is so +much nearer to her ideal."</p> + +<p>He turned to say something more to the girl beside him, but she had +slipped away and was already halfway to the Lodge. He followed, and then +for a time sat out on the veranda, smoking, and reviewing what seemed to +him now the wasted years. He recalled his old ambitions. Once they had +been for the sea—the Navy. Then, when he had become associated with the +college paper he had foreseen in himself the editor of some great +journal, with power to upset conspiracies and to unmake kings. Presently +he had begun to write—he had always dabbled in that—and his +fellow-students had hailed him not only as their leader in athletic but +literary pursuits. As editor-in-chief of the college paper and +valedictorian of his class, he had left them at last, followed by +prophecies of a career in the world of letters. Well, that was more than +two years ago, and he had never picked up his pen since that day. There +had been so many other things—so many places to go—so many pleasant +people—so much to do that was easier than to sit down at a remote desk +with pen and blank paper, when all the world was young and filled with +gayer things. Then, presently, he had reasoned that there was no need of +making the fight—there were too many at it, now. So the flower of +ambition had faded as quickly as it had bloomed, and the blossoms of +pleasure had been gathered with a careless hand. His meeting with +Constance had been a part of the play-life of which he had grown so +fond. Now that she had grown into his life he seemed about to lose her, +because of the flower he had let die.</p> + +<p>The young man ate his dinner silently—supplying his physical needs in +the perfunctory manner of routine. He had been late coming in, and the +dining-room was nearly empty. Inadvertently he approached the group +gathered about the wide hall fireplace as he passed out. Miss Carroway +occupied the center of this little party and, as usual, was talking. She +appeared to be arranging some harmless evening amusement.</p> + +<p>"It's always pleasant after supper," she was saying—Miss Carroway never +referred to the evening meal as dinner—"to ask a few conundrums. My +Charlie that I raised and is now in the electric works at Haverford used +to say it helped digestion. Now, suppose we begin. I'll ask the first +one, and each one will guess in turn. The first one who guesses can ask +the next."</p> + +<p>Becoming suddenly conscious of the drift of matters, Frank started to +back out, silently, but Miss Carroway had observed his entrance and, +turning, checked him with her eye.</p> + +<p>"You're just in time," she said. "We haven't commenced yet. Oh, yes, you +must stay. It's good for young people to have a little diversion in the +evening and not go poking off alone. I am just about to ask the first +conundrum. Mebbe you'll get the next. This is one that Charlie always +liked. What's the difference between a fountain and the Prince of Wales? +Now, you begin, Mr. Weatherby, and see if you can guess it."</p> + +<p>The feeling was borne in upon Frank that this punishment was rather more +than he could bear, and he made himself strong for the ordeal. Dutifully +he considered the problem and passed it on to the little woman in black, +who sat next. Miss Carroway's rival was consumed with an anxiety to +cheapen the problem with a prompt answer.</p> + +<p>"That's easy enough," she said. "One's the son of the queen, and the +other's a queen of the sun. Of course," she added, "a fountain isn't +really a queen of the sun, but it shines and sparkles and <i>might</i> be +called that."</p> + +<p>Miss Carroway regarded her with something of disdain.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, with decision, "it might be, but it ain't. You guessed +wrong. Next!"</p> + +<p>"One's always wet, and the other's always dry," volunteered an +irreverent young person outside the circle, which remark won a round of +ill-deserved applause.</p> + +<p>"You ought to come into the game," commented Miss Carroway, "but that +ain't it, either."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it has something with 'shine' and 'line,'" ventured the young +lady from Utica, who was a school-mistress, "or 'earth' and 'birth.' I +know I've heard it, but I can't remember."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" sniffed Miss Carroway, and passed it on. Nobody else ventured a +definition and the problem came back to its proposer. She sat up a bit +straighter, and swept the circle with her firelit glasses.</p> + +<p>"One's thrown to the air, and the other's heir to the throne," she +declared, as if pronouncing judgment. "I don't think this is much of a +conundrum crowd. My Charlie would have guessed that the first time. But +I'll give you one more—something easier, and mebbe older."</p> + +<p>When at last he was permitted to go Frank made his way gloomily to his +room and to bed. The day's events had been depressing. He had lost +ground with Constance, whom, of late, he had been trying so hard to +please. He had been willing enough, he reflected, to go up the mountain, +but it really had been cloudy up there and too late to start. Then +Constance had blamed him for the unpleasant incident which had +followed—it seemed to him rather unjustly. Now, Edith Morrison had +declared openly what he himself had been almost ready, though rather +vaguely, to suspect. He had let Constance slip through his fingers +after all. He groaned aloud at the thought of Constance as the wife of +another. Was it, after all, too late? If he should begin now to do and +dare and conquer, could he regain the lost ground? And how should he +begin? Half confused with approaching sleep, his thoughts intermingled +with strange fancies, that one moment led him to the mountain top where +in the mist he groped for mushrooms, while the next, as in a picture, he +was achieving some splendid triumph and laying the laurels at her feet. +Then he was wide awake again, listening to the whisper of the trees that +came through his open window and the murmur of voices from below. +Presently he found himself muttering, "What is the difference between a +fountain and the Prince of Wales?"—a question which immediately became +a part of his perplexing sleep-waking fancies, and the answer was +something which, like a boat in the mist, drifted away, just out of +reach. What <i>was</i> the difference between a fountain and the Prince of +Wales? It seemed important that he should know, and then the query +became visualized in a sunlit plume of leaping water with a diadem at +the top, and this suddenly changed into a great mushroom, of the color +of gold, and of which some one was saying, "Don't touch it—it's the +Yellow Danger." Perhaps that was Edith Morrison, for he saw her dark, +handsome face just then, her eyes bright with tears and fierce with the +blaze of jealousy. Then he slept.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>THE PATH THAT LEADS BACK TO BOYHOOD</h3> + + +<p>The sun was not yet above the hills when Frank Weatherby left the Lodge +next morning. He halted for a moment to procure some convenient +receptacle and was supplied with a trout basket which, slung across his +shoulder, gave him quite the old feeling of preparation for a day's +sport, instead of merely an early trip up McIntyre. Robin Farnham was +already up and away with his party, but another guide loitered about the +cabin and showed a disposition to be friendly.</p> + +<p>"Better wait till after breakfast," he said. "It don't take long to run +up McIntyre and back. You'll have plenty of time."</p> + +<p>"But it looks clear up there, now. It may be foggy, later on. Besides, +I've just bribed the cook to give me a bite, so I'm not afraid of +getting hungry."</p> + +<p>The guide brought out a crumpled, rusty-looking fly-hook and a little +roll of line.</p> + +<p>"Take these," he urged. "You'll cross a brook or two where there's some +trout. Mebbe you can get a few while you're resting. I'd lend you a rod +if we had one here, but you can cut a switch that will do. The fish are +mostly pretty small."</p> + +<p>The sight of the gayly colored flies, the line and the feeling of the +basket at his side was a combination not to be resisted. The years +seemed to roll backward, and Frank felt the old eager longing to be +following the tumbling, swirling water—to feel the sudden tug at the +end of a drifting line.</p> + +<p>It was a rare morning. The abundant forest was rich with every shade of +green and bright with dew. Below, where the path lay, it was still dim +and silent, but the earliest touch of sunrise had set the tree-tops +aglow and started a bird concert in the high branches.</p> + +<p>The McIntyre trail was not a hard one to follow. Neither was it steep +for a considerable distance, and Frank strode along rapidly and without +fatigue. In spite of his uneasiness of spirit the night before, he had +slept the sleep of youth and health, and the smell of the morning woods, +the feel of the basket at his side, the following of this fascinating +trail brought him nearer to boyhood with every forward step. He would +go directly to the top of the mountain, he thought, find the curious +flower or fungus which Robin had seen, and on his return trip would stop +at the brooks and perhaps bring home a basket of trout; after which he +would find Constance and lay the whole at her feet as a proof that he +was not altogether indifferent to her wishes. Also, it might be, as a +token that he had renewed his old ambition to be something more than a +mere lover of ease and pleasure and a dreamer of dreams.</p> + +<p>The suspicions stirred by Edith Morrison the night before had grown +dim—indeed had almost vanished in the clear glow of morning. Constance +might wish to punish him—that was quite likely—though it was highly +improbable that she should have selected this method. In fact, it was +quite certain that any possibility of causing heartache, especially +where Edith Morrison was concerned, would have been most repugnant to a +girl of the character and ideals of Constance Deane. She admired Robin +and found pleasure in his company. That she made no concealment of these +things was the best evidence that there was nothing to be concealed. +That unconsciously she and Robin were learning to care for each other, +he thought most unlikely. He remembered Constance as she had seemed +during the days of their meeting at Lenox, when she had learned to know, +and he believed to care for him. It had never been like that. It would +not be like that, now, with another. There would be no other. He would +be more as she would have him—more like Robin Farnham. Why, he was +beginning this very moment. Those years of idleness had dropped away. He +had regarded himself as beyond the time of beginning! What nonsense! At +twenty-four—full of health and the joy of living—swinging up a +mountain trail to win a flower for the girl he loved, with a cavalcade +of old hopes and dreams and ambitions once more riding through his +heart. To-day was life. Yesterday was already with the vanished ages. +Then for a moment he recalled the sorrow of Edith Morrison and resolved +within him to see her immediately upon his return, to prove to her how +groundless and unjust had been her conclusions. She was hardly to blame. +She was only a mountain girl and did not understand. It was absurd that +he, who knew so much of the world and of human nature, should have +allowed himself even for a moment to be influenced by the primitive +notions of this girl of the hills.</p> + +<p>The trail grew steeper now. The young man found himself breathing a +trifle quicker as he pushed upward. Sometimes he seized a limb to aid +him in swinging up a rocky steep—again he parted dewy bushes that +locked their branches across the way. Presently there was a sound of +water falling over stones, and a moment later he had reached a brook +that hurried down the mountain side, leaping and laughing as it ran. +There was a narrow place and a log where the trail crossed, with a +little fall and a deep pool just below it. Frank did not mean to stop +for trout now, but it occurred to him to try this brook, that he might +judge which was the better to fish on his return. He looked about until +he found a long, slim shoot of some tough wood, and this he cut for a +rod. Then he put on a bit of the line—a longer piece would not do in +this little stream—and at the end he strung a short leader and two +flies. It was queer, but he found his fingers trembling just a little +with eagerness as he adjusted those flies; and when he held the rig at +arm's length and gave it a little twitch in the old way it was not so +bad, after all, he thought. As he stealthily gained the exact position +where he could drop the lure on the eddy below the fall and poised the +slender rod for the cast, the only earthly thing that seemed important +was the placing of those two tiny bits of gimp and feathers just on that +spot where the water swirled under the edge of the black overhanging +rock. Gently, now—so. A quick flash, a swish, a sharp thrilling tug, an +instinctive movement of the wrist, and something was leaping and +glancing on the pebbles below—something dark and golden and gayly +red-spotted—something which no man who has ever trailed a brook can see +without a quickening heart—a speckled trout! Certainly it was but a boy +who leaped down and disentangled the captured fish and held it joyously +for a moment, admiring its markings and its size before dropping it into +the basket at his side.</p> + +<p>"Pretty good for such a little brook," he said aloud. "I wonder if there +are many like that."</p> + +<p>He made another cast, but without result.</p> + +<p>"I've frightened them," he thought. "I came lumbering down like a +duffer. Besides, they can see me, here."</p> + +<p>He turned and followed the stream with his eye. It seemed a succession +of falls and fascinating pools, and the pools grew even larger and more +enticing. He could not resist trying just once more, and when another +goodly trout was in his creel and then another, all else in life became +hazy in the joy of following that stream from fall to fall and from pool +to pool—of dropping those gay little flies just in the particular spot +which would bring that flash and swish, that delightful tug, and the +gayly speckled capture that came glancing to his feet. Why not do his +fishing now, in these morning hours when the time was right? Later, the +sport might be poor, or none at all. At this rate he could soon fill his +creel and then make his way up the mountain. He halted a moment to line +the basket with damp moss and water grasses to keep his catch fresh. +Then he put aside every other purpose for the business of the moment, +creeping around bushes, or leaping from stone to stone—sometimes +slipping to his knees in the icy water, caring not for discomfort or +bruises—heedless of everything except the zeal of pursuit and the zest +of capture—the glory of the bright singing water, spilling from pool to +pool—the filtering sunlight—the quiring birds—the resinous smell of +the forest—all the things which lure the feet of young men over the +paths trod by their fathers in the long-forgotten days.</p> + +<p>The stream widened. The pools grew deeper and the trout larger as he +descended. Soon he decided to keep only the larger fish. All others he +tossed back as soon as taken. Then there came a break ahead and +presently the brook pitched over a higher fall than any he had passed, +into a larger stream—almost a river. A great regret came upon the young +man as he viewed this fine water that rushed and swirled among a +thousand bowlders, ideal stepping stones with ideal pools below. Oh, +now, for a rod and reel, with a length of line to cast far ahead into +those splendid pools!</p> + +<p>The configuration of the land caused this larger stream to pursue a +course around, rather than down the mountain side, and Frank decided +that he could follow it for a distance, and then, with the aid of his +compass, strike straight for the mountain top without making his way +back up stream.</p> + +<p>But first he must alter his tackle. He looked about and presently cut a +much longer and stronger rod and lengthened his line accordingly. Then +he made his way among the bowlders and began to whip the larger pools. +Cast after cast resulted in no return. He began to wonder, after all, +if it would not be a mistake to fish this larger and less fruitful +stream. But suddenly there came a great gleam of light where his flies +fell, and though the fish failed to strike, Frank's heart gave a leap, +for he knew now that in this water—though they would be fewer in +number—there were trout which were well worth while. He cast again over +the dark, foamy pool, and this time the flash was followed by such a tug +as at first made him fear that his primitive tackle might not hold. Oh, +then he longed for a reel and a net. This was a fish that could not be +lightly lifted out, but must be worked to a landing place and dragged +ashore. Holding the line taut, he looked for such a spot, and selecting +the shallow edge of a flat stone, drew his prize nearer and +nearer—drawing in the rod itself, hand over hand, and finally the line +until the struggling, leaping capture was in his hands. This was +something like! This was sport, indeed! There was no thought now of +turning back. To carry home even a few fish, taken with such a tackle, +would redeem him for many shortcomings in Constance's eyes. He was sorry +now that he had kept any of the smaller fry.</p> + +<p>He followed down the stream, stepping from bowlder to bowlder, casting +as he went. Here and there trout rose, but they were old and wary and +hesitated to strike. He got another at length, somewhat smaller than the +first, and lost still another which he thought was larger than either. +Then for a considerable distance he whipped the most attractive water +without reward, changing his flies at length, but to no purpose.</p> + +<p>"It must be getting late," he reflected aloud, and for the first time +thought of looking at his watch. He was horrified to find that it was +nearly eleven o'clock, by which time he had expected to have reached the +top of McIntyre and to have been well on his way back to the Lodge. He +must start at once, for the climb would be long and rough here, out of +the regular trail.</p> + +<p>Yet he paused to make one more cast, over a black pool where there was a +fallen log, and bubbles floating on the surface. His arm had grown tired +swinging the heavy green rod and his aim was poor. The flies struck a +little twig and hung there, dangling in the air. A twitch and they were +free and had dropped to the surface of the water. Yet barely to reach +it. For in that instant a wave rolled up and divided—a great +black-and-gold shape made a porpoise leap into the air. The lower fly +disappeared, and an instant later Frank was gripping the tough green rod +with both hands, while the water and trees and sky blended and swam +before him in the intensity of the struggle to hold and to keep holding +that black-and-gold monster at the other end of the tackle—to keep him +from getting back under that log—from twisting the line around a +limb—in a word, to prevent him from regaining freedom. It would be +lunacy to drag this fish ashore by force. The line or the fly would +certainly give way, even if the rod would stand. Indeed, when he tried +to work his capture a little nearer, it held so like a rock that he +believed for a moment the line was already fast. But then came a sudden +rush to the right and another stand, and to the left—with a plunge for +depth—and with each of these rushes Frank's heart stood still, for he +felt that against the power of this monster his tackle could not hold. +Every nerve and fiber in his body seemed to concentrate on the +slow-moving point of dark line where the tense strand touched the water. +A little this way or that it swung—perhaps yielded a trifle or drew +down a bit as the great fish in its battle for life gave an inch only +to begin a still fiercer struggle in this final tug of war. To all else +the young man was oblivious. A bird dropped down on a branch and shouted +at him—he did not hear it. A cloud swept over the sun—he did not see +it. Life, death, eternity mattered nothing. Only that moving point of +line mattered—only the thought that the powerful, unconquered shape +below might presently go free.</p> + +<p>And then—inch by inch it seemed—the steady wrist and the crude tackle +began to gain advantage, the monster of black and gold was forced to +yield. Scarcely breathing, Frank watched the point of the line, inch by +inch, draw nearer to a little pebbly shore that ran down, where, if +anywhere, he could land his prey. Once, indeed, the great fellow came to +the surface, then, seeing his captor, made a fierce dive and plunged +into a wild struggle, during which hope almost died. Another dragging +toward the shore, another struggle and yet another, each becoming weaker +and less enduring, until lo, there on the pebbles, gasping and striking +with his splendid tail, lay the conquered king of fish. It required but +an instant for the captor to pounce upon him and to secure him with a +piece of line through his gills, and this he replaced with a double +willow branch which he could tie together and to the basket, for this +fish was altogether too large to go inside. Exhausted and weak from the +struggle, Frank sat down to contemplate his capture and to regain +strength before starting up the mountain. Five pounds, certainly, this +fish weighed, he thought, and he tenderly regarded the fly that had +lured it to the death, and carefully wound up the cheap bit of line that +had held true. No such fish had been brought to the Lodge, and then, boy +that he was, he thought how proud he should be of his triumph, and with +what awe Constance would regard his skill in its capture. And in that +moment it was somehow borne in upon him that with this battle and this +victory there had come in truth the awakening—that the indolent, +luxury-loving man had become as a sleep-walker of yesterday who would +never cross the threshold of to-day.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>A drop of water on his hand aroused him. The sun had disappeared—the +sky was overcast—there was rain in the air. He must hurry, he thought, +and get up the mountain and away, before the storm. He could not see the +peak, for here the trees were tall and thick, but he knew his direction +by the compass and by the slope of the land. From the end of his late +rod he cut a walking stick and set out as rapidly as he could make his +way through brush and vines, up the mountain-side.</p> + +<p>But it was toilsome work. The mountain became steeper, the growth +thicker, his load of fish weighed him down. He was almost tempted to +retrace his way up the river and brook to the trail, but was loath to +consume such an amount of time when it seemed possible to reach the peak +by a direct course. Then it became darker in the woods, and the bushes +seemed damp with moisture. He wondered if he was entering a fog that had +gathered on the mountain top, and, once there, if he could find what he +sought. Only the big fish, swinging at his side and dragging in the +leaves as he crept through underbrush, gave him comfort in what was +rapidly becoming an unpleasant and difficult undertaking. Presently he +was reduced to climbing hand over hand, clinging to bushes and bracing +his feet as best he might. All at once, he was face to face with a cliff +which rose sheer for sixty feet or more and which it seemed impossible +to ascend. He followed it for a distance and came at last to where a +heavy vine dropped from above, and this made a sort of ladder, by which, +after a great deal of clinging and scrambling, he managed to reach the +upper level, where he dropped down to catch breath, only to find, when +he came to look for his big fish, that somehow in the upward struggle it +had broken loose from the basket and was gone. It was most +disheartening.</p> + +<p>"If I were not a man I would cry," he said, wearily—then peering over +the cliff he was overjoyed to see the lost fish hanging not far below, +suspended by the willow loop he had made.</p> + +<p>So then he climbed down carefully and secured it, and struggled back +again, this time almost faint with weariness, but happy in regaining his +treasure. And now he realized that a fog was indeed upon the mountain. +At the foot of the cliff and farther down the air seemed clear enough, +but above him objects only a few feet distant were lost in a white mist, +while here and there a drop as of rain struck in the leaves. It would +not do to waste time. A storm might be gathering, and a tempest, or even +a chill rain on the top of McIntyre was something to be avoided. He +rose, and climbing, stooping, crawling, struggled toward the +mountain-top. The timber became smaller, the tangle closer, the white +mist thickened. Often he paused from sheer exhaustion. Once he thought +he heard some one call. But listening there came only silence, and +staggering to his feet he struggled on.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>WHAT CAME OUT OF THE MIST</h3> + + +<p>It was several hours after Frank Weatherby had set out on the McIntyre +trail—when the sun had risen to a point where it came mottling through +the tree-tops and dried the vines and bushes along the fragrant, +yielding path below—that a girl came following in the way which led up +the mountain top. She wore a stout outing costume—short skirt and +blouse, heavy boots, and an old felt school hat pinned firmly to +luxuriant dark hair. On her arm she carried the basket of many +wanderings, and her step was that of health and strength and purpose. +One watching Constance Deane unawares—noting her carriage and sureness +of foot, the easy grace with which she overcame the various obstructions +in her path—might have said that she belonged by right to these woods, +was a part of them, and one might have added that she was a perfect +flowering of this splendid forest.</p> + +<p>On the evening before, she had inquired of Robin the precise entrance to +the McIntyre trail, and with his general directions she had no +hesitation now in setting out on her own account to make the climb which +would bring her to the coveted specimens at the mountain top. She would +secure them with the aid of no one and so give Frank an exhibition of +her independence, and perhaps impress him a little with his own lack of +ambition and energy. She had avoided the Lodge, making her way around +the lake to the trail, and had left no definite word at home as to her +destination, for it was quite certain that Mrs. Deane would worry if it +became known that Constance had set off up the mountain alone. Yet she +felt thoroughly equal to the undertaking. In her basket she carried some +sandwiches, and she had no doubt of being able to return to the Lodge +during the afternoon, where she had a certain half-formed idea of +finding Frank disconsolately waiting—a rather comforting—even if +pathetic—picture of humiliation.</p> + +<p>Constance did not linger at the trout-brook which had enticed Frank from +the narrow upward path, save to dip up a cold drink with the little cup +she carried, and to rest up a moment and watch the leaping water as it +foamed and sang down the natural stairway which led from one mystery in +the dark vistas above to another mystery and wider vistas +below—somehow, at last, to reach that deeper and vaster and more +impenetrable mystery—the sea. She recalled some old German lines +beginning, "<i>Du Bachlein, silberhell und klar</i>," and then she remembered +having once recited them to Frank, and how he had repeated them in an +English translation:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thou brooklet, silver-bright and clear—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forever passing—always here—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon thy brink I sit, and think<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whence comest thou? Whence goest thou?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>He had not confessed it, but she suspected the translation to be his +own, and it had exasperated her that one who could do a thing well and +with such facility should set so little store by his gift, when another, +with a heart hunger for achievement, should have been left so unfavored +of the gods.</p> + +<p>She walked rather more slowly when she had passed the brook—musing upon +these things. Then presently the path became precipitous and narrow, and +led through thick bushes, and over or under difficult obstructions. +Constance drew on a thick pair of gloves to grapple with rough limbs and +sharp points of rock. Here and there were fairly level stretches and +easy going, but for the most part it was up and up—steeper and +steeper—over stones and logs, through heavy bushes and vines that +matted across the trail, so that one must stoop down and burrow like a +rabbit not to miss the way.</p> + +<p>Miss Deane began to realize presently that the McIntyre trail was +somewhat less easy than she had anticipated.</p> + +<p>"If Robin calls this an easy trail, I should like to know what he means +by a hard one," she commented aloud, as she made her way through a great +tumble of logs only to find that the narrow path disappeared into a +clump of bushes beyond and apparently brought up plump against a +plunging waterfall on the other side. "One would have to be a perfect +salmon to scale that!"</p> + +<p>But arriving at the foot of the fall, she found that the trail merely +crossed the pool below and was clearly marked beyond. This was the brook +which Frank had not reached. It was no great distance from the summit.</p> + +<p>But now the climb became steeper than ever—a hand over hand affair, +with scratched face and torn dress and frequent pauses for breath. There +was no longer any tall timber, but only masses of dwarfed and twisted +little oak trees—a few feet high, though gnarled and gray with age, and +loaded with acorns. Constance knew these for the scrub-oak, that +degenerate but persistent little scion of a noble race, that pushes its +miniature forests to the very edge and into the last crevice of the +barren mountain top. Soon this diminutive wilderness began to separate +into segments and the trail reached a comparative level. Then suddenly +it became solid rock, with only here and there a clump of the stunted +oak, or a bit of grass. The girl realized that she must be on the summit +and would presently reach the peak, where, from a crevice, grew the +object of her adventure. She paused a moment for breath, and to +straighten her disheveled hair. Also she turned for a look at the view +which she thought must lie behind her. But she gave a little cry of +disappointment. A white wraith of mist, like the very ghost of a cloud, +was creeping silently along the mountain side and veiled the vision of +the wide lands below. Where she stood the air was still clear, but she +imagined the cloud was creeping nearer and would presently envelop the +mountain-top. She would hurry to the peak and try to get a view from the +other side, which after all was considered the best outlook.</p> + +<p>The trail now led over solid granite and could be followed only by +little cairns or heaps of stone, placed at some distance apart, but in +the clear air easily seen from one to the other. She moved rapidly, for +the way was no longer steep, and ere long the tripod which marked the +highest point, and near which Robin had seen the strange waxen flower, +was outlined against the sky. A moment later when she looked it seemed +to her less clear. The air, too, had a chill damp feeling. She turned +quickly to look behind her, and uttered a little cry of surprise that +was almost terror. The cloud ghost was upon her—she was already +enveloped in its trailing cerements. Behind, all was white, and when she +turned again the tripod too had well-nigh disappeared. As if about to +lose the object of her quest, she started to run, and when an instant +later the beacon was lost in a thick fold of white she again opened her +lips in a wild despairing cry. Yet she did not stop, but raced on, +forgetting even the little guiding cairns which pointed the way. It +would have made no difference had she remembered them, for the cloud +became so dense that she could not have seen one from the other. How +close it shut her in, this wall of white, as impalpable and as opaque as +the smoke of burning grass!</p> + +<p>It seemed a long way to the tripod. It must have been farther than she +had thought. Suddenly she realized that the granite no longer rose a +little before her, but seemed to drop away. She had missed the tripod, +then, and was descending on the other side. Turning, she retraced her +steps, more slowly now, trying to keep the upward slope before her. But +soon she realized that in this thick and mystifying whiteness she could +not be certain of the level—that by thinking so she could make the +granite seem to slope a little up or down, and in the same manner, now, +she could set the tripod in any direction from her at will. Confused, +half terrified at the thought, she stood perfectly still, trying to +think. The tripod, she knew, could not be more than a few yards distant, +but surrounded by these enchanted walls which ever receded, yet always +closed about her she must only wander helplessly and find it by mere +chance. And suppose she found it, and suppose she secured the object of +her search, how, in this blind spot, would she find her way back to the +trail? She recalled now what Robin had said of keeping the trail in the +fog. Her heart became cold—numb. The chill mist had crept into her very +veins. She was lost—lost as men have been lost in the snow—to die +almost within their own door-yards. If this dread cloud would only pass, +all would be well, but she remembered, too, hopelessly enough, that she +had told no one of her venture, that no one would know where to seek +her.</p> + +<p>And now the sun, also, must be obscured, for the world was darkening. An +air that pierced her very marrow blew across the mountain and a drop of +rain struck her cheek. Oh, it would be wretched without shelter to face +a storm in that bleak spot. She must at least try—she must make every +effort to find the trail. She set out in what she believed to be a wide +circuit of the peak, and was suddenly rejoiced to come upon one of the +little piles of stones which she thought must be one of the cairns, +leading to the trail. But which way must she look for the next? She +strained her eyes through the milky gloom, but could distinguish nothing +beyond a few yards of granite at her feet. It did not avail her to +remain by the cairn, yet she dreaded to leave a spot which was at least +a point in the human path. She did so, at last, only to wander down into +an unmarked waste, to be brought all at once against a segment of the +scrub-oak forest and to find before her a sort of opening which she +thought might be the trail. Eagerly in the gathering gloom she examined +the face of the granite for some trace of human foot and imagined she +could make out a mark here and there as of boot nails. Then she came to +a bit of grass that seemed trampled down. Her heart leaped. Oh, this +must be the trail, after all!</p> + +<p>She hastened forward, half running in her eagerness. Branches slapped +and tore at her garments—long, tenuous filaments, wet and web-like, +drew across her face. Twice she fell and bruised herself cruelly. And +when she rose the second time, her heart stopped with fear, for she lay +just on the edge of a ghastly precipice—the bottom of which was lost in +mist and shadows. It had only been a false trail, after all. Weak and +trembling she made her way back to the open summit, fearing even that +she might miss this now and so be without the last hope of finding the +way, or of being found at last herself.</p> + +<p>Back on the solid granite once more, she made a feeble effort to find +one of the cairns, or the tripod, anything that had known the human +touch. But now into her confused senses came the recollection that many +parties climbed McIntyre, and she thought that one such might have +chosen to-day and be somewhere within call. She stood still to listen +for possible voices, but there was no sound, and the bitter air across +the summit made her shrink and tremble. Then she uttered a loud, long, +"Hoo-oo-woo-o!" a call she had learned of mountaineers as a child. She +listened breathlessly for an answer. It was no use. Yet she would call +again—at least it was an effort—a last hope.</p> + +<p>"Hoo-oo-woo-oo!" and again "Hoo-oo-woo-oo!" And then her very pulses +ceased, for somewhere, far away it seemed, from behind that wall of +white her ear caught an answering cry. Once more she called—this time +wildly, with every bit of power she could summon. Once more came the +answering "Hoo-oo-woo-oo!" and now it seemed much nearer.</p> + +<p>She started to run in the direction of the voice, stopping every few +steps to call, and to hear the reassuring reply. She was at the brushy +edge of the summit when through the mist came the words—it was a man's +voice, and it made her heart leap——</p> + +<p>"Stay where you are! Don't move—I will come to you!"</p> + +<p>She stood still, for in that voice there was a commanding tone which she +was only too eager to obey. She called again and again, but she waited, +and all at once, right in front of her it seemed, the voice said:</p> + +<p>"Well, Conny, it's a good thing I found you. If you had played around +here much longer you might have got wet."</p> + +<p>But Constance was in no mood to take the matter lightly.</p> + +<p>"Frank! Oh, Frank!" she cried, and half running, half reeling forward, +she fell into his arms.</p> + +<p>And then for a little she gave way and sobbed on his shoulder, just as +any girl might have done who had been lost and miserable and had all at +once found the shoulder of a man she loved. Then, brokenly——</p> + +<p>"Oh, Frank—how did you know I was here?"</p> + +<p>His arm was about her and he was holding her close. But for the rest, he +was determined to treat it lightly.</p> + +<p>"Well, you know," he said, "you made a good deal of noise about it, and +I thought I recognized the tones."</p> + +<p>"But how did you come to set out to look for me? How did you know that I +came? Oh, it was brave of you—in this awful fog and with no guide!"</p> + +<p>She believed, then, that he had set out purposely to search for her. He +would let her think so for the moment.</p> + +<p>"Why, that's nothing," he said; "a little run up the mountain is just +fun for me, and as for fogs, I've always had a weakness for fogs since a +winter in London. I didn't really know you were up here, but that might +be the natural conclusion if you weren't at home, or at the Lodge—after +what happened yesterday, of course."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Frank, forgive me—I was so horrid yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Don't mention it—I didn't give it a second thought."</p> + +<p>"But, Frank—" then suddenly she stopped, for her eye had caught the +basket, and the great fish dangling at his side. "Frank!" she concluded, +"where in the world did you get that enormous trout?"</p> + +<p>It was no use after that, so he confessed and briefly told her the +tale—how it was by accident that he had found her—how he had set out +at daybreak to find the wonderful flower.</p> + +<p>"And haven't you found it either?" he asked, glancing down at her +basket.</p> + +<p>Then, in turn, she told how she had missed the tripod just as the fog +came down and could not get near it again.</p> + +<p>"And oh, I have lost my luncheon, too," she exclaimed, "and you must be +starving. I must have lost it when I fell."</p> + +<p>"Then we'll waste no time in getting home. It's beginning to rain a +little now. We'll be pretty miserable if we stay up here any longer."</p> + +<p>"But the trail—how will you find it in this awful mist?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it should be somewhere to the west, I think, and with the +compass, you see——"</p> + +<p>He had been feeling in a pocket and now stared at her blankly.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I have lost something, too," he exclaimed, "my compass. I +had it a little while ago and put it in the change pocket of my coat to +have it handy. I suppose the last time I fell down, it slipped out."</p> + +<p>He searched hastily in his other pockets, but to no purpose.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," he concluded, cheerfully. "All ways lead down the +mountain. If we can't find the trail we can at least go down till we +find something. If it's a brook or ravine we'll follow that till we get +somewhere. Anything is better than shivering here."</p> + +<p>They set out in the direction where it seemed to Frank the trail must +lie. Suddenly a tall shape loomed up before them. It was the tripod.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Constance gasped, "and I hunted for it so long!"</p> + +<p>"Those flowers, or whatever they were, should be over here, I think," +Frank said, and Constance produced a little plan which Robin had given +her. But when in the semi-dusk they groped to the spot only some wet, +blackened pulp remained of the curious growth. The tender flower of the +peak had perhaps bloomed and perished in a day. Frank lamented this +misfortune, but Constance expressed a slighter regret. They made an +effort now to locate the cairns, but with less success. They did not +find even one, and after wandering about for a little could not find the +tripod again, either.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," consoled Frank, "we'll trust a little to instinct. Perhaps +it will lead us to something." In fact, they came presently to the +fringe of scrub-oak, and to what seemed an open way. But Constance shook +her head.</p> + +<p>"I do not think this is the beginning of the trail. I followed just such +an opening, and it led me to that dreadful cliff."</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was the same false lead, for presently an abyss yawned before +them.</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't wonder," speculated Frank, "if this isn't a part of the +cliff that I climbed. If we follow along, it may lead us to the same +place. Then we may be able to make our way over it and down to the river +and so home. It's a long way, but a sure one, if we can only find it."</p> + +<p>They proceeded cautiously along the brink for the light was dim and the +way uncertain. They grew warmer now, for they were away from the bitter +air of the mountain top, and in constant motion. When they had followed +the cliff for perhaps half a mile, Frank suddenly stopped.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked Constance, "is this where you climbed up?"</p> + +<p>Her companion only pointed over the brink.</p> + +<p>"Look," he said, "it is not a cliff, here, but one side of a chasm. I +can see trees on the other side."</p> + +<p>Sure enough, dimly through the gloom, not many feet away, appeared the +outline of timber of considerable growth, showing that they had +descended somewhat, also an increased depth of soil. It was further +evident that the cañon was getting narrower, and presently they came +upon two logs, laid across it side by side, forming a sort of bridge. +Frank knelt and examined them closely.</p> + +<p>"Some one has used this," he said. "This may be a trail. Do you think we +can get over, Conny?"</p> + +<p>The girl looked at the narrow crossing and at the darkening woods +beyond. It was that period of stillness and deepening gloom which +precedes a mountain storm. Still early in the day, one might easily +believe that night was descending. Constance shuddered. She was a bit +nervous and unstrung.</p> + +<p>"There is something weird about it," she said. "It is like entering the +enchanted forest. Oh, I can cross well enough—it isn't that," and +stepping lightly on the little footway she walked as steadily and firmly +as did Frank, a moment later.</p> + +<p>"You're a brick, Conny," he said heartily.</p> + +<p>An opening in the bushes at the end of the little bridge revealed +itself. They entered and pushed along, for the way led downward. The +darkness grew momentarily. Rain was beginning to fall. Yet they hurried +on, single file, Frank leading and parting the vines and limbs to make +the way easier for his companion. They came presently to a little open +space, where suddenly he halted.</p> + +<p>"There's a light," he said, "it must be a camp."</p> + +<p>But Constance clung to his arm. It was now quite dark where they stood, +and there came a low roll of thunder overhead.</p> + +<p>"Oh, suppose it is something dreadful!" she whispered—"a robbers' den, +or moonshiners. I've heard of such things."</p> + +<p>"It's more likely to be a witch," said Frank, "or an ogre, but I think +we must risk it."</p> + +<p>The rain came faster and they hurried forward now and presently stood at +the door of a habitation, though even in the mist and gloom it impressed +them as being of a curious sort. There was a window and a light, +certainly, but the window held no sash, and the single opening was +covered with a sort of skin, or parchment. There was a door, too, and +walls, but beyond this the structure seemed as a part of the forest +itself, with growing trees forming the door and corner posts, while +others rose apparently from the roof. Further outlines of this unusual +structure were lost in the dimness. Under the low, sheltering eaves they +hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Shall we knock?" whispered Constance. "It is all so queer—so uncanny. +I feel as if it might be the home of a real witch or magician, or +something like that."</p> + +<p>"Then we may at least learn our fate," Frank answered, and with his +knuckles struck three raps on the heavy door.</p> + +<p>At first there was silence, then a sound of movement within, followed by +a shuffling step. A moment later the heavy door swung ajar, and in the +dim light from within Frank and Constance beheld a tall bowed figure +standing in the opening. In a single brief glance they saw that it was a +man—also that his appearance, like that of his house, was unusual. He +was dressed entirely in skins. His beard was upon his breast, and his +straggling hair fell about his shoulders. He stood wordless, silently +regarding the strangers, and Frank at first was at a loss for utterance. +Then he said, hesitatingly:</p> + +<p>"We missed our way on the mountain. We want shelter from the storm and +directions to the trail that leads to Spruce Lodge."</p> + +<p>Still the tall bent figure in the doorway made no movement and uttered +no word. They could not see his face, but Constance felt that his eyes +were fixed upon her, and she clung closer to Frank's arm. Yet when the +strange householder spoke at last there was nothing to cause fear, +either in his words or tone. His voice was gentle—not much above a +whisper.</p> + +<p>"I crave your pardon if I seem slow of hospitality," he said, quaintly, +"but a visitor seldom comes to my door. Only one other has ever found +his way here, and he comes not often." He pushed the rude door wider on +its creaking withe hinges. "I bid you welcome," he added, then, as +Constance came more fully into the light shed by a burning pine knot and +an open fire, he stopped, stared at her still more fixedly and muttered +something under his breath. But a moment later he said gently, his voice +barely more than a whisper: "I pray you will pardon my staring, but in +that light just now you recalled some one—a woman it was—I used to +know. Besides, I have not been face to face with any woman for nearly a +score of years."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>A SHELTER IN THE FOREST</h3> + + +<p>Certainly the house of the hermit, for such he undoubtedly was, proved a +remarkable place. There was no regular form to the room in which Frank +and Constance found themselves, nor could they judge as to its size. Its +outlines blended into vague shadows, evidently conforming to the +position of the growing trees which constituted its supports. The walls +were composed of logs of varying lengths, adjusted to the spaces between +the trees, intermingled with stones and smaller branches, the whole +cemented or mud-plastered together in a concrete mass. At the corner of +the fireplace, and used as one end of it, was a larger flat stone, which +became not only a part of the wall but served as a wide shelf or table +within, and this, covered with skins, supported a large wooden bowl of +nuts, a stone hammer somewhat resembling a tomahawk, a few well-worn +books, also a field glass in a leather case, such as tourists use. On a +heavy rustic mantel were numerous bits and tokens of the forest, and +suspended above it, on wooden hooks, was a handsome rifle. On the +hearth below was a welcome blaze, with a heavy wooden settle, wide of +seat, upon which skins were thrown, drawn up comfortably before the +fire. The other furniture in the room consisted of a high-backed +armchair, a wooden table, and what might have been a bench, outlined in +the dimness of a far corner where the ceiling seemed to descend almost +to the ground, and did, in fact, join the top of a low mound which +formed the wall on that side. But what seemed most remarkable in this +singular dwelling-place were the living trees which here and there like +columns supported the roof. The heavy riven shingles and a thatching of +twisted grass had been fitted closely about them above, and the hewn or +puncheon floor was carefully joined around them below. Lower limbs had +been converted into convenient hooks, while attached here and there near +the ceiling were several rustic, nest-like receptacles, showing a fringe +of grass and leaves. As Frank and Constance entered this strange shelter +there had been a light scurrying of shadowy forms, a whisking into these +safe retreats, and now, as the strangers stood in the cheerful glow of +the fire and the sputtering pine-knot, they were regarded not only by +the hermit, but by a score or more of other half-curious, half-timid +eyes that shone bright out of the vague dimness behind. The ghostly +scampering, the shadowy flitting, and a small, subdued chatter from the +dusk enhanced in the minds of the visitors a certain weird impression of +the place and constrained their speech. There was no sensation of fear. +It was only a vague uneasiness, or rather that they felt themselves +harsh and unwarranted intruders upon a habitation and a life in which +they had no part. Their host broke the silence.</p> + +<p>"You must needs pardon the demeanor of my little friends," he said. +"They are unaccustomed to strangers." He indicated the settle, and +added: "Be seated. You are weary, without doubt, and your clothes seem +damp." Then he noticed the basket and the large fish at Frank's belt. "A +fine trout," he said; "I have not seen so large a one for years."</p> + +<p>Frank nodded with an anxious interest.</p> + +<p>"Would you like it?" he asked. "I have a basketful besides, and would it +be possible—could we, I mean, manage to cook a few of them? I am very +hungry, and I am sure my companion, Miss Deane, would like a bite +also."</p> + +<p>Constance had dropped down on the settle, and was leaning toward the +fire—her hands outspread before it.</p> + +<p>"I am famished," she confessed, and added, "oh, and will you let me cook +the fish? I can do it quite well."</p> + +<p>The hermit did not immediately reply to the question.</p> + +<p>"Miss Deane," he mused; "that is your name, then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Constance Deane, and this is Mr. Frank Weatherby. We have been +lost on the mountain all day without food. We shall be so thankful if +you will let us prepare something, and will then put us on the trail +that leads to Spruce Lodge."</p> + +<p>The hermit stirred the fire to a brighter blaze and laid on a fresh +piece of wood.</p> + +<p>"That will I do right gladly," he said, "if you will accept my humble +ways. Let me take the basket; I will set about the matter."</p> + +<p>Gladly enough Frank unloosed his burden, and surrendered the big trout +and the basket to his host. As the latter turned away from the fire a +dozen little forms frisked out of the shadows behind and ran over him +lightly, climbing to his shoulders, into his pockets, clinging on to +his curious dress wherever possible—chattering, and still regarding +the strange intruders with bright, inquisitive eyes. They were tiny red +squirrels, it seemed, and their home was here in this nondescript +dwelling with this eccentric man. Suddenly the hermit spoke to them—an +unknown word with queer intonation. In an instant the little bevy of +chatterers leaped away from him, scampering back to their retreats. +Frank, who stood watching, saw a number of them go racing to a tree of +goodly size and disappear into a hole near the floor.</p> + +<p>The hermit turned, smiling a little, and the firelight fell on his face. +For the first time Frank noticed the refinement and delicacy of the +meager features. The hermit said:</p> + +<p>"That is their outlet. The tree is hollow, and there is another opening +above the roof. In winter the birds use it, too."</p> + +<p>He disappeared now into what seemed to be another apartment, shutting a +door behind. Frank dropped down on the settle by Constance, thoroughly +tired, stretched out his legs, and gave himself up to the comfort of the +warm glow.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it all wonderful?" murmured Constance. "It is just a dream, of +course. We are not really here, and I shall wake up presently. I had +just such fancies when I was a child. Perhaps I am still wandering in +that awful mist, and this is the delirium. Oh, are you sure we are +really here?"</p> + +<p>"Quite sure," said Frank. "And it seems just a matter of course to me. I +have known all along that this wood was full of mysteries—enchantments, +and hermits, and the like. Probably there are many such things if we +knew where to look for them."</p> + +<p>The girl's voice dropped still lower.</p> + +<p>"How quaintly he talks. It is as if he had stepped out of some old +book."</p> + +<p>Frank nodded toward the stone shelf by the fire.</p> + +<p>"He lives chiefly in books, I fancy, having had but one other visitor."</p> + +<p>The young man lifted one of the worn volumes and held it to the light. +It was a copy of Shakespeare's works—a thick book, being a complete +edition of the plays. He laid it back tenderly.</p> + +<p>"He dwells with the men and women of the master," he said, softly.</p> + +<p>There followed a little period of silence, during which they drank in +the cheer and comfort of the blazing hearth. Outside, the thunder +rolled heavily now and then, and the rain beat against the door. What +did it matter? They were safe and sheltered, and together. Constance +asked presently: "What time is it?" And, looking at his watch, Frank +replied:</p> + +<p>"A little after three. An hour ago we were wandering up there in the +mist. It seems a year since then, and a lifetime since I took that big +trout."</p> + +<p>"It is ages since I started this morning," mused Constance. "Yet we +divide each day into the same measurements, and by the clock it is only +a little more than six hours."</p> + +<p>"It is nine since I left the Lodge," reflected Frank, "after a very +light and informal breakfast at the kitchen door. Yes, I am willing to +confess that such time should not be measured in the ordinary way."</p> + +<p>There was a sharper crash of thunder and a heavier gust of rain. Then a +fierce downpour that came to them in a steady, muffled roar.</p> + +<p>"When shall we get home?" Constance asked, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"We won't worry, now. Likely this is only a shower. It will not take +long to get down the mountain, once we're in the trail, and it's light, +you know, until seven."</p> + +<p>The door behind was pushed open and the hermit re-entered. He bore a +flat stone and a wooden bowl, and knelt down with them before the fire. +The glowing embers he heaped together and with the aid of a large pebble +set the flat stone at an angle before them. Then from the wooden bowl he +emptied a thick paste of coarse meal upon the baking stone, and smoothed +it with a wooden paddle.</p> + +<p>Rising he said:</p> + +<p>"I fear my rude ways will not appetize you, but I can only offer you +what cheer I have."</p> + +<p>The aroma of the cooking meal began to fill the room.</p> + +<p>"Please don't apologize," pleaded Constance. "My only hope is that I can +restrain myself until the food is ready."</p> + +<p>"I'll ask you to watch the bread for a moment," the hermit said, turning +the stone a little.</p> + +<p>"And if I let it burn you may punish me as the goodwife did King +Alfred," answered Constance. Then a glow came into her cheeks that was +not all of the fire, for the man's eyes—they were deep, burning +eyes—were fixed upon her, and he seemed to hang on her every word. Yet +he smiled without replying, and again disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Conny," admonished Frank, "if you let anything happen to that cake I'll +eat the stone."</p> + +<p>So they watched the pone carefully, turning it now and then, though the +embers glowed very hot and a certain skill was necessary.</p> + +<p>The hermit returned presently with a number of the trout dressed, and +these were in a frying-pan that had a long wooden handle, which +Constance and Frank held between them, while their host installed two +large potatoes in the hot ashes. Then he went away for a little and +placed some things on the table in the middle of the room, returning now +and then to superintend matters. And presently the fish and the cakes +and the potatoes were ready, and the ravenous wanderers did not wait to +be invited twice to partake of them. The thunder still rolled at +intervals and the rain still beat at the door, but they did not heed. +Within, the cheer, if not luxurious, was plenteous and grateful. The +table furnishings were rude and chiefly of home make. But the guests +were young, strong of health and appetite, and no king's table could +have supplied goodlier food. Oh, never were there such trout as those, +never such baked potatoes, nor never such hot, delicious hoecake. And +beside each plate stood a bowl of fruit—berries—delicious fresh +raspberries of the hills.</p> + +<p>Presently their host poured a steaming liquid into each of the empty +cups by their plates.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you will not relish my tea," he said, "but it is soothing and +not harmful. It is drawn from certain roots and herbs I have gathered, +and it is not ill-tasting. Here is sweet, also; made from the maple +tree."</p> + +<p>An aromatic odor arose from the cups, and, when Constance tasted the +beverage and added a lump of the sugar, she declared the result +delicious—a decision in which Frank willingly concurred.</p> + +<p>The host himself did not join the feast, and presently fell to cooking +another pan of trout. It was a marvel how they disappeared. Even the +squirrels came out of their hiding places to witness this wonderful +feasting, a few bolder ones leaping upon the table, as was their wont, +to help themselves from a large bowl of cracked nuts. And all this +delighted the visitors. Everything was so extraordinary, so simple and +near to nature, so savoring of the romance of the old days. This wide, +rambling room with its recesses lost in the shadows; the low, dim roof +supported by its living columns; the glowing fireplace and the blazing +knot; the wild pelts scattered here and there, and the curious skin-clad +figure in the firelight—certainly these were things to stir +delightfully the heart of youth, to set curious fancies flitting through +the brain.</p> + +<p>"Oh," murmured Constance, "I wish we might stay in a place like this +forever!" Then, reddening, added hastily, "I mean—I mean——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," agreed Frank, "I mean that, too—and I wish just the same. We +could have fish every day, and such hoecake, and this nice tea, and I +would pick berries like these, and you could gather mushrooms. And we +would have squirrels to amuse us, and you would read to me, and perhaps +I should write poems of the hills and the storms and the haunted woods, +and we could live so close to nature and drink so deeply of its ever +renewing youth that old age could not find us, and we should live on and +on and be always happy—happy ever after."</p> + +<p>The girl's hand lay upon the table, and when his heavier palm closed +over it she did not draw it away.</p> + +<p>"I can almost love you when you are like this," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"And if I am always like this——?"</p> + +<p>They spoke very low, and the hermit sat in the high-back chair, bowed +and staring into the blaze. Yet perhaps something of what they said +drifted to his ear—perhaps it was only old and troubling memories +stirring within him that caused him to rise and walk back and forth +before the fire.</p> + +<p>His guests had finished now, and they came back presently to the big, +deep settle, happy in the comfort of plenteous food, the warmth and the +cosy seat, and the wild unconvention of it all. The beat of the rain did +not trouble them. Secretly they were glad of any excuse for remaining by +the hermit's hearth.</p> + +<p>Their host did not appear to notice them at first, but paced a turn up +and down, then seated himself in the high-backed chair and gazed into +the embers. A bevy of the little squirrels crept up and scaled his knees +and shoulders, but with that curious note of warning he sent them +scampering. The pine knot sputtered low and he tossed it among the +coals, where it renewed its blaze. For a time there was silence, with +only the rain sobbing at the door. Then by and by—very, very softly, +as one who muses aloud—he spoke: "I, too, have had my dreams—dreams +which were ever of happiness for me—and for another; happiness that +would not end, yet which was to have no more than its rare beginning.</p> + +<p>"That was a long time ago—as many as thirty years, maybe. I have kept +but a poor account of time, for what did it matter here?"</p> + +<p>He turned a little to Constance.</p> + +<p>"Your face and voice, young lady, bring it all back now, and stir me to +speak of it again—the things of which I have spoken to no one +before—not even to Robin."</p> + +<p>"To Robin!" The words came involuntarily from Constance.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Robin Farnham, now of the Lodge. He found his way here once, just +as you did. It was in his early days on the mountains, and he came to me +out of a white mist, just as you came, and I knew him for her son."</p> + +<p>Constance started, but the words on her lips were not uttered.</p> + +<p>"I knew him for her son," the hermit continued, "even before he told me +his name, for he was her very picture, and his voice—the voice of a +boy—was her voice. He brought her back to me—he made her live +again—here, in this isolated spot, even as she had lived in my +dreams—even as a look in your face and a tone in your voice have made +her live for me again to-day."</p> + +<p>There was something in the intensity of the man's low speech, almost +more than in what he said, to make the listener hang upon his words. +Frank, who had drawn near Constance, felt that she was trembling, and he +laid his hand firmly over hers, where it rested on the seat beside him.</p> + +<p>"Yet I never told him," the voice went on, "I never told Robin that I +knew him—I never spoke his mother's name. For I had a fear that it +might sadden him—that the story might send him away from me. And I +could have told nothing unless I told it all, and there was no need. So +I spoke to him no word of her, and I pledged him to speak to no one of +me. For if men knew, the curious would come and I would never have my +life the same again. So I made him promise, and after that first time he +came as he chose. And when he is here she who was a part of my happy +dream lives again in him. And to you I may speak of her, for to you it +does not matter, and it is in my heart now, when my days are not many, +to recall old dreams."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>THE HERMIT'S STORY</h3> + + +<p>The hermit paused and gazed into the bed of coals on the hearth. His +listeners waited without speaking. Constance did not move—scarcely did +she breathe.</p> + +<p>"As I said, it may have been thirty years ago," the gentle voice +continued. "It may have been more than that—I do not know. It was on +the Sound shore, in one of the pretty villages there—it does not matter +which.</p> + +<p>"I lived with my uncle in the adjoining village. Both my parents were +dead—he was my guardian. In the winter, when the snow fell, there was +merry-making between these villages. We drove back and forth in sleighs, +and there were nights along the Sound when the moon path followed on the +water and the snow, and all the hills were white, and the bells jingled, +and hearts were gay and young.</p> + +<p>"It was on such a night that I met her who was to become Robin's mother. +The gathering was in our village that night, and, being very young, she +had come as one of a merry sleighful. Half way to our village their +sleigh had broken down, and the merry makers had gayly walked the +remainder, trusting to our hospitality to return them to their homes. I +was one of those to welcome them and to promise conveyance, and so it +was that I met her, and from that moment there was nothing in all the +world for me but her."</p> + +<p>The hermit lifted his eyes from the fire and looked at Constance.</p> + +<p>"My girl," he said, "there are turns of your face and tones of your +voice that carry me back to that night. But Robin, when he first came +here to my door, a stripling, he was her very self.</p> + +<p>"I recall nothing of that first meeting but her. I saw nothing but her. +I think we danced—we may have played games—it did not matter. There +was nothing for me but her face. When it was over, I took her in my +cutter and we drove together across the snow—along the moonlit shore. I +do not remember what we said, but I think it was very little. There was +no need. When I parted from her that night the heritage of eternity was +ours—the law that binds the universe was our law, and the morning stars +sang together as I drove homeward across the hills.</p> + +<p>"That winter and no more holds my happiness. Yet if all eternity holds +no more for me than that, still have I been blest as few have been +blest, and if I have paid the price and still must pay, then will I pay +with gladness, feeling only that the price of heaven is still too small, +and eternity not too long for my gratitude."</p> + +<p>The hermit's voice had fallen quite to a whisper, and he was as one who +muses aloud upon a scene rehearsed times innumerable. Yet in the +stillness of that dim room every syllable was distinct, and his +listeners waited, breathless, at each pause for him to continue. Into +Frank's eyes had come the far-away look of one who follows in fancy an +old tale, but the eyes of Constance shone with an eager light and her +face was tense and white against the darkness.</p> + +<p>"It was only that winter. When the spring came and the wild apple was in +bloom, and my veins were all a-tingle with new joy, I went one day to +tell her father of our love. Oh, I was not afraid. I have read of +trembling lovers and halting words. For me the moments wore laggingly +until he came, and then I overflowed like any other brook that breaks +its dam in spring.</p> + +<p>"And he—he listened, saying not a single word; but as I talked his +eyes fell, and I saw tears gather under his lids. Then at last they +rolled down his cheeks and he bowed his head and wept. And then I did +not speak further, but waited, while a dread that was cold like death +grew slow upon me. When he lifted his head he came and sat by me and +took my hand. 'My boy,' he said, 'your father was my friend. I held his +hand when he died, and a year later I followed your mother to her grave. +You were then a little blue-eyed fellow, and my heart was wrung for you. +It was not that you lacked friends, or means, for there were enough of +both. But, oh, my boy, there was another heritage! Have they not told +you? Have you never learned that both your parents were stricken in +their youth by that scourge of this coast—that fever which sets a +foolish glow upon the cheek while it lays waste the life below and fills +the land with early graves? Oh, my lad! you do not want my little +girl.'"</p> + +<p>The hermit's voice died, and he seemed almost to forget his listeners. +But all at once he fixed his eyes on Constance as if he would burn her +through.</p> + +<p>"Child," he said, "as you look now, so she looked in the moment of our +parting. Her eyes were like yours, and her face, God help me! as I saw +it through the dark that last night, was as your face is now. Then I +went away. I do not remember all the places, but they were in many +lands, and were such places as men seek who carry my curse. I never +wrote—I never saw her, face to face, again.</p> + +<p>"When I returned her father was dead, and she was married—to a good +man, they told me—and there was a child that bore my name, Robin, for I +had been called Robin Gray. And then there came a time when a stress was +upon the land—when fortunes tottered and men walked the streets with +unseeing eyes—when his wealth and then hers vanished like smoke in the +wind—when my own patrimony became but worthless paper—a mockery of +scrolled engravings and gaudy seals. To me it did not matter—nothing +matters to one doomed. To them it was shipwreck. John Farnham, a +high-strung, impetuous man, was struck down. The tension of those weeks, +and the final blow, broke his spirit and undermined his strength. They +had only a pittance and a little cottage in these mountains, which they +had used as a camp for summer time. It stood then where it stands +to-day, on the North Elba road, in view of this mountain top. There +they came in the hope that Robin's father might regain health to renew +the fight. There they remained, for the father had lost courage and only +found a little health by tilling the few acres of ground about the +cottage. There, that year, a second child—a little girl—was born."</p> + +<p>It had grown very still in the hermitage. There was only a drip of the +rain outside—the thunder had rolled away. The voice, too, ceased for a +little, as if from weariness. The others made no sign, but it seemed to +Frank that the hand locked closely in his had become quite cold.</p> + +<p>"The word of those things drifted to me," so the tale went on, "and it +made me sad that with my own depleted fortune and failing health I could +do nothing for their comfort or relief. But one day my physician said to +me that the air and the altitude of these mountains had been found +beneficial for those stricken like me. He could not know how his words +made my heart beat. Now, indeed, there was a reason for my coming—an +excuse for being near her—with a chance of seeing her, it might be, +though without her knowledge. For I decided that she must not know. +Already she had enough burden without the thought that I was +near—without the sight of my doleful, wasting features.</p> + +<p>"So I sold the few belongings that were still mine—such things as I had +gathered in my wanderings—my books, save those I loved most dearly—my +furnishings, my ornaments, even to my apparel—and with the money I +bought the necessaries of mountain life—implements, rough wear and a +store of food. These, with a tent, my gun, the few remaining volumes, +and my field glass—the companion of all my travels—I brought to the +hills."</p> + +<p>He pointed to the glass and the volumes lying on the stone at his hand.</p> + +<p>"Those have been my life," he went on. "The books have brought me a +world wherein there was ever a goodly company, suited to my mood. For +me, in that world, there are no disappointments nor unfulfilled dreams. +King, lover, courtier and clown—how often at my bidding have they +trooped out of the shadows to gather with me about this hearth! Oh, I +should have been poor indeed without the books! Yet the glass has been +to me even more, for it brought me her.</p> + +<p>"I have already told you that their cottage could be seen from this +mountain top. I learned this when I came stealthily to the hills and +sought out their home, and some spot amid the overhanging peaks where I +might pitch my camp and there unseen look down upon her life. This is +the place I found. I had my traps borne up the trail to the foot of the +little fall, as if I would camp there. Then when the guides were gone I +carried them here, and reared my small establishment, away from the +track of hunters, on this high finger of rock which commanded the valley +and her home. There is a spring here and a bit of fertile land. It was +State land and free, and I pitched my tent here, and that summer I +cleared an open space for tillage and built a hut for the winter. The +sturdy labor and the air of the hills strengthened my arm and renewed my +life. But there was more than that. For often there came a clear day, +when the air was like crystal and other peaks drew so near that it +seemed one might reach out and stroke them with his hand. On such a day, +with my glass, I sought a near-by point where the mountain's elbow +jutted out into the sky, and when from that high vantage I gazed down on +the roof which covered her, my soul was filled with strength to tarry +on. For distance became as nothing to my magic glass. Three miles it +may be as the crow flies, but I could bring the tiny cottage and the +door-yard, as it stood there at the turn of the road above the little +hill, so close to me that it seemed to lie almost at my very feet."</p> + +<p>Again the speaker rested for a moment, but presently the tale went on.</p> + +<p>"You can never know what I felt when I first saw <i>her</i>. I had watched +for her often, and I think she had been ill. I had seen him come and go, +and sometimes I had seen a child—Robin it was—playing about the yard. +But one day when I had gone to my point of lookout and had directed my +glass—there, just before me, she stood. There she lived and moved—she +who had been, who was still my life—who had filled my being with a love +that made me surrender her to another, yet had lured me at last to this +lonely spot, forever away from men, only that I might now and again gaze +down across the tree tops, and all unseen, unknown to her, make her the +companion of my hermit life.</p> + +<p>"She walked slowly and the child walked with her, holding her hand. When +presently she looked toward me, I started and shrank, forgetting for the +moment that she could not see me. Not that I could distinguish her +features at such a range, only her dear outline, but in my mind's eyes +her face was there before me just as I had seen it that last time—just +as I have seen yours in the firelight."</p> + +<p>He turned to Constance, whose features had become blurred in the +shadows. Frank felt her tremble and caught the sound of a repressed sob. +He knew the tears were streaming down her cheeks, and his own eyes were +not dry.</p> + +<p>"After that I saw her often, and sometimes the infant, Robin's sister, +was in her arms. When the autumn came, and the hills were glorified, and +crowned with snow, she stood many times in the door-yard to behold their +wonder. When at last the leaves fell, and the trees were bare, I could +watch even from the door of my little hut. The winter was long—the +winter is always long up here—from November almost till May—but it did +not seem long to me, when she was brought there to my door, even though +I might not speak to her.</p> + +<p>"And so I lived my life with her. The life in that cottage became my +life—day by day, week by week, year by year—and she never knew. After +that first summer I never but once left the mountain top. All my wants +I supplied here. There was much game of every sort, and the fish near by +were plentiful. I had a store of meal for the first winter, and during +the next summer I cultivated my bit of cleared ground, and produced my +full need of grain and vegetables and condiments. One trip I made to a +distant village for seeds, and from that day never left the mountain +again.</p> + +<p>"It was during the fifth winter, I think, after I came here, that a +group of neighbors gathered in the door-yard of the cottage, and my +heart stood still, for I feared that she was dead. The air dazzled that +day, but when near evening I saw a woman with a hand to each child +re-enter the little house I knew that she still lived—and had been left +alone.</p> + +<p>"Oh, then my heart went out to her! Day and night I battled with the +impulse to go to her, with love and such comfort and protection as I +could give. Time and again I rose and made ready for the journey to her +door. Then, oh, then I would remember that I had nothing to offer +her—nothing but my love. Penniless, and a dying man, likely to become a +helpless burden at any time, what could I bring to her but added grief. +And perhaps in her unconscious heart she knew. For more than once that +winter, when the trees were stripped and the snow was on the hills, I +saw her gaze long and long toward this mountain, as if she saw the speck +my cabin made, and once when I stretched my arms out to her across the +waste of deadly cold, I saw a moment later that her arms, too, were +out-stretched, as if somehow she knew that I was there."</p> + +<p>A low moan interrupted the tale. It was from Constance.</p> + +<p>"Don't, oh, don't," she sobbed. "You break my heart!" But a moment later +she added, brokenly, "Yes, yes—tell me the rest. Tell me all. Oh, she +was so lonely! Why did you never go to her?"</p> + +<p>"I would have gone then. I went mad and cried out, 'My wife! my wife! I +want my wife!' And I would have rushed down into the drifts of the +mountain, but in that moment the curse of my heritage fell heavily upon +me and left me powerless."</p> + +<p>The hermit's voice had risen—it trembled and died away with the final +words. In the light of the fading embers only his outline could be +seen—wandering into the dusk and silence. When he spoke again his tone +was low and even.</p> + +<p>"And so the years went by. I saw the sturdy lad toil with his mother for +a while, and then alone, and I knew by her slow step that the world was +slipping from her grasp. I did not see the end. I might have gone, then, +but it came at a time when the gloom hung on the mountains and I did not +know. When the air cleared and for days I saw no life, I knew that the +little house was empty—that she had followed him to rest. They two, +whose birthright had been health and length of days, both were gone, +while I, who from the cradle had made death my bed-fellow, still +lingered and still linger through the years.</p> + +<p>"I put the magic glass aside after that for my books. Nothing was left +me but my daily round, with them for company. Yet from a single volume I +have peopled all the woods about, and every corner of my habitation. +Through this forest of Arden I have walked with Orlando, and with him +hung madrigals on the trees, half believing that Rosalind might find +them. With Nick the Weaver on a moonlit bank I have waited for Titania +and Puck and all that lightsome crew. On the wild mountain top I have +met Lear, wandering with only a fool for company, and I have led them in +from the storm and warmed them at this hearthstone. In that recess Romeo +has died with Juliet in the Capulets' tomb. With me at that table Jack +Falstaff and Prince Hal have crossed their wit and played each the rôle +of king. Yonder, beneath the dim eaves, in the moment just before you +came, Macbeth had murdered Duncan, and I saw him cravenly vanish at the +sound of your fearsome knocking.</p> + +<p>"But what should all this be to you? It is but my shadow world—the only +world I had until one day, out of the mist as you have come, so Robin +came to me—her very self, it seemed—from heaven. At first it lay in my +heart to tell him. But the fear of losing him held me back, as I have +said. And of himself he told me as little. Rarely he referred to the +past. Only once, when I spoke of kindred, he said that he was an orphan, +with only a sister, who had found a home with kind people in a distant +land. And with this I was content, for I had wondered much concerning +the little girl."</p> + +<p>The voice died away. The fire had become ashes on the hearth. The drip +of the rain had ceased—light found its way through the +parchment-covered window. The storm had passed. The hermit's story was +ended.</p> + +<p>Neither Constance nor Frank found words, and for a time their host +seemed to have forgotten their presence. Then, arousing, he said:</p> + +<p>"You will wish to be going now. I have detained you too long with my sad +tale. But I have always hungered to pour it into some human ear before I +died. Being young, you will quickly forget and be merry again, and it +has lifted a heaviness from my spirit. I think we shall find the sun on +the hills once more, and I will direct you to the trail. But perhaps you +will wish to pause a moment to see something of my means of providing +for life in this retreat. I will ask of you, as I did of Robin, to say +nothing of my existence here to the people of the world. Yet you may +convey to Robin that you have been here—saying no more than that. And +you may say that I would see him when next he builds his campfire not +far away, for my heart of hearts grows hungry for his face."</p> + +<p>Rising, he led them to the adjoining room.</p> + +<p>"This was my first hut," he said. "It is now my storehouse, where, like +the squirrels, I gather for the winter. I hoard my grain here, and +there is a pit below where I keep my other stores from freezing. There +in the corner is my mill—the wooden mortar and pestle of our +forefathers—and here you see I have provided for my water supply from +the spring. Furs have renewed my clothing, and I have never wanted for +sustenance—chiefly nuts, fruits and vegetables. I no longer kill the +animals, but have made them my intimate friends. The mountains have +furnished me with everything—companions, shelter, clothing and food, +savors—even salt, for just above a deer lick I found a small trickle +from which I have evaporated my supply. Year by year I have added to my +house—making it, as you have seen, a part of the forest itself—that it +might be less discoverable; though chiefly because I loved to build +somewhat as the wild creatures build, to know the intimate companionship +of the living trees, and to be with the birds and squirrels as one of +their household."</p> + +<p>They passed out into the open air, and to a little plot of cultivated +ground shut in by the thick forest. It was an orderly garden, with +well-kept paths, and walks of old-fashioned posies.</p> + +<p>Bright and fresh after the summer rain, it was like a gay jewel, set +there on the high mountain side, close to the bending sky.</p> + +<p>It was near sunset, and a chorus of birds were shouting in the tree +tops. Coming from the dim cabin, with its faded fire and its story of +human sorrow, into this bright living place, was stepping from +enchantment of the play into the daylight of reality. Frank praised the +various wonders in a subdued voice, while Constance found it difficult +to speak at all. Presently, when they were ready to go, the hermit +brought the basket and the large trout.</p> + +<p>"You must take so fine a prize home," he said. "I do not care for it." +Then he looked steadily at Constance and added: "The likeness to her I +loved eludes me by daylight. It must have been a part of my shadows and +my dreams."</p> + +<p>Constance lifted her eyes tremblingly to the thin, fine, weather-beaten +face before her. In spite of the ravage of years and illness she saw, +beneath it all, the youth of long ago, and she realized what he had +suffered.</p> + +<p>"I thank you for what you have told us to-day," she said, almost +inaudibly. "It shall be—it is—very sacred to me."</p> + +<p>"And to me," echoed Frank, holding out his hand.</p> + +<p>He led them down the steep hillside by a hidden way to the point where +the trail crossed the upper brook, just below the fall.</p> + +<p>"I have sometimes lain concealed here," he said, "and heard mountain +climbers go by. Perhaps I caught a glimpse of them. I suppose it is the +natural hunger one has now and then for his own kind." A moment later he +had grasped their hands, bidden them a fervent godspeed, and disappeared +into the bushes. The sun was already dipping behind the mountain tops +and they did not linger, but rapidly and almost in silence made their +way down the mountain.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>DURING THE ABSENCE OF CONSTANCE</h3> + + +<p>Yet the adventure on the mountain was not without its ill effects. It +happened that day that Mr. and Mrs. Deane had taken one of their rare +walks over to Spruce Lodge. They had arrived early after luncheon, and +learning that Frank and Constance had not been seen there during the +morning, Mrs. Deane had immediately assured herself that dire misfortune +had befallen the absent ones.</p> + +<p>The possibility of their having missed their way was the most temperate +of her conclusions. She had visions of them lying maimed and dying at +the foot of some fearful precipice; she pictured them being assailed by +wild beasts; she imagined them tasting of some strange mushroom and +instantly falling dead as a result. Fortunately, the guide who had seen +Frank set out alone was absent. Had the good lady realized that +Constance might be alone in a forest growing dark with a coming storm, +her condition might have become even more serious.</p> + +<p>As it was, the storm came down and held the Deanes at the Lodge for the +afternoon, during which period Mr. Deane, who was not seriously +disturbed by the absence of the young people, endeavored to convince his +wife that it was more than likely they had gone directly to the camp and +would be there when the storm was over.</p> + +<p>The nervous mother was far from reassured, and was for setting out +immediately through the rain to see. It became a trying afternoon for +her comforters, and the lugubrious croaking of the small woman in black +and the unflagging optimism of Miss Carroway, as the two wandered from +group to group throughout the premises, gave the episode a general +importance of which it was just as well that the wanderers did not know.</p> + +<p>Yet the storm proved an obliging one to Frank and Constance, for the sun +was on the mountain long before the rain had ceased below, and as they +made straight for the Deane camp they arrived almost as soon as Mrs. +Deane herself, who, bundled in waterproofs and supported by her husband +and an obliging mountain climber, had insisted on setting out the moment +the rain ceased.</p> + +<p>It was a cruel blow not to find the missing ones at the moment of +arrival, and even their prompt appearance, in full health and with no +tale of misfortune, but only the big trout and a carefully prepared +story of being confused in the fog but safely sheltered in the forest, +did not fully restore her. She was really ill next day, and carried +Constance off for a week to Lake Placid, where she could have medical +attention close at hand and keep her daughter always in sight.</p> + +<p>It began by being a lonely week for Frank, for he had been commanded by +Constance not to come to Lake Placid, and to content himself with +sending occasional brief letters—little more than news bulletins, in +fact. Yet presently he became less forlorn. He went about with a +preoccupied look that discouraged the attentions of Miss Carroway. For +the most part he spent his mornings at the Lodge, in his room. +Immediately after luncheon he usually went for an extended walk in the +forest, sometimes bringing up at the Deane camp, where perhaps he dined +with Mr. Deane, a congenial spirit, and remained for a game of cribbage, +the elder man's favorite diversion. Once Frank set out to visit the +hermitage, but thought better of his purpose, deciding that Constance +might wish to accompany him there on her return. One afternoon he spent +following a trout brook and returned with a fine creel of fish, though +none so large as the monster of that first day.</p> + +<p>Robin Farnham was absent almost continuously during this period, and +Edith Morrison Frank seldom saw, for the last weeks in August brought +the height of the season, and the girl's duties were many and +imperative. There came no opportunity for the talk he had meant to have +with her, and as she appeared always pleasant of manner, only a little +thoughtful—and this seemed natural with her responsibilities—he +believed that, like himself, she had arrived at a happier frame of mind.</p> + +<p>And certainly the young man was changed. There was a new light in his +eyes, and it somehow spoke a renewed purpose in his heart. Even his step +and carriage were different. When he went swinging through the forest +alone it was with his head thrown back, and sometimes with his arms +outspread he whistled and sang to the marvelous greenery above and about +him. And he could sing. Perhaps his was not a voice that would win fame +or fortune for its possessor, but there was in it a note of ecstasy +which answered back to the call of the birds, to the shout or moan of +the wind, to every note of the forest—that was, in fact, a tone in the +deep chord of nature, a lilt in the harmony of the universe.</p> + +<p>He forgot that his soul had ever been asleep. A sort of child frenzy for +the mountains, such as Constance had echoed to him that wild day in +March, grew upon him and possessed him, and he did not pause to remember +that it ever had been otherwise. When the storm came down from the +peaks, he strode out into it, and shouted his joy in its companionship, +and raced with the wind, and threw himself face down in the wet leaves +to smell the ground. And was it no more than the happiness of a lover +who believes himself beloved that had wrought this change, or was there +in this renewal of the mad joy of living the reopening and the flow of +some deep and half-forgotten spring?</p> + +<p>From that day on the mountain he had not been the same. That morning +with its new resolve; the following of the brook which had led him back +to boyhood; the capture of the great trout; the battle with the mountain +and the mist; the meeting with Constance at the top; the hermit's cabin +with its story of self-denial and abnegation—its life so close to the +very heart of nature, so far from idle pleasure and luxury—with that +eventful day had come the change.</p> + +<p>In his letters to Constance, Frank did not speak of these things. He +wrote of his walks, it is true, and he told her of his day's +fishing—also of his visits to her father at the camp—but of any change +or regeneration in himself, any renewal of old dreams and effort, he +spoke not at all.</p> + +<p>The week lengthened before Constance returned, though it was clear from +her letters that she was disinclined to linger at a big conventional +hotel, when so much of the summer was slipping away in her beloved +forest. From day to day they had expected to leave, she wrote, but as +Mrs. Deane had persuaded herself that the Lake Placid practitioner had +acquired some new and subtle understanding of nerve disorders, they were +loath to hurry. The young lady ventured a suggestion that Mr. Weatherby +was taking vast comfort in his freedom from the duties and +responsibilities of accompanying a mushroom enthusiast in her daily +rambles, especially a very exacting young person, with a predilection +for trying new kinds upon him, and for seeking strange and semi-mythical +specimens, peculiar to hazy and lofty altitudes.</p> + +<p>"I am really afraid I shall have to restrain my enthusiasm," she wrote +in one of these letters. "I am almost certain that Mamma's improvement +and desire to linger here are largely due to her conviction that so long +as I am here you are safe from the baleful Amanita, not to mention +myself. Besides, it is a little risky, sometimes, and one has to know a +very great deal to be certain. I have had a lot of time to study the +book here, and have attended a few lectures on the subject. Among other +things I have learned that certain Amanitas are not poison, even when +they have the cup. One in particular that I thought deadly is not only +harmless, but a delicacy which the Romans called 'Cĉsar's mushroom,' and +of which one old epicure wrote, 'Keep your corn, O Libya—unyoke your +oxen, provided only you send us mushrooms.'" She went on to set down the +technical description from the text-book and a simple rule for +distinguishing the varieties, adding, "I don't suppose you will gather +any before my return—you would hardly risk such a thing without my +superior counsel—but should you do so, keep the rule in mind. It is +taken word for word from the book, so if anything happens to you while I +am gone, either you or the book will be to blame—not I. When I come +back—if I ever do—I mean to try at least a sample of that epicurean +delight, which one old authority called 'food of the gods,' provided I +can find any of them growing outside of that gruesome 'Devil's Garden.'"</p> + +<p>Frank gave no especial attention to this portion of her letter. His +interest in mushrooms was confined chiefly to the days when Constance +could be there to expatiate on them in person.</p> + +<p>In another letter she referred to their adventure on the mountain, and +to the fact that Frank would be likely to see Robin before her return.</p> + +<p>"You may tell Robin Farnham," she said, "about our visit to the hermit, +and of the message he sent. Robin may be going in that direction very +soon, and find time to stop there. Of course you will be careful not to +let anything slip about the tale he told us. I am sure it would make no +difference, but I know you will agree with me that his wishes should be +sacred. Dear me, what a day that was, and how I did love that wonderful +house! Here, among all these people, in this big modern hotel, it seems +that it must have been all really enchantment. Perhaps you and Robin +could make a trip up there together. I know, if there truly is a +hermit, he will be glad to see you again. I wonder if he would like to +see <i>me</i> again. I brought up all those sad memories. Poor old man! My +sympathy for him is deeper than you can guess."</p> + +<p>It happened that Robin returned to the Lodge that same afternoon. A +little later Frank found him in the guide's cabin, and recounted to him +his recent adventures with Constance on the mountain—how they had +wandered at last to the hermitage, adding the message which their host +had sent to Robin himself.</p> + +<p>The guide listened reflectively, as was his habit. Then he said:</p> + +<p>"It seems curious that you should have been lost up there, just as I was +once, and that you should have drifted to the same place. You took a +little different path from mine. I followed the chasm to the end, while +you crossed on the two logs which the old fellow and I put there +afterward to save me time. I usually have to make short visits, because +few parties care to stay on McIntyre over night, and it's only now and +then that I can get away at all. I have been thinking about the old chap +a good deal lately, but I'm afraid it would mean a special trip just +now, and it would be hard to find a day for that."</p> + +<p>"I will arrange it," said Frank. "In fact, I have already done so. I +spoke to Morrison this morning, and engaged you for a day as soon as you +got in. I want to make another trip up the mountain, myself. We'll go +to-morrow morning—directly to the cabin—and I'll see that you have +plenty of time for a good visit. What I want most is another look around +the place itself and its surroundings. I may want to construct a place +like that some day—in imagination, at least."</p> + +<p>So it was arranged that the young men should visit the hermitage +together. They set out early next morning, following the McIntyre trail +to the point below the little fall where the hermit had bidden good-by +to mankind so many years before. Here they turned aside and ascended the +cliff by the hidden path, presently reaching the secluded and isolated +spot where the lonely, stricken man had established his domain.</p> + +<p>As they drew near the curious dwelling, which because of its +construction was scarcely noticeable until they were immediately upon +it, they spoke in lowered voices, and presently not at all. It seemed +to them, too, that there was a hush about the spot which they had not +noticed elsewhere. Frank recalled the chorus of birds which had filled +the little garden with song, and wondered at their apparent absence now. +The sun was bright, the sky above was glorious, the gay posies along the +garden paths were as brilliant as before, but so far as he could see and +hear, the hermit's small neighbors and companions had vanished.</p> + +<p>"There is a sort of Sunday quiet about it," whispered Frank. "Perhaps +the old fellow is out for a ramble, and has taken his friends with him." +Then he added, "I'll wait here while you go in. If he's there, stay and +have your talk with him while I wander about the place a little. Later, +if he doesn't mind, I will come in."</p> + +<p>Frank directed his steps toward the little garden and let his eyes +wander up and down among the beds which the hermit had planted. It was +late summer now, and many of the things were already ripening. In a +little more the blackening frost would come and the heavy snow drift in. +What a strange life it had been there, winter and summer, with only +nature and a pageantry of dreams for companionship. There must have +been days when, like the Lady of Shalott, he had cried out, "I am sick +of shadows!" and it may have been on such days that he had watched by +the trail to hear and perhaps to see real men and women. And when the +helplessness of very old age should come—what then? Within his mind +Frank had a half-formed plan to persuade the hermit to return to the +companionship of men. There were many retreats now in these +hills—places where every comfort and the highest medical skill could be +obtained for patients such as he. Frank had conceived the idea of +providing for the hermit's final days in some such home, and he had +partly confided his plan to Robin as they had followed the trail +together. Robin, if anybody, could win the old fellow to the idea.</p> + +<p>There came the sound of a step on the path behind. The young man, +turning, faced Robin. There was something in the latter's countenance +that caused Frank to regard him searchingly.</p> + +<p>"He is not there, then?"</p> + +<p>"No, he is not there."</p> + +<p>"He will be back soon, of course."</p> + +<p>But Robin shook his head, and said with gentle gravity:</p> + +<p>"No, he will not be back. He has journeyed to a far country."</p> + +<p>Together they passed under the low eaves and entered the curious +dwelling. Light came through the open door and the parchment-covered +window. In the high-backed chair before the hearth the hermit sat, his +chin dropped forward on his breast. His years of exile were ended. All +the heart-yearning and loneliness had slipped away. He had become one +with the shadows among which he had dwelt so long.</p> + +<p>Nor was there any other life in the room. As the birds outside had +vanished, so the flitting squirrels had departed—who shall say whither? +Yet the change had come but recently—perhaps on that very morning—for +though the fire had dropped to ashes on the hearth, a tiny wraith of +smoke still lingered and drifted waveringly up the chimney.</p> + +<p>The intruders moved softly about the room without speaking. Presently +Frank beckoned to Robin, and pointed to something lying on the table. It +was a birch-bark envelope, and in a dark ink, doubtless made from some +root or berry, was addressed to Robin. The guide opened it and, taking +it to the door, read:</p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">My Dear Boy Robin:</span></p> + +<p>I have felt of late that my time is very near. It is likely that I +shall see you no more in this world. It is my desire, therefore, to +set down my wishes here while I yet have strength. They are but +few, for a life like mine leaves not many desires behind it.</p> + +<p>It is my wish that such of my belongings as you care to preserve +should be yours. They are of little value, but perhaps the field +glass and the books may in future years recall the story in which +they have been a part. In a little chest you will find some other +trifles—a picture or two, some papers that were once valuable to +those living in the world of men, some old letters. All that is +there, all that is mine and all the affection that lingers in my +heart, are yours. Yet I must not forget the little girl who was +once your sister. If it chance that you meet her again, and if when +she knows my story she will care for any memento of this lonely +life, you may place some trifle in her hands.</p> + +<p>It was my story that I had chiefly meant to set down for you, for +it is nearer to your own than you suppose. But now, only a few days +since, out of my heart I gave it to those who were here and who, +perhaps, ere this, have given you my message to come. A young man +and a woman they were, and their happiness together led me to speak +of old days and of a happiness that was mine. The girl's face +stirred me strangely, and I spoke to her fully, as I have long +wished, yet feared, to speak to you. You will show her this letter, +and she will repeat to you all the tale which I no longer have +strength to write. Then you will understand why I have been drawn +to you so strangely; why I have called you "my dear boy"; why I +would that I might call you "son."</p> + +<p>There is no more—only, when you shall find me here asleep, make me +a bed in the corner of my garden, where the hollyhocks come each +year, and the squirrels frisk overhead, and the birds sing. Lay me +not too deeply away from it all, and cover me only with boughs and +the cool, gratifying earth which shall soothe away the fever. And +bring no stone to mark the place, but only breathe a little word of +prayer and leave me in the comfortable dark.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Neither Robin nor Frank spoke for a time after the reading of the +letter. Then faithfully and with a few words they carried out the +hermit's wishes. Tenderly and gently they bore him to the narrow +resting-place which they prepared for him, and when the task was +finished they stood above the spot for a little space with bowed heads. +After this they returned to the cabin and gathered up such articles of +Robin's inheritance as they would be able to carry down the +mountain—the books and field glass, which had been so much to him; the +gun above the mantel, a trout rod and a package of articles from the +little chest which they had brought to the door and opened. At the top +of the package was a small, cheap ferrotype picture, such as young +people are wont to have made at the traveling photographer's. It was of +a sweet-faced, merry-lipped girl, and Robin scanned it long and +thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"That is such a face as my mother had when young," he said at last. Then +turning to Frank, "Did he know my mother? Is that the story?"</p> + +<p>Frank bent his head in assent.</p> + +<p>"That is the story," he said, "but it is long. Besides, it is his wish, +I am sure, that another should tell it to you."</p> + +<p>He had taken from the chest some folded official-looking papers as he +spoke, and glanced at them now, first hastily, then with growing +interest. They were a quantity of registered bonds—the hermit's +fortune, which in a few brief days had become, as he said, but a mockery +of scrolled engraving and gaudy seals. Frank had only a slight knowledge +of such matters, yet he wondered if by any possibility these old +securities of a shipwrecked company might be of value to-day. The +corporation title, he thought, had a familiar sound. A vague impression +grew upon him that this company had been one of the few to be +rehabilitated with time; that in some measure at least it had made good +its obligations.</p> + +<p>"Suppose you let me take these," he suggested to Robin. "They may not be +wholly worthless. At least, it will do no harm to send them to my +solicitor."</p> + +<p>Robin nodded. He was still regarding the little tintype and the sweet, +young face of the mother who had died so long ago.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>CONSTANCE RETURNS AND HEARS A STORY</h3> + + +<p>"I only told him," Frank wrote that night to Constance, "that the +hermit's story had a part in his mother's life. I suppose I might have +told him more, but he seemed quite willing to wait and hear it from you, +as suggested by the hermit's letter, and I was only too willing that he +should do so. Knowing Robin, as you have, from childhood, and the sorrow +of his early days and all, you are much better fitted to tell the story, +and you will tell it much better than I. Robin is to leave again +to-morrow on a trip over Marcy (Tahawus, I mean, for I hate these modern +names), but will be back by the end of the week, by which time I hope +you also will once more make glad these lonesome forest glades. +Seriously, Conny, I long for you much more than perhaps you realize or, +I am sure, would permit me to say. And I don't mean to write a love +letter now. In the first place, I would not disobey orders to that +degree, and even if I did, I know that you would say that it was only +because poor old Robin Gray's story and his death, and all, and perhaps +wandering about in these woods alone, had made me a bit sentimental. +Well, who knows just whence and how emotions come? Perhaps you would be +right, but if I should tell you that, during the two weeks which have +nearly slipped by since that day when we found our way through the mist +to the hermit's cabin, my whole point of view has somehow changed, and +that, whatever the reasons, I see with different eyes—with a new heart +and with an uplifted spirit—perhaps I should be right, too; and if from +such a consecration my soul should speak and say, 'Dear, my heart, I +love you, and I will love you all my days!' it may be that you would +believe and understand."</p> + +<p>Whether it was this letter, or the news it contained, or whether Mrs. +Deane's improved condition warranted—from whatever reason, Constance +and her mother two days later returned to the camp on the Au Sable. They +were given a genuine ovation as they passed the Lodge, at which point +Mr. Deane joined them. Frank found his heart in a very disturbing +condition indeed as he looked once more into Miss Deane's eyes and took +her hand in welcome. Later in the day, he deemed it necessary to take a +walk in the direction of the camp to see if he could be of any +assistance in making the new arrivals comfortable. It was a matter of +course that he should remain for dinner, and whatever change may have +taken place in him, he certainly appeared on this occasion much like the +old light-hearted youth, with little thought beyond the joy of the event +and the jest of the moment.</p> + +<p>But that night, when he parted from Constance to take the dark trail +home, he did not find it easy to go, nor yet to make an excuse for +lingering. The mantle of gayety had somehow slipped away, and as they +stood there in the fragrance of the firs, with the sound of falling +water coming through the trees, the words he had meant to utter did not +come.</p> + +<p>He spoke at last of their day together on the mountain and of their +visit to the hermit's cabin. To both of them it seemed something of a +very long time ago. Then Frank recounted in detail all that had happened +that quiet morning when he and Robin had visited the place, and spoke of +the letter and last wishes of the dead man.</p> + +<p>"You are sure you do not mind letting me tell Robin the story?" she +said; "alone, I mean? I should like to do so, and I think he would +prefer it."</p> + +<p>Frank looked at her through the dusk.</p> + +<p>"I want you to do it that way," he said earnestly. "I told you so in my +letter. I have a feeling that any third person would be an intruder at +such a time. It seems to me that you are the only one to tell him."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she agreed, after a pause, "I am. I—knew Robin's mother. I was a +little girl, but I remember. Oh, you will understand it all, some day."</p> + +<p>Frank may have wondered vaguely why she put it in that way, but he made +no comment. His hand found hers in the dusk, and he held it for a moment +at parting.</p> + +<p>"That is a dark way I am going," he said, looking down the trail. "But I +shall not even remember the darkness, now that you are here again."</p> + +<p>Constance laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it is my halo that makes the difference."</p> + +<p>A moment later he had turned to go, but paused to say—casually, it +seemed:</p> + +<p>"By the way, I have a story to read to you—a manuscript. It was written +by some one I know, who had a copy mailed me. It came this morning. I am +sure the author, whose name is to be withheld for the present, would +appreciate your opinion."</p> + +<p>"And my judgment is to be final, of course. Very well; Minerva holds her +court at ten to-morrow, at the top of yon small mountain, which on the +one side slopes to the lake, and on the other overlooks the pleasant +Valley of Decision, which borders the West Branch."</p> + +<p>"And do I meet Minerva on the mountain top, or do I call for her at the +usual address—that is to say, here?"</p> + +<p>"You may call for Minerva. After her recent period of inactivity she may +need assistance over the hard places."</p> + +<p>Frank did, in fact, arrive at the camp next morning almost in time for +breakfast. Perhaps the habit of early rising had grown upon him of late. +Perhaps he only wished to assure himself that Constance had really +returned. Even a wish to hear her opinion of the manuscript may have +exerted a certain influence.</p> + +<p>They set out presently, followed by numerous injunctions from Mrs. +Deane concerning fogs and trails and an early return. Frank had never +ascended this steep little mountain back of the camp, save once by a +trail that started from near the Lodge. He let Constance take the lead.</p> + +<p>It was a rare morning—one of the first September days, when the early +blaze of autumn begins to kindle along the hills, when there is just a +spice of frost in the air, when the air and sunlight combine in a tonic +that lifts the heart, the soul, almost the body itself, from the +material earth.</p> + +<p>"If you are Minerva, then I am Mercury," Frank declared as they ascended +the first rise. "I feel that my feet have wings."</p> + +<p>Then suddenly he paused, for they had come to a little enclosure, where +the bushes had been but recently cleared away. There was a gate, and +within a small grave, evidently that of a child; also a headstone upon +which was cut the single word, "<span class="smcap">Constance</span>."</p> + +<p>Frank started a little as he read the name, and regarded it wonderingly +without speaking. Then he turned to his companion with inquiry in his +face.</p> + +<p>"That was the first little Constance," she said. "I took her place and +name. She always loved this spot, so when she died they laid her here. +They expected to come back sooner. Her mother wanted just the name on +the stone."</p> + +<p>Frank had a strange feeling as he regarded the little grave.</p> + +<p>"I never knew that you had lost a sister," he said. "I mean that your +parents had buried a little girl. Of course, she died before you were +born."</p> + +<p>"No," she said, "but her death was a fearful blow. Mamma can hardly +speak of it even to-day. She could never confess that her little girl +was dead, so they called me by her name. I cannot explain it all now."</p> + +<p>Frank said musingly:</p> + +<p>"I remember your saying once that you were not even what you seemed to +be. Is this what you meant?"</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>"Yes; that is what I meant."</p> + +<p>They pushed on up the hill, without many words.</p> + +<p>The little enclosure and the graven stone had made them thoughtful. +Arriving at the peak they found, at the brow of a cliff, a broad, +shelving stone which hung out over a deep, wooded hollow, where here +and there the red and gold were beginning to gleam. From it they could +look across toward Algonquin, where they tried to locate the spot of the +hermit's cabin, and down upon the lake and the Lodge, which seemed to +lie almost at their feet.</p> + +<p>At first they merely rested and drank in the glory of the view. Then at +last Frank drew from his pocket a folded typewritten paper.</p> + +<p>"If the court of Minerva is convened, I will lay this matter before +her," he said.</p> + +<p>It was not a story of startling theme that he read to her—"The Victory +of Defeat"; it was only a tale of a man's love, devotion and sacrifice, +but it was told so simply, with so little attempt to make it seem a +story, that one listening forgot that it was not indeed a true relation, +that the people were not living and loving and suffering toward a +surrender which rose to triumph with the final page. Once only Constance +interrupted, to say:</p> + +<p>"Your friend is fortunate to have so good a reader to interpret his +story. I did not know you had that quality in your voice."</p> + +<p>He did not reply, and when he had finished reading and laid the +manuscript down he waited for her comment. It was rather unexpected.</p> + +<p>"You must be very fond of the one who wrote that," she said.</p> + +<p>He looked at her quickly, hardly sure of her meaning. Then he smiled.</p> + +<p>"I am. Almost too much so, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"But why? I think I could love the man who did that story."</p> + +<p>An expression half quizzical, half gratified, flitted across Frank's +features.</p> + +<p>"And if it were written by a woman?" he said.</p> + +<p>Constance did not reply, and the tender look in her face grew a little +cold. A tiny bit of something which she did not recognize suddenly +germinated in her heart. It was hardly envy—she would have scorned to +call it jealousy. She rose—rather hastily, it seemed.</p> + +<p>"Which perhaps accounts for your having read it so well," she said. "I +did not realize, and—I suppose such a story might be written by almost +any woman except myself."</p> + +<p>Frank caught up the manuscript and poised it like a missile.</p> + +<p>"Another word and it goes over the cliff," he threatened.</p> + +<p>She caught back his arm, laughing naturally enough.</p> + +<p>"It is ourselves that must be going over the cliff," she declared. "I am +sure Mamma is worrying about us already."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>WHAT THE SMALL WOMAN IN BLACK SAW</h3> + + +<p>With September the hurry at the Lodge subsided. Vacations were beginning +to be over—mountain climbers and wood rangers were returning to office, +studio and classroom. Those who remained were chiefly men and women +bound to no regular occupations, caring more for the woods when the +crowds of summer had departed and the red and gold of autumn were +marching down the mountain side.</p> + +<p>It had been a busy season at the Lodge, and Edith Morrison's face told +the tale. The constant responsibility, and the effort to maintain the +standard of entertainment, had left a worn look in her eyes and taken +the color from her cheeks. The burden had lain chiefly on her young +shoulders. Her father was invaluable as an entertainer and had a fund of +information, but he was without practical resources, and the strain upon +Edith had told. If for another reason a cloud had settled on her brow +and a shadow had gathered in her heart, she had uttered no word, but had +gone on, day by day, early and late, devising means and supervising +methods—doing whatever was necessary to the management of a big +household through all those busy weeks.</p> + +<p>Little more than the others had she seen Robin during those last August +days. He had been absent almost constantly. When he returned it was +usually late, and such was the demand upon this most popular of +Adirondack guides that in nearly every case he found a party waiting for +early departure. If Edith suspected that there were times when he might +have returned sooner, when she believed that he had paused at the camp +on the west branch of the Au Sable, she still spoke no word and made no +definite outward sign. Whatever she brooded in her heart was in that +secret and silence which may have come down to her, with those black +eyes and that glossy hair, from some old ancestor who silently in his +wigwam pointed his arrows and cuddled his resentment to keep it warm. It +had happened that during the days when Constance had been absent with +her mother Robin had twice returned at an earlier hour, and this could +hardly fail to strengthen any suspicion that might already exist of his +fidelity, especially as the little woman in black had commented on the +matter in Edith's presence, as well as upon the fact that immediately +after the return of the absent ones he failed to reach the Lodge by +daylight. It is a fact well established that once we begin to look for +heartache we always find it—and, as well, some one to aid us in the +search.</p> + +<p>Not that Edith had made a confidante of the sinister-clad little woman. +On the whole, she disliked her and was much more drawn toward the +good-natured but garrulous old optimist, Miss Carroway, who saw with +clear undistorted vision, and never failed to say a word—a great many +words, in fact—that carried comfort because they constituted a plea for +the creed of general happiness and the scheme of universal good. Had +Edith sought a confidante merely for the sake of easing her heart, it is +likely that it was to this good old spinster that she would have turned. +But a nature such as hers does not confide its soul-hurt merely for the +sake of consolation. In the beginning, when she had hinted something of +it to Robin, he had laughed her fears away. Then, a little later, she +had spoken to Frank Weatherby, for his sake as well as for her own. He +had not laughed, but had listened and reflected, for the time at least; +and his manner and his manhood, and that which she considered a bond of +sympathy between them, made him the one to whom she must turn, now when +the time had come to speak again.</p> + +<p>There came a day when Robin did not go to the woods. In the morning he +had been about the Lodge and the guides' cabin, of which he was now the +sole occupant, greeting Edith in his old manner and suggesting a walk +later in the day. But the girl pleaded a number of household duties, and +presently Robin disappeared to return no more until late in the +afternoon. When he did appear he seemed abstracted and grave, and went +to the cabin to prepare for a trip next morning. Frank Weatherby, who +had been putting in most of the day over some papers in his room, now +returning from a run up the hillside to a point where he could watch the +sunset, paused to look in, in passing.</p> + +<p>"Miss Deane has been telling me the hermit's story," Robin said, as he +saw who it was. "It seems to me one of the saddest stories I ever heard. +My regret is that he did not tell it to me himself, years ago. Poor old +fellow! As if I would have let it make any difference!"</p> + +<p>"But he could not be sure," said Frank. "You were all in the world to +him, and he could not afford to take the chance of losing you."</p> + +<p>"And to think that all those years he lived up there, watching our +struggle. And what a hard struggle it was! Poor mother—I wish she might +have known he was there!"</p> + +<p>Neither spoke for a time. Then they reviewed their visit to the +hermitage together, when they had performed the last sad offices for its +lonely occupant. Next morning Robin was away with his party and Frank +wandered over to the camp, but found no one there besides the servants.</p> + +<p>He surmised that Constance and her parents had gone to visit the little +grave on the hillside, and followed in that direction, thinking to meet +them. He was nearing the spot when, at a turn in the path, he saw them. +He was unobserved, and he saw that Constance had her arms about Mrs. +Deane, who was weeping. He withdrew silently and walked slowly back to +the Lodge, where he spent the rest of the morning over a writing table +in his room, while on the veranda the Circle of Industry—still active, +though much reduced as to numbers—discussed the fact that of late Mr. +Weatherby was seen oftener at the Lodge, while, on the other hand, +Constance had scarcely been seen there since her return. The little +woman in black shook her head ominously and hinted that she might tell a +good deal if she would, an attitude which Miss Carroway promptly +resented, declaring that she had thus far never known her to keep back +anything that was worth telling.</p> + +<p>It was during the afternoon that Frank, loitering through a little grove +of birches near the boat landing, came face to face with Edith Morrison. +He saw in an instant that she had something to say to him. She was as +white as the birches about her, while in her eyes there was the bright, +burning look he had seen there once before, now more fierce and +intensified. She paused by a mossy-covered bowlder called the "stone +seat," and rested her hand upon it. Frank saw that she was trembling +violently. He started to speak, but she forestalled him.</p> + +<p>"I have something to tell you," she began, with hurried eagerness. "I +spoke of it once before, when I only suspected. Now I know. I don't +think you believed me then, and I doubted, sometimes, myself. But I do +not doubt any longer. We have been fools all along, you and I. They have +never cared for us since she came, but only for each other. And instead +of telling us, as brave people would, they have let us go on—blinding +us so they could blind others, or perhaps thinking we do not matter +enough for them to care. Oh, you are kind and good, and willing to +believe in them, but they shall not deceive you any longer. I know the +truth, and I mean that you shall know it, too."</p> + +<p>Out of the varying emotions with which the young man listened to the +rapid torrent of words, there came the conviction that without doubt the +girl, to have been stirred so deeply, must have seen or heard something +which she regarded as definite. He believed that she was mistaken, but +it was necessary that he should hear her, in order, if possible to +convince her of her error. He motioned her into the seat formed by the +bowlder, for she seemed weak from over-excitement. Leaning against it, +he looked down into her dark, striking face, startled to see how worn +and frail she seemed.</p> + +<p>"Miss Morrison," he began gently, "you are overwrought. You have had a +hard summer, with many cares. Perhaps you have not been able to see +quite clearly—perhaps things are not as you suppose—perhaps——"</p> + +<p>She interrupted him.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, "I do not suppose—I know! I have known all the time. I +have seen it in a hundred ways, only they were ways that one cannot put +into words. But now something has happened that anybody can see, and +that can be told—something <i>has</i> been seen and told!"</p> + +<p>She looked up at Frank—those deep, burning eyes of hers full of +indignation. He said:</p> + +<p>"Tell me just what you mean. What has happened, and who has seen it?"</p> + +<p>"It was yesterday, in the woods—the woods between here and the camp on +the Au Sable. They were sitting as we are, and he held her hand, and she +had been crying. And when they parted he said to her, 'We must tell +them. You must get Mrs. Deane's consent. I am sure Edith suspects +something, and it isn't right to go on like this. We must tell them.' +Then—then he kissed her. That—of course——"</p> + +<p>The girl's voice broke and she could not continue. Frank waited a +moment, then he said:</p> + +<p>"And who witnessed this scene?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Kitcher."</p> + +<p>"You mean the little woman who dresses in black?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is the one."</p> + +<p>"And you would believe that tale-bearing eavesdropper?"</p> + +<p>"I must. I have seen so much myself."</p> + +<p>"Then, let me say this. I believe that most of what she told you is +false. She may have seen them together. She may have seen him take her +hand. I know that Miss Deane told Robin something yesterday that related +to his past life, and that it was a sad tale. It might easily bring the +tears, and she would give him her hand as an old friend. There may have +been something said about his telling you, for there is no reason why +you should not know the story. It is merely of an old man who is dead, +and who knew Robin's mother. So far as anything further, I believe that +woman invented it purely to make mischief. One who will spy and listen +will do more. I would not believe her on oath—nor must you, either."</p> + +<p>But Edith still shook her head.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you don't know!" she persisted. "There has been much besides. It +is all a part of the rest. You have not a woman's intuition, and Robin +has not a woman's skill in deceiving. There is something—I know there +is something—I have seen it all along. And, oh, what should Robin keep +from me?"</p> + +<p>"Have you spoken to him of it?"</p> + +<p>"Once—about the time you came—he laughed at me. I would hardly mention +it again."</p> + +<p>"Yet it seems to me that would be the thing to do," Frank reflected +aloud. "At least, you can ask him about the story told him by Miss +Deane. You—you may say I mentioned it."</p> + +<p>Edith regarded him in amaze.</p> + +<p>"And you think I could do that—that I could ask him of anything that he +did not tell me of his own accord? Will you ask Miss Deane about that +meeting in the woods?"</p> + +<p>Frank shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I do not need to do so. I know about it."</p> + +<p>She looked at him quickly—puzzled for the moment as to his +meaning—wondering if he, too, might be a part of a conspiracy against +her happiness. Then she said, comprehending:</p> + +<p>"No, you only believe. I have not your credulity and faith. I see things +as they are, and it is not right that you should be blinded any longer. +I had to tell you."</p> + +<p>She rose with quick suddenness as if to go.</p> + +<p>"Wait," he said. "I am glad you told me. I believe everything is all +right, whatever that woman saw. I believe she saw very little, and until +you have seen and learned for yourself you must believe that, too. +Somehow, everything always comes out right. It must, you know, or the +world is a failure. And this will come out right. Robin will tell you +the story when he comes back, and explain everything. I am sure of it. +Don't let it trouble you for a single moment."</p> + +<p>He put out his hand instinctively and she took it. Her eyes were full of +hot tears. It came upon Frank in that instant that if Mrs. Kitcher were +watching now she would probably see as much to arouse suspicion as she +had seen the day before, and he said so without hesitation. Edith made a +futile effort to reflect his smile.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she agreed, "but, oh, that was different! There was more, and +there has been so much—all along."</p> + +<p>She left him then, followed by a parting word of reassurance. When she +had disappeared he dropped back on the stone seat and sat looking +through the trees toward the little boat landing, revolving in his mind +the scene just ended. From time to time he applied unpleasant names to +the small woman in black, whose real name had proved to be Kitcher. +What, after all, had she really seen and heard? He believed, very +little. Certainly not so much as she had told. But then, one by one, +certain trifling incidents came back to him—a word here—a look +there—the tender speaking of a name—even certain inflections and +scarcely perceptible movements—the things which, as Edith had said, one +cannot put into words. Reviewing the matter carefully, he became less +certain in his faith. Perhaps, after all, Edith was right—perhaps there +was something between those two; and troubling thoughts took the joy out +of the sunlight and the brightness from the dancing waters.</p> + +<p>The afternoon was already far gone, and during the rest of the day he +sat in the little grove of birches above the landing, smoking and +revolving many matters in his mind. For a time the unhappiness of Edith +Morrison was his chief thought, and he resolved to go immediately to +Constance and lay the circumstances fully before her, that she might +clear up the misunderstanding and restore general happiness and good +will. Twice, indeed, he rose to set out for the camp, but each time +returned to the stone seat. What if it were really true that a great +love had sprung up between Constance and Robin—a love which was at once +a glory and a tragedy—such a love as had brightened and blotted the +pages of history since the gods began their sports with humankind and +joined them in battle on the plains of Troy? What if it were true after +all? If it were true, then Constance and Robin would reveal it soon +enough, of their own accord. If it were not true, then Edith Morrison's +wild jealousy would seem absurd to Constance, and to Robin, who would be +obliged to know. Frank argued that he had no right to risk for her such +humiliation as would result to one of her temperament for having given +way to groundless jealousy. These were the reasons he gave himself for +not going with the matter to Constance. But the real reason was that he +did not have the courage to approach her on the subject. For one thing, +he would not know how to begin. For another—and this, after all, +comprised everything—he was afraid it <i>might be true</i>.</p> + +<p>So he lingered there on the stone seat while the September afternoon +faded, the sun slipped down the west, and long, cool mountain shadows +gathered in the little grove. If it were true, there was no use of +further endeavor. It was for Constance, more than for any other soul, +living or dead, that he had renewed his purpose in life, that he had +recalled old ambitions, re-established old effort.</p> + +<p>Without Constance, what was the use? Nobody would care—he least of all. +If it were true, the few weeks of real life that had passed since that +day with her on the mountain, when they had been lost in the mist and +found the hermitage together, would remain through the year to come a +memory somewhat like that which the hermit had carried with him into the +wilderness. Like Robin Gray, he, too, would become a hermit, though in +that greater wilderness—the world of men. Yet he could be more than +Robin Gray, for with means he could lend a hand. And then he remembered +that such help would not be needed, and the thought made the picture in +his mind seem more desolate—more hopeless.</p> + +<p>But suddenly, from somewhere—out of the clear sky of a sub-conscious +mind, perhaps—a thought, a resolve, clothed in words, fell upon his +lips. "If it is true, and if I can win her love, I will marry Edith +Morrison," he said.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>WHAT MISS CARROWAY DID</h3> + + +<p>The Circle of Industry had been minus an important member that +afternoon. The small woman in black was there, and a reduced contingent +of such auxiliary members as still remained in the wilds, but the chief +director and center of affairs, Miss Carroway, was absent. She had set +out immediately after luncheon, and Mrs. Kitcher had for once enjoyed +the privilege of sowing discord, shedding gloom and retailing dark +hints, unopposed and undismayed. Her opponent, for the time at least, +had abandoned the field.</p> + +<p>Miss Carroway had set out quietly enough, taking the path around the +lake that on the other side joined the trail which led to the Deane +camp. It was a rare afternoon, and the old lady, carefully dressed, +primly curled, and with a bit of knitting in her hand, sauntered +leisurely through the sunlit woods toward the West Branch. She was a +peaceful note in the picture as she passed among the tall spruces, or +paused for a moment amid a little grove of maples that were turning red +and gold, some of the leaves drifting to her feet. Perhaps she reflected +that for them, as for her, the summer time was over—that their day of +usefulness was nearly ended. Perhaps she recalled the days not long ago +when the leaves had been fresh and fair with youth, and it may be that +the thought brought back her own youth, when she had been a girl, +climbing the hills back of Haverford—when there had been young men who +had thought her as fresh and fair, and one who because of a +misunderstanding had gone away to war without a good-bye, and had died +at Wilson's Creek with a bullet through her picture on his heart.</p> + +<p>As she lingered here and there in the light of these pleasant places, it +would have been an easy task to reconstruct in that placid, faded face +the beauty of forty years ago, to see in her again the strong, handsome +girl who had put aside her own heritage of youth and motherhood to carry +the burdens of an invalid sister, to adopt, finally, as her own, the +last feeble, motherless infant, to devote her years and strength to him, +to guide him step by step to a place of honor among his fellow-men. +Seeing her now, and knowing these things, it was not hard to accord her +a former beauty—it was not difficult even to declare her beautiful +still—for something of it all had come back, something of the old +romance, of awakened purpose and the tender interest of love.</p> + +<p>Where the trail crossed the Au Sable Falls, she paused and surveyed the +place with approval.</p> + +<p>"That would be a nice place for a weddin'," she reflected aloud. +"Charlie used to say a piece at school about 'The groves was God's first +temples,' an' this makes me think of it."</p> + +<p>Then she forgot her reflections, for a little way beyond the falls, +assorting something from a basket, was the object of her visit, +Constance Deane. She had spread some specimens on the grass and was +comparing them with the pictures in the book beside her. As Miss +Carroway approached, she greeted her cordially.</p> + +<p>"Welcome to our camp," she said. "I have often wondered why you never +came over this way. My parents will be so glad to see you. You must come +right up to the house and have a cup of tea."</p> + +<p>But Miss Carroway seated herself on the grass beside Constance, +instead.</p> + +<p>"I came over to see <i>you</i>," she said quietly, "just you alone. I had tea +before I started. I want to talk about one or two things a little, an' +mebbe to give you some advice."</p> + +<p>Constance smiled and looked down at the mushrooms on the grass.</p> + +<p>"About those, you mean," she said. "Well, I suppose I need it. I find I +know less than I thought I did in the beginning."</p> + +<p>Miss Carroway shook her head.</p> + +<p>"No," she admitted; "I've give up that question. I guess the books know +more than I do. You ain't dead yet, an' if they was pizen you would 'a' +been by this time. It's somethin' else I want to talk about—somethin' +that's made a good many people unhappy, includin' me. That was a long +time ago, but I s'pose I ain't quite got over it yet."</p> + +<p>A good deal of the September afternoon slipped away as the two women +talked there in the sunshine by the Au Sable Falls. When at last Miss +Carroway rose to go, Constance rose, too, and, taking her hand, kissed +the old lady on the cheek.</p> + +<p>"You are sweet and good," she said, "and I wish I could do as much for +you as you have done, and are willing to do for me. If I have not +confided in you, it is only because I cannot—to-day. But I shall tell +you all that there is to tell as soon—almost as soon—as I tell any +one. It may be to-morrow, and I promise you that there shall be no +unhappiness that I can help."</p> + +<p>"Things never can be set straight too soon," said the old lady. "I've +had a long time to think of that."</p> + +<p>Miss Deane's eyes grew moist.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I thank you for telling me your story!" she said. "It is beautiful, +and you have lived a noble life."</p> + +<p>The shadows had grown deeper in the woods as Miss Carroway followed a +path back to the lake, and so around to the Lodge. The sun had vanished +from the tree tops, and some of the light and reflex of youth had faded +from the old lady's face.</p> + +<p>Perhaps she was a little weary with her walk, and it may be a little +disappointed at what she had heard, or rather what she had not heard, in +her talk with Constance Deane. At the end of the lake she followed the +path through the little birch grove and came upon Frank Weatherby, where +he mused, on the stone seat.</p> + +<p>Miss Carroway paused as he rose and greeted her.</p> + +<p>"I just come from a good walk," she said peacefully. "I've been over to +the Deanes' camp. It's a pretty place."</p> + +<p>Frank nodded.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you saw the family," he said.</p> + +<p>"No; only Miss Deane. She was studyin' tudstools, but I guess they +wa'n't pizen. I guess she knows 'em."</p> + +<p>Frank made no comment on this remark, and the old lady looked out on the +lake a moment and added, as one reflecting aloud on a matter quite apart +from the subject in hand:</p> + +<p>"If I was a young man and had anything on my mind, I'd go to the one it +was about and get it off as quick as I could."</p> + +<p>Then she started on up the path, Frank stepping aside to let her pass. +As he did so, he lifted his hat and said:</p> + +<p>"I think that is good advice, Miss Carroway, and I thank you for it."</p> + +<p>But he dropped back on the seat when she was gone, and sat staring out +on the water, that caught and gave back the colors of the fading sky. +Certainly it was good advice, and he would act on it—to-morrow, +perhaps—not to-day. Then he smiled, rather quaintly.</p> + +<p>"I wonder who will be next on the scene," he thought. "First, the +injured girl. Then the good old busybody, whose mission it is to help +things along. It would seem about time for the chief characters to +appear."</p> + +<p>Once the sun is gone, twilight gathers quickly in the hills. The color +blended out of the woods, the mountains around the lake faded into walls +of tone, a tide of dusk crept out of the deeper forest and enclosed the +birches. Only the highest mountain peaks, Algonquin and Tahawus, caught +the gold and amethyst of day's final tokens of good-bye. Then that +faded, and only the sky told the story to the lake, that repeated it in +its heart.</p> + +<p>From among the shadows on the farther side a boat drifted into the +evening light. It came noiselessly. Frank's eye did not catch it until +it neared the center of the lake. Then presently he recognized the +silhoueted figures, holding his breath a little as he watched them to +make sure. Evidently Robin had returned with his party and stopped by +the Deane camp. Frank's anticipation was to be realized. The chief +characters in the drama were about to appear.</p> + +<p>Propelled by Robin's strong arms, the Adirondack canoe shot quickly to +the little dock. A moment later the guide took a basket handed to him +and assisted his two passengers, Constance and Mrs. Deane, to land. As +they stood on the dock they were in the half dusk, yet clearly outlined +against the pale-green water behind. Frank wondered what had brought +Mrs. Deane to the Lodge. Probably the walk and row through the perfect +evening.</p> + +<p>The little group was but a few yards distant, but it never occurred to +Frank that he could become an eavesdropper. The presence of Mrs. Deane +would have dispelled any such idea, even had it presented itself. He +watched them without curiosity, deciding that when they passed the grove +of birches he would step out and greet them. For the moment, at least, +most of his recent doubts were put aside.</p> + +<p>But all at once he saw Constance turn to her mother and take her hands.</p> + +<p>"You are sure you are willing that we should make it known to-night?" +she said.</p> + +<p>And quite distinctly on that still air came the answer:</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear. I have kept you and Robin waiting long enough. After all, +Robin is more to you than I am," and the elder woman held out her hand +to Robin Farnham, who, taking it, drew closer to the two.</p> + +<p>Then the girl's arms were about her mother's neck, but a moment later +she had turned to Robin.</p> + +<p>"After to-night we belong to each other," she said. "How it will +surprise everybody," and she kissed him fairly on the lips.</p> + +<p>It had all happened so quickly—so unexpectedly—they had been so +near—that Frank could hardly have chosen other than to see and hear. He +sat as one stupefied while they ascended the path, passing within a few +feet of the stone seat. He was overcome by the suddenness of the +revelation, even though the fact had been the possibility in his +afternoon's brooding. Also, he was overwhelmed with shame and +mortification that he should have heard and seen that which had been +intended for no ears and eyes but their own.</p> + +<p>How fiercely he had condemned Mrs. Kitcher, who, it would seem, had been +truthful, after all, and doubtless even less culpable in her +eavesdropping. He told himself that he should have turned away upon the +first word spoken by Constance to her mother. Then he might not have +heard and seen until the moment when they had intended that the +revelation should be made. That was why Mrs. Deane had come—to give +dignity and an official air to the news.</p> + +<p>He wondered if he and Edith were to be told privately, or if the bans +were to be announced to a gathered company, as in the old days when they +were published to church congregations. And Edith—what would it mean to +her—what would she do? Oh, there was something horrible about it +all—something impossible—something that the brain refused to +understand. He did not see or hear the figure that silently—as silently +as an Indian—from the other end of the grove stole up the incline +toward the Lodge, avoiding the group, making its way to the rear by +another path. He only sat there, stunned and hopeless, in the shadows.</p> + +<p>The night air became chill and he was growing numb and stiff from +sitting in one position. Still he did not move. He was trying to think. +He would not go to the Lodge. He would not be a spectacle. He would not +look upon, or listen to, their happiness. He would go away at once, +to-night. He would leave everything behind and, following the road to +Lake Placid, would catch an early train.</p> + +<p>Then he remembered that he had said he would marry Edith Morrison if he +could win her love. But the idea had suddenly grown impossible. +Edith—why, Edith would be crushed in the dust—killed. No, oh, no, that +was impossible—that could not happen—not now—not yet.</p> + +<p>He recalled, too, what he had resolved concerning a life apart, such a +life as the hermit had led among the hills, and he thought his own lot +the more bitter, for at least the hermit's love had been returned and it +was only fate that had come between. Yet he would be as generous. They +would not need his help, but through the years he would wish them +well—yes, he could do that—and he would watch from a distance and +guard their welfare if ever time of need should come.</p> + +<p>Long through the dark he sat there, unheeding the time, caring nothing +that the sky had become no longer pale but a deep, dusky blue, while the +lake carried the stars in its bosom.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>EDITH AND FRANK</h3> + + +<p>It may have been an hour—perhaps two of them—since Robin with +Constance and her mother had passed him on the way to the Lodge, when +suddenly Frank heard some one hurrying down the path. It was the rustle +of skirts that he heard, and he knew that it was a woman running. Just +at the little grove of birches she stopped and seemed to hesitate. In +the silence of the place he could hear her breath come pantingly, as +from one laboring under heavy excitement. Then there was a sort of +sobbing moan, and a moment later a voice that he scarcely recognized as +that of Edith Morrison, so full of wild anguish it was, called his name. +He had already risen, and was at her side in an instant.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he demanded; "tell me everything—tell me quickly!"</p> + +<p>"Oh," she wailed, "I knew you must be here. They couldn't find you, and +I knew why. I knew you had been here, and had seen what I saw, and +heard what I heard. Oh, you must go to her—you must go at once!"</p> + +<p>She had seized his arm with both hands, shaking with a storm of +emotion—of terror, it seemed—her eyes burning through the dark.</p> + +<p>"When I saw that, I went mad," she raved on. "I saw everything through a +black mist, and out of it the devil came and tempted me. He put the +means in my hands to destroy my enemy, and I have done it—oh, I have +done it! You said it was the Devil's Garden, and it is! Oh, it is his—I +know it! I know it!"</p> + +<p>The girl was fairly beside herself—almost incoherent—but there was +enough in her words and fierce excitement to fill Frank with sudden +apprehension.</p> + +<p>"What is it you have done?" he demanded. "Tell me what you mean by the +devil tempting you to destroy your enemy. What have you done?"</p> + +<p>A wave of passion, anguish, remorse broke over her, and she clung to him +heavily. She could not find voice at first. When she did, it had become +a shuddering whisper.</p> + +<p>"I have killed her!" she managed to gasp. "I have killed her! I did it +with the Yellow Danger—you remember—the Yellow Danger—that day in +the Devil's Garden—that poison one—that deadly one with the cup—there +were some among those she brought to-night. She must have left them +there by mistake. I knew them—I remembered that day—and, oh, I have +been there since. But I was about to throw them away when the devil came +from his garden and tempted me. He said no one could ever suspect or +blame me. I put one of the deadly ones among those that went to her +place at dinner. When it was too late I was sorry. I realized, all at +once, that I was a murderer and must not live. So I ran down here to +throw myself in the lake. Then I remembered that you were here, and that +perhaps you could do something to save her. Oh, she doesn't know! She is +happy up there, but she is doomed. You must help her! You must! Oh, I do +not want to die a murderer! I cannot do that—I cannot!"</p> + +<p>The girl's raving had been in part almost inaudible, but out of it the +truth came clearly. Constance had brought some mushrooms to the Lodge, +and these, as usual, had been sent in to Edith to prepare. Among them +Edith had found some which she recognized as those declared by Constance +to be deadly, and these she had allowed to go to Constance's plate. +Later, stricken with remorse, she had rushed out to destroy herself, and +was now as eager to save her victim.</p> + +<p>All this rushed through Frank's brain in an instant, and for a moment he +remembered only that day in the Devil's Garden, and the fact that a +deadly fungus which Constance had called the Yellow Danger was about to +destroy her life. But then, in a flash, came back the letter, written +from Lake Placid, in which Constance had confessed a mistake, and +referred to a certain Amanita which she had thought poisonous as a +choice edible mushroom, called by the ancients "food of the gods." He +remembered now that this was the Orange Amanita or "Yellow Danger," and +a flood of hope swept over him; but he must be certain of the truth.</p> + +<p>"Miss Morrison," he said, in a voice that was at once gentle and grave, +"this is a bitter time for us all. But you must be calm, and show me, if +you can, one of those yellow mushrooms you did not use. I have reason to +hope that they are not the deadly ones after all. But take me where I +can see them, at once."</p> + +<p>His words and tone seemed to give the girl new strength and courage.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't tell me that unless it is true!" she pleaded. "Don't tell me +that just to get me to go back to the Lodge! Oh, I will do anything to +save her! Come—yes—come, and I will show them to you!"</p> + +<p>She started hurriedly in the direction of the Lodge, Frank keeping by +her side. As they neared the lights she seized his arm and detained him +an instant.</p> + +<p>"You will not let her die?" She trembled, her fear returning. "She is so +young and beautiful—you will not let her die? I will give up Robin, but +she must not die."</p> + +<p>He spoke to her reassuringly, and they pushed on, making a wide detour +which brought them to the rear of the Lodge. Through the window they saw +the servants still passing to and fro into the dining-room serving a few +belated guests. From it a square of light penetrated the woods behind, +and on the edge of this they paused—the girl's eyes eagerly scanning +the ground.</p> + +<p>"I hid them here," she said. "I did not put them in the waste, for fear +some one would see them."</p> + +<p>Presently she knelt and brushed aside the leaves. Something like gold +gleamed before her and she seized upon it. A moment later she had +uncovered another similar object.</p> + +<p>"There," she said chokingly; "there they are! Tell me—tell me quick! +Are they the deadly ones?"</p> + +<p>He gave them a quick glance in the light, then he said:</p> + +<p>"I think not, but I cannot be sure here. Come with me to the guide's +cabin. It was dark as we came up, but it was open. I will strike a +light."</p> + +<p>They hurried across to the little detached cabin and pushed in. Frank +struck a match and lit a kerosene bracket lamp. Then he laid the two +yellow mushrooms on the table beneath it, and from an inner pocket drew +a small and rather mussed letter and opened it—his companion watching +every movement with burning eager eyes.</p> + +<p>"This is a letter from Miss Deane," he said, "written me from Lake +Placid. In it she says that she made a mistake about the Orange Amanita +that she called the Yellow Danger. These are her words—a rule taken +from the book:</p> + +<p>"'<i>If the cup of the Yellow Amanita is present, the plant is harmless. +If the cup is absent, it is poisonous.</i>'"</p> + +<p>He bent forward and looked closely at the specimens before him.</p> + +<p>"That is surely the cup," he said. "She gathered these and put them +among the others by intention, knowing them to be harmless. She is safe, +and you have committed no crime."</p> + +<p>His last words fell on insensate ears. Edith drew a quick breath that +was half a cry, and an instant later Frank saw that she was reeling. He +caught her and half lifted her to a bench by the door, where she lay +insensible. An approaching step caught Frank's ear and, as he stepped to +the door, Robin Farnham, who had seen the light in the cabin, was at the +entrance. A startled look came into his eyes as he saw Edith's white +face, but Frank said quietly:</p> + +<p>"Miss Morrison has had a severe shock—a fright. She has fainted, but I +think there is no danger. I will remain while you bring a cup of water."</p> + +<p>There was a well at the end of the Lodge, and Robin returned almost +immediately with a filled cup.</p> + +<p>Already Edith showed signs of returning consciousness, and Frank left +the two, taking his way to the veranda, where he heard the voices of +Constance and her mother, mingled with that of Miss Carroway. He +ascended the steps with a resolute tread and went directly to Constance, +who came forward to meet him.</p> + +<p>"And where did you come from?" she demanded gayly. "We looked for you +all about. Mamma and I came over on purpose to dine with you, and I +brought a very especial dish, which I had all to myself. Still, we did +miss you, and Miss Carroway has been urging us to send out a searching +party."</p> + +<p>Frank shook hands with Mrs. Deane and Miss Carroway, apologizing for his +absence and lateness. Then he turned to Constance, and together they +passed down to the further end of the long veranda. Neither spoke until +they were out of earshot of the others. Then the girl laid her hand +gently on her companion's arm.</p> + +<p>"I have something to tell you," she began. "I came over on +purpose—something I have been wanting to say a long time, only——"</p> + +<p>He interrupted her.</p> + +<p>"I know," he said; "I can guess what it is. That was why I did not come +sooner. I came now because I have something to say to you. I did not +intend to come at all, but then something happened and—I have changed +my mind. I will only keep you a moment."</p> + +<p>His voice was not quite steady, but grave and determined, with a tone in +it which the girl did not recognize. Her hand slipped from his arm.</p> + +<p>"Tell me first," he went on, "if you are quite sure that the mushrooms +you brought for dinner—all of them—the yellow ones—are entirely +harmless."</p> + +<p>Certainly this was an unexpected question. Something in the solemn +manner and suddenness of it may have seemed farcical. For an instant she +perhaps thought him jesting, for there was a note of laughter in her +voice as she replied:</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; quite certain. Those are the Cĉsar mushrooms—food of the +gods—I brought them especially for you. But how did you know of them?"</p> + +<p>He did not respond to this question, nor to her light tone.</p> + +<p>"Miss Deane," he went on, "I know perfectly well what you came here to +say. I happened to be in the little grove of birches to-night when you +landed with your mother and Robin Farnham, and I saw and heard what took +place on the dock, almost before I realized that I was eavesdropping. +Unfortunately, though I did not know it then, another saw and heard, as +well, and the shock of it was such that it not only crushed her spirit +but upset her moral balance for the time. You will know, of course, that +I refer to Edith Morrison. She had to know, and perhaps no one is to +blame for her suffering—and mine; only it seems unfortunate that the +revelation should have come just as it did rather than in the gentler +way which you perhaps had planned."</p> + +<p>He paused a moment to collect words for what he had to say next. +Constance was looking directly at him, though her expression was lost in +the dusk. Her voice, however, was full of anxiety.</p> + +<p>"There is a mistake," she began eagerly. "Oh, I will explain, but not +now. Where is Edith? Tell me first what has happened to Edith."</p> + +<p>"I will do that, presently. She is quite safe. The man she was to marry +is with her. But first I have something to say—something that I wish to +tell you before—before I go. I want to say to you in all honesty that I +consider Robin Farnham a fine, manly fellow—more worthy of you than +I—and that I honor you in your choice, regretting only that it must +bring sorrow to other hearts. I want to confess to you that never until +after that day upon the mountain did I realize the fullness of my love +for you—that it was all in my life that was worth preserving—that it +spoke to the best there was in me. I want you to know that it stirred +old ambitions and restored old dreams, and that I awoke to renewed +effort and to the hope of achievement only because of you and of your +approval. The story I read to you that day on the mountain was my story. +I wrote it those days while you were away. It was the beginning of a +work I hoped to make worth while. I believed that you cared, and that +with worthy effort I could win you for my own. I had Robin Gray's +character in mind for my hero, not dreaming that I should be called upon +to make a sacrifice on my own account, but now that the time is here I +want you to know that I shall try not to make it grudgingly or cravenly, +but as manfully as I can. I want to tell you from my heart and upon my +honor that I wish you well—that if ever the day comes when I can be of +service to you or to him, I will do whatever lies in my power and +strength. It is not likely such a time will ever come, for in the matter +of means you will have ample and he will have enough. Those bonds which +poor old Robin Gray believed worthless all these years have been +restored to their full value, and more; and, even if this were not true, +Robin Farnham would make his way and command the recognition and the +rewards of the world. What will become of my ambition I do not know. It +awoke too late to mean anything to you, and the world does not need my +effort. As a boy, I thought it did, and that my chances were all bright +ahead. But once, a long time ago, in these same hills, I gave my lucky +piece to a little mountain girl, and perhaps I gave away my +opportunities with it, and my better strength. Now, there is no more to +say except God bless you and love you, as I always will."</p> + +<p>And a moment later he added:</p> + +<p>"I left Miss Morrison with Robin Farnham in the guide's cabin. If she is +not there you will probably find her in her room. Be as kind to her as +you can. She needs everything."</p> + +<p>He held out his hand then, as if to leave her. But she took it and held +it fast. He felt that hers trembled.</p> + +<p>"You are brave and true," she said, "and you cannot go like this. You +will not leave the Lodge without seeing me again. Promise me you will +not. I have something to say to you—something it is necessary you +should know. It is quite a long story and will take time. I cannot tell +it now. Promise me that you will walk once more with me to-morrow +morning. I will go now to Edith; but promise me what I ask. You must."</p> + +<p>"It is not fair," he said slowly, "but I promise you."</p> + +<p>"You need not come for me," she said. "Our walk will be in the other +direction. I will meet you here quite early."</p> + +<p>He left her at the entrance of the wide hall and, ascending to his room, +began to put his traps together in readiness for departure by stage next +day.</p> + +<p>Constance descended the veranda steps and crossed over to the guides' +cabin, where a light still shone. As she approached the open door she +saw Edith and Robin sitting on the bench, talking earnestly. Edith had +been crying, but appeared now in a calmer frame of mind. Robin held both +her hands in his, and she made no apparent attempt to withdraw them. +Then came the sound of footsteps and Constance stood in the doorway. +For a moment Edith was startled. Then, seeing who it was, she sprang up +and ran forward with extended arms.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me! Oh, forgive me!" she cried; "I did not know! I did not +know!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>THE LUCKY PIECE</h3> + + +<p>True to her promise, Constance was at the Lodge early next morning. +Frank, a trifle pale and solemn, waited on the veranda steps. Yet he +greeted her cheerfully enough, for the Circle of Industry, daily +dwindling in numbers but still a quorum, was already in session, and +Miss Carroway and the little woman in black had sharp eyes and ears. +Constance went over to speak to this group. With Miss Carroway she shook +hands.</p> + +<p>Frank lingered by the steps, waiting for her, but instead of returning +she disappeared into the Lodge and was gone several minutes.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to see Miss Morrison," she exclaimed, in a voice loud enough +for all to hear. "She did not seem very well last night. I find she is +much better this morning."</p> + +<p>Frank did not make any reply, or look at her. He could not at all +comprehend. They set out in the old way, only they did not carry the +basket and book of former days, nor did the group on the veranda call +after them with warning and advice. But Miss Carroway looked over to the +little woman in black with a smile of triumph. And Mrs. Kitcher grimly +returned the look with another which may have meant "wait and see."</p> + +<p>A wonderful September morning had followed the perfect September night. +There was a smack of frost in the air, but now, with the flooding +sunlight, the glow of early autumn and the odors of dying summer time, +the world seemed filled with anodyne and glory. Frank and Constance +followed the road a little way and then, just beyond the turn, the girl +led off into a narrow wood trail to the right—the same they had +followed that day when they had visited the Devil's Garden.</p> + +<p>She did not pause for that now. She pushed ahead as one who knew her +ground from old acquaintance, with that rapid swinging walk of hers +which seemed always to make her a part of these mountains, and their +uncertain barricaded trails. Frank followed behind, rarely speaking save +to comment upon some unusual appearance in nature—wondering at her +purpose in it all, realizing that they had never continued so far in +this direction before.</p> + +<p>They had gone something less than a mile, perhaps, when they heard the +sound of tumbling water, and a few moments later were upon the banks of +a broad stream that rushed and foamed between the bowlders. Frank said, +quietly:</p> + +<p>"This is like the stream where I caught the big trout—you remember?"</p> + +<p>"It is the same," she said, "only that was much farther up. Come, we +will cross."</p> + +<p>He put out his hand as if to assist her. She did not take it, but +stepped lightly to a large stone, then to another and another—springing +a little to one side here, just touching a bowlder all but covered with +water there, and so on, almost more rapidly than Frank could follow—as +one who knew every footing of that uncertain causeway. They were on the +other side presently, and took up the trail there.</p> + +<p>"I did not know you were so handy crossing streams," said Frank. "I +never saw you do it before."</p> + +<p>"But that was not hard. I have crossed many worse ones. Perhaps I was +lighter of foot then."</p> + +<p>They now passed through another stretch of timber, Constance still +leading the way. The trail was scarcely discernible here and there, as +one not often used, but she did not pause. They had gone nearly a mile +farther when a break of light appeared ahead, and presently they came to +a stone wall and a traveled road. Constance did not scale the wall, but +seated herself on it as if to rest. A few feet away Frank leaned against +the barrier, looking at the road and then at his companion, curious but +silent. Presently Constance said:</p> + +<p>"You are wondering what I have to tell you, and why I have brought you +all this way to tell it. Also, how I could follow the trail so +easily—aren't you?" and she smiled up at him in the old way.</p> + +<p>"Yes," admitted Frank; "though as for the trail, I suppose you must have +been over it before—some of those times before I came."</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>"That is true. You were not here when I traveled this trail before. It +was Robin who came with me the last time. But that was long ago—almost +ten years."</p> + +<p>"You have a good memory."</p> + +<p>"Yes, very good—better than yours. That is why I brought you here +to-day—to refresh your memory."</p> + +<p>There was something of the old banter in her voice, and something in her +expression, inscrutable though it was, that for some reason set his +heart to beating. He wondered if she could be playing with him. He could +not understand, and said as much.</p> + +<p>"You brought me here to tell me a story," he concluded. "Isn't that what +you said? I shall miss the Lake Placid hack if we do not start back +presently."</p> + +<p>Again that inscrutable, disturbing look.</p> + +<p>"Is it so necessary that you should start to-day?" she asked. "Mr. +Meelie, I am sure, will appreciate your company just as much another +time. And to-day is ours."</p> + +<p>That look—it kept him from saying something bitter then.</p> + +<p>"The story—you are forgetting it," he said, quietly.</p> + +<p>"No, I am not forgetting." The banter had all gone out of her voice, and +it had become gentle—almost tender. A soft, far-away look had come into +her eyes. "I am only trying to think how to tell it—how to begin. I +thought perhaps you might help me—only you don't—your memory is so +poor."</p> + +<p>He had no idea of her meaning now, and ventured no comment.</p> + +<p>"You do not help me," she went on. "I must tell my little story alone. +After all, it is only a sequel—do you care for sequels?"</p> + +<p>There was something in her face just then that, had it not been for all +that had come between them, might have made him take her in his arms.</p> + +<p>"I—I care for what you are about to tell," he said.</p> + +<p>She regarded him intently, and a great softness came into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"It is the sequel of a story we heard together," she began, "that day on +McIntyre, in the hermit's cabin. You remember that he spoke of the other +child—a little girl—hers. This is the story of that little girl. You +have heard something of her already—how the brother toiled for her and +his mother—how she did not fully understand the bitterness of it all. +Yet she tried to help—a little. She thought of many things. She had +dreams that grew out of the fairy book her mother used to read to her, +and she looked for Aladdin caves among the hills, and sometimes fancied +herself borne away by the wind and the sea to some far Eastern land +where the people would lay their treasures at her feet. But more than +all she waited for the wonderful fairy prince who would one day come to +her with some magic talisman of fortune which would make them all rich, +and happy ever after.</p> + +<p>"Yet, while she dreamed, she really tried to help in other ways—little +ways of her own—and in the summer she picked berries and, standing +where the stage went by, she held them out to the tourists who, when the +stage halted, sometimes bought them for a few pennies. Oh, she was so +glad when they bought them—the pennies were so precious—though it +meant even more to her to be able to look for a moment into the faces of +those strangers from another world, and to hear the very words that were +spoken somewhere beyond the hills."</p> + +<p>She paused, and Frank, who had leaned a bit nearer, started to speak, +but she held up her hand for silence.</p> + +<p>"One day, when the summer was over and all the people were going +home—when she had gathered her last few berries, for the bushes were +nearly bare—she stood at her place on the stone in front of the little +house at the top of the hill, waiting for the stage. But when it came, +the people only looked at her, for the horses did not stop, but galloped +past to the bottom of the hill, while she stood looking after them, +holding that last saucer of berries, which nobody would buy.</p> + +<p>"But at the foot of the hill the stage did stop, and a boy, oh, such a +handsome boy and so finely dressed, leaped out and ran back all the way +up the hill to her, and stood before her just like the prince in the +fairy tales she had read, and told her he had come to buy her berries. +And then, just like the prince, he had only an enchanted coin—a +talisman—his lucky piece. And this he gave to her, and he made her take +it. He took her hand and shut it on the coin, promising he would come +for it again some day, when he would give her for it anything she might +wish, asking only that she keep it safe. And then, like the prince, he +was gone, leaving her there with the enchanted coin. Oh, she hardly +dared to look, for fear it might not be there after all. But when she +opened her hand at last and saw that it had not vanished, then she was +sure that all the tales were true, for her fairy prince had come to her +at last."</p> + +<p>Again Frank leaned forward to speak, a new light shining in his face, +and again she raised her hand to restrain him.</p> + +<p>"You would not help me," she said, "your memory was so poor. Now, you +must let me tell the story.</p> + +<p>"The child took the wonderful coin to her mother. I think she was very +much excited, for she wept and sobbed over the lucky talisman that was +to bring fortune for them all. And I know that her mother, pale, and in +want, and ill, kissed her and smiled, and said that now the good days +must surely come.</p> + +<p>"They did not come that winter—a wild winter of fierce cold and +terrible storms. When it was over and the hills were green with summer, +the tired mother went to sleep one day, and so found her good fortune in +peace and rest.</p> + +<p>"But for the little girl there came a fortune not unlike her dreams. +That year a rich man and woman had built a camp in the hills. There was +no Lodge, then; everything was wild, and supplies hard to get. The +child's brother sold vegetables to the camp, sometimes letting his +little sister go with him. And because she was of the same age as a +little girl of the wealthy people, now and then they asked her to spend +the day, playing, and her brother used to come all the way for her again +at night. There was one spot on the hillside where they used to play—an +open, sunny place that they loved best of all—and this they named their +Garden of Delight; and it was truly that to the little girl of the hills +who had never had such companionship before.</p> + +<p>"But then came a day when a black shadow lay on the Garden of Delight, +for the little city child suddenly fell ill and died. Oh, that was a +terrible time. Her mother nearly lost her mind, and was never quite the +same again. She would not confess that her child was dead, and she was +too ill to be taken home to the city, so a little grave was made on the +hillside where the children had played together, and by and by the +feeble woman crept there to sit in the sun, and had the other little +girl brought there to play, as if both were still living. It was just +then that the mother of Robin and his little sister died, and the city +woman, when she heard of it, said to the little girl: 'You have no +mother and I have no little girl. I will be your mother and you shall +be my little girl. You shall have all the dresses and toys; even the +name—I will give you that.' She would have helped the boy, too, but he +was independent, even then, and would accept nothing. Then she made them +both promise that neither would ever say to any one that the little girl +was not really hers, and she made the little girl promise that she would +not speak of it, even to her, for she wanted to make every one, even +herself, believe that the child was really hers. She thought in time it +might take the cloud from her mind, and I believe it did, but it was +years before she could even mention the little dead girl again. And the +boy and his sister kept their promise faithfully, though this was not +hard to do, for the rich parents took the little girl away. They sailed +across the ocean, just as she had expected to do some day, and she had +beautiful toys and dresses and books, just as had always happened in the +fairy tales.</p> + +<p>"They did not come back from across the ocean. The child's foster father +had interests there and could remain abroad for most of the year, and +the mother cared nothing for America any more. So the little girl grew +up in another land, and did not see her brother again, and nobody knew +that she was not really the child of the rich people, or, if any did +know, they forgot.</p> + +<p>"But the child remembered. She remembered the mountains and the storms, +and the little house at the top of the hill, and her mother, and the +brother who had stayed among the hills, and who wrote now and then to +tell them he was making his way. But more than all she remembered the +prince—her knight she called him as she grew older—because it seemed +to her that he had been so noble and brave to come back up the hill and +give her his lucky piece that had brought her all the fortune. Always +she kept the coin for him, ready when he should call for it, and when +she read how Elaine had embroidered a silken covering for the shield of +Launcelot, she also embroidered a little silken casing for the coin and +wore it on her neck, and never a day or night did she let it go away +from her. Some day she would meet him again, and then she must have it +ready, and being a romantic schoolgirl, she wondered sometimes what she +might dare to claim for it in return. For he would be a true, brave +knight, one of high purpose and noble deeds; and by day the memory of +the handsome boy flitted across her books, and by night she dreamed of +him as he would some day come to her, all shining with glory and high +resolve."</p> + +<p>Again she paused, this time as if waiting for him to speak. But now he +only stared at the bushes in front of him, and she thought he had grown +a little pale. She stepped across the wall into the road.</p> + +<p>"Come," she said; "I will tell you the rest as we walk along."</p> + +<p>He followed her over the wall. They were at the foot of a hill, at the +top of which there was a weather-beaten little ruin, once a home. He +recognized the spot instantly, though the hill seemed shorter to him, +and less steep. He turned and looked at her.</p> + +<p>"My memory has all come back," he said; "I know all the rest of the +story."</p> + +<p>"But I must tell it to you. I must finish what I have begun. The girl +kept the talisman all the years, as I have said, often taking it out of +the embroidered case to study its markings, which she learned to +understand. And she never lost faith in it, and she never failed to +believe that one day the knight with the brave, true heart would come to +claim it and to fulfill his bond.</p> + +<p>"And by and by her school-days were ended, and then her parents decided +to return to their native land. The years had tempered the mother's +sorrow, and brought back a measure of health. So they came back to +America, and for the girl's sake mingled with gay people, and by and by, +one day—it was at a fine place and there were many fine folk there—she +saw him. She saw the boy who had been her fairy prince—who had become +her knight—who had been her dream all through the years.</p> + +<p>"She knew him instantly, for he looked just as she had known he would +look. He had not changed, only to grow taller, more manly and more +gentle—just as she had known he would grow with the years. She thought +he would come to her—that like every fairy prince, he must know—but +when at last he stood before her, and she was trembling so that she +could hardly stand, he bowed and spoke only as a stranger might. He had +forgotten—his memory was so poor.</p> + +<p>"Yet something must have drawn him to her. For he came often to where +she was, and by and by they rode and drove and golfed together over the +hills, during days that were few but golden, for the child had found +once more her prince of the magic coin—the knight who did not +remember, yet who would one day win his coin—and again she dreamed, +this time of an uplifting, noble life, and of splendid ambitions +realized together.</p> + +<p>"But, then, little by little, she became aware that he was not truly a +knight of deeds—that he was only a prince of pleasure, poor of ambition +and uncertain of purpose—that he cared for little beyond ease and +pastime, and that perhaps his love-making was only a part of it all. +This was a rude awakening for the girl. It made her unhappy, and it made +her act strangely. She tried to rouse him, to stimulate him to do and to +be many things. But she was foolish and ignorant and made absurd +mistakes, and he only laughed at her. She knew that he was strong and +capable and could be anything he chose, if he only would. But she could +not choose for him, and he seemed willing to drift and would not choose +for himself.</p> + +<p>"Then, by and by, she returned to her beloved mountains. She found the +little cottage at the hill-top a deserted ruin, the Garden of Delight +with its little grave was overgrown. There was one recompense. The +brother she had not seen since her childhood had become a noble, +handsome man, of whom she could well be proud. No one knew that he was +her brother, and she could not tell them, though perhaps she could not +avoid showing her affection and her pride in him, and these things were +misunderstood and caused suspicion and heartache and bitterness.</p> + +<p>"Yet the results were not all evil, for out of it there came a moment +when she saw, almost as a new being, him who had been so much a part of +her life so long."</p> + +<p>They were nearly at the top of the hill now. But a little more and they +would reach the spot where ten years before the child with the saucer of +berries had waited for the passing stage.</p> + +<p>"He had awakened at last," she went on, "but the girl did not know it. +She did not realize that he had renewed old hopes and ambitions; that +some feeling in his heart for her had stirred old purposes into new +resolves. He did not tell her, though unconsciously she may have known, +for after a day of adventure together on the hills something of the old +romance returned, and her old ideal of knighthood little by little +seemed about to be restored. And then, all at once, it came—the hour of +real trial, with a test of which she could not even have dreamed—and he +stood before her, glorified."</p> + +<p>They were at the hill-top. The flat stone in front of the tumbled house +still remained. As they reached it she stopped, and turning suddenly +stretched out her hand to him, slowly opening it to disclose a little +silken case. Her eyes were wet with tears.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear!" she said. "Here, where you gave me the talisman, I return +it. I have kept it for you all the years. It brought me whatever the +world had to give—friends, fortune, health. You did not claim it, dear; +but it is yours, and in return, oh, my fairy prince—my true knight—I +claim the world's best treasure—a brave man's faithful love!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE"></a>EPILOGUE</h2> + + +<p>It is a lonely thoroughfare, that North Elba road. Not many teams pass +to and fro, and the clattering stage was still a mile away. The eternal +peaks alone looked down upon these two, for it is not likely that even +the leveled glass of any hermit of the mountain-tops saw what passed +between them.</p> + +<p>Only, from Algonquin and Tahawus there came a gay little wind—the first +brisk puff of autumn—and frolicking through a yellow tree in the +forsaken door-yard it sent fluttering about them a shower of drifting +gold.</p> + + +<h4>THE END</h4> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lucky Piece, by Albert Bigelow Paine + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LUCKY PIECE *** + +***** This file should be named 38833-h.htm or 38833-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/8/3/38833/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Lucky Piece + A Tale of the North Woods + +Author: Albert Bigelow Paine + +Release Date: February 11, 2012 [EBook #38833] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LUCKY PIECE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + + + THE LUCKY PIECE + + A TALE OF THE NORTH WOODS + + BY ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE + +AUTHOR OF "THE VAN DWELLERS," "THE BREAD LINE," "THE GREAT WHITE WAY," +ETC. + + + _FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR_ + + NEW YORK + THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY + 1906 + + COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY + THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY + + COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY + THE BUTTERICK PUBLISHING COMPANY + + _This Edition Published March, 1906_ + + + + +[Illustration: _He climbed down carefully and secured his treasure._] + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + PROLOGUE 1 + + 1 BUT PALADINS RIDE FAR BETWEEN 6 + + 2 OUT IN THE BLOWY WET WEATHER 18 + + 3 THE DEEP WOODS OF ENCHANTMENT 34 + + 4 A BRIEF LECTURE AND SOME INTRODUCTIONS 48 + + 5 A FLOWER ON A MOUNTAIN TOP 66 + + 6 IN THE "DEVIL'S GARDEN" 80 + + 7 THE PATH THAT LEADS BACK TO BOYHOOD 99 + + 8 WHAT CAME OUT OF THE MIST 115 + + 9 A SHELTER IN THE FOREST 134 + + 10 THE HERMIT'S STORY 148 + + 11 DURING THE ABSENCE OF CONSTANCE 166 + + 12 CONSTANCE RETURNS AND HEARS A STORY 183 + + 13 WHAT THE SMALL WOMAN IN BLACK SAW 193 + + 14 WHAT MISS CARROWAY DID 208 + + 15 EDITH AND FRANK 219 + + 16 THE LUCKY PIECE 233 + + EPILOGUE 250 + + + + +THE LUCKY PIECE + + + + +PROLOGUE + + +There is a sharp turn just above the hill. The North Elba stage +sometimes hesitates there before taking the plunge into the valley +below. + +But this was late September. The morning was brisk, the mountains +glorified, the tourists were going home. The four clattering, snorting +horses swung into the turn and made straight for the brow--the stout, +ruddy-faced driver holding hard on the lines, but making no further +effort to check them. Then the boy in the front seat gave his usual +"Hey! look there!" and, the other passengers obeying, as they always +did, saw something not especially related to Algonquin, or Tahawus, or +Whiteface--the great mountains whose slopes were ablaze with autumn, +their peaks already tipped with snow--that was not, indeed, altogether +Adirondack scenery. Where the bend came, at the brink, a little +weather-beaten cottage cornered--a place with apple trees and some +faded summer flowers. In the road in front was a broad flat stone, and +upon it a single figure--a little girl of not more than eight--her arm +extended toward the approaching stage, in her hand a saucer of berries. + +The tourists had passed a number of children already, but this one was +different. The others had been mostly in flocks--soiled, stringy-haired +little mountaineers, who had gathered to see the stage go by. The +smooth, oval face of this child, rich under the tan, was clean, the dark +hair closely brushed--her dress a simple garment, though of a fashion +unfavored by the people of the hills. All this could be comprehended in +the brief glance allowed the passengers; also the deep wistful look +which followed them as the stage whirled by without stopping. + +A lady in the back seat (she had been in Italy) murmured something about +a "child Madonna." Another said, "Poor little thing!" + +But the boy in the front seat had caught the driver's arm and was +demanding that he stop the stage. + +"I want to get out!" he repeated, with determination. "I want to buy +those berries! Stop!" + +The driver could not stop just there, even had he wished to do so, +which he did not. They were already a third of the way down, and the +hill was a serious matter. So the boy leaned out, looking back, to make +sure the moment's vision had not faded, and when the stage struck level +ground, was out and running, long before the horses had been brought to +a stand-still. + +"You wait for me!" he commanded. "I'll be back in a second!" Then he +pushed rapidly up the long hill, feeling in his pockets as he ran. + +The child had not moved from her place, and stood curiously regarding +the approaching boy. He was considerably older than she was, as much as +six years. Her wistful look gave way to one of timidity as he came near. +She drew the saucer of berries close to her and looked down. Then, +puffing and panting, he stood there, still rummaging in his pockets, and +regaining breath for words. + +"Say," he began, "I want your berries, you know, only, you see, I--I +thought I had some money, but I haven't--not a cent--only my lucky +piece. My mother's in the stage and I could get it from her, but I don't +want to go back." He made a final, wild, hopeless search through a +number of pockets, looking down, meanwhile, at the little bowed figure +standing mutely before him. "Look here," he went on, "I'm going to give +you my lucky piece. Maybe it'll bring luck to you, too. It did to me--I +caught an awful lot of fish up here this summer. But you mustn't spend +it or give it away, 'cause some day when I come back up here I'll want +it again. You keep it for me--that's what you do. Keep it safe. When I +come back, I'll give you anything you like for it. Whatever you +want--only you must keep it. Will you?" + +He held out the worn Spanish silver piece which a school chum had given +him "for luck" when they had parted in June. But the little brown hand +clung to the berries and made no effort to take it. + +"Oh, you must take it," he said. "I should lose it anyway. I always lose +things. You can take care of it for me. Likely I'll be up again next +year. Anyway, I'll come some time, and when I do I'll give you whatever +you like in exchange for it." + +She did not resist when he took the berries and poured them into his +cap. Then the coin was pushed into one of her brown hands and he was +pressing her fingers tightly upon it. When she dared to look up, he had +called, "Good-bye!" and was halfway down the hill, the others looking +out of the stage, waving him to hurry. + +She watched him, saw him climb in with the driver and fling his hand +toward her as the stage rounded into the wood and disappeared. Still she +did not move, but watched the place where it had vanished, as if she +thought it might reappear, as if presently that sturdy boy might come +hurrying up the hill. Then slowly--very slowly, as if she held some +living object that might escape--she unclosed her hand and looked at the +treasure within, turning it over, wondering at the curious markings. The +old look came into her face again, but with it an expression which had +not been there before. It was some hint of responsibility, of awakening. +Vaguely she felt that suddenly and by some marvelous happening she had +been linked with a new and wonderful world. All at once she turned and +fled through the gate, to the cottage. + +"Mother!" she cried at the door, "Oh, Mother! Something has happened!" +and, flinging herself into the arms of the faded woman who sat there, +she burst into a passion of tears. + + + + +CHAPTER I + +BUT PALADINS RIDE FAR BETWEEN + + +Frank rose and, plunging his hands into his pockets, lounged over to the +wide window and gazed out on the wild March storm which was drenching +and dismaying Fifth Avenue. A weaving throng of carriages, auto-cars and +delivery wagons beat up and down against it, were driven by it from +behind, or buffeted from many directions at the corners. Coachmen, +footmen and drivers huddled down into their waterproofs; pedestrians +tried to breast the rain with their umbrellas and frequently lost them. +From where he stood the young man could count five torn and twisted +derelicts soaking in gutters. They seemed so very wet--everything did. +When a stage--that relic of another day--lumbered by, the driver on top, +only half sheltered by his battered oil-skins, seemed wetter and more +dismal than any other object. It all had an art value, certainly, but +there were pleasanter things within. The young man turned to the +luxurious room, with its wide blazing fire and the young girl who sat +looking into the glowing depths. + +"Do you know, Constance," he said, "I think you are a bit hard on me." +Then he drifted into a very large and soft chair near her, and, +stretching out his legs, stared comfortably into the fire as if the fact +were no such serious matter, after all. + +The girl smiled quietly. She had a rich oval face, with a deep look in +her eyes, at once wistful and eager, and just a bit restless, as if +there were problems there among the coals--questions she could not +wholly solve. + +"I did not think of it in that way," she said, "and you should not call +me Constance, not now, and you are Mr. Weatherby. I do not know how we +ever began--the other way. I was only a girl, of course, and did not +know America so well, or realize--a good many things." + +The young man stirred a little without looking up. + +"I know," he assented; "I realize that six months seems a long period to +a--to a young person, and makes a lot of difference, sometimes. I +believe you have had a birthday lately." + +"Yes, my eighteenth--my majority. That ought to make a difference." + +"Mine didn't to me. I'm just about the same now as I was then, and----" + +"As you always will be. That is just the trouble." + +"I was going to say, as I always had been." + +"Which would not be true. You were different, as a boy." + +"And who gave you that impression, pray?" + +The girl flushed a little. + +"I mean, you must have been," she added, a trifle inconsequently. "Boys +always are. You had ambitions, then." + +"Well, yes, and I gratified them. I wanted to be captain of my college +team, and I was. We held the championship as long as I held the place. I +wanted to make a record in pole-vaulting, and I did. It hasn't been +beaten since. Then I wanted the Half-mile Cup, and I won that, too. I +think those were my chief aspirations when I entered college, and when I +came out there were no more worlds to conquer. Incidentally I carried +off the honors for putting into American some of Mr. Horace's justly +popular odes, edited the college paper for a year, and was valedictorian +of the class. But those were trivial things. It was my prowess that +gave me standing and will remain one of the old school's traditions long +after this flesh has become dust." + +The girl's eyes had grown brighter as he recounted his achievements. She +could not help stealing a glance of admiration at the handsome fellow +stretched out before her, whose athletic deeds had made him honored +among his kind. Then she smiled. + +"Perhaps you were a pillar of modesty, too," she commented, "once." + +He laughed--a gentle, lazy laugh in which she joined--and presently she +added: + +"Of course, I know you did those things. That is just it. You could do +anything, and be anything, if you only would. Oh, but you don't seem to +care! You seem satisfied, comfortable and good-naturedly indifferent; if +you were poor, I should say idle--I suppose the trouble is there. You +have never been poor and lonely and learned to want things. So, of +course, you never learned to care for--for anything." + +Her companion leaned toward her--his handsome face full of a light that +was not all of the fire. + +"I have, for you," he whispered. + +The girl's face lighted, too. Her eyes seemed to look into some golden +land which she was not quite willing to enter. + +"No," she demurred gently. "I am not sure of that. Let us forget about +that. As you say, a half-year has been a long time--to a child. I had +just come from abroad then with my parents, and I had been most of the +time in a school where girls are just children, no matter what their +ages. When we came home, I suppose I did not know just what to do with +my freedom. And then, you see, Father and Mother liked you, and let you +come to the house, and when I first saw you and knew you--when I got to +know you, I mean--I was glad to have you come, too. Then we rode and +drove and golfed all those days about Lenox--all those days--your memory +is poor, very poor, but you may recall those October days, last year, +when I had just come home--those days, you know----" + +Again the girl's eyes were looking far into a fair land which queens +have willingly died to enter, while the young man had pulled his chair +close, as one eager to lead her across the border. + +"No," she went on--speaking more to herself than to him, "I am older, +now--ages older, and trying to grow wise, and to see things as they are. +Riding, driving and golfing are not all of life. Life is serious--a sort +of battle, in which one must either lead or follow or merely look on. +You were not made to follow, and I could not bear to have you look on. I +always thought of you as a leader. During those days at Lenox you seemed +to me a sort of king, or something like that, at play. You see I was +just a schoolgirl with ideals, keeping the shield of Launcelot bright. I +had idealized him so long--the one I should meet some day. It was all +very foolish, but I had pictured him as a paladin in armor, who would +have diversions, too, but who would lay them aside to go forth and +redress wrong. You see what a silly child I was, and how necessary it +was for me to change when I found that I had been dreaming, that the one +I had met never expected to conquer or do battle for a cause--that the +diversions were the end and sum of his desire, with maybe a little +love-making as a part of it all." + +"A little--" Her companion started to enter protest, but did not +continue. The girl was staring into the fire as she spoke and seemed +only to half remember his existence. For the most part he had known her +as one full of the very joy of living, given to seeing life from its +cheerful, often from its humorous, side. Yet he knew her to be volatile, +a creature of moods. This one, which he had learned to know but lately, +would pass. He watched her, a little troubled yet fascinated by it all, +his whole being stirred by the charm of her presence. + +"One so strong--so qualified--should lead," she continued slowly, "not +merely look on. Oh, if I were a man I should lead--I should ride to +victory! I should be a--a--I do not know what," she concluded +helplessly, "but I should ride to victory." + +He restrained any impulse he may have had to smile, and presently said, +rather quietly: + +"I suppose there are avenues of conquest to-day, as there were when the +world was young. But I am afraid they are so crowded with the rank and +file that paladins ride few and far between. You know," he added, more +lightly, "knight-errantry has gone out of fashion, and armor would be a +clumsy thing to wear--crossing Broadway, for instance." + +She laughed happily--her sense of humor was never very deeply buried. + +"I know," she nodded, "we do not meet many Galahads these days, and most +of the armor is make-believe, yet I am sure there are knights whom we do +not recognize, with armor which we do not see." + +The young man sat up a bit straighter in his chair and assumed a more +matter-of-fact tone. + +"Suppose we put aside allegory," he said, "and discuss just how you +think a man--myself, for instance--could set the world afire--make it +wiser and better, I mean." + +The embers were dying down, and she looked into them a little longer +before replying. Then, presently: + +"Oh, if I were only a man!" she repeated. "There is so much--so many +things--for a man to do. Discovery, science, feats of engineering, the +professions, the arts, philanthropy--oh, everything! And for us, so +little!" + +A look of amusement grew about the young man's mouth. He had seen much +more of the world than she; was much older in a manner not reckoned by +years. + +"We do not monopolize it all, you know. Quite a few women are engaged +in the professions and philanthropy; many in the arts." + +"The arts, yes, but I am without talent. I play because I have been +taught, and because I have practiced--oh, so hard! But God never +intended that the world should hear me. I love painting and literature, +and all those things. But I cannot create them. I can only look on. I +have thought of the professions--I have thought a great deal about +medicine and the law. But I am afraid those would not do, either. I +cannot understand law papers, even the very simple ones Father has tried +to explain to me. And I am not careful enough with medicines--I almost +poisoned poor Mamma last week with something that looked like her +headache drops and turned out to be a kind of preparation for bruises. +Besides, somehow I never can quite see myself as a lawyer in court, or +going about as a doctor. Lawyers always have to go to court, don't they? +I am afraid I should be so confused, and maybe be arrested. They arrest +lawyers don't they, sometimes?" + +"They should," admitted the young man, "more often than they do. I don't +believe you ought to take the risk, at any rate. I somehow can't think +of you either as a lawyer or a doctor. Those things don't seem to fit +you." + +"That's just it. Nothing fits me. Oh, I am not even as much as I seem to +be, yet can be nothing else!" she burst out rather incoherently, then +somewhat hastily added: "There is philanthropy, of course. I could do +good, I suppose, and Father would furnish the money. But I could never +undertake things. I should just have to follow, and contribute. Some one +would always have to lead. Some one who could go among people and +comprehend their needs, and know how to go to work to supply them. I +should do the wrong thing and make trouble----" + +"And maybe get arrested----" + +They laughed together. They were little more than children, after all. + +"I know there _are_ women who lead in such things," she went on. "They +come here quite often, and Father gives them a good deal. But they +always seem so self-possessed and capable. I stand in awe of them, and I +always wonder how they came to be made so wise and brave, and why most +of us are so different. I always wonder." + +The young man regarded her very tenderly. + +"I am glad you are different," he said earnestly. "My mother is a +little like that, and of course I think the world of her. Still, I am +glad you are different." + +He leaned over and lifted an end of log with the tongs. A bright blaze +sprang up, and for a while they watched it without speaking. It seemed +to Frank Weatherby that nothing in the world was so worth while as to be +there near her--to watch her there in the firelight that lingered a +little to bring out the rich coloring of her rare young face, then +flickered by to glint among the deep frames along the wall, to lose +itself at last amid the heavy hangings. He was careful not to renew +their discussion, and hoped she had forgotten it. There had been no talk +of these matters during their earlier acquaintance, when she had but +just returned with her parents from a long sojourn abroad. That had been +at Lenox, where they had filled the autumn season with happy recreation, +and a love-making which he had begun half in jest and then, all at once, +found that for him it meant more than anything else in the world. Not +that anything had hitherto meant a great deal. He had been an only boy, +with a fond mother, and there was a great deal of money between them. It +had somehow never been a part of his education that those who did not +need to strive should do so. His mother was a woman of ideas, but this +had not been one of them. Perhaps as a boy he had dreamed his dreams, +but somehow there had never seemed a reason for making them reality. The +idea of mental and spiritual progress, of being a benefactor of mankind +was well enough, but it was somehow an abstract thing--something apart +from him--at least, from the day of youth and love. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +OUT IN THE BLOWY WET WEATHER + + +The room lightened a little and Constance rose and walked to the window. + +"It isn't raining so hard, any more," she said. "I think I shall go for +a walk in the Park." + +The young man by the fire looked a little dismayed. The soft chair and +the luxurious room were so much more comfortable than the Park on such a +day as this. + +"Don't you think we'd better put it off?" he asked, walking over beside +her. "It's still raining a good deal, and it's quite windy." + +"I said that _I_ was going for a walk in the Park," the girl reiterated. +"I shall run, too. When I was a child I always loved to run through a +storm. It seemed like flying. You can stay here by the fire and keep +nice and cozy. Mamma will be glad to come in and talk to you. She will +not urge you to do and be things. She thinks you well enough as you are. +She says you have repose, and that you rest her--she means, of course, +after a session with me." + +"I have the greatest regard for your mother--I might even say sympathy. +Indeed, when I consider the serene yet sterling qualities of both your +parents, I find myself speculating on the origin of your own--eh--rather +unusual and, I hasten to add, wholly charming personality." + +She smiled, but he thought a little sadly. + +"I know," she said, "I am a trial, and, oh, I want to be such a comfort +to them!" Then she added, somewhat irrelevantly, "But Father made his +fight, too. It was in trade, of course, but it was a splendid battle, +and he won. He was a poor boy, you know, and the struggle was bitter. +You should stay and ask him to tell you about it. He will be home +presently." + +He adopted her serious tone. + +"I think myself I should stay and have an important talk with your +father," he said. "I have been getting up courage to speak for some +time." + +She affected not to hear, and presently they were out in the wild +weather, protected by waterproofs and one huge umbrella, beating their +way toward the Fifty-ninth Street entrance to Central Park. Not many +people were there, and, once within, they made their way by side paths, +running and battling with the wind, laughing and shouting like children, +until at last they dropped down on a wet bench to recover breath. + +"Oh," she panted, "that was fine! How I should like to be in the +mountains such weather as this. I dream of being there almost every +night. I can hardly wait till we go." + +Her companion assented rather doubtfully. + +"I have been in the mountains in March," he said. "It was pretty nasty. +I suppose you have spent summers there. I believe you went to the +Pyrenees." + +"But I know the mountains in March, too--in every season, and I love +them in all weathers. I love the storms, when the snow and sleet and +wind come driving down, and the trees crack, and the roads are blocked, +and the windows are covered with ice; when there's a big drift at the +door that you must climb over, and that stays there almost till the +flowers bloom. And when the winter is breaking, and the great rains +come, and the wind,--oh, it's no such little wind as this, but wind that +tears up big trees and throws them about for fun, and the limbs fly, and +it's dangerous to go out unless you look everywhere, and in the night +something strikes the roof, and you wake up and lie there and wonder if +the house itself won't be carried away soon, perhaps to the ocean, and +turn into a ship that will sail until it reaches a country where the sun +shines and there are palm trees, and men who wear turbans, and where +there are marble houses with gold on them. And in that country where the +little house might land, a lot of people come down to the shore and they +kneel down and say, 'The sea has brought a princess to rule over us.' +Then they put a crown on her head and lead her to one of the marble and +gold houses, so she could rule the country and live happy ever after." + +As the girl ran on, her companion sat motionless, listening--meanwhile +steadying their big umbrella to keep their retreat cozy. When she +paused, he said: + +"I did not know that you knew the hills in winter. You have seen and +felt much more than I. And," he added reflectively, "I should not think, +with such fancy as yours, that you need want for a vocation; you should +write." + +She shook her head rather gravely. "It is not fancy," she said, "at +least not imagination. It is only reading. Every child with a +fairy-book for companionship, and nature, rides on the wind or follows +subterranean passages to a regal inheritance. Such things mean nothing +afterward. I shall never write." + +They made their way to the Art Museum to wander for a little through the +galleries. In the Egyptian room they lingered by those glass cases where +men and women who died four thousand years ago lie embalmed in countless +wrappings and cryptographic cartonnage--exhibits, now, for the curious +eye, waiting whatever further change the upheavals of nations or the +progress of an alien race may bring to pass. + +They spoke in subdued voice as they regarded one slender covering which +enclosed "A Lady of the House of Artun"--trying to rebuild in fancy her +life and surroundings of that long ago time. Then they passed to the +array of fabrics--bits of old draperies and clothing, even dolls' +garments--that had found the light after forty centuries, and they +paused a little at the cases of curious lamps and ornaments and symbols +of a vanished people. + +"Oh, I should like to explore," she murmured, as she looked at them. "I +should like to lead an expedition to uncover ancient cities, somewhere +in Egypt, or India, or Yucatan. I should like to find things right where +they were left by the people who last saw them--not here, all arranged +and classified, with numbers pasted on them. If I were a man, I should +be an explorer, or maybe a discoverer of new lands--places where no one +had ever been before." She turned to him eagerly, "Why don't you become +an explorer, and find old cities or--or the North Pole, or something?" + +Mr. Weatherby, who was studying a fine scarab, nodded. + +"I have thought of it, I believe. I think the idea appealed to me once. +But, don't you see, it takes a kind of genius for those things. +Discoverers are born, I imagine, as well as poets. Besides"--he lowered +his voice to a pitch that was meant for tenderness--"at the North Pole I +should be so far from you--unless," he added, reflectively, "we went +there on our wedding journey." + +"Which we are as likely to do as to go anywhere," she said, rather +crossly. They passed through the corridor of statuary and up the +stairway to wander among the paintings of masters old and young. By a +wall where the works of Van Dyck, Rembrandt and Velasquez hung, she +turned on him reproachfully. + +"These men have left something behind them," she commented--"something +which the world will preserve and honor. What will you leave behind +you?" + +"I fear it won't be a picture," he said humbly. "I can't imagine one of +my paintings being hung here or any place else. They might hang the +painter, of course, though not just here, I fancy." + +In another room they lingered before a painting of a boy and a girl +driving home the cows--Israel's "Bashful Suitor." The girl contemplated +it through half-closed lids. + +"You did not look like that," she said. "You were a self-possessed big +boy, with smart clothes, and an air of ownership that comes of having a +lot of money. You were a good-hearted boy, rather impulsive, I should +think, but careless and spoiled. Had Israel chosen you it would have +been the girl who was timid, not you." + +He laughed easily. + +"Now, how can you possibly know what I looked like as a boy?" he +demanded. "Perhaps I was just such a slim, diffident little chap as that +one. Time works miracles, you know." + +"But even time has its limitations. I know perfectly well how you looked +at that boy's age. Sometimes I see boys pass along in front of the +house, and I say: 'There, he was just like that!'" + +Frank felt his heart grow warm. It seemed to him that her confession +showed a depth of interest not acknowledged before. + +"I'll try to make amends, Constance," he said, "by being a little nearer +what you would like to have me now," and could not help adding, "only +you'll have to decide just what particular thing you want me to be, and +please don't have the North Pole in it." + +Out in the blowy wet weather again, by avenues and by-ways, they raced +through the Park, climbing up to look over at the wind-driven water of +the old reservoir, clambering down a great wet bowlder on the other +side--the girl as agile and sure of foot as a boy. Then they pushed +toward Eighth Avenue, missed the entrance and wandered about in a +labyrinth of bridle-paths and footways, suddenly found themselves back +at the big bowlder again, scrambled up it warm and flushed with the +exertion, and dropped down for a moment to breathe and to get their +bearings. + +"I always did get lost in this place," he said. "I have never been able +to cross the Park and be sure just where I was coming out." Then they +laughed together happily, glad to be lost--glad it was raining and +blowing--glad, as children are always glad, to be alive and together. + +They were more successful, this time, and presently took an Eighth +Avenue car, going down--not because they especially wanted to go down, +but because at that time in the afternoon the down cars were emptier. +They had no plans as to where they were going, it being their habit on +such excursions to go without plans and to come when the spirit moved. + +They transferred at the Columbus statue, and she stood looking up at it +as they waited for a car. + +"That is my kind of a discoverer," she said; "one who sails out to find +a new world." + +"Yes," he agreed, "and the very next time there is a new world to be +discovered I am going to do it." + +The lights were already coming out along Broadway, this gloomy wet +evening, and the homing throng on the pavements were sheltered by a +gleaming, tossing tide of umbrellas. Frank and Constance got out at +Madison Square, at the Worth monument, and looked down toward the +"Flat-iron"--a pillar of light, looming into the mist. + +"Everywhere are achievements," said the girl. "That may not be a thing +of beauty, but it is a great piece of engineering. They have nothing +like those buildings abroad--at least I have not seen them. Oh, this is +a wonderful country, and it is those splendid engineers who have helped +to make it so. I know of one young man who is going to be an engineer. +He was just a poor boy--so poor--and has worked his way. He would never +take help from anybody. I shall see him this summer, when we go to the +mountains. He is to be not far away. Oh, you don't know how proud I +shall be of him, and how I want to see him and tell him so. Wouldn't you +be proud of a boy like that, a--a son or--a brother, for instance?" + +She looked up at him expectantly--a dash of rain glistening on her cheek +and in the little tangle of hair about her temples. She seemed a bit +disappointed that he was not more responsive. + +"Wouldn't you honor him?" she demanded, "and love him, too--a boy who +had made his way alone?" + +"Oh, why, y-yes, of course--only, you know, I hope he won't spend his +life building these things"--indicating with his head the great building +which they were now passing, the gusts of wind tossing them and making +it impossible to keep the umbrella open. + +"Oh, but he's to build railroads and great bridges--not houses at all." + +"Um--well, that's better. By the way, I believe you go to the +Adirondacks this summer." + +"Yes, Father has a cottage--he calls it a camp--there. That is, he had. +He says he supposes it's a wreck by this time. He hasn't seen it, you +know, for years." + +"I suppose there is no law against my going to the Adirondacks, too, is +there?" he asked, rather meekly. "You know, I should like to see that +young man of yours. Maybe I might get some idea of what I ought to be +like to make you proud of me. I haven't been there since I was a boy, +but I remember I liked it then. No doubt I'd like it this year if--if +that young man is there. I suppose I could find a place to stay not more +than twenty miles or so from your camp, so you could send word, you +know, any time you were getting proud of me." + +She laughed--he thought a little nervously. + +"Why, yes," she admitted, "there's a sort of hotel or lodge or +something, not far away. I know that from Father. He said we might have +to stay there awhile until our camp is ready. Oh, but this talk of the +mountains makes me want to be there. I wish I were starting to-night!" + +It seemed a curious place to discuss a summer's vacation--under a big +wind-tossed umbrella, along Broadway on a March evening. Perhaps the +incongruity of it became more manifest with the girl's last remark, for +her companion chuckled. + +"Pretty disagreeable up there to-night," he objected; "besides, I +thought you liked all this a few minutes ago." + +"Yes, oh, yes; I do, of course! It's all so big and bright and +wonderful, though after all there is nothing like the woods, and the +wind and rain in the hills." + +What a strange creature she was, he thought. The world was so big and +new to her, she was confused and disturbed by the wonder of it and its +possibilities. She longed to have a part in it all. She would settle +down presently and see things as they were--not as she thought they +were. He was not altogether happy over the thought of the young man who +had made his way and was to be a civil engineer. He had not heard of +this friend before. Doubtless it was some one she had known in +childhood. He was willing that Constance should be proud of him; that +was right and proper, but he hoped she would not be too proud or too +personal in her interest. Especially if the young man was handsome. She +was so likely to be impulsive, even extreme, where her sympathies were +concerned. It was so difficult to know what she would do next. + +Constance, meanwhile, had been doing some thinking and observing on her +own account. Now she suddenly burst out: "Did you notice the headlines +on the news-stand we just passed? The bill that the President has just +vetoed? I don't know just what the bill is, but Father is so against it. +He'll think the President is fine for vetoing it!" A moment later she +burst out eagerly, "Oh, why don't you go in for politics and do +something great like that? A politician has so many opportunities. I +forgot all about politics." + +He laughed outright. + +"Try to forget it again," he urged. "Politicians have opportunities, as +you say; but some of the men who have improved what seemed the best ones +have gone to jail." + +"But others had to send them there. You could be one of the noble ones!" + +"Yes, of course, but you see I've just made up my mind to work my way +through a school of technology and become a civil engineer, so you'll be +proud of me--that is, after I've uncovered a few buried cities and found +the North Pole. I couldn't do those things so well if I went into +political reform." Then they laughed again, inconsequently, and so +light-hearted she seemed that Frank wondered if her more serious moods +were not for the most part make-believe, to tease him. + +At Union Square they crossed by Seventeenth Street back to Fifth Avenue. +When they had tacked their way northward for a dozen or more blocks, the +cheer of an elaborate dining-room streamed out on the wet pavement. + +"It's a good while till dinner," Frank observed. "If your stern parents +would not mind, I should suggest that we go in there and have, let me +see--something hot and not too filling--I think an omelette souffle +would be rather near it, don't you?" + +"Wonderful!" she agreed, "and, do you know, Father said the other +day--of course, he's a gentle soul and too confiding--but I heard him +say that you were one person he was perfectly willing I should be with, +anywhere. I don't see why, unless it is that you know the city so well." + +"Mr. Deane's judgment is not to be lightly questioned," avowed the young +man, as they turned in the direction of the lights. + +"Besides," she supplemented, "I'm so famished. I should never be able to +wait for dinner. I can smell that omelette now. And may I have +pie--pumpkin pie--just one piece? You know we never had pie abroad, and +my whole childhood was measured by pumpkin pies. May I have just a small +piece?" + +Half an hour later, when they came out and again made their way toward +the Deane mansion, the wind had died and the rain had become a mild +drizzle. As they neared the entrance of her home they noticed a +crouching figure on the lower step. The light from across the street +showed that it was a woman, dressed in shabby black, wearing a drabbled +hat, decorated with a few miserable flowers. She hardly noticed them, +and her face was heavy and expressionless. The girl shrank away and was +reluctant to enter. + +"It's all right," he whispered to her. "That is the Island type. She +wants nothing but money. It's a chance for philanthropy of a very simple +kind." He thrust a bill into the poor creature's hand. The girl's eye +caught a glimpse of its denomination. + +"Oh," she protested, "you should not give like that. I've heard it does +much more harm than good." + +"I know," he assented. "My mother says so. But I've never heard that she +or anybody else has discovered a way really to help these people." + +They stood watching the woman, who had muttered something doubtless +intended for thanks and was tottering slowly down the street. The girl +held fast to her companion's arm, and it seemed to him that she drew a +shade closer as they mounted the steps. + +"I suppose it's so, about doing them harm," she said, "and I don't think +you will ever lead as a philanthropist. Still, I'm glad you gave her the +money. I think I shall let you stay to dinner for that." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE DEEP WOODS OF ENCHANTMENT + + +That green which is known only to June lay upon the hills. Algonquin, +Tahawus and Whiteface--but a little before grim with the burden of +endless years--rousing from their long, white sleep, had put on, for the +millionth time, perhaps, the fleeting mantle of youth. Spring lay on the +mountain tops--summer filled the valleys, with all the gradations +between. + +To the young man who drove the hack which runs daily between Lake Placid +and Spruce Lodge the scenery was not especially interesting. He had +driven over the road regularly since earlier in the month, and had seen +the hills acquire glory so gradually that this day to him was only as +other days--a bit more pleasant than some, but hardly more exciting. +With his companion--his one passenger--it was a different matter. Mr. +Frank Weatherby had occupied a New York sleeper the night before, +awaking only at daybreak to find the train puffing heavily up a long +Adirondack grade--to look out on a wet tangle of spruce, and fir, and +hardwood, and vine, mingled with great bowlders and fallen logs, and +everywhere the emerald moss, set agleam where the sunrise filtered +through. With his curtain raised a little, he had watched it from the +window of his berth, and the realization had grown upon him that nowhere +else in the world was there such a wood, though he wondered if the +marvel and enchantment of it might not lie in the fact that somewhere in +its green depths he would find Constance Deane. + +He had dressed hurriedly and through the remainder of the distance had +occupied the rear platform, drinking in the glory of it all--the brisk, +life-giving air--the mystery and splendor of the forest. He had been +here once, ten years ago, as a boy, but then he had been chiefly +concerned with the new rod he had brought and the days of sport ahead. +He had seen many forests since then, and the wonder of this one spoke to +him now in a language not comprehended in those far-off days. + +During the drive across the open farm country which lies between Lake +Placid and Spruce Lodge he had confided certain of his impressions to +his companion--a pale-haired theological student, who as driver of the +Lodge hack was combining a measure of profit with a summer's vacation. +The enthusiasm of his passenger made the quiet youth responsive, even +communicative, when his first brief diffidence had worn away. He had +been awarded this employment because of a previous knowledge acquired on +his father's farm in Pennsylvania. A number of his fellow students were +serving as waiters in the Lake Placid hotels. When pressed, he owned +that his inclination for the pulpit had not been in the nature of a +definite call. He had considered newspaper work and the law. A maiden +aunt had entered into his problem. She had been willing to supply +certain funds which had influenced the clerical decision. Perhaps it was +just as well. Having thus established his identity, he proceeded to +indicate landmarks of special interest, pointing out Whiteface, Colden +and Elephant's Back--also Tahawus and Algonquin--calling the last two +Marcy and McIntyre, as is the custom to-day. The snow had been on the +peaks, he said, almost until he came. It must have looked curious, he +thought, when the valleys were already green. Then they drove along in +silence for a distance--the passive youth lightly flicking the horses +to discourage a number of black flies that had charged from a clump of +alder. Frank, supremely content in the glory of his surroundings and the +prospect of being with Constance in this fair retreat, did not find need +for many words. The student likewise seemed inclined to reflect. His +passenger was first to rouse himself. + +"Many people at the Lodge yet?" he asked. + +"N-no--mostly transients. They climb Marcy and McIntyre from here. It's +the best place to start from." + +"I see. I climbed Whiteface myself ten years ago. We had a guide--an old +chap named Lawless. My mother and I were staying at Saranac and she let +me go with a party from there. I thought it great sport then, and made +up my mind to be a guide when I grew up. I don't think I'd like it so +well now." + +"They have the best guides at the Lodge," commented the driver. "The +head guide there is the best in the mountains. This is his first year at +the Lodge. He was with the Adirondack Club before." + +"I suppose it couldn't be my old hero, Lawless?" + +"No; this is a young man. I don't just remember his last name, but most +people call him Robin." + +"Um, not Robin Hood, I hope." + +The theological student shook his head. The story of the Sherwood bandit +had not been a part of his education. + +"It doesn't sound like that," he said. "It's something like Forney, or +Farham. He's a student, too--a civil engineer--but he was raised in +these hills and has been guiding since he was a boy. He's done it every +summer to pay his way through college. Next year he graduates, and they +say he's the best in the school. Of course, guides get big pay--as much +as three dollars a day, some of them--besides their board." + +The last detail did not interest Mr. Weatherby. He was suddenly +recalling a wet, blowy March evening on Broadway--himself under a big +umbrella with Constance Deane. She was speaking, and he could recall her +words quite plainly: "I know one young man who is going to be an +engineer. He was a poor boy--so poor--and has worked his way. I shall +see him this summer. You don't know how proud I shall be of him." + +To Frank the glory of the hills faded a little, and the progress of the +team seemed unduly slow. + +"Suppose we move up a bit," he suggested to the gentle youth with the +reins, and the horses were presently splashing through a shallow pool +left by recent showers. + +"He's a very strong fellow," the informant continued, "and handsome. +He's going to marry the daughter of the man who owns the Lodge when he +gets started as an engineer. She's a pretty girl, and smart. Her +mother's dead, and she's her father's housekeeper. She teaches school +sometimes, too. They'll make a fine match." + +The glory of the hills renewed itself, and though the horses had dropped +once more into a lazy jog, Frank did not suggest urging them. + +"I believe there is a young lady guest at the Lodge," he ventured a +little later--a wholly unnecessary remark--he having received a letter +from Constance on her arrival there, with her parents, less than a week +before. + +The youth nodded. + +"Two," he said. "One I brought over yesterday--from Utica, I think she +was--and another last week, from New York, with her folks. Their names +are Deane, and they own a camp up here. They're staying at the Lodge +till it's ready." + +"I see; and did the last young lady--the family, I mean--seem to know +any one at the Lodge?" + +But the youth could not say. He had taken them over with their bags and +trunks and had not noticed farther, only that once or twice since, when +he had arrived with the mail, the young lady had come in from the woods +with a book and a basket of mushrooms, most of which he thought to be +toadstools, and poisonous. Once--maybe both times--Robin had been with +her--probably engaged as a guide. Robin would be apt to know about +mushrooms. + +Frank assented a little dubiously. + +"I shouldn't wonder if we'd better be moving along," he suggested. "We +might be late with that mail." + +There followed another period of silence and increased speed. As they +neared the North Elba post-office--a farmhouse with a flower-garden in +front of it--the youth pointed backward to a hill with a flag-staff on +it. + +"That is John Brown's grave," he said. + +His companion looked and nodded. + +"I remember. My mother and I made a pilgrimage to it. Poor old John. +This is still a stage road, isn't it?" + +"Yes, but we leave it at North Elba. It turns off there for Keene." + +At the fork of the road Frank followed the stage road with his eye, +recalling his mountain summer of ten years before. + +"I know, now," he reflected aloud. "This road goes to Keene, and on to +Elizabeth and Westport. I went over it in the fall. I remember the +mountains being all colors, with tips of snow on them." Suddenly he +brought his hand down on his knee. "It's just come to me," he said. +"Somewhere between here and Keene there was a little girl who had +berries to sell, and I ran back up a long hill and gave her my lucky +piece for them. I told her to keep it for me till I came back. That was +ten years ago. I never went back. I wonder if she has it still?" + +The student of theology shook his head. It did not seem likely. Then he +suggested that, of course, she would be a good deal older now--an idea +which did not seem to have occurred to Mr. Weatherby. + +"Sure enough," he agreed, "and maybe not there. I suppose you don't +know anybody over that way." + +The driver did not. During the few weeks since his arrival he had +acquired only such knowledge as had to do with his direct line of +travel. + +They left North Elba behind, and crossing another open stretch of +country, headed straight for the mountains. They passed a red farmhouse, +and brooks in which Frank thought there must be trout. Then by an avenue +of spring leafage, shot with sunlight and sweet with the smell of spruce +and deep leaf mold, they entered the great forest where, a mile or so +beyond, lay the Lodge. + +Frank's heart began to quicken, though not wholly as the result of +eagerness. He had not written Constance that he was coming so soon. +Indeed, in her letter she had suggested in a manner which might have +been construed as a command that _if_ he intended to _come to the +Adirondacks at all_ this summer he should wait until they were settled +in their camp. But Frank had discovered that New York in June was not +the attractive place he had considered it in former years. Also that the +thought of the Adirondacks, even the very word itself, had acquired a +certain charm. To desire and to do were not likely to be very widely +separated with a young man of his means and training, and he had left +for Lake Placid that night. + +Yet now that he had brought surprise to the very threshold, as it were, +he began to hesitate. Perhaps, after all, Constance might not be +overjoyed or even mildly pleased at his coming. She had seemed a bit +distant before her departure, and he knew how hard it was to count on +her at times. + +"You can see the Lodge from that bend," said his companion, presently, +pointing with his whip. + +Then almost immediately they had reached the turn, and the Lodge--a +great, double-story cabin of spruce logs, with wide verandas--showed +through the trees. But between the hack and the Lodge were two +figures--a tall young man in outing dress, carrying a basket, and a tall +young woman in a walking skirt, carrying a book. They were quite close +together, moving toward the Lodge. They seemed to be talking earnestly, +and did not at first notice the sound of wheels. + +"That's them now," whispered the young man, forgetting for the moment +his scholastic training. "That's Robin and Miss Deane, with the book and +the basket of toadstools." + +The couple ahead stopped just then and turned. Frank prepared himself +for the worst. + +But Mr. Weatherby would seem to have been unduly alarmed. As he stepped +from the vehicle Constance came forward with extended hand. + +"You are good to surprise us," she was saying, and then, a moment later, +"Mr. Weatherby, this is Mr. Robin Farnham--a friend of my childhood. I +think I have mentioned him to you." + +Whatever momentary hostility Frank Weatherby may have cherished for +Robin Farnham vanished as the two clasped hands. Frank found himself +looking into a countenance at once manly, intellectual and handsome--the +sort of a face that men, and women, too, trust on sight. And then for +some reason there flashed again across his mind a vivid picture of +Constance as she had looked up at him that wet night under the umbrella, +the raindrops glistening on her cheek and in the blowy tangle about her +temples. He held Robin's firm hand for a moment in his rather soft palm. +There was a sort of magnetic stimulus in that muscular grip and hardened +flesh. It was so evidently the hand of achievement, Frank was loath to +let it go. + +"You are in some way familiar to me," he said then. "I may have seen you +when I was up this way ten years ago. I suppose you do not recall +anything of the kind?" + +A touch of color showed through the brown of Robin's cheek. + +"No," he said; "I was a boy of eleven, then, probably in the field. I +don't think you saw me. Those were the days when I knew Miss Deane. I +used to carry baskets of green corn over to Mr. Deane's camp. If you had +been up this way during the past five or six years I might have been +your guide. Winters I have attended school." + +They were walking slowly as they talked, following the hack toward the +Lodge. Constance took up the tale at this point, her cheeks also +flushing a little as she spoke. + +"He had to work very hard," she said. "He had to raise the corn and then +carry it every day--miles and miles. Then he used to make toy boats and +sail them for me in the brook, and a playhouse, and whatever I wanted. +Of course, I did not consider that I was taking his time, or how hard it +all was for him." + +"Miss Deane has given up little boats and playhouses for the science of +mycology," Robin put in, rather nervously, as one anxious to change the +subject. + +Frank glanced at the volume he had appropriated--a treatise on certain +toadstools, edible and otherwise. + +"I have heard already of your new employment, or, at least, diversion," +he said. "The young man who brought me over told me that a young lady +had been bringing baskets of suspicious fungi to the Lodge. From what he +said I judged that he considered it a dangerous occupation." + +"That was Mr. Meelie," laughed Constance. "I have been wondering why Mr. +Meelie avoided me. I can see now that he was afraid I would poison him. +You must meet Miss Carroway, too," she ran on. "I mean you _will_ meet +her. She is a very estimable lady from Connecticut who has a nephew in +the electric works at Haverford; also the asthma, which she is up here +to get rid of. She is at the Lodge for the summer, and is already the +general minister of affairs at large and in particular. Among other +things, she warns me daily that if I persist in eating some of the +specimens I bring home, I shall presently die with great violence and +suddenness. She is convinced that there is just one kind of mushroom, +and that it doesn't grow in the woods. She has no faith in books. Her +chief talent lies in promoting harmless evening entertainments. You will +have to take part in them." + +Frank had opened the book and had been studying some of the colored +plates while Constance talked. + +"I don't know that I blame your friends," he said, half seriously. "Some +of these look pretty dangerous to the casual observer." + +"But I've been studying that book for weeks," protested Constance, "long +before we came here. By and by I'm going to join the Mycological Society +and try to be one of its useful members." + +"I suppose you have to eat most of these before you are eligible?" +commented Frank, still fascinated by the bright pictures. + +"Not at all. Some of them are quite deadly, but one ought to be able to +distinguish most of the commoner species, and be willing to trust his +knowledge." + +"To back one's judgment with one's life, as it were. Well, that's one +sort of bravery, no doubt. Tell me, please, how many of these gayly +spotted ones you have eaten and still live to tell the tale?" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A BRIEF LECTURE AND SOME INTRODUCTIONS + + +The outside of Spruce Lodge suggested to Frank the Anglo-Saxon castle of +five or six hundred years ago, though it was probably better constructed +than most of the castles of that early day. It was really an immense +affair, and there were certain turrets and a tower which carried out the +feudal idea. Its builder, John Morrison, had been a faithful reader of +Scott, and the architecture of the Lodge had in some manner been an +expression of his romantic inclination. Frank thought, however, that the +feudal Saxon might not have had the long veranda facing the little jewel +of a lake, where were mirrored the mountains that hemmed it in. With +Constance he sat on the comfortable steps, looking through the tall +spruces at the water or at mountain peaks that seemed so near the blue +that one might step from them into the cloudland of an undiscovered +country. + +No one was about for the moment, the guests having collected in the +office for the distribution of the daily mail. Robin had gone, too, +striding away toward a smaller cabin where the guides kept their +paraphernalia. Frank said: + +"You don't know how glad I am to be here with you in this wonderful +place, Conny. I have never seen anything so splendid as this forest, and +I was simply desperate in town as soon as you were gone." + +She had decided not to let him call her that again, but concluded to +overlook this offense. She began arranging the contents of her basket on +the step beside her--a gay assortment of toadstools gathered during her +morning walk. + +"You see what _I_ have been doing," she said. "I don't suppose it will +interest you in the least, but to me it is a fascinating study. Perhaps +if I pursue it I may contribute something to the world's knowledge and +to its food supply." + +Frank regarded the variegated array with some solemnity. + +"I hope, Conny, you don't mean to eat any of those," he said. + +"Probably not; but see how beautiful they are." + +They were indeed beautiful, for no spot is more rich in fungi of varied +hues than the Adirondack woods. There were specimens ranging from pale +to white, from cream to lemon yellow--pink that blended into shades of +red and scarlet--gray that deepened to blue and even purple--numerous +shades of buff and brown, and some of the mottled coloring. Some were +large, almost gigantic; some tiny ones were like bits of ivory or coral. +Frank evinced artistic enthusiasm, but a certain gastronomic reserve. + +"Wonderful!" he said. "I did not suppose there were such mushrooms in +the world--so beautiful. I know now what the line means which says, 'How +beautiful is death.'" + +There was a little commotion just then at the doorway of the Lodge, and +a group of guests--some with letters, others with looks of resignation +or disappointment--appeared on the veranda. From among them, Mrs. Deane, +a rather frail, nervous woman, hurried toward Mr. Weatherby with evident +pleasure. She had been expecting him, she declared, though Constance had +insisted that he would think twice before he started once for that +forest isolation. They would be in their own quarters in a few days, and +it would be just a pleasant walk over there. There were no hard hills +to climb. Mr. Deane walked over twice a day. He was there now, +overseeing repairs. The workmen were very difficult. + +"But there are _some_ hills, Mamma," interposed Constance--"little ones. +Perhaps Mr. Weatherby won't care to climb at all. He has already +declared against my mushrooms. He said something just now about their +fatal beauty--I believe that was it. He's like all the rest of +you--opposed to the cause of science." + +Mrs. Deane regarded the young man appealingly. + +"Try to reason with her," she said nervously. "Perhaps she'll listen to +you. She never will to me. I tell her every day that she will poison +herself. She's always tasting of new kinds. She's persuaded me to eat +some of those she had cooked, and I've sent to New York for every known +antidote for mushroom poisoning. It's all right, perhaps, to study them +and collect them, but when it comes to eating them to prove that the +book is right about their being harmless, it seems like flying in the +face of Providence. Besides, Constance is careless." + +"I remember her telling me, as reason for not wanting to be a doctor, +something about giving you the wrong medicine last winter." + +"She did--some old liniment--I can taste the stuff yet. Constance, I do +really think it's sinful for you to meddle with such uncertain subjects. +Just think of eating any of those gaudy things. Constance! How can you?" + +Constance patted the nervous little lady on the cheek. + +"Be comforted," she said. "I am not going to eat these. I brought them +for study. Most of them are harmless enough, I believe, but they are of +a kind that even experts are not always sure of. They are called +_Boleti_--almost the first we have found. I have laid them out here for +display, just as the lecturer did last week at Lake Placid." + +Miss Deane selected one of the brightly colored specimens. + +"This," she began, with mock gravity and a professional air, "is a +_Boletus_--known as _Boletus speciosus_--that is, I think it +is." She opened the book and ran hastily over the leaves. "Yes, +_speciosus_--either that or the _bicolor_--I can't be certain just +which." + +"There, Constance," interrupted Mrs. Deane, "you confess, yourself, you +can't tell the difference. Now, how are we going to know when we are +being poisoned? We ate some last night. Perhaps they were deadly +poison--how can we know?" + +"Be comforted, Mamma; we are still here." + +"But perhaps the poison hasn't begun to work yet." + +"It should have done so, according to the best authorities, some hours +ago. I have been keeping watch of the time." + +Mrs. Deane groaned. + +"The best authorities? Oh, dear--oh, dear! Are there really any +authorities in this awful business? And she has been watching the time +for the poison to work--think of it!" + +A little group of guests collected to hear the impromptu discussion. +Frank, half reclining on the veranda steps, ran his eye over the +assembly. For the most part they seemed genuine seekers after recreation +and rest in this deep forest isolation. There were brain-workers among +them--painters and writer folk. Some of the faces Frank thought he +recognized. In the foreground was a rather large woman of the New +England village type. She stood firmly on her feet, and had a wide, +square face, about which the scanty gray locks were tightly curled. She +moved closer now, and leaning forward, spoke with judicial deliberation. + +"Them's tudstools!" she said--a decision evidently intended to be final. +She adjusted her glasses a bit more carefully and bent closer to the gay +collection. "The' ain't a single one of 'em a mushroom," she proceeded. +"We used to have 'em grow in our paster, an' my little nephew, Charlie, +that I brought up by hand and is now in the electric works down to +Haverford, he used to gather 'em, an' they wa'n't like them at all." + +A ripple of appreciation ran through the group, and others drew near to +inspect the fungi. Constance felt it necessary to present Frank to those +nearest, whom she knew. He arose to make acknowledgments. With the old +lady, whose name, it appeared, was Miss Carroway, he shook hands. She +regarded him searchingly. + +"You're some taller than my Charlie," she said, and added, "I hope you +don't intend to eat them tudstools, do you? Charlie wouldn't a et one o' +them kind fer a thousand dollars. He knew the reel kind that grows in +the medders an' pasters." + +Constance took one of Miss Carroway's hands and gave it a friendly +squeeze. + +"You are spoiling my lecture," she laughed, "and aiding Mamma in +discrediting me before the world. I will tell you the truth about +mushrooms. Not the whole truth, but an important one. All toadstools are +mushrooms and all mushrooms are toadstools. A few kinds are +poisonous--not many. Most of them are good to eat. The only difficulty +lies in telling the poison ones." + +Miss Carroway appeared interested, but incredulous. Constance continued. + +"The sort your Charlie used to gather was the _Agaricus Campestris_, or +meadow mushroom--one of the commonest and best. It has gills +underneath--not pores, like this one. The gills are like little leaves +and hold the spores, or seed as we might call it. The pores of this +_Boletus_ do the same thing. You see they are bright yellow, while the +top is purple-red. The stem is yellow, too. Now, watch!" + +She broke the top of the _Boletus_ in two parts--the audience pressing +closer to see. The flesh within was lemon color, but almost instantly, +with exposure to the air, began to change, and was presently a dark +blue. Murmurs of wonder ran through the group. They had not seen this +marvel before. + +"Bravo!" murmured Frank. "You are beginning to score." + +"Many of the _Boleti_ do that," Constance resumed. "Some of them are +very bad tasting, even when harmless. Some are poisonous. One of them, +the _Satanus_, is regarded as deadly. I don't think this is one of them, +but I shall not insist on Miss Carroway and the rest of you eating it." + +Miss Carroway sent a startled glance at the lecturer and sweepingly +included the assembled group. + +"Eat it!" she exclaimed. "Eat that? Well, I sh'd think not! I wouldn't +eat that, ner let any o' my folks eat it, fer no money!" + +There was mirth among the audience. A young mountain climber in a moment +of recklessness avowed his faith by declaring that upon Miss Deane's +recommendation he would eat the whole assortment for two dollars. + +"You'd better make it enough for funeral expenses," commented Miss +Carroway; whereupon the discussion became general and hilarious, and the +extempore lecture ceased. + +"You see," Constance said to Frank, "I cannot claim serious attention, +even upon so vital a subject as the food supply." + +"But you certainly entertained them, and I, for one, have a growing +respect for your knowledge." Then, rising, he added, "Speaking of food +reminds me that you probably have some sort of midday refreshment here, +and that I would better arrange for accommodations and make myself +presentable. By the way, Constance," lowering his voice, "I saw a +striking-looking girl on the veranda as we were approaching the house a +while ago. I don't think you noticed her, but she had black eyes and a +face like an Indian princess. She came out for a moment again, while you +were talking. I thought she rather looked as if she belonged here, but +she couldn't have been a servant." + +They had taken a little turn down the long veranda, and Constance waited +until they were well out of earshot before she said: + +"You are perfectly right--she could not. She is the daughter of Mr. +Morrison, who owns the Lodge--Edith Morrison--her father's housekeeper. +I shall present you at the first opportunity so that you may lose no +time falling in love with her. It will do you no good, though, for she +is going to marry Robin Farnham. The wedding will not take place, of +course, until Robin is making his way, but it is all settled, and they +are both very happy." + +"And quite properly," commented Frank with enthusiasm. "I heard +something about it coming over. Mr. Meelie told me. He said they were a +handsome pair. I fully agree with him." The young man smiled down at his +companion and added: "Do you know, Conny, if that young man Farnham were +unencumbered, I might expect you to do some falling in love, yourself." + +The girl laughed, rather more than seemed necessary, Frank thought, and +an added touch of color came into her cheeks. + +"I did that years ago," she owned. "I think as much of Robin already as +I ever could." Then, less lightly, "Besides, I should not like to be a +rival of Edith Morrison's. She is a mountain girl, with rather primitive +ideas. I do not mean that she is in any sense a savage or even +uncultured. Far from it. Her father is a well-read man for his +opportunities. They have a good many books here, and Edith has learned +the most of them by heart. Last winter she taught school. But she has +the mountains in her blood, and in that black hair and those eyes of +hers. Only, of course, you do not quite know what that means. The +mountains are fierce, untamed, elemental--like the sea. Such things get +into one's blood and never entirely go away. Of course, you don't quite +understand." + +Regarding her curiously, Frank said: + +"I remember your own hunger for the mountains, even in March. One might +almost think you native to them, yourself." + +"My love for them makes me understand," she said, after a pause; then in +lighter tone added, "and I should not wish to get in Edith Morrison's +way, especially where it related to Robin Farnham." + +"By which same token I shall avoid getting in Robin Farnham's way," +Frank said, as they entered the Lodge hall--a wide room, which in some +measure carried out the Anglo-Saxon feudal idea. The floor was strewn +with skins, the dark walls of unfinished wood were hung with antlers and +other trophies of the chase. At the farther end was a deep stone +fireplace, and above it the mounted head of a wild boar. + +"You see," murmured Constance, "being brought up among these things and +in the life that goes with them, one is apt to imbibe a good deal of +nature and a number of elementary ideas, in spite of books." + +A door by the wide fireplace opened just then, and a girl with jetty +hair and glowing black eyes--slender and straight as a young birch--came +toward them with step as lithe and as light as an Indian's. There was +something of the type, too, in her features. Perhaps in a former +generation a strain of the native American blood had mingled and blended +with the fairer flow of the new possessors. Constance Deane went forward +to meet her. + +"Miss Morrison," she said cordially, "this is Mr. Weatherby, of New +York--a friend of ours." + +The girl took Frank's extended hand heartily. Indeed, it seemed to the +young man that there was rather more warmth in her welcome than the +occasion warranted. Her face, too, conveyed a certain gratification in +his arrival--almost as if here were an expected friend. He could not +help wondering if this was her usual manner of greeting--perhaps due to +the primitive life she had led--the untrammeled freedom of the hills. +But Constance, when she had passed them, said: + +"I think you are marked for especial favor. Perhaps, after all, Robin is +to have a rival." + + * * * * * + +Yet not all is to be read upon the surface, even when one is so +unskilled at dissembling as Edith Morrison. We may see signs, but we may +not always translate their meaning. Her love affair had been one of long +standing, begun when Robin had guided his first party over Marcy to the +Lodge, then just built--herself a girl of less than a dozen years, +trying to take a dead mother's place. How many times since then he had +passed to and fro, with tourists in summer and hunting parties in +winter. Often during fierce storms he had stayed at the Lodge for a week +or more--gathered with her father and herself before the great log fire +in the hall while the winds howled and the drifts banked up against the +windows, gleaning from the Lodge library a knowledge of such things as +books can teach--history, science and the outside world. Then had come +the time when he had decided on a profession, when, with his hoarded +earnings and such employment as he could find in the college town, he +had begun his course in a school of engineering. The mountain winters +without Robin had been lonely ones, but with her father she had devoted +them to study, that she might not be left behind, and had taken the +little school at last on the North Elba road in order to feel something +of the independence which Robin knew. In this, the last summer of his +mountain life, he had come to her father as chief guide, mainly that +they might have more opportunity to perfect their plans for the years +ahead. All the trails carried their story, and though young men still +fell in love with Edith Morrison and maids with Robin Farnham, no moment +of distrust had ever entered in. + +But there would appear to be some fate which does not fail to justify +the old adage concerning true love. With the arrival of Constance Deane +at the Lodge, it became clear to Edith that there had been some curious +change in Robin. It was not that he became in the least degree +indifferent--if anything he had been more devoted than before. He made +it a point to be especially considerate and attentive when Miss Deane +was present--and in this itself there lay a difference. No other guest +had ever affected his bearing toward her, one way or the other. Edith +remembered, of course, that he had known the Deanes, long before, when +the Lodge was not yet built. Like Constance, she had only been a little +girl then, her home somewhere beyond the mountains where she had never +heard of Robin. Yet her intuition told her that the fact of a long ago +acquaintance between a child of wealthy parents and the farm boy who had +sold them produce and built toy boats for the little girl could not have +caused this difference now. It was nothing that Constance had engaged +Robin to guide her about the woods and carry her book or her basket of +specimens. Edith had been accustomed to all that, but this time there +was a different attitude between guide and guest--something so subtle +that it could hardly be put into words, yet wholly evident to the eyes +of love. Half unconsciously, at first, Edith revolved the problem in her +mind, trying to locate the cause of her impression. When next she saw +them alone together, she strove to convince herself that it was nothing, +after all. The very effort had made her the more conscious of a reality. + +Now had come the third time--to-day--the moment before Frank Weatherby's +arrival. They were approaching the house and did not see her, while she +had lost not a detail of the scene. Robin's very carriage--and hers--the +turn of a face, the manner of a word she could not hear, all spoke of a +certain tenderness, an understanding, a sort of ownership, it +seemed--none the less evident because, perhaps, they themselves were all +unconscious of it. The mountain girl remarked the beauty of that other +one and mentally compared it with her own. This girl was taller than +she, and fairer. Her face was richer in its coloring--she carried +herself like one of the noble ladies in the books. Oh, they were a +handsome pair--and not unlike, she thought. Not that they resembled, yet +something there was common to both. It must be that noble carriage of +which she had been always so proud in Robin. There swept across her +mental vision a splendid and heart-sickening picture of Robin going out +into the world with this rich, cultured girl, and not herself, his wife. +The Deanes were not pretentious people, and there was wealth enough +already. They might well be proud of Robin. Edith cherished no personal +bitterness toward either Constance or Robin--not yet. Neither did she +realize to what lengths her impetuous, untrained nature might carry her, +if really aroused. Her only conscious conclusion thus far was that +Robin and Constance, without knowing it themselves, were drifting into a +dangerous current, and that this new arrival might become a guide back +to safety. Between Frank Weatherby and herself there was the bond of a +common cause. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A FLOWER ON A MOUNTAIN TOP + + +Prosperous days came to the Lodge. Hospitable John Morrison had found a +calling suited to his gifts when he came across the mountain and built +the big log tavern at the foot of McIntyre. With July, guests +multiplied, and for those whose duty it was to provide entertainment the +problem became definite and practical. Edith Morrison found her duties +each day heavier and Robin Farnham was seldom unemployed. Usually he was +away with his party by daybreak and did not return until after +nightfall. Wherever might lie his inclination there would seem to be +little time for love making in such a season. + +By the middle of the month the Deanes had taken possession of their camp +on the west branch of the Au Sable, having made it habitable with a +consignment of summer furnishings from New York, and through the united +efforts of some half dozen mountain carpenters, urged in their +deliberate labors by the owner, Israel Deane, an energetic New Englander +who had begun life a penniless orphan and had become chief stockholder +in no less than three commercial enterprises on lower Broadway. + +With the removal of the Deanes Mr. Weatherby also became less in +evidence at the Lodge. The walk between the Lodge and the camp was to +him a way of enchantment. He had been always a poet at heart, and this +wonderful forest reawakened old dreams and hopes and fancies which he +had put away for the immediate and gayer things of life, hardly more +substantial and far less real. To him this was a veritable magic +wood--the habitation of necromancy--where robber bands of old might +lurk; where knights in silver armor might do battle; where huntsmen in +gold and green might ride, the vanished court of some forgotten king. + +And at the end of the way there was always the princess--a princess that +lived and moved, and yet, he thought, was not wholly awake--at least not +to the reality of his devotion to her, or, being so, did not care, save +to test it at unseemly times and in unusual ways. Frank was quite sure +that he loved Constance. He was certain that he had never cared so much +for anything in the world before, and that if there was a real need he +would make any sacrifice at her command. Only he did not quite +comprehend why she was not willing to put by all stress and effort to +become simply a part of this luminous summer time, when to him it was so +good to rest by the brook and listen to her voice following some old +tale, or to drift in a boat about the lake shore, finding a quaint +interest in odd nooks and romantic corners or in dreaming idle dreams. + +Indeed, the Lodge saw him little. Most days he did not appear between +breakfast and dinner time. Often he did not return even for that +function. Yet sometimes it happened that with Constance he brought up +there about mail time, and on these occasions they were likely to remain +for luncheon. Constance had by no means given up her nature study, and +these visits usually resulted from the discovery of some especial +delicacy of the woods which, out of consideration for her mother's +nervous views on the subject, was brought to the Lodge for preparation. +Edith Morrison generally superintended in person this particular +cookery, Constance often assisting--or "hindering," as she called +it--and in this way the two had become much better acquainted. Of late +Edith had well-nigh banished--indeed, she had almost forgotten--her +heart uneasiness of those earlier days. She had quite convinced herself +that she had been mistaken, after all. Frank and Constance were together +almost continually, while Robin, during the brief stay between each +coming and going, had been just as in the old time--natural, kind and +full of plans for the future. Only once had he referred more than +casually to Constance Deane. + +"I wish you two could see more of each other," he had said. "Some day we +may be in New York, you and I, and I am sure she would be friendly to +us." + +And Edith, forgetting all her uneasiness, had replied: + +"I wish we might"; and added, "of course, I do see her a good deal--one +way and another. She comes quite often with Mr. Weatherby, but then I +have the household and she has Mr. Weatherby. Do you think, Robin, she +is going to marry him?" + +Robin paused a little before replying. + +"I don't know. I think he tries her a good deal. He is rich and rather +spoiled, you know. Perhaps he has become indifferent to a good many of +the things she thinks necessary." + +Edith did not reflect at the moment that this knowledge on Robin's part +implied confidential relations with one of the two principals. Robin's +knowledge was so wide and varied it was never her habit to question its +source. + +"She would rather have him poor and ambitious, I suppose," she +speculated thoughtfully. Then her hand crept over into his broad palm, +and, looking up, she added: "Do you know, Robin, that for a few +days--the first few days after she came--when you were with her a good +deal--I almost imagined--of course, I was very foolish--but she is so +beautiful and--superior, like you--and somehow you seemed different +toward her, too--I imagined, just a little, that you might care for her, +and I don't know--perhaps I was just the least bit jealous. I never was +jealous before--maybe I wasn't then--but I felt a heavy, hopeless +feeling coming around my heart. Is that jealousy?" + +His strong arm was about her and her face hidden on his shoulder. Then +she thought that he was laughing--she did not quite see why--but he held +her close. She thought it must all be very absurd or he would not +laugh. Presently he said: + +"I do care for her a great deal, and always have--ever since she was a +little girl. But I shall never care for her any more than I did then. +Some day you will understand just why." + +If this had not been altogether explicit it at least had a genuine ring, +and had laid to sleep any lingering trace of disquiet. As for the Lodge, +it accepted Frank and Constance as lovers and discussed them +accordingly, all save a certain small woman in black whose mission in +life was to differ with her surroundings, and who, with a sort of +rocking-chair circle of industry, crocheted at one end of the long +veranda, where from time to time she gave out vague hints that things in +general were not what they seemed, thereby fostering a discomfort of the +future. For the most part, however, her pessimistic views found little +acceptance, especially as they concerned the affairs of Mr. Weatherby +and Miss Deane. Miss Carroway, who for some reason--perhaps because of +the nephew whose youthful steps she had guided from the cradle to a +comfortable berth in the electric works at Haverford--had appointed +herself a sort of guardian of the young man's welfare, openly +pooh-poohed the small woman in black, and announced that she shouldn't +wonder if there was going to be a wedding "right off." It may be added +that Miss Carroway was usually the center of the rocking-chair circle, +and an open rival of the small woman in black as its directing manager. + +The latter, however, had the virtue of persistence. She habitually +elevated her nose and crochet work at Miss Carroway's opinions, avowing +that there was many a slip and that appearances were often deceitful. +For her part, she didn't think Miss Deane acted much like a girl in love +unless--she lowered her voice so that the others had to lean forward +that no syllable might escape--unless it was with _some other man_. For +her part, she thought Miss Deane had seemed happier the first few days, +before Mr. Weatherby came, going about with Robin Farnham. Anyhow, she +shouldn't be surprised if something strange happened before the summer +was over, at which prediction Miss Carroway never failed to sniff +indignantly, and was likely to drop a stitch in the wristlets she was +knitting for Charlie's Christmas. + +It was about the mail hour, at the close of one such discussion, that +the circle became aware of the objects of their debate approaching from +the boat landing. They made a handsome picture as they came up the path, +and even the small woman in black was obliged to confess that they were +well suited enough "so far as looks were concerned." As usual they +carried the book and basket, and waved them in greeting as they drew +near. Constance lifted the moss and ferns as she passed Miss Carroway to +display, as she said, the inviting contents, which the old lady regarded +with evident disapproval, though without comment. Miss Deane carried the +basket into the Lodge, and when she returned brought Edith Morrison with +her. The girl was rosy with the bustle going on indoors, and her bright +color, with her black hair and her spotless white apron, made her a +striking figure. Constance admired her openly. + +"I brought her out to show you how pretty she looks," she said gayly. +"Oh, haven't any of you a camera?" + +This was unexpected to Edith, who became still rosier and started to +retreat. Constance held her fast. + +"Miss Morrison and I are going to do the russulas--that's what they +were, you know--ourselves," she said. "Of course, Miss Carroway, you +need not feel that you are obliged to have any of them, but you will +miss something very nice if you don't." + +"Well, mebbe so," agreed the old lady. "I suppose I've missed a good +deal in my life by not samplin' everything that came along, but mebbe +I've lived just as long by not doin' it. Isn't that Robin Farnham +yonder? I haven't seen him for days." + +He had come in the night before, Miss Morrison told them. He had brought +a party through Indian Pass and would not go out again until morning. + +Constance nodded. + +"I know. They got their supper at the fall near our camp. Robin came +over to call on us. He often runs over for a little while when he comes +our way." + +She spoke quite unconcernedly, and Robin's name came easily from her +lips. The little woman in black shot a triumphant look at Miss Carroway, +who did not notice the attention or declined to acknowledge it. Of the +others only Edith Morrison gave any sign. The sudden knowledge that +Robin had called at the Deane camp the night before--that it was his +habit to do so when he passed that way--a fact which Robin himself had +not thought it necessary to mention--and then the familiar use of his +name--almost caressing, it had sounded to her--brought back with a rush +that heavy and hopeless feeling about her heart. She wanted to be wise +and sensible and generous, but she could not help catching the veranda +rail a bit tighter, while the rich color faded from her cheek. Yet no +one noticed, and she meant that no one, not even Robin, should know. No +doubt she was a fool, unable to understand, but she could not look +toward Robin, nor could she move from where she stood, holding fast to +the railing, trying to be wise and as self-possessed as she felt that +other girl would be in her place. + +Robin, meantime, had bent his steps in their direction. In his genial +manner and with his mellow voice he acknowledged the greetings of this +little group of guests. He had just recalled, he said to Constance, +having seen something, during a recent trip over McIntyre, which he had +at first taken for a very beautiful and peculiar flower. Later he had +decided it might be of special interest to her. It had a flower shape, +he said, and was pink in color, but was like wax, resembling somewhat +the Indian pipe, but with more open flowers and much more beautiful. He +did not recall having seen anything of the sort before, and would have +brought home one of the waxen blooms, only that he had been going the +other way and they seemed too tender to carry. He thought it a fungus +growth. + +Constance was deeply interested in his information, and the description +of what seemed to her a possible discovery of importance. She made him +repeat the details as nearly as he could recollect, and with the book +attempted to classify the species. Her failure to do so only stimulated +her enthusiasm. + +"I suppose you could find the place, again," she said. + +"Easily. It is only a few steps from the tripod at the peak," and he +drew with his pencil a plan of the spot. + +"I've heard the McIntyre trail is not difficult to keep," Constance +reflected. + +"No--provided, of course, one does not get into a fog. It's harder then. +I lost the trail myself up there once in a thick mist." + +The girl turned to Frank, who was lounging comfortably on the steps, +idly smoking. + +"Suppose we try it this afternoon," she said. + +Mr. Weatherby lifted his eyes to where Algonquin lay--its peaks among +the clouds. + +"It looks pretty foggy up there--besides, it will be rather late +starting for a climb like that." + +Miss Deane seemed a bit annoyed. + +"Yes," she said, rather crossly, "it will always be too foggy, or too +late, or too early for you. Do you know," she added, to the company at +large, "this young man hasn't offered to climb a mountain, or to go +trouting, once since he's been here. I don't believe he means to, all +summer. He said the other day that mountains and streams were made for +scenery--not to climb and fish in." + +The company discussed this point. Miss Carroway told of a hill near +Haverford which she used to climb, as a girl. Frank merely smiled +good-naturedly. + +"I did my climbing and fishing up here when I was a boy," he said. "I +think the fish are smaller now----" + +"And the mountains taller--poor, decrepit old man!" + +"Well, I confess the trails do look steeper," assented Frank, mildly; +"besides, with the varied bill of fare we have been enjoying these days, +I don't like to get too far from Mrs. Deane's medicine chest. I should +not like to be seized with the last agonies on top of a high mountain." + +Miss Deane assumed a lofty and offended air. + +"Never you mind," she declared; "when I want to scale a high mountain I +shall engage Mr. Robin Farnham to accompany me. Can you take me this +afternoon?" she added, addressing Robin. + +The young man started to reply, reddened a little and hesitated. Edith, +still lingering, holding fast to the veranda rail, suddenly spoke. + +"He can go quite well," she said, and there was a queer inflection in +her voice. "There is no reason----" + +But Constance had suddenly arisen and turned to her. + +"Oh, I beg your pardon!" she pleaded hastily. "He has an engagement with +you, of course. I did not think--I can climb McIntyre any time. Besides, +Mr. Weatherby is right. It is cloudy up there, and we would be late +starting." + +She went over close to Edith. The latter was pale and constrained, +though she made an effort to appear cordial, repeating her assurance +that Robin was quite free to go--that she really wished him to do so. +Robin himself did not find it easy to speak, and Edith a moment later +excused herself, on the plea that she was needed within. Constance +followed her, presently, while Frank, lingering on the steps, asked +Robin a few questions concerning his trip through the Pass. Of the +rocking-chair circle, perhaps only the small woman in black found +comfort in what had just taken place. A silence had fallen upon the +little company, and it was a relief to all when the mail came and there +was a reason for a general breaking-up. As usual, Frank and Constance +had a table to themselves at luncheon and ate rather quietly, though the +russulas, by a new recipe, were especially fine. When it was over at +last they set out to explore the woods back of the Lodge. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +IN THE "DEVIL'S GARDEN" + + +Constance Deane had developed a definite ambition. At all events she +believed it to be such, which, after all, is much the same thing in the +end. It was her dream to pursue this new study of hers until she had +made a definite place for herself, either as a recognized authority or +by some startling discovery, in mycological annals--in fact, to become +in some measure a benefactor of mankind. The spirit of unrest which had +possessed her that afternoon in March, when she had lamented that the +world held no place for her, had found at least a temporary outlet in +this direction. We all have had such dreams as hers. They are a part of +youth. Often they seem paltry enough to others--perhaps to us, as well, +when the morning hours have passed by. But those men and women who have +made such dreams real have given us a wiser and better world. Constance +had confided something of her intention to Frank, who had at least +assumed to take it seriously, following her in her wanderings--pushing +through tangle and thicket and clambering over slippery logs into +uncertain places for possible treasures of discovery. His reluctance to +scale McIntyre, though due to the reasons given rather than to any +thought of personal discomfort, had annoyed her, the more so because of +the unpleasant incident which followed. There had been a truce at +luncheon, but once in the woods Miss Deane did not hesitate to unburden +her mind. + +"Do you know," she began judicially, as if she had settled the matter in +her own mind, "I have about concluded that you are hopeless, after all." + +The culprit, who had just dragged himself from under a rather low-lying +wet log, assumed an injured air. + +"What can I have done, now?" he asked. + +"It's not what you have done, but what you haven't done. You're so +satisfied to be just comfortable, and----" + +Frank regarded his earthy hands and soiled garments rather ruefully. + +"Of course," he admitted, "I may have looked comfortable just now, +rooting and pawing about in the leaves for that specimen, but I didn't +really feel so." + +"You know well enough what I mean," Constance persisted, though a little +more pacifically. "You go with me willingly enough on such jaunts as +this, where it doesn't mean any very special exertion, though sometimes +I think you don't enjoy them very much. I know you would much rather +drift about in a boat on the lake, or sit under a tree, and have me read +to you. Do you know, I've never seen any one who cared so much for old +tales of knights and their deeds of valor and strove so little to +emulate them in real life." + +Frank waited a little before replying. Then he said gently: + +"I confess that I would rather listen to the tale of King Arthur in +these woods, and as you read it, Conny, than to attempt deeds of valor +on my own account. When I am listening to you and looking off through +these wonderful woods I can realize and believe in it all, just as I did +long ago, when I was a boy and read it for the first time. These are the +very woods of romance, and I am expecting any day we shall come upon +King Arthur's castle. When we do I shall join the Round Table and ride +for you in the lists. Meantime I can dream it all to the sound of your +voice, and when I see the people here climbing these mountains and +boasting of such achievements I decide that my dream is better than +their reality." + +But Miss Deane's memory of the recent circumstances still rankled. She +was not to be easily mollified. + +"And while you dream, I am to find my reality as best I may," she said +coldly. + +"But, Constance," he protested, "haven't I climbed trees, and gone down +into pits, and waded through swamps, and burrowed through vines and +briars at your command; and haven't I more than once tasted of the +things that you were not perfectly sure of, because the book didn't +exactly cover the specimen? Now, here I'm told that I'm hopeless, which +means that I'm a failure, when even at this moment I bear the marks of +my devotion." He pointed at the knees of his trousers, damp from his +recent experience. "I've done battle with nature," he went on, "and +entered the lists with your detractors. You said once there are knights +we do not recognize and armor we do not see. Now, don't you think you +may be overlooking one of those knights, with a suit of armor a little +damp at the knees, perhaps, but still stout and serviceable?" + +The girl did not, as usual, respond to his gayety and banter. + +"You may joke about it, if you like," she said, "but true knights, even +in the garb of peasants, have been known to scale dizzy heights for a +single flower. I have never known of one who refused to accompany a lady +on such an errand, especially when it was up an easy mountain trail +which even children have climbed." + +"Then this is a notable day, for you have met two." + +She nodded. + +"But one was without blame, and but for the first there could not have +occurred the humiliation of the second, and that, too"--she smiled in +spite of herself--"in the presence of my detractors. It will be hard for +you to rectify that, Sir Knight!" + +There was an altered tone in the girl's voice. The humorous phase was +coming nearer the surface. Frank brightened. + +"Really, though," he persisted, "I was right about it's being foggy up +there. Farnham would have said so, himself." + +"No doubt," she agreed, "but we could have reached that conclusion +later. An expressed willingness to go would have spared me and all of us +what followed. As it is, Edith Morrison thinks I wanted to deprive her +of Robin on his one day at home, while he was obliged to make himself +appear foolish before every one." + +"I wish you had as much consideration for me as you always show for +Robin," said Frank, becoming suddenly aggrieved. + +"And why not for Robin?" The girl's voice became sharply crisp and +defiant. "Who is entitled to it more than he--a poor boy who struggled +when no more than a child to earn bread for his invalid mother and +little sister; who has never had a penny that he did not earn; who never +would take one, but in spite of all has fought his way to recognition +and respect and knowledge? Oh, you don't know how he has struggled--you +who have had everything from birth--who have never known what it is not +to gratify every wish, nor what it feels like to go hungry and cold that +some one else might be warm and fed." Miss Deane's cheeks were aglow, +and her eyes were filled with fire. "It is by such men as Robin +Farnham," she went on, "that this country has been built, with all its +splendid achievements and glorious institutions, and the possibilities +for such fortunes as yours. Why should I not respect him, and honor him, +and love him, if I want to?" she concluded, carried away by her +enthusiasm. + +Frank listened gravely to the end. Then he said, very gently: + +"There is no reason why you should not honor and respect such a man, +nor, perhaps, why you should not love him--if you want to. I am sure +Robin Farnham is a very worthy fellow. But I suppose even you do not +altogether realize the advantage of having been born poor----" + +The girl was about to break in, but checked herself. + +"Of having been born poor," he repeated, "and compelled to struggle from +the beginning. It gets to be a habit, you see, a sort of groundwork for +character. Perhaps--I do not say it, mind, I only say perhaps--if Robin +Farnham had been born with my advantages and I with his, it might have +made a difference, don't you think, in your very frank and just estimate +of us to-day? I have often thought that it is a misfortune to have been +born with money, but I suppose I didn't think of it soon enough, and it +seems pretty late now to go back and start all over. Besides, I have no +one in need to struggle for. My mother is comfortably off, and I have no +little suffering sister----" + +She checked him a gesture. + +"Don't--oh, don't!" she pleaded. "Perhaps you are right about being +poor, but that last seems mockery and sacrilege--I cannot bear it! You +don't know what you are saying. You don't know, as I do, how he has gone +out in the bitter cold to work, without his breakfast, because there was +not enough for all, and how--because he had cooked the breakfast +himself--he did not let them know. No, you do not realize--you could +not!" + +Mr. Weatherby regarded his companion rather wonderingly. There was +something in her eyes which made them very bright. It seemed to him that +her emotion was hardly justified. + +"I suppose he has told you all about it," he said, rather coldly. + +She turned upon him. + +"He? Never! He would never tell any one! I found it out--oh, long +ago--but I did not understand it all--not then." + +"And the mother and sister--what became of them?" + +The girl's voice steadied itself with difficulty. + +"The mother died. The little girl was taken by some kind people. He was +left to fight his battle alone." + +Neither spoke after this, and they walked through woods that were like +the mazy forests of some old tale. If there had been a momentary rancor +between them it was presently dissipated in the quiet of the gold-lit +greenery about them, and as they wandered on there grew about them a +peace which needed no outward establishment. They held their course by a +little compass, and did not fear losing their way, though it was easy +enough to become confused amid those barriers of heaped bowlders and +tangled logs. By and by Constance held up her hand. + +"Listen," she said, "there are voices." + +They halted, and a moment later Robin Farnham and Edith Morrison emerged +from a natural avenue just ahead. They had followed a different way and +were returning to the Lodge. Frank and Constance pushed forward to meet +them. + +"We have just passed a place that would interest you," said Robin to +Miss Deane. "A curious shut-in place where mushrooms grow almost as if +they had been planted there. We will take you to it." + +Robin spoke in his usual manner. Edith, though rather quiet, appeared to +have forgotten the incident of the veranda. Frank and Constance followed +a little way, and then all at once they were in a spot where the air +seemed heavy and chill, as though a miasma rose from the yielding soil. +Thick boughs interlaced overhead, and the sunlight of summer never +penetrated there. Such light as came through seemed dim and sorrowful, +and there was about the spot a sinister aspect that may have been due to +the black pool in the center and the fungi which grew about it. Pale, +livid growths were there, shading to sickly yellow, and in every form +and size. So thick were they they fairly overhung and crowded in that +gruesome bed. Here a myriad of tiny stems, there great distorted shapes +pushed through decaying leaves--or toppled over, split and rotting--the +food of buzzing flies, thousands of which lay dead upon the ground. A +sickly odor hung about the ghastly place. No one spoke at first. Then +Constance said: + +"I believe they are all deadly--every one." And Frank added: + +"I have heard of the Devil's Garden. I think we have found it." + +Edith Morrison shuddered. Perhaps the life among the hills had made her +a trifle superstitious. + +"Let us be going," Constance said. "Even the air of such a place may be +dangerous." Then, curiosity and the collecting instinct getting the +better of her, she stooped and plucked one of the yellow fungi which +grew near her foot. "They seem to be all Amanitas," she added, "the most +deadly of toadstools. Those paler ones are _Amanita Phalloides_. There +is no cure for their poison. These are called the Fly Amanita because +they attract flies and slay them, as you see. This yellow one is an +Amanita, too--see its poison cup. I do not know its name, and we won't +stop here to find it, but I think we might call it the Yellow Danger." + +She dropped it into the basket and all turned their steps homeward, the +two girls ahead, the men following. The unusual spot had seemed to +depress them all. They spoke but little, and in hushed voices. When they +emerged from the woods the sun had slipped behind the hills and a +semi-twilight had fallen. Day had become a red stain in the west. +Constance turned suddenly to Robin Farnham. + +"I think I will ask you to row me across the lake," she said. "I am sure +Mr. Weatherby will be glad to surrender the privilege. I want to ask you +something more about those specimens you saw on McIntyre." + +There was no hint of embarrassment in Miss Deane's manner of this +request. Indeed, there was a pleasant, matter-of-fact tone in her voice +that to the casual hearer would have disarmed any thought of suspicion. +Yet to Edith and Frank the matter seemed ominously important. They spoke +their adieus pleasantly enough, but a curious spark glittered a little +in the girl's eyes and the young man's face was grave as they two +watched the handsome pair down the slope, and saw them enter the +Adirondack canoe and glide out on the iridescent water. Suddenly Edith +turned to her companion. She was very pale and the spark had become +almost a blaze. + +"Mr. Weatherby," she said fiercely, "you and I are a pair of fools. You +may not know it--perhaps even they do not know it, yet. But it is +becoming very clear to me!" + +Frank was startled by her unnatural look and tone. As he stood regarding +her, he saw her eyes suddenly flood with tears. The words did not come +easily either to deny or acknowledge her conclusions. Then, very gently, +as one might speak to a child, he said: + +"Let us not be too hasty in our judgments. Very sad mistakes have been +made by being too hasty." He looked out at the little boat, now rapidly +blending into the shadows of the other shore, and added--to himself, as +it seemed--"I have made so little effort to be what she wished. He is so +much nearer to her ideal." + +He turned to say something more to the girl beside him, but she had +slipped away and was already halfway to the Lodge. He followed, and then +for a time sat out on the veranda, smoking, and reviewing what seemed to +him now the wasted years. He recalled his old ambitions. Once they had +been for the sea--the Navy. Then, when he had become associated with the +college paper he had foreseen in himself the editor of some great +journal, with power to upset conspiracies and to unmake kings. Presently +he had begun to write--he had always dabbled in that--and his +fellow-students had hailed him not only as their leader in athletic but +literary pursuits. As editor-in-chief of the college paper and +valedictorian of his class, he had left them at last, followed by +prophecies of a career in the world of letters. Well, that was more than +two years ago, and he had never picked up his pen since that day. There +had been so many other things--so many places to go--so many pleasant +people--so much to do that was easier than to sit down at a remote desk +with pen and blank paper, when all the world was young and filled with +gayer things. Then, presently, he had reasoned that there was no need of +making the fight--there were too many at it, now. So the flower of +ambition had faded as quickly as it had bloomed, and the blossoms of +pleasure had been gathered with a careless hand. His meeting with +Constance had been a part of the play-life of which he had grown so +fond. Now that she had grown into his life he seemed about to lose her, +because of the flower he had let die. + +The young man ate his dinner silently--supplying his physical needs in +the perfunctory manner of routine. He had been late coming in, and the +dining-room was nearly empty. Inadvertently he approached the group +gathered about the wide hall fireplace as he passed out. Miss Carroway +occupied the center of this little party and, as usual, was talking. She +appeared to be arranging some harmless evening amusement. + +"It's always pleasant after supper," she was saying--Miss Carroway never +referred to the evening meal as dinner--"to ask a few conundrums. My +Charlie that I raised and is now in the electric works at Haverford used +to say it helped digestion. Now, suppose we begin. I'll ask the first +one, and each one will guess in turn. The first one who guesses can ask +the next." + +Becoming suddenly conscious of the drift of matters, Frank started to +back out, silently, but Miss Carroway had observed his entrance and, +turning, checked him with her eye. + +"You're just in time," she said. "We haven't commenced yet. Oh, yes, you +must stay. It's good for young people to have a little diversion in the +evening and not go poking off alone. I am just about to ask the first +conundrum. Mebbe you'll get the next. This is one that Charlie always +liked. What's the difference between a fountain and the Prince of Wales? +Now, you begin, Mr. Weatherby, and see if you can guess it." + +The feeling was borne in upon Frank that this punishment was rather more +than he could bear, and he made himself strong for the ordeal. Dutifully +he considered the problem and passed it on to the little woman in black, +who sat next. Miss Carroway's rival was consumed with an anxiety to +cheapen the problem with a prompt answer. + +"That's easy enough," she said. "One's the son of the queen, and the +other's a queen of the sun. Of course," she added, "a fountain isn't +really a queen of the sun, but it shines and sparkles and _might_ be +called that." + +Miss Carroway regarded her with something of disdain. + +"Yes," she said, with decision, "it might be, but it ain't. You guessed +wrong. Next!" + +"One's always wet, and the other's always dry," volunteered an +irreverent young person outside the circle, which remark won a round of +ill-deserved applause. + +"You ought to come into the game," commented Miss Carroway, "but that +ain't it, either." + +"I'm sure it has something with 'shine' and 'line,'" ventured the young +lady from Utica, who was a school-mistress, "or 'earth' and 'birth.' I +know I've heard it, but I can't remember." + +"Humph!" sniffed Miss Carroway, and passed it on. Nobody else ventured a +definition and the problem came back to its proposer. She sat up a bit +straighter, and swept the circle with her firelit glasses. + +"One's thrown to the air, and the other's heir to the throne," she +declared, as if pronouncing judgment. "I don't think this is much of a +conundrum crowd. My Charlie would have guessed that the first time. But +I'll give you one more--something easier, and mebbe older." + +When at last he was permitted to go Frank made his way gloomily to his +room and to bed. The day's events had been depressing. He had lost +ground with Constance, whom, of late, he had been trying so hard to +please. He had been willing enough, he reflected, to go up the mountain, +but it really had been cloudy up there and too late to start. Then +Constance had blamed him for the unpleasant incident which had +followed--it seemed to him rather unjustly. Now, Edith Morrison had +declared openly what he himself had been almost ready, though rather +vaguely, to suspect. He had let Constance slip through his fingers +after all. He groaned aloud at the thought of Constance as the wife of +another. Was it, after all, too late? If he should begin now to do and +dare and conquer, could he regain the lost ground? And how should he +begin? Half confused with approaching sleep, his thoughts intermingled +with strange fancies, that one moment led him to the mountain top where +in the mist he groped for mushrooms, while the next, as in a picture, he +was achieving some splendid triumph and laying the laurels at her feet. +Then he was wide awake again, listening to the whisper of the trees that +came through his open window and the murmur of voices from below. +Presently he found himself muttering, "What is the difference between a +fountain and the Prince of Wales?"--a question which immediately became +a part of his perplexing sleep-waking fancies, and the answer was +something which, like a boat in the mist, drifted away, just out of +reach. What _was_ the difference between a fountain and the Prince of +Wales? It seemed important that he should know, and then the query +became visualized in a sunlit plume of leaping water with a diadem at +the top, and this suddenly changed into a great mushroom, of the color +of gold, and of which some one was saying, "Don't touch it--it's the +Yellow Danger." Perhaps that was Edith Morrison, for he saw her dark, +handsome face just then, her eyes bright with tears and fierce with the +blaze of jealousy. Then he slept. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE PATH THAT LEADS BACK TO BOYHOOD + + +The sun was not yet above the hills when Frank Weatherby left the Lodge +next morning. He halted for a moment to procure some convenient +receptacle and was supplied with a trout basket which, slung across his +shoulder, gave him quite the old feeling of preparation for a day's +sport, instead of merely an early trip up McIntyre. Robin Farnham was +already up and away with his party, but another guide loitered about the +cabin and showed a disposition to be friendly. + +"Better wait till after breakfast," he said. "It don't take long to run +up McIntyre and back. You'll have plenty of time." + +"But it looks clear up there, now. It may be foggy, later on. Besides, +I've just bribed the cook to give me a bite, so I'm not afraid of +getting hungry." + +The guide brought out a crumpled, rusty-looking fly-hook and a little +roll of line. + +"Take these," he urged. "You'll cross a brook or two where there's some +trout. Mebbe you can get a few while you're resting. I'd lend you a rod +if we had one here, but you can cut a switch that will do. The fish are +mostly pretty small." + +The sight of the gayly colored flies, the line and the feeling of the +basket at his side was a combination not to be resisted. The years +seemed to roll backward, and Frank felt the old eager longing to be +following the tumbling, swirling water--to feel the sudden tug at the +end of a drifting line. + +It was a rare morning. The abundant forest was rich with every shade of +green and bright with dew. Below, where the path lay, it was still dim +and silent, but the earliest touch of sunrise had set the tree-tops +aglow and started a bird concert in the high branches. + +The McIntyre trail was not a hard one to follow. Neither was it steep +for a considerable distance, and Frank strode along rapidly and without +fatigue. In spite of his uneasiness of spirit the night before, he had +slept the sleep of youth and health, and the smell of the morning woods, +the feel of the basket at his side, the following of this fascinating +trail brought him nearer to boyhood with every forward step. He would +go directly to the top of the mountain, he thought, find the curious +flower or fungus which Robin had seen, and on his return trip would stop +at the brooks and perhaps bring home a basket of trout; after which he +would find Constance and lay the whole at her feet as a proof that he +was not altogether indifferent to her wishes. Also, it might be, as a +token that he had renewed his old ambition to be something more than a +mere lover of ease and pleasure and a dreamer of dreams. + +The suspicions stirred by Edith Morrison the night before had grown +dim--indeed had almost vanished in the clear glow of morning. Constance +might wish to punish him--that was quite likely--though it was highly +improbable that she should have selected this method. In fact, it was +quite certain that any possibility of causing heartache, especially +where Edith Morrison was concerned, would have been most repugnant to a +girl of the character and ideals of Constance Deane. She admired Robin +and found pleasure in his company. That she made no concealment of these +things was the best evidence that there was nothing to be concealed. +That unconsciously she and Robin were learning to care for each other, +he thought most unlikely. He remembered Constance as she had seemed +during the days of their meeting at Lenox, when she had learned to know, +and he believed to care for him. It had never been like that. It would +not be like that, now, with another. There would be no other. He would +be more as she would have him--more like Robin Farnham. Why, he was +beginning this very moment. Those years of idleness had dropped away. He +had regarded himself as beyond the time of beginning! What nonsense! At +twenty-four--full of health and the joy of living--swinging up a +mountain trail to win a flower for the girl he loved, with a cavalcade +of old hopes and dreams and ambitions once more riding through his +heart. To-day was life. Yesterday was already with the vanished ages. +Then for a moment he recalled the sorrow of Edith Morrison and resolved +within him to see her immediately upon his return, to prove to her how +groundless and unjust had been her conclusions. She was hardly to blame. +She was only a mountain girl and did not understand. It was absurd that +he, who knew so much of the world and of human nature, should have +allowed himself even for a moment to be influenced by the primitive +notions of this girl of the hills. + +The trail grew steeper now. The young man found himself breathing a +trifle quicker as he pushed upward. Sometimes he seized a limb to aid +him in swinging up a rocky steep--again he parted dewy bushes that +locked their branches across the way. Presently there was a sound of +water falling over stones, and a moment later he had reached a brook +that hurried down the mountain side, leaping and laughing as it ran. +There was a narrow place and a log where the trail crossed, with a +little fall and a deep pool just below it. Frank did not mean to stop +for trout now, but it occurred to him to try this brook, that he might +judge which was the better to fish on his return. He looked about until +he found a long, slim shoot of some tough wood, and this he cut for a +rod. Then he put on a bit of the line--a longer piece would not do in +this little stream--and at the end he strung a short leader and two +flies. It was queer, but he found his fingers trembling just a little +with eagerness as he adjusted those flies; and when he held the rig at +arm's length and gave it a little twitch in the old way it was not so +bad, after all, he thought. As he stealthily gained the exact position +where he could drop the lure on the eddy below the fall and poised the +slender rod for the cast, the only earthly thing that seemed important +was the placing of those two tiny bits of gimp and feathers just on that +spot where the water swirled under the edge of the black overhanging +rock. Gently, now--so. A quick flash, a swish, a sharp thrilling tug, an +instinctive movement of the wrist, and something was leaping and +glancing on the pebbles below--something dark and golden and gayly +red-spotted--something which no man who has ever trailed a brook can see +without a quickening heart--a speckled trout! Certainly it was but a boy +who leaped down and disentangled the captured fish and held it joyously +for a moment, admiring its markings and its size before dropping it into +the basket at his side. + +"Pretty good for such a little brook," he said aloud. "I wonder if there +are many like that." + +He made another cast, but without result. + +"I've frightened them," he thought. "I came lumbering down like a +duffer. Besides, they can see me, here." + +He turned and followed the stream with his eye. It seemed a succession +of falls and fascinating pools, and the pools grew even larger and more +enticing. He could not resist trying just once more, and when another +goodly trout was in his creel and then another, all else in life became +hazy in the joy of following that stream from fall to fall and from pool +to pool--of dropping those gay little flies just in the particular spot +which would bring that flash and swish, that delightful tug, and the +gayly speckled capture that came glancing to his feet. Why not do his +fishing now, in these morning hours when the time was right? Later, the +sport might be poor, or none at all. At this rate he could soon fill his +creel and then make his way up the mountain. He halted a moment to line +the basket with damp moss and water grasses to keep his catch fresh. +Then he put aside every other purpose for the business of the moment, +creeping around bushes, or leaping from stone to stone--sometimes +slipping to his knees in the icy water, caring not for discomfort or +bruises--heedless of everything except the zeal of pursuit and the zest +of capture--the glory of the bright singing water, spilling from pool to +pool--the filtering sunlight--the quiring birds--the resinous smell of +the forest--all the things which lure the feet of young men over the +paths trod by their fathers in the long-forgotten days. + +The stream widened. The pools grew deeper and the trout larger as he +descended. Soon he decided to keep only the larger fish. All others he +tossed back as soon as taken. Then there came a break ahead and +presently the brook pitched over a higher fall than any he had passed, +into a larger stream--almost a river. A great regret came upon the young +man as he viewed this fine water that rushed and swirled among a +thousand bowlders, ideal stepping stones with ideal pools below. Oh, +now, for a rod and reel, with a length of line to cast far ahead into +those splendid pools! + +The configuration of the land caused this larger stream to pursue a +course around, rather than down the mountain side, and Frank decided +that he could follow it for a distance, and then, with the aid of his +compass, strike straight for the mountain top without making his way +back up stream. + +But first he must alter his tackle. He looked about and presently cut a +much longer and stronger rod and lengthened his line accordingly. Then +he made his way among the bowlders and began to whip the larger pools. +Cast after cast resulted in no return. He began to wonder, after all, +if it would not be a mistake to fish this larger and less fruitful +stream. But suddenly there came a great gleam of light where his flies +fell, and though the fish failed to strike, Frank's heart gave a leap, +for he knew now that in this water--though they would be fewer in +number--there were trout which were well worth while. He cast again over +the dark, foamy pool, and this time the flash was followed by such a tug +as at first made him fear that his primitive tackle might not hold. Oh, +then he longed for a reel and a net. This was a fish that could not be +lightly lifted out, but must be worked to a landing place and dragged +ashore. Holding the line taut, he looked for such a spot, and selecting +the shallow edge of a flat stone, drew his prize nearer and +nearer--drawing in the rod itself, hand over hand, and finally the line +until the struggling, leaping capture was in his hands. This was +something like! This was sport, indeed! There was no thought now of +turning back. To carry home even a few fish, taken with such a tackle, +would redeem him for many shortcomings in Constance's eyes. He was sorry +now that he had kept any of the smaller fry. + +He followed down the stream, stepping from bowlder to bowlder, casting +as he went. Here and there trout rose, but they were old and wary and +hesitated to strike. He got another at length, somewhat smaller than the +first, and lost still another which he thought was larger than either. +Then for a considerable distance he whipped the most attractive water +without reward, changing his flies at length, but to no purpose. + +"It must be getting late," he reflected aloud, and for the first time +thought of looking at his watch. He was horrified to find that it was +nearly eleven o'clock, by which time he had expected to have reached the +top of McIntyre and to have been well on his way back to the Lodge. He +must start at once, for the climb would be long and rough here, out of +the regular trail. + +Yet he paused to make one more cast, over a black pool where there was a +fallen log, and bubbles floating on the surface. His arm had grown tired +swinging the heavy green rod and his aim was poor. The flies struck a +little twig and hung there, dangling in the air. A twitch and they were +free and had dropped to the surface of the water. Yet barely to reach +it. For in that instant a wave rolled up and divided--a great +black-and-gold shape made a porpoise leap into the air. The lower fly +disappeared, and an instant later Frank was gripping the tough green rod +with both hands, while the water and trees and sky blended and swam +before him in the intensity of the struggle to hold and to keep holding +that black-and-gold monster at the other end of the tackle--to keep him +from getting back under that log--from twisting the line around a +limb--in a word, to prevent him from regaining freedom. It would be +lunacy to drag this fish ashore by force. The line or the fly would +certainly give way, even if the rod would stand. Indeed, when he tried +to work his capture a little nearer, it held so like a rock that he +believed for a moment the line was already fast. But then came a sudden +rush to the right and another stand, and to the left--with a plunge for +depth--and with each of these rushes Frank's heart stood still, for he +felt that against the power of this monster his tackle could not hold. +Every nerve and fiber in his body seemed to concentrate on the +slow-moving point of dark line where the tense strand touched the water. +A little this way or that it swung--perhaps yielded a trifle or drew +down a bit as the great fish in its battle for life gave an inch only +to begin a still fiercer struggle in this final tug of war. To all else +the young man was oblivious. A bird dropped down on a branch and shouted +at him--he did not hear it. A cloud swept over the sun--he did not see +it. Life, death, eternity mattered nothing. Only that moving point of +line mattered--only the thought that the powerful, unconquered shape +below might presently go free. + +And then--inch by inch it seemed--the steady wrist and the crude tackle +began to gain advantage, the monster of black and gold was forced to +yield. Scarcely breathing, Frank watched the point of the line, inch by +inch, draw nearer to a little pebbly shore that ran down, where, if +anywhere, he could land his prey. Once, indeed, the great fellow came to +the surface, then, seeing his captor, made a fierce dive and plunged +into a wild struggle, during which hope almost died. Another dragging +toward the shore, another struggle and yet another, each becoming weaker +and less enduring, until lo, there on the pebbles, gasping and striking +with his splendid tail, lay the conquered king of fish. It required but +an instant for the captor to pounce upon him and to secure him with a +piece of line through his gills, and this he replaced with a double +willow branch which he could tie together and to the basket, for this +fish was altogether too large to go inside. Exhausted and weak from the +struggle, Frank sat down to contemplate his capture and to regain +strength before starting up the mountain. Five pounds, certainly, this +fish weighed, he thought, and he tenderly regarded the fly that had +lured it to the death, and carefully wound up the cheap bit of line that +had held true. No such fish had been brought to the Lodge, and then, boy +that he was, he thought how proud he should be of his triumph, and with +what awe Constance would regard his skill in its capture. And in that +moment it was somehow borne in upon him that with this battle and this +victory there had come in truth the awakening--that the indolent, +luxury-loving man had become as a sleep-walker of yesterday who would +never cross the threshold of to-day. + + * * * * * + +A drop of water on his hand aroused him. The sun had disappeared--the +sky was overcast--there was rain in the air. He must hurry, he thought, +and get up the mountain and away, before the storm. He could not see the +peak, for here the trees were tall and thick, but he knew his direction +by the compass and by the slope of the land. From the end of his late +rod he cut a walking stick and set out as rapidly as he could make his +way through brush and vines, up the mountain-side. + +But it was toilsome work. The mountain became steeper, the growth +thicker, his load of fish weighed him down. He was almost tempted to +retrace his way up the river and brook to the trail, but was loath to +consume such an amount of time when it seemed possible to reach the peak +by a direct course. Then it became darker in the woods, and the bushes +seemed damp with moisture. He wondered if he was entering a fog that had +gathered on the mountain top, and, once there, if he could find what he +sought. Only the big fish, swinging at his side and dragging in the +leaves as he crept through underbrush, gave him comfort in what was +rapidly becoming an unpleasant and difficult undertaking. Presently he +was reduced to climbing hand over hand, clinging to bushes and bracing +his feet as best he might. All at once, he was face to face with a cliff +which rose sheer for sixty feet or more and which it seemed impossible +to ascend. He followed it for a distance and came at last to where a +heavy vine dropped from above, and this made a sort of ladder, by which, +after a great deal of clinging and scrambling, he managed to reach the +upper level, where he dropped down to catch breath, only to find, when +he came to look for his big fish, that somehow in the upward struggle it +had broken loose from the basket and was gone. It was most +disheartening. + +"If I were not a man I would cry," he said, wearily--then peering over +the cliff he was overjoyed to see the lost fish hanging not far below, +suspended by the willow loop he had made. + +So then he climbed down carefully and secured it, and struggled back +again, this time almost faint with weariness, but happy in regaining his +treasure. And now he realized that a fog was indeed upon the mountain. +At the foot of the cliff and farther down the air seemed clear enough, +but above him objects only a few feet distant were lost in a white mist, +while here and there a drop as of rain struck in the leaves. It would +not do to waste time. A storm might be gathering, and a tempest, or even +a chill rain on the top of McIntyre was something to be avoided. He +rose, and climbing, stooping, crawling, struggled toward the +mountain-top. The timber became smaller, the tangle closer, the white +mist thickened. Often he paused from sheer exhaustion. Once he thought +he heard some one call. But listening there came only silence, and +staggering to his feet he struggled on. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +WHAT CAME OUT OF THE MIST + + +It was several hours after Frank Weatherby had set out on the McIntyre +trail--when the sun had risen to a point where it came mottling through +the tree-tops and dried the vines and bushes along the fragrant, +yielding path below--that a girl came following in the way which led up +the mountain top. She wore a stout outing costume--short skirt and +blouse, heavy boots, and an old felt school hat pinned firmly to +luxuriant dark hair. On her arm she carried the basket of many +wanderings, and her step was that of health and strength and purpose. +One watching Constance Deane unawares--noting her carriage and sureness +of foot, the easy grace with which she overcame the various obstructions +in her path--might have said that she belonged by right to these woods, +was a part of them, and one might have added that she was a perfect +flowering of this splendid forest. + +On the evening before, she had inquired of Robin the precise entrance to +the McIntyre trail, and with his general directions she had no +hesitation now in setting out on her own account to make the climb which +would bring her to the coveted specimens at the mountain top. She would +secure them with the aid of no one and so give Frank an exhibition of +her independence, and perhaps impress him a little with his own lack of +ambition and energy. She had avoided the Lodge, making her way around +the lake to the trail, and had left no definite word at home as to her +destination, for it was quite certain that Mrs. Deane would worry if it +became known that Constance had set off up the mountain alone. Yet she +felt thoroughly equal to the undertaking. In her basket she carried some +sandwiches, and she had no doubt of being able to return to the Lodge +during the afternoon, where she had a certain half-formed idea of +finding Frank disconsolately waiting--a rather comforting--even if +pathetic--picture of humiliation. + +Constance did not linger at the trout-brook which had enticed Frank from +the narrow upward path, save to dip up a cold drink with the little cup +she carried, and to rest up a moment and watch the leaping water as it +foamed and sang down the natural stairway which led from one mystery in +the dark vistas above to another mystery and wider vistas +below--somehow, at last, to reach that deeper and vaster and more +impenetrable mystery--the sea. She recalled some old German lines +beginning, "_Du Bachlein, silberhell und klar_," and then she remembered +having once recited them to Frank, and how he had repeated them in an +English translation: + + "Thou brooklet, silver-bright and clear-- + Forever passing--always here-- + Upon thy brink I sit, and think + Whence comest thou? Whence goest thou?" + +He had not confessed it, but she suspected the translation to be his +own, and it had exasperated her that one who could do a thing well and +with such facility should set so little store by his gift, when another, +with a heart hunger for achievement, should have been left so unfavored +of the gods. + +She walked rather more slowly when she had passed the brook--musing upon +these things. Then presently the path became precipitous and narrow, and +led through thick bushes, and over or under difficult obstructions. +Constance drew on a thick pair of gloves to grapple with rough limbs and +sharp points of rock. Here and there were fairly level stretches and +easy going, but for the most part it was up and up--steeper and +steeper--over stones and logs, through heavy bushes and vines that +matted across the trail, so that one must stoop down and burrow like a +rabbit not to miss the way. + +Miss Deane began to realize presently that the McIntyre trail was +somewhat less easy than she had anticipated. + +"If Robin calls this an easy trail, I should like to know what he means +by a hard one," she commented aloud, as she made her way through a great +tumble of logs only to find that the narrow path disappeared into a +clump of bushes beyond and apparently brought up plump against a +plunging waterfall on the other side. "One would have to be a perfect +salmon to scale that!" + +But arriving at the foot of the fall, she found that the trail merely +crossed the pool below and was clearly marked beyond. This was the brook +which Frank had not reached. It was no great distance from the summit. + +But now the climb became steeper than ever--a hand over hand affair, +with scratched face and torn dress and frequent pauses for breath. There +was no longer any tall timber, but only masses of dwarfed and twisted +little oak trees--a few feet high, though gnarled and gray with age, and +loaded with acorns. Constance knew these for the scrub-oak, that +degenerate but persistent little scion of a noble race, that pushes its +miniature forests to the very edge and into the last crevice of the +barren mountain top. Soon this diminutive wilderness began to separate +into segments and the trail reached a comparative level. Then suddenly +it became solid rock, with only here and there a clump of the stunted +oak, or a bit of grass. The girl realized that she must be on the summit +and would presently reach the peak, where, from a crevice, grew the +object of her adventure. She paused a moment for breath, and to +straighten her disheveled hair. Also she turned for a look at the view +which she thought must lie behind her. But she gave a little cry of +disappointment. A white wraith of mist, like the very ghost of a cloud, +was creeping silently along the mountain side and veiled the vision of +the wide lands below. Where she stood the air was still clear, but she +imagined the cloud was creeping nearer and would presently envelop the +mountain-top. She would hurry to the peak and try to get a view from the +other side, which after all was considered the best outlook. + +The trail now led over solid granite and could be followed only by +little cairns or heaps of stone, placed at some distance apart, but in +the clear air easily seen from one to the other. She moved rapidly, for +the way was no longer steep, and ere long the tripod which marked the +highest point, and near which Robin had seen the strange waxen flower, +was outlined against the sky. A moment later when she looked it seemed +to her less clear. The air, too, had a chill damp feeling. She turned +quickly to look behind her, and uttered a little cry of surprise that +was almost terror. The cloud ghost was upon her--she was already +enveloped in its trailing cerements. Behind, all was white, and when she +turned again the tripod too had well-nigh disappeared. As if about to +lose the object of her quest, she started to run, and when an instant +later the beacon was lost in a thick fold of white she again opened her +lips in a wild despairing cry. Yet she did not stop, but raced on, +forgetting even the little guiding cairns which pointed the way. It +would have made no difference had she remembered them, for the cloud +became so dense that she could not have seen one from the other. How +close it shut her in, this wall of white, as impalpable and as opaque as +the smoke of burning grass! + +It seemed a long way to the tripod. It must have been farther than she +had thought. Suddenly she realized that the granite no longer rose a +little before her, but seemed to drop away. She had missed the tripod, +then, and was descending on the other side. Turning, she retraced her +steps, more slowly now, trying to keep the upward slope before her. But +soon she realized that in this thick and mystifying whiteness she could +not be certain of the level--that by thinking so she could make the +granite seem to slope a little up or down, and in the same manner, now, +she could set the tripod in any direction from her at will. Confused, +half terrified at the thought, she stood perfectly still, trying to +think. The tripod, she knew, could not be more than a few yards distant, +but surrounded by these enchanted walls which ever receded, yet always +closed about her she must only wander helplessly and find it by mere +chance. And suppose she found it, and suppose she secured the object of +her search, how, in this blind spot, would she find her way back to the +trail? She recalled now what Robin had said of keeping the trail in the +fog. Her heart became cold--numb. The chill mist had crept into her very +veins. She was lost--lost as men have been lost in the snow--to die +almost within their own door-yards. If this dread cloud would only pass, +all would be well, but she remembered, too, hopelessly enough, that she +had told no one of her venture, that no one would know where to seek +her. + +And now the sun, also, must be obscured, for the world was darkening. An +air that pierced her very marrow blew across the mountain and a drop of +rain struck her cheek. Oh, it would be wretched without shelter to face +a storm in that bleak spot. She must at least try--she must make every +effort to find the trail. She set out in what she believed to be a wide +circuit of the peak, and was suddenly rejoiced to come upon one of the +little piles of stones which she thought must be one of the cairns, +leading to the trail. But which way must she look for the next? She +strained her eyes through the milky gloom, but could distinguish nothing +beyond a few yards of granite at her feet. It did not avail her to +remain by the cairn, yet she dreaded to leave a spot which was at least +a point in the human path. She did so, at last, only to wander down into +an unmarked waste, to be brought all at once against a segment of the +scrub-oak forest and to find before her a sort of opening which she +thought might be the trail. Eagerly in the gathering gloom she examined +the face of the granite for some trace of human foot and imagined she +could make out a mark here and there as of boot nails. Then she came to +a bit of grass that seemed trampled down. Her heart leaped. Oh, this +must be the trail, after all! + +She hastened forward, half running in her eagerness. Branches slapped +and tore at her garments--long, tenuous filaments, wet and web-like, +drew across her face. Twice she fell and bruised herself cruelly. And +when she rose the second time, her heart stopped with fear, for she lay +just on the edge of a ghastly precipice--the bottom of which was lost in +mist and shadows. It had only been a false trail, after all. Weak and +trembling she made her way back to the open summit, fearing even that +she might miss this now and so be without the last hope of finding the +way, or of being found at last herself. + +Back on the solid granite once more, she made a feeble effort to find +one of the cairns, or the tripod, anything that had known the human +touch. But now into her confused senses came the recollection that many +parties climbed McIntyre, and she thought that one such might have +chosen to-day and be somewhere within call. She stood still to listen +for possible voices, but there was no sound, and the bitter air across +the summit made her shrink and tremble. Then she uttered a loud, long, +"Hoo-oo-woo-o!" a call she had learned of mountaineers as a child. She +listened breathlessly for an answer. It was no use. Yet she would call +again--at least it was an effort--a last hope. + +"Hoo-oo-woo-oo!" and again "Hoo-oo-woo-oo!" And then her very pulses +ceased, for somewhere, far away it seemed, from behind that wall of +white her ear caught an answering cry. Once more she called--this time +wildly, with every bit of power she could summon. Once more came the +answering "Hoo-oo-woo-oo!" and now it seemed much nearer. + +She started to run in the direction of the voice, stopping every few +steps to call, and to hear the reassuring reply. She was at the brushy +edge of the summit when through the mist came the words--it was a man's +voice, and it made her heart leap---- + +"Stay where you are! Don't move--I will come to you!" + +She stood still, for in that voice there was a commanding tone which she +was only too eager to obey. She called again and again, but she waited, +and all at once, right in front of her it seemed, the voice said: + +"Well, Conny, it's a good thing I found you. If you had played around +here much longer you might have got wet." + +But Constance was in no mood to take the matter lightly. + +"Frank! Oh, Frank!" she cried, and half running, half reeling forward, +she fell into his arms. + +And then for a little she gave way and sobbed on his shoulder, just as +any girl might have done who had been lost and miserable and had all at +once found the shoulder of a man she loved. Then, brokenly---- + +"Oh, Frank--how did you know I was here?" + +His arm was about her and he was holding her close. But for the rest, he +was determined to treat it lightly. + +"Well, you know," he said, "you made a good deal of noise about it, and +I thought I recognized the tones." + +"But how did you come to set out to look for me? How did you know that I +came? Oh, it was brave of you--in this awful fog and with no guide!" + +She believed, then, that he had set out purposely to search for her. He +would let her think so for the moment. + +"Why, that's nothing," he said; "a little run up the mountain is just +fun for me, and as for fogs, I've always had a weakness for fogs since a +winter in London. I didn't really know you were up here, but that might +be the natural conclusion if you weren't at home, or at the Lodge--after +what happened yesterday, of course." + +"Oh, Frank, forgive me--I was so horrid yesterday." + +"Don't mention it--I didn't give it a second thought." + +"But, Frank--" then suddenly she stopped, for her eye had caught the +basket, and the great fish dangling at his side. "Frank!" she concluded, +"where in the world did you get that enormous trout?" + +It was no use after that, so he confessed and briefly told her the +tale--how it was by accident that he had found her--how he had set out +at daybreak to find the wonderful flower. + +"And haven't you found it either?" he asked, glancing down at her +basket. + +Then, in turn, she told how she had missed the tripod just as the fog +came down and could not get near it again. + +"And oh, I have lost my luncheon, too," she exclaimed, "and you must be +starving. I must have lost it when I fell." + +"Then we'll waste no time in getting home. It's beginning to rain a +little now. We'll be pretty miserable if we stay up here any longer." + +"But the trail--how will you find it in this awful mist?" + +"Well, it should be somewhere to the west, I think, and with the +compass, you see----" + +He had been feeling in a pocket and now stared at her blankly. + +"I am afraid I have lost something, too," he exclaimed, "my compass. I +had it a little while ago and put it in the change pocket of my coat to +have it handy. I suppose the last time I fell down, it slipped out." + +He searched hastily in his other pockets, but to no purpose. + +"Never mind," he concluded, cheerfully. "All ways lead down the +mountain. If we can't find the trail we can at least go down till we +find something. If it's a brook or ravine we'll follow that till we get +somewhere. Anything is better than shivering here." + +They set out in the direction where it seemed to Frank the trail must +lie. Suddenly a tall shape loomed up before them. It was the tripod. + +"Oh!" Constance gasped, "and I hunted for it so long!" + +"Those flowers, or whatever they were, should be over here, I think," +Frank said, and Constance produced a little plan which Robin had given +her. But when in the semi-dusk they groped to the spot only some wet, +blackened pulp remained of the curious growth. The tender flower of the +peak had perhaps bloomed and perished in a day. Frank lamented this +misfortune, but Constance expressed a slighter regret. They made an +effort now to locate the cairns, but with less success. They did not +find even one, and after wandering about for a little could not find the +tripod again, either. + +"Never mind," consoled Frank, "we'll trust a little to instinct. Perhaps +it will lead us to something." In fact, they came presently to the +fringe of scrub-oak, and to what seemed an open way. But Constance shook +her head. + +"I do not think this is the beginning of the trail. I followed just such +an opening, and it led me to that dreadful cliff." + +Perhaps it was the same false lead, for presently an abyss yawned before +them. + +"I shouldn't wonder," speculated Frank, "if this isn't a part of the +cliff that I climbed. If we follow along, it may lead us to the same +place. Then we may be able to make our way over it and down to the river +and so home. It's a long way, but a sure one, if we can only find it." + +They proceeded cautiously along the brink for the light was dim and the +way uncertain. They grew warmer now, for they were away from the bitter +air of the mountain top, and in constant motion. When they had followed +the cliff for perhaps half a mile, Frank suddenly stopped. + +"What is it?" asked Constance, "is this where you climbed up?" + +Her companion only pointed over the brink. + +"Look," he said, "it is not a cliff, here, but one side of a chasm. I +can see trees on the other side." + +Sure enough, dimly through the gloom, not many feet away, appeared the +outline of timber of considerable growth, showing that they had +descended somewhat, also an increased depth of soil. It was further +evident that the canon was getting narrower, and presently they came +upon two logs, laid across it side by side, forming a sort of bridge. +Frank knelt and examined them closely. + +"Some one has used this," he said. "This may be a trail. Do you think we +can get over, Conny?" + +The girl looked at the narrow crossing and at the darkening woods +beyond. It was that period of stillness and deepening gloom which +precedes a mountain storm. Still early in the day, one might easily +believe that night was descending. Constance shuddered. She was a bit +nervous and unstrung. + +"There is something weird about it," she said. "It is like entering the +enchanted forest. Oh, I can cross well enough--it isn't that," and +stepping lightly on the little footway she walked as steadily and firmly +as did Frank, a moment later. + +"You're a brick, Conny," he said heartily. + +An opening in the bushes at the end of the little bridge revealed +itself. They entered and pushed along, for the way led downward. The +darkness grew momentarily. Rain was beginning to fall. Yet they hurried +on, single file, Frank leading and parting the vines and limbs to make +the way easier for his companion. They came presently to a little open +space, where suddenly he halted. + +"There's a light," he said, "it must be a camp." + +But Constance clung to his arm. It was now quite dark where they stood, +and there came a low roll of thunder overhead. + +"Oh, suppose it is something dreadful!" she whispered--"a robbers' den, +or moonshiners. I've heard of such things." + +"It's more likely to be a witch," said Frank, "or an ogre, but I think +we must risk it." + +The rain came faster and they hurried forward now and presently stood at +the door of a habitation, though even in the mist and gloom it impressed +them as being of a curious sort. There was a window and a light, +certainly, but the window held no sash, and the single opening was +covered with a sort of skin, or parchment. There was a door, too, and +walls, but beyond this the structure seemed as a part of the forest +itself, with growing trees forming the door and corner posts, while +others rose apparently from the roof. Further outlines of this unusual +structure were lost in the dimness. Under the low, sheltering eaves they +hesitated. + +"Shall we knock?" whispered Constance. "It is all so queer--so uncanny. +I feel as if it might be the home of a real witch or magician, or +something like that." + +"Then we may at least learn our fate," Frank answered, and with his +knuckles struck three raps on the heavy door. + +At first there was silence, then a sound of movement within, followed by +a shuffling step. A moment later the heavy door swung ajar, and in the +dim light from within Frank and Constance beheld a tall bowed figure +standing in the opening. In a single brief glance they saw that it was a +man--also that his appearance, like that of his house, was unusual. He +was dressed entirely in skins. His beard was upon his breast, and his +straggling hair fell about his shoulders. He stood wordless, silently +regarding the strangers, and Frank at first was at a loss for utterance. +Then he said, hesitatingly: + +"We missed our way on the mountain. We want shelter from the storm and +directions to the trail that leads to Spruce Lodge." + +Still the tall bent figure in the doorway made no movement and uttered +no word. They could not see his face, but Constance felt that his eyes +were fixed upon her, and she clung closer to Frank's arm. Yet when the +strange householder spoke at last there was nothing to cause fear, +either in his words or tone. His voice was gentle--not much above a +whisper. + +"I crave your pardon if I seem slow of hospitality," he said, quaintly, +"but a visitor seldom comes to my door. Only one other has ever found +his way here, and he comes not often." He pushed the rude door wider on +its creaking withe hinges. "I bid you welcome," he added, then, as +Constance came more fully into the light shed by a burning pine knot and +an open fire, he stopped, stared at her still more fixedly and muttered +something under his breath. But a moment later he said gently, his voice +barely more than a whisper: "I pray you will pardon my staring, but in +that light just now you recalled some one--a woman it was--I used to +know. Besides, I have not been face to face with any woman for nearly a +score of years." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A SHELTER IN THE FOREST + + +Certainly the house of the hermit, for such he undoubtedly was, proved a +remarkable place. There was no regular form to the room in which Frank +and Constance found themselves, nor could they judge as to its size. Its +outlines blended into vague shadows, evidently conforming to the +position of the growing trees which constituted its supports. The walls +were composed of logs of varying lengths, adjusted to the spaces between +the trees, intermingled with stones and smaller branches, the whole +cemented or mud-plastered together in a concrete mass. At the corner of +the fireplace, and used as one end of it, was a larger flat stone, which +became not only a part of the wall but served as a wide shelf or table +within, and this, covered with skins, supported a large wooden bowl of +nuts, a stone hammer somewhat resembling a tomahawk, a few well-worn +books, also a field glass in a leather case, such as tourists use. On a +heavy rustic mantel were numerous bits and tokens of the forest, and +suspended above it, on wooden hooks, was a handsome rifle. On the +hearth below was a welcome blaze, with a heavy wooden settle, wide of +seat, upon which skins were thrown, drawn up comfortably before the +fire. The other furniture in the room consisted of a high-backed +armchair, a wooden table, and what might have been a bench, outlined in +the dimness of a far corner where the ceiling seemed to descend almost +to the ground, and did, in fact, join the top of a low mound which +formed the wall on that side. But what seemed most remarkable in this +singular dwelling-place were the living trees which here and there like +columns supported the roof. The heavy riven shingles and a thatching of +twisted grass had been fitted closely about them above, and the hewn or +puncheon floor was carefully joined around them below. Lower limbs had +been converted into convenient hooks, while attached here and there near +the ceiling were several rustic, nest-like receptacles, showing a fringe +of grass and leaves. As Frank and Constance entered this strange shelter +there had been a light scurrying of shadowy forms, a whisking into these +safe retreats, and now, as the strangers stood in the cheerful glow of +the fire and the sputtering pine-knot, they were regarded not only by +the hermit, but by a score or more of other half-curious, half-timid +eyes that shone bright out of the vague dimness behind. The ghostly +scampering, the shadowy flitting, and a small, subdued chatter from the +dusk enhanced in the minds of the visitors a certain weird impression of +the place and constrained their speech. There was no sensation of fear. +It was only a vague uneasiness, or rather that they felt themselves +harsh and unwarranted intruders upon a habitation and a life in which +they had no part. Their host broke the silence. + +"You must needs pardon the demeanor of my little friends," he said. +"They are unaccustomed to strangers." He indicated the settle, and +added: "Be seated. You are weary, without doubt, and your clothes seem +damp." Then he noticed the basket and the large fish at Frank's belt. "A +fine trout," he said; "I have not seen so large a one for years." + +Frank nodded with an anxious interest. + +"Would you like it?" he asked. "I have a basketful besides, and would it +be possible--could we, I mean, manage to cook a few of them? I am very +hungry, and I am sure my companion, Miss Deane, would like a bite +also." + +Constance had dropped down on the settle, and was leaning toward the +fire--her hands outspread before it. + +"I am famished," she confessed, and added, "oh, and will you let me cook +the fish? I can do it quite well." + +The hermit did not immediately reply to the question. + +"Miss Deane," he mused; "that is your name, then?" + +"Yes, Constance Deane, and this is Mr. Frank Weatherby. We have been +lost on the mountain all day without food. We shall be so thankful if +you will let us prepare something, and will then put us on the trail +that leads to Spruce Lodge." + +The hermit stirred the fire to a brighter blaze and laid on a fresh +piece of wood. + +"That will I do right gladly," he said, "if you will accept my humble +ways. Let me take the basket; I will set about the matter." + +Gladly enough Frank unloosed his burden, and surrendered the big trout +and the basket to his host. As the latter turned away from the fire a +dozen little forms frisked out of the shadows behind and ran over him +lightly, climbing to his shoulders, into his pockets, clinging on to +his curious dress wherever possible--chattering, and still regarding +the strange intruders with bright, inquisitive eyes. They were tiny red +squirrels, it seemed, and their home was here in this nondescript +dwelling with this eccentric man. Suddenly the hermit spoke to them--an +unknown word with queer intonation. In an instant the little bevy of +chatterers leaped away from him, scampering back to their retreats. +Frank, who stood watching, saw a number of them go racing to a tree of +goodly size and disappear into a hole near the floor. + +The hermit turned, smiling a little, and the firelight fell on his face. +For the first time Frank noticed the refinement and delicacy of the +meager features. The hermit said: + +"That is their outlet. The tree is hollow, and there is another opening +above the roof. In winter the birds use it, too." + +He disappeared now into what seemed to be another apartment, shutting a +door behind. Frank dropped down on the settle by Constance, thoroughly +tired, stretched out his legs, and gave himself up to the comfort of the +warm glow. + +"Isn't it all wonderful?" murmured Constance. "It is just a dream, of +course. We are not really here, and I shall wake up presently. I had +just such fancies when I was a child. Perhaps I am still wandering in +that awful mist, and this is the delirium. Oh, are you sure we are +really here?" + +"Quite sure," said Frank. "And it seems just a matter of course to me. I +have known all along that this wood was full of mysteries--enchantments, +and hermits, and the like. Probably there are many such things if we +knew where to look for them." + +The girl's voice dropped still lower. + +"How quaintly he talks. It is as if he had stepped out of some old +book." + +Frank nodded toward the stone shelf by the fire. + +"He lives chiefly in books, I fancy, having had but one other visitor." + +The young man lifted one of the worn volumes and held it to the light. +It was a copy of Shakespeare's works--a thick book, being a complete +edition of the plays. He laid it back tenderly. + +"He dwells with the men and women of the master," he said, softly. + +There followed a little period of silence, during which they drank in +the cheer and comfort of the blazing hearth. Outside, the thunder +rolled heavily now and then, and the rain beat against the door. What +did it matter? They were safe and sheltered, and together. Constance +asked presently: "What time is it?" And, looking at his watch, Frank +replied: + +"A little after three. An hour ago we were wandering up there in the +mist. It seems a year since then, and a lifetime since I took that big +trout." + +"It is ages since I started this morning," mused Constance. "Yet we +divide each day into the same measurements, and by the clock it is only +a little more than six hours." + +"It is nine since I left the Lodge," reflected Frank, "after a very +light and informal breakfast at the kitchen door. Yes, I am willing to +confess that such time should not be measured in the ordinary way." + +There was a sharper crash of thunder and a heavier gust of rain. Then a +fierce downpour that came to them in a steady, muffled roar. + +"When shall we get home?" Constance asked, anxiously. + +"We won't worry, now. Likely this is only a shower. It will not take +long to get down the mountain, once we're in the trail, and it's light, +you know, until seven." + +The door behind was pushed open and the hermit re-entered. He bore a +flat stone and a wooden bowl, and knelt down with them before the fire. +The glowing embers he heaped together and with the aid of a large pebble +set the flat stone at an angle before them. Then from the wooden bowl he +emptied a thick paste of coarse meal upon the baking stone, and smoothed +it with a wooden paddle. + +Rising he said: + +"I fear my rude ways will not appetize you, but I can only offer you +what cheer I have." + +The aroma of the cooking meal began to fill the room. + +"Please don't apologize," pleaded Constance. "My only hope is that I can +restrain myself until the food is ready." + +"I'll ask you to watch the bread for a moment," the hermit said, turning +the stone a little. + +"And if I let it burn you may punish me as the goodwife did King +Alfred," answered Constance. Then a glow came into her cheeks that was +not all of the fire, for the man's eyes--they were deep, burning +eyes--were fixed upon her, and he seemed to hang on her every word. Yet +he smiled without replying, and again disappeared. + +"Conny," admonished Frank, "if you let anything happen to that cake I'll +eat the stone." + +So they watched the pone carefully, turning it now and then, though the +embers glowed very hot and a certain skill was necessary. + +The hermit returned presently with a number of the trout dressed, and +these were in a frying-pan that had a long wooden handle, which +Constance and Frank held between them, while their host installed two +large potatoes in the hot ashes. Then he went away for a little and +placed some things on the table in the middle of the room, returning now +and then to superintend matters. And presently the fish and the cakes +and the potatoes were ready, and the ravenous wanderers did not wait to +be invited twice to partake of them. The thunder still rolled at +intervals and the rain still beat at the door, but they did not heed. +Within, the cheer, if not luxurious, was plenteous and grateful. The +table furnishings were rude and chiefly of home make. But the guests +were young, strong of health and appetite, and no king's table could +have supplied goodlier food. Oh, never were there such trout as those, +never such baked potatoes, nor never such hot, delicious hoecake. And +beside each plate stood a bowl of fruit--berries--delicious fresh +raspberries of the hills. + +Presently their host poured a steaming liquid into each of the empty +cups by their plates. + +"Perhaps you will not relish my tea," he said, "but it is soothing and +not harmful. It is drawn from certain roots and herbs I have gathered, +and it is not ill-tasting. Here is sweet, also; made from the maple +tree." + +An aromatic odor arose from the cups, and, when Constance tasted the +beverage and added a lump of the sugar, she declared the result +delicious--a decision in which Frank willingly concurred. + +The host himself did not join the feast, and presently fell to cooking +another pan of trout. It was a marvel how they disappeared. Even the +squirrels came out of their hiding places to witness this wonderful +feasting, a few bolder ones leaping upon the table, as was their wont, +to help themselves from a large bowl of cracked nuts. And all this +delighted the visitors. Everything was so extraordinary, so simple and +near to nature, so savoring of the romance of the old days. This wide, +rambling room with its recesses lost in the shadows; the low, dim roof +supported by its living columns; the glowing fireplace and the blazing +knot; the wild pelts scattered here and there, and the curious skin-clad +figure in the firelight--certainly these were things to stir +delightfully the heart of youth, to set curious fancies flitting through +the brain. + +"Oh," murmured Constance, "I wish we might stay in a place like this +forever!" Then, reddening, added hastily, "I mean--I mean----" + +"Yes," agreed Frank, "I mean that, too--and I wish just the same. We +could have fish every day, and such hoecake, and this nice tea, and I +would pick berries like these, and you could gather mushrooms. And we +would have squirrels to amuse us, and you would read to me, and perhaps +I should write poems of the hills and the storms and the haunted woods, +and we could live so close to nature and drink so deeply of its ever +renewing youth that old age could not find us, and we should live on and +on and be always happy--happy ever after." + +The girl's hand lay upon the table, and when his heavier palm closed +over it she did not draw it away. + +"I can almost love you when you are like this," she whispered. + +"And if I am always like this----?" + +They spoke very low, and the hermit sat in the high-back chair, bowed +and staring into the blaze. Yet perhaps something of what they said +drifted to his ear--perhaps it was only old and troubling memories +stirring within him that caused him to rise and walk back and forth +before the fire. + +His guests had finished now, and they came back presently to the big, +deep settle, happy in the comfort of plenteous food, the warmth and the +cosy seat, and the wild unconvention of it all. The beat of the rain did +not trouble them. Secretly they were glad of any excuse for remaining by +the hermit's hearth. + +Their host did not appear to notice them at first, but paced a turn up +and down, then seated himself in the high-backed chair and gazed into +the embers. A bevy of the little squirrels crept up and scaled his knees +and shoulders, but with that curious note of warning he sent them +scampering. The pine knot sputtered low and he tossed it among the +coals, where it renewed its blaze. For a time there was silence, with +only the rain sobbing at the door. Then by and by--very, very softly, +as one who muses aloud--he spoke: "I, too, have had my dreams--dreams +which were ever of happiness for me--and for another; happiness that +would not end, yet which was to have no more than its rare beginning. + +"That was a long time ago--as many as thirty years, maybe. I have kept +but a poor account of time, for what did it matter here?" + +He turned a little to Constance. + +"Your face and voice, young lady, bring it all back now, and stir me to +speak of it again--the things of which I have spoken to no one +before--not even to Robin." + +"To Robin!" The words came involuntarily from Constance. + +"Yes, Robin Farnham, now of the Lodge. He found his way here once, just +as you did. It was in his early days on the mountains, and he came to me +out of a white mist, just as you came, and I knew him for her son." + +Constance started, but the words on her lips were not uttered. + +"I knew him for her son," the hermit continued, "even before he told me +his name, for he was her very picture, and his voice--the voice of a +boy--was her voice. He brought her back to me--he made her live +again--here, in this isolated spot, even as she had lived in my +dreams--even as a look in your face and a tone in your voice have made +her live for me again to-day." + +There was something in the intensity of the man's low speech, almost +more than in what he said, to make the listener hang upon his words. +Frank, who had drawn near Constance, felt that she was trembling, and he +laid his hand firmly over hers, where it rested on the seat beside him. + +"Yet I never told him," the voice went on, "I never told Robin that I +knew him--I never spoke his mother's name. For I had a fear that it +might sadden him--that the story might send him away from me. And I +could have told nothing unless I told it all, and there was no need. So +I spoke to him no word of her, and I pledged him to speak to no one of +me. For if men knew, the curious would come and I would never have my +life the same again. So I made him promise, and after that first time he +came as he chose. And when he is here she who was a part of my happy +dream lives again in him. And to you I may speak of her, for to you it +does not matter, and it is in my heart now, when my days are not many, +to recall old dreams." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE HERMIT'S STORY + + +The hermit paused and gazed into the bed of coals on the hearth. His +listeners waited without speaking. Constance did not move--scarcely did +she breathe. + +"As I said, it may have been thirty years ago," the gentle voice +continued. "It may have been more than that--I do not know. It was on +the Sound shore, in one of the pretty villages there--it does not matter +which. + +"I lived with my uncle in the adjoining village. Both my parents were +dead--he was my guardian. In the winter, when the snow fell, there was +merry-making between these villages. We drove back and forth in sleighs, +and there were nights along the Sound when the moon path followed on the +water and the snow, and all the hills were white, and the bells jingled, +and hearts were gay and young. + +"It was on such a night that I met her who was to become Robin's mother. +The gathering was in our village that night, and, being very young, she +had come as one of a merry sleighful. Half way to our village their +sleigh had broken down, and the merry makers had gayly walked the +remainder, trusting to our hospitality to return them to their homes. I +was one of those to welcome them and to promise conveyance, and so it +was that I met her, and from that moment there was nothing in all the +world for me but her." + +The hermit lifted his eyes from the fire and looked at Constance. + +"My girl," he said, "there are turns of your face and tones of your +voice that carry me back to that night. But Robin, when he first came +here to my door, a stripling, he was her very self. + +"I recall nothing of that first meeting but her. I saw nothing but her. +I think we danced--we may have played games--it did not matter. There +was nothing for me but her face. When it was over, I took her in my +cutter and we drove together across the snow--along the moonlit shore. I +do not remember what we said, but I think it was very little. There was +no need. When I parted from her that night the heritage of eternity was +ours--the law that binds the universe was our law, and the morning stars +sang together as I drove homeward across the hills. + +"That winter and no more holds my happiness. Yet if all eternity holds +no more for me than that, still have I been blest as few have been +blest, and if I have paid the price and still must pay, then will I pay +with gladness, feeling only that the price of heaven is still too small, +and eternity not too long for my gratitude." + +The hermit's voice had fallen quite to a whisper, and he was as one who +muses aloud upon a scene rehearsed times innumerable. Yet in the +stillness of that dim room every syllable was distinct, and his +listeners waited, breathless, at each pause for him to continue. Into +Frank's eyes had come the far-away look of one who follows in fancy an +old tale, but the eyes of Constance shone with an eager light and her +face was tense and white against the darkness. + +"It was only that winter. When the spring came and the wild apple was in +bloom, and my veins were all a-tingle with new joy, I went one day to +tell her father of our love. Oh, I was not afraid. I have read of +trembling lovers and halting words. For me the moments wore laggingly +until he came, and then I overflowed like any other brook that breaks +its dam in spring. + +"And he--he listened, saying not a single word; but as I talked his +eyes fell, and I saw tears gather under his lids. Then at last they +rolled down his cheeks and he bowed his head and wept. And then I did +not speak further, but waited, while a dread that was cold like death +grew slow upon me. When he lifted his head he came and sat by me and +took my hand. 'My boy,' he said, 'your father was my friend. I held his +hand when he died, and a year later I followed your mother to her grave. +You were then a little blue-eyed fellow, and my heart was wrung for you. +It was not that you lacked friends, or means, for there were enough of +both. But, oh, my boy, there was another heritage! Have they not told +you? Have you never learned that both your parents were stricken in +their youth by that scourge of this coast--that fever which sets a +foolish glow upon the cheek while it lays waste the life below and fills +the land with early graves? Oh, my lad! you do not want my little +girl.'" + +The hermit's voice died, and he seemed almost to forget his listeners. +But all at once he fixed his eyes on Constance as if he would burn her +through. + +"Child," he said, "as you look now, so she looked in the moment of our +parting. Her eyes were like yours, and her face, God help me! as I saw +it through the dark that last night, was as your face is now. Then I +went away. I do not remember all the places, but they were in many +lands, and were such places as men seek who carry my curse. I never +wrote--I never saw her, face to face, again. + +"When I returned her father was dead, and she was married--to a good +man, they told me--and there was a child that bore my name, Robin, for I +had been called Robin Gray. And then there came a time when a stress was +upon the land--when fortunes tottered and men walked the streets with +unseeing eyes--when his wealth and then hers vanished like smoke in the +wind--when my own patrimony became but worthless paper--a mockery of +scrolled engravings and gaudy seals. To me it did not matter--nothing +matters to one doomed. To them it was shipwreck. John Farnham, a +high-strung, impetuous man, was struck down. The tension of those weeks, +and the final blow, broke his spirit and undermined his strength. They +had only a pittance and a little cottage in these mountains, which they +had used as a camp for summer time. It stood then where it stands +to-day, on the North Elba road, in view of this mountain top. There +they came in the hope that Robin's father might regain health to renew +the fight. There they remained, for the father had lost courage and only +found a little health by tilling the few acres of ground about the +cottage. There, that year, a second child--a little girl--was born." + +It had grown very still in the hermitage. There was only a drip of the +rain outside--the thunder had rolled away. The voice, too, ceased for a +little, as if from weariness. The others made no sign, but it seemed to +Frank that the hand locked closely in his had become quite cold. + +"The word of those things drifted to me," so the tale went on, "and it +made me sad that with my own depleted fortune and failing health I could +do nothing for their comfort or relief. But one day my physician said to +me that the air and the altitude of these mountains had been found +beneficial for those stricken like me. He could not know how his words +made my heart beat. Now, indeed, there was a reason for my coming--an +excuse for being near her--with a chance of seeing her, it might be, +though without her knowledge. For I decided that she must not know. +Already she had enough burden without the thought that I was +near--without the sight of my doleful, wasting features. + +"So I sold the few belongings that were still mine--such things as I had +gathered in my wanderings--my books, save those I loved most dearly--my +furnishings, my ornaments, even to my apparel--and with the money I +bought the necessaries of mountain life--implements, rough wear and a +store of food. These, with a tent, my gun, the few remaining volumes, +and my field glass--the companion of all my travels--I brought to the +hills." + +He pointed to the glass and the volumes lying on the stone at his hand. + +"Those have been my life," he went on. "The books have brought me a +world wherein there was ever a goodly company, suited to my mood. For +me, in that world, there are no disappointments nor unfulfilled dreams. +King, lover, courtier and clown--how often at my bidding have they +trooped out of the shadows to gather with me about this hearth! Oh, I +should have been poor indeed without the books! Yet the glass has been +to me even more, for it brought me her. + +"I have already told you that their cottage could be seen from this +mountain top. I learned this when I came stealthily to the hills and +sought out their home, and some spot amid the overhanging peaks where I +might pitch my camp and there unseen look down upon her life. This is +the place I found. I had my traps borne up the trail to the foot of the +little fall, as if I would camp there. Then when the guides were gone I +carried them here, and reared my small establishment, away from the +track of hunters, on this high finger of rock which commanded the valley +and her home. There is a spring here and a bit of fertile land. It was +State land and free, and I pitched my tent here, and that summer I +cleared an open space for tillage and built a hut for the winter. The +sturdy labor and the air of the hills strengthened my arm and renewed my +life. But there was more than that. For often there came a clear day, +when the air was like crystal and other peaks drew so near that it +seemed one might reach out and stroke them with his hand. On such a day, +with my glass, I sought a near-by point where the mountain's elbow +jutted out into the sky, and when from that high vantage I gazed down on +the roof which covered her, my soul was filled with strength to tarry +on. For distance became as nothing to my magic glass. Three miles it +may be as the crow flies, but I could bring the tiny cottage and the +door-yard, as it stood there at the turn of the road above the little +hill, so close to me that it seemed to lie almost at my very feet." + +Again the speaker rested for a moment, but presently the tale went on. + +"You can never know what I felt when I first saw _her_. I had watched +for her often, and I think she had been ill. I had seen him come and go, +and sometimes I had seen a child--Robin it was--playing about the yard. +But one day when I had gone to my point of lookout and had directed my +glass--there, just before me, she stood. There she lived and moved--she +who had been, who was still my life--who had filled my being with a love +that made me surrender her to another, yet had lured me at last to this +lonely spot, forever away from men, only that I might now and again gaze +down across the tree tops, and all unseen, unknown to her, make her the +companion of my hermit life. + +"She walked slowly and the child walked with her, holding her hand. When +presently she looked toward me, I started and shrank, forgetting for the +moment that she could not see me. Not that I could distinguish her +features at such a range, only her dear outline, but in my mind's eyes +her face was there before me just as I had seen it that last time--just +as I have seen yours in the firelight." + +He turned to Constance, whose features had become blurred in the +shadows. Frank felt her tremble and caught the sound of a repressed sob. +He knew the tears were streaming down her cheeks, and his own eyes were +not dry. + +"After that I saw her often, and sometimes the infant, Robin's sister, +was in her arms. When the autumn came, and the hills were glorified, and +crowned with snow, she stood many times in the door-yard to behold their +wonder. When at last the leaves fell, and the trees were bare, I could +watch even from the door of my little hut. The winter was long--the +winter is always long up here--from November almost till May--but it did +not seem long to me, when she was brought there to my door, even though +I might not speak to her. + +"And so I lived my life with her. The life in that cottage became my +life--day by day, week by week, year by year--and she never knew. After +that first summer I never but once left the mountain top. All my wants +I supplied here. There was much game of every sort, and the fish near by +were plentiful. I had a store of meal for the first winter, and during +the next summer I cultivated my bit of cleared ground, and produced my +full need of grain and vegetables and condiments. One trip I made to a +distant village for seeds, and from that day never left the mountain +again. + +"It was during the fifth winter, I think, after I came here, that a +group of neighbors gathered in the door-yard of the cottage, and my +heart stood still, for I feared that she was dead. The air dazzled that +day, but when near evening I saw a woman with a hand to each child +re-enter the little house I knew that she still lived--and had been left +alone. + +"Oh, then my heart went out to her! Day and night I battled with the +impulse to go to her, with love and such comfort and protection as I +could give. Time and again I rose and made ready for the journey to her +door. Then, oh, then I would remember that I had nothing to offer +her--nothing but my love. Penniless, and a dying man, likely to become a +helpless burden at any time, what could I bring to her but added grief. +And perhaps in her unconscious heart she knew. For more than once that +winter, when the trees were stripped and the snow was on the hills, I +saw her gaze long and long toward this mountain, as if she saw the speck +my cabin made, and once when I stretched my arms out to her across the +waste of deadly cold, I saw a moment later that her arms, too, were +out-stretched, as if somehow she knew that I was there." + +A low moan interrupted the tale. It was from Constance. + +"Don't, oh, don't," she sobbed. "You break my heart!" But a moment later +she added, brokenly, "Yes, yes--tell me the rest. Tell me all. Oh, she +was so lonely! Why did you never go to her?" + +"I would have gone then. I went mad and cried out, 'My wife! my wife! I +want my wife!' And I would have rushed down into the drifts of the +mountain, but in that moment the curse of my heritage fell heavily upon +me and left me powerless." + +The hermit's voice had risen--it trembled and died away with the final +words. In the light of the fading embers only his outline could be +seen--wandering into the dusk and silence. When he spoke again his tone +was low and even. + +"And so the years went by. I saw the sturdy lad toil with his mother for +a while, and then alone, and I knew by her slow step that the world was +slipping from her grasp. I did not see the end. I might have gone, then, +but it came at a time when the gloom hung on the mountains and I did not +know. When the air cleared and for days I saw no life, I knew that the +little house was empty--that she had followed him to rest. They two, +whose birthright had been health and length of days, both were gone, +while I, who from the cradle had made death my bed-fellow, still +lingered and still linger through the years. + +"I put the magic glass aside after that for my books. Nothing was left +me but my daily round, with them for company. Yet from a single volume I +have peopled all the woods about, and every corner of my habitation. +Through this forest of Arden I have walked with Orlando, and with him +hung madrigals on the trees, half believing that Rosalind might find +them. With Nick the Weaver on a moonlit bank I have waited for Titania +and Puck and all that lightsome crew. On the wild mountain top I have +met Lear, wandering with only a fool for company, and I have led them in +from the storm and warmed them at this hearthstone. In that recess Romeo +has died with Juliet in the Capulets' tomb. With me at that table Jack +Falstaff and Prince Hal have crossed their wit and played each the role +of king. Yonder, beneath the dim eaves, in the moment just before you +came, Macbeth had murdered Duncan, and I saw him cravenly vanish at the +sound of your fearsome knocking. + +"But what should all this be to you? It is but my shadow world--the only +world I had until one day, out of the mist as you have come, so Robin +came to me--her very self, it seemed--from heaven. At first it lay in my +heart to tell him. But the fear of losing him held me back, as I have +said. And of himself he told me as little. Rarely he referred to the +past. Only once, when I spoke of kindred, he said that he was an orphan, +with only a sister, who had found a home with kind people in a distant +land. And with this I was content, for I had wondered much concerning +the little girl." + +The voice died away. The fire had become ashes on the hearth. The drip +of the rain had ceased--light found its way through the +parchment-covered window. The storm had passed. The hermit's story was +ended. + +Neither Constance nor Frank found words, and for a time their host +seemed to have forgotten their presence. Then, arousing, he said: + +"You will wish to be going now. I have detained you too long with my sad +tale. But I have always hungered to pour it into some human ear before I +died. Being young, you will quickly forget and be merry again, and it +has lifted a heaviness from my spirit. I think we shall find the sun on +the hills once more, and I will direct you to the trail. But perhaps you +will wish to pause a moment to see something of my means of providing +for life in this retreat. I will ask of you, as I did of Robin, to say +nothing of my existence here to the people of the world. Yet you may +convey to Robin that you have been here--saying no more than that. And +you may say that I would see him when next he builds his campfire not +far away, for my heart of hearts grows hungry for his face." + +Rising, he led them to the adjoining room. + +"This was my first hut," he said. "It is now my storehouse, where, like +the squirrels, I gather for the winter. I hoard my grain here, and +there is a pit below where I keep my other stores from freezing. There +in the corner is my mill--the wooden mortar and pestle of our +forefathers--and here you see I have provided for my water supply from +the spring. Furs have renewed my clothing, and I have never wanted for +sustenance--chiefly nuts, fruits and vegetables. I no longer kill the +animals, but have made them my intimate friends. The mountains have +furnished me with everything--companions, shelter, clothing and food, +savors--even salt, for just above a deer lick I found a small trickle +from which I have evaporated my supply. Year by year I have added to my +house--making it, as you have seen, a part of the forest itself--that it +might be less discoverable; though chiefly because I loved to build +somewhat as the wild creatures build, to know the intimate companionship +of the living trees, and to be with the birds and squirrels as one of +their household." + +They passed out into the open air, and to a little plot of cultivated +ground shut in by the thick forest. It was an orderly garden, with +well-kept paths, and walks of old-fashioned posies. + +Bright and fresh after the summer rain, it was like a gay jewel, set +there on the high mountain side, close to the bending sky. + +It was near sunset, and a chorus of birds were shouting in the tree +tops. Coming from the dim cabin, with its faded fire and its story of +human sorrow, into this bright living place, was stepping from +enchantment of the play into the daylight of reality. Frank praised the +various wonders in a subdued voice, while Constance found it difficult +to speak at all. Presently, when they were ready to go, the hermit +brought the basket and the large trout. + +"You must take so fine a prize home," he said. "I do not care for it." +Then he looked steadily at Constance and added: "The likeness to her I +loved eludes me by daylight. It must have been a part of my shadows and +my dreams." + +Constance lifted her eyes tremblingly to the thin, fine, weather-beaten +face before her. In spite of the ravage of years and illness she saw, +beneath it all, the youth of long ago, and she realized what he had +suffered. + +"I thank you for what you have told us to-day," she said, almost +inaudibly. "It shall be--it is--very sacred to me." + +"And to me," echoed Frank, holding out his hand. + +He led them down the steep hillside by a hidden way to the point where +the trail crossed the upper brook, just below the fall. + +"I have sometimes lain concealed here," he said, "and heard mountain +climbers go by. Perhaps I caught a glimpse of them. I suppose it is the +natural hunger one has now and then for his own kind." A moment later he +had grasped their hands, bidden them a fervent godspeed, and disappeared +into the bushes. The sun was already dipping behind the mountain tops +and they did not linger, but rapidly and almost in silence made their +way down the mountain. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +DURING THE ABSENCE OF CONSTANCE + + +Yet the adventure on the mountain was not without its ill effects. It +happened that day that Mr. and Mrs. Deane had taken one of their rare +walks over to Spruce Lodge. They had arrived early after luncheon, and +learning that Frank and Constance had not been seen there during the +morning, Mrs. Deane had immediately assured herself that dire misfortune +had befallen the absent ones. + +The possibility of their having missed their way was the most temperate +of her conclusions. She had visions of them lying maimed and dying at +the foot of some fearful precipice; she pictured them being assailed by +wild beasts; she imagined them tasting of some strange mushroom and +instantly falling dead as a result. Fortunately, the guide who had seen +Frank set out alone was absent. Had the good lady realized that +Constance might be alone in a forest growing dark with a coming storm, +her condition might have become even more serious. + +As it was, the storm came down and held the Deanes at the Lodge for the +afternoon, during which period Mr. Deane, who was not seriously +disturbed by the absence of the young people, endeavored to convince his +wife that it was more than likely they had gone directly to the camp and +would be there when the storm was over. + +The nervous mother was far from reassured, and was for setting out +immediately through the rain to see. It became a trying afternoon for +her comforters, and the lugubrious croaking of the small woman in black +and the unflagging optimism of Miss Carroway, as the two wandered from +group to group throughout the premises, gave the episode a general +importance of which it was just as well that the wanderers did not know. + +Yet the storm proved an obliging one to Frank and Constance, for the sun +was on the mountain long before the rain had ceased below, and as they +made straight for the Deane camp they arrived almost as soon as Mrs. +Deane herself, who, bundled in waterproofs and supported by her husband +and an obliging mountain climber, had insisted on setting out the moment +the rain ceased. + +It was a cruel blow not to find the missing ones at the moment of +arrival, and even their prompt appearance, in full health and with no +tale of misfortune, but only the big trout and a carefully prepared +story of being confused in the fog but safely sheltered in the forest, +did not fully restore her. She was really ill next day, and carried +Constance off for a week to Lake Placid, where she could have medical +attention close at hand and keep her daughter always in sight. + +It began by being a lonely week for Frank, for he had been commanded by +Constance not to come to Lake Placid, and to content himself with +sending occasional brief letters--little more than news bulletins, in +fact. Yet presently he became less forlorn. He went about with a +preoccupied look that discouraged the attentions of Miss Carroway. For +the most part he spent his mornings at the Lodge, in his room. +Immediately after luncheon he usually went for an extended walk in the +forest, sometimes bringing up at the Deane camp, where perhaps he dined +with Mr. Deane, a congenial spirit, and remained for a game of cribbage, +the elder man's favorite diversion. Once Frank set out to visit the +hermitage, but thought better of his purpose, deciding that Constance +might wish to accompany him there on her return. One afternoon he spent +following a trout brook and returned with a fine creel of fish, though +none so large as the monster of that first day. + +Robin Farnham was absent almost continuously during this period, and +Edith Morrison Frank seldom saw, for the last weeks in August brought +the height of the season, and the girl's duties were many and +imperative. There came no opportunity for the talk he had meant to have +with her, and as she appeared always pleasant of manner, only a little +thoughtful--and this seemed natural with her responsibilities--he +believed that, like himself, she had arrived at a happier frame of mind. + +And certainly the young man was changed. There was a new light in his +eyes, and it somehow spoke a renewed purpose in his heart. Even his step +and carriage were different. When he went swinging through the forest +alone it was with his head thrown back, and sometimes with his arms +outspread he whistled and sang to the marvelous greenery above and about +him. And he could sing. Perhaps his was not a voice that would win fame +or fortune for its possessor, but there was in it a note of ecstasy +which answered back to the call of the birds, to the shout or moan of +the wind, to every note of the forest--that was, in fact, a tone in the +deep chord of nature, a lilt in the harmony of the universe. + +He forgot that his soul had ever been asleep. A sort of child frenzy for +the mountains, such as Constance had echoed to him that wild day in +March, grew upon him and possessed him, and he did not pause to remember +that it ever had been otherwise. When the storm came down from the +peaks, he strode out into it, and shouted his joy in its companionship, +and raced with the wind, and threw himself face down in the wet leaves +to smell the ground. And was it no more than the happiness of a lover +who believes himself beloved that had wrought this change, or was there +in this renewal of the mad joy of living the reopening and the flow of +some deep and half-forgotten spring? + +From that day on the mountain he had not been the same. That morning +with its new resolve; the following of the brook which had led him back +to boyhood; the capture of the great trout; the battle with the mountain +and the mist; the meeting with Constance at the top; the hermit's cabin +with its story of self-denial and abnegation--its life so close to the +very heart of nature, so far from idle pleasure and luxury--with that +eventful day had come the change. + +In his letters to Constance, Frank did not speak of these things. He +wrote of his walks, it is true, and he told her of his day's +fishing--also of his visits to her father at the camp--but of any change +or regeneration in himself, any renewal of old dreams and effort, he +spoke not at all. + +The week lengthened before Constance returned, though it was clear from +her letters that she was disinclined to linger at a big conventional +hotel, when so much of the summer was slipping away in her beloved +forest. From day to day they had expected to leave, she wrote, but as +Mrs. Deane had persuaded herself that the Lake Placid practitioner had +acquired some new and subtle understanding of nerve disorders, they were +loath to hurry. The young lady ventured a suggestion that Mr. Weatherby +was taking vast comfort in his freedom from the duties and +responsibilities of accompanying a mushroom enthusiast in her daily +rambles, especially a very exacting young person, with a predilection +for trying new kinds upon him, and for seeking strange and semi-mythical +specimens, peculiar to hazy and lofty altitudes. + +"I am really afraid I shall have to restrain my enthusiasm," she wrote +in one of these letters. "I am almost certain that Mamma's improvement +and desire to linger here are largely due to her conviction that so long +as I am here you are safe from the baleful Amanita, not to mention +myself. Besides, it is a little risky, sometimes, and one has to know a +very great deal to be certain. I have had a lot of time to study the +book here, and have attended a few lectures on the subject. Among other +things I have learned that certain Amanitas are not poison, even when +they have the cup. One in particular that I thought deadly is not only +harmless, but a delicacy which the Romans called 'Caesar's mushroom,' and +of which one old epicure wrote, 'Keep your corn, O Libya--unyoke your +oxen, provided only you send us mushrooms.'" She went on to set down the +technical description from the text-book and a simple rule for +distinguishing the varieties, adding, "I don't suppose you will gather +any before my return--you would hardly risk such a thing without my +superior counsel--but should you do so, keep the rule in mind. It is +taken word for word from the book, so if anything happens to you while I +am gone, either you or the book will be to blame--not I. When I come +back--if I ever do--I mean to try at least a sample of that epicurean +delight, which one old authority called 'food of the gods,' provided I +can find any of them growing outside of that gruesome 'Devil's Garden.'" + +Frank gave no especial attention to this portion of her letter. His +interest in mushrooms was confined chiefly to the days when Constance +could be there to expatiate on them in person. + +In another letter she referred to their adventure on the mountain, and +to the fact that Frank would be likely to see Robin before her return. + +"You may tell Robin Farnham," she said, "about our visit to the hermit, +and of the message he sent. Robin may be going in that direction very +soon, and find time to stop there. Of course you will be careful not to +let anything slip about the tale he told us. I am sure it would make no +difference, but I know you will agree with me that his wishes should be +sacred. Dear me, what a day that was, and how I did love that wonderful +house! Here, among all these people, in this big modern hotel, it seems +that it must have been all really enchantment. Perhaps you and Robin +could make a trip up there together. I know, if there truly is a +hermit, he will be glad to see you again. I wonder if he would like to +see _me_ again. I brought up all those sad memories. Poor old man! My +sympathy for him is deeper than you can guess." + +It happened that Robin returned to the Lodge that same afternoon. A +little later Frank found him in the guide's cabin, and recounted to him +his recent adventures with Constance on the mountain--how they had +wandered at last to the hermitage, adding the message which their host +had sent to Robin himself. + +The guide listened reflectively, as was his habit. Then he said: + +"It seems curious that you should have been lost up there, just as I was +once, and that you should have drifted to the same place. You took a +little different path from mine. I followed the chasm to the end, while +you crossed on the two logs which the old fellow and I put there +afterward to save me time. I usually have to make short visits, because +few parties care to stay on McIntyre over night, and it's only now and +then that I can get away at all. I have been thinking about the old chap +a good deal lately, but I'm afraid it would mean a special trip just +now, and it would be hard to find a day for that." + +"I will arrange it," said Frank. "In fact, I have already done so. I +spoke to Morrison this morning, and engaged you for a day as soon as you +got in. I want to make another trip up the mountain, myself. We'll go +to-morrow morning--directly to the cabin--and I'll see that you have +plenty of time for a good visit. What I want most is another look around +the place itself and its surroundings. I may want to construct a place +like that some day--in imagination, at least." + +So it was arranged that the young men should visit the hermitage +together. They set out early next morning, following the McIntyre trail +to the point below the little fall where the hermit had bidden good-by +to mankind so many years before. Here they turned aside and ascended the +cliff by the hidden path, presently reaching the secluded and isolated +spot where the lonely, stricken man had established his domain. + +As they drew near the curious dwelling, which because of its +construction was scarcely noticeable until they were immediately upon +it, they spoke in lowered voices, and presently not at all. It seemed +to them, too, that there was a hush about the spot which they had not +noticed elsewhere. Frank recalled the chorus of birds which had filled +the little garden with song, and wondered at their apparent absence now. +The sun was bright, the sky above was glorious, the gay posies along the +garden paths were as brilliant as before, but so far as he could see and +hear, the hermit's small neighbors and companions had vanished. + +"There is a sort of Sunday quiet about it," whispered Frank. "Perhaps +the old fellow is out for a ramble, and has taken his friends with him." +Then he added, "I'll wait here while you go in. If he's there, stay and +have your talk with him while I wander about the place a little. Later, +if he doesn't mind, I will come in." + +Frank directed his steps toward the little garden and let his eyes +wander up and down among the beds which the hermit had planted. It was +late summer now, and many of the things were already ripening. In a +little more the blackening frost would come and the heavy snow drift in. +What a strange life it had been there, winter and summer, with only +nature and a pageantry of dreams for companionship. There must have +been days when, like the Lady of Shalott, he had cried out, "I am sick +of shadows!" and it may have been on such days that he had watched by +the trail to hear and perhaps to see real men and women. And when the +helplessness of very old age should come--what then? Within his mind +Frank had a half-formed plan to persuade the hermit to return to the +companionship of men. There were many retreats now in these +hills--places where every comfort and the highest medical skill could be +obtained for patients such as he. Frank had conceived the idea of +providing for the hermit's final days in some such home, and he had +partly confided his plan to Robin as they had followed the trail +together. Robin, if anybody, could win the old fellow to the idea. + +There came the sound of a step on the path behind. The young man, +turning, faced Robin. There was something in the latter's countenance +that caused Frank to regard him searchingly. + +"He is not there, then?" + +"No, he is not there." + +"He will be back soon, of course." + +But Robin shook his head, and said with gentle gravity: + +"No, he will not be back. He has journeyed to a far country." + +Together they passed under the low eaves and entered the curious +dwelling. Light came through the open door and the parchment-covered +window. In the high-backed chair before the hearth the hermit sat, his +chin dropped forward on his breast. His years of exile were ended. All +the heart-yearning and loneliness had slipped away. He had become one +with the shadows among which he had dwelt so long. + +Nor was there any other life in the room. As the birds outside had +vanished, so the flitting squirrels had departed--who shall say whither? +Yet the change had come but recently--perhaps on that very morning--for +though the fire had dropped to ashes on the hearth, a tiny wraith of +smoke still lingered and drifted waveringly up the chimney. + +The intruders moved softly about the room without speaking. Presently +Frank beckoned to Robin, and pointed to something lying on the table. It +was a birch-bark envelope, and in a dark ink, doubtless made from some +root or berry, was addressed to Robin. The guide opened it and, taking +it to the door, read: + + MY DEAR BOY ROBIN: + + I have felt of late that my time is very near. It is likely that I + shall see you no more in this world. It is my desire, therefore, to + set down my wishes here while I yet have strength. They are but + few, for a life like mine leaves not many desires behind it. + + It is my wish that such of my belongings as you care to preserve + should be yours. They are of little value, but perhaps the field + glass and the books may in future years recall the story in which + they have been a part. In a little chest you will find some other + trifles--a picture or two, some papers that were once valuable to + those living in the world of men, some old letters. All that is + there, all that is mine and all the affection that lingers in my + heart, are yours. Yet I must not forget the little girl who was + once your sister. If it chance that you meet her again, and if when + she knows my story she will care for any memento of this lonely + life, you may place some trifle in her hands. + + It was my story that I had chiefly meant to set down for you, for + it is nearer to your own than you suppose. But now, only a few days + since, out of my heart I gave it to those who were here and who, + perhaps, ere this, have given you my message to come. A young man + and a woman they were, and their happiness together led me to speak + of old days and of a happiness that was mine. The girl's face + stirred me strangely, and I spoke to her fully, as I have long + wished, yet feared, to speak to you. You will show her this letter, + and she will repeat to you all the tale which I no longer have + strength to write. Then you will understand why I have been drawn + to you so strangely; why I have called you "my dear boy"; why I + would that I might call you "son." + + There is no more--only, when you shall find me here asleep, make me + a bed in the corner of my garden, where the hollyhocks come each + year, and the squirrels frisk overhead, and the birds sing. Lay me + not too deeply away from it all, and cover me only with boughs and + the cool, gratifying earth which shall soothe away the fever. And + bring no stone to mark the place, but only breathe a little word of + prayer and leave me in the comfortable dark. + +Neither Robin nor Frank spoke for a time after the reading of the +letter. Then faithfully and with a few words they carried out the +hermit's wishes. Tenderly and gently they bore him to the narrow +resting-place which they prepared for him, and when the task was +finished they stood above the spot for a little space with bowed heads. +After this they returned to the cabin and gathered up such articles of +Robin's inheritance as they would be able to carry down the +mountain--the books and field glass, which had been so much to him; the +gun above the mantel, a trout rod and a package of articles from the +little chest which they had brought to the door and opened. At the top +of the package was a small, cheap ferrotype picture, such as young +people are wont to have made at the traveling photographer's. It was of +a sweet-faced, merry-lipped girl, and Robin scanned it long and +thoughtfully. + +"That is such a face as my mother had when young," he said at last. Then +turning to Frank, "Did he know my mother? Is that the story?" + +Frank bent his head in assent. + +"That is the story," he said, "but it is long. Besides, it is his wish, +I am sure, that another should tell it to you." + +He had taken from the chest some folded official-looking papers as he +spoke, and glanced at them now, first hastily, then with growing +interest. They were a quantity of registered bonds--the hermit's +fortune, which in a few brief days had become, as he said, but a mockery +of scrolled engraving and gaudy seals. Frank had only a slight knowledge +of such matters, yet he wondered if by any possibility these old +securities of a shipwrecked company might be of value to-day. The +corporation title, he thought, had a familiar sound. A vague impression +grew upon him that this company had been one of the few to be +rehabilitated with time; that in some measure at least it had made good +its obligations. + +"Suppose you let me take these," he suggested to Robin. "They may not be +wholly worthless. At least, it will do no harm to send them to my +solicitor." + +Robin nodded. He was still regarding the little tintype and the sweet, +young face of the mother who had died so long ago. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +CONSTANCE RETURNS AND HEARS A STORY + + +"I only told him," Frank wrote that night to Constance, "that the +hermit's story had a part in his mother's life. I suppose I might have +told him more, but he seemed quite willing to wait and hear it from you, +as suggested by the hermit's letter, and I was only too willing that he +should do so. Knowing Robin, as you have, from childhood, and the sorrow +of his early days and all, you are much better fitted to tell the story, +and you will tell it much better than I. Robin is to leave again +to-morrow on a trip over Marcy (Tahawus, I mean, for I hate these modern +names), but will be back by the end of the week, by which time I hope +you also will once more make glad these lonesome forest glades. +Seriously, Conny, I long for you much more than perhaps you realize or, +I am sure, would permit me to say. And I don't mean to write a love +letter now. In the first place, I would not disobey orders to that +degree, and even if I did, I know that you would say that it was only +because poor old Robin Gray's story and his death, and all, and perhaps +wandering about in these woods alone, had made me a bit sentimental. +Well, who knows just whence and how emotions come? Perhaps you would be +right, but if I should tell you that, during the two weeks which have +nearly slipped by since that day when we found our way through the mist +to the hermit's cabin, my whole point of view has somehow changed, and +that, whatever the reasons, I see with different eyes--with a new heart +and with an uplifted spirit--perhaps I should be right, too; and if from +such a consecration my soul should speak and say, 'Dear, my heart, I +love you, and I will love you all my days!' it may be that you would +believe and understand." + +Whether it was this letter, or the news it contained, or whether Mrs. +Deane's improved condition warranted--from whatever reason, Constance +and her mother two days later returned to the camp on the Au Sable. They +were given a genuine ovation as they passed the Lodge, at which point +Mr. Deane joined them. Frank found his heart in a very disturbing +condition indeed as he looked once more into Miss Deane's eyes and took +her hand in welcome. Later in the day, he deemed it necessary to take a +walk in the direction of the camp to see if he could be of any +assistance in making the new arrivals comfortable. It was a matter of +course that he should remain for dinner, and whatever change may have +taken place in him, he certainly appeared on this occasion much like the +old light-hearted youth, with little thought beyond the joy of the event +and the jest of the moment. + +But that night, when he parted from Constance to take the dark trail +home, he did not find it easy to go, nor yet to make an excuse for +lingering. The mantle of gayety had somehow slipped away, and as they +stood there in the fragrance of the firs, with the sound of falling +water coming through the trees, the words he had meant to utter did not +come. + +He spoke at last of their day together on the mountain and of their +visit to the hermit's cabin. To both of them it seemed something of a +very long time ago. Then Frank recounted in detail all that had happened +that quiet morning when he and Robin had visited the place, and spoke of +the letter and last wishes of the dead man. + +"You are sure you do not mind letting me tell Robin the story?" she +said; "alone, I mean? I should like to do so, and I think he would +prefer it." + +Frank looked at her through the dusk. + +"I want you to do it that way," he said earnestly. "I told you so in my +letter. I have a feeling that any third person would be an intruder at +such a time. It seems to me that you are the only one to tell him." + +"Yes," she agreed, after a pause, "I am. I--knew Robin's mother. I was a +little girl, but I remember. Oh, you will understand it all, some day." + +Frank may have wondered vaguely why she put it in that way, but he made +no comment. His hand found hers in the dusk, and he held it for a moment +at parting. + +"That is a dark way I am going," he said, looking down the trail. "But I +shall not even remember the darkness, now that you are here again." + +Constance laughed softly. + +"Perhaps it is my halo that makes the difference." + +A moment later he had turned to go, but paused to say--casually, it +seemed: + +"By the way, I have a story to read to you--a manuscript. It was written +by some one I know, who had a copy mailed me. It came this morning. I am +sure the author, whose name is to be withheld for the present, would +appreciate your opinion." + +"And my judgment is to be final, of course. Very well; Minerva holds her +court at ten to-morrow, at the top of yon small mountain, which on the +one side slopes to the lake, and on the other overlooks the pleasant +Valley of Decision, which borders the West Branch." + +"And do I meet Minerva on the mountain top, or do I call for her at the +usual address--that is to say, here?" + +"You may call for Minerva. After her recent period of inactivity she may +need assistance over the hard places." + +Frank did, in fact, arrive at the camp next morning almost in time for +breakfast. Perhaps the habit of early rising had grown upon him of late. +Perhaps he only wished to assure himself that Constance had really +returned. Even a wish to hear her opinion of the manuscript may have +exerted a certain influence. + +They set out presently, followed by numerous injunctions from Mrs. +Deane concerning fogs and trails and an early return. Frank had never +ascended this steep little mountain back of the camp, save once by a +trail that started from near the Lodge. He let Constance take the lead. + +It was a rare morning--one of the first September days, when the early +blaze of autumn begins to kindle along the hills, when there is just a +spice of frost in the air, when the air and sunlight combine in a tonic +that lifts the heart, the soul, almost the body itself, from the +material earth. + +"If you are Minerva, then I am Mercury," Frank declared as they ascended +the first rise. "I feel that my feet have wings." + +Then suddenly he paused, for they had come to a little enclosure, where +the bushes had been but recently cleared away. There was a gate, and +within a small grave, evidently that of a child; also a headstone upon +which was cut the single word, "CONSTANCE." + +Frank started a little as he read the name, and regarded it wonderingly +without speaking. Then he turned to his companion with inquiry in his +face. + +"That was the first little Constance," she said. "I took her place and +name. She always loved this spot, so when she died they laid her here. +They expected to come back sooner. Her mother wanted just the name on +the stone." + +Frank had a strange feeling as he regarded the little grave. + +"I never knew that you had lost a sister," he said. "I mean that your +parents had buried a little girl. Of course, she died before you were +born." + +"No," she said, "but her death was a fearful blow. Mamma can hardly +speak of it even to-day. She could never confess that her little girl +was dead, so they called me by her name. I cannot explain it all now." + +Frank said musingly: + +"I remember your saying once that you were not even what you seemed to +be. Is this what you meant?" + +She nodded. + +"Yes; that is what I meant." + +They pushed on up the hill, without many words. + +The little enclosure and the graven stone had made them thoughtful. +Arriving at the peak they found, at the brow of a cliff, a broad, +shelving stone which hung out over a deep, wooded hollow, where here +and there the red and gold were beginning to gleam. From it they could +look across toward Algonquin, where they tried to locate the spot of the +hermit's cabin, and down upon the lake and the Lodge, which seemed to +lie almost at their feet. + +At first they merely rested and drank in the glory of the view. Then at +last Frank drew from his pocket a folded typewritten paper. + +"If the court of Minerva is convened, I will lay this matter before +her," he said. + +It was not a story of startling theme that he read to her--"The Victory +of Defeat"; it was only a tale of a man's love, devotion and sacrifice, +but it was told so simply, with so little attempt to make it seem a +story, that one listening forgot that it was not indeed a true relation, +that the people were not living and loving and suffering toward a +surrender which rose to triumph with the final page. Once only Constance +interrupted, to say: + +"Your friend is fortunate to have so good a reader to interpret his +story. I did not know you had that quality in your voice." + +He did not reply, and when he had finished reading and laid the +manuscript down he waited for her comment. It was rather unexpected. + +"You must be very fond of the one who wrote that," she said. + +He looked at her quickly, hardly sure of her meaning. Then he smiled. + +"I am. Almost too much so, perhaps." + +"But why? I think I could love the man who did that story." + +An expression half quizzical, half gratified, flitted across Frank's +features. + +"And if it were written by a woman?" he said. + +Constance did not reply, and the tender look in her face grew a little +cold. A tiny bit of something which she did not recognize suddenly +germinated in her heart. It was hardly envy--she would have scorned to +call it jealousy. She rose--rather hastily, it seemed. + +"Which perhaps accounts for your having read it so well," she said. "I +did not realize, and--I suppose such a story might be written by almost +any woman except myself." + +Frank caught up the manuscript and poised it like a missile. + +"Another word and it goes over the cliff," he threatened. + +She caught back his arm, laughing naturally enough. + +"It is ourselves that must be going over the cliff," she declared. "I am +sure Mamma is worrying about us already." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +WHAT THE SMALL WOMAN IN BLACK SAW + + +With September the hurry at the Lodge subsided. Vacations were beginning +to be over--mountain climbers and wood rangers were returning to office, +studio and classroom. Those who remained were chiefly men and women +bound to no regular occupations, caring more for the woods when the +crowds of summer had departed and the red and gold of autumn were +marching down the mountain side. + +It had been a busy season at the Lodge, and Edith Morrison's face told +the tale. The constant responsibility, and the effort to maintain the +standard of entertainment, had left a worn look in her eyes and taken +the color from her cheeks. The burden had lain chiefly on her young +shoulders. Her father was invaluable as an entertainer and had a fund of +information, but he was without practical resources, and the strain upon +Edith had told. If for another reason a cloud had settled on her brow +and a shadow had gathered in her heart, she had uttered no word, but had +gone on, day by day, early and late, devising means and supervising +methods--doing whatever was necessary to the management of a big +household through all those busy weeks. + +Little more than the others had she seen Robin during those last August +days. He had been absent almost constantly. When he returned it was +usually late, and such was the demand upon this most popular of +Adirondack guides that in nearly every case he found a party waiting for +early departure. If Edith suspected that there were times when he might +have returned sooner, when she believed that he had paused at the camp +on the west branch of the Au Sable, she still spoke no word and made no +definite outward sign. Whatever she brooded in her heart was in that +secret and silence which may have come down to her, with those black +eyes and that glossy hair, from some old ancestor who silently in his +wigwam pointed his arrows and cuddled his resentment to keep it warm. It +had happened that during the days when Constance had been absent with +her mother Robin had twice returned at an earlier hour, and this could +hardly fail to strengthen any suspicion that might already exist of his +fidelity, especially as the little woman in black had commented on the +matter in Edith's presence, as well as upon the fact that immediately +after the return of the absent ones he failed to reach the Lodge by +daylight. It is a fact well established that once we begin to look for +heartache we always find it--and, as well, some one to aid us in the +search. + +Not that Edith had made a confidante of the sinister-clad little woman. +On the whole, she disliked her and was much more drawn toward the +good-natured but garrulous old optimist, Miss Carroway, who saw with +clear undistorted vision, and never failed to say a word--a great many +words, in fact--that carried comfort because they constituted a plea for +the creed of general happiness and the scheme of universal good. Had +Edith sought a confidante merely for the sake of easing her heart, it is +likely that it was to this good old spinster that she would have turned. +But a nature such as hers does not confide its soul-hurt merely for the +sake of consolation. In the beginning, when she had hinted something of +it to Robin, he had laughed her fears away. Then, a little later, she +had spoken to Frank Weatherby, for his sake as well as for her own. He +had not laughed, but had listened and reflected, for the time at least; +and his manner and his manhood, and that which she considered a bond of +sympathy between them, made him the one to whom she must turn, now when +the time had come to speak again. + +There came a day when Robin did not go to the woods. In the morning he +had been about the Lodge and the guides' cabin, of which he was now the +sole occupant, greeting Edith in his old manner and suggesting a walk +later in the day. But the girl pleaded a number of household duties, and +presently Robin disappeared to return no more until late in the +afternoon. When he did appear he seemed abstracted and grave, and went +to the cabin to prepare for a trip next morning. Frank Weatherby, who +had been putting in most of the day over some papers in his room, now +returning from a run up the hillside to a point where he could watch the +sunset, paused to look in, in passing. + +"Miss Deane has been telling me the hermit's story," Robin said, as he +saw who it was. "It seems to me one of the saddest stories I ever heard. +My regret is that he did not tell it to me himself, years ago. Poor old +fellow! As if I would have let it make any difference!" + +"But he could not be sure," said Frank. "You were all in the world to +him, and he could not afford to take the chance of losing you." + +"And to think that all those years he lived up there, watching our +struggle. And what a hard struggle it was! Poor mother--I wish she might +have known he was there!" + +Neither spoke for a time. Then they reviewed their visit to the +hermitage together, when they had performed the last sad offices for its +lonely occupant. Next morning Robin was away with his party and Frank +wandered over to the camp, but found no one there besides the servants. + +He surmised that Constance and her parents had gone to visit the little +grave on the hillside, and followed in that direction, thinking to meet +them. He was nearing the spot when, at a turn in the path, he saw them. +He was unobserved, and he saw that Constance had her arms about Mrs. +Deane, who was weeping. He withdrew silently and walked slowly back to +the Lodge, where he spent the rest of the morning over a writing table +in his room, while on the veranda the Circle of Industry--still active, +though much reduced as to numbers--discussed the fact that of late Mr. +Weatherby was seen oftener at the Lodge, while, on the other hand, +Constance had scarcely been seen there since her return. The little +woman in black shook her head ominously and hinted that she might tell a +good deal if she would, an attitude which Miss Carroway promptly +resented, declaring that she had thus far never known her to keep back +anything that was worth telling. + +It was during the afternoon that Frank, loitering through a little grove +of birches near the boat landing, came face to face with Edith Morrison. +He saw in an instant that she had something to say to him. She was as +white as the birches about her, while in her eyes there was the bright, +burning look he had seen there once before, now more fierce and +intensified. She paused by a mossy-covered bowlder called the "stone +seat," and rested her hand upon it. Frank saw that she was trembling +violently. He started to speak, but she forestalled him. + +"I have something to tell you," she began, with hurried eagerness. "I +spoke of it once before, when I only suspected. Now I know. I don't +think you believed me then, and I doubted, sometimes, myself. But I do +not doubt any longer. We have been fools all along, you and I. They have +never cared for us since she came, but only for each other. And instead +of telling us, as brave people would, they have let us go on--blinding +us so they could blind others, or perhaps thinking we do not matter +enough for them to care. Oh, you are kind and good, and willing to +believe in them, but they shall not deceive you any longer. I know the +truth, and I mean that you shall know it, too." + +Out of the varying emotions with which the young man listened to the +rapid torrent of words, there came the conviction that without doubt the +girl, to have been stirred so deeply, must have seen or heard something +which she regarded as definite. He believed that she was mistaken, but +it was necessary that he should hear her, in order, if possible to +convince her of her error. He motioned her into the seat formed by the +bowlder, for she seemed weak from over-excitement. Leaning against it, +he looked down into her dark, striking face, startled to see how worn +and frail she seemed. + +"Miss Morrison," he began gently, "you are overwrought. You have had a +hard summer, with many cares. Perhaps you have not been able to see +quite clearly--perhaps things are not as you suppose--perhaps----" + +She interrupted him. + +"Oh," she said, "I do not suppose--I know! I have known all the time. I +have seen it in a hundred ways, only they were ways that one cannot put +into words. But now something has happened that anybody can see, and +that can be told--something _has_ been seen and told!" + +She looked up at Frank--those deep, burning eyes of hers full of +indignation. He said: + +"Tell me just what you mean. What has happened, and who has seen it?" + +"It was yesterday, in the woods--the woods between here and the camp on +the Au Sable. They were sitting as we are, and he held her hand, and she +had been crying. And when they parted he said to her, 'We must tell +them. You must get Mrs. Deane's consent. I am sure Edith suspects +something, and it isn't right to go on like this. We must tell them.' +Then--then he kissed her. That--of course----" + +The girl's voice broke and she could not continue. Frank waited a +moment, then he said: + +"And who witnessed this scene?" + +"Mrs. Kitcher." + +"You mean the little woman who dresses in black?" + +"Yes, that is the one." + +"And you would believe that tale-bearing eavesdropper?" + +"I must. I have seen so much myself." + +"Then, let me say this. I believe that most of what she told you is +false. She may have seen them together. She may have seen him take her +hand. I know that Miss Deane told Robin something yesterday that related +to his past life, and that it was a sad tale. It might easily bring the +tears, and she would give him her hand as an old friend. There may have +been something said about his telling you, for there is no reason why +you should not know the story. It is merely of an old man who is dead, +and who knew Robin's mother. So far as anything further, I believe that +woman invented it purely to make mischief. One who will spy and listen +will do more. I would not believe her on oath--nor must you, either." + +But Edith still shook her head. + +"Oh, you don't know!" she persisted. "There has been much besides. It +is all a part of the rest. You have not a woman's intuition, and Robin +has not a woman's skill in deceiving. There is something--I know there +is something--I have seen it all along. And, oh, what should Robin keep +from me?" + +"Have you spoken to him of it?" + +"Once--about the time you came--he laughed at me. I would hardly mention +it again." + +"Yet it seems to me that would be the thing to do," Frank reflected +aloud. "At least, you can ask him about the story told him by Miss +Deane. You--you may say I mentioned it." + +Edith regarded him in amaze. + +"And you think I could do that--that I could ask him of anything that he +did not tell me of his own accord? Will you ask Miss Deane about that +meeting in the woods?" + +Frank shook his head. + +"I do not need to do so. I know about it." + +She looked at him quickly--puzzled for the moment as to his +meaning--wondering if he, too, might be a part of a conspiracy against +her happiness. Then she said, comprehending: + +"No, you only believe. I have not your credulity and faith. I see things +as they are, and it is not right that you should be blinded any longer. +I had to tell you." + +She rose with quick suddenness as if to go. + +"Wait," he said. "I am glad you told me. I believe everything is all +right, whatever that woman saw. I believe she saw very little, and until +you have seen and learned for yourself you must believe that, too. +Somehow, everything always comes out right. It must, you know, or the +world is a failure. And this will come out right. Robin will tell you +the story when he comes back, and explain everything. I am sure of it. +Don't let it trouble you for a single moment." + +He put out his hand instinctively and she took it. Her eyes were full of +hot tears. It came upon Frank in that instant that if Mrs. Kitcher were +watching now she would probably see as much to arouse suspicion as she +had seen the day before, and he said so without hesitation. Edith made a +futile effort to reflect his smile. + +"Yes," she agreed, "but, oh, that was different! There was more, and +there has been so much--all along." + +She left him then, followed by a parting word of reassurance. When she +had disappeared he dropped back on the stone seat and sat looking +through the trees toward the little boat landing, revolving in his mind +the scene just ended. From time to time he applied unpleasant names to +the small woman in black, whose real name had proved to be Kitcher. +What, after all, had she really seen and heard? He believed, very +little. Certainly not so much as she had told. But then, one by one, +certain trifling incidents came back to him--a word here--a look +there--the tender speaking of a name--even certain inflections and +scarcely perceptible movements--the things which, as Edith had said, one +cannot put into words. Reviewing the matter carefully, he became less +certain in his faith. Perhaps, after all, Edith was right--perhaps there +was something between those two; and troubling thoughts took the joy out +of the sunlight and the brightness from the dancing waters. + +The afternoon was already far gone, and during the rest of the day he +sat in the little grove of birches above the landing, smoking and +revolving many matters in his mind. For a time the unhappiness of Edith +Morrison was his chief thought, and he resolved to go immediately to +Constance and lay the circumstances fully before her, that she might +clear up the misunderstanding and restore general happiness and good +will. Twice, indeed, he rose to set out for the camp, but each time +returned to the stone seat. What if it were really true that a great +love had sprung up between Constance and Robin--a love which was at once +a glory and a tragedy--such a love as had brightened and blotted the +pages of history since the gods began their sports with humankind and +joined them in battle on the plains of Troy? What if it were true after +all? If it were true, then Constance and Robin would reveal it soon +enough, of their own accord. If it were not true, then Edith Morrison's +wild jealousy would seem absurd to Constance, and to Robin, who would be +obliged to know. Frank argued that he had no right to risk for her such +humiliation as would result to one of her temperament for having given +way to groundless jealousy. These were the reasons he gave himself for +not going with the matter to Constance. But the real reason was that he +did not have the courage to approach her on the subject. For one thing, +he would not know how to begin. For another--and this, after all, +comprised everything--he was afraid it _might be true_. + +So he lingered there on the stone seat while the September afternoon +faded, the sun slipped down the west, and long, cool mountain shadows +gathered in the little grove. If it were true, there was no use of +further endeavor. It was for Constance, more than for any other soul, +living or dead, that he had renewed his purpose in life, that he had +recalled old ambitions, re-established old effort. + +Without Constance, what was the use? Nobody would care--he least of all. +If it were true, the few weeks of real life that had passed since that +day with her on the mountain, when they had been lost in the mist and +found the hermitage together, would remain through the year to come a +memory somewhat like that which the hermit had carried with him into the +wilderness. Like Robin Gray, he, too, would become a hermit, though in +that greater wilderness--the world of men. Yet he could be more than +Robin Gray, for with means he could lend a hand. And then he remembered +that such help would not be needed, and the thought made the picture in +his mind seem more desolate--more hopeless. + +But suddenly, from somewhere--out of the clear sky of a sub-conscious +mind, perhaps--a thought, a resolve, clothed in words, fell upon his +lips. "If it is true, and if I can win her love, I will marry Edith +Morrison," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +WHAT MISS CARROWAY DID + + +The Circle of Industry had been minus an important member that +afternoon. The small woman in black was there, and a reduced contingent +of such auxiliary members as still remained in the wilds, but the chief +director and center of affairs, Miss Carroway, was absent. She had set +out immediately after luncheon, and Mrs. Kitcher had for once enjoyed +the privilege of sowing discord, shedding gloom and retailing dark +hints, unopposed and undismayed. Her opponent, for the time at least, +had abandoned the field. + +Miss Carroway had set out quietly enough, taking the path around the +lake that on the other side joined the trail which led to the Deane +camp. It was a rare afternoon, and the old lady, carefully dressed, +primly curled, and with a bit of knitting in her hand, sauntered +leisurely through the sunlit woods toward the West Branch. She was a +peaceful note in the picture as she passed among the tall spruces, or +paused for a moment amid a little grove of maples that were turning red +and gold, some of the leaves drifting to her feet. Perhaps she reflected +that for them, as for her, the summer time was over--that their day of +usefulness was nearly ended. Perhaps she recalled the days not long ago +when the leaves had been fresh and fair with youth, and it may be that +the thought brought back her own youth, when she had been a girl, +climbing the hills back of Haverford--when there had been young men who +had thought her as fresh and fair, and one who because of a +misunderstanding had gone away to war without a good-bye, and had died +at Wilson's Creek with a bullet through her picture on his heart. + +As she lingered here and there in the light of these pleasant places, it +would have been an easy task to reconstruct in that placid, faded face +the beauty of forty years ago, to see in her again the strong, handsome +girl who had put aside her own heritage of youth and motherhood to carry +the burdens of an invalid sister, to adopt, finally, as her own, the +last feeble, motherless infant, to devote her years and strength to him, +to guide him step by step to a place of honor among his fellow-men. +Seeing her now, and knowing these things, it was not hard to accord her +a former beauty--it was not difficult even to declare her beautiful +still--for something of it all had come back, something of the old +romance, of awakened purpose and the tender interest of love. + +Where the trail crossed the Au Sable Falls, she paused and surveyed the +place with approval. + +"That would be a nice place for a weddin'," she reflected aloud. +"Charlie used to say a piece at school about 'The groves was God's first +temples,' an' this makes me think of it." + +Then she forgot her reflections, for a little way beyond the falls, +assorting something from a basket, was the object of her visit, +Constance Deane. She had spread some specimens on the grass and was +comparing them with the pictures in the book beside her. As Miss +Carroway approached, she greeted her cordially. + +"Welcome to our camp," she said. "I have often wondered why you never +came over this way. My parents will be so glad to see you. You must come +right up to the house and have a cup of tea." + +But Miss Carroway seated herself on the grass beside Constance, +instead. + +"I came over to see _you_," she said quietly, "just you alone. I had tea +before I started. I want to talk about one or two things a little, an' +mebbe to give you some advice." + +Constance smiled and looked down at the mushrooms on the grass. + +"About those, you mean," she said. "Well, I suppose I need it. I find I +know less than I thought I did in the beginning." + +Miss Carroway shook her head. + +"No," she admitted; "I've give up that question. I guess the books know +more than I do. You ain't dead yet, an' if they was pizen you would 'a' +been by this time. It's somethin' else I want to talk about--somethin' +that's made a good many people unhappy, includin' me. That was a long +time ago, but I s'pose I ain't quite got over it yet." + +A good deal of the September afternoon slipped away as the two women +talked there in the sunshine by the Au Sable Falls. When at last Miss +Carroway rose to go, Constance rose, too, and, taking her hand, kissed +the old lady on the cheek. + +"You are sweet and good," she said, "and I wish I could do as much for +you as you have done, and are willing to do for me. If I have not +confided in you, it is only because I cannot--to-day. But I shall tell +you all that there is to tell as soon--almost as soon--as I tell any +one. It may be to-morrow, and I promise you that there shall be no +unhappiness that I can help." + +"Things never can be set straight too soon," said the old lady. "I've +had a long time to think of that." + +Miss Deane's eyes grew moist. + +"Oh, I thank you for telling me your story!" she said. "It is beautiful, +and you have lived a noble life." + +The shadows had grown deeper in the woods as Miss Carroway followed a +path back to the lake, and so around to the Lodge. The sun had vanished +from the tree tops, and some of the light and reflex of youth had faded +from the old lady's face. + +Perhaps she was a little weary with her walk, and it may be a little +disappointed at what she had heard, or rather what she had not heard, in +her talk with Constance Deane. At the end of the lake she followed the +path through the little birch grove and came upon Frank Weatherby, where +he mused, on the stone seat. + +Miss Carroway paused as he rose and greeted her. + +"I just come from a good walk," she said peacefully. "I've been over to +the Deanes' camp. It's a pretty place." + +Frank nodded. + +"I suppose you saw the family," he said. + +"No; only Miss Deane. She was studyin' tudstools, but I guess they +wa'n't pizen. I guess she knows 'em." + +Frank made no comment on this remark, and the old lady looked out on the +lake a moment and added, as one reflecting aloud on a matter quite apart +from the subject in hand: + +"If I was a young man and had anything on my mind, I'd go to the one it +was about and get it off as quick as I could." + +Then she started on up the path, Frank stepping aside to let her pass. +As he did so, he lifted his hat and said: + +"I think that is good advice, Miss Carroway, and I thank you for it." + +But he dropped back on the seat when she was gone, and sat staring out +on the water, that caught and gave back the colors of the fading sky. +Certainly it was good advice, and he would act on it--to-morrow, +perhaps--not to-day. Then he smiled, rather quaintly. + +"I wonder who will be next on the scene," he thought. "First, the +injured girl. Then the good old busybody, whose mission it is to help +things along. It would seem about time for the chief characters to +appear." + +Once the sun is gone, twilight gathers quickly in the hills. The color +blended out of the woods, the mountains around the lake faded into walls +of tone, a tide of dusk crept out of the deeper forest and enclosed the +birches. Only the highest mountain peaks, Algonquin and Tahawus, caught +the gold and amethyst of day's final tokens of good-bye. Then that +faded, and only the sky told the story to the lake, that repeated it in +its heart. + +From among the shadows on the farther side a boat drifted into the +evening light. It came noiselessly. Frank's eye did not catch it until +it neared the center of the lake. Then presently he recognized the +silhoueted figures, holding his breath a little as he watched them to +make sure. Evidently Robin had returned with his party and stopped by +the Deane camp. Frank's anticipation was to be realized. The chief +characters in the drama were about to appear. + +Propelled by Robin's strong arms, the Adirondack canoe shot quickly to +the little dock. A moment later the guide took a basket handed to him +and assisted his two passengers, Constance and Mrs. Deane, to land. As +they stood on the dock they were in the half dusk, yet clearly outlined +against the pale-green water behind. Frank wondered what had brought +Mrs. Deane to the Lodge. Probably the walk and row through the perfect +evening. + +The little group was but a few yards distant, but it never occurred to +Frank that he could become an eavesdropper. The presence of Mrs. Deane +would have dispelled any such idea, even had it presented itself. He +watched them without curiosity, deciding that when they passed the grove +of birches he would step out and greet them. For the moment, at least, +most of his recent doubts were put aside. + +But all at once he saw Constance turn to her mother and take her hands. + +"You are sure you are willing that we should make it known to-night?" +she said. + +And quite distinctly on that still air came the answer: + +"Yes, dear. I have kept you and Robin waiting long enough. After all, +Robin is more to you than I am," and the elder woman held out her hand +to Robin Farnham, who, taking it, drew closer to the two. + +Then the girl's arms were about her mother's neck, but a moment later +she had turned to Robin. + +"After to-night we belong to each other," she said. "How it will +surprise everybody," and she kissed him fairly on the lips. + +It had all happened so quickly--so unexpectedly--they had been so +near--that Frank could hardly have chosen other than to see and hear. He +sat as one stupefied while they ascended the path, passing within a few +feet of the stone seat. He was overcome by the suddenness of the +revelation, even though the fact had been the possibility in his +afternoon's brooding. Also, he was overwhelmed with shame and +mortification that he should have heard and seen that which had been +intended for no ears and eyes but their own. + +How fiercely he had condemned Mrs. Kitcher, who, it would seem, had been +truthful, after all, and doubtless even less culpable in her +eavesdropping. He told himself that he should have turned away upon the +first word spoken by Constance to her mother. Then he might not have +heard and seen until the moment when they had intended that the +revelation should be made. That was why Mrs. Deane had come--to give +dignity and an official air to the news. + +He wondered if he and Edith were to be told privately, or if the bans +were to be announced to a gathered company, as in the old days when they +were published to church congregations. And Edith--what would it mean to +her--what would she do? Oh, there was something horrible about it +all--something impossible--something that the brain refused to +understand. He did not see or hear the figure that silently--as silently +as an Indian--from the other end of the grove stole up the incline +toward the Lodge, avoiding the group, making its way to the rear by +another path. He only sat there, stunned and hopeless, in the shadows. + +The night air became chill and he was growing numb and stiff from +sitting in one position. Still he did not move. He was trying to think. +He would not go to the Lodge. He would not be a spectacle. He would not +look upon, or listen to, their happiness. He would go away at once, +to-night. He would leave everything behind and, following the road to +Lake Placid, would catch an early train. + +Then he remembered that he had said he would marry Edith Morrison if he +could win her love. But the idea had suddenly grown impossible. +Edith--why, Edith would be crushed in the dust--killed. No, oh, no, that +was impossible--that could not happen--not now--not yet. + +He recalled, too, what he had resolved concerning a life apart, such a +life as the hermit had led among the hills, and he thought his own lot +the more bitter, for at least the hermit's love had been returned and it +was only fate that had come between. Yet he would be as generous. They +would not need his help, but through the years he would wish them +well--yes, he could do that--and he would watch from a distance and +guard their welfare if ever time of need should come. + +Long through the dark he sat there, unheeding the time, caring nothing +that the sky had become no longer pale but a deep, dusky blue, while the +lake carried the stars in its bosom. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +EDITH AND FRANK + + +It may have been an hour--perhaps two of them--since Robin with +Constance and her mother had passed him on the way to the Lodge, when +suddenly Frank heard some one hurrying down the path. It was the rustle +of skirts that he heard, and he knew that it was a woman running. Just +at the little grove of birches she stopped and seemed to hesitate. In +the silence of the place he could hear her breath come pantingly, as +from one laboring under heavy excitement. Then there was a sort of +sobbing moan, and a moment later a voice that he scarcely recognized as +that of Edith Morrison, so full of wild anguish it was, called his name. +He had already risen, and was at her side in an instant. + +"What is it?" he demanded; "tell me everything--tell me quickly!" + +"Oh," she wailed, "I knew you must be here. They couldn't find you, and +I knew why. I knew you had been here, and had seen what I saw, and +heard what I heard. Oh, you must go to her--you must go at once!" + +She had seized his arm with both hands, shaking with a storm of +emotion--of terror, it seemed--her eyes burning through the dark. + +"When I saw that, I went mad," she raved on. "I saw everything through a +black mist, and out of it the devil came and tempted me. He put the +means in my hands to destroy my enemy, and I have done it--oh, I have +done it! You said it was the Devil's Garden, and it is! Oh, it is his--I +know it! I know it!" + +The girl was fairly beside herself--almost incoherent--but there was +enough in her words and fierce excitement to fill Frank with sudden +apprehension. + +"What is it you have done?" he demanded. "Tell me what you mean by the +devil tempting you to destroy your enemy. What have you done?" + +A wave of passion, anguish, remorse broke over her, and she clung to him +heavily. She could not find voice at first. When she did, it had become +a shuddering whisper. + +"I have killed her!" she managed to gasp. "I have killed her! I did it +with the Yellow Danger--you remember--the Yellow Danger--that day in +the Devil's Garden--that poison one--that deadly one with the cup--there +were some among those she brought to-night. She must have left them +there by mistake. I knew them--I remembered that day--and, oh, I have +been there since. But I was about to throw them away when the devil came +from his garden and tempted me. He said no one could ever suspect or +blame me. I put one of the deadly ones among those that went to her +place at dinner. When it was too late I was sorry. I realized, all at +once, that I was a murderer and must not live. So I ran down here to +throw myself in the lake. Then I remembered that you were here, and that +perhaps you could do something to save her. Oh, she doesn't know! She is +happy up there, but she is doomed. You must help her! You must! Oh, I do +not want to die a murderer! I cannot do that--I cannot!" + +The girl's raving had been in part almost inaudible, but out of it the +truth came clearly. Constance had brought some mushrooms to the Lodge, +and these, as usual, had been sent in to Edith to prepare. Among them +Edith had found some which she recognized as those declared by Constance +to be deadly, and these she had allowed to go to Constance's plate. +Later, stricken with remorse, she had rushed out to destroy herself, and +was now as eager to save her victim. + +All this rushed through Frank's brain in an instant, and for a moment he +remembered only that day in the Devil's Garden, and the fact that a +deadly fungus which Constance had called the Yellow Danger was about to +destroy her life. But then, in a flash, came back the letter, written +from Lake Placid, in which Constance had confessed a mistake, and +referred to a certain Amanita which she had thought poisonous as a +choice edible mushroom, called by the ancients "food of the gods." He +remembered now that this was the Orange Amanita or "Yellow Danger," and +a flood of hope swept over him; but he must be certain of the truth. + +"Miss Morrison," he said, in a voice that was at once gentle and grave, +"this is a bitter time for us all. But you must be calm, and show me, if +you can, one of those yellow mushrooms you did not use. I have reason to +hope that they are not the deadly ones after all. But take me where I +can see them, at once." + +His words and tone seemed to give the girl new strength and courage. + +"Oh, don't tell me that unless it is true!" she pleaded. "Don't tell me +that just to get me to go back to the Lodge! Oh, I will do anything to +save her! Come--yes--come, and I will show them to you!" + +She started hurriedly in the direction of the Lodge, Frank keeping by +her side. As they neared the lights she seized his arm and detained him +an instant. + +"You will not let her die?" She trembled, her fear returning. "She is so +young and beautiful--you will not let her die? I will give up Robin, but +she must not die." + +He spoke to her reassuringly, and they pushed on, making a wide detour +which brought them to the rear of the Lodge. Through the window they saw +the servants still passing to and fro into the dining-room serving a few +belated guests. From it a square of light penetrated the woods behind, +and on the edge of this they paused--the girl's eyes eagerly scanning +the ground. + +"I hid them here," she said. "I did not put them in the waste, for fear +some one would see them." + +Presently she knelt and brushed aside the leaves. Something like gold +gleamed before her and she seized upon it. A moment later she had +uncovered another similar object. + +"There," she said chokingly; "there they are! Tell me--tell me quick! +Are they the deadly ones?" + +He gave them a quick glance in the light, then he said: + +"I think not, but I cannot be sure here. Come with me to the guide's +cabin. It was dark as we came up, but it was open. I will strike a +light." + +They hurried across to the little detached cabin and pushed in. Frank +struck a match and lit a kerosene bracket lamp. Then he laid the two +yellow mushrooms on the table beneath it, and from an inner pocket drew +a small and rather mussed letter and opened it--his companion watching +every movement with burning eager eyes. + +"This is a letter from Miss Deane," he said, "written me from Lake +Placid. In it she says that she made a mistake about the Orange Amanita +that she called the Yellow Danger. These are her words--a rule taken +from the book: + +"'_If the cup of the Yellow Amanita is present, the plant is harmless. +If the cup is absent, it is poisonous._'" + +He bent forward and looked closely at the specimens before him. + +"That is surely the cup," he said. "She gathered these and put them +among the others by intention, knowing them to be harmless. She is safe, +and you have committed no crime." + +His last words fell on insensate ears. Edith drew a quick breath that +was half a cry, and an instant later Frank saw that she was reeling. He +caught her and half lifted her to a bench by the door, where she lay +insensible. An approaching step caught Frank's ear and, as he stepped to +the door, Robin Farnham, who had seen the light in the cabin, was at the +entrance. A startled look came into his eyes as he saw Edith's white +face, but Frank said quietly: + +"Miss Morrison has had a severe shock--a fright. She has fainted, but I +think there is no danger. I will remain while you bring a cup of water." + +There was a well at the end of the Lodge, and Robin returned almost +immediately with a filled cup. + +Already Edith showed signs of returning consciousness, and Frank left +the two, taking his way to the veranda, where he heard the voices of +Constance and her mother, mingled with that of Miss Carroway. He +ascended the steps with a resolute tread and went directly to Constance, +who came forward to meet him. + +"And where did you come from?" she demanded gayly. "We looked for you +all about. Mamma and I came over on purpose to dine with you, and I +brought a very especial dish, which I had all to myself. Still, we did +miss you, and Miss Carroway has been urging us to send out a searching +party." + +Frank shook hands with Mrs. Deane and Miss Carroway, apologizing for his +absence and lateness. Then he turned to Constance, and together they +passed down to the further end of the long veranda. Neither spoke until +they were out of earshot of the others. Then the girl laid her hand +gently on her companion's arm. + +"I have something to tell you," she began. "I came over on +purpose--something I have been wanting to say a long time, only----" + +He interrupted her. + +"I know," he said; "I can guess what it is. That was why I did not come +sooner. I came now because I have something to say to you. I did not +intend to come at all, but then something happened and--I have changed +my mind. I will only keep you a moment." + +His voice was not quite steady, but grave and determined, with a tone in +it which the girl did not recognize. Her hand slipped from his arm. + +"Tell me first," he went on, "if you are quite sure that the mushrooms +you brought for dinner--all of them--the yellow ones--are entirely +harmless." + +Certainly this was an unexpected question. Something in the solemn +manner and suddenness of it may have seemed farcical. For an instant she +perhaps thought him jesting, for there was a note of laughter in her +voice as she replied: + +"Oh, yes; quite certain. Those are the Caesar mushrooms--food of the +gods--I brought them especially for you. But how did you know of them?" + +He did not respond to this question, nor to her light tone. + +"Miss Deane," he went on, "I know perfectly well what you came here to +say. I happened to be in the little grove of birches to-night when you +landed with your mother and Robin Farnham, and I saw and heard what took +place on the dock, almost before I realized that I was eavesdropping. +Unfortunately, though I did not know it then, another saw and heard, as +well, and the shock of it was such that it not only crushed her spirit +but upset her moral balance for the time. You will know, of course, that +I refer to Edith Morrison. She had to know, and perhaps no one is to +blame for her suffering--and mine; only it seems unfortunate that the +revelation should have come just as it did rather than in the gentler +way which you perhaps had planned." + +He paused a moment to collect words for what he had to say next. +Constance was looking directly at him, though her expression was lost in +the dusk. Her voice, however, was full of anxiety. + +"There is a mistake," she began eagerly. "Oh, I will explain, but not +now. Where is Edith? Tell me first what has happened to Edith." + +"I will do that, presently. She is quite safe. The man she was to marry +is with her. But first I have something to say--something that I wish to +tell you before--before I go. I want to say to you in all honesty that I +consider Robin Farnham a fine, manly fellow--more worthy of you than +I--and that I honor you in your choice, regretting only that it must +bring sorrow to other hearts. I want to confess to you that never until +after that day upon the mountain did I realize the fullness of my love +for you--that it was all in my life that was worth preserving--that it +spoke to the best there was in me. I want you to know that it stirred +old ambitions and restored old dreams, and that I awoke to renewed +effort and to the hope of achievement only because of you and of your +approval. The story I read to you that day on the mountain was my story. +I wrote it those days while you were away. It was the beginning of a +work I hoped to make worth while. I believed that you cared, and that +with worthy effort I could win you for my own. I had Robin Gray's +character in mind for my hero, not dreaming that I should be called upon +to make a sacrifice on my own account, but now that the time is here I +want you to know that I shall try not to make it grudgingly or cravenly, +but as manfully as I can. I want to tell you from my heart and upon my +honor that I wish you well--that if ever the day comes when I can be of +service to you or to him, I will do whatever lies in my power and +strength. It is not likely such a time will ever come, for in the matter +of means you will have ample and he will have enough. Those bonds which +poor old Robin Gray believed worthless all these years have been +restored to their full value, and more; and, even if this were not true, +Robin Farnham would make his way and command the recognition and the +rewards of the world. What will become of my ambition I do not know. It +awoke too late to mean anything to you, and the world does not need my +effort. As a boy, I thought it did, and that my chances were all bright +ahead. But once, a long time ago, in these same hills, I gave my lucky +piece to a little mountain girl, and perhaps I gave away my +opportunities with it, and my better strength. Now, there is no more to +say except God bless you and love you, as I always will." + +And a moment later he added: + +"I left Miss Morrison with Robin Farnham in the guide's cabin. If she is +not there you will probably find her in her room. Be as kind to her as +you can. She needs everything." + +He held out his hand then, as if to leave her. But she took it and held +it fast. He felt that hers trembled. + +"You are brave and true," she said, "and you cannot go like this. You +will not leave the Lodge without seeing me again. Promise me you will +not. I have something to say to you--something it is necessary you +should know. It is quite a long story and will take time. I cannot tell +it now. Promise me that you will walk once more with me to-morrow +morning. I will go now to Edith; but promise me what I ask. You must." + +"It is not fair," he said slowly, "but I promise you." + +"You need not come for me," she said. "Our walk will be in the other +direction. I will meet you here quite early." + +He left her at the entrance of the wide hall and, ascending to his room, +began to put his traps together in readiness for departure by stage next +day. + +Constance descended the veranda steps and crossed over to the guides' +cabin, where a light still shone. As she approached the open door she +saw Edith and Robin sitting on the bench, talking earnestly. Edith had +been crying, but appeared now in a calmer frame of mind. Robin held both +her hands in his, and she made no apparent attempt to withdraw them. +Then came the sound of footsteps and Constance stood in the doorway. +For a moment Edith was startled. Then, seeing who it was, she sprang up +and ran forward with extended arms. + +"Forgive me! Oh, forgive me!" she cried; "I did not know! I did not +know!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE LUCKY PIECE + + +True to her promise, Constance was at the Lodge early next morning. +Frank, a trifle pale and solemn, waited on the veranda steps. Yet he +greeted her cheerfully enough, for the Circle of Industry, daily +dwindling in numbers but still a quorum, was already in session, and +Miss Carroway and the little woman in black had sharp eyes and ears. +Constance went over to speak to this group. With Miss Carroway she shook +hands. + +Frank lingered by the steps, waiting for her, but instead of returning +she disappeared into the Lodge and was gone several minutes. + +"I wanted to see Miss Morrison," she exclaimed, in a voice loud enough +for all to hear. "She did not seem very well last night. I find she is +much better this morning." + +Frank did not make any reply, or look at her. He could not at all +comprehend. They set out in the old way, only they did not carry the +basket and book of former days, nor did the group on the veranda call +after them with warning and advice. But Miss Carroway looked over to the +little woman in black with a smile of triumph. And Mrs. Kitcher grimly +returned the look with another which may have meant "wait and see." + +A wonderful September morning had followed the perfect September night. +There was a smack of frost in the air, but now, with the flooding +sunlight, the glow of early autumn and the odors of dying summer time, +the world seemed filled with anodyne and glory. Frank and Constance +followed the road a little way and then, just beyond the turn, the girl +led off into a narrow wood trail to the right--the same they had +followed that day when they had visited the Devil's Garden. + +She did not pause for that now. She pushed ahead as one who knew her +ground from old acquaintance, with that rapid swinging walk of hers +which seemed always to make her a part of these mountains, and their +uncertain barricaded trails. Frank followed behind, rarely speaking save +to comment upon some unusual appearance in nature--wondering at her +purpose in it all, realizing that they had never continued so far in +this direction before. + +They had gone something less than a mile, perhaps, when they heard the +sound of tumbling water, and a few moments later were upon the banks of +a broad stream that rushed and foamed between the bowlders. Frank said, +quietly: + +"This is like the stream where I caught the big trout--you remember?" + +"It is the same," she said, "only that was much farther up. Come, we +will cross." + +He put out his hand as if to assist her. She did not take it, but +stepped lightly to a large stone, then to another and another--springing +a little to one side here, just touching a bowlder all but covered with +water there, and so on, almost more rapidly than Frank could follow--as +one who knew every footing of that uncertain causeway. They were on the +other side presently, and took up the trail there. + +"I did not know you were so handy crossing streams," said Frank. "I +never saw you do it before." + +"But that was not hard. I have crossed many worse ones. Perhaps I was +lighter of foot then." + +They now passed through another stretch of timber, Constance still +leading the way. The trail was scarcely discernible here and there, as +one not often used, but she did not pause. They had gone nearly a mile +farther when a break of light appeared ahead, and presently they came to +a stone wall and a traveled road. Constance did not scale the wall, but +seated herself on it as if to rest. A few feet away Frank leaned against +the barrier, looking at the road and then at his companion, curious but +silent. Presently Constance said: + +"You are wondering what I have to tell you, and why I have brought you +all this way to tell it. Also, how I could follow the trail so +easily--aren't you?" and she smiled up at him in the old way. + +"Yes," admitted Frank; "though as for the trail, I suppose you must have +been over it before--some of those times before I came." + +She nodded. + +"That is true. You were not here when I traveled this trail before. It +was Robin who came with me the last time. But that was long ago--almost +ten years." + +"You have a good memory." + +"Yes, very good--better than yours. That is why I brought you here +to-day--to refresh your memory." + +There was something of the old banter in her voice, and something in her +expression, inscrutable though it was, that for some reason set his +heart to beating. He wondered if she could be playing with him. He could +not understand, and said as much. + +"You brought me here to tell me a story," he concluded. "Isn't that what +you said? I shall miss the Lake Placid hack if we do not start back +presently." + +Again that inscrutable, disturbing look. + +"Is it so necessary that you should start to-day?" she asked. "Mr. +Meelie, I am sure, will appreciate your company just as much another +time. And to-day is ours." + +That look--it kept him from saying something bitter then. + +"The story--you are forgetting it," he said, quietly. + +"No, I am not forgetting." The banter had all gone out of her voice, and +it had become gentle--almost tender. A soft, far-away look had come into +her eyes. "I am only trying to think how to tell it--how to begin. I +thought perhaps you might help me--only you don't--your memory is so +poor." + +He had no idea of her meaning now, and ventured no comment. + +"You do not help me," she went on. "I must tell my little story alone. +After all, it is only a sequel--do you care for sequels?" + +There was something in her face just then that, had it not been for all +that had come between them, might have made him take her in his arms. + +"I--I care for what you are about to tell," he said. + +She regarded him intently, and a great softness came into her eyes. + +"It is the sequel of a story we heard together," she began, "that day on +McIntyre, in the hermit's cabin. You remember that he spoke of the other +child--a little girl--hers. This is the story of that little girl. You +have heard something of her already--how the brother toiled for her and +his mother--how she did not fully understand the bitterness of it all. +Yet she tried to help--a little. She thought of many things. She had +dreams that grew out of the fairy book her mother used to read to her, +and she looked for Aladdin caves among the hills, and sometimes fancied +herself borne away by the wind and the sea to some far Eastern land +where the people would lay their treasures at her feet. But more than +all she waited for the wonderful fairy prince who would one day come to +her with some magic talisman of fortune which would make them all rich, +and happy ever after. + +"Yet, while she dreamed, she really tried to help in other ways--little +ways of her own--and in the summer she picked berries and, standing +where the stage went by, she held them out to the tourists who, when the +stage halted, sometimes bought them for a few pennies. Oh, she was so +glad when they bought them--the pennies were so precious--though it +meant even more to her to be able to look for a moment into the faces of +those strangers from another world, and to hear the very words that were +spoken somewhere beyond the hills." + +She paused, and Frank, who had leaned a bit nearer, started to speak, +but she held up her hand for silence. + +"One day, when the summer was over and all the people were going +home--when she had gathered her last few berries, for the bushes were +nearly bare--she stood at her place on the stone in front of the little +house at the top of the hill, waiting for the stage. But when it came, +the people only looked at her, for the horses did not stop, but galloped +past to the bottom of the hill, while she stood looking after them, +holding that last saucer of berries, which nobody would buy. + +"But at the foot of the hill the stage did stop, and a boy, oh, such a +handsome boy and so finely dressed, leaped out and ran back all the way +up the hill to her, and stood before her just like the prince in the +fairy tales she had read, and told her he had come to buy her berries. +And then, just like the prince, he had only an enchanted coin--a +talisman--his lucky piece. And this he gave to her, and he made her take +it. He took her hand and shut it on the coin, promising he would come +for it again some day, when he would give her for it anything she might +wish, asking only that she keep it safe. And then, like the prince, he +was gone, leaving her there with the enchanted coin. Oh, she hardly +dared to look, for fear it might not be there after all. But when she +opened her hand at last and saw that it had not vanished, then she was +sure that all the tales were true, for her fairy prince had come to her +at last." + +Again Frank leaned forward to speak, a new light shining in his face, +and again she raised her hand to restrain him. + +"You would not help me," she said, "your memory was so poor. Now, you +must let me tell the story. + +"The child took the wonderful coin to her mother. I think she was very +much excited, for she wept and sobbed over the lucky talisman that was +to bring fortune for them all. And I know that her mother, pale, and in +want, and ill, kissed her and smiled, and said that now the good days +must surely come. + +"They did not come that winter--a wild winter of fierce cold and +terrible storms. When it was over and the hills were green with summer, +the tired mother went to sleep one day, and so found her good fortune in +peace and rest. + +"But for the little girl there came a fortune not unlike her dreams. +That year a rich man and woman had built a camp in the hills. There was +no Lodge, then; everything was wild, and supplies hard to get. The +child's brother sold vegetables to the camp, sometimes letting his +little sister go with him. And because she was of the same age as a +little girl of the wealthy people, now and then they asked her to spend +the day, playing, and her brother used to come all the way for her again +at night. There was one spot on the hillside where they used to play--an +open, sunny place that they loved best of all--and this they named their +Garden of Delight; and it was truly that to the little girl of the hills +who had never had such companionship before. + +"But then came a day when a black shadow lay on the Garden of Delight, +for the little city child suddenly fell ill and died. Oh, that was a +terrible time. Her mother nearly lost her mind, and was never quite the +same again. She would not confess that her child was dead, and she was +too ill to be taken home to the city, so a little grave was made on the +hillside where the children had played together, and by and by the +feeble woman crept there to sit in the sun, and had the other little +girl brought there to play, as if both were still living. It was just +then that the mother of Robin and his little sister died, and the city +woman, when she heard of it, said to the little girl: 'You have no +mother and I have no little girl. I will be your mother and you shall +be my little girl. You shall have all the dresses and toys; even the +name--I will give you that.' She would have helped the boy, too, but he +was independent, even then, and would accept nothing. Then she made them +both promise that neither would ever say to any one that the little girl +was not really hers, and she made the little girl promise that she would +not speak of it, even to her, for she wanted to make every one, even +herself, believe that the child was really hers. She thought in time it +might take the cloud from her mind, and I believe it did, but it was +years before she could even mention the little dead girl again. And the +boy and his sister kept their promise faithfully, though this was not +hard to do, for the rich parents took the little girl away. They sailed +across the ocean, just as she had expected to do some day, and she had +beautiful toys and dresses and books, just as had always happened in the +fairy tales. + +"They did not come back from across the ocean. The child's foster father +had interests there and could remain abroad for most of the year, and +the mother cared nothing for America any more. So the little girl grew +up in another land, and did not see her brother again, and nobody knew +that she was not really the child of the rich people, or, if any did +know, they forgot. + +"But the child remembered. She remembered the mountains and the storms, +and the little house at the top of the hill, and her mother, and the +brother who had stayed among the hills, and who wrote now and then to +tell them he was making his way. But more than all she remembered the +prince--her knight she called him as she grew older--because it seemed +to her that he had been so noble and brave to come back up the hill and +give her his lucky piece that had brought her all the fortune. Always +she kept the coin for him, ready when he should call for it, and when +she read how Elaine had embroidered a silken covering for the shield of +Launcelot, she also embroidered a little silken casing for the coin and +wore it on her neck, and never a day or night did she let it go away +from her. Some day she would meet him again, and then she must have it +ready, and being a romantic schoolgirl, she wondered sometimes what she +might dare to claim for it in return. For he would be a true, brave +knight, one of high purpose and noble deeds; and by day the memory of +the handsome boy flitted across her books, and by night she dreamed of +him as he would some day come to her, all shining with glory and high +resolve." + +Again she paused, this time as if waiting for him to speak. But now he +only stared at the bushes in front of him, and she thought he had grown +a little pale. She stepped across the wall into the road. + +"Come," she said; "I will tell you the rest as we walk along." + +He followed her over the wall. They were at the foot of a hill, at the +top of which there was a weather-beaten little ruin, once a home. He +recognized the spot instantly, though the hill seemed shorter to him, +and less steep. He turned and looked at her. + +"My memory has all come back," he said; "I know all the rest of the +story." + +"But I must tell it to you. I must finish what I have begun. The girl +kept the talisman all the years, as I have said, often taking it out of +the embroidered case to study its markings, which she learned to +understand. And she never lost faith in it, and she never failed to +believe that one day the knight with the brave, true heart would come to +claim it and to fulfill his bond. + +"And by and by her school-days were ended, and then her parents decided +to return to their native land. The years had tempered the mother's +sorrow, and brought back a measure of health. So they came back to +America, and for the girl's sake mingled with gay people, and by and by, +one day--it was at a fine place and there were many fine folk there--she +saw him. She saw the boy who had been her fairy prince--who had become +her knight--who had been her dream all through the years. + +"She knew him instantly, for he looked just as she had known he would +look. He had not changed, only to grow taller, more manly and more +gentle--just as she had known he would grow with the years. She thought +he would come to her--that like every fairy prince, he must know--but +when at last he stood before her, and she was trembling so that she +could hardly stand, he bowed and spoke only as a stranger might. He had +forgotten--his memory was so poor. + +"Yet something must have drawn him to her. For he came often to where +she was, and by and by they rode and drove and golfed together over the +hills, during days that were few but golden, for the child had found +once more her prince of the magic coin--the knight who did not +remember, yet who would one day win his coin--and again she dreamed, +this time of an uplifting, noble life, and of splendid ambitions +realized together. + +"But, then, little by little, she became aware that he was not truly a +knight of deeds--that he was only a prince of pleasure, poor of ambition +and uncertain of purpose--that he cared for little beyond ease and +pastime, and that perhaps his love-making was only a part of it all. +This was a rude awakening for the girl. It made her unhappy, and it made +her act strangely. She tried to rouse him, to stimulate him to do and to +be many things. But she was foolish and ignorant and made absurd +mistakes, and he only laughed at her. She knew that he was strong and +capable and could be anything he chose, if he only would. But she could +not choose for him, and he seemed willing to drift and would not choose +for himself. + +"Then, by and by, she returned to her beloved mountains. She found the +little cottage at the hill-top a deserted ruin, the Garden of Delight +with its little grave was overgrown. There was one recompense. The +brother she had not seen since her childhood had become a noble, +handsome man, of whom she could well be proud. No one knew that he was +her brother, and she could not tell them, though perhaps she could not +avoid showing her affection and her pride in him, and these things were +misunderstood and caused suspicion and heartache and bitterness. + +"Yet the results were not all evil, for out of it there came a moment +when she saw, almost as a new being, him who had been so much a part of +her life so long." + +They were nearly at the top of the hill now. But a little more and they +would reach the spot where ten years before the child with the saucer of +berries had waited for the passing stage. + +"He had awakened at last," she went on, "but the girl did not know it. +She did not realize that he had renewed old hopes and ambitions; that +some feeling in his heart for her had stirred old purposes into new +resolves. He did not tell her, though unconsciously she may have known, +for after a day of adventure together on the hills something of the old +romance returned, and her old ideal of knighthood little by little +seemed about to be restored. And then, all at once, it came--the hour of +real trial, with a test of which she could not even have dreamed--and he +stood before her, glorified." + +They were at the hill-top. The flat stone in front of the tumbled house +still remained. As they reached it she stopped, and turning suddenly +stretched out her hand to him, slowly opening it to disclose a little +silken case. Her eyes were wet with tears. + +"Oh, my dear!" she said. "Here, where you gave me the talisman, I return +it. I have kept it for you all the years. It brought me whatever the +world had to give--friends, fortune, health. You did not claim it, dear; +but it is yours, and in return, oh, my fairy prince--my true knight--I +claim the world's best treasure--a brave man's faithful love!" + + + + +EPILOGUE + + +It is a lonely thoroughfare, that North Elba road. Not many teams pass +to and fro, and the clattering stage was still a mile away. The eternal +peaks alone looked down upon these two, for it is not likely that even +the leveled glass of any hermit of the mountain-tops saw what passed +between them. + +Only, from Algonquin and Tahawus there came a gay little wind--the first +brisk puff of autumn--and frolicking through a yellow tree in the +forsaken door-yard it sent fluttering about them a shower of drifting +gold. + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lucky Piece, by Albert Bigelow Paine + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LUCKY PIECE *** + +***** This file should be named 38833.txt or 38833.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/8/3/38833/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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